Encounters with Modernity in the Arab World

Comprising more than twenty religious and ethnic groups, the modern states of Syria and Lebanon face the overriding problem of regulating confessional and ethnic conflicts.1 The Syrian and Lebanese ruling elites have strongly emphasized the importance of ‘national unity’ against internal and external threats. Despite the call for unity, an implicit and explicit confessional competition has endured, inducing the leaders of most of the religious communities to jockey for securing slices of power. Although the question of power and powerlessness in Syria and Lebanon is related to economic, social, constitutional and cultural aspects, the pres-ent chapter investigates this question through the prism of the nationalist discourse adopted by intellectuals and politicians of the Shiʿis, Druzes and Alawis. The article focuses on this discourse during the period of the Arab Nahda (the Arab awakening) at the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century, and its implication on ethno-politics within the two states.

Imaginary Islands and Turkish Dogs: İstasyon and the Ethics of Care

Towards the end of the novella “İstasyon” (Metis 2020) by Birgül Oğuz, the protagonist Deniz looks at an illustration of a beach cabin drawn by her niece Elif who had been staying with her. She examines it carefully, turning the image to the side, and upside down, but still cannot tell whether footsteps drawn in the snow lead towards the cabin in the painting, or away from them. This quiet inscrutability, the serene silence of an artists’ motivations, makes her break down and cry.
We as readers are given just such an opportunity to sit with ambiguity throughout the novella. We can feel the care Oğuz has given to carefully finding a lightly tread pathway through her story, avoiding any excess facts or details. So much is left unsaid. In an interview with Nilüfer Kuyaş for the Kıraathane podcast (April 6 ), Oğuz admits to making the setting of “İstasyon” intentionally vague. Responding to Kuyaş’s comment that the story seems to have an attitude of “not wanting to give itself away,” (ele vermek) she affirms:

I didn’t want the story to signal to anything else besides its own spirit. Like, what time period, where, which country it takes place in…I didn’t want any of that to be front of mind.

(Hikayenin Kendi ruhundan başka bir şey işaret istemesini çok istedim. Yani, hangi dönemde nerede hangi ülkede geçiyor…bunlari ön plana çıksın istemedim)

Even though the story takes place on a small island located off the coast of a major city—which in most cases would be a dead ringer for Büyük Ada—the city is specifically referred to as “the capital” throughout the story almost as a way of assuring to readers that the city in question could not possibly be either Istanbul or Ankara. But any attempt at orienteering would be misguided. The spirit of the novel is mood not circumstance, place not geography. Without the need to know where she has come from and where she will go, we follow Deniz as she takes us with her on her long walks, wandering the landscapes of the island on small trails, through the forest and down the beach.
Oğuz is in good company as a Turkish author escaping to a speculative Island to avoid the burden of allegory and contemporary politics. The effort that both Pamuk and Oğuz have in explaining that their islands are not necessarily perfect stand-ins for Turkey is not due to faults of imagination or writing skill. It has everything to do with the suffocating, zero-sum cultural politics on the domestic front, and the restrictive, national-allegory framing forced on much of global literature on the international front. We should celebrate Pamuk’s Minger Island as it joins the ranks of countless other fictional geographies, those like Moore’s Utopia, Stephenson’s Treasure Island, Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha County, and T. Hardy’s Wessex, as Bengü Vahapoğlu put it in a recent tweet. These types of fictional geographies are meant precisely as a way of giving breathing room for contemplation, a healthy dose of cognitive estrangement for thinking through the circumstances of the worlds we live in, without the immediate need for them to correspond to historical and political facts. The ambiguity is the point.
Likewise, Oğuz’s Istasyon is precisely about learning to love and to respect others even when they are inscrutable. This goes for people themselves as much as their art. That is to say, how should we care for others without requiring them to explain themselves? How do we give others space and not ask them to ‘give themselves away’? This is not just physical space, but mental and emotional space as well. Deniz comes to house sit for her friend Nihal on the island in order to get some alone time, but even from far away Nihal sends a string of e-mails to check in. Although they clearly come from a place of attentiveness and concern, they annoy Deniz. When she doesn’t immediately respond, Nihal asks another woman, Bahar, to come check on Deniz in person. Bahar understands the imposition, and tells Deniz as much.

“You feel like you’re being inspected . And you’re right to”
(“denetleniyormuş gibi hissediyorsun. Haklısın da.”)

