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By
Hanna
Ziadeh
Anyone
who visits Lebanon will be struck by the excessive Lebanese
use of space: Urbanisation literally is filling the space perpendicularly,
up into the skies and the mountain ranges, and horizontally,
as sprawling resorts or “developments” eat up huge
chunks of the coast in Beirut and Doura, where two dumps are
being transformed into high-value, high-rise real estates. While
rampant and uncontrolled urbanisation is the lot of most Arab
countries, the observant visitor to Lebanon soon will discover
that no other country can compete with it as a land of political
and communal symbols. Political symbols take up whatever is
left of unused space—the top of a hill for yet another
stone cross, a side street for the picture of yet another martyr.
While many Arab countries adorn themselves with government-imposed
portraits of presidents, national leaders and martyrs on their
avenues and boulevards, the Lebanese splatter their political
and communal symbols all over the place, with no need for a
central propaganda machine to entice them to do it. This makes
Lebanon the country most saturated in political and communal
symbols.
In such
a context, it is no wonder that the virtual space, or the ether,
is both communally and politically monopolized. Apart from the
music FM radio-stations, all Lebanese TV- and radio-stations
are the advocates of a certain communal or political agenda,
universally recognisable by listeners and viewers.
The Lebanese Media Landscape: Political Plurality or
Monopolised Communal Representation?
At first
glance, Lebanon's media landscape seems diverse, vibrant and
less controllable and censored than in other Arab countries.
The Lebanese never tire of emphasizing the historic role Lebanese
journalism has played in the making of the Arab press since
the second part of 19th century. A long tradition of liberal
journalism made Beirut the hub of the Middle Eastern press (and
of rumours, plots and spin). It was a place where what could
not be said from Baghdad to Rabat could be splashed as a headline
and where journalists, like the late Samir Kassir, were prepared
to pay the ultimate price for standing up for "the truth."
It was also a place where for the right price a piece of "news"
could be planted and subsequently denied just as easily. In
no other Arab country do truth and lies live face to face as
in greater Beirut, where one media source’s absolute truth
is declared a lie a few blocks away.
The Lebanese
Civil War (1975-1990) interrupted the most promising Arab experiment
in the freedom of the press. Slowly yet surely, newspapers,
radio and later television channels, the reporting of which
ostensibly was driven by references to universal cross-communal
ideologies—the right-leaning, liberal daily Annahar
versus the leftist, pro-socialist Assafir for example—transformed
their allegiances to thinly disguised communal causes. The leftists
turned discreetly to championing the cause of the Muslim community,
while the rightists turned into outright defenders of the Christian
cause. This development should be condemned not because championing
a communal cause as such is less moral than championing a universalist
ideology like liberalism or socialism; rather this war-time
advocacy journalism reduced the scope of the public to which
the concerned media tried to appeal. It also de-motivated any
effort toward critical assessment of the sectarian sub-societies,
to which all Lebanese media, willingly or unwillingly, were
reduced to serve.
The post-war
effort to reorganise the media landscape resulted in the 1994
media law. In spite of its intention to clear up the sectarian
inheritance of the war, when many media outfits acted as voices
of communal militias, the law legalized a new media scene that
gave each major community at least one radio or one TV station.
As in most Arab countries, TV stations are the most effective
media actors in the political sphere in Lebanon. This article
will focus on this media form, the so-called al-fada'iyat,
or “satellites,” which not only cover the national
territory but also transcend it, reaching into the Arab world.
The Lebanese Satellite Landscape
LBC and its satellite channel LBC I-Al Hayat are run
by Sheikh Pierre Daher and owned by a group of Lebanese-Saudi
investors. LBC is the major media outlet for the Maronite/Christian
community. Until its closure by the pro-Syrian government in
September 2002 following its controversial coverage of the parliament
elections, it played this role with Murr-TV, which is owned
by the Greek Orthodox opposition figure, Gabrial al-Murr, .
Murr-TV reopened only after the uprising of 14 March 2005. Al
Mustaqbal TV, the outlet of the Sunni community, is part of
the media empire owned by the late Sunni Prime Minister Rafiq
al-Hariri. In spite of NEW-TV, owned by a maverick Libyan-backed
Sunni businessman who never missed a chance to insult Rafik
al-Hariri, Al Mustaqbal TV managed to virtually monopolise the
Sunni representation. NEW TV is not a competitor with the same
communal affiliation, appeal or identification. The Shi'a community
has two major TV stations: the NBN, nicknamed after its supposed
patron the Shi'i Speaker of the Parliament as Nabih Berri Network,
and Al Manar TV, which speaks for Hezbollah, the other partner
of "the Shi'i duo," which lays claim to overall representation
of Lebanon's largest community.
