The Routledge Handbook of Arabic and Identity 9781138303997, 9780203730515

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THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF ARABIC AND IDENTITY

The Routledge Handbook of Arabic and Identity offers a comprehensive and up-to-date account of studies that relate the Arabic language in its entirety to identity. This handbook offers new trajectories in understanding language and identity more generally and Arabic and identity in particular. Split into three parts, covering ‘Identity and Variation’, ‘Identity and Politics’ and ‘Identity Globalisation and Diversity’, it is the first of its kind to offer such a perspective on identity, linking the social world to identity construction and including issues pertaining to our current political and social context, including Arabic in the diaspora, Arabic as a minority language, pidgin and creoles, Arabic in the global age, Arabic and new media, Arabic and political discourse. Scholars and students will find essential theories and methods that relate language to identity in this handbook. It is particularly of interest to scholars and students whose work is related to the Arab world, political science, modern political thought, Islam and social sciences including: general linguistics, sociolinguistics, discourse analysis, anthropological linguistics, anthropology, political science, sociology, psychology, literature media studies and Islamic studies. Reem Bassiouney  is a professor  (and chair) at the American University in Cairo. She has eight linguistics books to her name. She is the author of  Functions of Code-Switching in Egypt  (2006),  Language and Identity in Modern Egypt  (2014) and  Arabic Sociolinguistics  (2009; second edn 2020). Her edited volumes include The Routledge Handbook of Arabic Linguistics (co-editor with Benmamoun) and Identity and Dialect Performance (2017). She is also the editor and founder of the Routledge Studies in Language and Identity series. Bassiouney is also an award-winning novelist. Keith Walters is Professor Emeritus from the Department of Applied Linguistics at Portland State University, Portland, Oregon, USA. During his career, he also held positions in the English Department at The Ohio State University and The Linguistics Department at the University of Texas–Austin. He has taught English as an additional language in the US, Tunisia, Guinea and the West Bank and helped train teachers in those countries, Morocco, Egypt and Vietnam. His research interests include codeswitching, diglossic switching, language ideologies, and language and nationalism as well as language and the law. An award-winning teacher, Walters is co-author of two widely used composition textbooks, Everything’s an Argument (8th edn), and Everyone’s an Author (3rd edn).

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF ARABIC AND IDENTITY

Edited by Reem Bassiouney and Keith Walters

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Reem Bassiouney and Keith Walters; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Reem Bassiouney and Keith Walters to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-30399-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-73051-5 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Apex CoVantage, LLC

CONTENTS

List of figures viii List of tables ix Notes on the contributors x Acknowledgementsxiv Introduction and overview

1



3

Introduction: the Arabic language and identity Keith Walters

PART I

Identity and variation

11

 1 From Rajjal to Rayyal: ideologies and shift among young Bedouins in Qatar Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad

13

  2 The emergence of a national koiné in Saudi Arabia: a perceptual dialectology account Yousef Al-Rojaie

26

  3 The multilingual nature of spoken Arabic and identity construction in light of Discourse Markers Abdelaadim Bidaoui

51

  4 The expression of rural and urban identities in Arabic Ahmed Ech-Charfi v

65

Contents

 5 Optional you and the invocation of shared identity in Levantine Arabic Youssef A. Haddad   6 Saudi folks’ attitudes and perceptions towards accent switches: the /k/ reflexes across dialects Manal A. Ismail   7 Language and identity in post-Revolution Tunisia: between authenticity and commodification Lotfi Sayahi   8 Language attitudes in the Arab world Nadia Abdulgalil Shalaby

79

93

108 120

PART II

Identity and politics

145

  9 Diglossia, folk-linguistics, and language anxiety: the 2018 language ideological debate in Morocco Yasir Suleiman and Ashraf Abdelhay

147

10 The construction of the Egyptian national identity at times of conflict Amira Agameya

161

11 Language-identity dynamics in post-Arab Spring era: the case of Jordan Abdulkafi Albirini

176

12 Arabic and identity in the conflict-ridden reality in Israel Muhammad Amara

194

13 Identity performance and positioning in online discourse in Jordan Muhammad A. Badarneh

206

14 The de-Arabised Israeli Arabic: between eradication among Arab-Jews and Ashkenisation in society Yonatan Mendel PART III

218

Identity globalisation and diversity

231

15 Language and identity construction in the United Arab Emirates: challenges faced in a globalized world Ahmad Al-Issa and Laila S. Dahan

233

vi

Contents

16 Diasporic Arabic(s): speakers, usages, and contacts Alexandrine Barontini and Lauren B. Wagner

245

17 Complex identities: Arabic in the diaspora Luca D’Anna and Chiara Amoruso

259

Index273

vii

FIGURES

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 2.7 2.8 2.9 4.1 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5 6.1 9.1

Participants’ rating of the Bedouin dialect 22 Participants’ rating of the Hadhari dialect 22 Participants’ rating of the Bedouin dialect 23 Participants’ rating of the Hadhari dialect 23 Sites of data collection 35 Composite map of respondents’ perceptions of dialects areas as closest to the Saudi national koiné 37 Composite map of respondents’ perceptions of dialects areas that are closest 39 to Fusha (Classical Arabic) Composite map of Saudi national koiné by women (left) 40 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by men (right) 41 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by middle-aged respondents (left) 42 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by old respondents (right) 43 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by young respondents 44 Survey map 50 The morphogenetic sequence 73 Stage Model 88 The Stance Triangle 89 The Stancetaking Stage Model 89 The Stancetaking Stage Model of optional you90 The Stancetaking Stage Model of optional you – unanchored 90 Percentage comments favouring switches to [k] and favouring native /k/ reflex by dialect group and gender 104 Official statement by the Ministry of National Education 149

viii

TABLES

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 2.1 4.1 4.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 16.1 17.1 17.2

