As contention over reform and the status quo increases, new lows are being reached, sadly, in the tone and tenor of public debate, writes Mohamed El-Sayed Said* In the clamour of public debate, it is easy to get engrossed in major issues -- such as that of reform -- and forget minor ones that may tell us much about the nature of the political environment in Arab countries. Take, for example, the structure of discourse we're using to address old and new problems, major and minor events, extraordinary and ordinary happenings. We take interest in discourse insofar as ideas and arguments are concerned. We're ready to delve into the history that produced a certain set of ideas, even examine the relevance of ideas to political, cultural and intellectual controversy. This is what intellectuals do. They examine major issues, explore their significance, look into the consistency of arguments and make sure that things make sense. But there is another side to discourse, a side that may often hide under the torrent of words and rhetoric, appearing only in the emotiveness of the vocabulary we use. I am referring here to the nature of speech -- its refinement or lack thereof -- and the context in which it is used. French philosophers are known to differentiate between speech and discourse. They do so in reference to a certain individual or event, but not always in the context of politics or public debate. Often speech is seen to be more important than what we consider as discourse. Speech is what statesmen, those who express or embody the philosophy and policy of a certain political regime, say. The words used by ordinary ministers, ruling party politicians, journalists and authors close to the bureaucracy of the state or the security services, may be immensely useful in understanding politics. Even presidents have been known to speak in harsh language, saying things that depart from the accepted tone of formality both in reference to their domestic and external enemies. But this is the exception to the rule. Many would remember that immediately before the 1967 War President Gamal Abdel-Nasser referred to UK Prime Minister Anthony Eden as a "pansy", a definite slip of the tongue from a man famously courteous and level headed. One can only note the words some Arab politicians are using these days with a sense of shock, for many of us had thought the days of irresponsible and crude words were gone. Note, for example, what the Egyptian aviation minister said in a meeting with his aides in which the press was present: "A bunch of kids led by this... godless two-bit traitor... godless scum, where are you dragging people along... I am tougher than you think... traitors, godless dope heads." This is just a sample of what Sawt Al-Umma reported the minister as saying as he talked of air traffic controllers and others who work for his ministry. I honestly fail to see how people engaging in a purely industrial action can be called "traitors" and "godless", among other things. Such words are libellous and I find it hard to believe that a minister uttered them. And if such language is used and the minister is not brought to account, the only conclusion the public can draw is that his superiors tolerate such language in form and content. The content is bad enough, but the form is definitely something that this minister's superiors should censure, unless they believe this is how ministers are at liberty to speak in public, and that the language is in line with "public policy". The late Ahmed Bahaaeddin, a great columnist by everyone's account, once took exception to the foul language former Interior Minister Zaki Badr used in a fit of outrage. President Hosni Mubarak promptly dismissed the minister, making it clear to all that the minister's vitriol was out of line. Now, I believe, is a good time for similar action. Journalists and writers may be allowed more leeway than politicians. Recently, a journalist working for a major newspaper described the opposition as traitors, spies and agents hatching plots in broad daylight. Journalists may be allowed the occasional diatribe, and the example I give is not even the worst I've seen in the official press. The state cannot be held to account for every outburst of vitriol, unless, of course, it has appointed the writer in question in a key position in a publication it supervises. The worst part is that vitriol of this type is considered the fastest lane to the state's heart, to promotion and to top positions in the media. What applies to the state in this context applies also to the opposition and its press. All are in the same boat. The use of foul language, references to treason and godlessness, has been on the rise in public debate. The ailment of public debate in Egypt is perhaps mild by Iraqi or Sudanese standards, but there are things in common, such as political and cultural polarisation, the tug of war in matters concerning the political and constitutional status quo. There is an immense army of profiteers, backed by ample reservists, fighting to keep things as they are. What this army is defending is vested interests, not principles of any kind. Political and constitutional reform, if implemented, would establish accountability in the system, necessarily changing the who's who of the public scene. This is why many are up in arms to defend their interests, with others willing to go all the way in their call for reform and change. The gap between the two, for the moment, is filled with vitriol. * The writer is deputy director of Al-Ahram Centre for Political and Strategic Studies.
