A rchive Date
[ 31-07-2005 ]
Category
[ International Relations ]
sub-Categoy
[ Mass Media ]
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[http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/8767994/site/newsweek/
Look Who's Talking
What's the best way to spread democracy in the Middle East? Maybe through homegrown reality and talk TV shows.
By Carla Power
Newsweek International
Aug. 8, 2005 issue - From its opening credits, you'd never guess "Kalam Nawaem" - roughly, "Sweet Talk" in Arabic - is radical TV. Wreathed in soft pinks and grays, four women chat and giggle on plump cream sofas. Yet the Arab talk show, modeled on the popular American program "The View," has helped shatter Arab stereotypes with its mix of debate over hot social topics - including homosexuality and women's rights - and celebrity interviews, news and viewers' letters. In a recent show, the anchors tackled the subject of sexual harassment. "I used to just walk away when people bothered me on the street," confessed Palestinian actress Farah Bseiso, one of the show's hosts. "Now I turn around and say, 'Excuse me, what did you say?' "
Stay tuned. In some of the most repressive regimes of the Arab world, liberation is arriving in the form of homegrown reality and talk TV. This spring's street protests in Lebanon - as well as the elections in Iraq, Iran and the Palestinian territories - may be one sign of growing people power in the region; the explosion of more than 200 Arab satellite channels is quite another. In countries where the media have traditionally been controlled by information ministries, fierce new competition among stations has empowered ordinary citizens with remote controls. And the spate of shows filling those channels is rapidly broadening the range of voices heard in the Arab world. "[Arab] women have had enough," says Ranya Barghout, a presenter on "Kalam Nawaem." "They want to talk. They want to be heard. Now they can."
Most important, Arab satellite TV is nurturing public dissent in a culture that has long prized consensus. The biggest draw for "Kalam Nawaem" is the fact that its hosts - the Palestinian Bseiso, the Lebanese Barghout, a London - based Egyptian and a veiled Saudi Arabian doctoral candidate - represent four varied viewpoints. Al - Jazeera's groundbreaking "The Opposite Direction," modeled on CNN's "Crossfire," shocked Arabs by pitting political dissidents against establishment officials, and Islamists against secular modernists. The new shows have "ingrained the legitimacy of disagreement" in Arab society, notes Marc Lynch, a political scientist at Williams College. "Even 10 years ago, there was a real notion that it was wrong to disagree, and if you did, you were being untrue to your Arab identity. Now, because of these shows, you can be a good Arab and disagree."
For Arab women, more than half of whom are illiterate, the satellite channels represent a crucial lifeline. Saudi women can switch on their sets and see their Jordanian and Lebanese sisters doing things forbidden by Saudi law, like wearing scanty clothing or driving a car. On Lebanon's "Future Television," Zaven Kouyoumjian, the self - styled male "Arab Oprah," coaxes his guests to break their silence about cross - dressing, homosexuality and other taboos. "In the Middle East, there's a tradition that it's better to talk in generalities about big concepts like liberty and democracy than to expose your own personal story," he says. Where more traditional shows might have pundits sounding off on the Lebanese civil war, Zaven featured a human - interest view of the conflict: a Christian who saved a Muslim during the fighting. He has also glorified the struggles of a breast - cancer sufferer and a man with testicular cancer. "For an Arab man to talk about having one of his testicles removed? It's, like, wow!" says Zaven.
The vogue for confessional TV drives programs like "Min Jadid" ("Starting Over"), which takes six women and sticks them in a deluxe flat outside Beirut. Supplied with psychologists, fashion experts and other advisers, they tackle their personal challenges, from overcoming intense shyness to starting a business. On the 22 microphones dangling from the ceiling, the word most commonly heard is yikhanfish - to confess. "The women who came forward have courage," says executive producer Badry Moujais, who in some cases asked husbands and parents to sign release forms before filming. The program is based on a U.S. show, "but it's hit an even better chord in the Arab world because the big theme now [here] is change," notes Michel Constandi of the Middle East Broadcasting Co.
Stay tuned. In some of the most repressive regimes of the Arab world, liberation is arriving in the form of homegrown reality and talk TV. This spring's street protests in Lebanon - as well as the elections in Iraq, Iran and the Palestinian territories - may be one sign of growing people power in the region; the explosion of more than 200 Arab satellite channels is quite another. In countries where the media have traditionally been controlled by information ministries, fierce new competition among stations has empowered ordinary citizens with remote controls. And the spate of shows filling those channels is rapidly broadening the range of voices heard in the Arab world. "[Arab] women have had enough," says Ranya Barghout, a presenter on "Kalam Nawaem." "They want to talk. They want to be heard. Now they can."