Variants of the possessive form ‘your name’ in different dialects Distribution of the variables (dʒ) and (k) across two generations Distribution of variants of 2ndPFSA/P pronoun across generations Distribution of pronouns across generations Distribution of syntactic variants across generations Sample population Distribution of respondents by age and sex Percentages of rural and urban origins of Casablancan population Percentage of [q] use Participants according to native /k/ reflex and gender Comments favouring switches to [k] by dialect group and gender Comments favouring native reflex of /k/ by dialect group and gender Diasporic profiles from MENA migration Language attitudes in the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo Language attitudes per age segment

ix

16 18 19 19 20 21 34 70 71 97 103 103 249 267 268

NOTES ON THE CONTRIBUTORS

Ashraf Abdelhay holds a PhD in the field of sociolinguistics from the University of Edinburgh, UK. His research focuses on the cultural politics of language with specific emphasis on the intersection of discourse, ideology and power relations. He worked for the Department of Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Edinburgh, and then joined the Department of Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Cambridge as an ESRC Postdoctoral Fellow and also Clare Hall College at the University of Cambridge as a Research Associate. He currently works for the Doha Institute for Graduate Studies (Qatar) as an Associate Professor in the programme of Linguistics and Arabic Lexicography. Amira Agameya is a professor of linguistics at Cairo University. Her research interests lie in the areas of pragmatics, discourse analysis and grammaticalisation, in all of which she uses corpus-based methodology. She currently teaches courses in corpus and diachronic linguistics. Rizwan Ahmad received his PhD from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, USA. He is currently Associate Professor of Sociolinguistics in the Department of English Literature & Linguistics at Qatar University. His research focuses on the sociolinguistic aspects of Urdu and Hindi in India and Arabic and other languages in the Middle East. Abdulkafi Albirini is Associate Professor of Linguistics and Arabic at Utah State University, where he also oversees the Arabic programme. His broad research interests are in first, second and heritage language acquisition, multilingualism, sociolinguistics and pragmatics. He is author of Modern Arabic Sociolinguistics (Routledge, 2016) and several other scholarly works focusing on the interplay of language, cognition and social context. Ahmad Al-Issa is Professor of Applied Linguistics and Associate Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at the American University of Sharjah in the United Arab Emirates. He is a member of many international academic organisations and a recipient of several international research grants. He has published many articles and book chapters, and presented papers and workshops on language, culture and communication in many parts of the world. His co-edited book, Global English and Arabic: Issues of Language, Culture and Identity was published by Peter Lang Publishers. x

Notes on the contributors

Heba Al-Kababji is a freelance translator and research scholar. She holds a BA in English Literature and Linguistics from Qatar University and a Master’s in Translation Studies from Hamad bin Khalifa University in Qatar. Yousef Al-Rojaie is Associate Professor of Applied Linguistics in the Department of English & Translation at Qassim University, Saudi Arabia. His main interests include sociolinguistics and pragmatics, particularly variation in language use. He has published in Language Variation and Change, Journal of Linguistic Geography, Dialectologia and other local and regional journals. He is currently working on a project to map the linguistic landscape of variation within Saudi dialects from the point of view of their speakers. Muhammad Amara is the head of Graduate Studies at Beit Berl Academic College; cochair of Sikkuy, the association for the advancement of civic equality; and the President of the Israeli Society for the Study of Language and Society. His academic interests include language education, language policy, sociolinguistics, language and politics, collective identities and the Arab-Jewish divide in Israel. His publications include Politics and Sociolinguistics Reflexes: Palestinian Border Villages ( John Benjamins, Philadelphia and Amsterdam, 1999); Language Education Policy: The Arab Minority in Israel (Kluwer Academic Publishers, Dordrecht/Boston/London, 2002 [together with Abd Al-Rahman Mar’i]); edited a book entitled Language and Identity in Israel (The Palestinian Forum for Israeli Studies [Madar], Ramallah, 2002); Languages in Conflict: A Study of Linguistic Terms in the Arab-Israeli Conflict (together with Abd Al-Rahman Mar’i, DarAl-Huda and Dar Al-Fiker, 2008); and Arabic in Israel: Language, Identity and Conflict (London and New York, Routledge, 2018). Chiara Amoruso earned her PhD in Linguistic Geography and Italian Dialectology from the University of Salento in 2008. Her PhD dissertation focused on language contact and L2 Italian among members of the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo. She currently holds the position of high school teacher at the ‘Perez – Madre Teresa di Calcutta’ public school (Palermo). Her scientific interests include teaching Italian as a second language, language contact and linguistic minorities. Muhammad A. Badarneh is Full Professor of Linguistics in the Department of English Language and Linguistics at Jordan University of Science and Technology, Jordan. His research interests focus on pragmatics, discourse analysis, politeness and impoliteness, identity, and positioning. His research on Arabic discourse and interaction has appeared in international journals such as Journal of Pragmatics, Language  & Communication, Text  & Talk and Journal of Language Aggression and Conflict, in addition to chapters in edited books on formulaic politeness, populist discourse, and self-praise. Alexandrine Barontini, combining sociolinguistics and dialectology to a cultural anthropological perspective, works on transmission process, practices of Arabic speakers and language status in France (in diaspora) as well as in Morocco. Barontini contributes to the description of dialects, while investigating usage of Moroccan Arabic in audiovisual media, assertions and transgressions in gender performance. Reem Bassiouney is Professor (and chair) at the American University in Cairo. She has eight linguistics books to her name. She is the author of Functions of Code-Switching in Egypt (2006), Language and Identity in Modern Egypt (2014) and Arabic Sociolinguistics (2009; second xi

Notes on the contributors

edition  2020). Her edited volumes include The Routledge Handbook of Arabic Linguistics (coeditor with Benmamoun), and Identity and Dialect Performance (2017). She is also the editor and founder of the series Routledge studies in language and identity. Bassiouney is also an awardwinning novelist. Abdelaadim Bidaoui earned his PhD in Linguistics from the University of Illinois at UrbanaChampaign. He currently works as Assistant Professor in the Department of Modern Languages and Classics at Ball State University. His research areas are sociolinguistics, pragmatics and second language acquisition. Laila S. Dahan is an adjunct professor of writing and ESL specialist at Woodbury University in California. She taught writing for 14 years in the UAE at the American University of Sharjah. She holds MAs in political science and TESOL and a PhD in applied linguistics. Her research and teaching interests are multidisciplinary and include global English, language and identity, cross-cultural communication, women and Islam, and politics of the Middle East. Her chapter ‘The Heart of Autism: A Strengths-Based Approach to Disability’ will be published in the forthcoming book Psychology of Islam and Muslims: A Multidisciplinary Approach in 2020. Luca D’Anna earned his PhD in Arabic Linguistics and Dialectology from the University of Naples ‘L’Orientale’ in 2014. He currently holds the position of Associate Professor of Arabic Dialectology at the University of Naples ‘L’Orientale’, after serving as an Assistant Professor of Arabic at the University of Mississippi (Oxford, MS) from 2015 to 2018. His fields of interest include Arabic Linguistics and Dialectology, Libyan Arabic, Historical Linguistics, Arabic Sociolinguistics and Arabic in the diaspora. Ahmed Ech-Charfi is a professor of linguistics at the Faculty of Education Sciences, Mohamed V University in Rabat. In addition to a number of articles and book chapters, he also published two books: The Standardization of a Diglossic Low Variety: The Case of Moroccan Arabic (Scholars’ Press, 2016) and (in Arabic) Language and Dialect (Publications of Faculty of Education, 2017). He is also the founder and the current editor of International Journal of Arabic Linguistics (IJAL). Youssef A. Haddad is Professor of Arabic Language and Linguistics in the Department of Languages, Literatures, & Cultures at the University of Florida. His research focus is on the grammar and pragmatics of pronominal elements (their distribution, interpretation and function). He is the author of Control into Conjunctive Participle Clauses: The Case of Assamese (Mouton de Gruyter) and The Sociopragmatics of Attitude Datives in Levantine Arabic (Edinburgh University Press). His publications include several articles and book chapters in leading venues, including The Routledge Handbook of Arabic Linguistics, Brill’s Journal of Afroasiatic Languages and Linguistics and Journal of Pragmatics. Manal A. Ismail is Associate Professor of Applied Linguistics at the Department of English Language and Literature at King Saud University in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Her main research focus is to understand how linguistic variation in Saudi Arabia embodies its peoples’ sociocultural reality. She is particularly interested in the connection between language and the identities and roles of the women and men that speak it. Yonatan Mendel is a senior lecturer at the Department of Middle Eastern Studies at BenGurion University of the Negev. He conducted his PhD in Cambridge University, where he xii

