The new season of Bassem Youssef's programme, Al-Bernameg (The Show), has unleashed — much more than expected — hundreds of infuriated reactions. The proliferation of articles, talk show debates, official disapproving statements, and vibrant exchanges on Twitter and Facebook did not stop. The diversity of these voices reflected a common outrage, a wide consensus, that a red line was crossed. Once we dig deeper, we easily find that what was loosely defined as a red line included so many meanings: mocking the Egyptian people's will and its unconditional support for the transitional political authority; offending Egyptian morality through sexual allusions and obscene jokes; breaking the professional media norms of correctness; and disrespecting the Egyptian army as a key national institution. The diversity of objections suggested, however, a solid common ground. Sarcasm about the present political leadership or national unity cannot be tolerated, as had been the case since January 2011. Sarcasm has been for long decades a cherished research topic for social scientists. From Sayed Oweiss to James C Scott, anthropologists and sociologists have always approached jokes, songs, festivals, wedding ceremonies and street artistic expressions as weapons of the weak, tools and venues of resistance, and a coded way of expressing popular discontent, frustration or anger. “A hidden transcript” during authoritarian moments, James C Scott called these series of popular sarcastic rhetorics, when openly opposing discourses are not publicly allowed. Indeed, one of the most salient features of social media language, independent journalists and artists production since January 2011 was the celebration of public mockery as an ultimate sign of emancipation — a tangible proof of the re-appropriation of the public sphere and the emergence of a new pool of media professionals who claim closer ties to the popular idioms. However, the irony of the weak, poor and marginalised people is quite different from the sarcasm coming from the dominant actors; those who feel empowered by their institutions' support, by their ability to mainstream ideas, and their nearness to decision-making circles. Here, the irony, mockery or sarcasm reveals a “bullying” attitude much more than a resistant stand. This is why the sarcasm, over the last three years in the Egyptian mainstream media, about demonstrators, protesters, and strike movements and youth activism seemed more like intimidation, character assassination and media defamation. It illustrated a different tone of sarcasm that has surprisingly been tolerated and even appreciated by public opinion. A closer look to the second level of outrage, the one related to morality and decency, is more revealing. Since Friday, the mainstream reaction claims that, regardless the sceptical tone that Youssef adopted about the “masses” infatuation with the minister of defence (Abdel-Fattah Al-Sisi) as a new national hero, the show was simply “obscene”. In fact, most of the criticism has focused on the obscene sense of humour of the programme than on its implicit irony regarding the prevailing political confusion since 30 June. Here again, the majority of the outraged reactions seemed to forget the wide use of sexual metaphors, allusions and accusations that have been often repeated about demonstrators, sit-inners and even simple political opponents under the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces and the Morsi periods. From mainstream state-owned television and press to private channels, including the so-called new “Islamic” TV channels, media professionals have frequently denounced “revolutionary and liberal” activists' sexual morality, integrity and often accused them of being deviants. Jokes and rumours from both wings did not seem to bother or offend many. Sarcasm here was a political weapon either against the Muslim Brothers or Salafi politicians' sex scandals, or the questionable sexual mores of young activists or Westernised human rights advocates. Still, Youssef offended too many people with his last show. He did so not because Egyptians are not used to sarcasm, or unfamiliar with mocking their rulers; not because media professionals are formal and more prude than him; not because, with his team, he used openly sexual metaphors to describe the political national scene. He did so because he dared to prolong the fluid moment of public euphoria that prevailed since Hosni Mubarak's ouster, suggesting that the sarcasm of the “ruled” can continue to be expressed without fear. Ultimately, Youssef was not offending but professionally challenging his peers of journalists and public figures. He attempted to voice concerns and criticise the exaggerated tone of popular support for the minister of defence as a national saviour. He tried to remind Egyptians and his wide Arab audience that polarisation could not be a sustainable approach to building a healthy democracy. This was indeed the tiny difference between sarcasm as resistance and bullying as indoctrination within the public sphere, in a supposedly post-authoritarian regime.
The writer is professor in Cairo University's Faculty of Economics and Political Science.