Most important, Arab satellite TV is nurturing public dissent in a culture that has long prized consensus. The biggest draw for "Kalam Nawaem" is the fact that its hosts - the Palestinian Bseiso, the Lebanese Barghout, a London - based Egyptian and a veiled Saudi Arabian doctoral candidate - represent four varied viewpoints. Al - Jazeera's groundbreaking "The Opposite Direction," modeled on CNN's "Crossfire," shocked Arabs by pitting political dissidents against establishment officials, and Islamists against secular modernists. The new shows have "ingrained the legitimacy of disagreement" in Arab society, notes Marc Lynch, a political scientist at Williams College. "Even 10 years ago, there was a real notion that it was wrong to disagree, and if you did, you were being untrue to your Arab identity. Now, because of these shows, you can be a good Arab and disagree."
For Arab women, more than half of whom are illiterate, the satellite channels represent a crucial lifeline. Saudi women can switch on their sets and see their Jordanian and Lebanese sisters doing things forbidden by Saudi law, like wearing scanty clothing or driving a car. On Lebanon's "Future Television," Zaven Kouyoumjian, the self - styled male "Arab Oprah," coaxes his guests to break their silence about cross - dressing, homosexuality and other taboos. "In the Middle East, there's a tradition that it's better to talk in generalities about big concepts like liberty and democracy than to expose your own personal story," he says. Where more traditional shows might have pundits sounding off on the Lebanese civil war, Zaven featured a human - interest view of the conflict: a Christian who saved a Muslim during the fighting. He has also glorified the struggles of a breast - cancer sufferer and a man with testicular cancer. "For an Arab man to talk about having one of his testicles removed? It's, like, wow!" says Zaven.
The vogue for confessional TV drives programs like "Min Jadid" ("Starting Over"), which takes six women and sticks them in a deluxe flat outside Beirut. Supplied with psychologists, fashion experts and other advisers, they tackle their personal challenges, from overcoming intense shyness to starting a business. On the 22 microphones dangling from the ceiling, the word most commonly heard is yikhanfish - to confess. "The women who came forward have courage," says executive producer Badry Moujais, who in some cases asked husbands and parents to sign release forms before filming. The program is based on a U.S. show, "but it's hit an even better chord in the Arab world because the big theme now [here] is change," notes Michel Constandi of the Middle East Broadcasting Co.
Satellite TV's most successful programs are those that allow audience participation, through call - ins, votes or surveys. Millions of Arabs who have never voted in a free election are casting ballots for the winners of "Superstar," the Arab version of "Pop Idol." " 'Superstar' provides the only common platform for popular participation in the Arab world," argued a recent essay in Transnational Broadcasting Studies, a Web journal covering Arab satellite media.
To be sure, Arab realities shape Arab reality shows. A Bahrain - based version of "Big Brother" foundered last year after conservative clerics took to the streets, objecting to male and female contestants' sharing a house. One popular Iraqi show, "Terrorism in the Hands of Justice," features real - life terror suspects being interrogated by police. Another Iraqi show, "Extreme Makeover," is a classic home - redecoration show - except that the featured houses have been destroyed by grenades or suicide bombers. "The shows copy the reality - TV methods of the West, in all the cheap and vulgar details," says Roel van Broekhoven, who's just made a film on Iraqi reality TV. "But it's heart - rending, because the [producers] do their best to give the audience hope."
Too much hope, say critics of the new Arab TV. They argue that such programs distract Arabs from real reform efforts. "People are allowed to express their anger and criticize regimes," says Khaled Hroub, director of the Cambridge Arab Media project. "But it creates the false perception that we're now practicing democracy. By clinging to TV screens, people think they're engaging in the process of political action. But this is imaginary - not actual - politics."
Moreover, there's a deep disconnect between the media's values and those of the population at large. "Media people in the Middle East are more advanced than the society itself," says Zaven. "Globalization means that on Arab TV you'll find the same decor, the same plastic surgery and the same formats as in the West. But it's artificial, and doesn't mirror the social evolution of society." The Lebanese talk - show host recently ran a campaign on domestic violence, advising women to leave abusive husbands. One woman did, taking refuge first in a church and then at her childhood home - only to be told by both priest and parents that good Arab wives don't desert their husbands. "I felt so bad, I took her into my house," recalls Zaven. Arab reality TV may be outpacing reality, but still, it bears watching.
With Reem Haddad in Beirut
© 2005 Newsweek, Inc.
© 2005 MSNBC.com
 World Fact Book (CIA)]
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