The residents of the island all seem to have noticed Deniz walking around, and one even castigates her for being too lost in thought. Deniz doesn’t need to be checked on, she needs to be cared about enough to be left alone.
For her part, Deniz tries her best to exist alongside others, to care for them even, without asking them to answer to her. Elif comes to stay with her, and the child is almost totally silent, constantly looks at her phone, and Deniz struggles through the novel to find a way to relate to her. But nonetheless, Deniz’s actions show that she understands the dignity of not having to explain oneself, and that some of the most perceptive and attentive care is often silent. Deniz has this same approach with non-human others as well. She befriends a local dog named Arkadaş, who begins to accompany her on her long walks around the island, and who will even come in to sleep by the fire. But Deniz also lets Arkadaş come and go as she pleases, often leaving to go sleep in her own spot outside. The quiet dignity that Deniz grants to the dog is one of the most affecting elements of the novella.
At a pivotal moment of confrontation between Deniz and her niece Elif, Arkadaş awkwardly comes and stands in between them. It isn’t clear what she is doing or what she wants. The narrative focuses specifically on Deniz as she tries to decide how to react to this sudden change in the dog’s temperament at such an inopportune moment. She vacillates between anger and affection, and eventually decides to just let Arkadaş stand there. She puts care in thinking about how to react to the inexplicable behavior of another, and realizes the best thing to do is let the dog be in her strangeness. This decision suddenly gives Deniz a moment of profound emotional release, as though the dog’s behavior offers a key to unlocking her own emotional inscrutability.
The ethics of care in this novella are deeply moving. They are also universal, or at least universally feminist. It is a story about the subtle moral stances one takes in interpersonal relationships, the characters navigating between dependence and interdependence on one another. Nothing about the people or their relationships in this book necessitated the story be set in Turkey. As an American reader, I would have no trouble imagining the story taking place in a fictionalized Puget Sound, or the Outer Banks, or even Galveston Island. We too have nosy neighbors, taciturn pre-teens, and women looking for the freedom to be left alone.
That is, however, except for one detail. There is one relationship of care in the novella that was decidedly Turkish, and it repeatedly snapped me back from the universal to the specific and from the speculative to the anecdotal: the way humans relate to Arkadaş. As I have written elsewhere, “Whereas Americans treat dogs like their own pampered, unconditionally loving children, a Turkish person can see a dog in the street, living independently in the liminal space between nature and domesticity and help them without the urge to become their exclusive owner.” Were “İstasyon” to have taken place in Yoknapatawpha county, for example, there would have been a moral panic about wild dogs on NextDoor. Arkadaş would have been sent to a shelter and adopted long before Deniz ever arrived at the island. It would have been impossible for Deniz, as an American, to bring herself to grant Arkadaş the autonomy of her own behavior. Whether dragging them onto flights or putting them into baby strollers, projecting neuroses onto our pets is a national pastime. We have a lot to learn on how to let dogs be themselves.
But this difference reminded me that speculative islands like Oğuz and Pamuk’s, and fictional geographies in general, are not meant to be anonymous and generic. They are meant to be uncanny and déjà vu. More than anything they provide plausible deniability. All of the ethnic and international politics of late Ottoman society are still taking place on Minger Island. Likewise, the sense of crisis-ordinariness and ever-present threat of violence against women which plague Turkey seem to lurk just off shore from Deniz on her island. This is the backstory we can infer while reading, but not the one we must. We are free as well to just focus on just as much as what Deniz tells us.
This is all the more reason why “İstasyon” should be treated with the dignity of a universal work of global fiction rather than a representative of the Turkish ethos. Readers from other countries should be granted the opportunity to read such a beautiful work of literature that simultaneously presents such a moral argument for care based on accepting others’, even non-human others, in their ambiguity. The book has much more to say when it isn’t having to explain itself.

 

 

authenticity

Human Being as Dasein

Heidegger is concerned with how we can understand what being in the world means and our experience of it. He finds that the first phenomenological fact of existence is that we are always already out there in the world. He thus describes our human being (as opposed to the being of an inanimate object or non-human animal) as Dasein. The German expression literally means there-being. To describe human being as Dasein is an attempt to leave behind philosophical notions of the individual as subject, and more broadly, the subject-object duality of the individual and the world, that is, interior consciousness juxtaposed against an objective world outside of it. Rather, for Heidegger we are out there embedded in the world, engaged with tools and objects of our experience. Heidegger (1962) says, “Dasein finds ‘itself’ proximally in what it does, uses, expects, avoids—in those things environmentally ready-to-hand with which it is proximally concerned ” (p. 155). Only when these tools break down or go missing do we stop and treat these entities as separate, conspicuous objects. For example, college students relegate large segments of their personal and social lives to the virtual world and do not think twice about it—until the network goes down. Then they are suddenly faced with themselves and others in more traditional ways, if only temporarily. Heidegger’s Dasein, or there-being, intends to capture the immediacy for us of the “what is” of human experience as we experience it. This immediacy is fraught with meaning and implications for who we really are. Heidegger refers to human being first finding itself situated in a world as facticity. In contrast to the simplistic way existentialism is sometimes portrayed—that humans are absolutely free to choose—Heidegger’s notion of facticity is acknowledgement that parameters within which human possibility or freedom reside are delimited. Dasein is thrown into the world, which means that in some sense one is always a product of the time, place, and culture within which one is born, lives, and dies. But within this facticity, these circumscribed limits, there is freedom—in fact, the necessity of choice. In other words, as thrown, we are thrust into a set of circumstances