Notes on the contributors

is still a visiting researcher at the Centre of Islamic Studies. His main research interests are the history, status and politics of the Arabic language in the Jewish society. Lotfi Sayahi is Professor of Linguistics in the Department of Languages, Literatures, and Cultures at the University of Albany, State University of New York. His research focuses on language variation and change in situations of bilingualism and language contact. He is the author of Diglossia and Language Contact: Language Variation and Change in North Africa (Cambridge University Press, 2014). He has published more than 40 articles and book chapters that appear in Journal of Sociolinguistics, Journal of Language Contact, International Journal of the Sociology of Language, Journal of Language Sciences, among others. Nadia Abdulgalil Shalaby is Professor of Linguistics at Ain Shams University, Cairo, the Faculty of Arts, Department of English Language and Literature. She holds a BA in English language and literature from Ain Shams University, a Master’s degree in TEFL from the American University in Cairo and a PhD from the University of South Carolina. She has published research in the areas of sociolinguistics, discourse analysis, conversation analysis and stylistics. Her more recent, and current, research focuses on language attitudes in Egypt and the relationship between codeswitching and identity. Yasir Suleiman is Professor Emeritus of Modern Arabic Studies at the University of Cambridge, Founding President and Provost at the Doha Institute for Graduate Studies and Chair of the Board of Trustees of the International Prize for Arabic Fiction (Arabic Booker). He has written extensively on various aspects of the Arabic language from a sociopolitical perspective. His numerous publications include: The Arabic Grammatical Tradition (1999); The Arabic Language and National Identity (2003); A War of Words: Language and Conflict in the Middle East (2004); Arabic, Self and Identity (2011); Arabic in the Fray (2013); and Being Palestinian: Reflections on Personal Identity in the Diaspora (edited, 2016). He is currently working on two books in Arabic and English on language and politics in the Middle East and language policy, respectively. In 2011, Suleiman was made Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE) by her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II for his ‘contribution to research.’ In 2019, The University of Cambridge set up a graduate scholarship in his name, in perpetuity, in honour of the ‘enduring value’ of his work and his ‘outstanding contribution’ to the university. Lauren B. Wagner is a sociolinguist and human geographer, and Assistant Professor in Globalisation and Development at Maastricht University. She uses microanalysis of everyday encounters, based in sociolinguistic recorded data as well as ethnography, to investigate issues around diasporic mobilities and belongings between Morocco and Europe. More about her current research can be found at www.drlaru.com. Keith Walters is Professor Emeritus from the Department of Applied Linguistics at Portland State University, Portland, OR USA. During his career, he also held positions in the English Department at the Ohio State University and the Linguistics Department at the University of Texas – Austin. He has taught English as an additional language in the US, Tunisia, Guinea and the West Bank and helped train teachers in those countries, Morocco, Egypt and Vietnam. His research interests include codeswitching, diglossic switching, language ideologies, and language and nationalism as well as language and the law. An award-winning teacher, Walters is co-author of two widely used composition textbooks, Everything’s an Argument (Bedford/ St. Martin’s, 8th ed.) and Everyone’s an Author (Norton, 3rd ed.). xiii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Completing an edited volume represents an opportunity for gratitude to the many, many people who have aided in the creation of this book. Such an endeavour reminds us of the multiple ways the academic community can work together and the ways that the success of any scholarly endeavour depends on the assistance of all sorts of people, many of whom will never know one another personally, working together. We are certainly grateful for those on whose shoulders we stand – our teachers and earlier thinkers, writers and researchers who helped shape our understanding of Arabic and the many ways that it is a resource for the construction of millions of individuals worldwide. With their help, we have been able to arrive at the insights we currently have on this topic. We would also express our gratitude to those who served as reviewers for chapters included here, including Emad Abdul-Latif, Amira Agameya, Rizwan Ahmad, Luca D’Anna, Anna De Fina, John Edwards, Mohssen Esseesy, Youssef A. Haddad, Ola Hafez, Barbara Johnstone, Alexander Magidow, Stefano Manfredi and Eirini Theodoropoulou. Special thanks to the researchers who share the fruits of their labours in these pages, helping advance the field in new ways. Older readers will be amazed at how far the field has come in the past few decades and at the new questions, methodologies and insights these chapters provide. Likewise, we are indebted to Routledge and the Taylor & Francis Group for their confidence in this project and continuing support. In particular, we wish to thank Andrea Hartill, Senior Publisher, for her support and for proposing the idea of this volume. We also wish to acknowledge the role of Ellie Auton, Editorial Assistant, as well as the production staff at Routledge. We are also grateful to the colleagues at our own institutions and the institutions themselves for their assistance and support as we worked on this collection: for Reem, the American University in Cairo and, for Keith, Portland State University in Portland, Oregon, and Bethlehem University in the West Bank. We certainly wish to acknowledge the indispensable role that our able assistant, Ms. Nourhan Sorour, has played in this project from its earliest stages. Her consistent, careful work has made this volume possible. Thank you, Nourhan. We are blessed to have had the opportunity to work with all who had a hand in producing this volume. Reem Bassiouney Keith Walters xiv

