Media and Democracy in the Middle East (Routledge Studies in Media, Communication, and Politics) 1032101288, 9781032101286

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of Contributors
Introduction: The State of Media and Democracy in the MENA Region
1 Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries
2 The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements and the Dilemma of Democracy in Egypt
3 Social Media and Social Change in Jordan
4 Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon: The October 17 Uprising
5 Citizenship, Media, and Activism in Turkey during Gezi Park Protests
6 Political Laugh on Social Media: An Analysis of Humorous Participation in Turkey
7 Cultural Identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art: The Expression of Transcultural Identity in Countries of Conflict
8 Saudi Women Journalists: An Ethnographic Study Exploring Their Roles and Practices in an Age of National Transformation
9 Democratising the Media: Media Reform and the Future of Journalism in Egypt
10 Memory as a Human Right: Palestinian Memory and Israel’s Modes of Forgetting
Index

Citation preview

Media and Democracy in the Middle East

This edited volume examines the current challenges to media freedom and democratisation in the Middle East. The book revisits the relationship between media consumption and activism in the region, providing thorough analyses on the appropriation of social media for political engagement. Since the outburst and spread of what was known as the ‘Arab Uprisings’ in 2010, the political and media landscapes in the Middle East region have dramatically changed. The initial hope for democratic change and governance quality improvements has faded, as several regimes in the Middle East have strengthened their repressive tactics toward voices deemed critical of governments’ practices, including journalists, bloggers, and activists. The crumbling Arab media scene has also reached an abysmal low, with little to no independence, and public perception of basic freedoms in the region has significantly dropped, as has trust in media and government institutions. This book examines current challenges to media freedom, political participation, and democratisation in the region while reassessing the dynamic relationship between media use and political engagement, amidst a complex political environment accompanied by a rapidly changing digital media landscape. This book’s relevance will appeal to varied audiences, such as scholars and students of journalism, communication, political science, and Middle Eastern studies. It will also prove to be an invaluable resource for organisations dedicated to the research of political communication, media freedom, and use patterns of nontraditional, or new, media. Nael Jebril is Associate Professor and Head of the Media Studies Program at the Doha Institute for Graduate Studies, Qatar. He previously served as a Principal Academic in Journalism and Director of the MA Media and Communication Program at Bournemouth University, UK, and as an Academic Fellow in Media and Democracy at the Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism and the Department of Politics and International Relations at Oxford University, UK. Mohammed-Ali Abunajela works in the communication, media, and international humanitarian sectors. Previously, he served as Regional Media Manager of the Middle East and North Africa at Amnesty International, Media and Communications Lead for the Middle East and Commonwealth Independent States at Oxfam, GB, and Communications Advisor at the BBC World Service in London. He holds a PhD degree in Media Studies from the University of Bedfordshire, UK.

Routledge Studies in Media, Communication, and Politics

12 A Media Framing Approach to Securitization Storytelling in Conflict, Crisis and Threat Fred Vultee 13 Gender Violence, Social Media, and Online Environments When the Virtual Becomes Real Lisa M. Cuklanz 14 The Economic Policy of Online Media Manufacture of Dissent Peter Ayolov 15 White Supremacy and the American Media Edited By Sarah D. Nilsen, Sarah E. Turner 16 Donald Trump in the Frontier Mythology Olena Leipnik 17 Right-Wing Media’s Neurocognitive and Societal Effects Rodolfo Levya 18 Political Entertainment in a Post-Authoritarian Democracy Humor and the Mexican Media Martin Echeverria and Frida V. Rodelo 19 Theorizing Mediated Information Distortion The COVID-19 Infodemic and Beyond Brian H. Spitzberg 20 Media and Democracy in the Middle East Edited by Nael Jebril, Mohammed-Ali Abunajela https://www.routledge.com/Routledge-Studies-in-Media-Communication-and-Politics/book-series/RSMCP

Media and Democracy in the Middle East

Edited by Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela

First published 2024 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 selection and editorial matter, Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 9781032101286 (hbk) ISBN: 9781032102900 (pbk) ISBN: 9781003214625 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625 Typeset in Times New Roman by codeMantra

Contents

List of contributors Introduction: The State of Media and Democracy in the MENA Region

vii 1

NAEL JEBRIL AND MOHAMMED-ALI ABUNAJELA

1

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries

18

NAEL JEBRIL AND EMAD MOUSSA

2

The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements and the Dilemma of Democracy in Egypt

30

MOSTAFA SHEHATA

3

Social Media and Social Change in Jordan

43

MUNA AL TAWEEL

4

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon: The October 17 Uprising

54

MICHAEL HUIJER

5

Citizenship, Media, and Activism in Turkey during Gezi Park Protests

70

EYLEM YANARDAĞOĞLU

6

Political Laugh on Social Media: An Analysis of Humorous Participation in Turkey

80

GÜLŞAH BAŞLAR

7

Cultural Identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art: The Expression of Transcultural Identity in Countries of Conflict SAFEA ALTEF

100

vi Contents   8 Saudi Women Journalists: An Ethnographic Study Exploring Their Roles and Practices in an Age of National Transformation

118

AMAL ALMOUALED

  9 Democratising the Media: Media Reform and the Future of Journalism in Egypt

130

DALIA ELSHEIKH, NAEL JEBRIL, AND DANIEL JACKSON

10 Memory as a Human Right: Palestinian Memory and Israel’s Modes of Forgetting

147

EMAD MOUSSA

Index161

Contributors

Amal Almoualed is an assistant professor in Journalism and Communication in the Media Department at Umm Al-Qura University, Saudi Arabia. Muna Al Taweel is a PhD candidate in Cultural Studies at George Mason University, USA. Safea Altef is a researcher and the founder of SARD, an organisation that focuses on the documentation, digitisation, and research of intangible cultural heritage. Gülşah Başlar is an assistant professor at the Faculty of Communication at ­Marmara University, Turkey. Dalia Elsheikh is a senior lecturer in Journalism in the Department of Journalism and Communication at Bournemouth University, UK. Michael Huijer is a communications and education consultant based in Lebanon. He worked as a communications manager at the Issam Fares Institute for Public Policy and International Affairs at the American University of Beirut. Daniel Jackson is a professor of Media and Communication in the Department of Journalism and Communication at Bournemouth University, UK. Emad Moussa is a researcher and writer with a special interest in the MENA region. He holds a PhD in Political Psychology from Bournemouth University, UK. Mostafa Shehata is an assistant professor at Menoufia University, Egypt. He holds a PhD in Political Communication from Roskilde University, Denmark. Eylem Yanardağoğlu is an associate professor at Kadir Has University in Istanbul. She holds a PhD from the Sociology Department at City, University of London.

Introduction The State of Media and Democracy in the MENA Region Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela

Since the outburst and fast spread of what was known as the ‘Arab uprisings’ in 2010, the political and media landscapes in the Arab world have dramatically changed. For a brief period, specifically in the build-up to – and during – the uprisings, media and political activists were able to openly discuss the political restraints in the Arab world, and it was arguably more possible than before for people with different political views to take part in the political transformation process (Abunajela & Jebril, 2020). While the general temperament of the Arab public and journalists demonstrated a thirst to freely express their views using both traditional and new media, Arab governments have moved once again to tighten their grips towards voices deemed critical of the head of states or governments’ practices. The post-uprising period to date has been tainted with journalists, bloggers and activists subjected to the authorities’ iron fist through detentions, enforced disappearances, prosecutions, lengthy prison sentences and in some cases, killing (HRW, 2022). In 2019, the Arab world witnessed – as some observers saw it – a renewed wave of mass protests in countries including Lebanon, Iraq, Iran, Morocco, Libya, Algeria and on a smaller scale, Egypt. Such protests have further exacerbated the already crumpled Arab media scene, leaving little or no space for political activism, freedom of expression or free media (Amnesty, 2019). Adding to the already existing political and economic complexities, the outbreak of COVID-19 as well as the apparent impact of the Russia and Ukraine conflict on the rocketing cost of living worldwide, particularly in the Arab world, came as new factors. Like the rest of the world, the general Arab public – less so in the Gulf countries – has been hit the hardest by COVID-19 and the conflict with soaring food security, energy prices and job markets (Yahya, 2022). With exhausted resources, many Arab governments are struggling to cope with paying the costly economic bill. The political scene is once again on the edge but arguably with less public enthusiasm and energy. Shifting Media Dynamics and Implications on Democracy The fragmentation of the Arab media scene is no surprise and not a new phenomenon in what many describe as a ‘troubled region’. Since the 1950s, the landscape of Arab media was little more than a ‘mouthpiece’ for Arab regimes, as many media DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-1

2  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela services were owned by Arab totalitarian governments, therefore investigative journalism was limited or non-existent (Pintak, 2010). No adverse commentaries on the politics of friendly countries were permitted; consequently, Arab regimes always thought of the media as one of their possessions and a tool for their own interests (Zayani, 2005). In the aftermath of the Arab uprisings in 2011, the internal Arab political scene has become profoundly disjointed, and particularly complex. Critical reports coming from traditional and digital media on the outbreak of the 2011 uprisings originating in Tunisia were encouraged but not for long. Arab media, activists and others were able to openly discuss the rebellions happening in the Arab world (Abunajela & Jebril, 2020). People with different political views were hungry to take part in the ‘political transformation’ and therefore became widely polarised on political issues. In fact, the 2011 uprisings marked a critical juncture for atrophying, status quo state-society relations. According to the Arab Barometer (2019), many countries experienced significant conflict, including proxy wars resulting from the interests of regional powers and sectarian differences. As of 2019, Tunisia arguably remained seen as the only country that is on a democratic but fragile path towards democratic consolidation. This view has been largely contested by many commentators with the 2021 takeover of parliament in an unprecedented move by President Kais Saied, with an emergency declaration firing the prime minister and freezing the work of parliament. As a result, thousands of Tunisians demonstrated against the president as the country faces a deepening political and economic crisis (BBC, 2022a). Shortly after the uprisings, which brought some new Arab regimes and headships to the fore of the political spectrum, reporting on Arab internal affairs has become increasingly challenging for both Arab and international broadcasters. Several Arab governments have become increasingly alarmed towards independent and/or critical reporting and social media activism. The cyberspace in the Arab world has been closely monitored by authorities (Ritzen, 2019), and any critical narrative was seen as a threat to governments’ existence, hence met with iron fist and intolerance. In a complete disregard for freedom of expression, democracy and human rights, thousands of journalists, and activists across the MENA region, according to several Human rights watchdogs’ organisations, have been systematically targeted and regularly harassed to silence voices. In the meantime, the Arab media scene reached an abysmally low level with little or no space for freedom of expression and Arab Journalists have been left with two difficult choices: alignment with authorities’ narrative or face abuse, harassment and exile. In Egypt, for example, the situation for critics and activists has become increasingly difficult, according to Amnesty International’s report. In 2018, 113 individuals were arrested for activities such as satire, tweeting and denouncing sexual harassment (Amnesty International, 2020). This has led to concerns from human rights groups and journalists about the state of free speech and activism in the country (Ahmado, 2019). The 2022 UN Climate Change Conference (COPT27) held in Sharm El Sheikh also shed light on the country’s human rights record, with

Introduction  3 UN experts and rights organisations raising the issue of restrictions on civil society. These restrictions, including NGO assets freezes and travel restrictions, have created a ‘climate of fear’ for Egyptian civil society to engage visibly in the conference, according to UN Human Rights (2022). This pattern is not unique to Egypt and can be seen across many countries in the region. For example, in its 2019 annual report, Iraq’s National Association of Journalists documented 118 cases of assault against journalists, including electrocution, battery, suffocation and the use of tear gas. Furthermore, dozens of Iraqi journalists have launched a campaign to highlight the dangers they face following the murder of two reporters amid continuing anti-government protests (Al Jazeera, 2020). Yemen, the Arab world’s poorest country with a population of 28 million people, has been convulsed by civil war since 2014, when the Houthis took control of the country’s north, including the capital (Independent, 2020). According to the Gulf Centre for Human Rights (2016), freedom of expression continues to be severely violated in this country. For example, four Yemini journalists were sentenced to death by a Sana’a court on ‘trumped-up charges’, including ‘spying for Saudi Arabia’ and ‘broadcasting rumours, fake news and statements in support of the enemy’ solely for their work in the journalism field (Amnesty International, 2020). In Lebanon, journalists have been facing threats and wide-ranging harassment in their work – including verbal insults and physical attacks, even death threats – while reporting on anti-government protests, despite Lebanon’s reputation as a haven for free speech in a troubled region (Mroue, 2019). Rights organisations repeatedly called the authorities in Lebanon to halt and investigate gross violations against journalists and activists. The human rights organisation further slammed the Lebanese authorities by saying that they have not only failed to address people’s legitimate demands for their social and economic rights but have also increasingly resorted to repressing the rights to peaceful assembly and freedom of expression (Amnesty International, 2019). In August 2020, the devastating Beirut Port explosion was yet another example of the authority’s failure to bring justice to the 215 people killed in the tragedy. Many Lebanese blame the explosion on security and political officials who failed to enforce safety regulations regarding the improperly stored ammonium nitrate at the port. More than two years later, no one has been held accountable in Lebanon (Gavlak, 2022). The crumbling economy in the country led the public to demand the end of sectarianism and deep-rooted corruption and to call for desperately needed political change based on a fair democratic approach. The demands are yet to be realised. In Israel and Occupied Palestinian territories, freedom of expression is becoming scarce. According to Reporters Without Borders (2020), two Palestinian journalists were killed by Israeli snipers and dozens have been wounded while covering the ‘March of Return’ protests since May 2018. The Israeli forces continue to subject Palestinian journalists to arrest, interrogation and administrative detention, often without any clear grounds. In recent years, the Israeli authorities have also closed several Palestinian media outlets for allegedly inciting violence (RSF, 2020). More recently, in May 2022, the controversial deliberate killing of Al Jazeera journalist Shireen Abu Aqla led the network to file a case against Israeli

4  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela forces at the International Criminal Court (ICC) (BBC, 2022b). Shireen was killed while wearing high-visibility bulletproof vest by an Israeli sniper during an Israeli Army raid in the occupied West Bank. Later, Israeli authorities admitted Abu Akleh was likely killed by Israeli fire, but won’t charge soldiers (Gold & Salman, 2022; BBC, 2022b). According to Article 19, the killing of Shireen Abu Akleh represents a particularly egregious attack on the press, not least because of credible reports that Abu Akleh and other journalists were intentionally targeted by Israeli forces, but also in light of growing concerns over impunity for crimes against journalists and other grave human rights abuses by Israel in the occupied Palestine territory (Article 19, 2022). In Saudi Arabia, the killing of journalist Jamal Khashoggi in Turkey in 2019 drew global attention and condemnations by rights organisations, causing a diplomatic crisis between the country and some of its closest allies (BBC, 2021). Nevertheless, some approve of the overdue progress made in the country, including the driving of women, removing male approval for women’s travel and cultural and social openness as never seen before (France 24, 2022). The situation in Jordan is unique, as the country has been spared from the major unrest that has seen other Arab rulers toppled (BBC, 2013). Democratic reform is at the top of the agenda in Jordan for decades and media reform has naturally been an important part of that debate (BBC, 2022c). Over the quarter of a century and since the restoration of parliamentary elections following the 1989 ‘April uprising’, there have been important democratic gains, including regular democratic elections. There have also been important steps forward in terms of media freedom, and the country enjoys a lively and reasonably diverse media environment (UNESCO, 2015). But according to freedom house, even though journalists rarely face violence or lengthy prison terms for their work, they often self-censor (BBC, 2020). Therefore, while the media scene in Jordan has seen some energising approaches following the mass uprisings in the Arab world through calling for political reform, the space to freely express views in the country remains limited and largely influenced by domestic and regional political landscapes (Meladi & Mellor, 2020). In Turkey, the media are dominated by pro-government outlets and critical voices in the press are limited to a few low-circulation publications (BBC, 2022d). Whereas political activism in Turkey has grown in the immediate years after the Gezi Park protests, especially due to the increasing role of social media, limitations on freedom of speech remain present as critical news outlets can face police raids, tax fines and other hostile measures, and a 2020 law gave the government significant powers to regulate social media content (BBC, 2022e). Amnesty International described the move as ‘the latest, and perhaps the most brazen attack on free expression in Turkey’ (BBC, 2020) In North Africa, the scene of violations has been no different. In Algeria, for example, since the beginning of what is known as ‘Hirak movement’ in October 2019, the Algerian authorities have arrested more than 100 protesters, journalists and activists, violating their rights to freedom of expression and association under the Algerian constitution and under international law (Article 19, 2019). In Libya,

Introduction  5 the situation is more complex, as since the fall of Kaddafi in 2011, the country has been ripped apart with political turmoil and militarisation of what was once peaceful protests calling for political change. According to watchdog organisations, such as Amnesty and Human Rights Watch, journalists as well as activists are deliberately targeted for expressing their views. Moreover, although considered to be a rich country with oil, the Libyan economy faces major challenges, including recurring disruptions to the oil and gas sector, the fragmentation of state institutions and the ongoing conflict (World Bank Report, 2021). Although Tunisia has been different from most other Arabic counties, freedom of expression in the country is still under pressure. In 2018, the National Syndicate of Tunisian Journalists organised a demonstration against Tunisian authorities that have exerted pressure on journalists who cover security operations or are critical of state institutions (Freedom House, 2018). In a country that was once seen as the closest to democratisation, the dissolution of parliament and the declaration of a state of emergency in 2022 to ‘preserve the state and its institutions’ has complicated the political scene in the country, pausing a serious question when it comes to ballots and democratic values. In 2021, Tunisia and others in the region showed signs of deteriorating democracy and human rights protections (Transparency International, 2021), and in June 2022, Tunisian President fired 57 judges, accusing them of corruption and other charges without proof or substantiation (Transparency International, 2022). Media Consumption, Trust in Media and Public Opinion Against this backdrop, recent Arab public opinion surveys show that public perceptions of the degree to which basic freedoms in the region are guaranteed have significantly dropped over the past years. According to data from the Arab Barometer (2019), only a third of the people surveyed think that they have the guaranteed freedom to demonstrate peacefully (Thomas, 2019). Moreover, findings from the 2019–2020 Arab Opinion Index, the largest public opinion survey carried out in the Arab world, show that only 30% of the respondents say it is not possible to criticise the government without fear compared with 27% in the 2012 poll. The percentage of nationals who say that they feel comfortable speaking out about politics has also fallen sharply in several Arab countries (Media Use in The Middle East, 2019). Today, 28% of the citizens of the Arab region want to emigrate, and 11% of them say that they want to do so for political or security reasons, according to the most recent Arab Opinion Index. Survey data from this region also point out negative perceptions regarding government and media institutions. According to the latest Arab Opinion Index, 87% of the Arab public believes that corruption is widespread in their home countries compared to only 10% who believe that corruption is not widespread at all (Arab Opinion Index, 2022). This is significant as it demonstrates that over the course of many years, citizen perceptions and opinions regarding the extent of corruption in their countries have not changed substantially. Data from the Arab Barometer echoes this finding and suggest that youth have little trust in governments, which are

6  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela widely viewed as being corrupt (Jamal et al., 2020). The same data further indicate that political interest has decreased in the post-Arab Spring (Wee & Li, 2019). Trust in media institutions has been no different. According to the Media Use in The Middle East 2019 Report, trust in mass media to accurately report the news has been declining in most countries over the past five years. The 2022 Arab Opinion Index additionally suggests that only 20% have a high degree of confidence in their local media and that 20% completely lack confidence. The lack of confidence in the media is not surprising, as the momentary unity of the post-revolutionary media quickly degenerated into a polarised, sensationalistic and toxic environment that fostered negative political trends (lynch, 2015). Moreover, scholars note that state-run media following the Arab revolutions remained largely intact and quickly resumed their old habits (Aouragh & Alexander, 2014; El-Issawi & Cammaerts, 2015). Additionally, it has been argued that the same media that once helped to launch the Arab uprisings proved equally effective at driving resentment, fear and division while demobilising the exhausted public (Lynch, 2015). Despite a glooming picture regarding freedom of speech, human rights and perceptions of governance and media institutions in the region, there are several positive trends that can arguably facilitate democratisation processes in the region. For example, even though there have been growing concerns by the region’s citizens over the past decade about the benefits and effectiveness of democracy in terms of economic performance, stability and decisiveness, substantial majorities still believe that democracy is the best system or that it is the only viable system (Robbins, 2022). It is also worth noting that the overall support for democracy has not changed dramatically over the past decade and that there are no substantial differences by age, gender or income, meaning that there tends to be relatively broad support for democracy as the most preferred system across many segments of society (Robbins, 2022, p. 3). These findings are in line with results from the 2022 Arab Opinion Index which show that the majority of Arabs believe that democracy is the most appropriate system of governance for their home countries. Patterns of media consumption in the region also show that fundamental changes have occurred over the past ten years in the sources Arab citizens rely on for political news. While the majority of Arab citizens in the region rely on television for political news coverage at a rate of 47%, 36% of Arab citizens rely on the internet for political news, the highest proportion since 2011, doubling seven times over this period, with reliance on television channels decreasing (Arab Opinion Index, 2022). In fact, the use of traditional media continues to decline in all countries and the use of television for news is now almost at par with other digital news forms in some countries. According to the Media Use in the Middle East 2019, the percentage of Arabs who regularly get news on a smartphone continues to rise while Arab nationals also continue to increasingly reject government abridgement of speech. The usage of social media has also increased significantly in the region over the last decade. According to the Arab Opinion Index (2022), only 22% of respondents stated that they don’t use the internet in the latest survey wave, which is a decrease from the 55% reported in 2012/2013, and 98% of internet users reported having

Introduction  7 accounts on various social media platforms. More importantly, the index indicates that the majority of social media users obtain their news and political information through these platforms and that 75% of them rely on social media for this type of information. Additionally, 51% of social media users use these platforms to express their views on political events, and roughly half of them actively participate in political discussions and issues on social media. These findings have implications for the relationship between media use, political participation and democratisation. Media and Democratic Participation: Interplay, Challenges and Opportunities Despite the broad diversity of democratisation experiences and the struggle to produce generalisations about the causes and pathways of democratisation (Jebril et al., 2015; Miller & Martini, 2013), the study of circumstances, dynamism and factors that lead to or facilitate the transition to democratic governance continues to form a major part in scholarly works on this topic. Central to understanding these conditions and factors, we argue in this book, is the potential influence of media use on political participation. Political participation allows citizens to have their voices heard and impact decision-making. Politically inactive citizens lack the opportunity to influence decision-making and therefore are unable to defend their interests (Gordon et al., 2019). Multiple disciplines have contributed to broadening the meaning of political participation. van Deth (2016) loosely defines political participation as citizens’ activities which affect politics. To Sumpf (2016), it is the mechanism and conduit of citizens to become agents of change in the economic, societal and political systems. The term has also been viewed as part of the larger concept of ‘civic engagement’, which encompasses all kinds of citizen behaviour (activities) that are not necessarily political (Farmer & Piotrkowski, 2009; Daskalopoulou, 2018; Albright et al., 2020). According to van Deth’s work (2016), political participation has four main features. First, it is a deliberate/conscious activity/action. Second, it is voluntary and not dictated by the government or legally obligatory. Third, it is done by people in their role as non-professionals or amateurs and normal capacity and not as, for instance, politicians, civil servants or lobbyists. Finally, it concerns governments, politics or the state, neither restricted to specific phases (such as parliamentary decision-making processes) nor to specific levels or areas (i.e. national elections or contacts with party officials). In the Arab Region, political participation takes on an even more complex dimension. The emergence of bureaucratic and exclusive governance has long conflicted with democratic participation (Callahan, 2007). Therefore, both direct and indirect citizen participation has become limited over time and caused frustration towards the professional political elites, especially among a younger generation that wanted both economic development and political participation (Sumpf, 2016). These inhibiting factors of government monopoly are reflected today in the limited role of political parties and other forms of participatory politics. In fact,

8  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela the negative perception of democracy in the region today is not unexpected, given the rise in the number of Arab citizens who see democracy as involving both participation and democratic governance, according to the 2022 Arab Opinion Index. The survey results also paint a bleak picture of political participation, with 64% of respondents not having any affiliation with a political party and feeling that their views are not represented. Involvement in civil society and voluntary organisations is also limited, with less than 13% of respondents reporting memberships in such groups in any given country. These findings align with the decline in perceived freedom of expression, the right to protest and the right to join associations since 2012–2014, as reported by the Arab barometer (Wee & Li, 2019). The economic and political results of the post-Arab Spring phase can be one reason for the reduction in political involvement and elections. According to Robbins (2022), neither political nor economic progress has been made in the MENA nations where elections have been more significant in recent years. For example, the gross domestic product (GDP) per capita in Tunisia is currently lower than it was before the revolution, while the 2019 economic collapse in Lebanon has significantly increased the rate of poverty. Moreover, weak leadership and division in Iraq allowed the Islamic State to engulf large portions of the nation. It is therefore not surprising that fewer Arab nationals (46%) in 2022 gave a good evaluation of Arab uprisings and protest movements than they did in 2020, according to the latest Arab opinion Index. However, this number is still greater than the proportion of people (39%) who consider them to have been negative. The 2022 Arab Opinion Index further indicates that only 51% of respondents stated their intention to vote in the next parliamentary elections and that the highest percentage that expressed its desire to participate in the elections was recorded in 2011. Furthermore, political interest in the Middle East and North Africa has dropped after the Arab Spring, potentially due to political fatigue. For instance, the Arab Barometer reports that citizens’ political interests dropped by 11 points in the period from 2006 to 2013 to 2016 to 2018 (Robbins, 2022). The 2022 Arab Opinion Index likewise noted an 8% decline in the public’s interest in political affairs in the 2022 poll compared to the 2020 poll. In this context, the role of media in general and new media in particular has been recognised as intrinsic components in encouraging or discouraging, sustaining or disrupting political participation. The literature on media, political participation and democratisation in the Arab region shows that the initial optimism that accompanied the eruption of the Arab Spring was short-lived and was soon followed by a deterioration in the overall media scene. Moreover, while social media acted as an accelerant and intensifier of many forms of political mobilisation which facilitated sudden outbursts of intense political contention (Lynch, 2015), many conceded that other economic, political and historical factors are important to consider in examining the role of new media in the uprisings (Smidi & Shahin, 2017). In addition, despite an agreement on their contribution to the public sphere and new forms of governance, the available evidence about the role of media in democratisation does not correspond to higher levels of a proto-democratic political culture in non-democratic regimes (Jebril et al., 2013; Jebril et al. 2017).

Introduction  9 Aim and Structure of the Book This book builds on the premise that a higher level of involvement and representation in the political process could help to address the issues that have led to public cynicism and apathy in the region. This book thus looks at the barriers to media freedom and journalism work in the region, reassesses the relationship between media and political activism and analyses the democratic potential of media in the current media and political landscapes. It also addresses the potential for political involvement, given the growing access to the internet and new media as well as a public that supports democratic governance. Building on international indexes of media freedom and human rights as well as factual news reports from international media organisations, Chapter 1 of this book focuses on freedom of expression as an essential concept for democracy and aims to critically map the state of freedom of expression in several post-Arab Spring countries, particularly focusing on those countries that have been experiencing civil wars like Syria, Libya and Yemen as well as post-revolution political transitions such as Tunisia and Egypt. To broaden the perspective on the state of freedom of expression in the region, the chapter also highlights some of the challenges to freedom of expression in the unique case of Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories. The chapter argues that freedom of expression in the post-Arab Spring MENA region did not witness drastic changes and that there are, in fact, multiple cases where free speech, conscience and opinions have been put under additional restrictions. Moreover, the chapter suggests that in Arab countries which did not see widespread protests or revolution, heightened campaigns of media censorship and measures to suppress the possibility of dissent and freedom of expression are used, while in some countries going through transitional periods, there are few signs of relieved censorship, although the impact of the old regimes is present. Since the Arab uprisings in 2011 and the collapse of several social media-based movements and the prospect for democratisation in the region, the role of new media in political participation and democratisation processes has come under closer scrutiny, which has led to the belief that the relationship between social media, political activism and democratisation in the Middle East is more complex than previously conceived. Building on case studies that address major uprisings in the region, including the 25 January 2011 revolution in Egypt, the 2018 Fourth Circle protests in Jordan, the October 17 Uprising in Lebanon in 2019 and the Gezi Park protests in Istanbul in 2013, the following four chapters in this book aim to revisit the dynamics of these social movements and reassess the relationship between social media use and successful political outcomes thus addressing the limitations of these popular revolutions to sustain a democratic transition. Chapter 2 examines the nature of social movements’ actions that could involve the circumstances of their failure. In doing so, it investigates the characteristics of political actions and their participants, attempting to better understand the organisational nature of each of them which can explain the effectiveness of social movements. The chapter focuses on the 25 January 2011 revolution in Egypt as a representative example of a potentially democratising social movement where the

10  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela role of youth emerged as a strong political actor but later significantly declined. The chapter builds on the assumption that understanding the sustainability and success of social movements’ actions requires an understanding of the nature of these actions and their participants. The empirical data of this chapter were thus drawn from a survey of 527 respondents conducted in 2015 on Egyptian youth, which develops an empirical basis for testing the nature of this movement and its participants. The findings from this chapter show that the Egyptian political actions that took place after the 2011 revolution were mainly connective actions and therefore suggest that the unsustainability of the 2011 movement can be ascribed to the connective nature of its actions, in addition to the youth’s lack of involvement in political entities and inability to construct new entities. The analyses also emphasise the importance of considering participants’ behaviours to obtain a better understanding of political actions, suggesting that the rise and decline of the youth as political actors is closely related to the nature of the political actions in which they participated as well as to their patterns of involvement in those actions. It is thus argued that the nature of political participation, not the moment of victory, is what makes a difference in favour of, or against, political actors. Chapter 3 examines the rise of online social movements between 2018 and 2020 in Jordan within the overall context of the COVID-19 pandemic, subsequent lockdowns of the state and their leading to various examples of social and political unrest. Specifically, the chapter discusses the link between social media use and social change by focusing on the 2018 Fourth Circle protests and how the 2020 pandemic has ignited conversations regarding women’s rights in the country. While Jordan appears to have left the Arab Spring relatively untouched, the chapter argues that the aftermath of the protests in neighbouring states coupled with the rise of social media use has changed how protests and social activism are carried out both on the streets as well as online in the country. The chapter analyses suggest that the Fourth Circle protests had a different spirit than those in 2011/2012, as the latter was associated with the overall movements of the Arab Spring and carried with them some of the tribal and sectarian tensions associated with political dissent in the nation, whereas the recent Protests saw a unified stance on social media platforms. Moreover, despite an existing sexist divide rooted in tribalism within the nation, which historically has put hurdles in the face of female civic and political activism and participation, women’s participation in the latest protests was significant both in the streets and online. While the use of social media set the foundations for a conversation about the lines drawn between civic participation, dissent and tribal honour, the author argues that the impact of social media has been short-lived and overshadowed by subsequent events due to societal limitations where participants rarely bring up these issues in front of government officials due to the tribal pressure and shaming they often endure. The societal and political limitations regarding the role of media in democratisation are further discussed in Chapter 4. Building on semi-structured interviews with professionals from the fields of media and academia, the chapter focuses on the role of media in the October 17 Uprisings which many saw as an opportunity for

Introduction  11 democratisation and for securing basic rights for all citizens in Lebanon. Initially sparked by a proposed WhatsApp tax but quickly turning towards the entire political elite in the country, the chapter discusses the challenges Lebanon’s media faced both before and during the uprising and argues that a combination of the political establishment’s significant control over the country’s media and banks, coupled with legal and regulatory frameworks, was sufficient to resist any sustained pressure. Specifically, the author suggests that the interlinkages between several institutional pillars in Lebanon, the political establishment, the media organisations and the banks have created a toxic situation that has not only enabled and precipitated the economic and financial collapse of the country but while doing so have also thrown major obstacles towards media freedom and the people’s quest for accountability in this context. In this chapter, the four dimensions developed by Hallin and Mancini (2004) to analyse media and politics in western Europe have been adapted to the Lebanese context to help analyse the characteristics of the media system in the country and the degree to which the political actors influence the media in Lebanon. The chapter thus suggests that in the case of Lebanon, political parallelism in the media industry co-exists with a robust political clientelist system where media organisations are instrumentalised by political establishment figures for personal interests. These characteristics of the media landscape have implications for the role of independent media. Chapter 5 revisits the state of political activism in Turkey amidst the increasing use of social media and declining media freedom and growing pressure on independent media. Specifically, the chapter focuses on the Gezi Park protests in 2013, considered to be one of the largest civil protests in Turkey with more than three million participants in thousands of events across the country. The chapter analyses thus aim to explore the ways in which twitter use motivated or facilitated democratic participation, and the study combines a quantitatively driven social network analysis of approximately one million archived tweets followed by 24 in-depth interviews to collect personal accounts of motivations for online participation of protestors during the Gezi Park Protests. The findings suggest that while reasons for participation in the protests varied from emotional attachment to Istanbul to interest in urban planning and development, the main motivation for activists was concerns about the state of democracy in Turkey and news coverage of the protests by the mainstream media as well as a unifying belief and a moral responsibility to preserve freedom of expression and advancement of democratic values in the country. The findings are discussed in light of a declining appeal and dynamism of political activism and citizen journalism in the country. While the previous chapters attempt to examine the motivations and dynamics of social media-based movements as well as the political and societal constraints on the success of political protests and the role of new media to sustain democratic transition in the region, Chapters 6 and 7 build on case studies from Turkey, Yemen and Libya to discuss the role of social media in political activism by addressing some of the creative strategies employed to narrate and express daily struggles and

12  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela political dissent beyond the momentum and scope of political protests and social movements. The potential of humorous participation on social media to create a hegemonic field of struggle and transform power relations has triggered the analyses in Chapter 6. The chapter focuses on discursive practices that occur in social media where ordinary citizens not only construct their own but also mirror or disrupt other political discourses. In this context, the chapter aims to understand humorous and online discursive practices of opposing political segments in Turkey to understand how the power relations between the dissent and the power are maintained and reconstructed. The analyses are based on critical discourse examination of the humorous contents in the #BYvsEİ hashtag, which ranked first on the Twitter agenda at the time, during the live TV broadcast where the rival candidates of the 2019 Istanbul Mayoral Elections came together for political debate. The humorous political discourses of the users were compared with the discourses of the political figures during the campaign process, while user profiles were also examined in depth to determine their political tendencies and the candidates they supported during the election process. The analyses reveal that both the supporters of the power and the dissent contributed to disseminating conflicting discourses on social media by humorously expressing their opinions. However, whereas pro-power users tended to embrace and spread the discourses of the ruling party in humorous language, dissent users had a more creative tendency in terms of constructing their own discourse against the hegemonic discourse rather than participating in the candidate’s discourses. The importance of social media as a platform for disseminating opinions and engaging in public debate is further highlighted in Chapter 7. The focus of the chapter is on the encodings and symbols used by both Libyan and Yemeni artists to narrate and represent different issues and struggles faced in both countries several years after the Arab Spring and amidst internal political conflicts. Building on the encoding/decoding model developed by Sturt Hall, the chapter sets to analyse a selection of visual artworks of Libyan and Yemeni artists which are shared on their social media accounts to understand how Libyan and Yemeni artists express their life struggles and aspirations in each country and to assess the presence of elements of transnational identities in their visual artworks. The chapter analyses highlight that the visual artists in both countries tend to use social media to represent shared issues faced by the Arabic-speaking population such as immigration, women, children, living conditions during the war, the freedom of expression, media and the perception of the future. Moreover, the findings indicate the existence of major similarities between the two countries, not just in the symbols and encodings used, but also in the narratives and representations. In other words, the elements of transcultural identity are not only manifested through locally shared cultural symbols, but they can also be regional ones. These insights are relevant as we continue to examine the role of social media in the aftermath of the Arab uprisings. Although internet penetration and social media use have increasingly become more established in the region, the role of journalists and news media organisations

Introduction  13 in reforming the post-Arab Spring media landscape and regaining public trust in the media can be crucial to democratisation. Chapters 8 and 9 build on case studies from Saudi Arabia and Egypt to discuss current practices of journalism in the region and the perceived limitations and opportunities for media to play its role in society. Chapter 8 explores the current roles and practices of Saudi women journalists, particularly focusing on the influence of changes that have taken place in the Kingdom since the introduction of the wide-ranging social and economic reforms in 2016. The study combines ethnographic observation and face-to-face, semistructured interviews with 40 Saudi women journalists from four Saudi newspapers in Riyadh and Jeddah with the aim of describing their working environment and journalistic practices. Specifically, the chapter examines the legacy and impact of Saudi cultural, societal and familial norms on women journalists and their experiences in the journalism field. The analyses are timely, as women now, more than ever, are given opportunities to work in the journalism profession which has previously been mainly confined to the work of male journalists. The chapter argues that although the professional identity of the Saudi woman journalist is still largely formal and reflects societal values, the roles and practices of Saudi women journalists have transformed markedly since the reforms of 2016. This evolution has given rise to several unique features of the Saudi newsroom, such as the presence of female-only working environments, which takes specific needs of women – such as privacy and care for babies – often overlooked in western and mixed newsrooms into consideration. But despite the advantages brought by female-only work environments, the gender-based classification of newsrooms poses limitations to the effectiveness of some women journalists who may need to collaborate with their male colleagues. Moreover, the analyses highlight other factors that affect the work of female journalists, including the support of their families, access to necessary training on new methods of reporting and financial constraints. While Saudi Arabia has recently undergone significant political and social reforms, Egypt’s political transition has resulted in a growing lack of confidence in the media, making it increasingly challenging for journalists to perform their professional duties. Chapter 9 delves into the perspectives of Egyptian journalists on the future of journalism in their country and how to reform the media sector. The chapter draws from 20 interviews with Egyptian journalists from different media ownership patterns, including print, web and television. The chapter explores several approaches to media reform, such as legal and regulatory frameworks, public media restructuring, privatisation to liberalise the market, media literacy programs, capacity building, cross-border media cooperation and democratisation approaches. The analyses suggest that younger and older generations of Egyptian journalists have different outlooks on the future of the media industry in Egypt. Older journalists are optimistic, viewing the current phase as transitory, whereas younger journalists are pessimistic and see it as the end of genuine journalism in Egypt. Regarding media reform, the chapter suggests that a mixed approach is necessary to bring about effective change. This requires

14  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela reducing the involvement of powerful ministries and providing greater freedom in the public sphere while also necessitating a top-down approach that involves a shift in the state’s overall attitude towards the media and journalists. To make substantial progress, journalists argue that a comprehensive strategy is needed, which involves the simultaneous implementation of multiple reform approaches and a broader effort to democratise the country. The pre-discussed chapters focus on describing and analysing some of the key limitations to freedom of expression and the role of social and legacy media as potential democratising forces in the region. The last chapter of this book sheds light on the dynamics and modes of suppression of Palestinian memory in Israeli media and cultural representations and the impact of such practices on political participation and meaningful transition to democratisation in Palestinian society. The centrality and importance of the Palestinian cause for regional politics and democracy in the Middle East are reflected in the 2022 Arab Opinion Index findings which show that over three-quarters of the Arab public think that the Palestinian issue concerns all Arabs and not the Palestinians alone. Inspired by Ricoeur’s work on memory and forgetting, the chapter argues that the suppression of Palestinian memory in Israel has two modes: passive forgetting and active forgetting. The first is largely psychological and is primarily driven by Israel’s collective memory of past victimisation which acts as a method of avoidance. The second mode is both deliberate and systematic and is expressed through the removal of the physical evidence of Palestinian memory, such as archaeological sites, archival material and textbooks, as well as through the creation of legal impediments. The chapter describes how these modes of suppression expose the limitations in Israel’s democratic infrastructure and contribute to the complexity of Israeli-Palestinian affairs and the deterioration of Palestinian human rights, at least in terms of denying the Palestinians access to transitional justice and the possibility of physical and/or symbolic restitution. The chapter thus suggests that the inclusion of Palestinian collective memory in the Jewish-Israeli public discourse and engaging with the Palestinian past could potentially be instrumental in constituting and promoting an alternative, counter-hegemonic and subversive discourse and facilitating democratisation in the region. Collectively, the chapters in this book highlight a wide range of societal and political limitations to freedom of expression and democratisation in the Middle East region more than a decade after the Arab uprisings. These constraints and limitations partly explain the deterioration of the state of media and political activism in the region, the declining interest in politics and the lack of trust in news media and range from factors that are inherent to the structure and dynamism of social media-based movements that affect their success and sustainability to external forces that include the instrumentalisation of media by political actors and the ongoing societal pressures on journalists and political activists. But despite the bleak democratic prospects caused by this wide range of constraints, the contributions in this volume suggest that there are opportunities to capitalise on the power of social and legacy media to express dissent and debate political reform in the region. This would entail that the concept of democratisation

Introduction  15 is not limited to the realms of political activism and mobilisation, but rather conceived as a complex, dynamic and constantly evolving process. By publishing this academic volume, our goal is not only to enhance our understanding of how the media can both promote and impede democracy in the region but also to reinvigorate the debate on the future of democracy in the Middle East. This is particularly crucial, given the increasing barriers to free speech and political participation, the rapidly changing media landscape and the growing public support for democratic ideals. Bibliography Abunajela, M. A., & Jebril, N. (2020). Reporting Political Islam and Democracy: Al Jazeera and the Politics of Journalism. London: IB Tauris.‫‏‬ Ahmado, N. (2019). Egypt’s Government Escalates Attacks on Journalists. https://www. voanews.com/extremism-watch/egypts-government-escalates-attacks-journalists Albright, D. L., McDaniel, J. T., Godfrey, K., Thomas, K. H., Fletcher, K. L., & Rosen, G. (2020). Civic engagement among student veterans. Journal of American College Health, 68(4), 387–394. Al Jazeera (2020). Iraqi journalists fear for lives after Basra reporters killed. https://www. aljazeera.com/news/2020/1/12/iraqi-journalists-fear-for-lives-after-basra-reporters-killed Amnesty International (2019). Lebanon: One year after the October protest movement, impunity reigns. https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2020/10/lebanon-one-year-after-theoctober-protest-movement-impunity-reigns/ Amnesty International (2020). Egypt: Open prison for critics. https://www.amnesty.org/en/ latest/campaigns/2018/09/egypt-freedom-of-expression/ Amnesty (2019). ‘Human Rights in the Middle East and North Africa: A review 2019”. https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/mde01/1357/2020/en/ Gulf Centre for Human Rights (2016). Let Them Speak – Media and Freedom of Expression Targeted in Yemen. file:///C:/Users/mmabunajela/Downloads/GCHRReportonFOEYemenOct_2016_Final_ENG-1.pdf Arab Barometer (2019). Arab Social Capital in the Middle East and North Africa. https:// www.arabbarometer.org/wp-content/uploads/social-capital-public-opinion-2019.pdf Aouragh, M., & A. Alexander (2011). The Egyptian experience: Sense and nonsense of the internet revolution. International Journal of Communication, 5, 1344–58. Arab Opinion Index (2022). file:///C:/Users/njebril/Documents/Arab%20Opinion%20Index %202022.pdf Article 19 (2019). Algeria: Release Hirak protesters and stop crackdown on freedom of expression. https://www.article19.org/resources/algeria-release-hirak-protesters-and-stopcrackdown-on-freedom-of-expression/ Article 19 (2022). Murder of Shireen Abu Akleh must be independently investigated. https:// www.article19.org/resources/murder-of-palestinian-american-journalist-independentinvestigation/ BBC (2013). Arab uprising: Country by country – Jordan. https://www.bbc.com/news/ world-12482679 BBC (2021). Jamal Khashoggi: All you need to know about Saudi journalist’s death. https:// www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-45812399 BBC (2022a). Tunisia: Thousands rally against President Saied. https://www.bbc.com/ news/world-africa-64274089

16  Nael Jebril and Mohammed-Ali Abunajela BBC (2022b). Shireen Abu Aqla: Al Jazeera files case at ICC over journalist’s killing. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-63871856 BBC (2022c). Jordan profile – media. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east14636310 BBC (2022d). Turkey profile – Media. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-17992011 BBC (2022e). Turkey’s MPs vote to tighten grip on social media. https://www.bbc.com/ news/technology-53579089 Callahan, K. (2007). Citizen participation: Models and methods. International Journal of Public Administration, 30(11), 1179–1196. Daskalopoulou, I. (2018). Civic participation and soft social capital: evidence from Greece. European Political Science, 17(3), 404–421. El Issawi, F., & Cammaerts, B. (2016). Shifting journalistic roles in democratic transitions: Lessons from Egypt. Journalism, 17(5), 549–566. Farmer G. L. & Piotrkowski C. S. (2009). African and European American women’s volunteerism and activism: Similarities in volunteering and differences in activism. Journal of Human Behavior in the Social Environment, 19(2), 196–212. France 24 (2022). Mohammed bin Salman Hard Changing Saudi Arabia. https://www. france24.com/en/live-news/20220714-mohammed-bin-salman-hard-charging-heirreshaping-saudi-arabia Freedom House (2018). Freedom on the Net 2018 – Tunisia. https://www.refworld.org/ docid/5be16af4108.html Gavlak, D. (2022). Victims of Massive 2020 Beirut Blast No Closer to Justice, Voice of America. https://www.voanews.com/a/victims-of-massive-2020-beirut-blast-no-closerto-justice/6593535.html Gold, H. and Salman, A. (2022). CNN: Israeli military admits Shireen Abu Akleh likely killed by Israeli fire, but won’t charge soldiers. https://edition.cnn.com/2022/09/05/middleeast/idf-shireen-abu-akleh-investigation-intl/index.html Gordon, S., Struwig, J., Roberts, B., Mchunu, N., Mtyingizane, S., & Radebe, T. (2019). What drives citizen participation in political gatherings in modern South Africa? A quantitative analysis of self-reported behaviour. Social Indicators Research, 141(2), 791–808. Hallin, D. C. & Mancini, P. (2004). Comparing Media Systems: Three Models of Media and Politics. 1st ed. New York: Cambridge University Press. Human Rights Watch Report (2022). https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/media_2022/01/ World%20Report%202022%20web%20pdf_0.pdf Independent (2020). Four journalists in Yemen sentenced to death by Houthi court on ‘trumped-up’ spying charges https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/middle-east/ yemen-journalists-houthi-court-case-death-sentence-result-a9461096.html Jamal, A, Robbins, M. & Al-Shami, S. (2020). Youth in MENA: Findings from the Fifth Wave of the Arab Barometer. https://www.arabbarometer.org/wp-content/uploads/Youthin-MENA-2020.pdf\ Jebril, N, Loveless, M, & Matthews, J. (2017). Editorial: Societies in flux: Media, democratization and political socialization. Interactions: Studies in Communication and Culture, 8(2&3), 101–104. Jebril, N., Stetka, V., & Loveless, M. (2013). Media and Democratization: What is known about the Role of Mass Media in Transitions to Democracy? Reuters Institute, Oxford: University of Oxford, ISBN: 978-1-907384-11-0. https://reutersinstitute.politics.ox.ac. uk/our-research/media-and-democratisation Jebril, N., Stetka, V., & Loveless, M. (2015). Media and democratization: Challenges for an emerging subfield. Media Studies, 6(11) 84–98.