and freedom lies in choosing to embrace our thrown possibility. This duality exists at each and every moment of our existence and bears upon our potentiality for being authentic. Everydayness and the Theyasein’s inevitable tendency is to fall into an everyday mode of existence, an absorption into the common world of experience that is most readily at-hand. This everyday way of being Heidegger names the they (das Mann). The they is everyone and no one in particular. In this everyday mode of existence, we forget ourselves. It “dissolves one’s own Dasein completely into the kind of Being of ‘the Others’, in such a way, indeed, that the Others, as distinguishable and explicit, vanish more and more” (Heidegger, 1962, p. 164). This everyday mode of being tends toward the average, a leveling down of the truest and best possibilities of Dasein to a common currency of existence. It is the common world of experience made up of fads, styles, behaviors, and vernacular, in which we automatically participate and take for granted. We experience it ourselves in so far as our everyday and habitual concerns occupy our attention and behavior. Most of the time, then, the self which each of us is, is derived from the common understandings and possibilities which they define for us—the clothes we buy in shops, the notions and ideas we hold about current issues, the common expressions we utilize, the activities and events in which we engage. In other words, for the most part Dasein unknowingly surrenders its unique individuality to these commonly defined styles of living, thinking, and communicating and defines itself by them. It is not we ourselves, as individuals, who have constructed these, but rather das Mann. So that the way Dasein is absorbed for the most part in its everyday concern is in-the-world, is prescribed by the they. Heidegger (1962) says: “The ‘they’, which supplies the answer to the question of the ‘who’ of everyday Dasein, is the ‘nobody’ to whom every Dasein has already surrendered itself . . .” (p. 165). What is especially poignant about this tendency for college students is how it relates to what we typically refer to as the developmental stage in which they are establishing their individual identity. This is a time when they are most prone to trying on and fleeing into what is trendy or common precisely because they carry the burden of establishing their own authentic self-defined identity. While we cannot and should not try to avoid these average ways of taking up our lives, our everyday activities in the world of our concern, it is also the case that these are leveled down ways of knowing ourselves. In this everyday mode we have not really found our selves—in fact, we have lost our true selves, our authentic selves. In this mode, we are inauthentic. And yet, the designation inauthentic is not intended pejoratively or critically, but rather as a description of an existential fact. In its reduced-to-average mode, Dasein is alienated from its authentic self. Our everyday self, as suggested above, is a common reduction of our own genuine possibilities and the person we can authentically be. Heidegger (1962) describes our average everydayness as bringing Dasein “tranquility” (p. 222), and suggests that in some way it provides the illusion that all is well and everything is in order, when in actuality, something is amiss. Anxiety nxiety occurs when the totality of involvements, the entities within the world, the way Dasein was once engaged with the they world, falls away. In that moment “the world has the character of completely lacking significance” (Heidegger, 1962, p. 231). Nothing and no one is appealing or can be engaged, for in that moment Dasein no longer can understand itself in terms of the way the world is publicly interpreted, but rather is thrown back upon itself and its “freedom of choosing itself and taking hold of itself” (p. 232). Dasein has been individualized. Anxiety “pursues Dasein constantly and is a constant threat to its everyday lostness in the ‘they’ , though not explicitly” (p. 234). It is always there, omnipresent and on the verge of breaking