Introduction and overview

INTRODUCTION The Arabic language and identity Keith Walters

The sixteen articles in this volume teach us much about current thinking regarding the complex links between the Arabic language and identity across the Arabic-speaking world even as they point the way forward to deepening that understanding in a period when many would argue that the linguistic situations in communities and societies where Arabic is used are undergoing rapid change. The articles collected here represent a range of methodologies for studying language use in its social context. These include not only the analysis of sociolinguistic interviews associated with variationist sociolinguistics but also methods associated initially with the sociology of language or the social psychology of language: surveys, interviews, demographic data, and social history. Some researchers have analyzed discourse of various kinds: face-to-face interaction, online data, the scripts of television series, political speeches, newspaper op-ed pieces, and online comments. One researcher employed the map drawing task associated with perceptual dialectology. In various ways, all the articles demonstrate careful and extensive observation, whether as structured as ethnographic fieldwork or the sort of expert knowledge gained from a career’s worth of focusing on issues of language in a community or society where Arabic is used. They are also based on careful readings of the existing research literature in the field. The studies in this volume focus on many parts of the Arabic-speaking world  – Jordan, Morocco, Egypt, Algeria, the Levant, Israel, Tunisia, the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, France, and Italy. While these last two locations might initially strike some readers as out of place, their inclusion – as well as the growing interest in such situations – represents a shift from what we might think of as Arabic sociolinguistics to the sociolinguistics of Arabic. This slight change in category label reminds researchers that what is today considered Arabic has always been in contact with other languages, whether indigenous or superposed, and that this contact has influenced all the language varieties involved in a range of ways. It likewise acknowledges the existence of many Arabic(s) – a language that, like all world languages, is simultaneously characterized by both unity and diversity, the price a language plays for having wide currency. The papers included here are likewise indicative of other shifts in sociolinguistic research. First is the growing interest evidenced in some studies in what is going on when language users write, particularly in the context of social media, and the complex relationships between language when it is spoken and when it is written. This growing interest in the written language, particularly in electronic contexts, represents a sharp shift from an earlier dogged insistence 3

Keith Walters

among Western and Western-trained linguists since the early Structuralists that spoken language alone was worthy of analysis or could offer insights into the nature of language. A willingness to take written language seriously certainly clearly has important consequences for researchers’ understanding of the sociolinguistics of Arabic. As Alkhamess, Elabdali, and Walters (2019), among others, have pointed out, given the huge amount of written language generated in social media, most of the Arabic being written today is surely not the fushaa, that is, the standardized variety of Arabic associated with Ferguson’s (1959) formulation of the high variety in diglossic settings and written language more generally (cf. Walters, 2003). Such a technologically facilitated shift encourages researchers to acknowledge the ways in which Ferguson’s formulation was itself a reflection of the dominant language ideology among users of Arabic, including scholars, at the time and one that continues to influence research on Arabic. (I employ the formulation “users of Arabic” to acknowledge this very issue – spoken language, written language, and signed language are all forms of language worthy of study, and their study is necessary to researchers’ understanding of language and particular languages; additionally, the term “users” includes both those who claim a language as native speakers and those who have come by their knowledge of that language in other ways at other points in the lifespan.) Obviously, an acknowledgment and careful analysis of how language users are employing the language in a broad(er) range of contexts has profound consequences for our understanding of language attitudes and ideologies of language users, including researchers themselves (Walters, 2007). As the British anthropologist Mary Douglas wisely noted, “dirt is matter out of place” (2000, p. 36). Minimally, matter out of place is noticeable, and it can quickly come to be seen as a problem. As many of the studies included here indicate, languages, language varieties, or even linguistic variants “out of place” are salient, that is, noticeable, and they often come to be seen as problems by various groups. Their salience likewise makes them perfect resources to serve as signifiers of social meaning and difference, a fact that language users are quick to exploit. As the previous paragraphs indicate, a second important shift in sociolinguistic research evidenced in the studies in this volume is the growing need to devote great energy to understanding the language ideologies that shape how users, including researchers, view language and specific languages. Evident in these papers is such a concern and appreciation of the necessity of distinguishing among 1) actual practice – what language users do, 2) reported behavior (as in survey responses) – what users say they do, and 3) ideology – what users might assume or believe they and others should be doing, and of examining the ways these sources of data do and do not line up. Often, when it comes to cases of actual practice, researchers lack necessary diachronic data to make strong claims about, say, the use of the fushaa in contrast to the dialect in specific oral contexts or for specific purposes. Yet, even when we rely on limited or even anecdotal data, it is clear that norms of practice (and, hence, we can safely assume, attitudes and ideologies) are changing. During 2018–2019, I  had the privilege of teaching for the academic year at Bethlehem University. Returning to campus from one afternoon after a discussion at a local organization devoted to preserving and advancing religious, heritage, and cultural studies in Palestine, a colleague, a Jerusalem native, remarked on what had been an obvious fact: those present who were 60 or so or older had spoken a variety of Arabic that was much closer to fushaa than had those under 60 or so. (Predictably, among the older speakers, case endings showed up in certain fixed expressions but were generally absent. The lexis and syntax, however, showed very clear evidence of the fushaa. At the same time, the fushaa was Palestinian, and not just in terms of phonology.) Importantly, no one present spoke using only the fushaa and certainly not the fushaa with case endings, as many Americans of my generation were required to do in our Arabic language classes. 4