Introduction  17 Lynch, M. (2015). After the Arab spring: How the media trashed the transition. Journal of Democracy, 26 (4) 90–99. Media Use in The Middle East (2019). http://www.mideastmedia.org/survey/2019/ Miladi, N. & Mellor, N. (2020). Routledge Handbook on Arab Media. London: Routledge. Mroue A. (2019). Lebanon’s journalists suffer abuse, threats covering unrest. https://apnews. com/article/0b404fc4f1921283f51d5c2607e78dc9 Pintak, L. (2010). The new Arab journalist: Mission and identity in a time of turmoil. Middle East Journal, 66(1), 190–192. Reporters Without Borders (2020). https://rsf.org/en/palestine Ritzen, Y. (2019). How Arab governments use cyberspace laws to shut down activism. https:// www.aljazeera.com/news/2019/7/25/how-arab-governments-use-cyberspace-lawsto-shut-down-activism Sumpf, D. (2016). Political Participation of the Arab Middle Class – Motivation and Access. SSRN Electronic Journal. Retrieved from: https://ssrn.com/abstract=2822305 Thomas, K. (2019). Civic Engagement in the Middle East and North Africa. https://www. arabbarometer.org/wp-content/uploads/PublicOpinion_CivicEngagement_MiddleEast_ NorthAfrica_2018-1.pdf Transparency International (2022). Tunisia: Crackdown on Democracy and ­Transparency. https://www.transparency.org/en/blog/tunisia-crackdown-on-democracy-andtransparency Transparency International (2021). CPI 2021 For Middle East & North Africa: Systemic Corruption Endangers Democracy and Human Rights. https://www.transparency.org/ en/news/cpi-2021-middle-east-north-africa-systemic-corruption-endangers-democracyhuman-rights UNESCO Office in Amman (2015). Assessment of media development in Jordan based on UNESCO’s Media Development Indicators. https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/ pf0000234425 United Nation Human Rights (2022). UN experts alarmed by restrictions on civil society ahead of climate summit. https://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2022/10/egypt-un-expertsalarmed-restrictions-civil-society-ahead-climate-summit van Deth, J. W. (2016). What is Political Participation? Oxford University Press. Retrieved from: https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780190228637.013.68 Wee, J. & Sophia L. (2019). Politics and Social Media in the Middle East and North Africa: Trends and Trust in Online Information. https://www.arabbarometer.org/wp-content/ uploads/AB_Media_Report_Final_Public-Opinion-2019-5.pdf World Bank (2021). Libya is Aspiring for Recovery and Healing, but Challenges Abound. https://www.worldbank.org/en/news/press-release/2021/04/22/libya-is-aspiring-forrecovery-and-healing-but-challenges-abound Yahya, M. (2022). The Arab World and the Ukraine conflict: The quest for nonalignment. In depth Research and reports. https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/uncategorized/ the-arab-world-and-the-ukraine-conflict-the-quest-for-nonalignment/ Zayani, M. (2005). The Al Jazeera Phenomenon: Critical Perspectives on New Arab Media. New York: Paradigm Publishers.

1

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries Nael Jebril and Emad Moussa

Introduction Freedom of expression is an essential concept for democracy. It allows free debate about and between political parties and competing social forces and enables citizens to raise concerns with their government(s) and hold these governments accountable by ensuring that any new policies and legislations are subject to scrutiny (IMS, 2014). The right to freedom of expression is considered a human right recognised by and protected under various international and regional legal instruments such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) and the UN International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR). The European Convention on Human Rights (Article 10) is also clear in its upholding of freedom of expression. The European Court of Human Rights maintains that the right to freedom of expression is one of the ‘essential foundations of a democratic society’, for it provides all with the right to exchange information, debate ideas, and express opinions and political views. On the State level, freedom of expression imposes both negative and positive obligations. On the one hand, a negative obligation means that States may not interfere with the exercise of the right to seek, receive, and impart information and ideas, except as permitted under international law (IMS, 2014, p. 3). A positive obligation, on the other hand, is basically the creation of an environment which allows a free flow of information and ideas in society. States, in this context, are expected to put in place a legal framework for accessing public information and to create an environment in which a free and independent media can flourish (ibid.). Freedom of expression also supports artistic, scientific, and commercial development (Equality and Human Rights Commission, 2019, p. 8). Despite the waves of democratisation worldwide, freedom of expression continues to be under assault. Many governments worldwide are increasingly wielding the tools of censorship and criminalisation of criticism, as well as adopting vague and controversial laws to crack down on free opinions and speech. Although a global phenomenon, the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region in particular has some of the worst records of freedom of expression in the world. Most countries in the region lack legal protection for human rights and the rule of law is undermined by a lack of independent judiciaries (Article 19, 2020). DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-2

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries  19 The protests by millions of Arabs across the MENA region in 2011 were more about dignity and better living conditions; they also emphasised ‘justice, democracy, and freedom’, all fundamental rights in short supply for decades in the majority of Arab countries. Freedom of expression is at the heart of these rights (Ahram Online, 2020). Nearly all rights organisations and monitors, governmental and non-governmental, nowadays agree that in most Arab states, freedom of expression has witnessed major setbacks over the past ten years. As early as 2017, an explorative report by the Arab Center for Research and Policy Study in Washington (Khamis, 2017) attributed the ‘reversals in the freedom of expression’ to a variety of factors; most important of which are the complex dynamics of the relationship between government and media, with the contemporary Arab media scene undergoing a number of important shifts. Adding to that are the (accumulative) challenges that have been impacting the performance and professionalism of Arab media over many decades. These include factors such as the high illiteracy rates in most of the Arab world in addition to digital illiteracy, both of which limit the media’s circulation and reach (Khamis, 2017). Another factor is the knowledge crisis, which refers to the various bureaucratic, administrative, and logistical barriers that hamper journalists’ ability to gather news and information. More importantly, most Arab regimes restrict freedom of the press, a practice that ranges from harsh measures, such as direct censorship, severe punishment, or even arrest and imprisonment, to softer measures, such as sponsorship, patronisation, co-optation, and funding (ibid.). Freedom of Expression across the Region

According to the 2019 Amnesty International review, authorities across the MENA region largely restricted freedom of expression. The figures in the review, which are by no means comprehensive, showed that individuals were detained as prisoners of conscience in 12 countries in the region and 136 people over peaceful expressions online. Criticising the government on social media was met with a heavy crackdown by the authorities. In a 2021 Review, AI, inter alia, pointed out that in most Arab countries, journalists, bloggers, and activists who posted statements or videos considered critical of the head of state or other authorities on social media have been arrested, questioned, and prosecuted. In many cases, they were sentenced to prison terms. In Bahrain, for instance, there are no independent media outlets and online media censorship has increased since the 2011 uprisings. Independent and foreign journalists rarely have access to the country, and rights groups are routinely denied access. International wire services, when they cover Bahrain, do so from Dubai or elsewhere outside the country, reported Human Rights Watch (HRW) (2020). As of 2021, HRW reported, three detainees have died possibly due to medical negligence and 26 others remain on death row. The country ranks 12 on Freedom House’s 2022 Index and 167 in the 2022 World Press Freedom Index, 4 points drop since 2015. Not very far from Bahrain, the situation in Iraq is not significantly better. Even though Iraq’s media scene appears lively and diverse with few politically

20  Nael Jebril and Emad Moussa independent news sources, journalists who do not self-censor remain at risk of facing legal repercussions or violent retaliation. Media outlets faced restrictions and obstruction in response to their coverage of the 2019 anti-government protests. In September, the US-funded Al-Hurra broadcast network was suspended for three months over an August investigative report they published on corruption within both Sunni and Shiite religious organisations responsible for maintaining religious sites (Freedom House, 2020). Iraq currently ranks 29 in Freedom House’s 2022 freedom report and 172 in the World Press Freedom Index, 22 points drop since 2013. In Lebanon, a country with a vibrant civil society and media sector, the media outlets are highly politicised, often acting as mouthpieces for political parties or businessmen (RSF, 2020). Despite the margin of freedom, criticising the government or influential figures can still lead to defamation charges (Article 19, 2018). Reporters Without Borders (RSF) (2020, 2022) have reported that in recent years, the courts have harassed TV presenters who hosted guests who criticised officials, and/or newspapers that have investigated corruption. The reports points out that Lebanese journalists can be prosecuted by military or print media courts and can be sentenced to imprisonment. In practice, however, the courts usually release those journalists with a fine and reserve prison sentences for those being tried in absentia. The attack on media intensified during the 2019 and 2020 protests (ibid., Freedom House, 2020). Lebanon currently ranks 130 in the World Press Freedom Index, a notable drop compared to 2019, and 42 in Freedom House’s 2022 freedom report. Thousands of miles away on the opposite side of the Arab World, Algeria’s freedom of expression is not impressive, but scores higher than Bahrain and Iraq, ranking 32 on Freedom House’s report and 134 in the 2022 World Press Freedom Index, a downgrade compared to 2013 (ranking 125). The rise of the Hirak protest movement which lasted for months in 2019 has put pressure on the regime but is yet to achieve the aspired level of political change. Although some newspapers are privately owned and some journalists remain very critical of government affairs, most papers rely on government agencies for printing and advertising, encouraging self-censorship. Authorities sometimes block the distribution of independent news outlets that are based abroad or online (Freedom House, 2020). Since the beginning of the Hirak protests, police have intensified arbitrary arrests to intimidate journalists, and foreign correspondents were also expelled from Algeria on several occasions in 2019 (ibid.). The most recent Arab country to oust its long-term dictator, Sudan now is in political transition. The post-2019 revolution constitution guaranteed the freedom of press. However, according to several reports (RSF, 2020; Freedom House, 2020), the system of repression during the time of Omar al-Bashir continues to have its mark on the country today. This is particularly visible in the so-called Cyber Jihadist Unit, which was originally established to spy on the Internet and monitor journalists’ activities online. The unit continues to operate today and, RSF reports (2020), has been disseminating misleading information on social media networks in order to undermine the transitional government and preserve the interests

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries  21 of old regime individuals who still control most of the media. Furthermore, the crackdown on the symbols of the old regime has resulted in some infringements upon freedom of expression. In December 2019, the ruling Sovereignty Council issued a Decree to dissolve all trade unions and professional associations in Sudan. The action was met with strong condemnation by the Sudanese Journalists Union and the International Federation of Journalists (Freedom House, 2020). As of 2022, Sudan improved by 24 points compared to 2019, now ranking 151 in the World Press Freedom Index. Freedom House (2022) still categorises Sudan as ‘not free’, despite the notable improvements since 2019. The country now ranks 10 on the Freedom House’s 2020 world-freedom index. It remains that the state of freedom in certain Arab countries are distinctively more deteriorated than others. Individuals and journalists in Syria and Yemen have to bear the brunt of both the regime and the armed groups. In Egypt, freedom of expression has been a subject of concern for several years. In Tunisia, President Kais Saied’s 2021 takeover of parliament in an unprecedented move presents a significant risk to freedom of expression. These countries alone represent the nuanced changes in freedom of expression since the Arab Spring. To broaden the perspective on freedom of expression in the region, this chapter also highlights some of the unique challenges to freedom of expression in the unique case of Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Syria

In Freedom House’s 2022 (online) annual report Freedom in the World, Syria continues to languish – for the seventh year – as the world’s least free country. The report relates the continuous deterioration in Syria’s freedom, particularly freedom of expression and press, largely with the country’s civil war. By the end of 2019, the report states, the situation across Syria witnessed a series of developments due to the precipitous withdrawal of US troops from the northern border area, which have further stifled any prospect of government criticism, independent political opinions, or free press. The report also points out that the Syrian government has been conducting heavy surveillance of private and online discussion, harshly punishing dissent in areas it controls. That also included extensive filtering of websites related to politics, ethnic and religious identity, human rights, and foreign affairs. A number of opposition websites were blocked or re-blocked. However, elaborates the report, the government has employed its surveillance tools inconsistently in 2019, after facing deepening criticism from traditionally loyal segments of the population. The environment is somewhat more open in areas where neither the government nor an extremist group has a dominant presence, though the PYD (Kurdish Democratic Union Party) and some opposition factions have allegedly suppressed freedom of speech. These restrictions also apply to academic and intellectual freedom. University professors in government-controlled areas have been dismissed or imprisoned for expressing dissent, and fighters on all sides of the war have regularly attacked or taken control of schools. Groups including the PYD – and previously IS – have

22  Nael Jebril and Emad Moussa set up education systems in their territories, but they are infused with political indoctrination. RSF described the freedom of expression in Syria as an ‘unbearable environment’. As of 2022, Syria ranks 174 in the World Press Freedom Index, with a global score of +0.79. RSF reports that a least ten journalists were killed in 2018, some of whom under unclear circumstances. The updating of civil registers has confirmed that five journalists also died in recent years while being held in the regime’s jails. Fearing arrest, dozens of journalists beginning in early 2018 had to flee the advance of government troops, especially into the south-western Ghouta and Deraa regions. Journalists are the targets of intimidation by all parties in the conflict – by the Syrian military and its allies as well as the various armed opposition groups, including Turkish-backed forces, Kurdish forces, and radical Islamist groups such as Islamic State and Hay’at Tahrir al Sham (ibid.). According to RSF, very few survived the new Syrian media created by citizenjournalists shortly after the start of the uprising in 2011. The Syrian government gave itself a new tool for cracking down on the Internet in March 2018 by creating special cybercrime courts (ibid.). There are also reports that journalists and activists outside Syria have been targeted by regime-affiliated groups and individuals. Yemen

Like Syria, pre-Arab Spring Yemeni media professionals lived and worked in extremely hostile environment. The Yemeni government created mechanisms which fell outside of the regular court system to deal with unwanted elements in the media, building a parallel system of special courts through which it legitimised acts of intimidation and harassment against those it deemed too critical of the regime (Article 19, 2011). On 11 February 2011, the people of Yemen took to the streets to demand political change and removal of the regime. The protests were inspired by the uprisings in Tunisia and Egypt, leading to the overthrow of President Ali Abdullah Saleh (Dewan, February 2018). The initial hopes of freedom were curbed by continuous political turmoil in the country. Today, Yemen ranks 11 on the Freedom House’s Global Freedom Score and 169 in the 2022 World Press Freedom Index. According to a 2019 Amnesty International review, Houthi forces and the government of President Hadi continually resort to arbitrary detention to suppress freedom of expression. The report points out that in Houthi-controlled areas, critics, journalists, human rights activists, members of Baha’i community, and supporters of Al-Islah political party are arbitrarily detained, subjected to unfair trials, and even enforced disappearance (Amnesty International 2019). In parts of the country controlled by the Hadi government, RSF (2020) reports, journalists are also arrested arbitrarily and are subjected to abusive treatment by militias. Online access to media outlets has been restricted ever since the Houthis took control of the Ministry of Telecommunication. In all parts of the country, citizen-journalists are also monitored. Some journalists gave up journalism to avoid reprisals, only to be persecuted for what they wrote in the past (Reporters Without Borders [RSF], 2020).

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries  23 Libya

Libya is currently in a fragile transitional period following a long period of instability similar to that of Yemen in terms of in-fighting and the collapse of the State’s institutions and elements of sovereignty. The oil-rich country has been in turmoil since the Arab Spring. Attempts to establish a democratic state after Gaddafi’s toppling disintegrated in 2014 into a civil war between rival governments (McKernan, 2020). Armed parties and extremists, such as Daesh, infiltrated the country and significantly contributed to its state of lawlessness. That, in turn, invited foreign powers’ intervention. These foreign powers brought to the country weaponry and drones, violating a UN arms embargo. With the help of the international community, an interim Libyan unity government was finally formed in March 2021 (Al-Warfali 2021). On the 2022 World Press Freedom Index, Libya ranks 143, an improvement compared to 2019. Freedom House classifies Libya as ‘not free’, ranking 9 in the 2022 Freedom in the World Index, same as China and Yemen, and two points ahead of Saudi Arabia. According to the report, most Libyan media outlets are partisan, producing content favouring certain political and military factions. Journalists and media workers are intimidated and occasionally find themselves in danger of being targets to detention and violent reprisals by criminal and extremist groups (Freedom House, 2020). Libya also lacks effective laws that guarantee or protect academic freedom to the extent that professors can be subject to intimidation by students who are aligned with militias (ibid.). The institutional collapse is particularly evident in the judicial system. A report by Lawyers for Justice in Libya (LFJL) (2017) showed that due to the incapacity of the Libyan judiciary, ‘the ability of individuals to secure accountability for violations of freedom of expression is principally limited to the complaints mechanisms established by human rights treaties’ (p. 3). Egypt

The civil wars in Syria, Yemen, and Libya, originally repressive states before the Arab Spring, are majorly to blame for the further deterioration of freedom, especially the freedom of expression, in those countries. But in Egypt, now a relatively stable country, freedom of expression since 2011 seems to have worsened, according to international monitoring organisations, for a host of other reasons. Egypt’s bumpy trajectory over the past ten years is reflected in its rankings in Freedom House’s world-freedom reports, which downgraded Egypt to ‘Not Free’ in its 2011 edition, covering events in 2010. After the January revolution in 2011, Egypt improved to ‘Partly Free’. By the 2013 edition, it was ‘Not Free’ once again. As of 2022, Egypt remains ‘Not Free’, ranking 18 on Freedom House’s Freedom in the World index, a three-point drop compared to 2020. It also ranks 168 in the 2022 World Press Freedom Index, two points drop compared to the previous year (ranking 166), and ten points drop since 2013 (ranking 158). This suggests that the state of freedom of expression in its various forms in the country has been in decline for almost a decade.

24  Nael Jebril and Emad Moussa In a press release in 2018, Amnesty International warned that the crackdown on freedom of expression in Egypt has reached an alarming level unparalleled in Egypt’s recent history. In May 2020, Amnesty reported multi-tiered practices aimed at muzzling freedom of expression. Among these practices is the severe restrictions imposed on journalists, critics, and ordinary social media commentators (ibid). Amnesty International (2020) spoke to several Egyptian journalists who consistently described how the failure to fully regurgitate the state narrative has led to the removal of specific stories, the prevention of entire publications, and the blocking of news websites. Amnesty elaborated in the 2020 Review that upon the investigation of several cases, journalists usually end up in prison for reporting on human rights violations and uncovering other state wrongdoing, engaging in human rights or political activism, working for media institutions considered hostile, and/or expressing political opinions on social media. According to Freedom House’s Freedom report (2020), the Egyptian media sector is nowadays dominated by pro-regime outlets. In recent years, adds the report, a number of private television channels and newspapers have been launched or acquired by pro-government businessmen and individuals. In addition to that, two laws ratified in 2018 posed additional threats to freedom of expression. The Media Regulation Law prescribes prison sentences for journalists who ‘incite violence’ and permits censorship without judicial approval, among other provisions. The AntiCyber and Information Technology Crimes Law is ostensibly intended to combat extremism and terrorism, but it allows authorities to block any website deemed a threat to national security, a broad stipulation that can be vulnerable to misuse (Shea, 2019). NetBlocks, the online censorship monitoring group, reported in April 2019 that internet service providers blocked access to 34,000 internet domains in the run-up to that month’s constitutional referendum (Netblocks, 2019). Since 2017, according to RSF (2021), more than 500 websites were completely blocked. Tunisia

In Tunisia, the situation has been different from the other Arab Spring countries. In 2010, on the eve of the revolution, Tunisia ranked 164 on RSF’ press-freedom index. In a dramatic shift since the ouster of Bin Ali in 2011, the country’s longest serving dictator, the country began a democratic transition, from which the freedom of expression benefited greatly, RSF reported. As of 2022, Tunisian ranks 94 in the press-freedom Index and 64 in Freedom House’s Freedom of the World report. Both figures indicate a notable drop in the freedom of speech since President Kais Saied has assumed office in 2019. The Tunisian constitution guarantees freedom of opinion, thought, expression, information, and publication, subject to some restrictions. Freedom of press and flow of information have improved in recent years, and many independent media outlets now operate in Tunisia. Tunisia also signed the International Declaration on Information and Democracy, which outlines basic principles for the global information and communication space, when the initiative was launched in late 2018 (Freedom House, 2020).

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries  25 Nonetheless, although the foundations have been laid to turn Tunisian media into free, independent, and professional entities, there is still a concern about the slow pace with which new media legislation is being drafted (RSF, 2020). In the World Report 2020 published by HRW, Tunisian authorities continued to prosecute peaceful expression on the basis of repressive articles in the penal code and other codes, despite adopting, in November 2011, Decree Law 115 on freedom of the press that liberalises the legal framework applicable to written media. In November 2020, Amnesty International found that at least 40 bloggers, administrators of widely followed Facebook pages, political activists, and human rights defenders have faced criminal prosecution between 2018 and 2020 over online posts in which they criticised local authorities, the police, or other state officials (Amnesty International 2021). The COVID-19 pandemic has aggravated this trend. Activists criticising the authorities’ handling of the pandemic in Tunisia triggered an increasing crackdown on social media users and online critics that ‘limited the space for online mobilisation’, according to Freedom House’s 2020 report. In January 2021, social media activist Anis Mabrouki was sentenced to four months in prison over a social media post in which he called out local public officials for failing to distribute COVID-19 financial aid promised by the government (Gouvy, January 2021). The climate of freedom has particularly worsened since the election in 2019 of President Qais Saied. In early 2021, protests flared again and the authorities responded with mass arrests. The Tunisian League of Human Rights tracked around 1,500 protesters who were arbitrarily arrested by the Tunisian authorities either for participating in protests or for their posts on social media platforms. Around 30% of these protesters are children below the age of 18. According to Fatafta and Samaro (2021), this is considered an escalation of an ongoing trend of targeting bloggers and dissidents who criticise public officials, the police, or security forces on online platforms with criminal prosecutions under charges of ‘inciting violence’ and ‘insulting a public servant’ as well as ‘violating public morals’. Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories

In Israel, freedom of expression had been recognised by Israel’s Supreme Court as a basic constitutional right (Library of Congress, 2019, p. 40). That being said, Israel’s internal freedom of expression is limited when the country’s national security is of concern (ibid.). The basic laws stipulate that any journalist working for Israeli media outlets must submit articles and all other items related to Israel’s security and foreign relations to the Israeli Military Censor before publication. Lately, this has been extended to include social media postings by journalists (Salhani, 2018). In 2017, for instance, out of 83 books submitted to the military censor, 53 were partially redacted or edited (Ahronheim, 2018). Nevertheless, Israel is classified ‘free’ by Freedom House and ranked 76 in Freedom House’s Freedom in the World report. It ranks 86 in the 2020 World Press Freedom Index. Despite its relatively free expression internally, Israel’s record in the Occupied Territories is appalling, on par with, if not occasionally worse than most of the

26  Nael Jebril and Emad Moussa post-Arab Spring countries. Because of censorship (and self-censorship), according to RSF (2020), there is limited coverage of life in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Foreign freelance journalists find it difficult to obtain or renew accreditation. As an occupying power, the IDF violation of the rights of Palestinian journalists is a common practice, especially when these journalists are covering demonstrations or clashes in the West Bank or Gaza Strip. HRW reports (Braunschweiger, 2019) that since Israel occupied the West Bank and the Gaza Strip in 1967, it has ruled using military orders, which effectively deprived Palestinians of basic civil rights protections, allowing the arrest of Palestinian journalists, activists, and others for their anti-occupation opinions, activism, and political affiliations. In November 2020, A report by Quds Press recorded that Israel committed 414 violations against Palestinian journalists (see Middle East Monitor, November 2020). The Palestinian Information Ministry (Qods INA, December 2020) documented 43 violations in November alone, the same month when the report was released by Quds Press. The report stated that the Israeli authorities used live ammunition, rubber-coated metal bullets, and poisonous and tear gas against Palestinian journalists. The journalists were frequently banned from covering incidents and events in the Occupied Territories, shutting down their offices, storming into their homes, confiscating and breaking their equipment, and arresting and torturing them. Furthermore, freedom of expression in the Occupied Palestinian Territories has increasingly fallen victim to what Soloway (2019) calls ‘trinity of oppression’: not only Israel’s physical and cyber censorship of Palestinian social media activities, press, and publications, but also the Palestinian Authority’s monitoring of press in the West Bank and Hamas’s reaction to opposite views in Gaza. In May 2020, Amnesty International criticised the Palestinian authorities in the West Bank and Gaza for violating the right to freedom of expression by arbitrarily detaining critics and opponents solely for peacefully sharing their views on social media (see Amnesty International 2020; TRT World, May 2020). Palestine currently ranks 137 in the World Press Freedom Index. As of 2022, Freedom House’s freedom report categorised both the West Bank and the Gaza Strip as ‘not free’, ranking 23 and 11 respectively. Both RSF and Freedom House, however, did not place their evaluation on the performance of the Palestinian Authority or Hamas alone, but took into account the Israeli occupation as a major obstacle to freedom of expression. Conclusion Apart from the Tunisian example, freedom of expression in the post-Arab Spring MENA region did not witness drastic changes. In fact, there are cases where free speech, conscience, and opinions have been put under additional restrictions. In the Arab countries that did not see wide-spread protests or revolutions, the governments realised that unless they controlled the narrative, monitored their local media outlets, social media platforms, and even censored their public opinion, the status quo would have been in danger. That resulted in heightened campaigns of media censorship and in some countries led to severe measures to suppress even the

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries  27 possibility of dissent. In countries going through transitional periods, there may be indications of relieved censorship, but that does not mean that the impact of the old regimes has disappeared. For those countries, freedom of expression could move in either direction, either towards greater liberalisation or towards more constraints. References Ahram Online (2020, March 28). Jail term and EGP 20,000 fine for spreading rumours about coronavirus: Egypt’s prosecution. https://english.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/1/64/ 366161/Egypt/Politics-/Jail-term-and-EGP-, -fine-for-spreading-rumours-abo.aspx Ahronheim, A. (2018, July 12). IDF military sensor banned nearly 300 articles last year. The Jerusalem Post. https://www.jpost.com/International/IDF-Military-Censorbanned-nearly-300-articles-last-year-562318 Al-Warfali, A. (2021, March 15). Libya’s unity government sworn in. Reuters. https://www. reuters.com/article/uk-libya-government-idUSKBN2B7203 Amnesty International (2018, September 20). Press Release: Egypt: repression now ‘more extreme’ than under Mubarak. https://www.amnesty.org.uk/press-releases/egyptrepression-now-more-extreme-under-mubarak Amnesty International (2019). Human rights in the Middle East and North Africa: Review of 2019. https://www.amnesty.org/en/countries/middle-east-and-north-africa/ report-middle-east-and-north-africa/ Amnesty International (2019, July 9). Yemen: Houthi-run court sentences 30 political opposition figures to death following sham trial. https://www.amnesty.org/en/ latest/news/2019/07/yemen-huthi-run-court-sentences-30-political-opposition-figuresto-death-following-sham-trial/ Amnesty International (2020). Egypt: Prisons are now Journalists’ Newsrooms. https:// www.amnesty.org/download/Documents/MDE1222402020ENGLISH.pdf Amnesty International (2020, November 9). Tunisia: Freedom of expression at risk as prosecutions rise. https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2020/11/tunisia-freedom-ofexpression-at-risk-as-prosecutions-rise/ Amnesty International (2020, May 7). Palestine: End arbitrary detention of critics in West Bank and Gaza. https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2020/05/palestine-endarbitrary-detention-of-critics-in-west-bank-and-gaza/ Amnesty International (2021). Amnesty International Report 2021/22: The State of the World’s Human Rights. https://www.amnesty.org/en/location/middle-east-and-north-africa/reportmiddle-east-and-north-africa/ Article 19 (2011). Freedom of Expression in Yemen: A Critical State of Affairs. Article 19, International Partnership for Yemen Mission Report 7–11 November 2010. https://www. mediasupport.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/ims-foe-yemen-critical-state-2010.pdf Article 19 (2018). Report: Lebanon. https://www.article19.org/region/lebanon/ Article 19 (2020). Freedom of Expression: Middle East and North Africa. https://www.article19.org/regional-office/middle-east-north-africa/ Braunschweiger, A. (2019, December 17). Witness: How Israel muzzles free expression for Palestinians. Human Rights Watch. https://www.hrw.org/news/2019/12/17/witness-howisrael-muzzles-free-expression-palestinians Dewan, K. (2018, February 11). Remembering Yemen’s 11 February Revolution. Middle East Monitor. https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20180211-remembering-yemens11-february-revolution/

28  Nael Jebril and Emad Moussa Equality and Human Rights Commission (2019). Freedom of expression: A guide for higher education providers and students’ unions in England and Wales. https://www.equalityhumanrights.com/sites/default/files/freedom-of-expression-guide-for-higher-educationproviders-and-students-unions-england-and-wales.pdf Fatafta, M. & Samaro, D. (2021, February 4). Tunisia’s protests and the slippery slope to censorship and repression. Access Now. https://www.accessnow.org/tunisia-protests/ Freedom House (2020). Freedom in the World 2020. Freedom House. https://freedomhouse. org/sites/default/files/2020-02/FIW_2020_REPORT_BOOKLET_Final.pdf Freedom House (2022). Freedom in the World 2022. Freedom House. https://freedomhouse. org/sites/default/files/2022-02/FIW_2022_PDF_Booklet_Digital_Final_Web.pdf Gouvy, C. (2021, January 16). Social media curbs threaten ‘last relic’ of Tunisia’s revolution. Aljazeera English. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2021/1/16/social-mediaban-threatens-the-last-relic-of-tunisia-revolution Khamis, S. (2017, December 18). Press freedom reversals in post-Arab spring countries. Arab Center for Research and Policy Studies Washington DC. http://arabcenterdc.org/ policy_analyses/press-freedom-reversals-in-post-arab-spring-countries/ Human Rights Watch (2020). Tunisia: Events of 2019. https://www.hrw.org/world-report/ 2020/country-chapters/tunisia Human Rights Watch (2020). Bahrain: Events of 2019. https://www.hrw.org/ world-report/2020/country-chapters/bahrain Human Rights Watch (2021). Country profile: Bahrain. https://www.hrw.org/middle-east/ north-africa/bahrain#:~:text=In%202021%2C%20three%20detainees%20died, moratorium%20on%20executions%20in%202017 IMS (2014, July). Briefing Notes Series: Freedom of Expression. Centre for Law and Democracy – International Media Support. https://www.mediasupport.org/wp-content/ uploads/2015/02/foe-briefingnotes-ims-cld.pdf Library of Congress (2019). Limits on Freedom of Expression. https://www.loc.gov/law/ help/freedom-expression/limits-expression.pdf LFJL (2017). A Guide to Freedom of Expression in Libya. International Media Support IMS. https://www.libyanjustice.org/news/314-a-guide-to-freedom-of-expression-in-libya McKernan, B. (2020, May 18). War in Libya: How did it start, who is involved and what happens next? The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/may/18/warin-libya-how-did-it-start-what-happens-next Middle East Monitor (2020, November 30). Israel committed 414 violations against Palestinian journalists in 2020. https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/ 20201130-israel-committed-414-violations-against-palestinian-journalists-in-2020/ Netblocks (2019, September 22). Facebook Messenger, social media and news sites disrupted in Egypt amid protests. Retrieved from: https://netblocks.org/reports/facebookmessenger-social-media-and-news-sites-disrupted-in-egypt-amid-protests-eA1Jd7Bp Qods INA (2020, December 17). Report: 43 Israeli violations against Palestinian journalists in November. http://qodsna.com/en/349720/Report:-43-Israeli-violations-againstPalestinian-journalists-in-November Reporters Without Borders RSF (2020). 2020 World Press Freedom Index. RSF.Available from: https://www.rog.at/wp-content/uploads/2020/04/RSF_PressKit_Index2020_EN.pdf Reporters Without Borders RSF (2022). 2022 World Press Freedom Index. Reporters Without Borders RSF (2021, January 22). Less press freedom than ever in Egypt 10 years after revolution. https://rsf.org/en/news/less-press-freedom-ever-egypt-10-yearsafter-revolution

Freedom of Expression in the Post-Arab Spring Countries  29 Salhani, C. (2018). Censorship is Alive and Well in Israel. The Arab Weekly. https:// thearabweekly.com/censorship-alive-and-well-israel Shea, J. (2019, October 3). Social media in Egypt: From harbinger of a revolution to weapon of authoritarian control. The Globe and Mail. Retrieved from: https://www.theglobeandmail. com/opinion/article-social-media-in-egypt-from-harbinger-of-a-revolution-to-weapon-of/ Soloway, C. (2019). A trinity of oppression: Navigating freedom of speech in Palestine. Institute for Palestine Studies. https://palestinesquare.com/2019/04/03/a-trinity-of-oppressionnavigating-freedom-of-speech-in-palestine/ TRT World (2020, May 7). Amnesty slams Palestinians’ freedom of expression arrests. https:// www.trtworld.com/middle-east/amnesty-slams-palestinians-freedom-of-expressionarrests-36096

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The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements and the Dilemma of Democracy in Egypt1 Mostafa Shehata

Introduction Over the course of the past decade, the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region has been swept by two waves of popular revolutions and their repercussions, which have shaken the area’s long-lasting political stagnation. The first wave of revolutions, which broke out in 2011, hit several countries: Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Syria, and Bahrain (Feldman, 2021). The second wave of revolutions that took place in 2019 impacted four other countries: Sudan, Algeria, Iraq, and Lebanon (Surkov, 2021). Both waves of revolutions did not succeed in establishing a successful democratic transition in the region. The consistent failure of democracy in the region raises important questions about the reasons of the failure of popular revolutions to sustain a democratic transition even in the countries that overthrew old autocratic regimes. To examine the defeat of emerging revolutionary actors, it is important to look at the nature of contentious actions and the people who participated in those actions. Basically, the Arab Spring has inflicted two changes to contentious actions: the rise of the role of social network sites (SNS) as crucial platforms for political mobilization and the rise of non-organizationally affiliated individuals as the main coordinators of protest actions. These changes were seen as fundamental transformations of traditional collective action, which has been organized by, according to Olson (1971), groups and hierarchical organizations. In this chapter, I focus on Egypt as a representative case of unsuccessful MENA social movements. In Egypt, the changes in collective action were manifested especially in the effects of youth, assisted by SNS, in leading the 25 January 2011 revolution (25J), which forced the former president Hosni Mubarak to step down (Meier, 2011; Mason, 2013; Gerbaudo, 2012). Egyptian youth emerged as a strong political actor post-25J, despite having no organizational affiliation. However, their effect has significantly declined – especially after the army (Egypt’s longstanding political actor) seized power on 3 July 2013. The rise and decline of the youth as a political actor seem to have been closely related to the nature of the political actions in which they participated as well as to their patterns of involvement in those actions. Thus, I will argue in this chapter that the nature of political

DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-3

The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements in Egypt  31 participation, not the moment of victory, is what makes a difference in favor of, or against, political actors. Recent changes in collective action can be traced back to the 1990s, when the Internet started to give rise to a New Wave of three closely related phenomena (Shehata, 2016). First, individualization: people became more separated and interested in segmented media content (Castells, 1996, 2015; Bennett & Enteman, 2001; ­Bennett, 2003a, 2003b; Bennett & Segerberg, 2009; Walgrave, Bennett, Van Laer & Breunig, 2011). Second, personalization: people’s behavior became dependent on personal views, interests, and issues (Bennett & Segerberg, 2011, 2012; Bennett, 2012). And third, the creation of new organizations characterized by a loose structure and loose working policies (Tilly, 2004; Bimber, Flanagin, & Stohl, 2005, 2012; Tarrow, 2005, 2011; Della-Porta & Diani 2006; Chadwick, 2007; Bennett et al., 2011; Earl & Kimport, 2011). These three notions have been handled in social movement literature as developments of collective action, not independent phenomena. However, Bennett and Segerberg (2012, 2013) consider them benchmarks for a new kind of action – ‘the logic of connective action’ (LCA) – which distinguishes between at least two actions: collective and connective. Empirically, LCA literature has used two major indicators to differentiate between collective and connective action: action organizers and mobilization channels (Bennett & Segerberg, 2013; Cristancho & Anduiza, 2013; Lim, 2013; Mercea & Funk, 2014; Bennett, Segerberg, & Walker, 2014; Anduiza, Cristancho & Sabucedo, 2014; Vromen, Xenos & Loader, 2015; Boler, Macdonald, Nitsou & Harris, 2014; Wright, 2015). While collective action depends basically on hierarchical organizations and perhaps also digital media for mobilization, connective action relies largely on individuals and digital media. Based on LCA, this chapter examines the nature of political actions that occurred in Egypt after 25J as collective or connective. This chapter also explores the nature of the political action participants and attempts to classify them according to the categories of collective or connective. As LCA has been criticized for omitting people’s behavior (King, 2014), I draw here on the notion of action participants, which addresses this criticism and can provide a better understanding of the conditions that make connective action (as noted by Bondes & Schucher, 2015) unsustainable. Egypt’s Post-Revolution Political Actions On 25 January 2011, a mass of Egyptians demonstrated against the authoritarian president Hosni Mubarak and managed to oust him on 11 February, drawing his 30 years of rule to an end (Khalifa, 2015). Since then, a significant number of political actions have occurred and negatively affected the democratic transition. Mubarak was succeeded by the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) as a transitional authority (Ghonim, 2012). The protest actions did not stop after Mubarak’s removal, because the SCAF’s reign was, as described by Brownlee et al. (2015, p. 187), ‘an attempt to continue the practices of Mubarak’s era’. The protests

32  Mostafa Shehata ultimately forced the SCAF to schedule a presidential election (Arjomand, 2014), which was held in May and June 2012. The election was won by Mohammed Morsi, the candidate of the Muslim Brotherhood (MB) (Egypt’s Presidential Elections Committee, 2012). Morsi was inaugurated on 30 June 2012, and he conflicted with several actors in his attempts to stabilize power. One of the most important events that occurred at the end of Morsi’s short reign was the formation of the Rebel movement (Tamarrod), which started a petition in March 2013 to force Morsi to call an early presidential election. In order to achieve this goal, the movement organized massive protests on 30 June 2013. These protests received the support of the army, which overthrew and detained Morsi on 3 July 2013 (Brownlee et al., 2015). Morsi was succeeded by the chief of the Supreme Constitutional Court, Adly Mansour, as an interim president, until an elected president took power in mid-2014 (Egypt’s Official Gazette, 2013a). These dramatic changes and their aftermath largely obstructed the nascent democratic experiment that began after 25J (Khalifa, 2015). Morsi’s removal brought about numerous demonstrations – most notably at the Republican Guard headquarters, Al-menasa and Ramsees – as well as two sit-ins at Rabea Al-adaweya and Al-nahda Square. In addition, a large number of protests broke out at many Egyptian universities, especially at the universities of Cairo, Ain Shams and Al-Azhar. The government responded to these protests with a massive wave of repression and detention, particularly in the months following Morsi’s removal (Human Rights Watch, 2014). This way of dealing with protests after 3 July 2013 made the gains of 25J, according to Al-Arian (2014, p. 123), ‘to be very much in doubt’. After Morsi was deposed, the country’s constitution was suspended, and some of its articles were later amended (Egypt’s Official Gazette, 2013a). The amendments, which were presented for a referendum on 14–15 January 2014, were approved by 98.1% of the electorate, though the participation rate was only 38.6% of eligible voters (Egypt’s High Elections Committee, 2014). On 26–28 May 2014, a presidential election was held between two candidates: the former defense minister Abd Al-fattah Al-sisi and the leader of the Egyptian Popular Current, Hamdeen Sabahi. Al-sisi won the election by a landslide of 96.9% of the vote, with a participation rate of 47.5% (Egypt’s Presidential Elections Committee, 2014). After Al-sisi’s inauguration, Egypt has seen several demonstrations, most notably were the January 2015 demonstrations in the fourth anniversary of the revolution, the April 25 demonstrations against the relinquishment of two strategic Egyptian islands in the Red Sea to Saudi Arabia, and the September 2019 and 2020 demonstrations called by an Egyptian immigrant activist. In addition, some measures were taken by the government, imposing more restrictions on freedoms such as proclaiming the state of emergency since April 2017, issuing the 2013 protest law that gave the government the absolute power to cancel and break gatherings (Egypt’s Official Gazette, 2013b), and issuing the 2015 Anti-Terrorism Law that violated the freedom of the media and placed it under restrictions (Egypt’s Official Gazette, 2015). In light of these measures, Egypt has experienced unprecedented number of human rights violations since mid-2013.

The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements in Egypt  33 Methodology The empirical data of this chapter were drawn from a survey (Wimmer & Dominick, 2011) of 527 respondents conducted in September and October 2015 on Egyptian youth (aged 18–35). Out of the distributed questionnaires, only 400 were used for the analysis. The questionnaire, which was pretested, addressed the aspects of the participation in Egyptian political actions and the nature of this participation. Respondents were recruited in three Egyptian governorates (Cairo, Menoufia, and Beni Suef), which represent three different cultural and geographical aspects. Based on a proportional allocation (Foreman, 1991) considering gender and place of residence, the required number of respondents was identified (see Table 2.1). The questionnaire included two major scales: type of political actions and type of action participants. First, type of political action: in this scale, six major political actions, which occurred between 2013 and 2015, were examined as collective or connective – the 30 June 2013 demonstrations; MB demonstrations; university students’ demonstrations; 2014 constitutional referendum; 2014 presidential election; and January 2015 demonstrations. The scale consisted of the following three subscales: 1 Mobilization channels: respondents were asked to sort in ascending order four out of eight channels, through which they had been mobilized to participate in political actions. The scale items were rated on eight points using two methods: first, traditional mobilization channels (Egyptian newspapers, radio, television, and hierarchical organizations) were rated on a one-point format, wherein 0 = no and 1 = yes; and second, new and individual channels (Egyptian news websites, weblogs, SNS, and face-to-face communication) were rated on a twopoint format, wherein 0 = no and 2 = yes. 2 Information sources: the channels included in the previous subscale were used as information sources, and respondents were asked to sort them, following the procedures of the previous subscale. 3 Personal characteristics: two items were used: age was rated on a three-point format, wherein 1 = 31–35 years old, 2 = 26–30, and 3 = 18–25; and political affiliation was rated on a three-point format, wherein 0 = not applicable, 1 = member in a hierarchical organization, 2 = active online with new groups and 3 = active online as an individual. Table 2.1 Distribution of the sample by gender and place of residence F

Place of residence Total F = frequency.

Males

Cairo Menoufia Beni Suef

Females

Total

F

%

F

%

F

%

117 50 36 203

50.65 51.02 50.70 50.75

114 48 35 197

49.35 48.98 49.30 49.25

231 98 71 400

57.75 24.5 17.75 100

34  Mostafa Shehata After standardizing the three subscales and combining them (Morgan et al., 2011, p. 190), the total score(s) of the scale ranged from 1 to 19 and formed the basis on which political actions were classified into three categories: collective actions (s < 8.48), collective and connective (8.48 ≤ s ≤ 11.44), and connective (s > 11.44). In addition, Cronbach’s α coefficient, which was used to test the internal consistency reliability of the scale, was 0.641. Type of action participants: Based on the two indicators (political orientation shared on SNS and political participation activities) and guided by the comparison between collective and connective actions described by Bennett and Segerberg (2012, p. 756), a 12-item Likert scale was developed to examine political action participants’ tendency to adhere to involving in politics through structured organizations or digital media. The first six items were prepared to reflect a connective trend, each of which were rated on a three-point response format, wherein 1 = disagree, 2 = neutral, and 3 = agree. The latter six items were prepared to reflect a collective trend, and they were also rated on a three-point response format, wherein 1 = agree, 2 = neutral, and 3 = disagree. The total score of this scale ranged from 12 to 36, and respondents were classified into three categories: collective participants (s < 20), mixed (collective and connective) (20 ≤ s ≤ 28), and connective (s > 28). In addition, the internal consistency reliability of the scale using Cronbach’s α coefficient was 0.598. Results The degree of participation in political actions significantly varied, and conventional actions received higher participation than did unconventional actions. As shown in Figure 2.1, two conventional actions (voting in the 2014 election and the constitutional referendum) accounted for the highest participation rates with 33.33% and 26.09%, respectively. The only unconventional action that received remarkably high participation was the June 30 demonstrations with 24.43%. The larger participation in that action can be attributed to the extensive mobilization campaigns that preceded it, as well as the support given to it by the country’s institutions. All other unconventional political actions registered low participation: the January 2015 demonstrations had 9.94%, followed by the MB demonstrations and university students’ demonstrations following 3 July 2013, which both had 3.11% participation. The low participation in these three actions can be clearly ascribed to the unwillingness of youth to participate in MB-related actions and to the government’s repressive handling of the demonstrations following 3 July 2013. This repression was somehow protected and legalized in 2013 by new protest legislation (Egypt’s Official Gazette, 2013b). Characteristics of Political Actions

With respect to the nature of political actions as collective or connective, the results showed that the actions were more likely to be connective (24%) than collective

The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements in Egypt  35 33

35 30 25

26

24

20 15 10 5

3

3

10

0

Figure 2.1 Youth participation in political actions.

(20%). In addition, the likelihood of actions to be both connective and collective at the same time was 56%. These results support Bennett and Segerberg’s claims (2012, 2013) about the increase of the connective nature of political action. However, the results disagree with the findings of Wright (2015), who found no connective action in e-petitions published on an American website. The increased probability of actions to be connective clearly reflects the rise of the Internet as an effective platform for organizing political action and the declining influence of hierarchical organizations in this respect. However, it is important to explain why the likelihood of collective actions was relatively higher than initially expected. It is my view that this finding relates to the examined period (June 2013–June 2015), during which many significant actions – in particular the 30 June demonstrations – depended considerably on offline mobilization, organizational entities, and traditional media outlets, which increased the likelihood of collective actions. In contrast, the majority of political actions that occurred before 30 June 2013 were not initially driven by organizations. Thus, it can be theorized that the likelihood of connective actions would have increased if the examined period had been expanded beyond mid-2013. Moreover, the criteria for categorizing political actions as collective or connective – as partly described in the Methods section – included the following three indicators. 1 Mobilization channels: Online mobilization channels were found to be more effective than offline channels in encouraging people to participate in political actions. Most notably, SNS were the most effective (21.85%), followed by

36  Mostafa Shehata Egyptian news websites (19.51%) and Egyptian television (18.69%), while hierarchical organizations were the least effective (2.45%). These results show that SNS are still crucial platforms for political mobilization, despite the censorship that has been imposed on them since July 2013. More significantly, using nonparametric chi-square and Fisher’s exact tests, no statistically significant relationships were found between mobilization channels (except the following three cases) and participation in political actions: (1) SNS related with the 2014 constitutional referendum (x2[1, N = 288] = 8.752, p = 0.003) and the January 2015 demonstrations (x2[1, N = 288] = 4.138, p = 0.042). (2) Face-to-face communication related only with university students’ demonstrations (x2[1, N = 288] = 10.171, p = 0.001). (3) Hierarchical organizations related with the January 2015 demonstrations, Fisher’s exact test p = 0.031. Unexpectedly, although Egyptian traditional media (offline newspapers, radio, and television) were intensively used after 3 July 2013 to mobilize participation in pro-regime actions, the results rejected their direct effect on youth’s participation. This suggests that the category of youth was largely resistant to the mobilizational effect of traditional media, considering, of course, the decline of traditional media use among youth. 2 Information sources: The information sources exhibited a similar ranking as that of the mobilization channels. Most notably, SNS were the most sources to provide information with 21.22%, followed by news websites (20.55%) and Egyptian television (18.78%), while organizations were the least used (2.65%). In addition, except the following two cases, statistically insignificant relationships were shown between receiving information from most sources and participating in most political actions: (1) Face-to-face communication related with participation in the 30 June 2013 demonstrations (x2[1, N = 287] = 4.327, p = 0.038) and university students’ demonstrations (x2[1, N = 287] = 7.468, p = 0.006). (2) Egyptian television related with participation in the MB demonstrations (x2[1, N = 287] = 4.268, p = 0.039), university students’ demonstrations (x2[1, N = 287] = 6.786, p = 0.009), and the 2014 presidential election (x2[1, N = 287] = 7.324, p = 0.007). These results reflect the importance of both television and face-to-face communication in informing youth about political actions. Unexpectedly, none of the new information channels – even SNS – was found to have affected the youth’s participation in political actions. One of the reasons that SNS were less effective as information source following 3 July 2013 is the censorship, which made people cautious to politically deal with SNS. A comparison of the effects of both mobilization and information channels (see Figure 2.2) reveals that the ability of various sources to inform youth about political actions was greater than their ability to stimulate engagement in those actions. This result is logical, as providing information about a given political action is much easier than convincing people to participate in that action.