This typical
Lebanese solution of a station for every sect—for some
an illegitimate sectarian division of spoils and for others
a legitimate communal representation—did not result in
a static, sub-nationally divided media scene, where each communal
media outlet appealed to and monopolised a communally defined
public. The Lebanese stations do not reproduce the same monotonous
official coverage which national television usually delivers.
By examining the way the Lebanese public relates to media coverage
and the way viewers use television, we can understand the complex
dynamics that force the Lebanese media to strive for a cross-communal
appeal while trying to establish communal representation. In
the tension between these two exigencies, the poles of communal
representation and cross-communal appeal, the Lebanese media
develops a diversity of opinions, critical coverage and the
dynamic of competition. The competitive dynamic and "encroachments"
on one another's communal turf creates the need to influence
other media actors and their viewers and in turn to be influenced
by these competitors' coverage and the wishes of their core
viewers. It is this competitive dynamic, I believe, that explains
the central role that Lebanese media played in the popular mobilisation
behind the 14 March mass demonstration, the largest politically
motivated movement of people seen in the Arab world in recent
years.
A View from the Terrace: Eclectic Media Affinities
In spite
of the different social, cultural and religious characteristics
which distinguish the 18 officially recognised communities in
Lebanon, the passion for watching television, or rather, the
addiction to having a TV set on all the time, is shared by all.
In addition to this widespread TV “abuse,” Lebanese
of all communities share an addiction to the news. Because of
Lebanon's over-eventful recent history, the Lebanese are pulled
to the screen whenever an important event occurs. Seventeen
years of civil strife, an ongoing, low-intensity war with Israel,
and the ups and downs of the Syrian-Lebanese relationship are
the most salient themes making appearances on the screen of
the common Lebanese consciousness.
I recall
vividly the voice of my mother calling from the kitchen during
the long war years: "It is a quarter past, put the radio
on Voice of Lebanon,” only to see her come out of the
kitchen half an hour later to grab hold of the radio and say
to herself, "Let's try to get Radio Monte Carlo, and see
what they are saying about this bombing." Even before remote-control
“zapping” was prevalent, Lebanese mastered the art
of surfing the radio waves when the only television station
was the official Lebanon Television. In those years, we would
re-tune every 15 minutes because the radio stations avoided
slotting their news bulletins at the same time and we wanted
to hear all aspects of the news. In the end, we very often settled
for the story we preferred to believe in. Today, habitual viewers
of LBC have no doubt that the Syrians murdered Bashir Gemayel,
as the viewers of Al Mustaqbal are equally certain that the
Syrians also killed Rafiq Hariri. Similarly, the viewers of
NEW-TV are convinced that Israel is behind the Hariri assassination.
Some of the core viewers of these three TV channels watch the
channels of “the others” to know their take on these
events. This need to know the view of the other side is a product
of the war years, during which no one could afford to rely blindly
on one source of information. The knowledge of what street was
hit by snipers or what road between the divided city was safer
was a matter of life and death. The “need to know”
also was shared by the media, who would refer to what other
radio stations had reported. This pattern of news hunting, born
of the result of the survival instinct of targeted civilians,
made the Lebanese a cynical people. We were well-aware that
news lies, and this awareness continues in the age of post-war
Lebanon’s multiple television stations.
For the
last 10 years, I have regularly spent my summer holidays in
my mother's village Ghalboun, in the mountain ranges above Jbeil/Byblos
in the heartland of the Christian Mount Lebanon. Sitting on
our terrace overlooking the village, I can see how the shifty
blueish light of TV sets fills the evening sky. From nearby
terraces and open windows their sound wafts out. In the beginning,
I expected the neighbours to tune only to the popular LBC, which
I grew used to watching on the TV sets in Jbeil's public places.