Introduction

In my colleague’s estimation, at least two factors accounted for the language practices we had heard. First, the younger speakers were likely simply unable to sustain consistent use of a register of heavily fushaa-ized Arabic; this situation resulted from the continuing democratization of education across time as well as shifting educational practices. Instead, various regional and social dialects of Palestinian Arabic served as the matrix variety for these speakers with varying amounts of lexical and structural embedding from the fushaa. In complex ways, the performance of both groups represented different approaches to diglossic switching (Walters, 1996). Second, these younger speakers likely would not have used such a variety for any number of reasons even if they had been able to do so. In short, something had shifted across the decades in terms of attitudes and ideologies about the register of language that is appropriate for discussions about serious matters in a fairly formal setting. Whether researchers consider this situation as one of merely a shift in the role that the fushaa plays in the formulation of national and individual identity and further evidence of the continuing rise of nation-state nationalism as well as the concomitant erosion of Arab nationalism (Walters, 2018) or as a cause for great alarm depends on their own value commitments. The papers in this volume represent various combinations of these perspectives on this shift in attitudes and ideologies. As always, a researcher’s perspective on such controversies frequently tells us more about the researcher’s own value orientations than about the situation commented upon. As someone for whom Arabic is an additional language and someone who does not identify as Arab, given the outrageous comments have been made by Westerners, in particular, about Arabic, I feel the need to reiterate that I see nothing unusual about such a situation. It is to be expected. Currently, in the US, there are similar debates motivated by language ideologies about the use of pronouns. In a comment on the book jacket for Dennis Baron’s What’s Your Pronoun: Beyond He & She (2002), Geoff Nunberg noted “controversies . . . in which language becomes the surrogate for addressing deep social questions.” Like Suleiman’s (e.g., 2013) metaphor of proxy, Nunberg’s metaphor of surrogacy makes clear that, at a profound level, such debates are not really about language at all; they are about other much larger and challenging questions that societies cannot or will not face directly. In such cases, arguing about language is much less risky than tackling whatever the real issues might be. Certainly linguists’ understanding of the social nature of language has come a long way since the early days of sociolinguistics in the 1960s. A major part of the development has been moving from post hoc, seat-of-the-pants analyses of what might be going on to account for research findings to analyses based on constructs growing out of social theory as applied and adapted to the study of language as used in a range of contexts, cultures, and societies. In the 1990s, commenting on then-current work in variationist sociolinguistics, a Palestinian colleague in the US wryly noted, “What the variationists don’t understand is that most buildings in the Arab world don’t have a fourth floor,” a reference, of course, to Labov’s (1972) department store study and the (mis)application of Western models of (Western) society to an understanding of language and society in the Arab world. His observation certainly applied to a great deal of earlier work in sociolinguistics that sought to shoehorn Arabic-speaking communities, particularly those in the Arab world, into Western models. Various papers in this volume demonstrate that such a situation is changing for the better. They rely for their analytic frameworks on the research of scholars of language in society like Mary Bucholtz and Kira Hall (2003), whose work is much influenced by social theorists such as Pierre Bourdieu (1992), Judith Butler (1990), and Michel de Certeau (1984) and research in linguistic anthropology, as well as the contributions of R.B. Le Page and Andrée TabouretKeller (1985), whose book on research, based primarily in multilingual creole-speaking communities in Central America and the Caribbean, offered a hypothesis and a set of riders about 5

Keith Walters

how individuals project identities through the linguistic “choices” they make. (I put “choices” in quotation marks to acknowledge the continuing debates about the complex relationships between agency  – matters of free choice  – and social structure  – things that impede such choice, another topic raised in several of the studies included here and recent theorizing on identity briefly mentioned later.) Similarly, some papers employ recent frameworks like perceptual dialectology and folk linguistics, pioneered by Dennis Preston and associates (Preston, 1989; Niedzielski & Preston, 2000), stance theory (Du Bois 2007), positioning theory (Harré & van Langehove, 1999), and cognitive linguistics (Langacker, 2008). All of these approaches to language use in context remind researchers interested in sociolinguistics that they cannot ignore the interplay between cognition or mental representations and society. In short, sociolinguists, as students of the relationship between language and identity, must employ analytic tools that permit them to consider in systematic ways language users’ understanding of the social worlds around them. Such thinking is certainly in line with recent surveys of thinking on identity. In The Lies That Bind: Rethinking Identity – Creed, Country, Color, Class Culture, philosopher and ethicist Kwame A. Appiah (2018) examined the ways that individuals make sense of the world and their places in it by imagining social groups and categories and placing themselves within or outside those categories  – cases of agency  – even as he analyzed the social categories of his subtitle – ­structuring structures, really. As is currently the case, he used “imagine” in the sense that Anderson (1991, originally 1983) had used the term when he sought to explain the origins and spread of nationalism, communities that are necessarily imagined since it is impossible for all members of a nation to know all the other members. Importantly, such imagined groups do not have to exist in reality for them to have very real and material consequences. Appiah’s thesis is clear from the title: such structures are at one level lies, convenient and sometimes necessary falsehoods that bind us together, because, in the end, humans share far more than divides us and, within any human group, there is ultimately difference of many kinds. As Appiah noted: The fact that identities come without essences does not mean they come without entanglements. And the fact that they need interpreting and negotiating does not mean that each of us can do with them whatever we will. (p. 217) Among our tasks in understanding the sociolinguistics of Arabic is analyzing the complex nature of those entanglements and seeking to understand why so many wish to see them as essences even as we interrogate the extent and nature of language users’ agency. Similarly, Richard Jenkins (2014), in the most recent edition of his popular textbook Social Identity, focused on the process of identification – a process, not a possession – that forms the basis of identity. (Thus, one cannot be said to “have” an identity. One can claim an identity or have an identity ascribed to them, but identification, the source of identity, is a process. Hence, an identity is an achievement, the result of interactions, and to the extent the identity is stable, it is an achievement resulting from a series of interactions.) Thus, Jenkins defined identity as the human capacity – rooted in language – to know “who’s who” (and hence “what’s what”). This involves knowing who we are, knowing who others are, them knowing who we are, us knowing who they think we are and so on. (p. 6)