The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements in Egypt  37 25.0 20.0

20.6

15.0 10.0 5.0

21.8

19.5

8.6 9.6

18.7

9.9

21.2

18.8

13.7

5.3

9.5

2.5 5.0

0.0

Mobilization channels

12.7

2.7

Information sources

Figure 2.2 Mobilization channels and information sources in relation to political participation.

3 Personal characteristics: This indicator was used to examine the personal nature of political actions, using two benchmarks: political affiliation and age. The results indicated that more than three-quarters of respondents (75.8%) had no political affiliation, and only 2.5% were members of political parties or movement organizations. In addition, 2.8% of the respondents were active online with new political groups and 19% were active online as individuals. The youth’s lack of involvement in political organizations supports the findings of Bennett’s and Segerberg’s study (2013, p. 2), which claimed that ‘political identification of younger generations [has shifted] away from the broad group and institutional affiliations of unions, parties, churches, social class, established movement organizations, and the press’. For the age, it was shown that the early youth category (18–25 years) was most interested in participating in political actions with 65.6%, followed by the middle youth category (aged 26–30) with 23.3% and the late youth category (aged 31–35) with 11.1%. It is also noteworthy that the early and middle youth categories were more interested in participating in unconventional actions (protests), while the late youth category was more interested in participating in conventional actions (elections). Characteristics of Actions Participants

In addition to exploring the nature of political actions, this study also examined the nature of actions participants as collective or connective. In this respect, the results found that about two-thirds (62.4%) of the respondents who participated

38  Mostafa Shehata in political actions were connective, while only 0.6% of them were collective and 37% were equally collective and connective. The high level of connectivity among the Egyptian youth can be attributed in the first place to the intensive use of SNS, in addition to restrictions imposed on the existing hierarchical organizations, which have been largely ineffective. A comparison of the nature of the political actions with actions participants shows that the Egyptian youth were largely more connective than the actions (see Figure 2.3). The comparison also reveals three important aspects of youth’s preferences of collective or connective actions: (1) Youth with collective traits, who were very rare in this study, participated only in mixed actions (collective and connective). (2) Youth with mixed traits (collective and connective) participated predominantly in mixed actions, followed by collective and connective actions, respectively. (3) Youth with connective traits participated predominantly in mixed actions, followed by connective and collective actions, respectively. On the basis of this comparison, it can be claimed that the tendency of youth to be connective/collective enhanced the opportunity of political actions to be also connective/collective. This claim was statistically validated through a Spearman rho test that found a highly statistically significant positive relationship between the nature of the youth and the nature of the political actions (rs[173] = 0.315, p = 0.000). As the traits of participants increased, the traits of actions also increased. Namely, the more people became connective, the more the actions became connective; the less people became collective, the less the actions became collective. This result represents a new empirical dimension of LCA and proves that a better

35

30.1

30

24.9

25

18.5

20 12.7

15

7.5

10 5

0

5.8 0.6

0

0 Collective actions

Mixed actions

Connective actions

Collective youth Mixed youth Connective youth

Figure 2.3 Relationships between political actions and their participants.

The Collapse of Social Media-Based Movements in Egypt  39 understanding of political actions depends significantly on understanding the traits of their participants. Discussion and Conclusion This chapter examined the nature of political actions in Egypt following the 2011 revolution and developed an empirical basis for testing the nature of action participants. The purpose was to understand the reasons of the failure of social movement in Egypt on the basis that an understanding of the sustainability and success of social movements actions requires an understanding of the nature of these actions and their participants. The results show a significant positive correlation between participants and actions as collective or connective. These findings emphasize the importance of considering participants’ orientations and behaviors to obtain a better understanding of political actions (King, 2014; Shehata, 2016), and they are also consistent with the findings of Mercea and Funk (2014), who linked connective action to participants’ motives and incentives. Political actions were found to be more connective than collective. This is consistent with the findings of several studies that have addressed connective action in different societies (e.g., Anduiza et al., 2014; Cristancho & Anduiza, 2013; Lim, 2013; Vromen et al., 2015; Boler et al., 2014). These findings, together with the results of the action participants – who were found to be also more connective than collective – suggest one possible explanation for why the movement of Egyptian youth that peaked in 2011 (moment of victory) did not last beyond 2013. It is both easy and correct to ascribe the decline of youth’s political activities to government repression and media censorship. However, it is very important to also relate this decline to the connective nature of both actions and their participants. Internetbased social movements and actions have been criticized for being unsustainable (Tilly, 2004; Tarrow, 2005, 2011). Connectivity has also been criticized for this same reason (Bondes & Schucher, 2015). Thus, the unsustainability of the 2011 movement in Egypt can be ascribed to the connective nature of its actions, in addition to the youth’s lack of involvement in political entities and inability to construct new entities (nature of political participation). These findings may also be relevant to the understanding of the failure of other social movements in the MENA region, considering the sectarian conflicts in some cases. A lack of political thought among youth also undermined the success of Egypt’s movement. Results indicated that most respondents (68.37%) did not have (or did not identify with) a specific political thought, and only a small proportion (31.63%) had Islamic, liberal, or communist thoughts. These factors made the political scene after Mubarak’s removal very chaotic and allowed anti-revolution actors to restore power in mid-2013. However, an oppositional connective action might be, according to Boler et al. (2014), sustained even via SNS that provide three organizational roles: administration, documentation, and connection. In brief, it can be said that the Egyptian political sphere provides opportunities and challenges for collective and connective actions, which cast shadows on their existence and integration in the future. Although the need for organized collective

40  Mostafa Shehata action is perceived by individuals and political actors, it is intuitive and reasonable to expect that connective action will remain dominant in the future, which will continue to limit the range and depth of the effect of the Egyptian movement, because connectivity has mostly been unsustainable process with a short-term effect. Note 1 An earlier version of this chapter was originally published as a journal article in Interactions: Studies in Communication & Culture, https://doi.org/10.1386/iscc.8.2-3.115_1. Reprint rights were secured. The original version of the paper is available at: https:// www.ingentaconnect.com/content/intellect/iscc/2017/00000008/f0020002.

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42  Mostafa Shehata Egypt’s Presidential Elections Committee (2014). Results statement by the president of the presidential election committee. Retrieved from https://pres2014.elections.eg/images/ pdfs/statement_of_results.pdf. Feldman, N. (2021). The Arab Winter: A tragedy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Foreman, E. K. (1991). Survey sampling principles. New York: Marcel Dekker. Gerbaudo, P. (2012). Tweets and the streets: Social media and contemporary activism. New York: Pluto Press. Ghonim, W. (2012). Revolution 2.0. London: Fourth Estate. Human Rights Watch (2014). World report 2014: Events of 2013. Human Rights Watch. United States of America. Retrieved from https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/wr2014_ web_0.pdf Khalifa, S. (2015). Egypt’s lost spring: Causes and consequences. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger. King, G., B. (2014). (Review of the book The logic of connective action: Digital media and the personalization of contentious politics by W. L. Bennett and A. Segerberg). American Journal of Sociology, 120(3), 968–971. doi:10.1086/678440. Lim, M. (2013). Framing Bouazizi: ‘White lies’, hybrid network, and collective/ connective action in the 2010–11 Tunisian uprising. Journalism, 14(7), 921–941. doi:10.1177/1464884913478359. Mason, P. (2013). Why it’s kicking off everywhere. London: Verso Books. Mercea, D., & Funk, A. (2014). The social media overture of the pan-European StopACTA protest: An empirical examination of participatory coordination in connective action. The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies, 22(3) 1–26. doi:10.1177/1354856514563663. Morgan, G. A., Leech, N. L., Gloeckner, G. W., & Barrett, K. C. (2011). IBM SPSS for introductory statistics: Use and interpretation (4th ed.). New York: Taylor & Francis. Olson, M. (1971). The logic of collective action: Public goods and the theory of groups. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Shehata, M. (2016). The logic of connective action: A critical review of the conceptual and empirical base. Paper presented at The Annual Conference of the International Association for Media and Communication Research (IAMCR). Leicester: Leicester University. Surkov, N. Y. (2021). The second wave of Arab revolutions reached an impasse. Vostok. Afro-Aziatskie obshchestva: istoriia i sovremennost, 3, 29–42. Tarrow, S. (2005). The new transnational activism (1st ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tarrow, S. G. (2011). Power in movement: Social movements and contentious politics (3rd ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tilly, C. (2004). Social movements: 1768–2004. Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishers. Vromen, A., Xenos, M. A., & Loader, B. (2015). Young people, social media and connective action: From organisational maintenance to everyday political talk. Journal of Youth Studies, 18(1), 80–100. Walgrave, S., Bennett, W., Van Laer, J., & Breunig, C. (2011). Multiple engagements and network bridging in contentious politics: Digital media use of protest participants. Mobilization: An International Quarterly, 16(3), 325–349. Wimmer, R. D., & Dominick, J. R. (2011). Mass media research: An introduction (9th ed.). Boston, MA: Wadsworth. Wright, S. (2015). Populism and downing street e-petitions: Connective action, hybridity, and the changing nature of organizing. Political Communication, 32(3), 414–433. doi:10 .1080/10584609.2014.958256.

3

Social Media and Social Change in Jordan Muna Al Taweel

The Arab Spring While the surrounding Arab states have undergone drastic regime and political changes and/or collapsed into civil wars, Jordan appears to have left the waves of protests seemingly calm. One reason for this is that the majority of the protestors were calling for administrative and economic reform more so than regime ouster (Sandels, 2011, para. 2); the administrative sect of the government is headed by the prime minister (PM) who is appointed by royal decree from the Monarch. However, the events of 2011 were somewhat of a wakeup call for both the people and regime regarding social and political hurdles in the face of reform. In response to the Jordanian Arab Spring protests, the regime removed PM Samir Rifai from office and replaced him with Marouf Al Bakhit. This change was significant for two reasons. The first is that Rifai is a Jordanian of Palestinian origins and his position in office had revved up a history of sectarian tension between Palestinian-Jordanians and East Bank Jordanians – or those who believe the territory originally belongs to those who descend from tribes East of the Jordan River. The second reason is that in terms of economic or political reform, the replacement was not so different. While according to Curtis Ryan in his work “Jordan and the Arab Spring”, Rifai was a “neoliberal technocrat, and he became the focal point of antigovernment demonstrations” (Ryan, 2017, p. 138); yet, Bakhit was also a member of what many saw as the ruling elite, and him being the replacement left many concerns unaddressed. Similar to protests in other Arab states, Jordan’s were significantly motivated by economic hardships and calls for economic reform (Beck & Hüser, 2015, p. 85). However, according to Ryan (2017), the Jordanian regime response came as a disappointment for those calling for reform; in addition to being another regime insider, Bakhit had also previously served as PM in a previous term and had been the head of the General Intelligence Directorate (GID), the central intelligence agency in Jordan. The change settled some of the protests in the streets. Additionally, neighboring Syria had begun to descend into civil war and Syrian refugees escaping the violence into Jordan became another focal point (Krafft et al., 2018, p. 4). However, it did not escape many reformists that the replacement for the executive branch DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-4

44  Muna Al Taweel at a time when dissent was growing in the nation was a former head of the GID. Following the promises of reform after the 2011 Arab Spring protests, crackdowns on protesters and reformists increased in the following year. According to a report by Amnesty International: Twenty detainees – all members of pro-reform groups – were arrested across the country between 15 July and 4 October 2012 either during or following peaceful protests throughout the country calling for legal and economic reforms, greater political freedoms, and an end to corruption. (2012) The country also had one of the lowest rankings on the World Press Freedom index (Reporters Without Borders, 2013). Social Media and the 2018 Fourth Circle Protests

The introduction of social media applications and their usage in the nation has arguably changed the dynamic between authorities and reformists, as some of the dissent is now expressed online. The effects of this change were seen in 2018 during the Fourth Circle protests across many cities in Jordan, particularly in the capital Amman. Protestors took to the streets all across the country but were centered around the Fourth Circle in Amman as it is situated across from the Ministry of the Interior (Al Tahat, 2018, para. 6). The protests came as a response to new tax laws put into place by the government of then PM Hani Al Mulki (Al Tahat & Bazian, 2018, para. 3). The laws came in response to International Monetary fund (IMF)backed austerity measures in an attempt to tackle the State’s rising debt. In addition to increased taxes on the industrial and agricultural sectors, fuel and electricity prices were raised. This was following a reduction in government subsidies for bread in January 2018, and the accumulation of all these policies was met with a widespread public outcry which manifested as protests across the nation. Jordan’s economy has been turbulent for most of its history, but the period following the Arab Spring and its aftermath only increased this turbulence. An increasing number of refugees as well as growing unemployment had placed increased pressure on Jordan’s already struggling economy. According to UNHCR (UN High Commissioner for Refugees), as of the end of 2019, almost 750,000 refugees resided in Jordan either within refugee camps or in urban areas, with Syrian refugees making up the largest number, almost 650,000. However, there is also a growing Iraqi, Yemini, and Sudanese refugee population as well as groups from 52 other nationalities (UNHCR, 2020). Moreover, unemployment numbers amongst youth – between the ages of 15 and 24 – were around 35% (World Bank, 2021). As a result, these protests were largely carried out by younger generations in the nation, both online and in the streets. The significance of these protests lies in that they not only mobilized online before moving onto the streets, but they were maintained in the streets for weeks due to their online presence. The connectivity between protestors and social media

Social Media and Social Change in Jordan  45 offered accountability for what was happening in the streets between protestors and police. Gendarmerie (GDG) routinely use tear gas against protestors to break up large crowds. Moreover, the government would limit internet access and throttle live feed features during the protests as a way of controlling mobilization (Mühlenmeier, 2020, para. 5). Additionally, despite an existing sexist divide rooted in tribalism within the nation, which historically has put hurdles in the face of female civic and political activism and participation, women participation was significant, both in the streets and online. The Fourth Circle protests had a different spirit than those in 2011/2012 for multiple reasons. The latter were associated with the overall movements of the Arab Spring and carried with them some of the tribal and sectarian tensions associated with political dissent in the nation. The former saw a gathering that seemingly overlooked rifts based in sectarianism or political affiliation calling for economic reform and an end to corruption. Moreover, the Fourth Circle protests saw a unified stance on social media platforms. Users called attention to the protests using hashtags such as #‫( الدوار_الرابع‬#Fourth_Circle). One hashtag that garnered more popularity was #‫( قانون_الجرائم_اإلكترونية‬#Cybercrime_Bill), which referred to a cybercrime bill that had been drafted by parliament and was awaiting endorsement by the King. The bill had vague descriptions for what was classified under cybercrime and activists saw it as an opportunity for the government to restrict speech that criticized its actions. The inclusion of the rejection of this law in the protests further incorporated and specified an already existing conversation about online freedom of expression in the midst of political dissent. Moreover, since the protests, the Fourth Circle itself as a physical and public space has been associated with the protests – later in 2020, protestors gathered in the streets to denounce the shutting down of the Teachers’ Syndicate on July 25, 2020. Protests erupted in response to police raiding the Syndicate, arresting top officials within it, and then shutting it down. These protests were held across the country and were situated not only in front of Syndicate buildings but also in the Fourth Circle in Amman. Protests were then stifled by widespread arrests, in addition to an increase in lockdown measures due to the COVID-19 pandemic (Human Rights Watch, 2020, August, para. 2). These different elements signaled a shift in the objective of protestors and their demands from movements at the beginning of the decade. However, for women in particular, the Fourth Circle protests and the use of social media set the foundations for a conversation about the lines drawn between civic participation, dissent, and tribal honor – a conversation that would later be utilized in the summer of 2020. Tribalism and Politics

Jordan’s tribal system and culture often play an underlying role in determining not only how and where protests are carried out, but what they signify. The tribal structure is associated with supporting the monarchy in the nation, and this has manifested historically in two ways, the first is the key role the tribes of the East Bank played in founding the state as a monarchy under the rule of the Hashemites.

46  Muna Al Taweel In their work “‘Jordan First’: Tribalism, Nationalism and Legitimacy of Power in Jordan”, Mohammed Ali Al Oudat and Ayman Alshboul state: Tribes are always connected with the monarch in Jordanian society. This connection stems from the key role of the tribes in supporting the Hashemite monarchy. The Bedouin tribes are identified with the Hashemites, because the king’s social legitimacy derives from traditional claims of kinship, religion and historical performance. Moreover, the tribes enjoy institutional legitimacy in the legal processes because kings work closely with the tribes and they are, in a certain manner, considered tribal leaders. The loyalty of a tribesman grows from a desire to defend the honour of family, tribe and king, and not to some abstract notion of Jordanian patriotism. (2010, p. 70) Second, East bank Jordanians have benefited from a long-standing yet somewhat unspoken policy that favors them in military, government, and public sector jobs, essentially leaving the private sector for Palestinian Jordanians (El Muhtaseb, 2013, p. 2). As a result, calls for economic reform in the nation have alluded to this policy and its consequences, and, in turn, have faced up not only against the political and economic systems, but also the tribal system. This interdependence between the tribal system and the regime often puts a hurdle in the path of reformists that have to answer to the interwoven authority of both systems. Moreover, this puts a specific type of pressure on women within these protests who face backlash for political dissent but also for bringing into question the honor of the family, as the tribal system itself is interwoven with concepts such as family and honor. Despite this, the Fourth Circle protests showed that activism and calls for reform could transcend the social hurdles that challenge them. They symbolized an organized mobilization of people from all political affiliations calling in unity for reform and an end to corruption, using social media to communicate and maintain a narrative of the grounds and objectives of the protests in the face of social and/or government backlash. Members from various political parties critical of the government were present and called for the release of some of their members that had been arrested. Additionally, members of grassroots movements from across the State participated with reformists and activists not affiliated with groups or movements (Al Tahat & Bazian, 2018, para. 17). Eventually, the protests ended with the resignation of the then PM Hani Al Mulki and the appointment of Omar Al Razzaz as PM. Before his appointment as PM, Al Razzaz had been Minister of Education, was known for his reformist policies, and had maintained a presence on social media platforms that made him much more accessible as a member of the government than other ministers and officials. Appointing him as PM following the protests came as an indication that the government understood the implications of or, at the very least, was aware of the wider range of communication happening on social media platforms such as Twitter and Facebook, especially amongst the youth.

Social Media and Social Change in Jordan  47 The COVID-19 Pandemic and Women’s Rights One of the biggest hurdles in the face of social activism and social protest in 2020 has been the COVID-19 pandemic. In response to the pandemic, the Jordanian government implemented one of the strictest lockdowns worldwide to limit the spread of the virus. A state of emergency was declared on March 17 through a royal decree by the King, which places sweeping executive power in the hands of the PM at the time, Omar Al Razzaz. The State of Emergency Law, more commonly known as the defense law, was set in 1992. Previously, martial law had been declared in the State from 1967 following the Arab-Israel War until 1989 when it was lifted. According to Human Rights Watch: Under the Defense Law of 1992, the prime minister may declare a state of emergency in response to exceptional circumstances that threaten national security or public safety, including a pandemic. The law gives the prime minister the authority to suspend certain rights, including restrictions on freedom of expression and movement, and does not appear to have time limits. (2020) After declaring the defense law, Al Razzaz stated that it would be implemented in the lowest degree. Yet, air travel was suspended immediately as well as travel within the country, and almost all services except for medical services were suspended or heavily regulated. At the height of the lockdown, individuals could be arrested for breaking curfew and leaving the house whether by car or by foot. Hundreds of people had been arrested during the curfew (Human Rights Watch, 2020, March). Furthermore, in April, authorities arrested two journalists for their coverage demonstrating the economic effects of the lockdown on wage workers in downtown Amman, enforcing restrictions on freedom of expression – particularly within the press (Reporters Without Borders, 2020). The pandemic and the subsequent lockdown have exacerbated any already existing tensions in the nation – in economic, political, or social contexts. Economic hardships and restrictive laws were only fueled by the pandemic. Moreover, unemployment – already at 35% – was increasing and those employed within almost all businesses in both the public and private sectors were now working from home. Conversations about politics and social issues moved online as a result. One of these issues was the phenomenon of honor killings in the nation. The prominence of honor killings in Jordan has long been an issue trapped between an increasing reformist population and a strict tribal system. Moreover, conversations about these killings are often intertwined with the political system due to the interdependence between regime loyalty, tribal identity, and nationalism, as these murders are committed by male relatives of women who commit acts seen as bringing dishonor to the tribe or family name. Feminist groups and activists in the nation have called for action to combat the issue for decades, but reform remains opposed by conservatives who promote the institutional legitimacy of the tribal

48  Muna Al Taweel system. In 1992, Princess Basma bint Talal, one of the more influential activists against honor killings and women’s rights due to her being a member of the royal family, founded the Jordanian National Commission for Women, an organization aimed at furthering developments and activism when it comes to youth, women, human rights, and democracy in the nation (JNCW, n.d.) The commission aims to promote women’s rights and development through sustainable programs and initiatives. Furthermore, in 1997, the government added the Family Protection Department to its police force with the objective to combat domestic violence. These actions have pushed the conversation further into the public sphere, yet honor killings happen yearly in the nation and every time reignite the social and political tension around them. The height of the tension in recent years came in 2016, as 26 honor killings were documented in Jordan by only October of that year when numbers annually remain below 20 (Coogle, 2016). Consequently, in the same year, honor killings were declared incompatible with Islam by the General Fatwa Department (Husseini, 2016), which is responsible for making rulings based on interpretations of Islamic law. Given that Jordan is constitutionally characterized as a Muslim country – meaning that its constitution derives laws from Islamic law – this fatwa came as a challenge to the legitimacy of the authority of the tribal system in defining the characteristics of the constitution and penal code. Furthermore, in 2017, a referendum was passed by the government regarding Article 340 of the Jordanian penal code which closed a loophole that allowed “severe anger” as a justification for the killing of a woman by a man, as well as an amendment to a code that originated from a former mandate era French law which exempted a man from punishment for killing a female relative if the killing was done in response to her committing adultery. British and French mandates were placed on the Levant region following the First World War, influencing the development of the military, political, and legal sectors amongst others in Iraq and the Levant region. These changes have not stopped honor killings in the country; seven have been reported as of October 2020. Amnesty international reports that due to the pandemic and its subsequent lockdowns, women in the MENA (Middle East and North Africa) region have been subjected to increased forms of domestic violence due to an increase of time spent at home (Amnesty International, 2021, para. 2), with Jordanian women alone experiencing a 69% increase in domestic abuse since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic (Abueish, 2020, para. 16). Princess Basma bint Talal has used her influence as a member of the royal family to bring attention to the issue. Yet, this is more a clash within the sexist dimension of the tribal system engrained within the social fabric of Jordan. Moreover, women have less participation in parliament, and a female quota for women was implemented by royal decree ensuring women 15 seats out of 130 parliamentary seats. Quotas are determined according to the ratio of minority populations in the country. According to Minority Rights Group International, Christians, Buddhists, and Hindus make up a religious minority in the nation, with Christians being the highest. Circassians, Chechens, and Kurds make up ethnic minorities, with Kurds being the lowest (2020). Christians are given nine seats in a parliament of 130 seats as a minority

Social Media and Social Change in Jordan  49 comprising 6% of the population. Circassians and Chechens are given three seats as ethnic minorities comprising of 0.006% of the population. Yet women are given 15 out of 130 seats while they comprise up to 49% of the population. Despite being nearly half the population in Jordan, women are still stripped of their civic and political voices – framed as subalterns, a term coined by postcolonial theorist Gayatri Spivak in her work “Can the Subaltern Speak” in reference to Indian women living under patriarchal dominance in postcolonial India. It becomes clear how this applies to the situation of women living under the Jordanian tribal system. They are oppressed within a patriarchal institution deriving its legitimacy from the influence of imperial mandates placed on the region by European colonizers. While there are attempts to push back against these restrictions, they often get stifled by the interdependencies between the system and larger hegemonic power structures. Asef Bayat argues in his work Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East that reform movements against these kinds of restrictions refute the commonly held theory of Middle East exceptionalism in the face of global liberalization movements. He examines everyday attempts at change through what he calls “social nonmovements” (p. 12) – instances in which actions not motivated by ideology or direct regime opposition prove that the region is not frozen in time and unchanging in the face of liberalization movements globally. These nonmovements “embody shared practices of large numbers of ordinary people whose fragmented but similar activities trigger much social change, even though these practices are rarely guided by an ideology or recognizable leaderships and organizations” (2013, p. 15). In the case of honor killings in Jordan, women do not have the platforms or political power and authority to ignite change through organized movements that take effect, but the consistent outcry against violations of women’s rights in the nation garner a pattern of dissent and opposition that proves these incidents do not go unnoticed. At the very least, they ignite a conversation about the effects of these violations and the importance of opposing them. In 2020, these conversations were moved online due to the restrictions put in place by the COVID-19 lockdown. This was then exacerbated in July by the killing of Ahlam. Ahlam was a woman living with her family, her parents and brothers, in Amman. She was killed by her father after a violent argument that caused her to run out into the streets screaming for help. She was overheard by the neighbors, which prompted one to film her father’s attack and post it on Twitter. According to media outlet, Al Arabiya, Ahlam was attacked by her father in the streets in front of her house and was beaten to death. Eyewitnesses state that her brothers had prevented neighbors and bystanders from interfering or stopping the father’s actions. Moreover, he then sat next to her lifeless body and drank tea until authorities arrived. (Abueish, 2020, para. 5). The manner in which she had been killed, in addition to the actions of her father following her death, led to public outcry both online and in the streets of Amman. However, both forms of outcry were stifled. Large groups of women protested in the streets of Amman calling for multiple reforms to the penal code, including amending laws, criminalizing the act of killing

50  Muna Al Taweel in the name of honor, removing the phrase “honor killing” from the penal code, and prosecuting the act under the code that criminalizes murder (Husseini, 2020, para. 5). While these protests defied both the system and the lockdown, they were shortlived and overshadowed by the events that transpired after the shutting down of the Teachers’ Syndicate later that year in July. Protests for both events were further stifled by the increased lockdown measures implemented by the government and the expansion of the defense law to include a nationwide curfew. Much of the activism moved online as a result. Activists rallied behind many hashtags, with the most dominant being #‫( صرخات_احالم‬Ahlam’s_Screams) and #‫( الدم_عمره_ما_راح_يصير_شاي‬#Blood_will_never_become_Tea). Additionally, users started sharing testimonies from women who were citing emotional and physical abuse during the lockdown in an attempt to bring awareness to them within the national conversation. One case that went viral over the summer was that of Eman AL Khateeb, a single mother who was pleading for help in a 20-minute-long video because she and her 13-year-old son were being abused by her brother. She claimed the Department of Family Protection had turned her away when she sought help from them. Her friend1 posted the video on Twitter earlier in the year with the hashtag #‫( ايمان_الخطيب‬#Eman_Alkhateeb), where it went viral on the platform amongst users in Jordan and was incorporated into the overall conversation about women’s rights at the time. While all these examples garner attention on Twitter as they unfold, this attention is rarely ever enough to bring institutional awareness to them or incite a national conversation that reaches government officials, and they do not garner real change due to two reasons. The first is that these hashtags and digital rallies occur on Twitter more often than on other social media platforms. Twitter is currently the least used social media platform in Arab nations, especially in Jordan. According to the Arab Social Media report, a recurring study tracing the use of social media in Arab nations, “around 33 per cent of social media users in Jordan are on Twitter, 63 per cent of whom access it on daily basis. The report showed that of the total social media users, 2 per cent only prefer Twitter” (Ghazal, 2016). In emerging economies, Jordan is second in terms of smart phone ownership and around half of the population uses social media. As of 2020, 5.7 million people use social media on a daily basis in Jordan (Kemp, 2020). Not enough users are on Twitter to give these issues the platform they need to garner any reaction or change. Women who refer to Twitter to voice concerns or fear about safety end up screaming into a limited bubble which only gives the illusion of response, as these reports, stories, and hashtags go viral for a few days and then get drowned out by the system outside of them. Ahlam’s father was arrested after her death was shared; however, the government then placed a gag order on sharing news of the case since it was under investigation. Media outlets were not allowed to report on it and discussion of the case on social media were prevented (Husseini, 2020, para. 4). All that was left for Twitter users was to tweet about the fact that they couldn’t talk about it. The second reason is that it is only on Twitter that these issues are shared and discussed the way that they are. Twitter offers a level of anonymity in terms of

Social Media and Social Change in Jordan  51 voicing thoughts on issues that are politically and socially divisive. This applies to almost all cases related to Jordanian tribalism and women’s rights. Twitter has seen examples of Jordanian women calling out harassers, exposing online sexual predators, and rallying behind stories of women sharing their experiences with abuse, with these incidents never reaching the public sphere and garnering a national conversation. It creates a dead end in terms of activism in which victims rarely bring up these issues in political and social arenas or in front of government officials due to the tribal pressure and shaming they often endure. As a result, they openly discuss them on Twitter, where there is not a large enough audience to warrant a response from the government. These movements are only attempts at movements that fizzle out before they make a difference. The attempts are not failing at the moment so much that they are not bringing about reform fast enough, but there being an attempt in the first place is not insignificant. For example, after the 1989 suspension of martial law2 in Jordan and the restoration of civic participation, one of the key issues for feminists and women’s rights activists in Jordan was a section in the penal code that exempted a rapist of punishment if he married his victim. The victim marrying her rapist also protected her from tribal honor killing. This was an extension of the institutionalized concept of tribal honor that saw a rape victim as dishonoring her family and that her honor would only be restored if she entered a marital union with the man who “dishonored” her. This resulted in countless rapists escaping justice and countless stories of women having to endure pain and humiliation beyond legal, social, or political comprehension. The issue was at the forefront of every women’s rights movement and rally since civil life was restored to the nation, and in 2017, the law was abolished, instating full punishments for perpetrators of sexual assault. The repeal of this law was met with celebration and a more determined focus on the remaining problems in the penal code requiring reform. It took almost 30 years for the law to be repealed and that is due to the relentless efforts of individuals, organizations, movements, and nonmovements alike in the nation. One could argue that current laws limiting freedom of expression, economic reform, and equal rights require time to be reformed or repealed. Currently, subalterns are speaking in Jordan; time will tell if they are heard. This chapter has sought to examine the link between social media and social change in Jordan in the political and economic climate following the Arab Spring. Despite the increase of social media and its use, the effect it has had on reformative movements in the country has not met the calls for reform coming from protestors. This is because it remains trapped within the restrictions set by the nature of the political system and the influence of the tribal system in the country. Notes 1 @NadeenMadhoun (‫كيف بتقدروا تسمعوا صوتها وكأنه روحها بتطلع معه وبيضللكم عيب تحطوا‬، ‫“قلوبكم جاحدة في الظلم‬.(‫مجدلية‬ ‫ أنا أسفة من‬، ‫ علموا بناتكم ما يبرروا العنف ولو ليوم‬، ‫مبررات واحتماالت للعائلة؟ علموا أوالدكم يحترموا المرأة‬ ‫ايمان_الخطيب‬#. ‫ عار علينا اذا لم يؤتى حقهن‬، ‫ ”كل قلبي لكل حد مر بتجربه بشعة كسرته‬Twitter. March 29, 2020. https://twitter.com/NadeenMadhoun/status/1244283261637005312?ref_src =twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E12442832616370053

52  Muna Al Taweel 12%7Ctwgr%5E%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.albawaba. com%2Feditors-choice%2Fvideo-jordanian-woman-crying-family-abuse-covid-19lockdown-goes-viral-1348288. 2 Martial law was declared in 1967 due to the Arab-Israeli war and continued through the Black September civil war in the 1970s and the first gulf war in the 1980s.

References Abueish, T. (2020, July 23). “Murder of Jordanian woman by father sparks sit-in after video evidence goes viral”. Alarabiya News. https://english.alarabiya.net/features/2020/07/23/ Murder-of-Jordanian-woman-by-father-sparks-sit-in-after-video-evidence-goes-viral Al Oudat, M., & Alshboul, A. (2010). ‘Jordan First’: Tribalism, Nationalism and Legitimacy of Power in Jordan. Intellectual Discourse, 18(1), 65–96. Al Tahat, J. (2018, December 7). “Opposition figures, activists join rally at Fourth Circle”. Jordan Times. https://www.jordantimes.com/news/local/opposition-figures-activists-joinrally-fourth-circle Al Tahat, J., & Bazian, A. (2018, December 14). “Protesters rally anew at Fourth Circle demanding change”. Jordan Times. http://jordantimes.com/news/local/protesters-rallyanew-fourth-circle-demanding-change Amnesty International. (2021, March 8). “MENA: Gender-based violence continues to devastate lives of women across region”. Amnesty International. https:// www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2021/03/mena-gender-based-violence-continuesto-devastate-lives-of-women-across-region/ Amnesty International. (2012, October 12). “Jordan: Arrest of 20 pro-reform activists heralds crackdown on freedom of expression”. Amnesty International. http://www.amnesty. org/en/latest/news/2012/10/jordan-protests/ Bayat, A. (2013). Life as politics: How ordinary people change the Middle East. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Beck, M., & Hüser, S. (2015). “Jordan and the ‘Arab Spring’: No Challenge, No Change?” Middle East Critique, 24(1), 83–97. doi:10.1080/19436149.2014.996996 Coogle, A. (2016, October 27). “Recorded ‘Honor’ killings on the rise in Jordan”. Human Rights Watch. https://www.hrw.org/news/2016/10/27/recorded-honor-killings-rise-jordan El Muhtaseb, L. (2013, April). “Jordan’s East Banker-Palestinian Schism”. Norwegian Peacebuilding Resource Center. https://www.files.ethz.ch/isn/162779/746892aacedd3e8 fcb1ff7370a77fb67.pdf Ghazal, M. (2016, April 13). “Facebook, WhatsApp overshadow twitter in Jordan’s social media sphere”. Jordan Times. http://jordantimes.com/news/local/facebook-whatsappovershadow-twitter-jordan%E2%80%99s-social-media-sphere Husseini, R. (2016, December 1). “Honour crimes anti-Islamic – fatwa”. Jordan Times. https://jordantimes.com/news/local/honour-crimes-anti-islamic-%E2%80%94-fatwa Husseini, R. (2020, November 25). “Rising against so called honor killings in Jordan”. Wilson Center. https://www.wilsoncenter.org/blog-post/rising-against-so-called-honorkillings-jordan Human Rights Watch. (2020, August 27) “Jordan: Arrests, forced dispersal at teacher protests”. HRW. https://www.hrw.org/news/2020/08/27/jordan-arrests-forced-dispersalteacher-protests Human Rights Watch. (2020, March 20). “Jordan: State of emergency declared”. HRW. http://www.hrw.org/news/2020/03/20/jordan-state-emergency-declared

Social Media and Social Change in Jordan  53 JNCW, Jordanian National Commission for Women. (n.d.). https://women.jo/en Kemp, S. (2020, February 18). “Digital 2020: Jordan – DataReportal – Global digital insights”. DataReportal. https://datareportal.com/reports/digital-2020-jordan Krafft, C., Sieverding, M., Keo, C., & Salemi, C. (2018). “Syrian refugees in Jordan: Demographics, livelihoods, education, and health”. Economic Research Forum, Working Paper No. 1184, 1–37. Retrieved from: https://erf.org.eg/publications/syrian-refugees-in-jordandemographics-livelihoods-education-and-health/ Mühlenmeier, L. (2020, March 6). “Interview on internet shutdowns: Jordan does not block, it throttles internet access”. Netzpolitik. https://netzpolitik.org/2020/jordan-throttles-notblocks-internet-access-shutdowns-keepiton/ Reporters Without Borders. (2013). “World Press Freedom Index – 2013”. RSF. https:// www.refworld.org/docid/5108f621e.html Reporters Without Borders. (2020, April 10). “Two Jordanian TV journalists arrested after broadcasting criticism of lockdown: Reporters Without borders”. RSF. https://rsf.org/en/ news/two-jordanian-tv-journalists-arrested-after-broadcasting-criticism-lockdown Ryan, C. (2017). “Jordan and the Arab Spring”. M. L. Haas & D. W. Lesch Eds. The Arab Spring: The Hope and Reality of the Uprisings (pp. 132–146). New York: Westview Press. Sandels, A. (2011, January 15). “Jordan: Thousands of demonstrators protest food prices, denounce government”. Los Angeles Times. https://latimesblogs.latimes.com/babylonbeyond/2011/01/jordan-protests-food-prices-muslim-brotherhood-tunisia-strike-thousandsgovernment.html Spivak, G. C. (1988). “Can the subaltern speak?” C. Nelson & L. Grossberg Eds. Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture (pp. 271–313). USA , Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press. doi:10.1007/978-1-349-19059-1_20 UNHCR, (2020). “Supporting refugees in Jordan: what we achieved in 2020”. UNHCR Jordan 2020 - Year in review. Retrieved from: https://reporting.unhcr.org/sites/default/files/ UNHCR%20Jordan%20-%202020%20Year%20in%20Review.pdf World Bank. (2021) “Unemployment, youth total (% of total labor force ages 15–24) (modeled ILO estimate) – Jordan”. https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/SL.UEM.1524. ZS?locations=JO

4

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon The October 17 Uprising Michael Huijer

Introduction Lebanon has endured a multiple number of crises since its inception as an independent nation in 1943. Although it is considered as a model of ‘resilience’ because of how it has endured these crises, one cannot ignore the targeted attacks on media throughout its history. A product of colonial map redrawing, Lebanon ended up with a rich variety of sectarian groups scattered over a small territory. Consequently, a power-sharing pact among all sects was agreed upon, providing representation throughout all government entities. Lebanon’s political power-sharing system among the sects mostly maintained its original shape over the decades. It has been an ideal configuration for Lebanon’s political and business elites to exert their power over their local communities and the patronage system became the norm (Traboulsi, 2012). The presidency is allocated to a Maronite Christian, the prime minister to a Sunni Muslim, and the speaker of parliament is reserved for the Shia sect (Majed, 2017). Situated in a volatile neighbourhood, Lebanon faced several internal and external conflicts that shaped its character as a country. However, compared to many of its Arab neighbours, Lebanon was perceived throughout the latter half of the 20th century as a regional hub for relatively free expression of opinions and political thought (Dajani, 2013). Although this perception of relative freedom had some merit, there is also a well-documented history of targeting journalists that does not fit this image. By 2019, Lebanon was already enduring several crises affecting much of its population, including regular water shortages, electricity cuts, poor waste management, and endemic corruption (Baumann, 2019). A change in the political system seemed inevitable. As Lebanon was slowly but surely sinking deeper into an economic and financial crisis, the then minister of telecommunications, Mohamed Choucair, announced a tax on the use of WhatsApp in October 2019 (Al Jazeera, 2019). With Lebanon already enduring one of the highest mobile phone costs in the world (The Monthly Magazine, 2019), the street erupted, and Lebanon saw a prolonged period of crosssectarian nationwide protests. Initially sparked by the proposed WhatsApp tax, a suggestion quickly withdrawn by Choucair, the anger of the protestors turned DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-5

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  55 toward the entire political elite and the crumbling system they helped create. Many saw this as an opportunity for democratisation and to strive for securing basic rights for all Lebanese. To illustrate the conditions that led to the October 17 Uprising, Gallup released its Negative Experience Index in 2020, with Lebanon scoring the second worst in the world. Forty percent of Lebanese expressed feeling sadness in 2019, more than double than the previous year. Feelings of anger more than doubled in a year, rising to 43% in 2019 (Ray, 2020). This poll gives some indication of the misery the Lebanese have endured in recent years. Lebanon’s then president, Michel Aoun, said in 2018 that unemployment levels were as high as 46% (The Daily Star, 2018). In addition to rampant corruption, Lebanon is also dealing with one of the highest refugees per capita in the world following the Syria crisis (European Commission, 2020). Lebanon’s banking system, previously one of its few sources of pride, is in critical shape. The country’s central bank had been running a mass Ponzi scheme, which finally collapsed in 2019. Coupled with failed government policies, this has led to banks imposing strict capital controls on the bank accounts of Lebanese citizens, restricting access to their savings (The Economist, 2020). In such times of crises, the role of the media is crucial in upholding democratic principles such as fulfilling a watchdog role in society, facilitating access to information, and embodying freedom of speech (McQuail, 2005). This chapter argues that Lebanon’s media companies struggled to meet its responsibilities in this regard. It examines the limitations and challenges Lebanon’s media experienced both before and during the uprising. It focuses on the structural nature of the state’s crackdown on media activities during the uprising and how a combination of the political establishment’s significant control over the country’s media and banks, coupled with legal and regulatory frameworks, was able to resist any sustained pressure. It will also delve into how nontraditional media played a key role in reporting the uprising. Theoretical Framework The Polarized Pluralist Model by Daniel C. Hallin and Paolo Mancini (2004) is employed to gain an understanding of how closely Lebanon’s media and political fields are intertwined. The model has four dimensions to analyse media systems, namely structure of the media market, political parallelism, professionalisation, and the role of the state. It is part of a broader framework developed by Hallin and Mancini to analyse media and politics systems in Western Europe. The four dimensions have been adapted to the Lebanese context to help analyse the characteristics of the media system in the country and the degree to which the political actors influence the media in Lebanon. Below is a brief description of the four dimensions. In the first dimension, the structure of the media market, Hallin and Mancini contrast Northern European and North American media markets on the one hand and Southern European markets on the other. It argues how countries that

56  Michael Huijer experienced an early development of mass press, starting in the late 19th century or early 20th century, proved to have a much higher newspaper circulation than those countries that experienced a much later development (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, p. 22). The latter, with significantly lower revenue, are more prone to being subsidised by political actors, which has an affect on the levels of political parallelism and journalistic professionalisation (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, p. 22). The second dimension, political parallelism, has its roots in Seymour’s concept of “party-press parallelism,” which is introduced in “The Political Impact of Mass Media” (Seymour-Ure, 1974). It aimed to show to what extent media systems were in parallel with political party systems. Building on this concept, Hallin and Mancini put forward several components to explain this dimension; in this section, we will look in particular at the organisational connections between media and political actors (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, pp. 26–28). The third dimension, professionalisation (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, pp. 34–36), will be discussed, albeit briefly, due to its similarities with political parallelism in the case of Lebanon. We will view it through the instrumentalisation component of this dimension, which looks at to what extent the media is controlled by outside forces (Hallin & Mancini, p. 38). The last dimension, the role of the state, looks at to what extent the state intervenes in media activities, for example, through regulation, ownership, and censorship (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, pp. 41–44). In this context, the state’s security role during the October 17 Uprising, regularly clamping down on media actors, is significant. The analyses in this chapter will be structured according to these dimensions to illustrate how they fare within the Lebanese media context and to analyse the relationships between the realms of politics and media and the implication on democratisation in Lebanon. The analyses will also examine the constraints the media organisations face in Lebanon in the light of ongoing political and financial pressures. Method The analyses in this chapter build on five semi-structured interviews with professionals from the fields of media or academia. All interviewees are knowledgeable on Lebanon’s political and media systems and were either reporting directly on the events surrounding the October 17 Uprising or were regularly providing critical commentary. The interviewees were selected for their intimate knowledge of this chapter’s themes and the challenges Lebanon’s media faced during this crisis. Three interviewees are prominent media actors working for established media organisations. One interviewee is the managing editor of an independent nontraditional media organisation in Lebanon. The fifth interviewee is a prominent academic and activist, regularly providing political commentary. Their names and affiliations are anonymised based on their request. Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, it was difficult to conduct the interviews in person. The interviews were therefore conducted via online videoconferencing

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  57 and email exchange. Each lasted around an hour. The questions were focused on the nature and the role of the media before and during the uprising, the state’s crackdown on the media, the existing legal and regulatory frameworks, the connections between the media and other powerful entities in society, and the emergence of alternative media sources in Lebanon as a source of hope for increasing democratisation. The analyses focus on the period between October 2019, the beginning of the uprising, and March 2020, which saw a major drop in protests following the country’s first lockdown in response to the COVID-19 pandemic. The collected qualitative data have been transcribed and analysed using thematic analysis (Denzin & Lincoln, 2011). Analyses Structure of the Media Market

The media ownership structure in Lebanon is made up of political and business elites, and as the Lebanese political system, the media landscape is also divided somewhat along sectarian lines. The fact that most media organisations in Lebanon are owned and controlled by people in the political elite is a major challenge to one of democracy’s main principles, namely accountability (Day, 2022). TV stations such as Future TV (closed in 2019), Al-Manar, and NBN are more directly tied to ruling political parties (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon, 2018). For example, the now defunct Future TV was the mouthpiece of the Al-Mustaqbal party, which is controlled by the Hariri family (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: Future TV, 2018), one of the most powerful political families in Lebanon. Its family members have stakes in several other media outlets, as well as shares in a major Lebanese bank (Chaaban, 2019). The Hariri family was a major focus of protestors throughout the uprising. Another focus of protestors is the current and longstanding speaker of parliament, Nabih Berri. His family and close contacts within his political party control the TV station NBN (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: NBN, 2018). Al-Manar TV is controlled by individual businessmen close to the Hezbollah (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: Al-Manar, 2018). OTV is directly tied to the political party Tayyar (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: OTV, 2018). It was more active in reporting on the ground during the protests compared to the previously mentioned TV stations. However, there were many moments where protestors refused to speak to OTV reporters, identifying them as a government mouthpiece (Battah, 2019). Other major TV stations in Lebanon include LBCI, MTV, and Al-Jadeed. Their ownership structure also includes major establishment figures. In the case of LBCI, former deputy prime minister and billionaire Issam Fares owns 20% while former prime minister and billionaire Najib Mikati owns just over 4%. Most shares are owned by the Daher-Saad family, mostly involved in the media business (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: LBCI, 2018). MTV (Murr TV) is controlled by a branch of the prominent Murr family (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon:

58  Michael Huijer MTV, 2018). Al-Jadeed is mostly controlled by Tahseen Khayat, a prominent businessperson (Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: Al-Jadeed, 2018). The fact that key political actors have ownership over Lebanon’s major broadcasting channels is a strong sign of political parallelism, and as will be discussed later, Lebanon’s media market is prone to receiving subsidies by external actors. Over the last several years, however, Lebanon has seen new independent media outlets emerge, with the intent to counter dominant media narratives and to provide a more critical and independent perspective on government (in)action in the crisis. Most, if not all, of these new platforms have a radically different business model compared to traditional news outlets such as broadcast and print media. The latter rely on advertisement revenues and to some extent on political funding (Dajani, 2013). The new platforms rely on funding from foreign funding agencies, mostly based in Europe or the US (Samir Kassir Foundation, 2020, p. 16), and crowdsourcing or donations. A major limiting factor could be a perception among the Lebanese that such new media outlets’ audiences are limited to an “urban, progressive upper middle-class” (Samir Kassir Foundation, 2020, p. 16). These new media outlets, independent from established political forces, prioritise their respective approach in different ways. The Public Source, for example, describes itself as a “platform for in-depth, long-form accountability journalism.” It also “promotes and supports a culture of whistleblowing to expose abuses of power and to contribute to processes of accountability” (The Public Source, 2021). Beirut Today, an independent online newspaper, sees their mission as: shedding light on the various social, economic, and political aspects across Beirut and beyond. We seek to create a hub for innovators and passionate writers — a comfortable space for back and forth discussions on issues of genuine matter to all. (Beirut Today, 2021) The online newspaper has steadily gained in popularity, in particular in the context of the October 17 Uprising. It publishes in Arabic as well as English and regularly employs short news videos for weekly news roundups and to capture key events. According to its managing editor, reporting on human rights violations is at the core of what they do. If anything, the uprising has provided Beirut Today with more opportunities than challenges, as it has seen its article submissions increase dramatically. With regard to how different such an independent media outlet is compared to traditional media, a managing editor of an independent online newspaper comments: Traditional media in Lebanon often act as gatekeepers of information, obscuring certain facts that don’t align with the interests and agendas of their political funders. We’re consistently trying to put those facts out there, especially given that Beirut Today’s main goals are to inform, criticize, and offer alternatives. There are plenty of independent and civil society experts who

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  59 are doing great work for Lebanon, but their work doesn’t get spotlighted in traditional media. (Managing editor, independent online newspaper, 2021) There is little doubt these independent news media outlets are filling a void in the existing media landscape by offering more hard-hitting content targeting the political establishment, but a main challenge remains on how they can reach a much larger audience. Another noticeable development in the media scene in Lebanon in recent years is the popularity of social media. Young people in Lebanon are increasingly using social media platforms as a main source for their news, especially during the uprising. Although TV is still a dominant source of protest news, over 65% of respondents in a study looking into protest news consumption said they either often or sometimes got their news from WhatsApp. Facebook and Instagram ranked relatively high with 57.6% and 30.2%, respectively (Melki & Kozman, 2020, p. 13). Since the abovementioned are platforms as opposed to media outlets, in terms of the veracity of the news they are consuming on these social media platforms, a promising result was how nearly 80% of respondents said they checked the original source of the news before sharing/reposting it themselves (Melki & Kozman, 2020, p. 17). Additionally, the use of social media among protestors as well as reporters was a phenomenon that already started taking root in the 2015 waste crisis protests (HRW, 2015). Hence, although TV news is still considered one of the primary sources for Lebanese to stay abreast of recent developments, there has been a noted increase of reporters using their social media platforms to report events directly (Samir Kassir Foundation, 2020). The protestors’ use of platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, and WhatsApp also made it more difficult for security forces to clamp down on the spread of revolutionary messages. Lebanon’s security forces have therefore struggled to stay up-to-date on these new media developments but have nevertheless been able to detain social media users for their posts, especially when it comes to defamation (TIMEP, 2020). Political Parallelism Politics are conducted through a deeply rooted sectarian system in Lebanon, in which each political boss is mostly responsible for their own sectarian faction. In most clientelist states, it is usually the state that provides benefits, but in Lebanon, as in other weak states, they are provided by nominally non-state actors, the political bosses (Cammett & Issar, 2010). The factional leaders use their respective media outlets to speak to their own sectarian followers (Dajani, 2013). This external pluralism, albeit different in nature compared to South European countries, reflects Lebanon’s sectarian make-up and society and makes for high levels of political parallelism (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, p. 29). The political connections do not stop with media organisations; Lebanon also sees a direct connection between political actors and ownership of banks, the latter also being a sustained focus of protestors during the October 17 Uprising (CPJ, 2020).