hrough, though we are very adept at fleeing from it. But what exactly is it that we are fleeing? “That in the face of which one has anxiety is Being-in-the-world as such” (p. 230) or our essential finitude, which demands that we will all die. When individuals move along comfortably in their everyday, inauthentic modes of engagement (e.g., when students are engaged in a social networking website, when they are eating in a food court with friends, or when they are engaged in studying), they enable themselves to lose sight of this central fact. Finitude and Death asein is always in relation to death, but most of the time in the awareness that accompanies our average everyday selves, this relationship is disregarded. We live as if death is an abstract idea that is off some time in the distant future, never really to happen. We typically do not live with its reality present to us, guiding our day-to-day decisions. This indifference is possible because “Along with the certainty of death goes the indefiniteness of its ‘when’” (Heidegger, 1962, p. 302). This uncertainty allows us to evade death by escaping into our everyday world of concern and living as if life is unending, full of infinite possibility. Even in experiencing the death of others (e.g., when we grieve for significant others), there is a distancing of that experience from the reality of our own death. We rarely identify that occurrence with ourown possibility of dying. The expanse of time ahead of us typically seems, if not infinite, lengthy and full of possibilities. This outlook is especially true for college students, who oftentimes behave and make decisions as if they were immortal. They often avoid acknowledging the reality that death could come at any moment. Yet, it is ultimately a critical fact of who we all are, and this fact defines our existence profoundly. “As soon as man comes to life,” writes Heidegger, “he is at once old enough to die” (p. 289). Now you might say that to dwell on this morbid subject is depressing, and certainly we would not advocate that our primarily youthful and full-of-promise college students be preoccupied with this issue. Heidegger himself clarifies that he is not suggesting that we brood over our impending death. But mortality, the ultimate human reality, needs to be reckoned with rather than avoided: what would everyday living be like, how would it impact us, to switch into a more realistic understanding of and appreciation for our mortality and death’s significance? For Heidegger, when Dasein truly reckons with the reality of death and owns that its fate is sealed by the limitations death imposes, our finitude, the everyday world falls away—others, the objects of concern, everything. These are the moments of anxiety described previously. Think of what happens to persons the moment they receive a diagnosis of cancer or another terminal disease. Think of what happens more typically to college students when they receive a diagnosis of HIV or are involved in a serious car accident. The dread and anxiety experienced in that moment are uniquely their own. There is nothing anyone can do for them. They are completely alone with the knowledge that they could be facing the end (or at least a radically modified existence). And although the possibility has always been there (and always is for each of us at all times), they are staring death in the face for the first time, and it is looking back at them. What these individuals do with that knowledge is telling. How often have we seen or heard that for someone in this situation, all priorities shift suddenly—whatever time remains is allocated to what is now deemed essential and most important. In the case of students awakening from a near-death experience with alcohol poisoning or overdose, their resolve about how to conduct themselves in the future is typically dramatically different than what had been the case up until that point. The previous examples are concrete instances when Dasein cannot flee from the reality of its situation (unless it goes into the mode of denial, which often happens, at least for a while). What Heidegger is talking about, however, is that while Dasein for the most part covers over and flees from this awareness of our being toward death, this reaction is not the only possibility. It is possible for this truth to somehow be kept in sight. “The entity which anticipates its non-relational possibility [death], is thus forced by that very anticipation into the possibility of taking over from itself its own most Being, and doing so of its own accord” (p. 308). In this regard, Heidegger says: When one becomes free for one’s own death, one is liberated from one’s lostness in those possibilities which may accidentally thrust themselves upon one; and one is liberated in such a way that for the first time one can authentically understand and choose among the factical possibilities lying ahead of that possibility which is not to be outstripped [death]. (p. 308) Each Dasein must “own” and reflect upon what this reality means for what she or he does in the sense of knowing and defining what is most valuable, most important, most essential—and then live in harmony with this. Heidegger says, “holding death for true does not demand just one definite kind of behavior in Dasein, but demands Dasein itself in the full authenticity of its existence” (pp. 309-310). Authenticity or Heidegger, being authentic does not require some exceptional effort or discipline, like meditation. Rather, it entails a kind of shift in attention and engagement, a reclaiming of oneself, from the way we typically fall into our everyday ways of being. It is about how we approach the world in our daily activities. Dasein inevitably moves between our day-by-day enmeshment with the they and a seizing upon glimpses of our truer, uniquely individual possibilities for existence. The challenge is to bring ourselves back from our lostness in the they to retrieve ourselves so that we can become our authentic selves. This finding of itself by Dasein, Heidegger says, is a response to the voice or call of conscience. He does not mean here anything like a moral imperative to do the right thing according to an external law, but rather a clear and focused listening to and heeding of one’s unique capabilities and potential. In doing so Dasein authentically understands itself and is able to act in the world accordingly. This type of action for Heidegger would be authentic and ethical action in the sense of its indication that one is being true to oneself, hence the language of conscience. For instance, in career development work in college and university, counselors offer guidance to students so they can better understand themselves in terms of their aptitudes, interests, and abilities. They encourage them to discover their true “vocation” (their calling), the type of work which would suit them and be their own. This calling is precisely what Heidegger is talking about. Heidegger refers to this unique and special moment in Dasein’s existence, when there is clarity about the self, as the moment of vision. In conjunction with this moment of clear vision, Heidegger uses the concept of resoluteness to capture what it means for Dasein to heed this call of conscience and act accordingly and consistently, over time. He says that resoluteness or resolve means “letting oneself be summoned out of one’s lostness in the ‘they’” (Heidegger, 1962, p. 345) and carving out one’s unique and authentic place in and approach to the world, doing one’s work with this special intent and self-knowledge. Connecting Heidegger’s Philosophy with Student Affairs ow does this philosophy bear upon theory and practice in student affairs work? One criticism might be that this theory is too esoteric and full of jargon, too abstract to be relevant. Another criticism might say that it is not empirically based, especially with current professional emphasis on evidenced-based practice. What Heidegger gives us is a larger picture, the study of the nature of how humans experience themselves and the world, which is prior and foundational to traditional theories and ways of thinking that student affairs has utilized to ground its practice. Heidegger’s phenomenology claims to take a step back from the way we ordinarily conceptualize and theorize about reality and begin from immediacy of experience, which has priority for him, and elicit the structure of experience from there. For Heidegger, true understanding of experience must begin with this phenomenological starting point, the immediacy of experience. This manner of understanding lies at the basis of human science and qualitative research. What Heidegger explicates in Being and Time are fundamental constituents of existence that necessarily inform experience—for example, the horizon of death and its implications for our lived reckoning with time. These core constituents of existence necessarily impact any theory we might choose to utilize as a ground for work with students in activities or programming. Dasein and Student Development theories of student development generally have a positive tone to them and convey growth and forward progress. Even when there are challenge and disintegration of old values or ways of thinking, there usually follow re-integration and re-consolidation into a new way of perceiving and experiencing. And while this process sometimes occurs by way of a temporary moratorium or regression to prior levels of development, the overall movement is conceived like a number line, with latter occurrences consecutively representing increased value or enhanced experience. In contrast to this developmental orientation, a definition of identity formation consistent with Heidegger’s notion of Dasein, with its fallenness (into the they) and thrownness, the back and forth motion of everydayness and authenticity, would not move along a comparable trajectory. Rather, there is a kind of repetition or ever-lasting return to our true selves, which we are fated to repeat. This condition is inevitably part and parcel of who we are. As Zimmerman (1981) pointed out, there is a kind of cumulative effect of numerous and repeated moments of resoluteness wherein the student may come to recognize her or his true self over time. If we accept the conception of identity and identity formation as fundamentally related to authenticity, then it provides an organizational principle for all our activities, which is to create an environment and numerous opportunities for students to discover their true selves. The Student’s Everyday World of Concern and the Theystin’s notion of involvement (1984) reflects an application of the philosophical idea Heidegger intends in his discussions of the way Dasein is first and foremost circumspect with the everyday environment. When a student is unable to become involved in the environment (due to feelings of discomfort or not being included), the student becomes distanced from her or his immediate environment. It becomes a problematic object of observation. When this happens, students are unable to engage in the absorbed way Heidegger describes and are self-conscious and isolated. The locale they are now living or working in has become disrupted, is not comfortable, and they may not succeed. Facilitating comfort, helping them feel at home, is a necessary first step for creating conditions in which later on they can better understand themselves. This process of acclimation, then alienation is consistent with what Heidegger has described as a natural inclination to fall into the everyday and is consistent with student affairs professionals’ intention to create an environment of self-discovery for students. It is also consistent with Sanford’s notion (1967) of providing the right balance of support and challenge. Thus many of our programs like orientation or first year seminar, which are intended to create an environment or atmosphere where students can begin to feel at home and are able to move through and readily engage in the world of the campus environment, remain absolutely critical. The question becomes toward what end are we making them comfortable? What is it that we as student affairs professionals hope that students will ultimately be able to do (or be) in the college environment, and beyond? What Heidegger’s philosophy would suggest is that this programming should be in the service of assisting students with discovering their true selves—over time. As such, we would need to select appropriate messages that convey this intent. First year programs hold the potential for creating the proper environment for a student’s emerging and subsequent process of self-discovery. Anxiety, Death, Authenticity, Resoluteness clearly, we would not want students to dwell on death and acquire morbid outlooks. The approach described in this article is not a proposal that campus leaders and other staff members routinely gather up students and ask them to contemplate, in some type of encounter group, their deaths and the significance of death on their lives. But being attuned to the transitional periods of students’ lives, while encouraging them to be more open to the call of conscience and challenging them to be more reflective about what truly matters to them, is important and desirable. Professionals do encourage this type of reflective process already, for example, in the area of career development and counseling when students go for help in crisis. Heidegger himself implies that these things (like the call to conscience) are not intended to be cultivated in others or even self-consciously in ourselves. Such contrived promotion of these concepts would be too subjectivistic or even moralistic, and that is not Heidegger’s intention. And yet, there definitely are times when students are more open to possibilities than at other times, when they are in an exploratory mode, whether these times concern their relations with others or with their world. For instance, every year on many campuses students who drink excessively are transported from residence halls to hospital emergency rooms for alcohol poisoning. Other students are present and aware of what is happening. They are deeply affected by what they witness and the possibility that the students will die. They themselves may or may not have been drinking with the students. This observation is a “teachable moment,” when student affairs staff can facilitate greater insight and resultant intent. One might ask students, “What does this terrible shocking experience say to you about your own lives and the choices and decisions you wish to make in the future?” In other words, besides being supportive, the staff member can also encourage reflective thinking that deeply informs students’ creation of their authentic selves. Zimmerman (1981) says: “The resolute person faithfully holds himself open for the moment of truth, although he cannot know when it will come” (p. 98). That openness to such moments of truth would apply to student affairs staff members in their work with students, as well as for the Dasein of all students in relation to their own being. Without being directive or forcing the issue, student affairs staff can aid students in their reflection and help them aim at a trajectory within the horizon of the student’s authentic self. Conclusion authenticity suggests a unifying theme for students’ transformative experience that trumps every other possibility. Heidegger would suggest that for each and every student, whether or not he or she is philosophical by inclination, there is a reckoning with the reality of Dasein—that finitude brings with it the reality of authenticity and inauthenticity, the need to hearken to the call of conscience and to be resolute in a way that guides the choices Dasein makes. While we are destined to fall away from this authentic mode of existence into the world of everyday concern, it is also within this world of concern that we build our lives by the decisions we make and the tasks we undertake every day. Hence, choosing one general direction over another (e.g., the pursuit of money as an end in itself or social service work), being a certain way, and being invested in certain values, rather than others, do result in a different totality and quality of experience. If the truth of students’ authentic existence is always to be discovered, then their purpose in attending a college or university may be greater than they know when they arrive. At some level, all students probably know that they will be altered in fundamental ways through their college experiences, but they probably do not really know in advance how this will occur, what this means. One might argue that they eagerly and willingly seek these transformations out—that is the reason they attend. This philosophical approach suggests that the aim of all of our programming and interactions would be to facilitate students’ understanding of themselves and help them discover how to find their way and be true to themselves, which could also entail exposing the everyday world and the possibilities of worlds beyond it.