6

Introduction

This capacity is rooted in language at several levels, of course. For most humans and indeed most social scientists interested in questions of identity, language is the most significant medium of communication; thus, their focus is content: what sorts of identity claims are made directly or indirectly through language, whether in face-to-face interaction, in political discourse, on social media, during interviews (whether for the media or with a researcher), in newspaper op-ed pieces, or in other written texts. Linguists, however, are additionally concerned with the nature of the medium itself: what message does the use (or nonuse) of a particular language or language variety, syntactic construction, linguistic form, or phonological variant carry? How are these linguistic resources combined, a concern with how they are mixed and their relative frequencies? How does such mixing permit language users to create complex, contextually relevant identities that reflect multiple allegiances, loyalties, and aspirations? The various papers in this volume consider all these aspects of language, whether in terms of content, form, or both. In offering a framework for analyzing the nature of social identity, Jenkins demonstrated that a thorough understanding of processes of identification requires an examination of identity at three levels or orders, each of which feeds the other. The first is the individual order, or selfhood. Here, the concern is how we experience or see ourselves. The second is the interactional order, or what Goffman (1959) termed “impression management,” where the focus becomes, to quote T.S. Eliot’s “Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (1963), the work we do “to prepare the face to meet the faces that [we] meet” and, indeed, to greet and interact with them in some way or to fail to do so. Finally, we have the institutional order, where the focus is collective identification and classification, the name and experience of being a member of various collectives, whether they come into being through actions of the collectivity’s members (a neighborhood football match among young boys or a Facebook group of college-aged women) or whether membership is externally imposed (green versus blue passes issued by the State of Israel to Palestinians in the Occupied Territories, which limit or grant freedom of movement). Quoting Cohen (1985, p. 20, cited in Jenkins, p. 139), Jenkins reminded readers that individuals are aggregated into communities, rather than integrated into them: “what is actually held in common is not very substantial, being form rather than content. Content differs widely among members.” Thus, members of a family, a political party, a religious group, or a nation may not agree on many things, but they are bound together by symbols, which are always ambiguous in meaning, as well as a sense of sameness that does not merely occur; rather, it is imagined and constructed through constant attention and work at the level of individuals, interactions, and institutions. Language is, of course, paramount among the symbols that unite and divide. As will become apparent, studies in the collection are concerned with various aspects of identity and their interaction with others. In some cases, the focus is matters of individual identity and self-perception. Am I a Tunisian if I don’t speak a Tunisian Arabic? Am I a “real” Jordanian if I am of Palestinian origin? Am I more Egyptian than a Copt because I am a Muslim? In other studies, the primary focus is the interactional order. Thus, Discourse Markers emerge in conversation, whether intra- or intergroup conversation interactions. Stance-taking and positioning occur in interactions, whether online or on television. In other studies, the primary concern is the institutional order, collectivities of various kind and often their constructions of identity as evidenced in their language ideologies. What do (or should) Qatari Bedouins sound like when they speak Arabic? What is the best Saudi Arabic spoken? Should school-aged children of Tunisian origin who live in an ethnic enclave in Mazara del Vallo, Italy attend Italian schools? Will the use of a handful of dialectal terms in the Arab textbooks for young children in Morocco signal the end of the fushaa and descent into fitna, or social and

7

Keith Walters

moral chaos, for the society as a whole? Not surprisingly, many contributions to this volume consider two or three of these orders. As Jenkins emphasized, each of these levels or orders is necessary in understanding and defining the others, an important aspect of understanding the growing interest in intersectionality as a way of understanding identity, especially from an institutional vantage point. As the quotation from Appiah makes clear, contemporary theorizing about identity has little use for essentializing, that is, arguments of the form “All x’s are y” or even “All x’s can (or should) speak language y.” As I have argued (Walters, 2018), essentialism was common among certain Arab nationalists in the last century, (re)defining everyone within a particular state or region as Arab and assuming that use of the fushaa could function as the glue to hold together not just that state but the entire world Arab world. Such essentialism was, of course, linked in complex ways to linguistic purism, which remains an especially strong language ideology in the Arab world with regard to Standardized Arabic despite the great variability it exhibits. Understanding the complex links between Arabness and the fushaa, explicating them, and finding ways to avoiding reinscribing them in sociolinguistics remains a challenge. Scholars of nationalism often focus on the contingent nature of nationalisms – that over time, loyalties of an individual or group can shift as historical circumstances shift. Understanding the changing nature of identity and the role of Arabic across communities and societies where the language is used will require a great deal of continuing research. As noted, the studies presented here not only demonstrate current areas of interest in the field (and its vitality) but also point toward future directions for research. When a research tradition focuses (primarily) on a single language (acknowledging or ignoring the reality of language contact), two questions arise. First, what is unique about this language and the contexts and communities in which it is used; what can it and its use in context teach linguists about the nature of language that other languages and linguistic arrangements may not be able to? We can predict that there will continue to be great interest in Arabic diglossia, and such interest is justified, given that Arabic is likely the best (and dare I say “purest”) example of the phenomenon as first noted by Ferguson. It is clear that the relationship between the standardized variety and the various national (and subnational) varieties continues to evolve, particularly given the growing knowledge of these varieties among younger users of Arabic and the willingness to use them, especially in the context of social media (Alkhamees, Elabadli, & Walters, 2019). Likewise useful would be additional studies focusing on the language ideologies associated with diglossia across the Arab world, particularly as the importance of nation-state nationalism continues to rise. There is certainly a great need for descriptive studies of what users of Arabic in fact do with regard to negotiating the diglossic continuum (assuming we assume a continuum) with an eye toward avoiding the norm-and-deviation paradigm that has so often characterized that body of research. Additionally, given the participation of communities that use Arabic in processes of globalization, additional studies that help document and analyze the consequences of that participation are certainly needed. It is clear that languages of wider communication, English, in particular, are becoming commodified in new ways across the Arab world with complex consequences. Mastery of a language of wider communication requires large investments of time on the part of individuals (and even families) and money that is not going for other purposes, whether that money is spent on tutors, materials, or school budgets, and time spent mastering English is time not spent on other subjects. It also cannot help but give rise to new axes of social differentiation that will have long-term economic consequences for individuals, families, communities, and states. The consequences of this aspect of globalization for the Arabic language in various countries is not at all clear, whether the focus is lexical, phonological, grammatical, or semantic 8