60  Michael Huijer According to Hallin and Mancini, instrumentalisation is used to analyse to what extent media organisations and its actors are controlled by outside forces, be it political or commercial (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, p. 37). The ownership of major media outlets by political establishment figures, as discussed above, is a decisive indication of strong levels of instrumentalisation. However, it can also relate to commercial forces influencing media systems (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, p. 37). Economics professor Jad Chaaban revealed in a study that around 43% of Lebanese bank shareholders were either directly or indirectly connected to the ruling political elite (Chaaban, 2019). A major component of Lebanon’s current economic collapse is the complete failure of the banking sector to protect its depositors, with disastrous results on people’s savings and purchasing power (The World Bank, 2022). With such close connections between political actors, media organisations, and banks, would Lebanon’s media have been able to live up to its responsibility of accountability by reporting accurately on the impending financial crisis? For several TV stations, for example, MTV Lebanon, Lebanese banks are a major source of advertising revenue. The same applies to newspapers, with banks being the top three advertising spenders in 2013, with five banks overall in the top 10 (BankMed, 2014). The concept of instrumentalisation is represented in both internal and external political forces’ troubling use of Lebanon’s media organisations for their own purposes. However, it is not limited to political influence. In the case of Lebanon, the combination of advertisement revenue and political funding and bribes reinforces the high degree of political parallelism in the Polarized Pluralist Model that we are applying to Lebanon. We also see here a consolidation of power through several financial mechanisms (bank ownerships, bribes, financial assistance) by members of the country’s political establishment. This consolidation allows for the use of media organisations as vehicles of propaganda for the respective political power. Just as political actors, the banking sector can wield influence through its advertising power. According to a Lebanese video journalist, this can also be illustrated by Lebanese banks offering expensive and unsustainable loans to media consumers in the years leading to the economic and financial collapse of the country. Political parallelism in Lebanon can also be observed at the sectarian level. Dajani (2013) claims that: the Lebanese media, often hailed as the freest in the region, have in fact failed to contribute to national development. None of the hundreds of Lebanese media institutions or outlets speak for all Lebanon; instead, each medium operates as a voice for a political or sectarian faction, reinforcing and encouraging divisions in society. (Dajani, 2013) With regard to the political sectarian system in Lebanon, sociology professor Rima Majed argues that “under the current system, Lebanese nationals are not ‘citizens’ as such. Instead, they are members of religious ‘communities’ through

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  61 which they subscribe to the state in order to access their political and social rights” (Majed, 2017). The state of political parallelism in Lebanon therefore poses a serious challenge to the function of media and seems to directly impact professionalism among Lebanese journalists, as will be discussed in the next section. Professionalisation As Hallin and Mancini explain in “Comparing Media Systems” (2004), the professionalisation dimension is considered “… essentially synonymous with ‘objectivity’ and political neutrality” (Hallin & Mancini, 2004, pp. 38). The instrumentalisation of media by political and commercial entities in Lebanon poses several challenges at the professionalism level in Lebanon. In addition to advertising revenue and outright ownership of media organisations by political establishment figures, there is a long tradition of media outlets accepting payments or bribes to push forward a certain political agenda. Dajani elaborates: Since both print and audiovisual media outlets are not financially selfsufficient, they are predisposed to accept financial assistance from outside sources, including foreign entities, in exchange for editorial support. This allows foreign and business interests to use the media as a vehicle by which to present their agendas and exert influence on internal and regional affairs. Indeed, handing out bribes to newspapers and journalists is commonly accepted as normal, and even justified by some on account of the poor salaries and lack of benefits available to journalists. (Dajani, 2013) Another concern regarding the function of the Lebanese media at the professional level relates to the perceptions among the public that the media have failed to systematically report on mismanagement and corruption taking place at the political and government level over the years. Hence, although a number of the TV stations could be considered pro-uprising in their news coverage, they were largely perceived to have helped in the catastrophic economic and financial crises afflicting Lebanon, in addition to the corruption and mismanagement leading up to the Beirut Port Explosion on August 4, 2020. A Lebanese journalist addressed their responsibility in the run-up to the multiple crises: Most of local media failed to report what was really happening, and they failed when it comes to Beirut port explosion, and the years of mismanagement and corruption at the port. In my opinion, most of local media were a propaganda tool for the ruling class over the years, and they used to be a sectarian voice, they did not stand with the people interests and needs but against them. (Lebanese journalist, international news channel, 2021)

62  Michael Huijer Overall, the combination of media and bank ownership by the political establishment has had a detrimental effect on the quality and independence of media organisations, leading to a diminished level of democratisation and accountability. Role of the State State intervention takes several forms in Lebanon’s media industry. As discussed above, the political subsidising of media organisations is common. Also, the state has allowed the development of Lebanon’s media industry into one strongly characterised by high levels of political parallelism, mostly due to political establishment figures owning key media organisations. These factors reinforce the application of Hallin and Mancini’s Polarized Pluralist Model (2004, pp. 41–44) to Lebanon’s media sector and shows its similarities with South European media sectors. In addition to political subsidies and ownership, the state’s role expresses itself through its media-related laws, syndicate (in)action, and active and violent censorship through its security forces. Legal Framework

Although Lebanon has been known to enjoy a freer media landscape compared to other countries in the region, crackdowns by state security forces have increased in recent years (Mhanna, 2020). Theoretically, media workers in Lebanon do have some legal protection, but the existing laws can be ambiguous. Article 13 of the Lebanese Constitution states that “The freedom to express one’s opinion orally or in writing, the freedom of the press, the freedom of assembly, and the freedom of association shall be guaranteed within the limits established by law” (El Meouchi & Dib, 2021). The last phrase, “within the limits established by law,” is sufficiently vague and leaves the door open for state abuse. In addition to the Lebanese Constitution providing such supposed protection, the Lebanese parliament adopted and ratified the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as well as the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (El Meouchi & Dib, 2021). These binding agreements oblige the Lebanese government to guarantee freedom of expression and opinion. The 1962 Press Law plays a decisive role, in addition to a number of other legislations, in supposedly protecting media organisations and its workers from “random abusive interventions,” and at the same time protecting the Lebanese state and its citizens from what might be biased media reports. The same law also stipulated how media organisations and its workers should be licensed. Oddly, they require journalists to have at least four years of journalism experience or have a BA degree in journalism, meaning those without the journalism degree would have had to practice journalism without the license in the first place. So, those journalists that do not possess a BA in journalism somehow must practice journalism for four years to be able to get that experience (Sciacchitano, 2015). Once certified, journalists are expected to register with the trade union. However, there is a major difference between being a certified or uncertified journalist. In

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  63 the case of an alleged slander or bias, the certified journalist will be held accountable in a publications court, but the uncertified will be brought to a criminal court (Sciacchitano, 2015). Amendments to this law emphasised defamation of the head of state and other heads of state as punishable offenses and grounds for detainment. This is particularly relevant in the context of the uprising, since many protestors were regularly detained for defamation (HRW, 2019). Regarding radio, TV, and satellite broadcasting, the 1994 Audio-Visual Law rubberstamped the existing TV stations that were set up informally during Lebanon’s 1975–1990 civil war while putting a regulatory framework in place regarding freedom and censorship, both for the existing as well as new broadcasters. Following this law, the Audio-Visual Council was established to monitor adherence (Kraidy, 1998). However, according to Trombetta et al.: The council continues to be an ineffective institution and its reports of violations perpetrated by politicians, parties and intelligence services against the press go unheeded. Moreover, it is clear that its members are chosen mainly along sectarian lines, as is always the case for Lebanese institutions. (Trombetta et al., n.d.). This is part of a consistent pattern of the political establishment allocating official positions along sectarian lines, resulting in a major obstacle to general media freedom. Both the 1996 Satellite Broadcast Law and the 2018 E-Transactions Law have provisions that limit freedom of speech if there is media content that is supposedly a threat to internal and external security. It includes content that can be perceived to insult religious beliefs and incite sectarian strife. This is sufficiently vague and can be used to persecute media workers (TIMEP, 2020). Syndicates

Accountability is a key aspect of any functioning democracy (Day, 2022). This requires a free media that can report on serious issues that affect a broad segment of the population. This cannot happen without appropriate protection mechanisms and a functioning syndicate. The Lebanese Press Syndicate (LPS) and the Press Editors Syndicate, set up following the 1962 Press Law, are the formal trade union bodies that are supposed to protect the interests of its members and fulfil an accountability role vis-à-vis the conduct and ethics of journalists in general. Both bodies are considered to be largely ineffective in these roles (Trombetta et al., 2021). To become a member of the LPS, one must have at least four years of experience as a journalist and hold a university degree in journalism. This paradoxical approach means that members must somehow have operated as a journalist prior to becoming a member, hence being a journalist without formal accreditation

64  Michael Huijer (Sciacchitano, 2015). In reality, this translates into a major obstacle to many journalists in Lebanon, since they will not be able to enjoy the protection offered to LPS members. Nonmember journalists can be tried in front of a military court, whereas members would be tried in front of a civil publications court in case of any alleged infringement. Another restricting factor is that the editors in chief of newspapers have a controlling role in decision-making of the LPS, and these editors are connected to the political owners of the media outlet. Another repression method has been the increased use of the defamation law. Under Lebanese law, journalists or even ordinary citizens can be taken to court for speaking critically or unfavourably about a number of different Lebanese institutions or political leaders. This has been a popular tactic for the Lebanese authorities during the uprising. This clearly goes against the recommendation of the UN Human Rights Committee which proclaims that “states should consider decriminalising defamation and the application of the criminal law should only be countenanced in the most serious of cases” (UN Human Rights Committee, 2011). One of the responses to the inactivity of the LPS is the recent founding of the Alternative Press Syndicate (Nakaba Badila). They aim to play a more proactive role in protecting the rights of journalists by organising protests when journalists are detained and issuing critical statements against violent acts targeting journalists. According to a member of the Alternative Press Syndicate, it: played a major role in rejecting repression of the media, and state crackdown on journalists, in demanding their rights, and in rejecting the practices of the authority and the ruling class against journalists. The Alternative Syndicate played a role in raising the voice opposing the police state, and in alliance with human rights organisations, we’re able to confront several decisions of the authorities. (Lebanese journalist, international news channel, 2021) Although it is not vested with the same powers an official press syndicate would usually enjoy, they still attempt to perform a role of protecting journalists and be more representative overall, even as an informal collective. “If journalists don’t have the ability to organise and protect themselves freely without the influence of the government and ruling political parties, then they are basically sitting ducks,” according to a Lebanese journalist working for an international news agency. Crackdown

The most striking aspect of the state’s role in the context of Lebanon’s October 17 Uprising was their violent crackdown on media actors, either by security forces during street protests or prosecuting civilians who had posted critical commentary of political and business establishment figures on social media. According to Ayman Mhanna, director of the media watchdog Samir Kassir Foundation, attacks on journalists increased 12-fold in the one-year period since the October 17 Uprising (Mhanna, 2020). This can also partly be explained by an unprecedented level of criticism and insults hurled at the members of the ruling political elite on live TV by protestors (Battah, 2019).

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  65 As a Lebanese journalist puts it: I witnessed several incidents during my coverage, where journalists, cameramen, independent freelance writers, have been beaten by the police members or by the pro-regime supporters with zero accountability. Lebanese authorities are engaged in an alarming crackdown on free speech, suppressing the opposition that speaks out against its corruption and against misleading information that it propagates. (Lebanese journalist, international news channel, 2021) Such an open and vocal outrage by a significant section of the population unsettled the elite and quickly led to violent attacks on those media reporting on the ground. On the second day of the uprising, October 18, 2019, the three leading Lebanese news TV stations saw several of their reporters and cameramen beaten by security forces (Maharat Foundation, 2021). In the days and weeks that followed, there were numerous reports of journalists not only being attacked by Lebanese security forces while covering protests across Lebanon, but also by protestors and “counter-revolutionary” protestors ((Maharat Foundation, 2021). The latter group often involved young men closely affiliated to political parties that are considered against the uprising. Media actors covering the protests for independent outlets were also not spared. A Lebanese managing editor recounts a violent incident with one of her outlet’s media workers: One of our videographers was on the frontlines covering what seemed to be a peaceful protest when all hell broke loose. Security forces pelted a rock that hit her ankle, and she was notably injured. She’s a truly incredible reporter and continued to interview someone on the sidelines while that person helped patch her leg up. She had to wear a cast for a few weeks. (Managing editor, independent online newspaper, 2021) Protestors have also been using WhatsApp groups to organise themselves and share with one another information about government corruption as well as specific cases of crackdowns on the media. Consequently, state security forces started infiltrating these WhatsApp groups for the purpose of tracking protests and protestors while also identifying leaders (Amos, 2020). Apart from violations of freedom of speech online, security forces have regularly targeted media workers during protests, physically assaulting them and often breaking their cameras. Reuters photographer Issam Abdallah was attacked by security forces on January 15, 2020, while reporting outside a Beirut police station, following the arrest of protestors that same night (Abdallah, 2020). Attacks on the media are part of an overall approach by the state to quell the anger of the population following the collapse of its economy. A Lebanese video journalist explains: There was this kind of fear that was broken after October 17 because people were really fed up… Some people say it was because of the WhatsApp tax,

66  Michael Huijer something that was for free but now you have to pay for it… People were disgusted. They took to the streets to protest; their fear was broken. The ruling power had no magic solution, nothing, so they started cracking down. (Lebanese video journalist, international news agency, 2021) In another case, Lebanese journalist Mohamed Zbeeb, who has been a leading reporter on corruption of the political establishment and the banks, was hospitalised after being assaulted in Beirut on February 12, 2020. The assailants turned out to be security personnel working for a major bank executive in Lebanon (CPJ, 2020). A Lebanese journalist argues: Any media or journalist who contributes to uncovering corruption of the ruling class is a target and subject to suppression, arrest and pressure from the security forces and the parties that controls the government. The ruling class that controls Lebanon seeks “to tame” the media and turn it into a tool that serves the authority’s propaganda. (Lebanese journalist, international news channel, 2021) The above accounts show that the role of the state has often been oppressive by nature, whether it happens through restrictive media laws, politicised unions, or violent crackdowns by state security forces. Conclusion In this chapter, I have argued that the interlinkages between several institutional pillars in Lebanon, the political establishment, the media organisations, and the banks have created a toxic situation that have not only enabled and precipitated the economic and financial collapse of the country, but while doing so have also thrown major obstacles toward media freedom and the people’s quest for accountability in these series of catastrophes. The path out of this grim situation is not only complex but surely arduous and long. While the 2011 Arab Uprisings toppled several governments in the region, many others were left standing. The Lebanese political establishment has been particularly resilient, especially in the face of a multitude of crises that have severely harmed much of the population. As shown above, the establishment’s entrenchment in a number of the country’s financial and media pillars have helped it evade accountability. Recommendations by local and international human rights organisations have been piling up, but as it stands, there is little prospect of improving the current state of media freedom in Lebanon. Pursuing accountability of corrupt officials becomes even more difficult as the political establishment has a decisive stake in the major traditional media organisations. Hallin and Mancini (2004, pp. 59–61) describe the Polarized Pluralist Model as one characterised by major cleavages within the political landscape, coupled with the presence of anti-system movements (in Lebanon’s case being the October

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  67 17 Uprising). The Polarized Pluralist Model also includes high levels of political parallelism and state intervention; the latter can be region- or country-specific and take different shapes, especially compared to North American and North European media industries. This chapter has shown how Lebanon’s media sector closely resembles this model yet has some significant differences. In the particular case of Lebanon, political parallelism in the media industry coexists with a robust political clientelist system; media organisations are instrumentalised by political establishment figures for personal interests. Nevertheless, according to Selvik and Høigilt (2021), Lebanese journalists still have a level of independence to operate freely, despite politicised ownership (Selvik & Høigilt, 2021). Moving forward, there is a glimmer of hope in the recent emergence of independent media organisations which are not tied to members of the political establishment. But in many cases, their business model mostly relies on foreign grants or crowdfunding, while they find it difficult to compete with traditional media organisations in terms of audience shares. Initiatives like the Alternative Press Syndicate can also be considered a positive step in that direction, but nevertheless formal unions that are mandated to protect media workers are essential in the long term. Much needs to be done to revert Lebanon’s swift decline in media freedom, and it is doubtful any meaningful change can be achieved if the current system remains in place. References Abdallah, I. (2020, January 15). Facebook post showing video of assault. Available from: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=612929719527996 Al Jazeera. (2019). Special Report: Lebanon’s power struggle – Why a failing state can’t get the lights on. Al Jazeera, October 17, 2019. Available from: https://www.aljazeera.com/ economy/2019/10/17/cash-strapped-lebanon-plans-to-charge-for-whatsapp-calls Amos, D. (2020, March 9). Lebanon’s government is accused of swarming WhatsApp to catch protesters. National Public Radio. Available from: https://www.npr.org/2020/03/ 09/809684634/lebanons-government-is-accused-of-swarming-whatsapp-to-catchprotesters?t=1596556042397 BankMed. (2014). Analysis of Lebanon’s Media and Advertising Sector. (2014). Available from: http://www.databank.com.lb/docs/advertising.pdf Battah, H. (2019). An open mic revolution in Lebanon. Al Jazeera. Available from: https:// www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2019/10/25/an-open-mic-revolution-in-lebanon Baumann, H. (2019, October 22). Lebanon’s economic crisis didn’t happen overnight. So how did it get to this point? The Washington Post. Available from: https:// www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2019/10/22/lebanons-economic-crisis-didnthappen-overnight-so-how-did-it-get-this-point/ Beirut Today. (2021) About us. Available from: https://beirut-today.com/about-us-2/ Cammett, M., & Issar, S. (2010). Bricks and Mortar Clientelism: Sectarianism and the Logics of Welfare Allocation in Lebanon. World Politics, 62(3), 381–421. doi: 10.1353/ wp.0.0056 Chaaban, J. (2019). I’ve Got the Power: Mapping Connections between Lebanon’s Banking Sector and the Ruling Class. In: Crony Capitalism in the Middle East: Business and

68  Michael Huijer Politics from Liberalization to the Arab Spring. Edited by Ishac Diwan, Adeel Malik and Izak Atiyas. Oxford University Press. doi: 10.1093/oso/9780198799870.003.0013 Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ). (2020). Lebanese Journalist Mohammed Zbib Assaulted in Beirut. (2020). Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), 2020. Available from: https://cpj.org/2020/02/lebanese-journalist-mohammed-zbib-assaulted-in-bei/ Dajani, N. (2013). The Myth of Media Freedom in Lebanon. Arab Media and Society, issue 18, Summer 2013. Available from: http://www.databank.com.lb/docs/The%20Myth%20 of%20Media%20Freedom%20in%20Lebanon%202013.pdf Day, J. (2022, April 12). 14 principles of democracy. Civil Liberties Union for Europe. Available from: https://www.liberties.eu/en/stories/principles-of-democracy/44151 Denzin, N., & Lincoln, Y. (Eds.). (2011). Handbook of Qualitative Research (4th ed.). Sage Publications Ltd., London. El Meouchi, C., & Dib, M. (2021). Media law in Lebanon: An overview. Media Law International. Available from: http://www.medialawinternational.com/page148.html European Commission. (2020). Lebanon Factsheet. European Commission, 2020. Available from: https://ec.europa.eu/echo/where/middle-east/lebanon_en Hallin, D. C., & Mancini, P. (2004). Comparing media systems: Three models of media and politics. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Human Rights Watch (HRW). (2015). Lebanon: Police Violence Against Protestors. Human Rights Watch, August 22, 2015. Available from: https://www.hrw.org/news/2015/08/22/ lebanon-police-violence-against-protesters Human Rights Watch (HRW). (2019). Lebanon: Defamation Laws Used to Silence Critics. (2019, November 15). Human Rights Watch, November 15, 2019. Available from: https:// www.hrw.org/news/2019/11/15/lebanon-defamation-laws-used-silence-critics Human Rights Watch (HRW). (2019). “There Is a Price to Pay”: The Criminalization of Free Speech in Lebanon. Human Rights Watch, November 15, 2019. Available from: https://www. hrw.org/report/2019/11/15/there-price-pay/criminalization-peaceful-speech-lebanon Kraidy, M. M. (1998). Broadcasting Regulation and Civil Society in Postwar Lebanon. Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, 42(3), 387–400. doi: 10.1080/08838159809364457 Maharat Foundation. (n.d.). Freedom of Expression Report. Available from: http://maharatfoundation.info/media/1787/foe-report-final-english.pdf Majed, R. (2017, November 7). The political (or social) economy of sectarianism in Lebanon. Middle East Institute. Available from: https://www.mei.edu/publications/ political-or-social-economy-sectarianism-lebanon McQuail, D. (2005). McQuail’s Mass Communication Theory (5th ed.). Sage Publications Ltd., London. Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: http://lebanon.mom-gmr.org/en/owners/ Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: Al Jadeed. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: https://lebanon.mom-rsf.org/en/media/detail/outlet/al-jadeed/ Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: Al Manar. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: https://lebanon.mom-rsf.org/en/media/detail/outlet/al-manar/ Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: Future TV. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: http://lebanon.mom-gmr.org/en/media/detail/outlet/future-tv/ Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: LBCI. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: https://lebanon.mom-rsf.org/en/media/detail/outlet/lbci/ Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: MTV. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: https://lebanon.mom-rsf.org/en/media/detail/outlet/mtv/ Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: NBN. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: https://lebanon.mom-rsf.org/en/media/detail/outlet/nbn/

Cracking Down on Media and Democracy in Lebanon  69 Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon: OTV. (2018). Samir Kassir Foundation. Available from: https://lebanon.mom-rsf.org/en/media/detail/outlet/otv/ Melki, J., & Kozman, C. (2020). Media uses and trust during protests: A working paper on the media uses of Lebanese during the 2019 uprising. Media/War Program. Institute of Media Research and Training, Volume 1, Issue 1, Lebanese American University. Available from: https://soas.lau.edu.lb/files/media-uses%20-trust-during-protests.pdf Mhanna, A. (2020, November 23). Facebook Post on Physical Assaults on Journalists. Available from: https://www.facebook.com/agmhanna/posts/10158833595704320 Ray, J. (2020, November 19). Political, economic strife takes emotional toll on Lebanese. Gallup. Available from: https://news.gallup.com/poll/325715/political-economicstrife-takes-emotional-toll-lebanese.aspx?utm_source=twitterbutton&utm_medium= twitter&utm_campaign=sharing Samir Kassir Foundation. (2020). Independent Media in Lebanon: Content Analysis and Public Appeal. Samir Kassir Foundation, 2020. Available from: https://www.skeyesmedia.org/documents/bo_filemanager/Independent-Media-in-Lebanon-EN.pdf Sciacchitano, F. (2015). Assessment of media legislation in Lebanon. Med Media. Available from: https://lebanon.mom-rsf.org/uploads/tx_lfrogmom/documents/2-1409_import.pdf Selvik, K., & Høigilt, J. (2021). Journalism under instrumentalized political parallelism. Journalism Studies, 22(5), 653–669. doi: 10.1080/1461670X.2021.1897476 Seymour-Ure, C. (1974). The Political Impact of Mass Media. Constable, London. The Daily Star. (2018). Jobless Rate at 46 Percent President Warns. (2018, March 30). The Daily Star, March 30, 2018. Available from: https://www.dailystar.com.lb/Business/ Local/2018/Mar-30/443613-jobless-rate-at-46-pct-president-warns.ashx The Economist. (2020). Deconstructing the Lebanese Central Bank’s Ponzi Scheme. The Economist, November 5, 2020. Available from: https://www.economist.com/ finance-and-economics/2020/11/05/deconstructing-the-lebanese-central-banks-ponzischeme The Monthly Magazine. (2017). Telecommunications Sector in Lebanon: Annual Revenues of USD 1.3 Billion. The Monthly Magazine, May 23, 2017. Available from: https:// monthlymagazine.com/article-desc_4379_ The Public Source. (2021). About Us. https://thepublicsource.org/about The Tahrir Institute for Middle East Policy (TIMEP). (2020). Joint Stakeholder Submission to the UN Human Rights Council’s Universal Periodic Review – Lebanon. The Tahrir Institute for Middle East Policy, 2020. Available from: https://timep.org/wp-content/ uploads/2020/07/TIMEP-CPJ-UPR-Submission-Press-Freedom-in-Lebanon.pdf The World Bank. (2022). Lebanon Country Overview. The World Bank, 2022. Available from: https://www.worldbank.org/en/country/lebanon/overview Traboulsi, F. (2012). A History of Modern Lebanon. Pluto Press, London. Trombetta, L., & Pinto, C., & Renino, R. (n.d.a.). Media Landscapes. Regulatory Authorities, Lebanon. Available from: https://medialandscapes.org/country/lebanon/policies/ regulatory-authorities Trombetta, L., & Pinto, C., & Renino, R. (n.d.b.). Media Landscapes. Trade Unions, Lebanon. Available from: https://medialandscapes.org/country/lebanon/organisations/ trade-unions UN Human Rights Committee. (2011). General Comment No. 34, Article 19, Freedoms of Opinion and Expression. UN Human Rights Committee, September 12, 2011. Available from: https://www.refworld.org/docid/4ed34b562.htm

5

Citizenship, Media and Activism in Turkey during Gezi Park Protests1 Eylem Yanardağoğlu

Introduction The Gezi Park protests in Istanbul will be remembered as one of the largest civil unrest in Turkey, within which a total of 3,545,000 citizens participated in 4,725 events across the country (Özel 2014:8). Since 2011, Internet users had a practice of turning to alternative media and social media platforms for news provision due to mainstream news media censorship during certain major events.2 The Gezi protests became a turning point for the rise of alternative digital platforms because news censorship became apparent even for the most disengaged audiences. New technologies were swiftly appropriated, and a number of alternative media initiatives began broadcasting/livestreaming from inside the park. Protestors who identify themselves as average citizens turned into citizen journalists. This chapter examines the use of Twitter during the Gezi Park protests and explores the ways in which it motivated or facilitated democratic participation. The data presented here are drawn from independent research efforts of a number of academics who collaborated in a quantitatively driven social network analysis of approximately one million archived tweets and a qualitative analysis of in-depth interviews with the most prolific tweeters among the protestors during the Gezi Protests.3 Carpentier (2008:89) considers ‘participation in and through the media’ as instances, in that people put their ‘right to communicate into practice’ and ‘learn and adopt a democratic and/or civic attitude’. The social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter and YouTube are known to facilitate user participation through the user-generated content (UGC) (MacNamara 2010:34). During the recent waves of political unrest in various parts of the world – the so-called Arab Spring, the global Occupy movement – Twitter’s technical qualities were noted for facilitating citizen journalism and blurring the line between journalists and audiences (Gerbaudo 2012; Papacharissi 2015). The tendency of citizens’ increasing involvement in news and information production was noted within the positive interpretations of the functions of social networking sites. The objectives of this chapter are therefore to identify the factors that encourage activists to stop being mere users of media and get involved in participation processes; inquire whether the activists who are driven for provisions of UGC DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-6

Citizenship, Media, and Activism in Turkey  71 or news have prior media production skills; and evaluate whether Twitter as a microblogging platform empower ordinary citizens in their activism. Participation, Social Movements and Social Media Use The Internet allows individuals and groups who are not members of formal or traditional political organizations, or of NGOs, to express their grievances and take part in local and/or transnational campaigns either as collectivities or as persons. Along with mobile phones it can also broaden ‘citizen’s media practices’ and diversify ‘their entries and activities in the public sphere’ (Harju 2007:98). Internet is considered to facilitate political activism because of its capacity to ‘build and mobilise political networks of resistance’ both on a national and international level. The use of the Internet in such formations is seen as a ‘tool for social change’ by way of giving ‘voice to those who do not have one’ and socially empowering citizens, and manage to bring disparate people around common causes to form alliances (Fenton 2012:150). In the waves of political unrest in various parts of the Arab-speaking countries during the so-called Arab Spring, the Indignados movement in Southern Europe, and the global Occupy movement invoked popular and academic debate about social media’s role in social movements. The media were quick to label these movements as social media revolutions in a utopian vision, but evidence suggested that ‘new communication tools by themselves do not ensure the success of antigovernment protests’. They may be offering ‘new forms of visibility’ to the already existing motivations and aspirations of political agents (Ems 2014). For instance, in the 2009 Iranian elections, Twitter was useful for ‘information dissemination from Iran to the western media’. In Moldova, it was used to ‘organize’ the protests and at the G20 summit it was used to help the protestors ‘dodge’ police activities. (Ems 2014:722–728). The social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter and YouTube facilitate user participation and production and distribution of UGC (MacNamara 2010:34). In fact, one of the ‘political effects of digital communication practices was similarly seen in this process of converting “media consumers into producers”’ (Bennet 2004:124). A number of studies underscored Twitter’s technical propensity for facilitating citizen journalism. For instance, Gerbaudo (2012:4) cites BBC journalist Paul Mason’s analysis of Twitter’s technical affordances: facilitating the ‘real-time organization’ of the protests and ‘gathering and dissemination of news’ that can bypass mainstream media. Social media were thus used as tools of citizen journalism in order to attract external attention. Researching the use of Twitter during the Occupy movement by activists, Penny and Dadas (2014:76–77) maintain that ‘peer to peer communication’ was vital to the unfolding of the movement, especially because of the ways in which ‘Twitter has allowed users from disparate locations to continuously tweet and retweet information about the movement outside of the structures of mainstream media’. In doing so, the authors maintained, the use of networked technologies

72  Eylem Yanardağoğlu in contemporary protest movements has greatly intensified the ‘dialectic between internal and external publics’, because the messages shared via online platforms have the potential to find audiences around the world. If, as Fenton suggests, social media ‘offer a new form of telling, again we have to come back to who is telling, what to whom’ (p. 138). Gerbaudo (2012:5), who analysed the recent protests in Egypt, Spain and the Occupy movement in the USA, argued that social media, especially Twitter, was ‘responsible for the construction of choreography of assembly’ in public space, within which the action does not necessarily unfold in a spontaneous way. On the contrary, influential Facebook admins or tweeps ‘become soft leaders or choreographers’ who are involved in setting an ‘emotional space’ where collection action unfolds. Similarly, studying the Egypt hashtag during the January and February uprisings in 2011, Papacharissi and Fatima (2012:268) observed that the use of Twitter as a ‘news sharing system’ during crisis situations contrives ‘a complex and networked system of social awareness’ among journalists, news organizations as well as individual users. In this complex system, eventually ‘opinion leaders emerge in the form of frequent posters whose tweets were retweeted’, and owing to the visibility created by these tweets mainstream media got on board (p. 277). Data Collection The data that informs this chapter comes from a larger independent study comprised of quantitatively driven social network analysis and qualitative in-depth interviews with protesters and activists (also see Mercea, Karataş & Bastos 2017). For this study, a set of hashtags were monitored via the Twitter Streaming API from 2013 to 2014. In this process, one million archived tweets with the core hashtags used by the protestors between 31 May and 30 June 2013 were collected. This also enabled the identification of the most frequent 100 users who tweeted during that period. Following the identification of the most active 100 activists on Twitter through social network analysis, an interview protocol was prepared and translated into Turkish. The Turkish-speaking team members reached out to all the 100 most frequent users via Twitter. The respondents who replied to their mentions were then informed about the data collection procedures and the interview protocol over direct messages and/or e-mails. Consequently, 24 people agreed to participate in the research and 24 semistructured interviews were conducted with the interviewees either on Skype sessions or face-to-face (F2F) interviews during March to June 2015. The consent of the participants was confirmed before the interviews, which lasted 40–50 minutes and were digitally recorded. In order to secure the anonymity of the respondents’ twitter handles, their names were removed before the analysis of qualitative interview data. For this chapter, the interview data were thematically analysed by identifying themes in the interview data around news, information and citizen journalism.

Citizenship, Media, and Activism in Turkey  73 An Overview of the Gezi Park Protestors Social networking sites empowered protestors and dissidents in recent waves of political unrest in the Arab World, Spain and beyond (Tüfekçi 2014). Although their appeal and social context differed from each other, international media referred to similarities between Gezi and these movements. Tüfekçi (2014:2) pointed out three common areas that the social media had ‘empowered’ the protestors in these protests: ‘public attention, evading censorship, coordination of logistics’. Seen from this perspective, the Gezi protest was ‘all’ of these protests and ‘none’ of them. Many questions were raised about the Gezi park protestors. The researchers especially sought to understand how ‘people with no political activism background joined in the protests’ and ‘what held them together’ (Iğsız 2014). In the Pew Research Centre for Global attitudes Project of 2012, more than half of the population in Turkey was found to be ‘passive in engaging in activity on social media for public policy, social and political issues’. Varnalı and Görgülü (2014:2) suggest ‘Turkish Twitter sphere exploded with tweets with political content’ during the Gezi Park resistance. To understand the motivations behind the networked political participation on such an expanding scale, Varnalı and Görgülü (2014) explored political participation on Twitter via in-depth interviews with politically active ‘heavy Twitter users’ and identified the shared goals of the protesters as ‘reclaiming the right to the city’, ‘freedom of speech’ and a ‘secular way of life’ (8). The study also found that the most expressive form of political activity on Twitter during Gezi was ‘retweeting tweets with political content’ followed by ‘including hashtags in the tweets in order to contribute to such campaigns’ (Varnalı & Görgülü 2014:6). Konda, a social survey company, conducted one of the most extensive field research in Gezi Park on June 6–8, 2013, with 4,411 participants taking part in the protests (Konda 2014:4) The poll found the gender distribution to be compatible with Turkey’s standards: 50.8% female and 49.2% male participants. The average age of protesters in the park was found to be 28, also compatible with the overall representative average in Turkey. Similarly, the poll noted that the ‘level of political or organizational affiliation among the protesters in Gezi Park’ represented consistent results with the countrywide figures for Turkey in general. Accordingly, 21.1% of the protesters said they were affiliated with ‘a political party, formation or a non-governmental organization, such as an association or platform’ (16). The survey, however, found that certain age groups (21–25, 26–30 and 31–35) and certain occupations were represented at a higher rate than the countrywide distribution. The participants in the Gezi protest in the park came from the highly educated sectors of society. Whilst ‘One tenth of Turkey’ is a college graduate, Konda poll found that ‘half of the Gezi protesters’ to be college graduates (Konda 2014:10). The majority of the respondents in our sample were in their 30s and 40s and held a bachelor’s degree.4 Female participants were mostly working in media, creative industries and academia. The male participants were either self-employed and managed their own businesses or they worked in more traditional white-collar jobs

74  Eylem Yanardağoğlu such as working in a bank or a company. There were more men in managerial and academic positions than women. The majority, regardless of their gender, do not belong to a political party, nor are they members of a non-governmental organization (NGO). In our sample, the political party and NGO involvement are skewed towards organizations which already represent alternative and oppositional networks, such as the pro-Kurdish People’s Democratic Party (HDP) and the Alternative Informatics Association. Among the 24 respondents, only two women were members of a political party. The participants held different views on what it means being ‘political’ or which kind of politics Gezi represented. Despite differences in their politics, the majority of respondents expressed that the ‘protests were justified’ because the government had not paid attention to the ‘voices, grievances of the people’ in general. Motivations, Practices and Self-Perceptions Communicative Impact of Twitter Use In analysing the 2011 Wisconsin labour protests in the US, Veenstra et al. (2014:8) observed that protestors’ motivations for using Twitter can be categorised as ‘mobilization and coordination of others, mobilization and information for oneself, perceives utility as a news source, media critique and characteristics unique to Twitter’. When they considered the typology of action pertaining to Twitter use during the Occupy movement, Penny and Dadas (2014) similarly identified seven overlapping roles: facilitation F2F protests (e-mobilization), live reporting from F2F protests (citizen journalism), retweeting information and incorporating links (second-hand circulation), expressing personal views about the movement (editorial commentary), engaging discussion regarding the movement (online deliberation), making connections with fellow activists (strengthening ties), and facilitating online-based actions (e-tactics). Most of these action frames are also compatible with the findings discussed below. In our sample, there were five male and two female respondents who did not have online activism experience on Twitter before the Gezi Park protests. The remaining 17 respondents cited different national and transnational events where they used Twitter to be part of an online political action. These events included ‘murder of women/ honour killings’, ‘anniversary of Armenian journalist Hrant Dink’s death’, ‘Saturday mother’s meetings’, ‘Internet censorship protests’ and protests involving the state of the employees in Turkey. Transnational protest communication campaigns included ‘Occupy Wall Street’, ‘Tunisian, and Egyptian’ protests during the Arab Spring and ‘anti-austerity protests’. Considering the motivations for starting to Tweet about the Gezi protests, the respondents mentioned different issues such as having ‘emotional attachment to Istanbul’, ‘an interest in urban planning and development’ to ‘informing’ relatives or people in general who did not have the digital literacy skills to use social media. The main motivation behind this was the censored and reluctant coverage of the mainstream media of the protests. The respondents frequently referred to ‘feeling a civic or ethical responsibility’ to ‘informing’ the public about the violence as well

Citizenship, Media, and Activism in Turkey  75 as helping the protestors be ‘prepared to protect themselves from the police attacks and the gas’. When participants were asked how they felt about their role in the protests when they were Tweeting about it, 18 (nine male and nine female) participants declared their role as ‘informing’, which indicates various actions such as live reporting from F2F protests (citizen journalism), retweeting information and incorporating links (second-hand circulation), expressing personal views (editorial commentary), and facilitating online-based actions (e-tactics), as suggested by Penny and Dadas (2014). For instance, a male participant, a PhD holder in urban planning, started tweeting because of emotional and professional/academic reasons. He both incorporated links in his posts (second-hand circulation) and expressing personal views (editorial commentary) as an urban planner: I think my role of rising awareness was seen in the impact of some of my tweets. Some were retweeted 50 times; I got extra, new followers, and people writing to me ‘that’s good you are sharing this. You are trying to bring the protest to the global sphere and not just the local level.’ This is twitter activism; I engaged with several people. I also shared articles in English about the situation there, not only in Turkish but also in English and also inform the locals about the impact of the events in international level. According to another male participant in his late 30s, ‘informing’ meant to transfer the news to people who are only getting their news or information from traditional media or from Facebook. He saw his main role as ‘enabl[ing] these people to reach out to accurate information’ about the events: The point that motivated me to tweet about Gezi Park-others don’t matter- is that people couldn’t get information. I believe that I was beneficial to the group of people who still think of traditional media as a source of information, and Facebook when it comes to social media. It is not just simply believing, because I got some feedbacks too, when I didn’t write anything, people demanded me to write something in person or on Facebook, their age range is between 50+ mostly. Some of the participants consider their role as ‘providing analysis and protection against trolls’, relaying reliable information by ‘filtering tweets’. For instance, one male participant, a 39-year-old PhD student, working in creative industries stated that he specifically was engaged in debates and discussions regarding the protests because he wanted to provide ‘analysis’ about the political action and ‘produce counter arguments against trolls’. A 26-year-old university graduate female participant ‘helped people there by filtering the tweets one by one, confirming them with photos that may secure their physical health and their lives’. Another female participant, in her 30s, who is an active social media user and a public relations (PR) professional, managed one

76  Eylem Yanardağoğlu of the most influential accounts in the (e-mobilization) protests. She considered ‘Tweeting something that needed to be done in the name of the country’: I think I did my duty. My job is on communication and advertising. Telling the people the truth and making them face with reality were perfect experiences. I am happy that I contributed to this awareness that this movement created... Firstly, I listed the needs correctly. I was directing people to stream live. I was retweeting humorous grafitties, but did not directly made humor not to lose the seriousness of the account. There were people dead and injured, and my account was helping them. If I believe that the protests, the activities were really safe and secure; I was calling people [to meet, take action]. I was trying to call for non violent actions. My account was giving right news. I reported with Huffingtonpost and NYTimes. There were news referencing this Twitter account. For the 18 participants in the sample, the main motivation to tweet was precisely about ‘informing’ the other protestors and the general public about police violence and the provision of accurate information. If we consider the one male and three female participants who provided analysis and helped ‘visibility’ of the events, it is possible to say that apart from two male participants who considered their role as ‘logistics, support and organisation’, the majority of the participants (22) in the sample had provisions of information as their primary role and motivation. Live Reporting of the Events: Citizen Journalists and PR Professionals Scholars observed that starting on the third day of the protests, protestors who can use tablets, 3G internet connection, laptop computers and smartphones created their own media (Tunç 2014). A white-collar employee in a bank, a male respondent, who did not tweet before Gezi Park, is one of the participants with the fastest acquisition of social media use skills. Although he did not use Twitter before Gezi properly, he ‘learned about Twitter’ when he saw people using this platform and ‘became an expert’ on it in a few days. There was only one female participant, a high school graduate in her late 30s and in a creative profession, who considered her role as citizen journalism. She was interested in giving ‘news from the ground’ and to ‘direct the people who might be subjected to violence in the right way and to inform people for about the safe ways, tell where the police raid was’. Some protestors did not label their communicative act and main role as ‘citizen journalism’, despite their contribution to the provision of news in different ways. The female participant with a PR background, already mentioned above, similarly took an active stance in attracting the international media’s and public’s attention. Specially prepared eight tweets in English about how the protests developed were sent to ‘Twitter celebrities’, who later were asked to mention international

Citizenship, Media, and Activism in Turkey  77 accounts like CNN International, BBC, Guardian and NYT. Soon after thousands of tweets were sent to CNN International, it began to broadcast live from the Gezi protests. Twitter, in her opinion, ‘is a platform but also trigger other platforms to make news’. A male participant, in his early 30s and a white-collar worker, explained how young protestors in the park was organized by people involved with the NGOs in the Park, who were not as ‘young’ but who could see the news generating potential of Twitter and the hashtags: We used to get direct messages around 8–9 pm stating ‘this is what we are talking about tonight and we mention this person’. Imagine a network which almost 10.000 people were included, all at the same time. Those hashtags were probably determined by agenda and needs on that day, for instance Gezi Park needed water and I don’t remember the exact hashtag but we started a hashtag about it. A male participant, 39 years old and a worker, similarly made a conscious effort to attract the attention of international media and public opinion. Due to his active past with the Occupy Wall Street movement and having more than 2,000 followers on Twitter, he was given the admin role in a Facebook group. He believed his role was ‘informing people in the right way and giving news to the public through trustful sources’. He also said he tweeted in English and helped the international activists. Conclusion The Gezi Park protests can be considered as a culmination of a wave of civil dissent in the name of protecting civil rights, liberties and freedom of expression in Turkey a decade ago. It was unprecedented in the ways in which action was organized, mobilized and communicated digitally. Digitally networked media was instrumental in creating awareness about police interventions, directing protestors to safe zones, medical help points and mobilize people to support the Gezi Park resistance. Citizens also took charge in the production and dissemination of information because the mainstream media was heavily censored at the beginning of the protests. This chapter focused on the personal reflections of activists regarding their motivations to be involved in news provisions. Following the identification of the most active 100 activists on Twitter through social network analysis, 24 semi-structured interviews were conducted with the interviewees. This chapter was interested in the ways in which Twitter empowered citizens in their ‘participation in and through the media’ in the democratic process, where participants put their ‘right to communicate into practice’, as suggested by Carpentier (2008:89). Consistent with the general tendency among the population in Turkey, a majority of participants in this research were not affiliated with a political party, formation or an NGO, such as an association or platform. The participants in this

78  Eylem Yanardağoğlu research were also older than the average protestors in the park and were mostly highly educated mature adults who worked in creative professions, white-collar jobs or in academia. All respondents shared the same unifying element in terms of their motivation: the belief in the preservation of freedom of expression and advancement of democratic values in Turkey. The majority of the most prolific participants came from creative or academic backgrounds and professions. Similar to Gerbado’s (2012) referral to powerful Facebook admins who can organize the ‘choreography of assembly’ during the major protests he analysed, our sample also consisted of influential PR professionals and members of digital rights advocacyrelated NGOs. Such participants mainly represented sectors of the society which are highly educated, urban, middle-class professionals with a history of social activism. All the respondents claimed to have felt ‘moral or an ethical responsibility’ to tweet about the protests, their major concern as the state of democracy in Turkey being at stake. They took this as a major motivation that propelled them to take action. Since this chapter was originally published, political activism and citizen journalism on digital platforms have lost most of their appeal and dynamism in Turkey. The digital media platforms which provided alternative venue for digitalborn independent news outlets are coming under increasing pressure in light of the new legislative and regulatory measures. Notes 1 An earlier version of this chapter was originally published as a journal article in Interactions: Studies in Communication & Culture, https://doi.org/10.1386/iscc.8.2-3.133_1. Reprint rights were secured. The original version of this paper is available at https:// www.ingentaconnect.com/content/intellect/iscc/2017/00000008/f0020002. 2 For example, Tüfekçi (2014) mentions how journalist Serdar Akinan, who set up webbased Vagus TV later, went to Roboski/Uludere to disseminate the photos on his Instagram and Twitter accounts. After this event, a group of university students set up 140 journos, a ‘citizen news network’, as a reaction to media censorship. 3 This project was conducted in collaboration with Dr. Dan Mercea, Dr. Marco Bastos and Dr. Duygu Karataş. Initial findings were presented in conferences such as Social Media, Activism and Organisations, November 6, 2015, Goldsmiths College, London, UK. 4 Two out of the four female participants who are high school graduates had actually studied for four years at the university but did not obtain their degrees.

