A not so revolutionary revolution

Much has been made of the role of social networking websites in the recent wave of revolutions across the Arab world. Indeed, many of these uprisings have been dubbed “Facebook revolutions,” sometimes by participants, but most often by international observers in Western press and academia. In some of these cases, the technological character of these rebellions has been exploited by Americans who, plagued by a fleeting sense of global supremacy, have sought to appropriate these revolutions—downplaying Arab agency and replacing it with their own. This Facebook preoccupation serves only to alienate the reality of these revolutions, such that the uprisings feed arrogance where they ought to inspire admiration, highlight Zuckerberg where they ought to elevate Bouazizi, and point to Silicon Valley where they ought to feature Benghazi.

For instance, in an op-ed published last month in Spectator, Kevin Siegel wrote, “Since the start of the revolution in Egypt, many a well-informed and weary American, even here on our campus, has been occupied by a single question: Is the fall of Mubarak good for the United States?” He goes on to argue that this narcissism stems from “a deeper question irking our collective consciousness. Is the U.S. still, as many Americans believe, the world’s most powerful country and its main purveyor of inspiration and innovation?” Siegel goes on to applaud Ted Turner, Mark Zuckerberg, and Jack Dorsey for having “outsourced American democracy.” In an attempt to console those struggling to “accustom ourselves to ... our waning political hegemony” (which, I would suggest, is fairly intact), he claims that the Tunisian and Egyptian uprisings were “powered by the innovations of blue-blooded, apple-munching American people.”

Siegel’s argument is commonplace—it is echoed, for instance, by the New York Times’ Roger Cohen, who identified Mark Zuckerberg as the leader of the Tunisian revolution in his article “Facebook and Arab Dignity.” But while the Facebook refrain is virtually universal, Siegel’s thoughts on the source of this preoccupation reflect a unique and telling frankness on his part. The implications of Siegel’s piece are clear: Attributing Arab revolutions to “American innovation” is about stroking a bruised ego, about turning the collapse of an American-funded regime, a failure of American agency, into an American victory. In other words, where you can’t find direct and positive American involvement, argue for its insertion. That way you can stave off your “fallen superpower” complex.

It is undeniable that the organizers of and participants in these uprisings made ample use of social networking websites. But to use this as a justification for appropriation is as ludicrous as claiming that, because anti-apartheid activists in South Africa telephoned one another, Canadian technology and Alexander Graham Bell should be praised as the great liberators of black South Africans.

Furthermore, the role that social networking sites have played in these revolutions is, at the very least, overstated. The crucial moments of the Egyptian and Tunisian uprisings—the largest demonstrations­—took place when the Internet had already been cut off. In both cases, Friday prayers represented the one unstoppable force behind amassing large congregations of people on the streets. And yet it is Facebook, not Islamic practice, that is lauded as indispensable to Arab uprisings. Moreover, history is rife with examples of revolutions that took place before the advent of the internet. Unless we assume that the French and Russians were uniquely equipped to subvert pre-technicolor tyranny, unless we believe that Arabs somehow needed this extra crutch, there is no reason to conclude that Facebook played an instrumental role.

But it is not merely explicit attempts at appropriation, like Siegel’s and Cohen’s pieces, that are at issue. Both Siegel and Cohen concede that Egyptian and Tunisian courage have their place in this story. The question then becomes: Why aren’t they at the center of the story? Why are Arabs relegated to the periphery of their own revolutions? Indeed, it is the fetishizing of the tool of communication itself, even on apparently neutral terms, that distracts from the sacrifices made by those wielding the tool. Any weapon is meaningless without the person willing to use it. It is that human element that is blurred and pushed to the background when we focus on a computer program instead of on the many Egyptians and Tunisians who risked their lives to liberate themselves. It’s time to adjust our lenses.

Yasmeen Ar-Rayani is a Columbia College junior majoring in Middle Eastern, South Asian, and African Studies. Color in Colonial College runs alternate Mondays.