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Arab satellite television
The world through their eyes
Feb 24th 2005 | CAIRO, LAAYOUNE, QATAR AND RIYADH
From The Economist print edition
With 150 channels to choose from, Arabs are arguing, comparing and
questioning as never before. Will this burst of freer speech bring
democracy any closer?
THE dusty little town of Laayoune lies at the extreme western end of the
Sahara desert, or about as far as you can get from Arabia and still be
in an Arabic-speaking land. Before this century its only links to the
Arab east were shortwave radio, old newspapers, the occasional Egyptian
movie, and the talk of pilgrims returning from the haj. But now the
clamour of places such as Beirut and Baghdad has come to Laayoune's
doorstep: indeed, right into its living rooms, 24 hours a day.
Across the Arab world, the impact of the satellite dish has been
profound. It has not merely broken the isolation of Laayoune and
countless other towns and villages (roads and telephones can do
that). It has not simply exposed their people to extremes of behaviour,
from stark pornography to fervid fundamentalism (the internet can do
that). Satellite television has created a sense of belonging to, and
participation in, a kind of virtual Arab metropolis. It has begun to
make real a dream that 50 years of politicians' speeches and gestures
have failed to achieve: Arab unity.
That dream remains, in fact, a distant prospect. Despite lofty talk,
the ties that bind Arabs remain largely ones of sentiment and memory,
as well as the broadly shared Muslim faith and Arabic language. Yet all
these common things are strengthened by satellite television.
Arabic is a diverse, richly layered language. Natives of Laayoune still
speak their local dialect. But now that they hear a range of usages
every day.from the classical speech of literature to its many regional
derivatives.these no longer strike them as over-formal or exotic. The
written language taught in schools, known as modern standard Arabic,
used to be forgotten in daily affairs. Now it has come alive as a real
spoken tongue, accessible not just to the educated few, but to everyone.
For religious instruction Arabs are as likely, now, to tune directly
to Mecca as to seek opinions from the neighbourhood mosque. They may
follow one of two private Saudi-owned channels that propagate the
kingdom's arid take on the faith. Viewers bored by bearded sheikhs may
turn instead to TV preachers such as Egypt's Amr Khaled, whose similarly
conservative message comes packaged in a snappy blazer and jeans.
On his favourite channel
Such satellite fare has speeded the homogenisation of Muslim religious
practice. In January, for example, Saudi religious authorities abruptly
announced, a day earlier than expected, the start of the Muslim lunar
month of Dhu'l Hijja. During four days of this month pilgrims perform
the haj rituals at Mecca, while fellow Muslims celebrate the Eid
holiday. In the past, other governments could have ignored the Saudi
call, citing reliance on their own astronomers. But the haj is now
broadcast live. Despite the global chaos as millions scrambled to change
their Eid plans, every Muslim country except Indonesia felt obliged to
follow the Saudi line, for the simple reason that their people could see
their co-religionists gathered at Mecca's Mount of Mercy.
Local issues still inflame passions in places like Laayoune. But so do
the travails of Iraqis and Palestinians, 3,000 miles away. Saturation
coverage has made provincial Arabs as keenly aware of the issues and
personalities involved as the café pundits of Cairo and Damascus. And
when the politically minded of the Arab periphery think of making noise
about their own concerns, their preferred forum is now not the local
press. It is chat shows and news bulletins beamed from distant Qatar
and Dubai.home, respectively, to the Arab world's two most popular news
channels, al-Jazeera and al-Arabiya.
Al-Jazeera, by far the best known among some 150 Arab satellite
channels, boasts 40m-50m regular followers. The entertainment channel
MBC has even more. When their smaller rival, Beirut-based Future TV, ran
a song contest last summer, 15m viewers voted on the outcome: more Arabs
than have ever cast ballots in a free election.
Critical voices
The winner of the song contest, a Libyan student of dentistry, was
instantly, if briefly, the most famous Libyan in the world after the
country's leader, Colonel Muammar Qaddafi. This underscores another
reason for the potency of Arab satellite TV. Until a decade ago, rulers
such as Mr Qaddafi were assured of captive audiences. The only critical
voices were likely to come from Bush House in London, via the BBC's
Arabic Service, or from the French government's racier Radio Monte
Carlo, or from the propaganda broadcasts of neighbouring, hostile
regimes.
Nearly all Arab states maintain terrestrial broadcasting monopolies
(Iraq and Lebanon being the e