History of Language Politics and Policy in Egypt

  • In Salama Musa’s famous 1945 book about standardizing EAV is titled
    البلاغه ال
    عصريه واللغه العربيه
    “Modern Rhetoric and the Arabic Language”, Musa says “our language [CA] is
    anomalously uphill and needs extraordinary procedures” (146). He continues saying “there has been rigidity in Arabic since it [CA] detests scientific terms and
    detests any change in its insufficient alphabet” (152). Musa finds a connection
    between loyalty to Arabic and religion for he believes that whoever defends Arabic [CA] hates women‟s freedom, future, brain, and development. He believes that those people are burden on the society (152).
  • Nafossa Zakaria Said in her 1964 book
    تبريخ الدعوه إلى العبميه وأثبرهب في مصر “the History of Calling for Standardizing Al-Amiyyah
    and its Effects in Egypt” explains that the call for standardizing EAV among the literary figures in Egypt has a long history

Beyond Bakhtin: Towards a Cultural Stylistics – Fiona Paton

Paton, Fiona. “Beyond Bakhtin: Towards a Cultural Stylistics.” College English, vol. 63, no. 2, 2000, pp. 166–193. JSTOR, JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/379039.

  • Language, said Michael Halliday, is a “social semiotic” and as such needs to be studied in terms of the lived experience of its users, rather than as an abstract system of logically consistent rules.
  • What is the text’s own rhetorical situation? How can we recover these conditions in any pure, unmediated way?  The general shift from textualist to contextualist stylistics
  • What is the relationship between style and ideology in the literary text?
    Cultural critics, while brilliantly interrogating the ideological implicatedness of a lit-
    erary text, rarely engage with its language
  • stylisticians, on the other hand, although acknowledging the ideological dimensions of the literary text, rarely move beyond its
    language

Political Map of Egyptian Writers and Intellectuals

political leanings of Egyptian authors according to Mustapha Byumi:

Marxists cut off from communists:

Those part of political groups at one time but broke away keeping their sympathy and political leanings