But my prejudice mislead me: the invasive noise made it clear
that my neighbours tune into more than one TV station during
the evening, watching different news bulletins, debates and
other popular programs. I recognised Marcel Ghanem's popular
political talk-show The Talk of People on LBC, or Ali
Hamadeh's Al Istihqaq on Al Mustaqbal. My surprise
was even greater when I distinguished Al Manar's distinct jingle,
later learning that this was the best source of news for that
day as the heated confrontation in the South had sent
Israeli aeroplanes into Lebanon's northern skies. Al Manar is
the source for the latest news, especially during the
day, (where they have a more CNN-style of news coverage). I
suddenly regretted my effort to lower the volume whenever I
tuned into Al Manar, fearing that my staunchly Maronite neighbours
may mistake my professional interest in the Lebanese Shi'a community,
for sympathy for their views. It is telling that this eclectic
use of media sources is found in one of the most communally
homogeneous and self-conscious districts in Lebanon, where the
Maronite nationalist leader General Michel Aoun swept all seats
in the last parliamentary election.
Throughout
my frequent visits during the last 10 years to Haret Hraik,
the area where I lived during the last years of the war, the
thing that is most clear in my memory are the very few occasions
when I sat in my friends’ drawing rooms and watched the
TV set tuned to Al Manar! No doubt Al Manar is popular, watched,
and trusted by large number of Shi'is, yet it cannot claim to
be the main source of news and entertainment in most Lebanese
Shi'i households. The popularity of Al Manar that I witnessed
among Palestinian refugees in the Bourj al-Barajneh camp a Sunni
island in the sea of Shi'i neighbourhoods with a bloody history
of communal turf wars between the Shi'a militia of Amal and
the Palestinian fractions is another instance of communal fence-crossing.
However, for any viewer of Al Manar the reason is clear: The
pro-Iranian Shi'i TV boasts an extensive coverage of the Palestinian
conflict and a wide net of Palestinian correspondents in the
occupied territories. For the Palestinian refugees of Lebanon,
with more limited access to satellite television than any other
social group in Lebanon, the appealingly recalcitrant Al Manar
easily became the main source of information for this marginalised
group on events in their homeland.
The frequent
cross-sectarian use of communally monopolised TV channels has
interesting effects when the TV channels themselves begin to
exercise communal fence-crossing. Which TV-channel gained the
exclusive scoop of a two-hour interview with Hezbollah's Hassan
Nasrallah, where—from a secret place in August 2005—he
talked for the first time about his childhood, his political
beginnings, his breakaway from Amal, and his studies in Najaf
? Al Mustaqbal. How does one explain the appearance of Al Manar’s
iconic leader on the screens of Al Mustaqbal, the prime instigator
of the 14 March "revolution"? Why did this interview
air on Hariri’s own channel. The answer is obvious: The
Islamist leader Nasrallah needed to speak to Al Mustaqbal's
increasingly anti-Shi'a Sunni viewers while Hariri's Al Mustaqbal
needed to counter the accusation that it had betrayed the Arab
cause in appearing to side with the Americans. Almost a week
after Nasrallah's interview, LBC's Marcel Ghanem scored his
own scoop: a two-hour interview with Michel Aoun in his secured
headquarters in East Beirut. But what is worth noting here is
that while Nasrallah was shown from his most flattering angle
on his arch-rival TV, his counterpart Michel Aoun, the most
popular Christian leader, was given a live first-degree grilling
from his Christian interlocutor on the Christian TV to "a
full house" (the streets of East Beirut were almost empty
of all traffic, as it used to be in the days when the American
soap opera Dallas mesmerized the nation). The tough face with
which Aoun was met on LBC could partially be explained by Ghanem's
sympathies for Aoun's Christian rivals, the Lebanese Forces.
On the other hand, even the most partisan Lebanese viewers expect
and enjoy a good fight.
These are
not isolated phenomena, but examples of a conscious effort by
competing television stations to, on the one hand, transcend
the limitations of clear communal identifications and recruit
new viewers from other communities, while at the same time maintaining
their communal credentials within their own core-community,
including a critical, "disloyal" core of viewers.
The limited success of Pan-Arab satellite TV channels such as
Al Jazeera and Al Arabiya in recruiting core Lebanese viewers
and in influencing Lebanese political debate, especially during
the critical period following the murder of Hariri on 14 February
2005, is evidence of the success of this strategy. These Pan-Arab
networks are perceived as the main source of independent coverage
by most Arab viewers, whether the news is about Palestine, Iraq
or Lebanon. However, inside Lebanon, the most prominent role
of Pan-Arab media’s leading channel, Al Jazeera, was to
act as the post office for the video tape by the group Abu Adas,
claiming responsibility for Harriri’s assassination.
Change and National Television:
The Need for National Dynamism
During the
dramatic months between 14 February and the last day of elections
on 20 June 2005, the general view of the role of the Lebanese
media was that they indulged in rampant communal mobilization.
