From the WSJ Opinion Archives
TASTE COMMENTARY
Found in Translation
A TV version of the Federalist Papers? Yes, in a way. We know it as "American Idol."
When historians look back on American culture in the early 21st century, they will probably not dwell long on major works of literature. They will, however, feel compelled to devote entire chapters of books to television's "American Idol."
The show, as too many of us know by now, features amateur singers, some of them quite awful, subjecting themselves to the potentially withering remarks of in-studio judges and competing for the favor of voting viewers. It is the kind of popular TV experience we are likely to dismiss. But not so fast. Our attitude merely shows how spoiled we are. Move "American Idol" some miles east and you begin to see what power it possesses.
I remember one evening in Damascus this summer. Normally the streets would have been packed well past midnight with young couples and Gulf tourists taking advantage of the cool desert breezes. But that night the streets were deserted. Indeed, for two hours every summer Sunday and Monday night, countless Arab communities across the Middle East and North Africa sat huddled around their sets to take part in "Super Star," the Arab version of "American Idol."
The format of the Lebanon-based program is similar to its prototype: Aspiring pop stars compete their way through ever-winnowing rounds, this time singing a modern and classical Arab favorites, until a winner stands alone. To decide who moves on, audience members cast their votes through the Internet, an automated telephone service and cell-phone text-messaging.
In the U.S., the winners enjoy a spurt of celebrity and then fade from view. In the Arab world, last year's winner and all three runners-up are still icons, with legions of fans and the kind of publicity normally reserved for national leaders and religious figures. "Super Star" and its contestants are everywhere: radio, TV, print, billboards. In Damascus, pirated copies of their music are traded on street corners, glossy headshots hawked alongside lottery tickets and family pictures of the president.
According to the producers of "Super Star," 15 million votes were cast over the summer, with 3.2 million received in just the final few days. It is unclear exactly how many individuals participated due to the laxity of the competition's rules on multiple voting, but these figures certainly indicate the involvement of a significant part of the Arab population.
Why has this show become so wildly popular? Why have Arabs of every sect, creed and social stratum in more than a dozen countries turned to this single program? The answer lies largely in its participatory nature and appeal to a people long denied freedom of expression and representation in other spheres of life.
To be sure, over the past century many Arab nations have experimented with democratic reforms, some going so far as to establish constitutions, regular elections and institutional checks and balances. But in the end the overwhelming tendency has been to assume the rhetoric and rituals of democracy without actually putting it in place.
Into this environment comes an independently produced TV program that both celebrates personal achievement and puts Arab audiences at the center of the decision-making process. "Super Star" encourages, in fact depends on, the active involvement of ordinary Arabs in a "democratic" endeavor with real-time, mutually beneficial results. If the Arab people cannot choose their political representatives free from coercion, at least now they can select a cultural representative to champion their musical tastes.
And beyond the allure of participating in a cultural phenomenon and helping to steer its course, "Super Star" cultivates a rousing inter-Arab rivalry by including each contestant's national affiliation as part of his identity on the show. According to the English-language weekly Al-Bawaba.com, when Ammar, a Palestinian contestant, was asked why his tone was so sorrowful, he answered: "I can't separate myself from the situation of my people." Even the hosts seem to play up their national identities--the male host is Egyptian and speaks with a strong Egyptian accent. The female host is Lebanese and betrays a fondness for French pleasantries.
No doubt part of the appeal of voting in "Super Star" is the chance to side with your countrymen and snub the audiences of rival Arab countries. The studio is normally filled with enraptured fans of all ages waving a sea of flags in solidarity with their compatriots onstage. When finalists Ayman from Libya and Ammar from Palestine stood together onstage at the end of August to hear the results of the final vote, each singer wrapped himself in his nation's colors. Confetti showered down when Ayman's name was announced, and friends and family stormed the stage. At one point, a member of Ammar's entourage unfurled his flag directly in front of the camera, so that viewers saw nothing but the green, black, white and red of Palestine for a few moments.
It is perhaps this aspect of "Super Star" more than anything else that distinguishes the program from other cultural phenomena in the modern Mideast. The show goes out of its way to reject the kind of Pan-Arabism that blends all Arab individuals and nations into an undifferentiated mob of identical interests and backgrounds. The only thing shared by all the contestants and all audience members is their admiration for Arabic music--a commonality not requiring the subjugation of individual wills to some lofty cause.
Unfortunately, it turns out that "Super Star's" even playing field may not have been so even after all. Al-Bawaba.com reported accusations from "high-level" Palestinian authorities that Libyan President Moammar Gadhafi staged "a costly nationwide publicity campaign" on behalf of the Libyan contestant and even provided free phone calls for citizens who wished to vote. The biggest Palestinian cell-phone company admits having given similar discounts to its subscribers but says it did so to counter Col Gadhafi's unfair intervention.
Though skeptics might point to this backbiting as evidence that the Arab world is not ready to cast aside its old tendencies, the redeeming fact is that huge numbers of ordinary Arab men and women chose to participate in this "liberal" process. For the most part this resulted in the nomination of superb musical talents whose qualifications were merit-based and representative of common interests.
Thanks to the Internet, mobile phones and satellite TV stations operating beyond the sphere of government control, Arabs from every nation can watch a Lebanese television show and take responsibility for its outcome. In effect, "Super Star" provides the only common platform for popular participation in the Arab world--the only accessible, properly "democratic" institution in a region dominated by authoritarian elites.
Who would have thought that the best hope for Arab democracy lay in American pop culture and a crooning TV "idol"?
Mr. MacKenzie teaches English in Damascus.