Non-Marxist progressive thinkers and writers

  • Naguib Mahfouz
  • Louis Awad
  • Fathy Ghanim
  • Baha’ Tahir
  • Gamil ‘Atiya Ibrahim
  • ‘Alla’ al-Deeb
  • Usama Anur ‘Akasha
  • Hussein ‘Abd al-‘Alim

Resources about Egyptian Intellectual History

 

 

 

History of Language Policy in Turkey

  • Cuceoglu, D., & Slobin, D. (1980). Effects of Turkish language reform on person perception. Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 11(3), 297–326. – they investigated the attitudes of the audience towards the speakers with varying frequencies of different codes. They found that learners were able to identify the speakers as leftist and rightist, evaluating their speech, and thus favor or dismiss them depending on their own political orientation.
  • Turkey has seen different groups of leaders with different political orientations over the past 85 years.
  • The Historical and Linguistic Analysis of Turkish Politicians’ Speech – article using scientific analysis to understand lexical breakdown between languages.
  • After 1 December 1928, all newspapers, magazines, advertisements,
    film subtitles, and other signs had to be in the new letters. By 1 January 1929, all Turkish books had to be published in the new alphabet, and all government offices, banks, and other social and political associations and institutions were required to use the new letters in all their transactions. The law set June 1930 as the absolute deadline for all public and private transactions, including all printed matter such as laws and circulars, to be in the new letters.
  • increased literacy in the new alphabet, which was based on the Istanbul dialect, would work toward the elimination of regional dialects and the creation and standardization of a shared colloquial Turkish.
  • The army as an institution directly contributed to the dissemination of the new alpha-
    bet among the male population by offering literacy classes for conscripts during their
    mandatory military service.
  • In some instances, older citizens who were literate in Ottoman never learned the
    new letters, resulting in their functional or partial illiteracy for the rest of their lives.
  • Ottoman persisted into the 1940s.
  • On the literacy front, even though institutions such as the army, the press, and the schools cooperated with state officials, the state’s ability to reach all areas and all groups remained limited, and a majority of the population remained outside the impact of alphabet reform throughout the RPP period.
  • individual reactions to reforms, and in particular the alphabet transition, had much to do with cultural and habitual change at a very personal level and did not necessarily fit the categories of ideologically oriented resistance or opposition.
  • Cuceoglu, D., & Slobin, D. – political tone of language use changed in the 1960s, right-left spectrum, did a science experiment to match metalinguistic awareness to political persuasion.

 

 

Cüceloğlu, Doan, and Dan I. Slobin. “Effects of Turkish Language Reform on Person Perception.” Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, vol. 11, no. 3, 1980, pp. 297-326.

Uzum, Baburhan, and Melike Uzum. “The Historical and Linguistic Analysis of Turkish Politicians’ Speech.” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, vol. 23, no. 4, 2010, pp. 213-224.

Yılmaz, Hale. “learning to Read (again): The Social Experiences of Turkey’s 1928 Alphabet Reform.” International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 43, no. 4, 2011, pp. 677-697.

The Politics of Written Language in the Arab World: Writing Change

CHAPTER 9 The Politics of Pro-‘ammiyya Language Ideology in Egypt

Mariam Aboelezz

interviews with an Egyptologist pro-ammiya political party dude and the head of malamih publishers, who publish ammiya stuff, how both of them enact language ideology according to 6 topoi.

  • language politics in Egypt takes the form of a binary of Egyptian nationalism vs. pan-Arab nationalism: the former ideology favouring ʿāmmiyya and the latter favouring Standard Arabic or fuṣḥā (Suleiman1996)
  •  ʿāmmiyya might be used to counter the hegemonic discourse of the (language) authorities (Bassiouney 2014; Ibrahim 2010
  • Language change at two levels: 1) the structure of the language (lexicon, grammar, etc.); 2) use of the language, that is, “the functional allocations of the varieties of language used” in a speech community
  • As Kelsey (2014: 309) points out, “a myth is not a lie. Rather, it is a construction of meaning that serves a particular purpose through the confirmations and
    denials of its distortion”.
  • Eisle: 4 cultural tropes underlying value system of Arabic language –
    unity, purity, continuity and competition.
  • Eisle: Salama Musa’s aim was to subvert dominant beliefs about Arabic, “he never the less reflects the dominant Arab way of talking about language”
  • 3 more topoi: conspiracy, authenticity and superiority.
  • Mohamed El-Sharkawi editor of ‘Malamih’ publishing. has a ‘no-language-editing’ policy

Changing Norms, Concepts and Practices of Written Arabic A ‘Long Distance’ Perspective