References Bennet, L.W. (2004), Communicating global activism: strengths and vulnerabilities of networked politics. In W.B. Donk, B. Loader, P. Nixon and D. Ruch (eds). Cyberprotest: new media, citizens, and social movements. London: Routledge. p. 123–147. Carpentier, N. (2008), Coping with the agoraphobic mediaprofessional: a typology of journalistic practices reinforcing democracy and participation. In B. Cammaerts and N. ­Carpentier (eds). Reclaiming the media: communication rights and democratic media roles. Bristol: Intellect. p. 157–175. Ems, L. (2014), Twitter’s place in the tussle: how old power struggles play out on a new stage. Media, Culture and Society, 36(5), p. 720–731.

Citizenship, Media, and Activism in Turkey  79 Fenton, N. (2012), Internet and radical politics. In J. Curran, N. Fenton and D. Freedman (eds). Misunderstanding the internet. London: Routledge. p. 151–173. Gerbaudo, P. (2012), Tweets and the streets: social media and contemporary activism. London: Pluto Press. Harju, A. (2007), Citizen participation and local public spheres: an agency and identity focussed approach to the Tampere postal services conflict’. In B. Cammaerts and N. Carpentier (eds). Reclaiming the media: communication rights and democratic media roles. Bristol: Intellect, p. 87–91. Iğsız, A. (2014), Brand Turkey and the Gezi protests: authoritarianism in flux, law and neoliberalism. In U. Özkırımlı (ed). The making of a protest movement in Turkey: #occupygezi. Palgrave MacMillan, p. 35–49. Konda (2014), Gezi raporu. Available at: www.konda.com.tr/tr/raporlar/KONDA_ GeziRaporu2014.pdf. Accessed 10 December 2014. MacNamara, J. (2010), The 21st century media (r)evolution: emergent communication practices. New York: Peter Lang. Özel, S. (2014), A moment of elation: the Gezi protests/resistance and the fading of the AKP project. In U. Özkırımlı (ed.). The making of a protest movement in Turkey: #occupygezi. London: Palgrave MacMillan. p. 7–24. Papacharissi, Z. and de Fatima O.M. (2012), Affective news and networked publics: the rhythms of news storytelling on #egypt.” Journal of Communication, 62(2), p. 266–282. Papacharissi, Z. (2015), Affective publics: sentiment, technology, and politics. London: Oxford University Press. Penney, J., & Dadas, C. (2014), (Re)Tweeting in the service of protest: Digital composition and circulation in the Occupy Wall Street movement. New Media & Society, 16(1), p. 74–90. Tüfekçi, Z. (2014), Social movements and governments in the digital age: evaluating a complex landscape. Journal of International Affairs, Fall, 68(1), p. 1–19. Tunç. A. (2014), ‘Can pomegranates replace penguins? Social media and the rise of citizen journalism in Turkey’, Freedom House Report Struggle for Turkey’s Internet. Available at: https://freedomhouse.org/report/special-reports/struggle-turkeys-internet Accessed 4 June 2023. Veenstra, A. S., Iyer, N., Park, C. S., & Alajmi, F. (2015), Twitter as “a journalistic substitute”? Examining #wiunion tweeters’ behavior and self-perception. Journalism, 16(4), 488–504. Varnalı, K. & Görgülü, V. (2015), A social influence perspective on expressive political participation in Twitter: the case of #OccupyGezi, Information, Communication & Society, 18(1). p. 1–16.

6

Political Laugh on Social Media An Analysis of Humorous Participation in Turkey Gülşah Başlar

Introduction On the evening of June 16, 2019, many people from Turkey focused on media, watching the İstanbul mayoral election candidates meet on a live broadcast and following or posting comments on social media. In addition to the fact that rival election candidates came together on television for the first time in 17 years, what made this evening special in terms of political participation in Turkey was the opportunity for people to participate synchronously in such a political discussion with their own discourses on the Internet. Within the scope of this case, this chapter specifically focuses on people’s online humorous participation in politics. In the local elections of March 31, after 25 years the conservatives lost control of the largest city of Turkey, İstanbul, where President Erdoğan’s political career rose since he won the mayorship in 1994 (Erdogan’s Party Suffer, 2019). As a result of the objections of the ruling Justice and Development Party (JDP/AKP) and its election alliance partner the Nationalist Movement Party (NMP/MHP), the high election board decided to cancel the İstanbul mayorship election in favour of the JDP candidate on May 6 and renew it on June 23 (Supreme Election Council Cancels İstanbul Local Elections, 2019). In a highly polarized political environment, this decision is one of the controversial political issues that caused reactions, especially in social media. At the last turn of the renewed election process, the ruling JDP candidate Binali Yıldırım unexpectedly accepted the offer of Ekrem İmamoğlu, the candidate of the Republican People’s Party (RPP/CHP), to meet on a live broadcast. The broadcast (Live TV Debate by İmamoğlu and Yıldırım Ahead of İstanbul Repeat Elections, 2019) created great excitement, and citizens shared their views in line with the participation opportunities offered by new media. Also, the use of humorous expressions in these participation practices was noteworthy. Hence this chapter aims to understand humorous and online discursive practices of opposing political segments in a political environment where concerns about media independence, freedom of expression, and democracy rise with the censorship by blocked websites or removed news, and the judicial cases and prosecutions against journalists, students, and social media users, according to reports about Turkey (İnceoğlu, Sözeri & Erbaysal Filibeli, 2021; İFÖD, 2021; EC, 2021; ECHR, 2021). Focusing on the DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-7

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  81 intersection of politics, online participation, and humour, this study aims to trace the humorous reflections and disruptions of political discourse online by revealing the discursive nature of online humorous participation in Turkey. Humour and Politics Humour based on laughter, creativity, and intelligence is a form of communication that has a multifunctional structure involving control, relief, resistance, humiliation, satire, or mockery, in which people express their criticism and comments (Kuipers, 2008). According to Fine (1983), humour embedded in a certain social environment is revealed by the other person’s interpretation of the joke and points to a discontinuity in the social system. Humour, being part of group idioculture, is a symbolic resource for social groups to make sense of common experiences. With this feature, while it strengthens cohesion within the group, it increases tension and hostility by indirectly involving aggression between opposing groups (Fine, 1983). In societies where there is sharp political polarization, people can converge in different political camps through humour. Therefore, analysis of humorous discourses in a society can reveal social relations and boundaries (Lockyer & ­Pickering, 2008). Comedy “can be a field of symbolic struggle, not simply the sneering of the powerful” (Eagleton, 2019, p. 41). When humour aims to create social impact, which is one of the necessary elements for the use of power (Dunbar, Banas, Rodriguez, Liu & Abra, 2012), it turns into a form of propaganda with the discourses it constructs (Speier, 1998). Playing with institutionalized structures of meaning, jokes relativize the given world (Zijderveld, 1968). With this feature, humour is an important tool for both the powerful and the subordinates in establishing, supporting, or reversing a certain discourse. Hence, political humorous expressions show power relations, political tendencies, and conflicts between different groups. According to Hobbes (1651), one of the reasons for laughing is based on the satisfaction of not having a defect that is seen in someone else. This idea, being the starting point of superiority theories, shows that there is a power relationship between the camps of humour through ridicule. Hobbes (1651) states that making fun of others’ faults, which is an action that smart people should get rid of, is a sign of pusillanimity. However, when sarcasm is used as a method of struggle with power, it becomes a form of relaxation that provides relief from the oppression and unconsciously concealed accumulated anger (Freud, 1905/2003) by declaring the king’s nakedness over the contradictions and incompatibilities of the strong. Laughter is the moment to get rid of the elements of oppression that cannot be said loud (Mascha, 2008). So, people may resort to aggressive humour types such as sarcasm targeting individuals and satire targeting social structures as a way of coping with the power (Martin, 2007). This turns humour into an expression of struggle and antagonism (Kuipers, 2008). Aggressive humour between the conflicting camps, whether produced by supporters of the opposition or the government, points to a discursive hegemonic struggle. In this respect, laughing at the power can give a feeling of superiority to

82  Gülşah Başlar the laugher by turning the power relations upside down, even for the moment of laughter. That can upset the balance of power. In this power struggle, the reasons for making humour by the powerful and the subaltern differ. Humour of the Power Laughing, which is a rebellion against seriousness (Parvulescu, 2017), undermines ­ the fear of the dictator, as in Charlie Chaplin’s movie The Great Dictator (Sanders, 1995). Humour ridicules political figures, de-ideologizes, and unmasks them. This is why dictators hate political satire (Zijderveld, 1968). But historically, politics and humour have always been intertwined (Morreall, 2005). Despite humour standing out with its criticism, it can be controlled by the government and used in the service of official ideology (Fenoglio & Georgeon, 2007). Politicians may dislike self-directed humour, but they can instrumentalize humour targeting their opponents. Thus, instead of leaving the discursive field of humour unattended, they try to control it or make it a part of their propaganda. As in medieval carnivals, the power can turn a blind eye for a while to humour, functioning as a safety valve to relieve the accumulating social tension (Bakhtin, 1984). However, when this turns into resistance, power produces a public response to restore the status quo (Cantek, 2011). To be accepted and to achieve consensus, the power has to gather consent in line with its ideology. For this purpose, it produces images about itself and social groups. One of these is the image of an enemy that tries to morally collapse the opposing groups by humiliating them (Lefebvre, 1982). Amongst the means of constructing such a discourse are political jokes and ridicule. Speier (1998) sees the humiliating laughter of power as the social equivalent of laughing at bodily disorders and considers such ideological jokes of totalitarian logic as being humourless. Dictators who are prone to ideologies, myths, and hatred lack a real sense of humour (Zijderveld, 1968). This downward humour of the power is aggressive, cruel, and tasteless (Kuipers, 2008). Humour is effective in socially constructing power and status differences (Dunbar et al., 2012). In this construction, the rhetorical power of laughter comes to the fore, and the one who laughs last seems to win a public debate (Parvulescu, 2017). For this reason, the power tries to weaken the defence and facilitate persuasion by instrumentalizing humour as a part of its rhetoric. Those in power produce political humour discourses as signs of victory, targeting subordinate social groups, minorities, or foreigners from the top down (Speier, 1998). With subaltern groups producing humorous counterarguments, a field of hegemonic struggle opens, where the dissent uses humour for criticism while the power instrumentalizes humour for propaganda and populism. Thus, the power tries to dominate and control the humorous discursive sphere, which occurs within participation (Morreall, 2005). The humorous discourses of politicians that show their side to be strong and the other side to be weak serve to strengthen their ties with their followers (Morreall, 2005). In this respect, humour can be used by politicians, especially the government, for populist purposes in political campaign processes. In the US, since the 1940s, comedians have played an institutionalized mediator role between the

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  83 president in the White House and the people at its gate (Wagg, 1998, p. 260). ­Similarly, Akbaba, a Turkish political humour magazine published between 1922 and 1977, established close relations with the governments, provided financial support, and became the longest-lived humour magazine of the republic (Cantek & Şenol-Cantek, 2011). While opposing journals were shut down by economic and political pressures, Akbaba silenced the dissenting voices inside and formed a part of the visual propaganda of the government (Cantek & Şenol-Cantek, 2011; Cantek, 2011). Politicians use humour to reduce the shocking effect of bad news, to avoid criticism and anxiety, to fool their opponents, to influence voting behaviour, to distract people’s attention, and to block critical thinking by making them laugh and relax. Examples of such instrumental humour try to mask itself by imitating aesthetic humour between friends (Morreall, 2005). The Power of Humour Orwell (2019) points out the destructiveness in humour with his “Every joke is a tiny revolution” phase. Humour differs from the pure comic with its critical aspect. According to Eco (1986), humour is liberating and destructive because it allows for a momentary violation of an accepted rule. However, this rule is so interiorized that the comic falls victim to it. Humour, on the other hand, gives a feeling of incongruency and avoids being a victim of the rule by openly criticizing it (Eco, 1986). Although humour is a tool of criticism and defence against power, the level of its effect is controversial. Eagleton asserts (2019, p. 126) that “…the helpless, uncoordinated body is hardly in a state to construct that social order. In this sense, comedy represents no threat to a sovereign power.” There are no jokes in a serious struggle, so political humour does not involve active resistance and does not lead to change, but it brings moral victories and only “creates sweet illusions of revenge” (Benton, 1988, s. 54). This momentary freedom created by naive political jokes, which makes people feel free from the ideological pressure of the dominant discourse (Mascha, 2008), makes the power amorphous (Bakhtin, 1984). Thus, by disturbing the power, it can reduce helplessness and make difficult conditions bearable. Therefore, political humour is a tool that is both liberating and soothing (Speier, 1998). Laughter undermines respect for authority (Arendt, 1970, p. 45). To evaluate the effect of political humour, the reaction of the power should be monitored, as it is proportional to the power’s belief in its strength. Severe reactions are an indication that the power’s self-confidence has decreased (Obrdlik, 1942). According to Mascha (2008), who refers to Gramsci’s assessment of cartoonists within the scope of passive revolution, political satire creates a discursive sphere for a counter-hegemony that carries the judgements and criticisms of the powerless into the public sphere, distorting and mocking the dominant discourse. The government’s reaction to humour can be associated with this sphere that political satire opens up against the discourse of power. One of the most important effects of political humour is that it helps to overcome the wall of fear created by the power. Bakhtin (1984) argues that laughter,

84  Gülşah Başlar by turning scary into grotesque, frees people from external and internal censorship, raises their consciousness, and gives them a new perspective. In this respect, laughter has always been seen as a weapon of freedom in the hands of people (Bakhtin, 1984). The political humour of the dissent tries to break the hegemonic discourse. Politicians are targeted to reveal important issues, create a critical view, and reverse propaganda (Morreall, 2005). In this respect, political humour, as one of the means of power struggle, can turn into a political weapon that shows the discourses of the opposing views as ridiculous or absurd and the counter-joke can reverse the power relationship (Speier, 1998). Especially when critical voices are suppressed, political jokes can act as messengers of popular mood (Benton, 1988). The mockery of power can unite a heterogeneous group, create a collective will, and break the silence to reach silenced political problems (Mascha, 2008). Also, symbolic means of defiance of sub-politics, including humour, have the potential to turn into public movements (Scott, 1990). Debates on Online Political Participation The Internet has opened up space for ordinary people to engage in political participation by providing the opportunity for producers (Bruns, 2008) to share their ideas and creativity globally over the network. The political roots of the concept of “participation” in democracy theories are based on the active and effective engagement of people in political decision-making processes (Pateman, 1970). On the other hand, the influence of participation in social media platforms, which are focused on profit maximization and based on algorithms (van Dijck, 2013), in political decision-making processes is controversial and carries the risk of reducing participation in cultural production (Fuchs, 2014). However, the user’s creative engagement in participatory culture (Jenkins, 2006), as well as the political debates, and also disseminating alternative information to mass media (Rheingold, 1993) and demonstrating a “produsage-based democracy” (Bruns, 2008) feed positive arguments for online participation. The scope of politics can be expanded to include all kinds of decisions of people in daily life (Certeau, 1988; Giddens, 1991) by focusing on “the political” beyond institutional politics (Mouffe, 2005). Therefore, online participation is one of the subjects of micropolitics (Gilbert, 2012), which seeks power relations in the capillaries of social life. Participatory practices are embedded in all structures such as family, work, and civil society in daily life (Carpentier, 2011). With daily political practices, “individuals returning to society” try to put forward a kind of social arrangement from below by activating sub-politics (Beck, 2005, p. 98). This comprehensive look at the political leads us to the necessity of examining the online participation practices of users, although their power to influence corporate policy is debatable. The potential of these examples, which consist of individual criticisms at the molecular level interspersed in daily life, to spread virally through social media can make the criticisms of the grassroots visible and disrupt the effect of the power discourse.

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  85 The Internet has revealed a new communication ecosystem, in which the barriers to public expression have been removed for amateurs (Shirky, 2008) and the private sphere expands to the public (Papacharissi, 2002). In this ecosystem, the flows of expressive discourses belonging to different communities form intersecting plural public spheres that have limited effect (Allen et al., 2014, p. 1137). It is seen that the discussion areas narrow down to the comments under the social media messages, where temporary and ineffective “public sphericules” (Gitlin, 1998) are formed. The nature of political discourses in these public sphericules follows the trend of personalization and individualization that emerged in the modern period (Giddens, 1991) and has become the focus of social, economic, and political life today (Bennett, 2012). According to Bauman (2005), who warns that individuation erodes citizenship by colonizing the public by the private, if a connection is not established between private concerns and public issues, collective impotence will grow along with individual freedoms. Humans can only come together in a floating fashion that occurs in one-off and short-lived eruptions (Bauman, 2006). Examples of political participation based on individual narratives in the face of personalized issues are also spread virally on personal networks via social media, enabling personalized public engagement (Bennett & Segerberg, 2011, 2012). Online participation cases have a characteristic of being large scale, rapidly forming and spreading, diverse in their goals, and activating loose ties that people form through new media (Bennett, 2012). Also, proposed solutions to complex social problems are simple, individualized, and non-governmental (Bennett, 1998). A digitally mediated do-it-yourself policy understanding has emerged in an environment where collective action is replaced by individual expressions and group affiliations are dissolved by social fragmentation (Bennett, 2012). In social media, people are involved in a protest on the move with their expressions, and the quality of participation in a fast flow remains mostly reactive (Allen et al., 2014, p. 1130). This fosters an environment in which the individual is not able to focus or think deeply on a certain issue while participating in politics, but rather gets lost in the discourse flows and can give instant, temporary, and poorly sustainable reactions. Morozov (2009) argues that slacktivism, based on low-barrier political participation forms such as liking, sharing, and participating in petitions, creates the illusion of making a meaningful impact on people. On the contrary, Dennis (2019) considers such practices as forms of active citizenship by opening shortcuts on the path of participation. In line with the possibilities offered by the Internet in terms of civic engagement and the decline in traditional forms of participation, new forms of expression have emerged. Political participation has evolved and diversified in terms of its subjects, ways, and places (Norris, 2002). As one of these, humorous participation occurs when humour, a part of the common public culture (Pickering & Lockyer, 2005), is turned into a political participation tool in social media (Shifman, Coleman, & Ward, 2007). In a discussion on the impact of online participation in the public sphere and democracy, humorous content created by people on the Internet about

86  Gülşah Başlar political issues oscillates on the border between serious political debate and fun. It also involves the characteristics of online participation discussed above. Online Humorous Participation Today, the Internet has spawned many new forms of digital humour in a do-ityourself feature (Shifman, 2007). With the increase in the user’s participation opportunities, the examples, in which serious political issues are criticized and discussed with a humorous discourse, have increased. The fact that our age is entertainment-driven (Wettergren, 2009), the rise of the game metaphor in postmodern culture (Minnema, 1998) and the playful feature of humour (Fry, 2010) are effective in this regard. Although the online examples of political humour on the Internet may seem like a game and a show that combines fun and criticism, beyond that, it has now turned into a tool for political criticism and contention. Online humour examples based on games, cartoons, and defaced posters in political campaign processes are related to the distribution of power in favour of people (Shifman, Coleman, & Ward, 2007). Especially during electoral periods when people’s interest in politics is intense, both politicians and citizens can refer to humorous expressions and visuals while expressing their political views online. Most of these are Internet memes that different users can adapt to express themselves (Esteves & Meikle, 2015). Popular culture elements and political images can be remixed in these Internet memes. They also constitute the reflection of popular culture, which Gramsci (1999) saw as a field of struggle, on the Internet today. And the power is involved in the discursive struggle by producing its discourse against such online political humour. Another dimension of online political humour is that in societies where there is oppression, it is preferable to convey ideas in a more naive way through humour. In conditions of increased political pressure, “whispered jokes” (Speier, 1998), tools to disseminate ideas in a critical oral culture, can also spread rapidly online today. In difficult circumstances, people can use humorous participation as a form of expression in the public sphere to influence politics. Habermas (1992, p. 427) admits that Bakhtin’s analysis of carnival has changed his mind about the ordinary people’s ability to form publics against the dominant culture. With its carnivalesque feature, the Internet can also open up a critical sphere where humour, resistance, and entertainment are intertwined. By political carnivalism (Park, 2013), people parody the agenda with their comments, creating a public sphere in which they turn political authority inside out. Citizens’ participation in the political realm with their humour points to an online participation form that can be called humorous participation. Humour, game, fun, and political participation are intertwined within humorous participation where the boundaries between participation and entertainment or relaxation are becoming blurred. Within the framework of the features of online participation, people have started to play a role in spreading the humorous discourse of the politician they follow or reversing the discourse of the other party through humour.

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  87 In addition, politicians can mobilize their followers through new media to share various humorous discourses. Method and Research Design The research for this chapter is based on qualitative analysis of the humorous contents in the #BYvsEİ hashtag opened during the live TV broadcast in which the rival candidates of the 2019 Istanbul Mayoral Elections came together for political debate. Critical discourse analysis method is conducted in line with the aim of this study to trace the humorous reflections and disruptions of the political discourse on the Internet by revealing the discursive nature of the online humorous participation in Turkey. While ordinary people used to have limited access to discourses established in the public sphere (van Dijk, 2015), new media has opened opportunities for citizens to be involved in discursive practices, and thus new texts occurred to be analysed critically (KhosraviNik, 2014). As politics can be extended to include everyday life (Certeau, 1988; Giddens, 1991), people’s online discourses gain great importance in terms of spreading or opposing power relations. Also, humour is an effective form of expression in the construction or reversal of power relations in daily life. Having an approach of revealing how power relations are established discursively (van Dijk, 2015), critical discourse analysis reveals discursive relations between citizens and the political figures. Data for this study came from scraping a sample of Twitter content from the #BYvsEİ hashtag, which ranked first on the Twitter agenda. Within this hashtag, there were 669 tweets based on users’ own political expressions, when irrelevant, retweeted, and institutional contents are excluded from the dataset. And among these 669 tweets, 395 tweets (59%) were based on political humour, constituting evidence that humour is used as a significant form of expression in people’s political discourse. Only these humorous tweets (n = 395) were subjected to critical discourse analysis and categorized thematically with the help of the Nvivo 11 Plus software. The humorous political discourses of the users were compared with the discourses of the political figures during the campaign process. In order to determine the discourses of political figures, the election news within the dates of May 6 to June 23, 2019, were listed by making a search with the keywords “İstanbul,” “election,” and “23 June” in the news tab of Google search engine. In the analysis, while the humorous statements of the users and the discourses of the politicians were compared, these election news and the statements of the candidates during the broadcast were taken into account. In addition, user profiles were examined in depth to determine their political tendencies and the candidates they supported during the election process. This research examines the role of the grassroots in the distribution of power balances through the discursive conflicts. When the humorous discourses put forward by the users within the hashtag were examined, it was seen that they could construct their own political discourses, develop discourses in response to the discourses of the opposing political side, or express neutral discourses. Accordingly,

88  Gülşah Başlar in the analysis, the discourses are categorized in relation to the discourses of the opposite side under the following four main themes: a Discourses reproducing or reversing discourse of the power: The grassroots discourses that follow or oppose the discourses of the ruling party and its candidate. b Discourses constructed by the supporters of the power or the dissent: The pro-power and the pro-dissent users’ own original discourses about the election process. c Discourses reproducing or reversing discourse of the dissent: The grassroots discourses that follow or oppose the discourses of the dissent party and its candidate. d Neutral discourses: The politically neutral discourses of grassroots about the election process and the TV broadcast. Under these themes, the discourses developed by different political grassroots on similar issues were analysed comparatively and in relation to each other and the political figure they support. Findings Discourses Reproducing or Reversing Discourse of the Power

The supporters of the government humorously reproduced the discourse of power, while the pro-dissent users sent tweets that reversed these discourses. The humorously adapted discourses of JDP by pro-power users are, respectively, the discourses of “liar,” “my buddies,” and “survival of Turkey.” The power launched a Twitter campaign to use an emoji of lightning, which is a synonym for Yıldırım to show support. Besides, a sponsored hashtag #Yildirimcarpti (#Lighteningstruck) was opened on Twitter during the broadcast. The dissidents produced humorous counter-discourses against the discursive practice of the power to diminish their effect and thus reverse the power relationship. They made fun of the promises to the youth, the nationalist discourses based on survival and the “liar” discourse. “Liar” Discourse. During the election process, there was a tension between İmamoğlu and Ordu governor when he was not allowed into the VIP lounge at the airport. The ruling party alleged that İmamoğlu insulted the governor in this incident. As he denied this allegation, he was accused of being a “liar” by the power (“Erdoğan’dan İmamoğlu,” 2019). As in Examples 1 and 2 below, this discourse was continued as the most humorously embraced power discourse. In addition, the hashtags #Yalanciekrem (#Liarekrem) and #EkrandakiYalanci (#Liaronscreen) were opened on Twitter. Example 1 involves ironic humour. In example 2, incriminating humorous expressions about the candidate and ridicule were produced by satirizing İmamoğlu with the analogy of a “lying machine.”

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  89 Example 1: It is the first time İmamoğlu didn’t lie: “Lying is not a good thing” (…) Example 2: A lying machine, blessed (…) In oppositional content targeting the power, the lying discourse is reversed and then reflected back on the power’s candidate. In Example 3, İmamoğlu’s response about the governor incident was parodied as a football match, and Yıldırım was accused of “fouling” in a similar way. Example 3: In the following minutes, Binali started to foul a lot. Ekrem, on the other hand, received great applause from the audience when he replied, “My family’s upbringing is not suitable for using that word” (…) “Türkiye’s survival” discourse. In the election process, different segments of the society came together to support the dissent’s candidate against the ruling bloc or simply not to support the power’s candidate. This tendency is the result of the polarizing policies of the government. According to Bora (2017), after the Gezi Movement, in which dissidents from different political segments united against the power, Erdoğan used polarization as a strategy to mobilize his own grassroots. Hence, as of the June 2015 elections, electoral alliances started to be formed on both the power and dissent political camps (Bora, 2017). In the 2019 local elections, alliances of JDP and NMP and of RPP and right-wing Good Party (GP/ İYİP) continued. Also, the third largest party representing various minority groups, pro-Kurdish, left-wing Peoples’ Democratic Party (PDP/HDP), which is accused of having links with terrorism by the power, announced that they would support İmamoğlu even if it did not form an alliance (Sayın, 2019). The power produced discourses that associated İmamoğlu and CHP with terrorism through PDP, implying a secret alliance of humiliation. In addition, it tried to marginalize İmamoğlu by associating him with FETÖ (Fethullah Terrorist Organization, a religious network led by Fethullah Gülen and his community, which attempted and failed a military coup in July 2016) and “external forces” (“Edoğan: Bugün Türkiye’de,” 2019; “23 Haziran’a Saatler,” 2019). Such nationalist discourses of the power during the election process linked local elections with Turkey’s survival. These discourses are reproduced by the supporters of power. Example 4 has a discourse that compares the two candidates by making a pun and stigmatizes İmamoğlu as a project of “external forces.” Example 5 has sarcastic rhetoric implying İmamoğlu’s “secret alliance” with the PDP. Example 4: İmamoğlu says the streets of Istanbul are under threat. Will he resolve it by giving Ispark, Constabulary, and İsfalt to PDP? Example 5: This discussion showed that @BY is the project man, İmamoglu is the candidate of the project.... (…) Aiming to activate the nationalist sentiments, the power propagandized that İmamoğlu was of Greek origin with discriminatory and enemizing rhetoric,

90  Gülşah Başlar linked to being a project of external forces (Hacaloğlu, 2019). In this respect, the supporters of power produced humorous expressions based on humiliation, accusation, and comparison, also by making connections with other main discourses. Some tweeted visuals showing İmamoğlu’s blue tie is the colour of the Greek flag and Yıldırım’s tie is the colour of Turkish. In Example 6, the name of Ekrem İmamoğlu was changed to “Ekoryus” to create a Greek perception. In Example 7, the images of the Greek and the Priest were combined with the “liar” discourse and used as an element of ridicule in an abusive way. These examples, where hate speech and humour are intertwined, reflect the humiliating smile of the powerful. Example 6: (…) YILDIRIM [lightning] struck Ekrem İmamoğlu. Fetö copying tactic did not work Ekoryus Screwed-up came to the fore with his lies Binali YILDIRIM came to the fore with a full statesman... Example 7: If you were Pinocchio, your nose would reach as far as the Greek, what a lie, with his nose, is up to his ass, the priest’s grandson... (…) The dissidents tried to humorously reverse the discourse of “Greek origin” as in Example 8. The power relations contained in such discourses are turned upside down by making fun of the nationalist and discriminatory discourses with ironic expressions, and humour is used to break the effect of the nationalist rhetoric. Example 8: What if @ekrem_imamoglu President’s Tie Represents The Somali Flag!!! Get Another Polemic for You @BY (…) Promises to “my buddies”. Yıldırım tried to establish a bond with the young voters by producing a humorous discourse stemming from the feeling of incongruency created by the use of an informal expression like “my buddies” by an official authority. In this context, while claiming the promise of free Internet for young people, he criticized RPP for the cancellation of student scholarships in the past. The humorous rhetoric of the ruling base concentrated on mocking the other candidate about it. Example 9: “Is this also not a Goal? Ekrem Imamoğlu: We will give scholarships to 75 thousand students. Binali Yıldırım: We were already giving it, your party RPP had it cancelled by the Constitutional Court!” In Example 9, the discourses of the two candidates were parodied as a dialogue and by referring to a football match. The idea of Yıldırım’s success was identified with “scoring a goal,” and humour was created through accusatory expressions. In the dissidents’ discourses reversing the power discourse, the mockery of Yıldırım’s promise of “10 GB internet” for young people comes to the fore. During the broadcast, Yıldırım made a joke that young people can watch Netflix freely, and instrumentalized humour. This strategy of Yıldırım was reflected in the humorous rhetoric of the dissent on Twitter. As in Example 10, users produced counter-jokes on this subject. In addition, dissidents shared sarcastic content, implying that the candidate did not understand technology by posting his related past statements or

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  91 news images. The use of the word gigabyte as “cigolayt” in Example 11 is an example of such counter-jokes. Example 10: The clear winner of last night was Netflix (…) Example 11: my buddy will give me 10 cigolayts, you go mad (…) Regarding the reflections of the power’s discourses to the grassroots, the supporters of power undertook the function of reinforcing the power within the humorous discursive field. The rhetoric of the power against İmamoğlu was reflected in the humorous participation of the base as humiliation and ridicule. The dissidents, on the other hand, tended to undermine their influence by reversing these discourses with a humorous language. Discourses Constructed by the Supporters of the Power or the Dissent

In the analysis, users produced original discourses themselves, apart from the main discourses of the political camp they supported. At this point, the dissidents were more creative in producing their own discourses. The discourses originally produced by both groups are similar in terms of their subjects, as in Table 3. In this respect, both sides tend to form mutually opposing discourses, mostly about comparing the candidates, speaking time during the broadcast, and Yıldırım’s FETÖ response. Comparison of the candidates. Among the original discourses of pro-power users, the comparison of the candidates’ performances on television comes to the fore. The speeches of the candidates are often parodied in the form of dialogue as in Example 12, where it was implied that İmamoğlu slid around the questions and gave irrelevant answers, and also his projects were ridiculed. Example 12: Question – Do you have any mega projects? (…) Ekrem: Now, this city needs a hug. Project of embracement from Ekrem İmamoğlu (…) Regarding İmamoğlu, the pro-power supporters made the analogy of “inflated balloon” and produced cynical discourses over the expressions of “twisting,” “playing,” and “dancing,” implying that he was lying during the broadcast. They also expressed their candidate’s success by parodying the “lightning stroke” joke. Example 13: (…) see how the inflated İmamoğlu Balloon burst (…) Example 14: It turns out that imams twist well. There was a very nice dance show last night. However, due to the lightning strike, the dancer did not do well in his show. (…) In Examples 13 and 14, while constructing their own discourses, the pro-power users also reproduced the “liar” discourse of the power. In the dissent part, finding the other unsuccessful performance in the broadcast and comparing the personal characteristics of the candidates come to the

92  Gülşah Başlar fore. Yıldırım’s performance was found to be unsuccessful with comparative and sarcastic discourses. In Example 15, the “Lightning struck” joke of the power grassroots is reversed. Example 15: Mr. Binali Yıldırım is better with technology than my father. Look, that’s true. #Lightningstruck Binali Yıldırım. While comparing the candidates, both parties produced similar jokes that their candidate convinced the other side, as in Examples 16 and 17. Example 16: As if Binali Yıldırım decided to vote for Ekrem İmamoğlu (…) Example 17: (…) While Mr. Mayor is listing his projects one by one, İmamoğlu has a look of whether I should vote for Yıldırım or not. Pro-power users shared ready-made images that parodied the discussion program, in which the discussion topics of the two candidates are listed and compared in a scoring table, such as a boxing match. Some of them were shared by the users stating to be a member of the JDP organization in their profiles. This shows that the power is trying to be active in the sphere of humorous discourse by sharing the images prepared by the party organization. It can be related to the JDP’s strategy to use political trolls, especially after the Gezi Movement, when opposition voices became decisive in the discourses on social media (Bulut & Yörük, 2017). Counting the seconds. İmamoğlu’s speech time calculation during the broadcast was ridiculed by the supporters of the power. In Example 18, İmamoğlu’s request for his missing seconds from the moderator is ridiculed with a metaphor of “crying baby.” Example 19, on the other hand, has a positive humorous discourse showing that this behaviour is perceived by the dissent as a quest for rights. Example 18: (…) Let it be from me too.. give that man’s pacifier (…) Example 19: (…)“I’ll be credited for 7 more seconds…” The man doesn’t give you a second, will he feed you with İstanbul, which he won in a crack? (…) “None!” Answer. Dissidents responded to Yıldırım’s “None!” answer on his relationship with FETÖ by posting humorous tweets that refuted him. By sharing news links, videos, and photos showing that Yıldırım took part in the events of the Gülen Community in the past, they tried to turn Yıldırım’s discourse inside out with a sarcastic and ironic language, as in Example 20. Example 20: Oh dear, you have no connection, you can’t be serious [With a video showing Yıldırım giving a speech at a Gülen Community event named ­Turkish Olympics] Discourses Reproducing or Reversing Discourse of the Dissent

Regarding the main dissent discourses, the dissidents embraced the rhetoric of “waste,” which highlighted the expenditures, money transfer, and debts of AKP municipalities as criticism, “we will win again,” and discourses of the unequal

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  93 election conditions and the accusation of official news agency, Anadolu Agency (AA), of being biased. In Example 21, İstanbul is likened to a “money machine” in the criticism of money transfer to foundations, and a satirical discourse is established over this expression. Example 22 reproduced the RPP’s criticisms of AA, the official news agency, about late delivery and distortion of the election results and being biased by referring to the abbreviation of JDP (AKP). Example 21: (…) If #Jdp loses #istanbul, it will lose its money machine indeed! (…) Example 22: AA’K (…) The power grassroots tried to reverse the main dissent discourses humorously. Among these, humorous participation made on İmamoğlu’s metaphor of TL 20 came to the fore. During the broadcast, İmamoğlu stated that it was absurd that only the mayoral election was cancelled, but not the other elections of council membership, Mukhtar, and district presidency, although voters placed four ballot papers in a single envelope and sealed it. He took out a TL 20 banknote from his pocket as a metaphor for a single election envelope that cannot be divided. Example 23: (…) imamoglu bribed the moderator shdjdjsjhsjd In Example 23, İmamoğlu’s act of taking money out of his pocket on the broadcast was likened to bribing the moderator. While the discourse of İmamoğlu was tried to be reversed, the moderator’s bias was expressed. In addition, the dissent’s “waste,” “victimization,” and “we will win again” discourses were also ridiculed. In Example 24, a pro-power user tried to reverse RPP’s rhetoric of “waste” by highlighting the spending of another RPP municipality. Example 24: (…) 16,000 TL was spent on a printer by Imamoglu, and more than 16 printers can be bought with that money. And don’t forget that, did you pay the 1 million TL phone bill by the way?? (…) Users who mocked the RPP’s rhetoric of victimization tried to reverse it by sharing an image showing that Yıldırım was given less time by comparing the speaking time of İmamoğlu and Yıldırım in the program with an ironic expression, as in Example 25. Example 25: “Aaaah, there is nothing that will cause victimization, thank God, otherwise we would have to deal with them crying again...” (…) Neutral Discourses

Neutral humorous discourses mostly consist of humorous content that criticizes the supporters of both sides, the broadcast’s format, and the election promises of both. The program format is based on the fact that the candidates do not enter into a dialogue but answer the questions in order. In Example 26, the user humorously criticizes the lack of mutual discussion and excitement element by using metaphors

94  Gülşah Başlar of movies, which also implies its fictionality. In addition, jokes made about the program and the moderator and examples criticizing both candidates or their followers were also evaluated as neutral humorous discourses. Example 26: I was waiting for an action-thriller-adventure program, a romantic drama came out. IMDb 4.6 (…) Discussion In this chapter, the humorous participation of citizens in an important political debate on Twitter is examined. The potential of humorous participation to create a hegemonic field of struggle and transform power relations has triggered this study. For this reason, online discursive practices of users from different political circles have been analysed through the method of critical discourse analysis. The hashtag #BYvsEİ related to the live broadcast that the mayoral candidates participated in during the renewed İstanbul Mayorship Election process was selected as a sample. The humorous participation on Twitter can be evaluated within the scope of political carnivalism (Park, 2013). Not only those who are in opposition but also those who are in power use humorous language, as in Yıldırım’s discourse of “my buddies.” The humorous rhetoric of the power is an example of politicians’ instrumentalizing humour to bond with the electorate (e.g. Speier, 1998; Wagg, 1998), strengthen cohesion within its side, and increase the hostility against the other (Fine, 1983). This ridicule of power is also reflected in its base, and the supporters of power reproduce these humorous discourses against their opponents. The dissent, on the other hand, uses the critical power of humour as a tool of symbolic struggle (Eagleton, 2019) to turn the power discourses upside down (e.g. Morreal, 2005). Therefore, humour can be instrumentalized in terms of producing discourse for all segments of society. The analysis shows that both the supporters of the power and the dissent contributed to the dissemination of conflicting discourses on social media by expressing their opinions humorously. It is debatable to what extent the counter-discourses within online participation are influential in the political arena (Fuchs, 2014). However, the ready-made images shared by JDP member users, the sponsored hashtag of #Yildirimcarpti (#Lighteningstruck) and the campaign to use the lightning emoji to support the ruling party’s candidate with a humorous tone, and Yıldırım’s own humorous discourses show the JDP’s attempt to dominate in the humorous discursive sphere. These discursive practices provide evidence that the power takes the discourses of the grassroots on social media seriously, even if they are humorous. Hence, online humorous participation in politics can be evaluated as a practice of sub-politics (e.g. Beck, 2005) and active citizenship (Dennis, 2019). Considering the humorous participation, it is seen that pro-power users tend to embrace and spread the discourses produced by the ruling party and its candidate. On the other hand, dissent users produce their own discourses rather than participate in the candidate’s discourses, and also, they tend to produce discourses against the hegemonic discourse. This shows that the dissent is more creative in producing their original discourses. It is possible to evaluate the

Political Laugh on Social Media in Turkey  95 examples of dissent humorous participation against the power as a discursive sphere for counter-hegemony (Mascha, 2008). The sharing of humorous content and ready-made images by members of the ruling party organization shows that the power deliberately uses humour in spreading its discourse or confuting counter-discourses. The effectiveness of the power in the field of humorous participation shows that it aims to dominate the political discourses spread over social media (e.g. Morreal, 2005). Those in the dissent position, on the other hand, participated by using the critical power of humour and engaged in a more creative participation practice in terms of establishing their discourses. Both sides reverse the rhetoric of the opposing party with humorous language. For this reason, the examples of participation produced by rival sides overlap as topics and almost respond to each other. Discursive spaces have been formed in social media where ordinary citizens can establish their own discourses on the agenda, construct them by mirroring the discourse of political actors, or disrupt their effect by reversing them. The analysed examples show the tendency of the political realm to expand in daily life and go beyond voting (e.g. Mouffe, 2005). Humorous content created by users on the internet about political issues oscillates on the border between serious political discussions and fun, leading to the emergence of online humorous participation as a form. Humour stands out as a tool of criticism and resistance, especially in societies where political oppression is increased, turning power relations upside down and enabling the unspoken to be said out of laughter. Therefore, humorous discourses rise in Turkey in line with increasing concerns about democracy and freedom of expression because of juridical cases against dissent figures like journalists, students, and social media users or censorship of webpages and news. In addition, with its populist aspect, humour can attract people’s attention and ensure that the message is transmitted easily. With these features, humour has always been used as a form of political expression by both politicians and the public throughout history. This study provides evidence that both pro-power and dissent segments of grassroots and political figures use humorous language. The findings of this research can be considered significant in terms of, on the one hand, showing that dissident users express their criticism through humour on social media, and on the other hand, the power and its grassroots also engage in a hegemonic struggle in the realm of online humorous participation. This chapter has tried to reveal the discursive relations of the opposing political sides through the humorous content shared by citizens on social media in Turkey with a descriptive perspective. Further research is needed on why citizens and political figures prefer humour as a form of expression to understand the motivations under humorous participation. References 23 Haziran’a saatler kala: Öcalan-HDP tartışması [Hours before June 23: Öcalan-HDP debate]. (21 June 2019). Sözcü. https://www.sozcu.com.tr/2019/gundem/23-haziranasaatler-kala-ocalan-hdp-tartismasi-5190330/

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Cultural Identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art The Expression of Transcultural Identity in Countries of Conflict Safea Altef

Introduction With the introduction of social media, the Arab-speaking world has had the ability to reconnect and communicate within itself. This is shown through the Arab Spring where communication, support, and advice were shared across the region, whereby the main method is social media. In fact, social media has made the dialogue between the Arab populations regular and constant. In this dialogue, a new definition of Arab identity is being formed to respond to the changes in the environment, especially since 2011. One main example of this is the political and democratization dialogue that instigated in 2011. Moreover, in the last few decades, there has been a rise in research concerning the connection between visual arts and identity, and identity representation through visual art. Many researchers worked on establishing the relationship between the identity of artists, social groups, and the conditions of their lives (Cardarelli et al., 2012). This chapter’s goal is to research and identify these trends in general. The main focus though will be placed on countries of conflict and the content created which accompanied these conflicts by independent individuals who have expressed their thoughts and feelings toward the events that are happening in their countries. This chapter focuses on analyzing visual artwork of Libyan and Yemeni artists, which are shared on their social media account under their real names. The need to study social media in Libya, Yemen, and the MENA region in general comes from the role these platforms played in the communication and dissemination of information, knowledge, and opinions during and after the Arab Spring. In addition, Libya and Yemen had limited forms of expression platforms, making social media a significant platform for public debate. The focus of this chapter is the encodings and symbols used by both Libyan and Yemeni artists in order to narrate and represent different issues and struggles faced in both countries several years – from 2015 to 2020 – after the Arab Spring and amidst internal conflicts. The importance of this time frame is the continuation of the different roles social media continues to play in Libya and Yemen, years after its first usage in the Arab Spring. While each country will be analyzed separately, by analyzing the works of three visual artists – from each country – who use social media as their publication platform, a comparison of the narratives and representations will be conducted in order to DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-8

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  101 understand the elements of transnational identities present in Libyan and Yemeni visual artworks. Hence, the chapter aims to shed light on how Libyan and Yemeni artists understand and express their life struggles and aspirations in each country separately, but also how there is mutual understanding shared between the two portrayed in the usage of common encodings, narratives, and representations. The study covers the time frame from 2015 to 2020, with 2015 marking the start of war in both Libya and Yemen. A total of 44 artworks were analyzed, whereby 22 were Libyan artworks and 22 were Yemeni artworks. All artworks were collected from the personal social media accounts of the artists. The works of three Libyan and three Yemeni artists are with various artistic disciplines. The artists from Libya are Suhaib Tantoush, a caricaturist; Abdullah Hadia, a digital artist; and Alla Budabbus, digital artist. Yemeni artists are Rashad Al-Samei, a caricaturist; Maha Al-Omari, an illustrator; and Arwa Moujabel, a caricaturist. All of these artists have been chosen based on their long social media presence as well as their usage of their full real names in their accounts rendering these as personal accounts. After collecting all the artworks of the mentioned six artists, the artworks on various topics were then identified and grouped under the themes they portrayed. Artworks were later chosen and analyzed based on the issues/themes they portrayed, namely, immigration, women, children, life conditions during the war, the freedom of expression, media, and the perception of the future. This chapter uses the encoding/decoding model developed by Sturt Hall to analyze the visual artworks. The focus is placed on the shared encodings, narratives, and representations in the visual artworks. This research will dissect the elements that represent the Transcultural Identity on social media. Transcultural Identity here represents common characteristics or struggles faced by the Arabic-speaking population, specifically the elements and issues that shape the identity of the MENA region. This will be done by analyzing the visual artworks of social media artists who share still visual work – specifically from Libya and Yemen both of which participated in the 2011 uprisings and are currently experiencing ongoing conflicts. The encoding of the Yemeni and Libyan visual art – like common form or subject matter and/or common symbols – was conducted to understand how transcultural expression occurs within and between the two countries. The goal is to connect the content topics to the elements of identity expression. Specifically, this chapter will examine the main narratives and representations displayed in the artwork of Libyan and Yemeni artists, the elements of cultural identity shared in the Libyan and Yemeni visual art, and the mutual narratives and representations of traumas/struggles that are shared between the Libyan and Yemeni visual content. This chapter will therefore focus on the process of making visual arts. Content Analysis is used to analyze the artwork of Libyan and Yemeni artists. First, the artworks were categorized based on their format (caricature, paintings, digital artwork); the date of their release in order to understand the historical context and significance related to the events that occurred; and the selected artworks were all published on social media platforms on the personal accounts of the artists who used