Many observers pointed out that in a time of crisis, the Lebanese—once
again—returned to the communal fold. Christian viewers
watched LBC, the Sunnis and Druze followed mostly the mobilizing
coverage of Al Mustaqbal, the Shi'a tuned to NBN and Al Manar.
But this clear identification between the public and the choice
of media was a requirement without which the mobilisation behind
an agenda of political change would be impossible. In spite
of the exaggerated importance attributed to Pan-Arab satellite
TV stations as agents of political change and the near-neurotic
fixation of the American administration on Al Jazeera, these
TV channels have yet to show a single case in which
they played a major role as the vehicle of change, a case where
the Pan-Arab media was the catalyst for a radical political
transformation—as the Lebanese media did in the un-making
and remaking of the Lebanese system in 2005.
If the Lebanese
media often are criticised for being sectarian and thus divisive
of the holy "national unity," they succeeded (in the
same way the equally sectarian political system succeeded) in
creating a democratic space, of establishing a greater relationship
of trust and identification with the fractured Lebanese public
than any Pan-Arab TV is able to establish with the national
sub-divisions of their Pan-Arab public. In Syria, where the
roof tops are crowded with TV antennas and satellite dishes,
most Syrians can now follow Al Jazeera's or Al Arabiya's coverage
of the Iraqi conflict. But the level of this Pan-Arab coverage
mostly will remain too “macro” for it to appeal
as a sole source of news to a Syrian viewer who still needs
near, micro and free coverage on Syrian and Lebanese issues.
In this case, however, Syrian censorship plays a role in preventing
Pan-Arab TV from delivering at this level however. Consequently.
The man on the street will not be heard, journalists are more
easily intimidated or enticed to cooperate, the level of detail
is too high and the issue too specific and distant to interest
95 percent of Pan-Arab viewers.
The Pan-Arab
satellites strive to fill this gap with a variety of programs
focused on social issues, politics, sports and entertainment
that appeal to viewers from certain Arab states, yet the gap
is never bridged. To reach and touch a Moroccan viewer usually
means loosing an Omani viewer. To reach both at the same time
requires “macro” issues, such as the Palestinian
or Iraqi conflicts, American interventions or Islamic terrorism.
Another aspect of the unbridgeable distance between the viewers
of the different Arab countries and the Pan-Arab satellites
is in the more aloof, detatched air projected by presenters
on Pan-Arab TV stations in contrast to the “idol”
or “activist” status accorded to national presenters
like Marcel Ghanem or May Chedyak in Lebanon, who could send
hundreds of students of all communities into the streets of
Beirut to protest the cowardly attempt on their lives. Contrast
the spontaneous, universal reaction of solidarity with May Chedyak's
ordeal (started by her own university students) with the lack
of real popular interest in the cause of Al Jazeera’s
Tayseer Allouni, in spite of that network’s considerable
mobilizing assets, which were used to back him against the recent
Spanish court decision that condemned him for cooperating with
Al Qaeda .
The role
of the Lebanese national television stations in contributing
to the popular protests which ensured one of the few relatively
peaceful “regime changes” in the Arab world is not
easily replicated, but it gives us grounds on which to reconsider
the way we discuss and think about how and which media are vehicles
of change. The Pan-Arab TV stations have played an important
role, especially in breaking state monopoly on mass media. They
are useful in pressing these states to begin a process of media
liberalisation. But if real social and political change and
reform are to be achieved, there is a need for a national media
dynamism. Such dynamism may be sustained and complemented by
the Pan-Arab mass media, but they cannot do the job alone. The
2005 Egyptian presidential election was a case in point. In
spite of extensive and critical Pan-Arab coverage, the overall
TV coverage on Egypt channels clearly was celebratory of and
biased towards a president who has been in power for over 24
years. The toothless, subservient and substanceless Egyptian
media bears a clear responsibility for the pitiful popular participation
in the election (only 26 percent of the electorate voted—only
7 million out of a total population of 75 million). In spite
of this, the election was trumpeted not only as "the first
ever democratic election with multiple candidates," but
in a typical twist of the Egyptian media's hyperbole, even the
low turnout was presented as a unique success—better than
the one held, as one commentator proudly boasted on national
TV, "in the mother of all democracies, America."
Hanna Ziadeh is a senior researcher at
The Danish-Egyptian Dialogue Institute in Cairo.
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