's brand of journalism berates the president using the Arabic of the streets The new face of Egyptian journalism is remarkably round. Fortunately, it is also sharp -- and bright. started sending ripples through the stagnant waters of Egyptian journalism in 1995 with the launch of the first Al-Dostour, a weekly newspaper the authorities shut down within a short period of time. Until then, the format, concept and content of newspapers were a forgone conclusion. Since then Al-Dostour -- re-launched with much fanfare earlier this year -- has come to be the measuring stick by which the newness of every newspaper is judged. "When the old Al-Dostour appeared," Eissa said, "Egyptian journalism had been missing a new and creative newspaper format for a long time. The challenge for the new Al-Dostour has been to maintain its uniqueness, since so many copied the original style that it became almost commonplace." The new Al-Dostour features scathing critiques of the president and his son, as well as a media watchdog page, and ample use of the Arabic spoken by ordinary people in coffee shops and on the street. It also makes a point of crossing all of the traditional "red lines" delineated over the years by the local press, whether "national" or "oppositional". In response to the charge that such flair is little more than sensationalism, Eissa is firm: "I always tell my team -- if we don't have a position, we are nothing: a position vis-à-vis life, politics, ideas. We need to challenge and question established notions. Why shouldn't I hate the opera, for example, and say so? Once you have a position, you must have a format that appropriately reflects it. You must have a language, and a way of conceptualising your material." It's strange, in Eissa's view, that "when Michael Moore is irreverently critical of President Bush, we all applaud him. Then when someone is critical of our president, we call it sensationalism. There is a poetic genre in the Arabic canon called hijaa (satire), and we have learned to transform it into a form of journalism, serious and sharp." Eissa is passionate about journalism -- something that has been with him since his childhood in Qwesna, in the Delta governorate of Menoufiya: "I can't remember a time when I was not a journalist. As a primary school student I used to daydream about being Mustafa Amin [co-founder of Akhbar Al-Youm ], whom I idealised. My star was Youssef Idris, but I also admired Mohamed El-Tabei." Although he had high enough grades to enroll in one of the "top schools", and in spite of his family's resistance to the idea, Eissa joined the Faculty of Journalism in 1983. While still at school, he made his way onto the staff of Rose El-Youssef magazine, where he was to eventually become Chief Editor Adel Hamouda's right-hand man. The world of journalism, he admits, is a difficult one to navigate: "To anyone who wants to understand the backstage of Egyptian journalism, I always recommend Fathi Ghanem's novels Zeinab wal-Arsh (Zeinab and The Throne) and Al-Ragol Allathy Faqada Thilloh (The Man Who Lost His Shadow), which illustrate this world quite effectively. Of course, joining that world at the age of 18, I was shocked by the lies and the backstabbing, things I find completely normal today." What might seem a bit abnormal is that this year Eissa -- who for years was so controversial that no media outlet would touch him -- suddenly became the editor- in-chief of two independent papers at the same time. In addition to being at the helm of Al-Dostour, Eissa runs the weekly Sowt Al-Umma. He complements these endeavours by hosting his own show on Dream TV. Reading the political climate is now his -- and subsequently Al-Dostour and Sowt Al-Umma's -- specialty. His no-holds-barred approach to that mission, however, means that he can "not discount the possibility that we'll be closed down". The prospect of the latter would scare many a chief editor, but it leaves Eissa unfazed: "I am less concerned with continuity, than with influence. And we have participated in pushing the red line back by openly criticising the 'power family' and making our pages available to people from across the political spectrum." While this has generated debate among various trends and forces, Eissa asks quizzically, "Do you really think there is a possibility for real debate with Safwat El-Sherif? [Early 20th century revolutionary] Mostapha Kamel once said to the British, 'There will be no negotiations until liberation.' And I say, 'No dialogue until there is democracy and freedom'." Seeing himself as someone who "speaks amid the deaf and dumb," Eissa does not consider freedom of expression "a right given to me by the state; it is my fundamental right, and I deal with it accordingly". He wishes other people would follow his example: "I want people to criticise me; I want to be part of a battle of ideas that is not wholly personalised. As a nation, we need to brainstorm. Only when we do so, can society -- which is full of problems -- begin to heal." By Fatemah Farag