102  Safea Altef their names with their account set as public. Second, the cultural and social issues were referenced and reviewed in order to understand their influence on the encoding. The main social issues pertaining to Libya and Yemen is the 2011 uprising, the start of the 2015 civil war, and the ongoing issues related to the conflicts. Third is the process of selection of the artworks. The visual arts selected for the analyses cover narratives and representations of the present and the future, of vulnerable groups, and of ideas and ideologies as well as daily physical struggles. Fourth, the content analysis is conducted on the selected artworks with a focus on the narrative and representations in these artworks. The chosen artworks are researched in terms of form and subject matter and the intersection of the two. More specifically, how the encoding of an artwork uses certain form or subject matter, as well as the symbols used in the artwork to connote or denote a certain meaning. By highlighting the difference between subject matter and form, this chapter looks at artworks that may have similar encoding (symbols) to communicate a different meaning or a similar meaning (connoted to denoted meaning) that uses different encoding. Fifth, the analysis of the two countries’ artwork is summarized, discussed in relation to the transcultural identity between the two countries. Narrative and Representation The content analysis is conducted with two primary elements in mind: the narratives and the representations. The identity consists of an individual’s relationship to cultural material (Räsänen, 2012). During their lives, humans keep asking question of identity such as “Who am I? With whom and where do I live?” Answers to these questions are made by constructing narratives that help us define relationships with others and the world around them. A broad definition of the concept of narrative refers to all verbal, symbolic, or social expressions that a person uses to explain life to themselves and others (Räsänen, 2012). According to du Gay et al. (1997), representation is “the practice of constructing meaning through the use of signs and language” (p. 24). Meaning is not “fixed” either by objects themselves or by individual authors. Instead, meaning is socially constructed through symbolic systems such as language (Hall, 1997/2013). Representation can be a description or depiction of something, or a symbol or substitute for something. A representation may “be” or “stand for” something else, just as in Saussurean semiotics, a sign is defined as “anything that stands for something other than itself” (Gordon & Lubell, 1996: 17). Representations, as are signs, are used to refer to something that may or may not be real, or have the same form or image, for you and me. Meanings are fluid; representation leading to effective communication relies on some kind of common understanding between you and me, of what something is, and what something is not. Hall calls this common understanding “conceptual maps” and makes the point that in sharing a roughly similar “conceptual map,” “we are able to build up a shared culture of meanings and thus construct a social world which we inhabit together” (Hall, 1997a: 18). The system that leads to a conceptual map relies on classifying, making certain connections between ideas and things, abstract and concrete, together making up mental representations that stand for things in

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  103 the world. During the interpretative process of visual culture, a spectator connects representations, and to the pictures typical of the culture and to the pictures she or he has seen earlier, and to his or her mental images and views (Hall 1997b; Mäkiranta, 2010). Moreover, the analysis will focus on analyzing what the encoding process uncovers in Libyan and Yemeni visual arts, whereby the focus will not be on comparing the narratives and representations only, but also on the usage of encoding. This is to say that though narratives and representations may differ in a variety of topics, the usage of a similar codes would suggest that the Libyan and Yemeni culture share a cultural element or a transcultural identity. Various Studies have been made into the relationship between Social Media and the Arab Spring. In a 2013 study by Tao Papaioannou and Hugo Enrique Olivos, the researchers investigated the facilitating role of cultural identity in civic engagement and citizens’ empowerment through the Facebook in Libya. The study which was conducted in 2012 uses content analysis on a selected sample of three pages over three months of the same year. The content analysis focused on identifying shared collective goals and how participants responded to these collective goals. The study findings showcase the introduction of new cultural values based on political freedom and human rights. Moreover, one dominant goal is the participation in free elections, whereby Facebook promoted these goals through posts of civic journalism, encouraging freedom of speech and participation in civic and political activates. Furthermore, the researchers found that Facebook supports an inclusive discourse among the different Libyan groups and regions. In the context of Yemen, a 2020 study by Nurgul Oruc titled Digitally Mediated Art in the War Zone: The Aesthetics of Resilience in Yemen looks at how Yemeni artists use digital media platforms to challenge the absence of coverage on the Yemeni conflict in mainstream media. Oruc (2020) argues that Yemeni artists use digital platforms to narrate, represent, and reflect on the suffering of Yemenis by providing a more accurate narration and representation of the situation. The study investigates multiple forms of visual work that is published on social media, including graffiti, photo manipulation, films, and photography, among others. Moreover, this research tracks how Yemeni artists, most of whom are self-thought, have used their artistic craft to narrate and represent the political, economic, and social struggles of the people of Yemen. By doing so, the writer argues, the artists digitally mediate their collective concerns and struggles as a result of the ongoing war. In a 2019 special issue titled Media, Identity, and Online Communities in a Changing Arab World by Eid Mohamed, Aziz Douai, and Adel Iskander, the researchers highlight the intertwining relationship between cultural productions and changes that are occurring in the region. The paper seeks to understand how cultural products such as music, media, and new media, among others, relate to social movements. Moreover, the special issue focuses on understanding the interplay between new media tools, which the authors argue has given people of the region the ability to re-revaluate cultural productions and media material and its function in circulating ideas and sentiments within and across the countries of the MENA region. The study explores the effects of social media usage on sentiments, opinions, and actions of the people of the MENA region on certain topics such as

104  Safea Altef privacy, women rights, and online identity construction, among others. This special issue sheds light on the relationship between new media usage in the region in reference to multiple aspects/domains. Furthermore, the study showcases how different countries use new media platforms and internet accessibility to negotiate their life conditions and contest existing discourses. Encoding/Decoding Model In his definition of culture, Hall (1997) argues that culture is not a set of products such as media or text; it is, in fact, the creation and communication of meaning and the interaction that results from that exchange that may be described as culture. This means that two people sharing the same culture would, to an extent, interpret and extract similar meanings from the same text and the world around them. However, Hall expands on this notion of “shared meaning” that may confine the culture into a small, one-sized box. In fact, within one culture, Hall argues, there could be multiple meanings and interpretations present, and this can reflect a diversity within the same culture (Hall, 1997/2013). As such, Hall continued to develop his theory of the circuit of culture that showcases how multiple and diverse meanings are created from the moment the message is produced to the moment it is consumed. The circuit of culture includes five elements: consumption, production, identity, representation, and regulation. In this regard, Hall argues that people belonging to the same culture share a common meaning, but this meaning is, in fact, always partially understood in what is described as “unequal exchange.” Hall (1982) highlights the base of critical media research is “ideological perspective,” whereby the formulation of a representation that is considered standard or natural is a form of power. Building on Michel Foucault’s notion of the struggle for “authority of the truth” (Hall, 2013, p. 33) and of knowledge as “the exercise of symbolic power through representational practices” (Hall, 1997/2013, p. 249), the symbolic function of cultural codes creates signifying practices with shared meaning which, in turn, establishes an ideology. Moreover, Hall highlights that “the more one accepts that how people act will depend in part on how the situations in which they act are defined, and the less one can assume either a natural meaning to everything or a universal consensus on what things mean—then, the more important, socially and politically, becomes the process, by means of which certain events become recurrently signified in particular ways” (Hall, 1982, p. 64). Hall argues that the encoding/decoding through “all the complex rules by which language signifies” is a necessary precondition not only for any mediated communication but also for all “intelligible discourse” (Hall, 1973). Hall proposes that the meanings of signs, both at a denotative and a connotative level, are fixed through codes. These codes are tools in a constant process of classifications of the world, which together constitute patterns of “dominant or preferred meanings” (Hall, 1973). Any encoding process is proceeded by and is intertwined with a corresponding process of decoding. Thus, any media production may be understood as founded on a chain of interpretations, influenced by a complex web of conventions and conditions of technical infrastructure, relations of production,

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  105 and those individual and collective frameworks of knowledge that are activated in the production. Hence, Hall argues that “the analysis of culture, the interconnection between societal structures and processes and form or symbolic structures is absolutely pivotal” (Hall, 1973, p. 1). Transcultural Identity Identity is a social and dynamic construct made of values, culture, language, place, time, and vision that individuals create to help them interpret the world (Chihu, 2002). Any changes of reinforcement of identity occur in the social interactions and connections of day-to-day life. Chihu (2002: 9) highlights that “collective identity might bring closer people with the same interests or those living under similar circumstances.” This sense of collectivity and togetherness is a result of sharing a cultural identity (Chihu, 2002). In turn, cultural identity can unite or group those who share the same social conditions, values, and opinations, which creates a social consensus among them (Wilson & Donnan, 1998). In addition, the symbolic construction of a community occurs through the resulting collective views and actions (Cohen, 2003). In social media and other internet communication technologies (ICTs), a cultural code is used by the users to communicate with one another (Chihu, 2002). This means that the users create, interpret, and understand content through their cultural background which renders the cultural identity central in the digital communication process (Papaioannou & Olivos, 2013): The implosions of social, cultural, political, and economic realities that have unsettled the power structures of state formations and processes of subjectivation have also strongly accentuated how identity is and always has been a flux of cementing, meaning-giving practices, assumptions of belief, and habits of thought. (Mohemed, 2021, p.13) It is important to note that there was a renegotiation of preexisting and historical structures and conditions such as ethnicity, religion, gender, socioeconomic status, and nationality resulting in new forms of culture (Mohamed and El-Desouky, 2021). This is becoming clear through the narratives and representations present in the cultural productions after 2011, whereby new narratives and representations of the individual and collective self were portrayed in expressing and understanding reality. Mohamed and El-Desouky (2021) highlight that the cultural and artistic scenes in the MENA region have witnessed a boom as well as the usage of new approaches in artistic creation and expression after 2011. Importantly, there was a new sense of freedom that allowed the artists to free themselves from the constraints and explore new themes and aspects of their lives and societies. Moreover, the author highlights that post-2011 cultural productions have worked to redefine the individual and collective self. This may suggest that Arabs have shifted the method in which they negotiated and expressed their identities. Furthermore, people continuously choose different ways of acting which reflect who one is globally

106  Safea Altef and locally. This, in turn, is influenced by the crises and social changes such as wars, migration, and ideology. Here, identity is continuously shifting in response to such events and is re-narrated and re-represented. It is important to note that transcultural identities, as Mohamed and El-Desouky (2021) argue, do not necessarily reflect inclusivity, and a transcultural identity is not necessarily an inclusive one. This highlights that not all groups or segments are necessarily narrated and represented in the transcultural identity paradigm. However, the transcultural connects specific cultures and identities within the collective. In the flower of multicultural identity theory, an individual belongs to a common macro culture. This macro culture consists of a variety of micro cultures. The macro culture, however, does not represent the dominant culture, but is the result of the interactions and cooperation between micro cultures (Räsänen, 2012). The elements included in the flower portray the aspects that influence someone’s cultural identity. These are ethnicity, geography, religion, gender, age, language, class, and ability (Gollnick & Chinn, 2009). Social Media and Identity Social media is defined as personalized media, which is a media that can be accessed individually or collectively through a digital device connected to the internet (Moreno-Almeida & Banaji, 2019). The Personalized media does not solely adhere to one mass audience; it adheres to smaller differentiated groups based on age, taste, culture, community, and political views, among others. This happens because of individuals possessing the choice to connect, communicate, and create among each other without an intermediary such as the state or a commercial entity. People in the MENA region are one of the largest adapters of social media and social networking sites (Alshoaibi, 2019). The development in communication technology has had significant changes around the world. The MENA region is among the regions that were impacted significantly by the development of the usage of social media (Howard & Hussain, 2013). Social media has played a significant role in empowering people to express their desire for change (Stewart, 2012). This is a result of the space that social media provides for people to share ideas and debate their daily issues (Alshoaibi, 2019). Code (2013) highlights that a virtual society in social media is established, whereby users form bonds and relationships. Moreover, many forms of information are shared on social media such as opinions, experiences, and aspirations as well as provide a space for expression and connecting. This, in turn, has an influence on youth mindsets and identity perception (Salem & Mourtada, 2013). This agency is used to express and debate social grievances that exist within the users’ daily lives and enables them to identify with their struggles (Alshoaibi, 2019). Moreover, social media and other (ICTs provide a greater level of accessibility for those who are willing and enable to access it to use the networked public sphere for individuals to get involved, deliberate, and define their civic engagement (Papaioannou, 2013). In addition, there has been a profusion of art forms that have thrived on the region’s social media platforms, whereby social media was used to express and communicate the struggles and despair in

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  107 times of crisis (LeVine, 2015; Schriwer, 2015; Kraidy, 2016; Slitine, 2018). Social media platforms and ICTs “served to create a space in which citizens appeared in public, came before each other, and entered into forms of civic dialogue by means of images” (Elias, 2017, 20). Middle East and North Africa have similar social, civic, and cultural backgrounds, though the differences among the different nations of the region as well as the varying backgrounds of social media users would influence the extent to which identity is influenced by social media (Salem & Mourtada, 2013). In 2011, the usage of social media increased significantly, with youth being the main group to join social media (Moreno-Almeida & Banaji, 2019). With the continuous growth of social media users in the region, it is expected that these platforms will continue to shape youth’s identities and in forming new Arab youth identity that will facilitate social and civic change (Alshoaibi, 2019). The literature on social media in the MENA region has focused on social media’s role in protest coordination and news dissemination to the world (Alshoaibi, 2019). However, rather than focusing on the direct role of social media on movements, the analysis here focuses on the usage of social media as a platform of expression and exchange of ideas. Analysis The outcome of the 2011 uprising did not translate into a smooth transition from a state of centralized control to a more democratic sharing of power. On the contrary, Libya and Yemen descended into a state of total collapse, chaos, and fragility. Various armed groups have engaged in violence which has left the country simmering for the past eight years. By analyzing the usage of social media as a publication platform years after the Arab Spring, a deeper understanding of social media usage and its role in daily life can be gathered as well as an understanding of the content produced on these platforms, especially in countries that experienced a civil war afterwards. The process of analysis started with the categorization of the selected artworks based on their format (caricature, paintings, digital artwork); the date of their release in order to understand the historical context and significance related to the events that occurred; and the selected artworks were all published on social media platforms on the personal accounts of the artists who used their names with their account set as public. During the analysis, cultural and social issues were referenced and reviewed in order to understand their influence on the encoding. The main social issues pertaining to Libya and Yemen is the 2011 uprising, the start of the 2015 civil war, and the ongoing issues related to the conflicts. Moreover, the content analysis is conducted on the selected artworks with a focus on the narrative and representations in these artworks. Artworks are researched in terms of form and subject matter and the intersection of the two. More specifically, how the encoding of an artwork uses certain form or subject matter as well as the symbols used in the artwork to connote or denote a certain meaning. The analyses of the selected visual arts showed few noticeable similar encodings and symbols used by Libyan and Yemeni artists. At times, these encodings were used to narrate and represent the same topic, while at other times they were

108  Safea Altef used for different topics. Nonetheless, though Libya and Yemen share no direct relations, the same circumstances resulting from civil war seem to have pushed similar narratives and representations. For instance, children during war is one of the major topics represented by artists from the two countries. The artists also continuously use playing and games to contrast the war effects. Another major topic is the freedom of expression and prisoners of conscience, whereby the same symbol of freedom of expression (pen/pencil) is used to narrate and represent the topic. The following section will go in depth into analyzing the similar narratives, representations, and encodings in relation to transcultural identity, whereby Libyans and Yemenis seem to create similar meanings on similar issues. Immigration Among the represented themes in the artists’ work is immigration. The topic of immigration was mainly presented through illegal migration by sea seems more prominent in the Libyan artworks than it is in the Yemeni artworks. This can be explained by understanding that Libya’s location since it has a direct route to Italy through the Mediterranean, which is not the case in Yemen. Moreover, Libyan and Yemeni artists are both focusing on the dangers of illegal migration by sea. However, Libyan artworks hint at death or speak about it and responds to the fear of death, while Yemeni artworks portray death directly. Women The artworks under this theme have mainly represented women as victims. The topics included rape and social norms that force women to be silenced. The artworks critique the social and legal structure that forces women into a “corner” with the inability to express themselves freely. This includes their marriage decisions, the freedom of mobility, and the freedom to express (see and speak). However, the one major difference is that women in some Yemeni artworks take a central role in the family and the management of any issues, while they tend to be more absent or have a secondary role in Libyan artworks. Children Most of the artworks by Libyan and Yemeni artists focus on the symbolization of innocence and growing up during war times. In the Libyan case, children are represented and narrated in relation to major war events, either by directly mentioning the war events that occurred or by the effect that certain war events have affected their upbringing. The latter is clear in the artwork that showcases a child learning how to burn an airplane, which is similar to the war in Tripoli that resulted in the destruction of the airport. The Yemeni artwork focuses on the representation of children in schools or the lack of ability of going to school and the forced recruitment of children in war. Both artworks encode their subject matter through innocence mainly presented through playing.

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  109 Life Conditions during the War Both Libyan and Yemeni artists used gaming to narrate and represent war in their respective countries. One main theme of this representation is the foreign intervention in the two countries and how the conflict is, in fact, a game to these foreign parties. The second theme is internal parties’ conflict, which is also represented as a game. In Libya, this has occurred through two separate artworks, while in Yemen, this is represented in one artwork. Furthermore, the artists from Libya and Yemen both used the color red as the background in their works while also using the map of their respective countries (Figures 7.1 and 7.2). It can almost be seen that the two artworks are identical. By using the same encoding of gaming and the color red to narrate and represent the external and internal parties participating in the conflict in Libya and Yemen, it can be seen that the Libyan and Yemeni artists have created a shared meaning and a shared representation of the conflicts in their respective countries, even though the two are not connected. The major difference

Figure 7.1 Rashad Al-Sameai, May 23, 2018, Yemen.

Figure 7.2 Suhaib Tantoush, Round 2019, April 7, 2019, Libya.

110  Safea Altef in encoding between the two countries is the woman symbolism. Yemen artworks use the symbol of a woman to represent their cities. For instance, multiple Yemeni artworks that have the war in Taiz as a subject matter represented Taiz and the suffering of the city through a woman. Moreover, the artworks that tackle the issue of poverty have women who take the leading role while Libyan artworks had the man taking the lead. Finally, artists from Tripoli, Libya, and Taiz, Yemen, represented the 2019 war in their respective cities. On the one hand, the artwork focused on the 2019 war from a humanitarian conditions perspective. On the other hand, the Yemeni artist also focused on the 2019 war from the political issues of the siege of Taiz perspective. However, both encodings include an element of the transition of war from one year to another as a symbol of its continuity to 2020. Freedom of Expression Freedom of Expression is another theme represented in the selected artworks. The artists from Libya and Yemen tackle the issue of prisoners of conscience by placing them inside a prison cell with another person and exchange a small dialogue on the reasons behind their arrests. However, the conditions of the prisoners, the reason behind the imprisonment, and the visual representations are different. However, both use the cell and both narrate the imprisonment by placing two individuals in dialogue. Furthermore, the artworks on freedom of expression use the pen/pencil to represent the concept while placing it in a boundary, which is a red box in the case of Libya and barricades in the case of Yemen. Media Media is represented as a traitorous entity. The encoding differs between the Libyan and Yemeni artworks, whereby the first uses the symbol of the snake while the second uses the symbol of a secret group infiltrating, similar to the Trojan horse. The meaning communicated is the same, which is that the media is not to be trusted as it is a “snake” or a “Trojan horse.” Moreover, though the symbols used to represent media are different, the subject matter is the same. Media is represented in the context of war and as a tool for war at times. Alternative representation of media was scarce in the artworks of the six selected artists. The dominant narrative on media seems to focus on the lack of trust as well as its use as an instrument of war. Perception of the Future This theme is mainly concerned with how Libyan and Yemeni artists perceive the future. Artists from both countries perceive a chaotic future with no escape. However, the encodings used were different as the Yemeni one focused mainly on the possibility of peace while the Libyan focused on presenting a timeline of the political systems in Libya.

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  111 Discussion As noted in the previous analyses, there are major differences and major similarities between the Libyan and the Yemeni artworks. The differences mainly included the immigration, which is an abundant topic in the Libyan case but is mainly absent in the Yemeni one. Another major difference is the representation of women that are used to represent Yemen while they are not used to represent Libya. Moreover, a difference in encoding can be seen in the perception of future theme, whereby Libyan artists use the encodings of a timeline of political role to perceive the future of Libya which they portray as unknown, but no promising. The Yemeni artworks on the other hand are mainly focused on encoding the future through peace and awaiting peace. The major similarities between the Libyan and Yemeni artworks include the portrayal of immigration as a deadly activity, though the Yemeni artworks were more explicit in showcasing that while the Libyan artworks only implied it. Another similarity is the life conditions theme which showed both Libyans and Yemeni use multiple similar encoding such as the bread (Figures 7.3 and 7.4) and gaming to narrate and represent their conditions. The media theme also shows similarities in the portrayal of media as well as the encodings used. Moreover, though women representation differs in some respects, the similarity between the Libyan and Yemeni cases are in regard to the representations of women’s conditions and struggles while both have critiqued the social and legal structures that limit women. Through this, it can be noticed that the Libyan and Yemeni encodings of the war and the conditions and the struggles that the war created are very similar, while the major differences occur on the perception level of the future and of the country or homeland.

Figure 7.3 Rashad Al-Sameai, April 11, 2019, Yemen.

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Figure 7.4 Suhaib Tantoush, Beautiful Times, October 31, 2015, Libya.

The shared elements in the narratives and representation by Libyan and Yemeni artists suggest the existence of mutual concerns, perception, narratives, and representations. Some themes clearly showcase a shared encoding of the same topic, whereby it is almost identical in some cases that highlights how both countries used the similar cultural symbol to create and communicate a similar meaning. This indicates that Libya and Yemen share cultural elements and share a transcultural identity that allows a person in Libya to understand and relate to someone in Yemen and vice versa. However, both countries maintain their specificity in some cases. Art, Activism, and Social Media One of the main objectives of this research has been to study the relationship between visual art and the conditions of war in the post-Arab Spring. This allows an understanding of the development of social media usage beyond the Arab Spring and the integration of social media as a tool for expression over time. The research also steers away from focusing on political movements and online activism to the daily forms of expression. The practice of expressing conflict and war in art is not recent. One of the most acclaimed visual artworks that express war is the 1937 Guernica by Picasso, which offered a critique of the Spanish civil war. Slitine (2018) argues that art has the capacity to showcase alternative visual narratives of areas of conflict and offers an alternative communication form to critique to the dominant narrative and representation. Moreover, in the study of contemporary visual art scene in Gaza, Slitine (2018) found that the lack of stable public and private infrastructure for art such as art market, networks, and funding give the art scene a fragmented yet open and flexible nature. In other words, artists remain open to the outside world and showcase internationalized characteristics as well as develop practices of self-sustainability that allows the artists to operate in their challenging environments.

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  113 This study showcases how Libyan and Yemeni artists have used social media in a flexible manner in order to create and publish art that narrates and represents them. Shank and Zinn (2004) argue that the objective of art activism is to tackle the imbalance in power and give the powerless a voice. It is a form of nonviolent conflict by increasing the power of the weakened group and provides a platform for their concerns. Moreover, art activism is extremely relevant, as it presents a creative form to question, resist, critique, and offer an alternative to the status quo (Ingram, 2016). This renders art as a form of public debate of political and social issues, which at times uses implicit forms that would not categorize it as political art, but one that contains political element. At other times, the artwork can be explicitly political such as the case with Guernica. Throughout this chapter, there have been examples of both implicit and explicit political art. However, what is common here is that most of the artworks touched on narratives and representations related to the life struggles of Libyan and Yemeni. Hence, the topic of war itself is dominant across all the selected themes, and the artworks present a critique of social and political that are prominent in the artists’ respective countries. Furthermore, it is important to contextualize art activism and understand its role in the contemporary time of digital technologies and social media. The example of Guernica here offers a glimpse of the traditional form of art distribution which happened in galleries and exhibitions. Few artists had such accessibility and freedom to creatively tackle such issues. However, the presence of social media as a platform to distribute and disseminate art, as well as a platform of activism offers a dynamic, which is the intersection of activism with art and social media. This study sought to understand this connection of how artists do not only use their craft for activism, but also use social media for that. Lynch (2014) highlights how the development of digital media has altered profoundly the method in which citizens become interested and involved in politics. Moreover, Marius Rohde Johannessen (2013) in his study “Social media as public sphere” argues that communication through social media can contribute to developing the discussion and the public debate. According to him, the creation of the public sphere becomes easier in terms of establishing and building communities in the social media environment. These communities facilitate the communication between the individuals who have come together due to common interests, even though they can share different opinions. Art, on the one hand, has a lingering tradition of activism, especially during the times of war, but it remained restricted with barriers of access to the artists and the audiences. Social media, on the other hand, resolves the issue of accessibility, although not entirely. As discussed earlier, barriers to accessibility remain in the region, and issues such as digital divide mean that not everyone is able to join the public debate on social media, although social media still offers a more inclusive platform than the ones previously existed as well as easier communication within and among the different communities. Transcultural Identity Encoding on Social Media Art One of the objectives in this chapter is to understand how transcultural identity is manifested through visual artwork in both countries. The findings highlight

114  Safea Altef the existence of major similarities between the two, not just in the symbols and encodings used, but also in the narratives and representations. The highlights the existence of a transcultural identity between the two countries where the two have expressed similar narratives and portrayed representations that used similar encoding. Moreover, social media plays a major role in the communication of transcultural identity, since it can be seen that artists are using social media in a similar manner to communicate similar issues and using similar narratives, representations, and symbols. This could suggest that social media has transformed to create a space to debate and disseminate messages through art. In other words, social media partly serves the role of a public open exhibition for artists to publish and viewers to interact with the art. In addition, the encodings used contained a variety of symbols, some have a local signifier such as the bread while others have an international signifier such as the gaming encoding. This suggests that the elements of transcultural identity are not only manifested through locally and regionally shared cultural symbols, but they can also be global ones. However, transcultural identity cannot be defined solely by the symbols used but the method in which they are used. This is to say that it is not the gaming encoding used by Libyan and Yemeni artists that constitutes transcultural identity, it is the fact that it was used with the same meaning that created a similar encoding which is the intersection of the symbol and the meaning. Furthermore, among the findings is how certain local events (Tripoli airport war and the bombing of Bouthaina’s house) seem to have a major effect on creating local encodings (burning airplanes, bruised eye). This suggests that certain encodings are not a result of previously existing meaning. Instead, they are formed in response to events that occur in the contemporary day. On the one hand, encodings could develop through historical references. On the other hand, they could develop through major events that occur in the modern day. With the presence of social media channels, certain encoded symbols and meanings could resurface using a past encoding, which is used to communicate a shared meaning. However, it can also be the case that certain local or global events manifest these encodings that create the shared meaning. It was out of the scope of this study to understand where the encodings originate from, but it is important to highlight different categories of these encodings which could reflect transcultural identity elements that may be shared regionally or globally at times. After more than ten years since the Arab Spring, the region continues to struggle with democratic transition and internal turmoil and conflicts. While the longterm outcome of the Arab Spring is unfolding, this chapter’s analysis is situated few years after the Arab Spring where the excitement has subdued and conflicts have risen. However, this phase is where the social discussion and the development of paradigms concerning social and cultural aspects occur. In a way, it is the renegotiation of the Arab Spring aspirations with the real outcomes, which can be seen that both Libyan and Yemeni artists are actively using social media platforms through their personal accounts to share artworks that narrate and represent their live conditions and perceptions. This chapter also highlights the various new content material that is created for social media publication, whereby the content is no

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  115 longer with the immediate political moment but the daily struggles, many of which are a result of the Arab Spring. It can also be seen that Libya and Yemen share similar encodings and similar subject matter with different frequency as well as similar narratives and representations. These mainly pertain to artworks related to the war conditions and the daily life struggles. While this chapter focused on studying the Libyan and Yemeni cases and found elements of transcultural identity, it remains important to study if such elements exist in other conflict countries in the MENA region and outside of it. Such findings in the MENA region reflect the development of the various methods and topics involved with social media usage. In 2011, the main usage was direct activism; however, the current content reflects various forms of content that is not necessarily – not directly – political. While this research did not focus directly on the developing sentiment toward the Arab Spring in hindsight, it is shown through various artworks highlighting a comparison between the life conditions before and after which opens a continuous discussion into the nuances of the Arab Spring, its goals, and the outcomes. References Alshoaibi, M. (2019). Social media and its impact on Arab youth identity. Review of European Studies, 11(1), 1–13. https://doi.org/10.5539/res.v11n1p1 Cardarelli, S., Anderson, E-J., & Richards, J. (eds.) (2012). Art and Identity: Visual Culture, Politics and Religion in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. http://www.cambridgescholars.com/art-and-identity-14 Chihu, A. A. (ed.) (2002). “Introduccion (Introduction)” in A. A. Chihu (ed.), Sociologia de la Identidad (Sociology of Identity). Mexico City (pp. 5–34). UAM. https://fundacionrama.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/2430.-Sociologia-de-la-identidad-Chihu.pdf Code, J. (2013). “Agency and Identity in Social Media”, in Warburton & S. Hatzipanagos (eds.), Digital Identity and Social Media. Hershey, PA: Information Science Reference -IGI Global (pp. 37–57). Cohen, A. (2003). The Symbolic Construction of Community. London: Routledge. du Gay P, Hall S, Jones L, et al. (1997) Doing Cultural Studies: The Story of the Sony Walkman, London: Sage Publications in association with the Open University. Gordon WT and Lubell A. (1996) Saussure for Beginners. New York, NY: Writers and Readers Ltd. Elias, C. (2017). “Emergency cinema and the dignified image: Cell phone activism and filmmaking in Syria.” Film Quarterly 71(1), 18–31. Gollnick, D. M., & Chinn, P. C. (2009). Multicultural Education in a Pluralistic Society. 8th ed. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Merrill. Hall, S. (1982). “The rediscovery of ideology: Return of the repressed in media studies” in M. Gurevitch, T. Bennett, J. Curran & J. Woollacott (eds.). Culture, Society and the Media, London and New York: Routledge (pp. 56–90). Hall, S. (1997a) “Representation, meaning & language” in S. Hall (ed.). Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. Milton Keynes/London: The Open University & Sage Publications Ltd (pp. 15–64). Hall S. (1997b) “The centrality of culture: notes on the cultural revolutions of our time (Chapter 5)” in K. Thompson and Open University (eds.). Media and Cultural Regulation. London: Sage in association with the Open University (pp. 207–238).

116  Safea Altef Hall, S. (1997/2013). “Introduction” in S. Hall, J. Evans & S. Nixon (eds.). Representation (pp. 1–11). London: Sage. Hall S. ([1973] 1980) “Encoding/decoding [‘encoding and decoding in television discourse’, 1973]” in Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies (ed.). Culture, Media, Language: Working Papers in Cultural Studies, 1972-79. London: Hutchinson (pp. 128–138). Howard, P. N., & Hussain, M. M. (2013). Democracy’s Fourth Wave: Digital Media and Arab Spring. London: Oxford University Press. Ingram, A. (2016. Rethinking art and geopolitics through aesthetics: Artist responses to the Iraq war. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 41(1): 1–13. https://doi. org/10.1111/tran.12099 International Crisis Group (2015). Libya: Getting Geneva Right, available at: https:// d2071andvip0wj.cloudfront.net/157-libya-getting-geneva-right.pdf (access date: 15 ­January 2021). Johannessen, M. (2013). Social Media as Public Sphere. Kristiansand: Printing Office, University of Agder Kristiansand. Kraidy, M. (2016). “Public Space, Street Art and Communication” in Suzi Mirgani & Mohamed Zayani (eds.). Bullets and Bulletins: Media and Politics in the Wake of the Arab Uprising. Oxford: Oxford University Press (pp. 107–125). LeVine, M. (2015). When art is the weapon: culture and resistance confronting violence in the post-uprisings Arab world. Religions 6(4), 1277–1313. Lynch, M. (2014). The Arab Uprisings Explained: New Contentious Politics in the Middle East. New York: Columbia University Press. Mäkiranta, M. 2010. Kuvien lukeminen. Teoksessa J. Hurtig, M. Laitinen & K. Uljas-Rautio (toim.) Ajattele itse! Tutkimuksellisen lukutaidon perusteet. Jyväskylä: PSkustannus. Mohamed, E. and El-Desouky, A. (eds.). (2021). Cultural Production and Social Movements after the Arab Spring: Nationalism, Politics, and Transnational Identity. London: I.B. Tauris. Mohamed, E., Douai, A., & Iskandar, A. (2019). Media, identity, and online communities in a changing Arab world. New Media & Society, 21(5), 1035–1042. https://doi.org/ 10.1177/1461444818821360 Moreno-Almeida, C., & Banaji, S. (2019). Digital use and mistrust in the aftermath of the Arab Spring: Beyond narratives of liberation and disillusionment. Media, Culture & Society, 41(8), 1125–1141. https://doi.org/10.1177/0163443718823143 Oruc, N. (2020), Digitally mediated art in the war zone: The aesthetics of resilience in Yemen. CyberOrient, 14, 4–37. https://doi.org/10.1002/j.1804-3194.2020.tb00001.x Papaioannou, T. (2013). “Media and civic engagement: The role of web 2.0 technologies in fostering civic participation among youth” in D. Lemish (ed.), The Routledge International Handbook of Children, Adolescents and Media Studies. New York: Routledge (pp. 351–358). Papaioannou, T. and Olivos, H. E. (2013). Cultural identity and social media in the Arab Spring: Collective goals in the use of Facebook in the Libyan context. Journal of Arab & Muslim Media Research, 6(2+3), pp. 99–114. Räsänen, M. (2012). Cultural identity and visual multiliteracy. Journal of Art & Design Education, 2012(2), pp. 1–17. https://doi.org/10.54916/rae.118755 Salem, F., & Mourtada, R. (2013). Arab social media report – Social media in the Arab World – Influencing societal and cultural change? Dubai School of Government, 2(1), pp. 1–29. Schriwer, C. (2015). “Graffiti Arts and the Arab Spring” in L. Sadiki (ed.). Routledge Handbook of the Arab Spring. New York: Routledge (pp. 376–391).

Cultural identity in Libyan and Yemeni Social Media Visual Art  117 Shank, M., & Zinn, H. (2004). Redefining the movement: Art activism. Seattle Journal for Social Justice. 3(2), p. 20. Available at: https://digitalcommons.law.seattleu.edu/sjsj/vol3/ iss2/20 Stewart, D. (2012). The Middle East Today: Political, Geographical and Cultural Perspectives. Sydney: Routledge. Slitine, M. (2018). Contemporary art from a city at war: The case of Gaza (Palestine).Cities, 77 (December 2017), 49–59. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cities.2017.11.010 Wilson, T., & Donnan, H. (1998). “Nation, state and identity at international borders” in T. Wilson & H. Donnan (eds.). Border Identities: Nation and State at International Frontiers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (pp. 1–30). doi:10.1017/CBO9780 511607813.001

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Saudi Women Journalists An Ethnographic Study Exploring Their Roles and Practices in an Age of National Transformation Amal Almoualed

Introduction: The Saudi Media System The media policy in Saudi Arabia currently encompasses 30 articles articulated under four categories: Islamic standards, society and Arabic culture, the Saudi political system, and nationalistic philosophy. The vital characteristics of the Saudi media policy emphasise media obligations and accountability; thus, media outlets are expected to play a crucial role in informing, educating, and entertaining the Saudi society (Alzahrani, 2016). For Saudis, the national media was long the only source of public information; newspapers were thus able to efficiently shape the public discourse and establish themselves as the trustworthy source. As a result, although readers are now able to obtain news from alternative sources, such as electronic resources or foreign news networks, they are reluctant to trust these sources unless they can trace them to a print version, as there is a perception that other sources of news may be fake (Alghamdi, 2011; Berger, 2013; Aldmour et al., 2015). When comparing the Saudi media landscape with that of the West using a tool such as the Hallin and Mancini (2004) model, the differences between the two media systems are apparent, as are the ways in which the systems shape the journalistic practices in their regions. The classification of the Saudi press as a loyal press (Rugh, 2004) indicates that the Saudi press operated and produced news, observing the cultural, social, and religious norms of the country (Alghashami, 2005, cited by Alnajrani et al., 2018). The selection of editors in chief is also regulated by the Ministry of Information, which ensures that the government can oversee newspapers (ibid). However, it can be argued that the freedom boundaries of the Saudi press have changed massively now compared to ten years ago, which means that journalists can responsibly discuss sensitive issues (Alfahad, 2015). One important difference between Western and Saudi societies, which affects how news is reported in both societies, is the individualism in Western societies and the collectivism in Saudi society, which means that Saudi journalists are mindful of societal norms and perceptions of their audience when reporting news (Alnajrani et al., 2018). Women in Saudi Journalism One of the earliest accounts of a Saudi woman journalist (SWJ) was in 1952 when Latifa Al-Khatibe joined Al-Bilad newspaper as a columnist and editor of the female DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-9

Saudi Women Journalists  119 section. At that time, most women journalists employed pseudonyms to conceal their identity and gender. During this period, Saudi women’s issues began to gain prominence in newspapers (Al-Rayyes, 2004 cited in Alkameis, 2014, p. 28). For instance, in 1960, Okaz newspaper dedicated 25% of its content to women’s issues, such as the marriage of Saudi men to foreign citizens and the education of women (Al-Rayyes, 2004, cited in Alkameis, 2014, p. 28). Despite this entry of Saudi women into journalism, there remained only a small number of women journalists. Between 1976 and 1996, to make up for the absence of SWJs, some print newspapers required male writers to employ female aliases. This not only had commercial and professional value but also encouraged the entry of more women journalists into the profession in the 1980s (Al-Rayyes 2004 cited in Alkammies, p. 28). Despite their small number, these female journalists were able to produce the work they were recruited for, such as the first women’s monthly magazine, Al-Dhiyaa in 1977 and Al-Amal in 1979. With the launch of the Saudi Journalists Association (SJA) in 2003, a number of SWJs attained elective positions and amplified the need for more female journalists and the general working conditions of women in the media (Rida, 2009, cited in Alkammies, 2014, p. 30). Several scholars (e.g. Franks, 2013) have examined the roles and challenges of female journalists from an international perspective. Highlighted challenges include barriers to entry and attaining leadership positions in news organisations, ageism, and the effects of the technological revolution on journalism practice. Most of the challenges female journalists face are linked to gender discrimination, with some news organisations lacking female-friendly policies (Ross, 2001). Despite the notable increase in the number of female journalists in the media, senior management, editing positions, and decision-making powers remain largely in the hands of men (Melin, 2008). Thus, Gallagher (2001) argues that the media industry, like other fields, has a worldwide history of masculine domination. Female journalists in the West are, however, adopting strategies to oppose the marginalisation women face in the mainstream media, such as creating independent women-only press (Chambers et al., 2004). Part of the problem is that jobs and tasks in journalism are gender-based, a construction that is interpreted and perpetuated by the administrative culture of newsrooms. Thus, feminist academics employ terminology that highlights the gendered nature of newsrooms, such as ‘exclusionary’ (Elmore, 2007), ‘macho’ (Ross & Carter, 2011), ‘masculine’ (Kim, 2006), and ‘patriarchal’ (Robinson, 2005), and emphasise how newsrooms are conceived to present men as the norm and women as impostors (Ross, 2001). Gender issues create a binary burden, or a second shift, for women (Ross, 2001). The incompatibility of journalism with motherhood is cited regularly as an explanation for why women do not attain positions of authority in journalism, nor seek to do so (Everbach & Flournoy, 2007; Reinardy, 2009; Liao & Lee, 2014). A study by Kim (2006), exploring the obstacles facing female journalists in Korea, and a study by Safa and Akter (2015), exploring the challenges facing female journalists in Bangladesh, found that female journalists face professional bias in forms such as financial discrimination and leadership disparity that cause them to leave the profession or cause their estrangement. Both studies reported that discrimination

120  Amal Almoualed against female journalists was a consequence of their inability to contend with the challenging nature of journalism due to housework, pregnancy, and childcare concerns. Both reporters and academics usually employ a biological, essentialist perspective that positions men and masculinity on one side and women and femininity on the other (North, 2014; Lobo et al., 2015). Consequently, news stories are often assigned according to the perceived topic preferences, concerns, and writing styles of male and female journalists. The fundamental assumption is that men and women produce dissimilar forms of journalism. Journalism produced by female journalists is frequently considered to be clearly the product of a woman, while journalism produced by men is perceived as the norm and is not branded. This attitude emphasises the ‘otherness’ of female journalists (North, 2014). As women are overrepresented in soft news journalism, which is written in a more narrative style and has a greater focus on compassion and sentiment, it is assumed that the style is a manifestation of feminine susceptibilities. As a consequence, the gender division of news beats is putative and is rarely interrogated in journalism, even by female journalists (De Vuyst, 2019). In some Western countries like the UK, several initiatives have been initiated to address gender bias in newsrooms. One such initiative seeking to enhance gender parity in journalism was advanced by the UK’s Sky Sports channel, which made considerable efforts to increase the voices of female journalists in its newsrooms by employing inclusion initiatives that sought to increase the awareness of diversity (Granger, 2018). Other examples include the BBC ‘50:50 Project’ in 2019, which sought to promote equal representation of male and female news reporters on the BBC, including in leadership roles, across all genres, from drama to news by 2020 (BBC, 2019). Thus, while the glass ceiling remains a feature of journalism, the initiatives of some media organisations in the West are positive steps towards promoting gender equality in journalism. Roles and Practices of Saudi Female Journalists in Saudi News Organisations A study by Alkameis (2014) identified several obstacles to women entering the Saudi TV industry due to the masculine domination of journalism in the country. These barriers include the dominance of patriarchal values in the Saudi media system (see also Al-Saggaf & Williamson, 2004) and the strong influence of religion which prevents women from collaborating with men. From 2004 to 2006, Maha Akeel (2011), a female Saudi journalist, conducted a study exploring the number of women employed in Saudi media. Her study showed that women accounted for fewer than 8% of the newspaper workforce and only around 5% of the broadcast media workforce. These percentages barely changed over the two years of the study (ibid.). In fact, there is a strong preference amongst female Arab journalists to work in news organisations outside their own countries, as this enables them to experience more freedom, far from the restrictions present in their own countries (Mellor, 2013). This research is thus timely, given the current national transformation throughout the Kingdom. It is part of a larger study that elucidates the roles and practices

Saudi Women Journalists  121 of SWJs through the lens of four print newspapers: Aljazeera and Alriyadh located in the capital city of Riyadh and Okaz and Albilad in Jeddah City. It examines the legacy and impact of cultural, societal, and familial Saudi norms on women journalists using ethnographic observation, conducted while participants were at their news organisations or in the field and semi-structured interviews. These allowed participants to describe their own experiences while practising journalism as women (Daymon & Holloway, 2015). The observational study was conducted at four Saudi news organisations between 16 December 2018 and 12 February 2019. Ethnographic Observation of Saudi Women Journalists After analysing the 28 daily observational reports made while visiting the four Saudi print newspapers, two main themes demonstrating gender stratification emerged: working environment and journalistic practices. Working Environment

A seven-day observation of the work environments of each of the four Saudi print newspapers showed two types of professional working environments in Saudi print newspapers: a mixed working environment and a female-only working environment. Each had unique professional features pertaining to professional nature, dress code, collaborations between colleagues and organisation, and the decoration of the office. Although the nature of journalism means that it is beneficial to have a mixed working environment in which male and female journalists work with each other, this is not the norm in Saudi Arabia. My observations and daily conversations with the journalists revealed that most female Saudi journalists preferred to work in female-only working environments. This was largely due to personal preferences, informed by the familial, social, cultural, and regional values of the Saudi society that encouraged gender segregation even in mixed jobs. Female-only journalistic work environments are supported by conservative families that would not otherwise allow their women to work in mixed working environments. Some of the younger SWJs, who were either recent graduates, interns, or young ladies who had studied journalism in Western countries, were open to working in mixed environments and claimed that knowledge exchange and building strong journalistic experiences were better enhanced in a mixed environment. In the four Saudi print newspapers, the extent of mixing between males and females varied. The two print newspapers in Jeddah city had a mixed working environment, but they differed in that one allowed ‘mixing’ throughout the day and the other only used its mixed environment only during meetings or when urgent work-related matters were being discussed. At Okaz, the female Saudi journalists were free to decide which environment they wished to work in. I met SWJs working in both environments, observed them, and interviewed them. From my observation, SWJs who work in a mixed work environment are strongly connected with and more engaged with the daily journalistic work, activities, and discussions in newsrooms.

122  Amal Almoualed The SWJs working in female-only work environments also played important roles. Their work environments were more relaxed than the mixed work environments and there was less pressure to produce exclusive work every day. One of the study participants (FCA) commented on the main difference between herself and female colleagues working in female-only environments: I used to work in a female-only environment, but since coming into the mixed work environment, I have developed my personal and professional skills. Every day I learn new things. I understand that real journalism is a mixed job and, in this mixing, personal and professional development accrue. There is no chance to access these developments in a female-only work environment, and that is why my work and approach differ from that of my colleagues in the female-only environment. I can confidently and respectfully communicate and work with my male colleagues, and no one crosses the line with me. That is what professional women journalists’ personalities should be like, otherwise it is not journalism. The female-only work also had its merits in terms of providing a work environment that prioritised women’s issues. For instance, once in a female-only work environment, I saw that one female journalist had her baby, whom she sometimes took into a room to feed, with her in the office. Thus, unlike situations elsewhere where childbirth impedes the career growth of women journalists (Safa & Akter, 2015), this solution allows new mothers to continue working as journalists whilst taking care of their babies. Roles and Practices of Saudi Women Journalists: Thematic Analysis A thematic analysis of 40 semi-structured interviews revealed two broad sets of factors that influence the roles and practices of SWJs: factors that are a result of the culture of the Saudi society (external factors) and factors specific to how news organisations are run (internal factors). The major external factors emphasised by interviewed SWJs are family support and barriers to entry into journalism. Other external factors include technological challenges and rivalry. Internal factors specific to news organisations include low pay and lack of training and mentorship for journalists External Influences: Society, Culture and Family The influence of family and society are among the strongest factors affecting the decisions and life choices of people in Saudi Arabia; this is particularly true for female journalists interviewed in this study. Familial, cultural, and social factors inform the choices of SWJs, from entry into the profession to day-to-day practises within the profession. The evidence in this study suggests that the impact of culture and family vary significantly between the older and younger generation of SWJs. It also shows that there have been notable shifts in the external factors affecting Saudi

Saudi Women Journalists  123 women in journalism: for instance, there has been a shift from societal and familial challenges to technological challenges. Familial Support or Rejection

Throughout the interviews, it was clear that the entry pathways and practices of SWJs were heavily impacted by the support (or lack) of their families. This support was usually influenced by the family’s perception of journalism as a mixedgendered job and the place of women in it. Conservative families were generally less supportive of female family members becoming journalists and families that supported the aspirations of female members journalists tended to be more moderate. These families generally provided their female members with advice and support throughout their training and careers: My dad did and still strongly believes that education is a very powerful tool for all women. So, all my sisters are doctors… and as you know, I am a journalist. We studied and chose these jobs with the full support of our dad; he is a highly educated man and speaks four languages: Arabic, English, French and Spanish. We are lucky daughters to have a great supportive family and husbands as well. (FIJ) Several interviewed SWJs reiterated that families that were supportive of their decisions to become journalists were usually educated: My mom was an Arabic teacher, and my dad was the executive editor of the Saudi news agency in the eastern province. Having an educated family provided me with the support to work in this profession. Even now, my mom encourages me to read more books to develop my Arabic language as a journalist, and my dad advises me on how to succeed in my profession. (FLI) This suggests that Saudi families who are educated have experience of working in the media or believe in the importance of women’s education are generally supportive, despite the criticisms they might face from society as a result of their daughters being journalists. Some of the interviewees had unsupportive conservative families that rejected their initial intentions to work in journalism. These families feared that allowing their female members to work in a mixed job such as journalism might adversely affect their women’s morals and conservative identities. However, some of these women, through their determination and demonstrating great respect for their culture and society, succeeded in convincing their families to allow them to take up journalism. In one instance, however, an SWJ (FCA) secretly practised journalism for three years, not using her family name or telling her family about her job.