Gunvor Mejdel
  • processes of standardisation and destandardisation, with shifting norms of use, have come in wave
  • A standard language norm is the product of a process of selection and
    codification of features and variants of a language to function as a model of
    correctness,defined by people who have become norm authorities, role models
    supported by official institutions (Bartsch1987:78). The standard language has
    validity in the language community in so far as speakers/writers perceive its
    norm to be valid, i.e. that they accept it as a model/measure of correctness
    – without necessarily having access to it.
  • Bartsch – the prescriptive standard as a normative concept of language planners, from the empirical standard as a descriptive concept of socio-linguistics.
  • Arabic at the dawn of Islam was a special register, a super-tribal variety of Arabic
  • Jabarti’s Mudda is characterized by negligence of literary usage and form in addition to a proliferation of colloquial terms, expressions, and linguistic patterns”. Moreh believes that the text may have been “a rough draft written without paying special attention to the rules and for this reason the text is especially interesting from a linguistic point of view” (1975: 25–26).
  • Takhlīṣ al-ibrīz fī  talkhīṣ bārīs was apparently composed mentally in vernacular and then translated into a still “error-ridden” version of standard. also corrected, like many things, is subsequent versions. in his dissertation on al-Ṭahṭāwī(1968) Karl Stowasser finds even the printed edition replete with deviating forms typical
    of many medieval texts, both syntactic and morphological, some reflecting
    vernacular features, other obvious hypercorrections.
  • Humphrey Davies puts it thus: “If the use of Middle Arabic is found to be
    widespread and consistent, a further implication would be that, had it not
    been for the linguistic self-consciousness and ‘reforms’ introduced during the
    nahḍa of the nineteenth century, Middle Arabic might well have become the
    standard form of written expression in Egypt (and no doubtelsewhere)”(2008:
    111)
  • Rather than a Dante or a Cervantes, pan-Arabism asserted the Nahdawi project
  • Think of the Nahda as a re-imposition of normative grammar rather than its return or recovery.
  • The “discovery” of dialects by orientalists see Pierre Larcher 2003.
  • Lahja is part of the native repertoire of metalinguistic concepts (“tip of the tongue; way of speaking”), and is adopted as the technical term for the new discipline of dialectology(ʿilmal-lahajāt) at some time around the turn of the century.
  • Campaigns calling for the promotion of the vernacular as the standard
    language towards the end of the century received very little support from native
    intellectuals; the fact that colonial officials were among the strongest and most
    active in the promotion campaign for ʿāmmiyya did not exactly help the cause.
  • The (semi-)colloquial press, which had been at its high in the 1890s and
    1900s, declined rapidly in the following decades, “until they disappeared com-
    pletely by the 1950s” (Fahmy 2011:76
  • I doubt that the language cultivators, now institutionalised authorities in
    academies and committees, or in ministries and Arabic departments at the
    universities, in fact exercised much control over writing in Egypt in the 20th
    century – apart from, of course, imposing and securing the position of nor-
    mative al-ʿarabiyya as target in the school system.Rather, the literary ‘ethics’ of
    the time,echoing the pan-Arabic political ethics, called fora certain normative
    self-discipline.The literary developmentof the novelandshortstoriestowards
    social realism, on the other hand, imposed the question of (appropriate) style
    to represent in writing the speech of common people. It became commonly
    accepted to use ʿāmmiyya in dialogue (reflecting direct speech), in a frame of
    fuṣḥā narrative; although a few prominent writers (notably Ṭāhā Ḥusayn and
    NagībMaḥfūẓ)stronglyobjectedtoacceptinganythingbut‘correct’formsinto
    the literary sphere. Some writers openly struggled with the dilemma: we have
    the popular writer Iḥsān ʿAbd al-Quddūs (1919–1990) arguing with himself in
    theintroductiontothesecondeditionof hisnovel Anāḥurra (“Iamfree”,n.d)–
    in the end finding peace and calm in the following solution: that a longer fictional work may well have ʿāmmiyya in the dialogue, whereas shorter stories
    may – or may not, according to the general ‘atmosphere’ of the story (Mejdell
    2006b: 205). The issue was never settled, but, from now on, it only occasionally
    flared up in heated debate.
  • Genre has a huge effect on the appropriateness of language choice (memoirs and sakhr adab in egypt vs. novels)

Chapter 2: Diglossia as Ideology – Kristin Brustad

  • Categories such as register exist insofar as speakers imagine and create them.
  • We cannot know the scope of such “border crossings” just as we cannot
    know the reality of writing across society by the accident of what survives today,
    since most of it has been “corrected” by editors to adhere to contemporary
    norms before publication.
  • studies on Middle Arabic: Blau (2002), Doss and Davies (2013), and Lentin (2008, 2009), as well as Zack and Schippers (2012)
  • always have to be aware of the tashih for all literary texts as a metatextual factor which is CRITICAL to the language usage of the Arabic text
  • the 20th century is an aberration in the long history of Arabic
  • Diglossia named in the 1959 treatise by Ferguson.
  • Milroy defines a standard language ideology culture as one in which
    speakers believe their language exists in “a clearly delimited perfectly uniform and perfectly stable variety – a variety that is never perfectly and consistently realized in spoken use”
  • Calls to reform the Arabic writing system reached their peak from1944 to1947,when the Arabic Language Academy in Cairo put forth a call for proposals for the simplification of the Arabic writing system.
  • The ideology of diglossia obscures this deep and lasting relationship. More
    ʿāmmiyya and more fuṣḥā go hand-in-hand, and mean more written Arabic for all.

 

Orhan Kemal’s Linguistic Tutelage

  • Orhan Kemal studied extensively under the tutelage of Nazim Hikmet in the early 1940s while in Bursa prison.
  • His autobiography 3.5 years in prison with Nazim touches on all sorts of issues about his metalinguistic awareness. A sort of process of learning to be become simultaneously unaware of normative language, but somehow more refined and sophisticated that normal speech. Chapter starting on pg. 83 especially revealing
  • To what extent did Tahir undergo a similar process?
  • Kemal mentions the influence of two books which sort of dictated Ottoman style: Edebiyat-i Osmaniyye and Talim-i Edebiyat.
  • ”demek istiyorum ki, küçüklükleri, aldıkları konular itibariyle henüz tam kıvamlarını bulamamışlıkları bir yana, yeni şiirin zevkine, diline, bilhassa, bilhassa doğallığın tadına varmak için, eskimiş, pörsümüş, kokmuş, gayrisamimi ”kuralcılık”tan sıyrılmak lazım!”
  • What was his earliest poetry like? (article in folder)
  • What is the relationship between Orhan’s engagement with different genres (he even wrote a film script guide)
  • here is a thesis about his relationship to film
  • Nazim’s wife’s writing was “unaffected”, Nazim saif everything had to be written for the people.