124  Amal Almoualed Several interviewed women similarly narrated stories in which a prominent family strongly opposed their journalism journey: All the family relatives called my dad and said we will kill her if you allow her to continue working in this job. No one will marry her, and everyone will doubt the family’s honour. (FCA) After I entered this profession, my brother strongly restricted me and did not allow me to appear in public or show my face because he was working in the ministry of media, and he knew how some people within society perceive women working in the field. (FWT) However, as these women persisted in journalism, these resistances disappeared and gave way, in many cases, to pride, respect, and financial independence. Many of the women claim that most Saudi families are less likely now to stop their women from going into journalism due to the effects of globalisation, social media, and SV2030: Do you know why Saudi families these days mostly allow their women to work and study media and journalism? It is because societal pressure and perceptions about women working in this job have massively changed... Everyone is now travelling more, and if they are not travelling, then they are exposed to social media where they can access international cultures and encouraging stories about successful Saudi women, which encourages them to allow their daughters to be the same. Society no longer has such limited stereotypes about women in mixed jobs. One influential and undeniable factor here is that SV2030 has empowered us. We are lucky to be the generation of the SV2030. (FWT) The aversion of conservative families towards women working in journalism could arise from one of two main factors: their views on women working in mixed jobs and the price these women might pay for such jobs, such as late marriages, as men might not want to marry women in mixed jobs. Besides familial support, other societal and cultural norms that affect the roles and practices of SWJs include the ideological perspectives of some religious clerics, access to journalism training, and societal restrictions, for example, the driving ban. The Technological Revolution

Another external factor that affects the role and practices of SWJs is the use of new technologies in practice. Young journalists have to adapt quickly to a changing journalism landscape. This challenge is currently faced by the young generation of

Saudi Women Journalists  125 SWJs and shows a shift from the major challenges faced by the previous generation of SWJs: These days the challenges facing the new generation are so completely different, as everything has been transformed… from societal and familial challenges to the occupational challenges coming from the print news organisations themselves. This also comes from the rapid changes that have happened in the profession due to technological change... which puts pressure on them to work really hard to develop their skills as their news organisations will not assist them with that at all. (FNO) SWJs also have to learn new skills, including how to navigate social media, especially user-generated content. Technological advancement also has its benefits. For instance, it has eased the participation of women in journalism and increased the number of SWJs as it allows for flexibility: We should be thankful for social media. I knew a female colleague who was from a conservative family, and they only allowed her to work online from home without coming to the office or field events, even though our offices were separate from those of the men. I know this is the case in very few families as we are in 2019, and society has developed, but this is one notable advantage of social media for journalism practice by Saudi women who experience similar situations as my colleague. (FQA) Social media however increases the incidences of fake news and thus places more burden on journalists to verify news stories. This, coupled with the pressure of breaking news stories, is a challenge that many SWJs are currently navigating. SWJs are also in a situation where they compete with social media influencers and celebrities with large followings that present themselves as professional journalists. This confuses the public, who also view these influencers as media professionals and women journalists, as government ministers and private companies contact them to perform functions that professional journalists should normally do, such as press conferences and product launches: Yes, I still strongly believe in the traditional method of journalism practice, and this may be one of the core reasons why our roles have become so limited, as we are competing with social media celebrities who go into the field and use their Snapchat accounts to report events and think that they are replacing us. I do not blame them. I blame us, as we are not educating the public or engaging in open public discussions in our newspapers about how to be close to the public and teach them the differences between coverage of professional journalists and social media celebrities and fashionistas. (FYZ)

126  Amal Almoualed In an age where anyone with a mobile phone can be a journalist, there is increased demand for journalists to be more investigative and go beyond superficial news reports. Internal Influences: Organisational Factors

A number of organisational factors were identified from the interview data as affecting the journalistic practices of SWJs. These include issues associated with low pay, the perception of career longevity, and mentorship. Of these, the challenges associated with low pay (relative to male journalists) were most recurrent in SWJs’ interviews. Interviewed journalists linked the gender pay gap existing in Saudi newsrooms to masculine domination of leadership and management roles. This domination in Saudi journalism can be due to a variety of reasons. First, many male journalists were working effectively in newsrooms long before women journalists could join the newsroom. Also, male journalists are not restricted by family or social commitments in the way female journalists are. Male journalists, for instance, can work until midnight or leave home at midnight, whereas female journalists cannot. Male journalists can also be assigned to dangerous conflict areas and war zones, whereas most women journalists cannot. All these factors have resulted in male journalists accessing leadership positions more easily than female journalists, even those women with a higher education degree: Some Saudi women journalists are deserving of higher pay than men, especially those with higher education like a Master’s degree or are bilingual. Nevertheless, we are not paid equal to male journalists... What makes it easy for editors-in-chief to pay us lower than men is that they know that women journalists are shy and not brave enough to ask for equal pay; and yes, that’s true, some women journalists are scared to ask for this right. (FNX) Some interviewed SWJs argued that female journalists should not ask for professional equality in journalism as there is no gender discrimination between men and women journalists. In their view, to achieve equality, emphasis needs to be on professionalism and dedication to work. They suggested that low pay is not then related to gender but instead to professionalism and the quality of work that journalists, whether men or women, are producing. Discussions on the gender pay gap in the private sector are being held as part of the reform process. Some interviewed SWJs (FJT and FGD) stated that despite their long years of practice and wealth of experience in journalism, including as leaders of the female journalists’ section, and their academic qualifications, they still receive lower salaries than male journalists. Some interviewed journalists (including male leaders) argue that male journalists are the primary breadwinners and thus should be paid higher salaries than female journalists. The issue of low pay has worsened in recent years due to the financial hardship of print newspapers, which has sometimes led

Saudi Women Journalists  127 to the sudden termination of the jobs of Saudi journalists. Interviewed journalists claim that female journalists are often the first victims of such termination (FGD, FJT, and FNX). The assumption is that SWJs may at any time decide to leave the profession to get married, have children, or care for another member of their family. Other Internal Factors: Perceptions of Career Longevity, Mentorship, and Training

One of the consequences of the challenges of low pay, gender pay gap, and lack of job security is the influence on SWJs perception of journalism as a career path. Several interviewed female journalists consider journalism as a short-term job rather than a realistic career option, partly because of the gender pay gap and lack of job security: We are looking for other jobs in government organisations with media centres and public relations departments where we can receive higher salaries and be respected within the working environment and even in the field. (FFC and FZD) There is no job security in journalism, especially if you are a woman journalist. You may be fired at any time before; thus, we have to be cautious and start to look for governmental jobs in the media or at least find a job related to our bachelor major. (FWT) In the opinion of some of the older SWJs, journalism is not a loyal profession. When female journalists get older, they are forgotten. This, in their observation, is worse in the broadcast media where job security decreases with age. SWJs also pointed to a lack of access to up-to-date professional training as a challenge as they are unable to keep up with technological advancements or new methods of reporting such as data journalism. Conclusion Saudi culture is in a transformative period, and the effects of these transformations are apparent. Women are now, more than ever, given greater opportunities, including to work in professions such as journalism, hitherto seen as male-only. This evolution has given rise to several unique features of the Saudi newsroom, such as the presence of female-only working environments, which takes specific needs of women – such as privacy and care for babies – often overlooked in Western and mixed newsrooms into consideration. However, female-only work environments can sometimes limit the effectiveness of some women journalists who may need to collaborate with their male colleagues. Several factors influence the roles and practices of female journalists, especially the support of their families, technological advancements, and low pay.

128  Amal Almoualed The roles and practices of SWJs are still largely shaped by the cultural and societal values of the country, and thus the professional identity of SWFs remains formal and constrained. There are signs, however, of ongoing empowerment and support for women journalists (including from male journalists) already evident in the newsroom. References Akeel, M. (2011). Saudi women’s voices in media. Khaleej Times. Retrieved March 17, 2021, from https://www.khaleejtimes.com/editorials-columns/saudi-women-s-voices-in-media Aldmour, R., Obeidat, B., & Masadeh, R. (2015). The practice of HRIS applications in business organizations in Jordan: An empirical study. In 4th Scientific and Research Conference on New Trends in Business, Management and Social Sciences 2015 (pp. 1–22). Istanbul: Curran Associates, Inc. Alfahad, A. (2015). Saudi broadcast interviews: Moving towards aggressiveness. Journal of Discourse & Communication, 9(4), 1–20. Al-Saggaf, Y., & Williamson, K. (2004). Online communities in Saudi Arabia: Evaluating the impact on culture through online semi-structured interviews. Forum: Qualitative Social Research, 5(3), 1–24. Alghamdi, S. (2011). A step towards democracy? 2005 Municipal elections in Saudi Arabia (Doctoral Thesis). Cardiff University. Alkameis, S. (2014). Saudi women and the challenge of work in the TV industry (Doctoral Thesis). Griffith University. Alnajrani, H., Bajnaid, A., Elyas, T., & Masa’deh, R. (2018). Exploring the transitional era in Saudi Arabia journalism discourse and the path towards the right to freedom of expression. Modern Applied Science, 12(10), 1. https://doi.org/10.5539/mas.v12n10p1 Alzahrani, A. (2016). Newsroom convergence in Saudi Press organisations. A qualitative study into four newsrooms of traditional newspapers (Doctoral Thesis). University of Sheffield. BBC. (2019). The BBC’s 50:50 Project partners with academic institutions to increase female representation in student journalism. Bbc.com. Retrieved March 9, 2021, from https://www.bbc.com/mediacentre/latestnews/2019/5050-student-journalism Berger, L. (2013). Saudi Arabia. Political Insight, 4(3), 22–25. https://doi.org/10.1111/20419066.12033 Chambers, D., Steiner, L., & Fleming, C. (2004). Women and Journalism (1st ed., pp. 82–237). London: Routledge. Daymon, C., & Holloway, I. (2015). Qualitative research methods in public relations and marketing communications (2nd ed., pp. 3–220). London: Routledge. De Vuyst, S. (2019). Hacking gender and technology in journalism (1st ed., pp. 12–96). London and New York: Routledge. Everbach, T., & Flournoy, C. (2007). Women leave journalism for better pay, work conditions. Newspaper Research Journal, 28(3), 52–64. https://doi.org/10.1177/073953290702800305 Elmore, C. (2007). Recollections in hindsight from women who left: The gendered newsroom culture. Women and Language, 3(2), 18–27. Franks, S. (2013). Women and journalism (1st ed., pp. 1–4). London: I.B. Tauris & Co. Ltd. Gallagher, M. (2001). Gender setting (1st ed., pp. 12–55). Zed Books in Association With WACC, London.

Saudi Women Journalists  129 Granger, J. (2018). Sky sports addresses the lack of women, LGBT and BAME people in sports reporting. Journalism.co.uk. Retrieved April 14, 2021, from https://www.journalism.co.uk/news/boosting-metrics-and-awareness-around-diversity-at-sky-sports-news/ s2/a732081/ Hallin, D., & Mancini, P. (2004). Comparing media systems (1st ed., pp. 21–251). New York: Cambridge University Press. Kim, K.-H. (2006). Obstacles to the success of female journalists in Korea. Media, Culture and Society, 28(1), 123–141. https://doi.org/10.1177/0163443706059578 Liao, S., & Lee, F. (2014). Do journalists believe in gender specificities of news topics? The impact of professionalism and family status. Asian Journal of Communication, 24(5), 456–473. https://doi.org/10.1080/01292986.2014.908934 Lobo, P., Silveirinha, M., Torres da Silva, M., & Subtil, F. (2015). In journalism, we are all men. Journalism Studies, 18(9), 1148–1166. https://doi.org/10.1080/1461670x.2015. 1111161 Melin, M. (2008). Gendered journalism cultures strategies and tactics in the fields of journalism in Britain and Sweden (Doctoral Thesis). University of Göteborg. Mellor, N. (2013). Gender boundaries inside pan-Arab newsrooms. Journal of Gender Studies, 22(1), 79–91. https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2012.730814 North, L. (2014a). The gender of “soft” and “hard” news. Journalism Studies, 17(3), 356–373. https://doi.org/10.1080/1461670x.2014.987551 North, L. (2014b). Still a ‘blokes club’: The motherhood dilemma in journalism. Journalism, 17(3), 315–330. https://doi.org/10.1177/1464884914560306 Reinardy, S. (2009). Female journalists more likely to leave newspapers. Newspaper Research Journal, 30(3), 42–57. https://doi.org/10.1177/073953290903000304 Robinson, G. (2005). Gender, journalism & equity: Canadian, US & European perspectives (1st ed., pp. 269–272). Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press. Ross, K., & Carter, C. (2011). Women and news: A long and winding road. Media, Culture and Society, 33(8), 1148–1165. https://doi.org/10.1177/0163443711418272 Ross, K. (2001). Women at work: Journalism as en-gendered practice. Journalism Studies, 2(4), 531–544. https://doi.org/10.1080/14616700120086404 Rugh, W. (2004). Arab mass media: Newspapers, radio and television in Arab politics (1st ed., pp. 59–77). Washington, DC: Library of Congress. Safa, M., & Akter, T. (2015). Challenges of female journalists in Bangladesh. Humanities and Social Sciences, 3(5), 207–214. https://doi.org/10.11648/j.hss.20150305.17

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Democratising the Media Media Reform and the Future of Journalism in Egypt Dalia Elsheikh, Nael Jebril, and Daniel Jackson

Introduction: The Changing Dynamics of Egypt’s Media Scene The media landscape in Egypt has undergone significant changes over the past few decades, reflecting the political and social developments in the country. In the mid-20th century, Egypt had a thriving and diverse press, with a rich media history dating back to the 19th century. However, the rise of restrictive rule in the 1960s and 1970s led to increased state control over the media and press freedom restrictions became widespread. After the 2011 revolution, there were hopes that the media system would be reformed (Webb 2014). However, empirical data since 2011 show that these expectations did not consider the government’s ability recontrol the media. This is despite the enthusiasm and high expectations for the impact of digital media on Egyptians’ ability to control the narrative and influence their governments. According to Abdullah (2014:3), each regime that took office after Mubarak’s stepping down appeared to “have been more brutal on the media than its predecessor”, with mounting evidence of governments’ attempts to reassert control over the media and exert its influence over media content (Badr 2022; El Issawi 2020). Egypt has gone through several periods of transition since the Arab spring under the rule of four different leaders. According to Rugh (2007) and Allam and Hollifield (2023), the present state of the Egyptian media system is transitional. The system has gained characteristics of neo-authoritarian regimes as a result of a brief liberal phase at the beginning of each phase, which was followed by restrictive measures designed to exert control over media autonomy (Abdullah 2014). In recent years, the Egyptian media has faced new challenges. The government has introduced several laws and regulations aimed at increasing state control over the media, including the Anti-Cyber and Information Technology Crimes Law of 2018 which gave the government sweeping powers to monitor and restrict online activity. The authorities have blocked hundreds of websites, including news websites and human rights organisations (Freedom House 2018). Reporters Without Borders (RSF) ranked Egypt 168 out of 180 countries in its 2022 World Press Freedom Index, indicating a severe lack of press freedom in the country (RSF 2022). In addition to the increased control and regulations, one of the main changes in the Egyptian media landscape is the government taking over many independent DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-10

Democratising the Media in Egypt  131 media outlets and using them to promote its own political agenda (Bahgat 2017). This has been achieved through a combination of legal measures, such as the tightening of media regulations and the use of restrictive laws, as well as direct takeovers of media outlets by state-affiliated companies (Bahgat 2017), a process that has led to a significant reduction in the number of independent media outlets and has increased self-censorship among journalists, who are often afraid of losing their jobs or facing legal repercussions (El Issawi 2021). Another major development in the Egyptian media landscape has been the increasing use of digital technologies, such as the internet and social media, for the dissemination of news and information. While these technologies have provided new opportunities for journalism, they have also been subject to state control and regulation. For example, many websites that are critical of the government have been blocked (Masaar 2020) and social media platforms have been used by authorities to monitor and restrict critical voices (Badr 2020). Additionally, traditional media outlets use both market and social media approaches to generate revenue from social media advertising, emphasising audience wants over audience needs (Tandoc and Thomas, 2015). This practice raises serious concerns about journalism’s role in society and its implication for democracy and civic participation (Bird, 2010). As a result, according to El Issawi 2021, Egyptian journalists confront a variety of challenges in their efforts to effect change following the 2011 uprising, with their agency being limited by both state control and societal expectations. The role of the Egyptian Syndicate of Journalists has also come under scrutiny, with Badr (2022) arguing that it has failed to effectively defend the rights and freedoms of journalists in the face of state repression. The present environment has created a daunting atmosphere for journalists, who encounter numerous obstacles in their pursuit of delivering their work, such as censorship, arrest, and intimidation (Human Rights Watch 2017). The quality of journalism has suffered because of this environment, with journalists avoiding contentious topics and indulging in self-censorship (El Issawi and Cammaerts 2016). Some academics have even questioned the future of journalism in Egypt, referring to the current period as the “death of journalism” and emphasising the industry’s overall instability (Badr 2020: 64). Media Reform in Transitional Countries As many countries have transitioned from authoritarian to democratic regimes over the past few decades, media reform has been a major issue of debate in transitional countries. The reform in the media sector is a complex and ongoing process. It has been aimed at increasing media diversity, promoting independent and accurate reporting, and ensuring that the media serves the interests of the public. One important condition that prevails in media reform approaches is that neither statenor market-based media systems should serve the interests of privileged elites, but should serve regular users, viewers, readers, and listeners so that they can participate more effectively (Freedman et al. 2016). In this section, we critically review

132  Dalia Elsheikh et al. and discuss some of the significant approaches to media reform, which include: (1) legal and regulatory reform, (2) public media reform, (3) privatisation and market liberalisation, (4) development approach (including media literacy programs, capacity building, and cross-border media co-operation), and (5) the democratisation approach. Legal and regulatory reforms play a crucial role in the media sector in transitional countries. By changing the laws and regulations that govern the media, this approach aims to increase media freedom and promote democratic practices. In many countries, laws have been passed to guarantee press freedom, freedom of expression, and the right to access information. Creating a legal framework is often one of the first steps that governments resort to in the transitional phases. For example, in post-apartheid South Africa, the government has established a regulatory framework to ensure media diversity, independence, accountability, and help in nation-building. This included the Broadcasting Act and the Independent Communications Authority of South Africa, which oversee the broadcast media sector and ensure that media companies comply with the legal and regulatory framework (Barnett 1999). The same applies to media policy reform in Poland after the collapse of communism, which issued a broadcasting act and established a national broadcasting council with the aim of having a pluralistic media landscape (Klimkiewicz 2017). Despite the benefits of legal and regulatory reform, it can still have negative consequences for the media sector if the policymaking and regulatory environments are highly politicised (Freedman 2008). Politicised regulations can potentially lead to censorship and restriction of freedom of expression. For example, governments may use legal and regulatory measures to restrict critical voices and limit freedom of expression (Lehmann-Jacobsen 2021). Critics also argue that this approach may stifle media innovation and creativity and may be difficult to enforce and monitor compliance of bigger influential media organisations due to technology and international operations, which can bypass internal regulations (Schudson 2003). But despite these criticisms, the legal and regulatory reform approach remains a widely used and effective tool for addressing issues of media ownership, diversity, and representation (Schudson 2003). Public service media reform is another approach used to reform media systems in transitional countries. The goal of this approach is to ensure there is a public service media system that is independent, impartial, and representative of a diverse range of perspectives and opinions. This has included measures such as increased public funding for public media, the appointment of editorial boards and directors, and the establishment of codes of conduct for journalists. According to this approach, public service media needs to differentiate itself from other outlets by justifying it’s offering an essential service of public interest and achieving pluralism, and differentiating themselves from commercial outlets, while developing a closer relationship with their audiences (García de Madariaga et al. 2014; Hallin and Mancini 2004). Yet, critics argue that the public media reform approach can become a tool of the state, used to control the media sector and suppress dissenting voices (Friedman 1962; Bajomi-Lázár 2014). This is particularly relevant in countries with a history of state control over the media, where the public media sector

Democratising the Media in Egypt  133 may be used to maintain state power and influence (Bajomi-Lázár 2014). Another criticism is that it can be seen as a burden on the state and taxpayers as funding could be used for other public services. Here, critics argue that public funding of public service media should be financed through commercial means. Some scholars also advocate for a “third way” approach to media reform, which entails the establishment of a core public service broadcasting system and the addition of private, social market, professional, and civic media sectors (Curran 2002: 247). Privatisation and market liberalisation approaches involve promoting private ownership and commercial competition in the media sector, with the aim of increasing media diversity. This has included measures such as selling state-owned media companies, removing restrictions on foreign ownership and investment, and deregulating the media sector. Supporters of this approach argue that it can be effective in promoting media diversity but caution that these measures must be carefully designed to balance economic efficiency with political accountability and to ensure that the media sector remains competitive to serve the public interest. Yet one of the main shortcomings of this approach is that it can lead to the concentration of media ownership in a handful of individuals or can even lead to monopoly (Jackson 2008). According to scholars, the media in China is under significant pressure from both the state and the economic system as a result of the marketisation process (Chan 1993). Similarly, in Poland, the absence of anti-concentration measures has posed similar challenges to the media system (Klimkiewicz 2017). Development approaches include media literacy and critical thinking programs as a way for citizens to challenge dominant media narratives and to participate more effectively in democratic processes (Brown 1998; AlNajjar 2019). There are many examples of media literacy and critical thinking programs in transitional countries, such as the Media and Information Literacy (MIL) initiative in South Africa, and the European Endowment for Democracy, which launched several initiatives aimed at strengthening media literacy and critical thinking in Eastern Europe and the Balkans. While considered a promising approach, critics claim that it is time-consuming and costly, requiring significant investment in resources, infrastructure, and training. Furthermore, there are concerns that this approach will not be effective in changing attitudes or behaviour, may reinforce existing power dynamics and biases, and will not be accessible or inclusive to all people ­(Livingstone 2004; Brown 1998). In addition, this investment may be seen as a low priority in countries facing limited resources and competing political and social priorities. It can also be perceived as a threat by governments that seek to control the flow of information and suppress dissent. Therefore, in some cases, such programs might be subject to censorship or repression and their participants can be targeted for harassment or persecution. Due to these problems, some have questioned the efficacy and safety of these programmes and urged for more sophisticated and culturally sensitive techniques. This approach is often linked to other approaches such as capacity building approaches aimed at journalists and media organisations and cross-border media co-operation reform approaches, which are often criticised due to lack of sustainability, inadequate addressing of systemic issues such as weak legal frameworks,

134  Dalia Elsheikh et al. lack of political will, or limited technological infrastructure and cultural clash (Muchtar and Hanitzsch 2013; Chadwick 2006; McQuail 2006). Such approaches also do not address underlying systemic problems and may be unsustainable in the long term (McQuail 2006). Since the 2011 revolution, it’s estimated that Tunisia is receiving approximately $14.5–$17 million annually as foreign assistance for media development (El Issawi 2022). Despite their significance, these programmes are sometimes criticised “because of their high costs, limited impact, and disconnect from Tunisian media organisations, as well as a lack of coordination among international assistance actors as a major challenge in Tunisia” (El Issawi 2022). Yet, the development model remains an important instrument for providing resources, training, and assistance to developing country media organisations as well as enhancing media quality and diversity (Freedman and Obar 2019). Democratisation approaches aim to increase democratic participation and representation within the media landscape by making changes to the existing media system. The efforts to democratise the media can include promoting alternative funding sources and diversifying ownership, inclusion, and promotion of marginalised content and marginalised groups, calling for more ethical journalism practices and challenging traditional forms of surveillance (Carpentier 2011; Mosco 2004; McChesney 2008). One of the key aspects of the democratisation approach is the promotion of alternative funding sources for the media (Mosco 2004). This can include the use of public funding, philanthropic donations, and community-based financing mechanisms. The goal is to reduce the dependence of the media on corporate and advertising funding, which can limit the diversity of voices and perspectives within the media (Dahlgren 2005). Critics say this approach is too idealistic and ignores market forces in the media industry, which may prioritise sensationalist and profitable content over important social and political issues, limiting their ability to provide diverse and marginalised content (McChesney 2008). This approach also fails to address the underlying political and economic power structures that shape the media landscape (Mosco 2009). Other scholars highlight the importance of combining these media reform approaches. For example, Hackett and Carroll (2006) argue for a more comprehensive approach, including (1) changes in the practices and content of mainstream media which focus on more inclusive representation and reporting; (2) reforms in policies and regulations that encourage the practice of free media and prevent the influence of elites; (3) constructing and supporting independent, democratic, and participatory media; and (4) developing a trusted relationship between the media and its audiences, whereby audiences feel empowered to contribute to the public discourse and debate. This specifically refers to providing journalists with the skills required for professional journalism in order to gain the trust of their audience. This model suggests that media reform in transitional countries requires multiple approaches. Research Questions A growing body of research has examined the status of Egyptian journalism after the Arab Spring, focusing on challenges that face journalists, uses of social media

Democratising the Media in Egypt  135 and technology, and role perception (see El Issawi 2022, 2021; Badr 2020, 2022; Alam and Hollifield 2021). Yet, these studies did not address the future of journalism in Egypt or how the media system can be reformed, given the challenges documented. In light of this, the following questions arise: RQ1: What is the perception of Egyptian journalists regarding the future of journalism in Egypt? RQ2: How do Egyptian journalists perceive the process of media reform in Egypt? Specifically, what remedies do they propose to improve the current state of journalism in Egypt and mitigate the challenges they commonly report? Method We address these questions by recording the experiences of 20 Egyptian journalists through semi-structured, in-depth interviews.1 The interviews were conducted in October and November 2021 by the lead author over audio calls (phone and internet apps). The interviewed journalists composed a balanced representative sample of the Egyptian media landscape, with each interview lasting 60–90 minutes. The journalists were chosen based on the various media ownership models currently in use across Egypt’s media landscape of print, the web, and television. The sample also considered other criteria, including age, gender, location (to include journalists working in both governorates and the capital), and their position within the organisation/news media outlet (i.e. both journalists and editors). To ensure the safety of participants, their names and specific employer details have been anonymised. The interviews were conducted in Arabic and then recorded, transcribed, and translated into English before being subjected to thematic analysis (Braun and Clarke 2006). Findings Perceptions of Egyptian Journalists on the Future of Journalism in Egypt

Journalists in Egypt have differing perspectives on the future of journalism, and there is a generational divide. While younger journalists see a negative future in which the role of journalists may become obsolete, older journalists see a more optimistic future in which journalism will thrive. They see the current period of restrictions as a passing phase in Egypt’s history. A 35-year-old journalist working for a national outlet explains how he started developing other skills to fit in the future where “traditional journalists will not be needed”, elaborating: In future, the news will not be needed, and thus journalists. News is available everywhere, and audiences can get it from anywhere without a need for a journalist anymore. For example, journalists will have to use their secondary skills to work in jobs that are cousins to journalism jobs. They can use their skills to check the historic facts…we have to adapt.

136  Dalia Elsheikh et al. This was echoed by another 26-year-old journalist working for a private outlet: The future is so dark and hopeless. Journalism and journalists will become extinct. We will be replaced by social media. The admin of social media pages will replace the journalists. I am getting ready for this moment by developing myself in this field on my own initiative. A page admin, instead of a journalist. However, older generations have different perceptions regarding the future of journalism in Egypt, arguing that historically Egypt witnessed many restrictive phases that were only temporary. A 64-year-old journalist working for an opposition outlet explains: This is the cycle of journalism in Egypt. Severe closure, then internal attempts to open it. So, the current phase will not continue till the future. The future will be better on one condition: the presence of journalists who are keen on trying and keep trying. Journalists are the hope. Authorities’ hands get weaker with time. This was echoed by another 55-year-old journalist working for a private outlet: I think we reached the peak of the worst. The future will be better. No power or authority can keep its control and have its grip on journalism forever. The current regime itself realises this. They started relaxing and opening a bit. The state itself wants to speak with the citizens. They are realising they can’t do this through the current leadership in their media organisation. The state needs journalists to explain their development projects to society. Media Reform Approaches Legal and Regulatory Reforms

All journalists explained the need for legal and regulatory reform that facilitates their job and protects them. Yet they were sceptical about future regulatory reforms. For them, it is usually politicised, aimed at restricting their work and limiting freedom of expression. Some journalists believe that they play a role in forcing the state to issue laws that restrict their work. They argue that there is a need to selfreflect to be able to address future regulatory reforms. A journalist working for a private outlet explains: It’s not always the regime’s fault. The regime can seize the opportunity we give to them. It’s the practices the journalists were doing in the years after the revolution. We were not angels. Everyone knows that there was a need for laws and regulations. Some journalists were accusing anyone without any evidence. Some journalists were thinking the revolution is in the newsroom.

Democratising the Media in Egypt  137 This shouldn’t have happened. We should have provided professional journalism and that’s it. Some were hiding the truth as well. So, we play a part in having these restrictions. We need to evaluate our role in this so as not to be repeated in the future. A journalist working for another private outlet echoes this: In 2013, Muslim Brotherhood supporters used to attack our offices and set them on fire. I used to park my car far away as they could burn it. So, the whole section needed organisation and discipline. But this needed to be done with some flexibility to support journalists, and in parallel with real change in the political and public sphere. Journalists have different opinions regarding which type of regulatory reform is needed. Most journalists stress the importance of removing any laws that can put them in prison or lead to outlet closure. Yet others argue that the whole regulatory framework needs to be fixed to include laws facilitating their job, such as the freedom of information law. A journalist in a private outlet commented: What I need in future is assurance that I will return home to my kids safely, that I will not have any kind of troubles because of a story I am working on. I also need laws to protect and raise my salary. Yes, other laws such as the Freedom of information law are important. But we did not have it as well during Mubarak’s era, and it was not a big problem. We were able to work and get the information without it. We were safe. We were sure that Mubarak would not allow us to get imprisoned. Public Service Media Reform

Journalists agree on the importance of having public service news media outlets. Yet most of them argue that this approach can be used as a tool in the regime’s hand by converting the public service into what they described as “a regime’s mouthpiece” or a tool to promote “one voice journalism” which is the “voice of the regime”. Journalists explained the need for a clear regulatory framework associated with this approach to guarantee a separation between state outlets and public service outlets, in addition to market liberalisation where private outlets can balance the future media landscape. Many journalists explained their fear that it could be “a backdoor” for more interference and control from specific key ministries such as the army or the intelligence service. A journalist working for a private outlet explains: Public service outlets are very important. But what do we mean by it? The regime buying private news media outlets through affiliated companies to

138  Dalia Elsheikh et al. control them? Companies owned by the army or the intelligence service? Unfortunately, this is what will continue happening in future when you speak about public service. We need clear boundaries, and we need both types of private and public service. A journalist working for a national outlet also states: I consider myself to be working in a public service outlet that used to do its role historically. But now we are converted to a mouthpiece for the regime. We are not providing public service anymore. Do we need more outlets like this in future? Of course not. We need to restore the public service aspect of our profession back. There should be clear boundaries between outlets that represent the state, and outlets that represent and serve the public interest. A journalist working for an opposition outlet adds: The country is polarized. We need a public service that unites the citizens and educates them. At the same time, we need another form of private and opposition outlets with clear regulations. It’s not one or either. It’s all of these. An assistant editor working for a private outlet elaborates that this cannot be implemented until key ministries are prohibited from owning news media outlets: “In order to have a real public service, we need both the army and the intelligence service out of the Egyptian media scene”. Privatisation and Market Liberalisation

All journalists are in favour of opening the door for market competition. Yet, they argue for a balanced approach co-operating with both public service media and national laws regulating the market sector and what they described as opening the “public sphere”. An editor working for a private outlet explains: There is a need for market liberalisation. But this needs to be associated with fair regulations and political democratisation. Will we be allowed to crowdfund our outlet for example? Are there legal guarantees that we will not be put in prison because of a story? The liberalisation of the media market needs to be associated with legal and political liberalisation. It also needs to be balanced with the presence of a public service that it’s not controlled by the market or the regime. An editor of an opposition outlet further explains that market liberalisation cannot be achieved without freedom of expression: Privatization and market liberalization will be implemented on their own when the authorities open the public sphere, and when we find freedom in the society. After the 2011 revolution, there was freedom. It was associated

Democratising the Media in Egypt  139 with a jump increase in private media outlets. Our rates as editors were more than the salaries of editors in international outlets abroad. The salaries of journalists were also very good at that time. All these will come naturally when the public sphere is opened. Yet some journalists warn from what they described as “political money” invested in the media sector to influence Egyptians: In Egypt, there are private TV channels owned by other countries. All want to influence Egyptians. You can’t regulate them as they can still broadcast from their countries. But perhaps, you can open the door for other Egyptian private outlets to compete with and offer other perspectives. So that Egyptians are not under the mercy and the vision of foreign outlets, representing the interests of foreign countries. A journalist in an opposition outlet echoes this perspective, stating that: There is nothing called objectivity and impartiality. The diversity of content is the thing that creates reality. When I say I am a leftist, or private, or conservative, it means I am not impartial. But I want the country to have all this. I don’t say that I present the reality. The reality is presented when the audience has access to all these different perspectives and versions of the same story. That’s why there is a need for competing media outlets with different owners. Development Approach

All journalists emphasised the importance of a development-focused perspective for both citizens and journalists. This would entail implementing literacy and critical thinking programmes for citizens and enhancing journalists’ international cross-border capacity. In terms of citizens, journalists explained that ordinary citizens don’t co-operate with them anymore, in what many described as a “societal hostility” towards them. This was evident in many of the examples given by journalists. A journalist working for a private outlet summarises the current relationship with citizens as follows: Journalists used to escape and hide on the syndicate stairs considering it their Hyde Park. Now citizens kick us out of events. They don’t trust us anymore. They think we will cause them problems. An assistant editor of a private outlet explains the importance of educating both ordinary citizens and officials about the media’s role in society as part of a wider media reform process: We need to avoid this hostility in future, as it can hinder the media reform process. This can be done through training courses to officials – mainly

140  Dalia Elsheikh et al. spokespersons, and in schools as well to educate the future generation, as a part of the school’s curriculum. All journalists emphasised the need for future training courses. Many explained how they struggle to find proper affordable training in Egypt. Some journalists explained how the training offered by the syndicate is currently “a matter of prestige and networking”, calling for the foreign organisation training to be present again. A 36-year-old journalist working for a national outlet explains: When I first joined the industry, there was no one to learn directly from. There was at least 20 years gap between me and those above me. My generation learned through courses offered by foreign NGOs in Egypt. Foreign countries used to offer exchange programmes where we travelled and attended training courses in the United States for example. That’s why we were the first generation to speak about the code of ethics in the industry. When we speak about future media reform, there is a need to restore these programmes. This problem was echoed by younger journalists as well. A 26-year-old journalist explains: We need training. There is no one journalist to show or train us. Everyone is busy. We miss the international training that was present for the older generation in the immediate years before and after the revolution. Our generation is disadvantaged in this regard. And we are the future of this industry. Some journalists, however, question the true purpose of development journalism. One journalist employed by a private publication explains: Of course, I don’t trust the international goals behind this training. But in the end, it’s useful for us. Egyptian outlets can also enter directly in cooperation with international outlets. Egyptian NGOs can also send journalists abroad either in university summer courses or to shadow in the international workplace. These opportunities were available before the 2011 revolution, and it was useful. Democratisation Approach

The majority of journalists interviewed opposed the idea of incorporating this approach into a forthcoming media reform initiative. Their argument is that this strategy would increase societal polarisation, spark sectarian strife, and possibly destabilise the state. A journalist working for a national outlet explains how the formerly British- and French-controlled countries were divided by the Sykes-Picot line, dividing families on the borders: Creating separate media outlets for marginalised groups solely dedicated to addressing their issues could lead to sectarian conflicts and jeopardise national

Democratising the Media in Egypt  141 security. These outlets would not serve as platforms for ­representation but would instead focus on highlighting specific problems that these groups face. A journalist working in a private outlet echoes this perception: After the revolution, we had several TV outlets dedicated to religious groups, financed by various alternative means. Both Islamic and Christian media outlets were promoting hate speech. Some Islamic channels were even converted to promote and mobilise for ISIS before the state intervened and stopped these. Another journalist working for a different privately owned news organisation expressed a similar sentiment: Even the idea of philanthropic donations or community donations to specific media outlets is very idealistic amid the rise of living costs, and the financial problems Egyptians are suffering from. We will be sceptical about this money. Is it money laundering or political money? And why this money is not spent to support those living under the poverty line for example. A journalist working in an opposition outlet elaborates: Indeed, this is an important approach. But it’s too idealistic and impractical to be applied in Egypt or any Arab country in the current phase. They are not ready for it at least in the near future. To be implemented, it needs mediaeducated citizens and responsible media, with clear regulations first. An editor for a private outlet agrees, explaining that if supported by clear regulations, it could be implemented gradually in the future: It could be only applied with clear regulations that guarantee the unity of the state while allowing the marginalised groups to speak about their problems, culture, customs and traditions. But I don’t see the country ready for this now. Perhaps one day gradually in the future. Other journalists have raised concerns about the strategy, labelling it a “westernised approach”. A journalist working in a private news media outlet explains: It’s possible that this strategy will work in Western countries, but that doesn’t mean it will work here. What are the characteristics of a group that is considered to be marginalised? Naturally, this pertains to the classification used in the United States. Instead of focusing solely on democratising the media in media reform processes, journalists believe it would be more effective to focus on broader goals such as “democratising the country”, “opening up the public sphere”, “removing

142  Dalia Elsheikh et al. restrictions on society”, and “prohibiting key ministries from intervening in the media landscape”. Once achieved, these objectives will have a positive impact on the media as a whole. An editor of an opposition news media outlet explains: After 2013, there was a multi-control process in the society. This included restrictions on protests, NGOs’ work, unions, and closing space in front of political parties. Controlling the media was only a small part of this process that aimed to control the public sphere. Any talks about the media reform process should include removing all these restrictions first. Media freedom and press freedom are part of several freedoms in society. You can’t speak about one apart from the other. How can a journalist work in this restrictive atmosphere? An editor of a private outlet elaborates on the requirements for opening the public sphere: Opening the public sphere requires getting key ministries – such as the army and the intelligence service- out of the media scene, whether through direct ownership or hidden interference. Although journalists generally agreed on the importance of prioritising strategies such as “opening up the public sphere”, “reducing restrictions on society”, and “excluding key ministries from the media landscape” in future media reform efforts, there were disagreements on how to effectively implement these approaches. An assistant editor in a national news media outlet explains that “This should come from within the state. It’s a political will. When the public sphere opens, media will be reformed automatically”. A journalist working in a private news media outlet further suggests: We need a journalism leader, even from inside the state or the regime. Someone who believes that journalism has a role. A role to maintain the vitality, quality, efficiency, and quality of society. A role that provides a sort of control and censorship that benefit those in power, that benefit the ruler, more than harming him. Other journalists were sceptical that media reform can come from within the state. A journalist working for an opposition news media outlet explains: It will only be reformed from outside the industry, via foreign intervention. Pressure from foreign countries and foreign NGOs, exactly like what they did before 2005 and forced Mubarak to open the public sphere.

Conclusion Changes in Egypt’s transitional period have had a considerable impact on both journalists and audiences, resulting in a growing lack of faith in the media and

Democratising the Media in Egypt  143 challenges for journalists in carrying out their professional roles. This chapter delved into journalists’ perspectives on the future of journalism in Egypt, as well as their suggestions for reforming the media sector while taking into account the key theoretical media reform approaches. Our study has shown a significant generational divide between older and younger Egyptian journalists’ perceptions of the future of the media industry in Egypt. The older generation views the present transitional phase as transitory, comparable to earlier restrictive periods in Egypt’s history, during which journalism was able to rebound and prosper despite restraints. They believe that the current leadership seeks constructive journalism to support its development ambitions but lacks the ability to accomplish this. They are certain that no regime can retain an iron grip for a prolonged length of time and they are optimistic the future of journalism in Egypt will be better. Younger journalists, on the other hand, are very pessimistic; they see the current phase as the end of real journalism in Egypt. Some even argue that it’s the end of the profession. They assert that there will be no need for journalists in the future and that journalism will be replaced by other occupations. Some we spoke to were already preparing for careers in sectors adjacent to journalism. Regarding media reform in Egypt, there is a consensus among journalists for a simultaneous mixed approach to reform, which includes various approaches apart from the democratisation approach. Egyptian journalists express the opinion that Egypt is not yet ready for such an approach and suggest that it should only be implemented in the future if accompanied by regulations that guarantee the country’s unity. Moreover, they believe that both the audience and journalists need to be educated before such reforms are implemented. They highlight the potential negative impact of media outlets owned by or dedicated to specific marginalised groups, which could lead to sectarian strikes or destabilise the state, while they also question the use of the term “marginalized groups” as they believe it is based on a Western agenda that does not necessarily fit with Egypt or other Arab countries. Additionally, they express scepticism towards philanthropic donations, given the cost-of-living crisis that Egyptians are currently facing. Instead, they propose a regulated mechanism of crowdfunding for mainstream private news media outlets. All journalists agree that enabling greater freedom in the public sphere and reducing involvement by powerful ministries will allow the media to work more independently and contribute to promoting a more transparent and democratic public sphere. In this context, journalists suggest that removing constraints on the public sphere by the state authorities and ensuring freedom of expression is a precondition for any successful media reform. Journalists were divided on the starting point for media reform, with some suggesting that it could come from within the state, either through a political leader or a journalist figure, while others believed that external pressure was necessary. However, they all consented that journalists could not drive change from the bottom up and that a top-down approach was required. They argued that before significant progress could be made, the state’s overall attitude towards the media, particularly journalists, needed to change. As for legal and regulatory reforms, journalists expressed scepticism on prospective legislative reform, citing instances in which the law was exploited to obstruct

144  Dalia Elsheikh et al. their job and restrict their freedom. Nonetheless, some argue that ­journalists’ flawed methods may have contributed to the regime’s capacity to do so. There was no consensus over the type of regulatory structure required in the future. While some underlined the need for an overhaul of the entire legal system, others urged the prioritising of journalist safety rules. Journalists also highlighted the importance of a public service media outlet that works independently of the state monopoly or monopolies owned by influential government ministries. In addition, they advocated for the liberalisation of the media market to allow opposition and private media outlets to grow in the media landscape. However, they emphasised the importance of regulation to prevent chaos similar to the early aftermath of the revolution, which may lead to a cycle of future restrictions. In accordance with Curran’s (2002) “third way” approach, they proposed that the public service sector should be complemented by other media sectors and society, enriching it further. There was a consensus among journalists that an approach to encourage media literacy and critical thinking abilities among the general public, beginning with school pupils and extending to leaders and organisation representatives, would be effective. Despite some journalists questioning the motives of international donors, many expressed a desire for foreign capacity-building projects to be included in future media reform processes, with some journalists emphasising the importance of not limiting such projects to specific topics. Overall, according to journalists, it is unlikely that a single approach to media reform in Egypt will be effective. Instead, they argue that a comprehensive strategy involving the simultaneous implementation of multiple strategies and a broader effort to democratise the country is required. To accomplish this, journalists advocate that it is critical to reduce political restrictions on media freedom and “open up the public sphere” in the country. Note 1 Following the operationalisation of Fusch and Ness (2015), this was the number of interviews by which the authors felt that data saturation had been met.

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10 Memory as a Human Right Palestinian Memory and Israel’s Modes of Forgetting Emad Moussa

Introduction For Jewish-Israelis, 1948 is the year of independence, the historical turning point in which Jewish sovereignty was established (Ram 2009). For Palestinians, it is the Nakba, the catastrophe, the point at which their society collapsed and aspirations for statehood diminished (Sa’adi & Abu-Lughod 2007). The Nakba resulted in at least 80% of Palestinians who lived in the major part of mandate Palestine becoming refugees (Sa’adi & Abu-Lughod 2007; Morris 1988). There are now around five million registered Palestine refugees. Nearly one-third of them live in 58 recognised refugee camps in Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, the Gaza Strip, and the West Bank, including East Jerusalem (UNRWA 2020). Neither they nor their descendants have been allowed to return (Sa’adi & Abu-Lughod 2007; BBC 2018). Today, the Nakba is the focal point in Palestinian collective memory, forming the core of the Palestinian national narrative and acting as a transhistorical indicator of the state of Palestinian human rights (Masalha 2005; Jaradat 2008). But as a collective memory of the defeated, it has always strived for prominence and recognition. Conflict narratives do not depend necessarily on historical veracity, but rather on the capacity of their social bearers to sustain them (Ram 2011). The group that wins the war is often better equipped to control the narrative. Emerging victorious and remaining the powerful party in the conflict, Israel has always had better access to resources and formal institutions than the Palestinians (Bar-Tal 2013). That put the Jewish state in a better position to control the narratives of history and, accordingly, place Palestinian memory outside the Jewish-Israeli public discourse. Nowadays, despite the increased exposure to this memory in the form of archival evidence, statistical indicators, and new understanding of power relations (Svirsky 2014) – thanks in part to Israel’s New History Movement (e.g. Harkabi 1986; Flapan 1987; Morris 1988) and NGOs such as Zochrot – many Jewish-Israelis still react as if the topic were non-existent, unknown, or at least better left undiscussed (Shapira 2005). In Sa’adi’s opinion (Sa’adi & Abu-Lughod 2007, p. 310), “most Israelis today continue to bury, suppress, or ignore the past, translating the existing power relations and continuing practices of governance and control into fixed socio-political realities and consciousness.” DOI: 10.4324/9781003214625-11

148  Emad Moussa Ram (2009) sees that memory suppression is done through narrated forgetting: selective historical narratives; material forgetting: the obliteration of physical remains; and symbolic forgetting: changing the names of streets and localities. Suppression can also happen through what Cohen calls “implicatory denial” (2013). As such, the notion of democratic transparency and openness becomes irrelevant. Neither the facts nor their conventional interpretations are denied; rather, what is denied are the psychological, political, and moral implications that conventionally follow (Cohen 2013). In The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem (1988), Morris admits that the Palestinian exodus was largely due to military attacks, fear of attacks, and expulsions, but justifies it as an unavoidable result of the war and necessary for the establishment of a Jewish State (also see Shavit 2004). Orr and Golan (2014) argue that suppressing the Palestinian past preserves Israel’s foundational principles and delegitimises the Palestinian right of return, which is perceived as threatening to Israel’s Jewish majority and future. Others attribute this suppression to psycho-emotional considerations pertaining to Israel’s self-image as a historical victim (Bar-Tal et al. 2009), the sense of morality and justice of the Jewish cause (Bar-Tal 2013), or/and the inability to reconcile with the past (Falk 2004). Looking at several media and cultural representations, this chapter provides a fresh outlook on the dynamics and modes of suppression of Palestinian memory (especially the Nakba) and the scope of Palestinian human rights in the JewishIsraeli public sphere. Inspired by Ricoeur’s work on memory and forgetting (2006), it is argued that memory suppression in Israel has two modes: passive forgetting and active forgetting. Passive forgetting is viewed as a psychological strategy of avoidance and is primarily driven by Israel’s collective memory of past victimisation. Active forgetting, on the other hand, is deliberate and systematic. It is expressed through the removal of the physical evidence of Palestinian memory, such as: archaeological sites, archival material, and textbooks, as well as through the creation of legal impediments. Both modes influence and reinforce each other. In conclusion, the challenges to Palestinian memory and therefore the state of Palestinian human rights are scrutinised and discussed in light of their impact on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Passive Forgetting: Collective Memory of Victimisation Passive forgetting is centred on the psychological omission of Palestinian memory from the Jewish-Israeli public sphere. Building on the scholarship on collective memory, this section argues that the omission is routinely deployed and justified largely through the emphasis on and augmentation of Israel’s own collective memory of victimhood. Israel is a nation of memory (Yerushalmi 2011), and the narratives of victimhood are indubitably the focal part of the country’s collective memory (Bar-Tal et al. 2009; Enns 2012; Noor et al. 2012; Klar 2019). What Bar-Tal et al. (2009) call “a sense of self-perceived collective victimhood” is based not only on the experience of intractable conflict with the Arabs and Palestinians, but also on the

Memory as a Human Right: Palestine and Israel  149 collective memory of the Jewish (Bar-Tal 2001). According to this collective memory, throughout the centuries Jews were exposed to continuous threats in the form of “anti-Jewish tracts, libels, the imposition of distinctive dress, the levying of special taxes, religious, social, and economic restrictions, forced conversions, deportations, expulsion, and pogroms” (Bar-Tal 2001, pp. 511–512). The anti-Semitic practices culminated between 1941 and 1945 in the Shoah when millions of European Jews were systematically exterminated. The Shoah has since become the most defining event in modern Jewish history, profoundly heightening Jewish-Israelis awareness of victimhood and influencing their perception of the conflict with the Arabs and Palestinians (Klar et al. 2013; Klar 2019). Nowadays, in Israel, the collective memory of victimisation is expressed and disseminated through channels of communication such as mass media and cultural artefacts like books, films, art, music, and religious rituals and texts (Bar-Tal 2014). Consider, for example, that the word zachor (remember) appears in the Hebrew bible no less than 169 times, most often in the unconditional command and usually with Israel or God as the subject. The word is complemented by its obverse, forgetting: “Since Israel is enjoined to remember, so is it adjured not to forget” (Yerushalmi 2011, p. 5). Every year on Passover, the liberation of the Hebrew slaves from Egypt becomes a reminder of the memory of victimisation. The famous verse from the Haggadah – traditionally recited during the Passover festival – reads: “… In every generation, they rise against us to destroy us” (Klar 2019). In the media, victimhood (particularly the Shoah) is a prominent theme. A study by Rinkevich-Pave (2008), for instance, calculated how often the word Shoah and Shoah-inspired vocabulary appeared in a 12-month period (October 2007–September 2008) in Haaretz. The author compared this historical event with the number of mentions of the term “Israeli–Arab conflict.” “Shoah” appeared 132 times, on average, every month, and “Israeli–Arab conflict” appeared grosso modo the same number of times (140 times being the monthly average). Moreover, published or broadcast statements by Israeli political leaders show that almost all of them, including prime ministers and presidents, expressed a level of adherence to the narratives of victimhood (Bar-Tal 2014). Ben-Gurion in 1953 said that “…Over thousands of years, this hatred and animosity changed form but its essence never altered much” (Bar-Tal 2014). Menachem Begin declared to his cabinet on the eve of the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in June 1982 that “The alternative is Treblinka, and we have decided there will be no more Treblinkas” (Lang 1996). Seemingly citing the Haggadah, then Minister of Defence Yitzhak Rabin proclaimed at the Holocaust Memorial ceremony in 1987 that “in every generation, they rise up to destroy us, and we must remember that this could happen to us in the future” (Bar-Tal 2014). Prime Minister Netanyahu has been particularly vocal about the “victim rhetoric” in his speeches and press statements. On yom hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) in 2010, he addressed the nation by saying: “In every generation, there are those who stand against us. And in this generation we must fortify our strength…to prevent the current enemy from carrying out its plan” (Netanyahu 2010). In 2015, he proclaimed that Israel will forever “live by the sword” (Ravid 2015), a reference to being constantly threatened. And, in 2016,

150  Emad Moussa he resembled the dismantlement of the Jewish settlements in the Palestinian West Bank to “ethnic cleansing” (BBC 2016). Victimhood is especially visible in Israel’s cinema and TV. Consider, for example, Ari Folman’s film Waltz with Bashir (2008) and Samuel Maoz’s film Foxtrot (2017). Both films, despite claims of self-critique, narrate the conflict from the perspective of the soldiers, emphasising and justifying the relationship between the Jewish past of victimisation (particularly the Shoah) and today’s events. Fauda (2015–2020), the latest Israeli TV thriller, adopts a more critical, liberal approach towards the conflict, but by establishing a victim hierarchy vis-à-vis the Palestinians, it remains somewhat faithful to the notion of Jewish-Israeli victimhood. Victimhood is also prominent in Israel’s literary productions. According to the National Library of Israel (2011, in: Klar et al. 2013), books related to the Shoah are the largest thematic category of newly published Hebrew titles, even more than titles related to the Israeli–Arab conflict and wars. A similar theme dominates many of Israel’s national symbols. The national anthem, ha tikvah (the hope), for instance, still speaks of the oppressed Jew who seeks hope from victimisation (Grosbard 2003). Bar-Tal et al. (2009) hypothesise that victimhood – especially in a conflict situation – leads to a high degree of self-involvement. Victims usually tend to focus on themselves and their own suffering, which may lead to reduced capacity for empathy. Societies preoccupied with own suffering develop, what Mack (in ­Bar-Tal et al. (2009) calls, an “egoism of victimhood.” They become unable to see things from their rival’s perspective, identify with their story, or accept responsibility for harm inflicted by their own group. This could be what Israeli writer Etgar Keret means by saying that “to protect your victimhood you have to ignore others’ pain” (Jaggi 2007). This is particularly true when the context and experience of the rival’s society are different. The victimised group “often finds it hard to identify with the suffering of other societies in completely different contexts and experience empathy towards them” (Bar-Tal et al 2009, p. 252). Reduced empathy produces reduced group-based guilt and consequently shifts the responsibility for the in-group’s plight to the opponent (Kown 2016; Bar-Tal 2013). Furthermore, a society engulfed in victim narratives, Bar-Tal et al. elaborate, develops a feeling of moral entitlement, which can be defined as the belief that the group is allowed to use whatever means to ensure its safety, with little regard to moral considerations. It may be that Jewish-Israelis who feel they are the victims in the conflict, or in general, may deem Palestinian memory incompatible with or threatening to the ideal self-image embedded in their nation’s collective memory, which governs much of the way they view the conflict (Bar-Tal 2013, 2014). A 2011 nationwide survey of Jewish-Israelis, for instance, showed that the more the group members experience a general sense of collective victimhood based on the long history of persecution in the Diaspora, the more they view themselves as victims in the ongoing conflict with Palestinians (Schori-Eyal et al. 2011). Recognising the Nakba especially entails shifting the responsibility for the Palestinian plight to Israel. At a profound level, it may lead to challenging the country’s foundational narrative.

Memory as a Human Right: Palestine and Israel  151 This narrative concerns issues regarding the Jewish people’s historical persecution and the return from exile to sovereignty (Naveh 2018), the rightful rule over the land (Lustick 2015), and the belief that the Palestinian exodus was voluntary (Nets-Zehngut 2016). These issues are essential to the maintenance of the societal beliefs in the justness and morality of the Jewish cause (Bar-Tal 2013), especially upheld by the notion that Israel’s inception is a historical right for the persecuted Jews, a type of redemption (Naveh 2018) or a “victim’s justice” (Olick 2003). Jamal (2020) argues that recognising the Palestinian past entails not only the challenge of Israel’s responsibility but also feelings of guilt, for it is not only in the past, but is an ongoing reality. It may lead, he adds, to viewing the Palestinian problem more comprehensively, including the refugees, the situation of the Palestinian citizens of Israel, and those living under Israel’s occupation in the West Bank and Gaza. Cohen (2012) believes that the emphasis on victimhood (particularly the Shoah) as the formative ethos and as a pillar of Jewish-Israeli identity has perhaps compelled modern Israel to attempt to block this same process of victim-based identity formation for the Palestinians. Possibly, this dynamic accounts for the association, often found in speeches of Israeli leaders, between Palestinian mourning/ commemoration and acts of civil disobedience, incitement, and terrorism (Cohen 2012). Prime Minister Netanyahu, for instance, said that when he was the opposition leader in 2007, the word “nakba” in Israeli Arab schools was tantamount to spreading propaganda against Israel (Reuters 2009). Later, in 2014, he decried the Palestinian Authority for commemorating the Nakba, calling it “incitement against Israel and leads to the distortion of Israel’s image” (Doniz 2014). That said, whilst victimhood does not itself lead to systematic or conscious memory suppression, it may facilitate and justify active forgetting (and itself be reinforced by it). Active Forgetting: Removal of Physical Evidence, Policies, and Legal Impediments Whilst passive forgetting is heavily psychological and somewhat unconscious, active forgetting is deliberate and systematic. Using historical evidence and political/news reports, this section highlights how the Israeli state embraced systematic policies to remove the pre-1948 physical evidence of Palestinian reality, as well as camouflage what was left of it, all to serve the purpose of removing Palestinian memory from the Jewish-Israeli consciousness. According to Naveh (2018), intrinsic to the Zionist historical narrative is the idea that history could be controlled, moulded, and changed by the formation of an active, task-oriented Israeli reality – the opposite of passive, diasporic existence. This, in practice, means that any process of democratisation – and with it the designation of rights and duties – must align with and serve that narrative. Much of the validity and sustainability of the Zionist reality, however, has been largely attainable through the removal of other realities that may undermine it (Masalha 2011, 2015).

152  Emad Moussa In the wake of the 1948 War, Pappé (2006) estimates, 531 villages were destroyed and 11 urban neighbourhoods were emptied of their inhabitants. Morris (1988) puts the number of destroyed villages at 369. Khalidi (1992), on the other hand, found that the number could be as high as 418. Since then, most of these villages have been also erased from Israeli collective memory and consciousness (Masalha 2011); as such, preventing any disruption to the mainstream Zionist narrative upon which the state was founded. In her book Erased from Space and Consciousness (2008), Noga Kadman speaks of how the removal of the physical Palestinian reality is heightened (and legitimised) by the removal of Palestinian traces and memory. Traveling to 250 wrecked sites of what used to be Palestinian villages, Kadman shows how these sites, which remain somewhat visible, are still absent from the Israeli public sphere. She (p. 68) explains that as one travels in Israel, it is difficult to avoid noticing the piles of stones, ruins, and structures overgrown with almond and fig trees, which belonged to the pre-1948 Palestinian community. Most of these sites exist within unbuilt open spaces where groves were planted, parks were created, nature reserves were established, and pathways for hiking were opened. Discussing tiyul (hiking) as one of Israel’s cultural practices, Svirsky (2014, pp. 43–90) explains how the hiking paths are designed in such a way to emphasise the picturesque of Jewish landscape consisting of biblical ties and tales of heroes. In so doing, the ruins of Palestinian villages and other localities are omitted from the hiking maps (as they are from Israeli travel guides and brochures), the landmarks are Judaised, and the names are Hebrewised. He adds that as one heads out for tiyul, chances are one will be driving on roads that were originally built at the time by the authorities of the newly founded State, using the stones and rubble of destroyed Palestinian houses crushed into gravel to become the bedding layers under the asphalt. It is a strategy of displacement and replacement (Masalha 2015), or what Hanafi (in: Lenṭin 2010) calls “spacio-cide,” a practice geared towards establishing a new physical reality on top or instead of the original one. Today, in what might be described as a historical irony, the Israeli museum commemorating the Shoah victims, Yad Vashem, sits on top of a hill overlooking the village of Deir-Yassin, the site of the famous 1948 Deir-Yassin massacre and one of the focal events in the Palestinian exodus (Lenṭin 2010). There are no markers, placards, or memorials, and no mention from tour guides in the museum regarding what their visitors see from where they stand (Toukan 2013). To maintain the suppression of memory, documents and archival material pertaining to the Nakba have been kept outside the arena of public sphere. In an extensive Haaretz investigation (Shezaf 2019), it was revealed that the Israeli Defence Ministry’s secretive security department (Malmab) has been scouring Israel’s archives and removing historic documents regarding the Nakba and the 1948 war. The investigation asserts that beginning in the early 2000s, Malmab began removing historical documentation illegally and with no authority, and at least in some cases has sealed documents that had previously been cleared for publication by the military censor and extended the confidentiality seal on others for more years. Some of the documents that were placed in vaults had already been published. Asked about the point of removing documents that have already been published,

Memory as a Human Right: Palestine and Israel  153 Yehiel Horev, former Malmab director for two decades, explained that the objective is to undermine the credibility of studies about the history of the refugee problem. This means that the New Historians’ allegations cannot be backed up with the original documents and would therefore be disproved (Shezaf 2019). Perhaps a more sophisticated and subtle mode of active forgetting exists in Israel’s educational system. Shifting from the complete denial of the Nakba in the State’s early years, today’s mainly history and civics textbooks contain a more pluralistic picture of the Palestinian past (Ben-Amos 2019). Although found to be relatively more critical in their depiction of the other and history than their Palestinian counterparts (Ziri 2013), Israeli textbooks still adhere to certain critical elements of the Zionist narrative. Nets-Zehngut (2013) explains that three of the Zionist-critical textbooks introduced in 2000 (Tavivyan’s A Journey to the Past; Ya’acoby’s A World of Change; and Naveh’s The 20th Century – on the Verge of Tomorrow) that described the expulsion of Palestinians also provided information that minimised the effect of the said expulsion. They, inter alia, claimed that there was no official policy to encourage the flight of Palestinians and that the expulsions only took place in hostile villages and at a later phase of the war. Occasionally, where the expulsion is mentioned, the blame is shifted to the Palestinians (Ram 2009). In certain cases, disruptions of the hegemonic Zionist discourse of memory even prompted an official ban on “deviant” textbooks by the Ministry of Education (Ben-Amos 2019). Some of the critical textbooks authorised by Yossi Sarid, the minister of education in the Barak government (1999–2001), were revised or removed by the later Likud Education Minister Limor Livnat (2001–2006). Livnat established a committee to examine Dany Ya’aqoby’s textbook, A World of Change, which – among other shortcomings and despite some of its “selective historical truism” – was found to be too lenient towards the Palestinian refugees and banned as a result (Ben-Amos 2019). When the Likud rose to power again in 2009, Education Minister Gideon Sa’ar prohibited any mention of the Nakba in the Israeli-Arab educational sector and banned three textbooks in the Israeli-Jewish sector due to their approach towards the Palestinian exodus (Kashti 2009). One of these books meant for 11th and 12th grades, as Haaretz reported (Kashti 2009), presented for the first time the Palestinian claim that there had been ethnic cleansing in 1948. Although initially approved by the Ministry of Education, the book was quickly collected from the schools and returned after this section and other parts had been expunged or modified. Several aspects of physical removal are nowadays law, providing the Israeli state with the legislative and judicial power to shape or draw the boundaries of the public debate on the past (Gutman 2016). In 2011, the Knesset passed the “Nakba Law,” which allows the minister of finance to reduce government funding to any institution that commemorates the anniversary of Israel’s establishment as a day of mourning (“Nakba day”). The vagueness and broadness of the law make it difficult to anticipate what types of activities could be interpreted by the government as a rejection of the “Jewish and democratic” character of the state or as dishonouring to state symbols (Jabareen 2012). The UN Special Rapporteur Frank La Rue (UN General Assembly 2012) stated that fines could be imposed for holding events at

154  Emad Moussa which the Nakba is mentioned or for criticism of the definition of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state. To avoid sanctions, individuals may self-censor themselves or refrain from organising events that could breach the law. Jabareen (2012) mentions that self-censorship already started taking shape in Israeli academia, the environment where Israel’s historical narratives are traditionally challenged. On May 16, 2012, the universities of Haifa and Tel-Aviv cancelled the “Nakba Day” event organised by the students despite the fact that the necessary permits had been granted (Jabareen 2012). At the University of Haifa, the cancellation was preceded by a series of restrictions by the administration, among them, banning the distribution of flyers with the word “Nakba.” According to Mossawa Center (2014), an NGO that advocates Arab citizens’ rights in Israel, the law has curbed Israel’s Palestinian organisations’ ability to teach, explore, express, and commemorate events of central significance to the historical experience of the Palestinian people. In 2018, after seven years of heated debate, the Nakba Law was complemented by the “Nation-State Law.” The new law, inter alia, makes the right to the land exclusive to Jews, encourages settlements as a right, and downgrades Arabic – spoken by 20% of the population – to a “special status” language (Peleg 2020; Kontorovich 2020). The Nakba and Nation-State laws are the last in a series of laws since 1948. The laws that were enacted immediately after Israel was established aimed mainly at perpetuating the post-war status quo by retroactively legitimising the expropriations of Palestinian property and curbing the Palestinian right of return (Kadman 2008). The 1950 Absentees’ Property Law, for example, transferred the ownership of the internal and external refugees to the State of Israel. It was soon followed by the enactment of the Law of Return which gives Jews the right to move to Israel and obtain citizenship upon arrival (Laws of the State of Israel, 1951). The Law is based on the rationale that since Jews suffered harsh persecutions throughout history, it was legitimate to discriminate in their favour (Kaplan 2015). Changing the political and demographic realities in the new State was further fortified in 1954 with the introduction of The Prevention of Infiltration Law*. The Law, as a matter of fact, legalised the 1948 Israeli government’s orders to completely block the return of refugees (Korn 2003), despite the UN General Assembly’s Resolution 194 (1948) which called on Israel to repatriate all Palestine refugees wishing to return to their homes and to compensate them whether or not repatriation was effectuated. From an Israeli perspective, the “infiltrators” were not merely reclaiming abandoned property; rather, they posed a political threat to the state’s sovereignty and threatened Jewish settlement and the Jewish majority within the new State. What practically transpired is the transformation of Palestinian refugees into illegal entities and their claims into illegitimate demands (Korn 2003). Discussion Collective memory provides “a socially constructed narrative that has some basis in reality but is biased, selective, and distorted in ways that meet present societal needs” (Bar-Tal 2013, p. 141). Societies, therefore, exert special efforts to maintain

Memory as a Human Right: Palestine and Israel  155 functional collective memory, trying to prevent the emergence and dissemination of counter-narratives that may undermine it. If this dynamic does not notably undermine the democratic norms of a country, it at the very least produces selective laws and/or limits the effectiveness of democratic institutions. That is, certain sections of the population would enjoy full rights and unhindered access to political participation while others would not, despite sharing the same citizenship responsibilities and – theoretically – rights with the first group. In Israel, forgetting or selectively remembering the Palestinian past has been instrumental in maintaining the country’s foundational narrative and “shared repertoire” (Bar-Tal 2013). Any compromise on this “regime of beliefs” is viewed as an existential and ontological threat (Jamal 2020). This chapter suggested that there are two modes of memory suppression that dominate the Jewish-Israeli approach to Palestinian memory: passive forgetting and active forgetting. The former is psychologically motivated and relies on the collective memory of Jewish victimhood. The latter, which might be influenced and justified by the former, is arguably deliberate and systematic. It aims to replace the Palestinian past with a new reality. Together, they have formed what can be described as a “consensual reality.” Forgetting, in other words, is not confined to the “ideational” level, but rather expanded to practical and physical dimensions. It does not only offer abstract symbols but also inscribes material signs. It does not only re-present reality but seeks to re-construct it (Ram 2011). Typically, this “consensual reality” is disseminated and maintained by the in-group’s official institutions, mass media, and cultural products (Bar-Tal 2013). A study by the I’lam Media Center for Palestinians in Israel between 2008 and 2012, for instance, found that the common view in the mainstream Israeli newspapers (with the exception of Haaretz) is that the Nakba is a continuous threat whose goal is the delegitimisation of Israel (Persico 2014). What might be less obvious yet highly significant is the impact that the “consensual reality” has had on the work of the Israeli NGOs that defend Palestinian human rights and consequently the overall state of Palestinian human rights in Israel and the Occupied Territories. With the exception of Zochrot, the Israeli NGO which raises awareness about the Nakba among Jewish-Israelis, these NGOs due to political pressure or/and self-censorship are primarily concerned with the human rights of the Palestinians living in the territories occupied in 1967 (Orr & Golan 2014). It stands to reason that ignoring the line running from 1948 through 1967 and up to the present reinforced the “periodisation” prevalent amongst Jews in Israel, which minimises or outright ignores the injustices of 1948 and sees 1967 as the watershed line in Jewish-Palestinian relations. Orr and Golan (p. 85) comment: Sidestepping the 1948 memory has implications for the organisations’ ability to get to the root of the problems they are dealing with, to represent the interests of the Palestinians in Israel and the Occupied Territories as they themselves define these interests, and to generate relations of trust and solidarity with the community they are supposed to be representing as well as with the Palestinian activists in the organisations themselves.

156  Emad Moussa These NGOs have been instrumental in preventing some changes that result in a deterioration of Palestinian human rights and in promoting accountability (Montell 2016). However, by not tackling the 1948 events, they may be reinforcing the mainstream narrative which suppresses Palestinian memory (Orr & Golan 2014). On the whole, excluding the Palestinian collective memory from the JewishIsraeli public discourse undermines Palestinian human rights, at least in terms of denying the Palestinians access to transitional justice and the possibility of physical and/or symbolic restitution. Nevertheless, engaging with the Palestinian past could potentially be instrumental in constituting and promoting an alternative counter-hegemonic and subversive discourse, praxis, and common sense in Israel that would fundamentally challenge and speak truth to power in various manifestations (Stammer 1999). This aligns with the argument presented by Zochrot, which insisted that acknowledgement and accountability for past wrongs by a clear perpetrator on a clear victim are not only a moment of conciliation but must precede any conceivable peace-making (Biletzki 2014). Such an approach carries political implications and serves to overcome the limitations and selectiveness in Israel’s democratic infrastructure. As such, it will facilitate the recognition of the right of return and cultural repercussions on identity and community, creating epistemological, ontological, and ethical solidarity with the Nakba victims and possibly resulting in a form of transitional justice and eventually reconciliation and an end to the conflict. References BBC (2016). UN’s Ban: Netanyahu ethnic cleansing remarks ‘outrageous’. BBC, September 15 2016. Available from: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-37376069 BBC (2018). Why Nakba is the Palestinians’ most sombre day, in 100 and 300 words. Available from: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-44114385 Bar-Tal, D. (2001). Why does fear override hope in societies engulfed by intractable conflict, as it does in the Israeli society? Political Psychology, 22(3), 601–627. Bar-Tal, D. (2013). Intractable Conflicts: Socio-Psychological Foundations and Dynamics. New York: Cambridge University Press. Bar-Tal, D., Chernyak-Hai, L., Schori, N., & Gundar, A. (2009). A sense of self-perceived collective victimhood in intractable conflicts. International Review of the Red Cross, 91(874), 229–258. Bar-Tal, D. (2014). Collective memory as social representations. Papers on Social Representations, 23, 5.1–5.26. Ben-Amos, A. (2019). The Nakba in Israeli history textbooks: Between memory and history. Quest. Issues in Contemporary Jewish History, (15), 92–115. Biletzki, A. (2014). Remembrance and acknowledgement as necessary conditions of (re) conciliation. Quinnipiac Law Review, 32(3), 601–620. Cohen, S. J. (2012). When unconscious wishes become laws: policing memory and identity in Israel and Palestine. International Journal of Applied Psychoanalytic Studies, 10(2), 152–173. Cohen, S. (2013). States of Denial: Knowing about Atrocities and Suffering. London: Wiley. Doniz, A. (2014). PA incitement behind soaring anti-Semitism, Netanyahu says. The Times of Israel, May 18, 2014. Available from: https://www.timesofisrael.com/pa-incitementbehind-soaring-anti-semitism-netanyahu-says/

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Index

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; italic page numbers refer to figures and page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. Abdallah, Issam 65 Abdullah, R. 130 Absentees’ Property Law (1950) 154 Abu Aqla, Shireen 3–4 accountability 23, 45, 60, 63, 66, 156 action participants: characteristics of 37– 39, 38; type of 34 active forgetting 155; removal of physical evidence, policies, and legal impediments 151–154 activism: art 113; political 4, 9–11, 14, 15, 24, 45, 71, 73, 78; social 10, 47, 78; state of free speech and 2; visual artworks 112–113 aggressive humour 81 Akbaba 83 Akeel, M. 120 Akinan, Serdar 78n2 Akter, T. 119 Al-Amal 119 Albilad 121 Al-Bilad 118–119 Al-Dhiyaa 119 Algeria: freedom of expression 20; shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 4–5 Al-Jadeed TV station 57, 58 Aljazeera 121 Alkameis, S. 120 Allam, R. 130 Al-Manar TV 57 Alriyadh 121 Alshboul, Ayman: “‘Jordan First’: Tribalism, Nationalism and Legitimacy of Power in Jordan” 46 Al-sisi, Abd Al-fattah 32

Alternative Informatics Association 74 Alternative Press Syndicate 64, 67 Amnesty International 19, 22, 24–26, 44 Anadolu Agency (AA) 93 Anti-Cyber and Information Technology Crimes Law 24, 130 Anti-Terrorism Law 32 Aoun, Michel 55 Arab Barometer 2, 5, 8 Arab Center for Research and Policy Study in Washington 19 Arab-Israeli war 47, 52n2 Arab media 2, 19; fragmentation of 1–2 Arab Opinion Index 5, 6, 8 Arab region: literature on media, political participation and democratisation in 8; political participation 7 Arab Spring 30, 71, 100, 114, 115; Jordan 43–46 Arab uprisings 1, 2, 6, 8, 66 Arab world: illiteracy rates in 19; political and media landscapes in 1; political unrest in 73 Al-Arian, A. 32 art/artworks 101; activism 113; visual artworks 112–113; see also visual artworks Audio-Visual Law (1994) 63 Badr, H. 131 Bahrain 19 Al Bakhit, Marouf 43 Bakhtin, M. 83–84, 86 Bar-Tal, D. 148, 150 Basma bint Talal (Princess) 48 Bastos, Marco 78n3

162 Index Bauman, Z. 85 Bayat, Asef: Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East 49 BBC 120 Beirut Port Explosion 61 Beirut Today 58 Bennett, W. L. 34, 35, 37 The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem (Morris) 148 Boler, M. 39 Bora, T. 89 Broadcasting Act 132 Brownlee, J. 31 Budabbus, Alla 101 bumpy trajectory 23 #BYvsEİ hashtag 87, 94 “Can the Subaltern Speak” (Spivak) 49 capacity building approaches 133 Carpentier, N. 70, 77 Carroll, W. 134 Chaaban, Jad 60 Chaplin, Charlie: The Great Dictator 82 Chechens 48–49 Chihu, A. A. 105 children, visual artworks 108 Choucair, Mohamed 54 Christians 48–49 Circassians 48–49 circuit of culture, elements of 104 citizen journalists 22, 70; Gezi Park protests 76–77 civic engagement 7, 85, 103, 106 civic participation 10; democracy and 131; restoration of 51 civil war 3, 9, 21, 23, 43, 63, 102, 107, 108 CNN International 77 Code, J. 106 Cohen, S. J. 148, 151 collective actions 31, 34, 35 collective memory 154–156; of victimisation 148–151 comedy 81 “Comparing Media Systems” (Hallin and Mancini) 61 conceptual maps 102 connective actions 31, 34 consensual reality 155 COVID-19 pandemic 25; Jordan 47–51; Lebanon 56–57; lockdown measures 45; outbreak of 1 critical discourse analysis method 87 critical media research 104 critical thinking 83, 133, 144

cross-border media co-operation reform approaches 133 cultural codes 104, 105 cultural identity 101, 103, 105 Curran, J. 144 Cyber Jihadist Unit 20 Dadas, C. 74, 75 Dajani, N. 60, 61 Decree Law 115 25 defamation law 64 Deir-Yassin massacre (1948) 152 democracy theories, concept of participation in 84 democratisation 134, 140–143; implications on 1–5; interplay, challenges and opportunities 7–8; literature on 8 Dennis, J. 85 Deth, J. W. van 7 development approach 133–134, 139–140 digital communication process 105 digital humour 86–87 Digitally Mediated Art in the War Zone: The Aesthetics of Resilience in Yemen (Oruc) 103 digital media platforms 78 discursive spaces, in social media 95 dissent: discourses constructed by supporters of 91–92; discourses reproducing/reversing discourse of 92–93 do-it-yourself policy 85, 86 Douai, Aziz: Media, Identity, and Online Communities in a Changing Arab World 103 Eagleton, T. 83 economic reform 43 Eco, U. 83 “egoism of victimhood” 150 Egypt 30–31, 39–40; changing dynamics of media scene 130–131; characteristics of actions participants 37–39, 38; characteristics of political actions 34–37, 37; freedom of expression in 21, 23–24; media reform in transitional countries 131–134 (see also media reform); methodology 33, 33–34; post-revolution political actions 31–32; shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 2–3; youth participation in political actions 34, 35

Index  163 Egyptian journalism: journalists perceptions on future 135–136; method 135; research questions 134–135 Egyptian media landscape 130; development in 131 Egyptian Syndicate of Journalists 131 El-Desouky, A. 105, 106 encoding/decoding model 104–105 Erased from Space and Consciousness (Kadman) 152 Erdoğan (President) 80, 89 ethnic cleansing 150, 153 E-Transactions Law (2018) 63 European Convention on Human Rights 18 European Court of Human Rights 18 European Endowment for Democracy 133 Facebook 70–72, 75, 78, 103 families, SWJ 123–124 Fatafta, M. 25 Fatima O.M. de 72 Fauda 150 female journalists: gender pay gap 126; in Korea 119; ‘otherness’ of 120; roles and practices in Saudi news organisations 120–121 female-only work environment 121–122, 127 female participants, Gezi Park protests 73, 75, 76, 78n4 Fenton, N. 72 Fethullah Terrorist Organization (FETÖ) 89, 91 Fine, G. 81 Folman, Ari: Waltz with Bashir 150 Foucault, Michel 104 Fourth Circle protests (2018) 44–45 Foxtrot (Maoz) 150 Freedom House 19, 20, 23, 25; freedom report 26; Global Freedom Score 22; world-freedom reports 23 freedom of expression/free media 1–5, 8, 18, 19, 26–27; across region 19–21; in Egypt 21, 23–24; in Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories 25–26; in Libya 23; in Syria 21–22; in Tunisia 24–25; visual artworks 110; in Yemen 22 freedom of speech 4, 6, 21, 24, 55, 63, 65, 73, 103 Funk, A. 39 Future TV 57

Gallagher, M. 119 Gay, P. du 102 gendarmerie (GDG) 45 gender bias 119; in newsrooms 120 gender pay gap 126–127 Gerbaudo, P. 71, 72, 78 Gezi Park protests, Turkey 70–71, 77–78; citizen journalists and PR professionals 76–77; data collection 72; overview of protestors 73–74; participation, social movements and social media use 71–72; Twitter 74–76 Golan, D. 148, 155 Görgülü, V. 73 Gramsci, A. 83, 86 The Great Dictator (Chaplin) 82 Guernica (Picasso) 112 Gülen, Fethullah 89 Gulf Centre for Human Rights 3 Haaretz 149, 152, 153 Habermas, J. 86 Hackett, R. 134 Hadi (President) 22 Hadia, Abdullah 101 Haggadah 149 Hallin, D. C. 11, 60, 62, 66, 118; “Comparing Media Systems” 61; Polarized Pluralist Model 55, 60, 62, 66, 67 Hall, S. 12, 101, 102, 104, 105 Hay’at Tahrir al Sham 22 Hirak protests 20 Hobbes, T. 81 Høigilt, J. 67 Hollifield, A. 130 honor killings, in Jordan 47–50 Horev, Yehiel 153 Houthis 22 Human Rights Watch (HRW) 19, 25, 26, 47 humorous participation: debates on online political participation 84–86; discourses constructed by supporters of power/dissent 91–92; discourses reproducing/reversing discourse of dissent 92–93; discourses reproducing/reversing discourse of power 88–91; method and research design 87–88; neutral humorous discourses 93–94; online 86–87; and politics 81–82; of power 82–83; power of humour 83–84 humorous political discourses 12, 87

164 Index identity: individual’s relationship to cultural material 102; social media and 106–107 İmamoğlu, Ekrem 80, 88–93 immigration, visual artworks 108 “implicatory denial” 148 Independent Communications Authority of South Africa 132 independent online newspapers 58–59 Indignados movement in Southern Europe 71 individualization 31, 85 institutional politics 84 instrumentalisation 14, 56, 60, 61 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 62 International Criminal Court (ICC) 4 International Declaration on Information and Democracy 24 International Federation of Journalists 21 International Monetary fund (IMF) 44 international wire services 19 Iraq: National Association of Journalists 3; weak leadership and division in 8 Iskander, Adel: Media, Identity, and Online Communities in a Changing Arab World 103 Islamic State 8, 22 Israel: collective memory of victimisation 149; educational system 153; freedom of expression 25–26; New History Movement 147; self-image as historical victim 148; shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 3–4 Israeli Military Censor 25 El Issawi, F. 131 İstanbul Mayorship Election process 87, 94 Jabareen, Y. T. 154 Jamal, A. 151 Jewish-Israeli: public discourse 147; public sphere 148; victimhood 150 Johannessen, Marius Rohde 113 Jordan: Arab Spring 43–46; COVID-19 pandemic and women’s rights 47–51; honor killings in 47–50; martial law in 47, 51, 52n2; shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 4; social media and 2018 Fourth Circle protests 44–45; tribalism and politics 45–46, 51

“‘Jordan First’: Tribalism, Nationalism and Legitimacy of Power in Jordan” (Al Oudat and Alshboul) 46 Jordanian National Commission for Women 48 journalists: citizen 22, 70, 76–77; female (see female journalists); male (see male journalists); nonmember 64; perceptions on Egyptian journalism 135–136; on public service news media outlets 137 Justice and Development Party (JDP) 80 Kadman, Noga: Erased from Space and Consciousness 152 Karataş, Duygu 78n3 Keret, Etgar 150 Khalidi, W. 152 Khashoggi, Jamal 4 Al-Khatibe, Latifa 118 Khayat, Tahseen 58 Kim, K.-H. 119 Konda 73 Korea, female journalists in 119 Kurdish Democratic Union Party (PYD) 21–22 Kurds 48 La Rue, Frank 153 laughter 81–83 Law of Return 154 Lawyers for Justice in Libya (LFJL) 23 LBCI TV station 57 Lebanese Constitution, Article 13 of 62 Lebanese Press Syndicate (LPS) 63, 64 Lebanese video journalist 60, 65 Lebanon: 2019 economic collapse in 8; media outlets in 20; October 17 Uprising (see October 17 Uprising); shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 3 legal and regulatory reforms 132, 136–137 liar discourse 88–89 Libya: artworks (see visual artworks); freedom of expression 23; limited forms of expression platforms 100 Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East (Bayat) 49 Livnat, Limor 153 logic of connective action (LCA) 31 Lynch, M. 113 Mabrouki, Anis 25 Majed, Rima 60–61

Index  165 male journalists, gender pay gap 126 male participants, Gezi Park protests 73, 75–77 Mancini, P. 11, 60, 62, 66, 118; “Comparing Media Systems” 61; Polarized Pluralist Model 55, 60, 62, 66, 67 Mansour, Adly 32 Maoz, Samuel: Foxtrot 150 marginalized groups 143 market liberalisation approach 133, 138–139 martial law, in Jordan 47, 51, 52n2 Mascha, E. 83 Mason, Paul 71 media: interplay, challenges and opportunities 7–8; literacy 133, 144; literature on 8; ownership structure, in Lebanon 57; policy, in Saudi Arabia 118; shifting dynamics 1–5; structure of market, Lebanon 55–59; trust in 5–7; visual artworks 110 see specific entries Media and Information Literacy (MIL) initiative 133 media consumption 5–7 Media, Identity, and Online Communities in a Changing Arab World (Mohamed, Douai and Iskander) 103 media reform: democratisation approaches 134, 140–142; development approaches 133–134, 139–140; legal and regulatory reforms 132, 136–137; privatisation and market liberalisation approaches 133, 138– 139; public service media reform 132–133, 137–138; in transitional countries 131–134 Media Regulation Law 24 memory suppression 148, 151; modes of 155 Mercea, D. 39, 78n3 Mhanna, Ayman 64 Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region 2, 18, 30, 103, 115; cultural and artistic scenes in 105; freedom of expression across 19–26; literature on social media in 107; protests by Arabs across 19 Mikati, Najib 57 Mohamed, E. 105, 106; Media, Identity, and Online Communities in a Changing Arab World 103 Morozov, E. 85

Morris, B. 152; The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem 148 Morsi, Mohammed 32 Moujabel, Arwa 101 MTV station 57–58 Mubarak, Hosni 31, 39 Al Mulki, Hani 44, 46 Muslim Brotherhood (MB) 32 Nakba 147, 150, 152–156 Nakba Day event 154 Nakba Law 153, 154 Nationalist Movement Party (NMP) 80 National Library of Israel 150 National Syndicate of Tunisian Journalists 5 Nation-State Law 154 Naveh, E. 151 NBN TV station 57 Negative Experience Index 55 Netanyahu, B. 149 NetBlocks 24 Nets-Zehngut, R. 153 neutral humorous discourses 93–94 newsrooms: gender bias in 120; gender pay gap existing in 126 non-governmental organization (NGO) 74, 77, 78, 147, 156 nonmember journalists 64 North Africa: shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 4–5 Occupied Palestinian Territories: freedom of expression 25–26; shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 3–4 Occupy movement 71, 72, 74 October 17 Uprising, Lebanon 54–55, 66–67; crackdown 64–66; legal framework 62–63; political and business elites 54; political parallelism 59–61; political power-sharing system 54; professionalisation 61–62; role of the state 62–66; structure of media market 57–59; syndicates 63–64; theoretical framework 55–56; TV stations in 57–58, 60, 61 Okaz 119, 121 Olivos, Hugo Enrique 103 Olson, M. 30 Al-Omari, Maha 101 “one voice journalism” 137 online humorous participation 86–87

166 Index online political participation, debates on 84–86 Orr, Z. 148, 155 Oruc, Nurgul: Digitally Mediated Art in the War Zone: The Aesthetics of Resilience in Yemen 103 Orwell, G. 83 Al Oudat, Mohammed Ali: “‘Jordan First’: Tribalism, Nationalism and Legitimacy of Power in Jordan” 46 Palestine: active forgetting 151–155; collective memory 148–151, 154– 156; human rights 147, 148, 155, 156; Nakba 147 Palestinian Information Ministry 26 Palestinian Jordanians 46 Palestinian journalists 3; IDF violation of the rights 26 Papacharissi, Z. 72 Papaioannou, Tao 103 Pappé, I. 152 passive forgetting 155; collective memory of victimisation 148–151 Penney, J. 74, 75 personalization 31, 85 personalized media 106 Picasso: Guernica 112 Polarized Pluralist Model (Hallin and Mancini) 55, 60, 62, 66, 67 political actions: characteristics of 34–37, 37; participation in 34; relationships between participants and 38, 38; youth participation in 34, 35 political activism 4, 9–11, 14, 15, 24, 45, 71, 73, 78 political carnivalism 86, 94 political discourses 12, 87, 95; disruptions of 81, 87; humorous 12, 87; nature of 85 political humour 84; dimension of online 86 political money 139 political parallelism, Lebanon 56, 59–61, 67 political participation 7, 85; literature on 8; mobilization channels and information sources in 36, 37; in Turkey 80 politics: humorous discourses of politicians 82–83; humour and 81–82; institutional 84; Jordan 45–46; scope of 84

post-Arab Spring: economic and political results of 8; political interest decreased in 6 post-revolutionary media, momentary unity of 6 post-revolution political actions, Egypt 31–32 power: discourses constructed by supporters of 91–92; discourses reproducing/reversing discourse of 88–91; of humour 83–84 Press Editors Syndicate 63 Press Law (1962) 62, 63 The Prevention of Infiltration Law 154 privatisation 133, 138–139 produsage-based democracy 84 professionalisation, Lebanon 56, 61–62 pro-Kurdish People’s Democratic Party (HDP) 74 pro-power users 88, 91–94 protestors: connectivity between social media and 44–45; Gezi Park protests, Turkey 73–74; social media use among 59; using WhatsApp groups 65 public opinion, trust in 5–7 public relations (PR) professionals, Gezi Park protests 76–77 public service media 132, 137–138, 144; public funding of 133; reform 132–133, 137–138 The Public Source 58 public sphere 138, 142 Rabin, Yitzhak 149 Ram, U. 148 Al Razzaz, Omar 46, 47 Rebel movement 32 refugee camps 44, 147 refugee population 44 “regime of beliefs” 155 Reporters Without Borders (RSF) 22, 26, 130; freedom of expression in Syria 22; press-freedom index 24 Ricoeur, P. 14, 148 Rifai, Samir 43 Robbins (2022) 8 role of the state, Lebanon: crackdown 64–66; legal framework 62–63; syndicates 63–64 Rugh, W. 130 Ryan, Curtis 43 Sa’ar, Gideon 153 Sa’di, A. 147

Index  167 Safa, M. 119 Saied, Kais 2 Saied, Qais 25 Saleh, Ali Abdullah 22 Samaro, D. 25 Al-Samei, Rashad 101, 109, 111 Samir Kassir Foundation 64 Satellite Broadcast Law (1996) 63 Saudi Arabia: killing of journalist in 4; media policy in 118; media system 118, 120; news organisations, roles and practices of female journalists 120–121; woman journalist (see Saudi woman journalist (SWJ)); women in journalism 118–120 Saudi Journalists Association (SJA) 119 Saudi woman journalist (SWJ) 118, 119, 121, 127–128; career longevity, mentorship, and training perceptions 127; external influences 122–126; familial support/rejection 123–124; internal influences 126–127; organisational factors 126–127; roles and practices of 122, 128; technological revolution 124–126; working environment 121–122 SCAF see Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) Segerberg, A. 31, 34, 35, 37 self-directed humour 82 Selvik, K. 67 Shank, M. 113 Shoah 149, 150, 152 SJA see Saudi Journalists Association (SJA) Slitine, M. 112 social activism 10, 47, 78 social media: connection between visual arts and identity 100; connectivity between protestors and 44–45; defined as 106; discursive spaces in 95; and identity 106–107; Jordan 44–45; political participation tool in 85; role in communication of transcultural identity 114; usage of 6–7, 107; use among protestors 59; visual artworks 112–113 social media platforms 70, 71, 114 social movement literature 31 social network sites (SNS) 30, 35–36 “social nonmovements” 49 societal hostility 139 soft news journalism 120 Soloway, C. 26

“spacio-cide” 152 Speier, H. 82 Spivak, Gayatri: “Can the Subaltern Speak” 49 State of Emergency Law 47 Sudanese Journalists Union 21 Sudan, trade unions and professional associations in 21 Sumpf, D. 7 Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) 31–32 surveillance, Syria 21–22 Svirsky, M. 152 SWJ see Saudi woman journalist (SWJ) syndicates 63–64 Syria: crisis of 55; freedom of expression 21–22 Tantoush, Suhaib 101, 109, 112 technological revolution, SWJ 124–126 transcultural identity 101, 105–106; encoding on social media art 113–115; social media role in communication of 114 transnational protest communication campaigns 74 tribalism, Jordan 45–46, 51 ‘trinity of oppression’ 26 Trombetta, L. 63 troubled region 1, 3 trust, in media and public opinion 5–7 Tüfekçi, Z. 73, 78n2 Tunisia: freedom of expression 24–25; gross domestic product per capita in 8; shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 5 Tunisian League of Human Rights 25 Turkey 94–95; debates on online political participation 84–86; discourses constructed by supporters of power/dissent 91–92; discourses reproducing/reversing discourse of dissent 92–93; discourses reproducing/reversing discourse of power 88–91; Gezi Park protests (see Gezi Park protests, Turkey); humour and politics 81–82; humour of power 82–83; method and research design 87–88; neutral humorous discourses 93–94; online humorous participation 86–87; political participation in 80; power of humour 83–84; shifting media dynamics and implications on democracy 4

168 Index “Türkiye’s survival” discourse 89–90 TV stations, in Lebanon 57–58, 60, 61 Twitter 50–51, 71, 87; humorous participation on 94; motivations, practices and self-perceptions communicative impact of 74–76; as news sharing system 72; political debate on 94; usage during Gezi Park protests 70 UK’s Sky Sports channel 120 UN Climate Change Conference (COPT27) 2 unequal exchange 104 UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) 44 UN Human Rights Committee 64 UN International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) 18 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) 18, 62 user-generated content (UGC) 70; production and distribution of 71 US-funded Al-Hurra broadcast network 20 Varnalı, K. 73 Veenstra, A. S. 74 victimisation, collective memory of 148–151 visual artworks 101; analysis of 107–108; art, activism, and social media 112–113; children 108; encoding/ decoding model 104–105; freedom of expression 110; immigration 108; life conditions during war 109, 109–110; media 110; narrative and representation 102–104; perception of future 110; similarities in Libyan

and Yemeni artworks 111, 111–112, 112; social media and identity 106– 107; social media art, transcultural identity encoding on 113–115; transcultural identity 105–106; women 108 Waltz with Bashir (Folman) 150 westernised approach 141 WhatsApp tax 54 whispered jokes 86 Wisconsin labour protests (2011) 74 women: in Saudi journalism 118–120; visual artworks 108 women’s rights, Jordan 47–51 working environment, SWJ 121–122 A World of Change (Ya’aqoby) 153 World Press Freedom Index 19–23, 26, 130 Wright, S. 35 Ya’aqoby, Dany: A World of Change 153 Yad Vashem 152 Yemen: artworks (see visual artworks); freedom of expression 22; limited forms of expression platforms 100 #Yildirimcarpti hashtag 88, 94 Yıldırım, Binali 80, 88–93 youth: participation in political actions 34, 35; preferences of collective/ connective actions 38; rise and decline of 30 YouTube 70, 71 Zbeeb, Mohamed 66 Zinn, H. 113 Zionist historical narrative 151–152 Zochrot 147, 155–156