Prospectus Rejigger Part III

Normative Grammar, Language Ideology and the Political Novel in Turkey and Egypt

  • What is the effect of metalinguistic awareness and language ideology on the political novel? How do authors work as one point in networks of beliefs
  • From a linguistic standpoint, what are the actual differences between normative and imminent grammar? What makes it different isn’t something qualitative within its structure itself, but in the way it’s imagined and treated by speakers. Not only is dialect not a deficient form of normative language, but the two really aren’t that different from one another.
  • How does a novel have to grapple with language ideology in a way that film or radio do not? How does a novel create metalinguistic awareness? How does dialogue work as a vehicle for representing speech? How is it used as a barrier between normative and imminent grammar?
  • How have authors been judged according to their fidelity to vernacular speech? What is the discourse surrounding this? How is vernacular speech marked and made different? What is the history of iconizing vernacular speech as ignorant, and the subsequent shift to valorize (fetishize) it instead.
  • How did authors understand and project anxiety about diglossia and normative grammar? What were the conversations about language in literary circles?
  • How role does fractal discursivity play in creating and sustaining the anxiety of vertretung in writing? How is difference dramatized through attention to dialect? How are social distinctions imagined for dialect difference? Does imagined difference create its own barrier?
  • Why is normative grammar seen as the vehicle for ideology while imminent grammar is not? How do the politics of the novel move around questions of language ideology?
  • What is the relationship between language ideology and mimesis in the novel, how is fact and fiction judged according to the perceived value and communicability of forms of language? How does the novel form complicate notions of accuracy, authenticity, and representation?

Intervention: using field of language ideology to reframe the history of the T/E political novel, seeing how much questions of representation and form are a reflection of anxiety over the perceived divide between normative and imminent grammar.

Chapters:

  1. The history of language ideology in modern Egyptian and Turkish literature – intervention against the state language ideology narrative, also against literary histories which use oversimplified history of language
    1. language reforms and the post-war period
    2. the myth of diglossia and normative grammar
    3. literature and its linguistic ideological baggage
  2. Fiction, Vetretung, and language ideology – an sociolinguistic intervention into the vertretung debate. You have to look at how language itself works as a form of representation. village novel histories have noted it without analyzing it and the paradox it creates.
    1. the direct discourse fallacy and the stakes of mimesis
    2. novels as opposed to film and radio
    3. The receding subaltern as a function of fractal discursivity
      1. why metalinguistic awareness is a trap
    4. various strategies for representing popular speech and their reception
      1. the Kemal’s – earnestness, mythology, irony
      2. something from Egypt
  3. The Left and its failure to communicate – an intervention on how ideology travels in language, the relationship between linguistic and political ideology
    1. leftist parties and their efforts to reach the masses
    2. The Roman a These and normative grammar
    3. the ikidegerlilik of populism, petit bourgeois anxiety as a focus on the failures of normative grammar to communicate
    4. ideology is only something that normative grammar does.
    5. Phoenix and one day all alone
  4.  Lost in normative grammar – intervention showing relationship between language politics and literary formalism
    1. Looking at language used in novels as a material/historical object, historicizing a retroactive fiction.
    2. reacting to state censorship, cultural policy and lexical politicization (left/right)
    3. postmodernity as a deep dive into the artificiality and performance of the language
    4. searching for the real in artificial language, getting nowhere: khitat and tutunamayanlar
    5. 1980s shift in language hegemony and rise of the marketplace of imminent grammars.

 

Interventions:

 

Chapter one intervenes in the narrative of the pervasiveness and effectiveness of state language policy in Turkey and Egypt, as well as the historical rhetoric surrounding the ‘problem’ of diglossia. It also challenges the emphasis on the state and institutions in perpetuating language ideologies, showing how important micro-contextual interactions are to the movement of normative perceptions of language difference and just how autonomous imminent language actually is.

 

Chapter two a sociolinguistic intervention into the vertretung/dartellung subaltern debate. I will argue that writers like Samah Selim in The Novel and the Rural Imaginary in Egypt have worked from a concept of textuality that does not adequately account for the material sociolinguistic dynamic at work in the village novel. Unlike other studies of the village novel in Egypt and Turkey, I will maintain my focus on the language ideology of writers themselves and show how various textual attempts to capture authentic speech are premised on an illusory distinction between fictional and spontaneous language.

 

Chapter three is an intervention on the relationship between political ideology and language ideology, and the ways in which they interact dialectically. It looks in the rhetoric of the left for evidence of the language-ideological belief that normative grammar is capable of self-aware political thought whereas imminent grammars are reflexive and passive. It also gives a sociolinguistic account of how slogans and other forms of political language actually travel in speech, and the ways that left-wing novels have misunderstood this.

Chapter Four is an intervention into work like “the Wounded Tongue” by Jale Parla which have conflated the interplay of language politics between the state and canonical literature with the Turkish and Arabic language as a whole. The rhetoric of normative grammar, and the literary rebellions against it, both take place within the sphere of elite language practice, dramatizing the impact that either the state or literature has over the development of imminent grammars which continue to hum along. Their impact, rather, is restricted to a normative grammar which is always, by its very nature, the product of coercion and political interventions.