Introduction

influences on language structure, patterns of language use of varieties of Arabic and/or with other languages, or language ideologies. The current situation clearly leads some elites to panic. As Milroy and Milroy (1985) noted with respect to what they term “the complaint tradition” with regard to Standard English, such ideologies often involve nostalgia for an idealized past that likely never existed. Several studies in the volume deal with languages that are marginalized in the Arab world or varieties of diasporic Arab that are likewise marginalized where they are used. The current interest of the discipline of linguistics in documenting and supporting the revitalization of such languages grants legitimacy to such projects (and, in some lucky cases, funding for fieldwork). As the discussions of language attitudes in the volume make clear, however, what will be useful to the community is likely not surveys of attitudes because of the challenges that language surveys present in terms of design and interpretation. Supporting endangered varieties will require far more than surveys. Even with the growing number of research studies on the sociolinguistics of Arabic, it is clear that much remains to be done. There are no topics that have been exhausted, particularly given the growing methodological sophistication of research in the discipline and the awareness among researchers that they must read widely in social theory in order to be able to contribute to theory building. The issue of theory building leads to the second possible question that research focused on a particular language can hope to help answer: how can this body of research contribute to our understanding of language in society broadly conceived? Just as nearly contemporary discussions of identity begin with the related notions of sameness and difference, the building blocks of identity (or, more properly, processes of identification), linguists interested in language and society are enjoined to consider how their work, wherever it is located, contributes to a broader and deeper understanding of humans as language users and language as a human phenomenon. An understanding of language is predicated on the understanding of languages, what distinguishes among them, but also what they share. The same is true for an understanding of language in society. In putting together this collection, Reem and I have sought to allow researchers the widest possible freedom in presenting the results of their research. Importantly, we have permitted them to employ labels for language varieties of their liking, a fact that will not please activists working on minority languages (cf. Block, 2019). Likewise, some researchers are much more comfortable than others in attributing clear intentionality to the ways that individuals employ particular linguistic forms in context; rather than focusing on interactional effect, consequences, or uptake, as ethnomethodologists might, these researchers assign motivations to speakers. Aware that change grows out of variation, we see such variation in practice, preference, and value commitments as evidence of the vitality of the field, and we welcome continued debate on these and other issues. Predictably, we were not able to solicit manuscripts from all the researchers we had initially hoped to be able to contribute in order to have wider coverage of the diversity of language found across the Arab world or the larger world where Arabic is used or of the diversity of methodological approaches used in analyzing the many links between the Arabic language and identity. Other commitments and life circumstances did not make it possible for certain contributors or us to realize those hopes. We remain grateful to each of those who considered our invitation even as we remain grateful to the contributors who were able to accept it for helping advance discussions of the many ways that Arabic cannot help but be entangled in the ways that individuals, groups, states, and supra-national entities imagine and construct their identities and have identities ascribed to or thrust upon them. 9

Keith Walters

References Alkhamees, A., Elabdali, R., & Walters, K. (2019). Destabilizing diglossia? The new media and translanguaging. In A. Khalfaoui & Y. Haddad (Eds.), Perspectives on Arabic linguistics XXXI (pp. 105–134). John Benjamins. Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism (Rev. and extended Ed.). Verso. Appiah, K. A. (2018). The lies that bind: Rethinking identity – creed, color, class, culture. Liveright. Block, A. (2019, October 2). Respecting identity: Amazigh versus Berber. SLA Blog. http://linguistic anthropology.org/sla-blog/respecting-identity-amazigh-versus-berber/ Bourdieu, P. (1992). Language and symbolic power (G. Raymond & M. Adamson, Trans.). Polity Press. Bucholtz, M., & Hall, K. (2003). Language and identity. In A. Duranti (Ed.), Companion to linguistic anthropology (pp. 369–394). Blackwell. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble and the subversion of identity. Routledge. Douglas, M. (2000). Purity and danger: An analysis of the concepts of pollution and taboo. Routledge. (Originally published 1966). Du Bois, J. W. (2007). The stance triangle. In R. Englebretson (Ed.), Stancetaking in discourse: Subjectivity, evaluation, interaction. Benjamins. Eliot, T. S. (1963). Collected poems, 1909–1962. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Ferguson, C. (1959). Diglossia. Word, 15(2), 325–340, doi:10.1080/00437956.1959.11659702 Goffman, E. (1959). The presentation of self in everyday life. Doubleday Anchor. Harré, R., & van Langehove, L. (1999). Positioning theory. Oxford: Blackwell. Jenkins, R. (2014). Social identity (4th Ed.). Routledge. Labov, W. (1972). Sociolinguistic patterns. University of Pennsylvania Press. Langacker, R. W. (2008). Cognitive grammar: A basic introduction. Oxford University Press. Le Page, R. B., & Tabouret-Keller, A. (1985). Acts of identity: Creole-based approaches to language and ethnicity. Cambridge University Press. Milroy, J., & Milroy, L. (1985). Authority in language: Investigating standard English. Routledge. Niedzielski, N., & Preston, D. (2000). Folk linguistics. Mouton de Gruyter. Preston, D. (1989). Perceptual dialectology. Foris. Suleiman, Y. (2013). Arabic in the fray: Language ideology and cultural politics. Edinburgh University Press. Walters, K. (1996). Intrasentential codeswitching in diglossic settings and its implications for linguistic variation and language change. In J. Arnold, R. Blake, B. Schwenter, & J. Solomon (Eds.), NWAV23 proceedings (pp. 401–416). CSLI (Center for the Study of Language and Information). Walters, K. (2003). Fergie’s prescience: The changing nature of diglossia in Tunisia. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 163, 77–109. Walters, K. (2007). Language attitudes. In K. Versteegh et al. (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic language and linguistics (Vol. II, pp. 650–664). Leiden: Brill. Walters, K. (2018). Arab nationalism and/as language ideology. In E. Benmamoun & R. Bassiouney (Eds.), The Routledge handbook of Arabic linguistics (pp. 475–487). Routledge.

10

PART I

Identity and variation

1 FROM RAJJAL TO RAYYAL Ideologies and shift among young Bedouins in Qatar Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad1

Introduction Identity has emerged as one of the important pillars in recent works in sociolinguistics and linguistic anthropology, so much so that many scholars argue that a large body of work in linguistic anthropology is the study of language and identity (Bucholtz & Hall, 2004). Many recent studies have further shown that language ideologies play a critical role in the construction of social identities and different subject positions (Irvine  & Gal, 2000). However, there has not been much research examining language and identity in the Arabian Gulf. This study fills this gap by examining language identity and change in the context of 21st-century Qatar, which is experiencing extraordinary social changes including opportunities for language contact between Hadharis and Bedouins. Recent studies on the sociolinguistics of Arabic dialects have demonstrated that in addition to the Standard Arabic that holds prestige and power across the Arab World, there exists, in all Arabic-speaking countries, at least one additional supra-local or regional variety, generally spoken in the capital cities, that holds considerable prestige for ordinary Arabic speakers (see e.g. Abd-El-Jawad, 1987; Abu-Haidar, 1989; Al-Amadidhi, 1985; Al-Rojaie, 2013; Bassiouney, 2017; Holes, 1995). These studies have shown that speakers speaking local varieties tend to shift to the non-standard supra-local variety be it the dialect of Cairo, Baghdad, Amman, or Manama, perhaps because it is more accessible to speakers than the Standard Arabic. In a pioneering sociolinguistic study of the Qatari dialects, Al-Amadidhi (1985) discussed two key linguistic variables (q) and (dʒ) and their distribution across social categories such as Bedouin, Hadhari, Howala, ‘Ajam, age, and education. He also examined the variation in relation to four lexical categories and different speaking styles. With regard to the correlation between age and variants, among all social groups, he mentions, “The younger generation has a higher level of the [dʒ] variant in their linguistic output than the other group has” (p 243). Al-Amadidhi explains this as a classicizing influence of the spread of literacy among the young group, which meant a greater exposure to Standard Arabic forms. At the same time, with regard to the Bedouin group, he reported, “while the sedentary [Hadhari] groups are moving away from the colloquialization rule, the Bedouin group has just started to move in the opposite direction, having begun to use the [y] variant [associated with the Hadhari dialect]” (p 262). He concludes, “what in these histograms appear like small percentages of the [y] variant in the 13

Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad

speech of the Bedouin dialect are in fact an indication of sound change in progress” (p 262). Our results show that the shift from the Bedouin variant [dʒ] to the Hadhari variant [y] among Bedouins first reported in Al-Amadidhi (1985) has gathered more momentum and has become more robust over the last three decades. We further show that the shift from Bedouin to Hadhari features is not confined to this variable alone; in fact, our data shows that it is evidenced in other lexical and syntactic variables as well. Our findings are based on an examination of recorded sociolinguistic interviews and questionnaires designed to elicit speakers’ ideologies. We examine the following: 1 2 3 4

Two phonological variables: /k/ and /dʒ/ One morpho-phonological variable: the 2nd person feminine singular possessive/accusative pronoun (2ndPFSA/P) Five lexical variables: 1st and 3rd person personal pronouns Two syntactic variables: abbi, ‘I want’ and ashuf, ‘I see’.

The interview data was used for two purposes. First, we examined the use of the variants in the speech of the young and old generation to see if there was any shift. Second, we also examined the participants’ ideologies about the Bedouin and Hadhari dialects to study if the shift is being fueled by speakers’ perceptions about the two dialects. The language ideology data from the interview was further supplemented with data from a survey aimed at understanding ideologies among a broader sample of young Qatar University students belonging to both Bedouin and Hadhari groups.

Sociolinguistic background Qatar is a small peninsula, with a population of 2.6 million, located on the western side of the Arabian Gulf. Sixty-five percent of its population lives in Doha, the capital. The official language of Qatar is Arabic. However, English is widely used in addition to a number of South and South-East Asian languages, such as Urdu, Hindi, Nepali, Malayalam, Singhalese, Tamil, and Tagalog which are widely used by expatriates.2 Qatar used to be inhabited by several tribes that were independent from one another. After Qatar became a state, all tribes were unified under one administration. However, tribal tendencies still govern the society (Al-Amadidhi, 1985). The local Qatari population consists of four major social groups: Badu (Bedouins/nomads), Qabayil (Hadharis/sedentary), Howala (people who returned to the area after having migrated out of it due to economic difficulties), and ‘Ajam (people of Iranian origin) (Al-Amadidhi, 1985). In this study, we focus on the dialects of the Bedouins and Hadharis as they form the two major social groups in the Qatari society. There are many differences in their dialects including the alternation in the pronunciation of Standard Arabic (dʒ) which is pronounced as [dʒ] in the Bedouin dialect and /y/ in the Hadhari one.3 Both Al-Amadidhi (1985) and Holes (1995) argue that the sociolinguistic factors that have contributed to the linguistic change are the result of urbanization and spread of literacy in the Arab World. Urbanization has resulted in people moving from rural areas to the cities and thereby bringing rural dialects in contact with urban ones. To this can be added that the contact among different social groups has also reconfigured language ideologies of the speakers whereby speakers of rural and Bedouin dialects have found themselves surrounded by Hadhari dialect that holds more prestige and power. The social transformation of Qatar is similar to many other countries in the region. In fact, Qatar has experienced urbanization even more robustly 14

From Rajjal to Rayyal

with about 99% of its population living in urban areas (Hamoda, 2017). The urbanization has brought the Bedouin dialect in close contact with the Hadhari one. The spread of education has further brought the younger generation of Bedouins in contact with Hadharis at schools, universities, and work places. The shift we report is the result of dialect contact due to migration more broadly and the spread of education. Our study documents the shift among young Bedouins studying at Qatar University.

Theoretical framework This research combines theoretical and methodological insights from the variationist sociolinguistic and language ideology frameworks. While the language variation framework makes it possible to study change in progress quantitatively, the qualitative insights helps understand the ideologies and motivations behind the change. The former model, pioneered by Labov (1963) has been extensively used to study language change in progress in a range of social contexts including the Arab World. In a recent article using this model, Al-Rojaie (2013) shows that young men and women in Saudi Arabia are shifting from the affricated variant [ts], indexical of a local Bedouin identity, to the stop variant [k] associated with a supra-local variety. According to Silverstein (1979), language ideology refers to common-sense ideas that speakers have about the structure and use of their language. Language ideology is seen as a mediating link between linguistic forms and social structure. Woolard & Schieffelin (1994) emphasize this relationship by noting that, ideologies of language are significant for social as well as linguistic analyses because they are not only about language. Rather, such ideologies envision and enact links of language to group and personal identity, to aesthetics, to morality, and to epistemology. (pp 55–56) A key concept in a language ideology framework is the notion of indexicality. The term indexicality is most commonly used to refer to links that speakers establish between linguistic units such as phonemes and morphemes and social meanings. Speakers conceptualize such links through ideologies about particular speakers who produce particular kinds of language (e.g. Bucholtz & Hall, 2005). For example, the use of multiple-negation in English indexes an uneducated identity. In the Arab World, while the use of the standard Arabic negation particle lam, in lam aqul, ‘I didn’t say’ indexes an educated identity, the use of ma in ma qult, ‘I didn’t say’ may not. A language ideology framework is relevant in understanding the construction of social identities through the process of linguistic differentiation (Irvine & Gal, 2000; Kroskrity, 1998). The framework also sheds light on the process of language change and results of language contact such as language maintenance and shift (e.g. Kulick, 1992). Irvine and Gal stress that ideology is often a motivating factor behind language change. They argue, “the direction and motivation of linguistic change can be illuminated if we attend to the ideologizing of a sociolinguistic field and the consequent reconfiguration of its varieties through processes of iconization, recursive projection, and erasure” (ibid. p 77). The notion of prestige associated with languages and dialects is part of speakers’ language ideologies. Given the diglossic situation, the Standard Arabic enjoys high prestige across the Arab World (Ferguson, 1959). But recent studies have shown that Standard and prestige do not always cohere in the same code in the Arabic-speaking world. Regional or supra-local dialects command prestige as well. 15

Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad

Data and variables Our data consists of a total of eight recorded sociolinguistic interviews with four males and four females belonging to two age groups; young between the ages of 18–30 and old between the ages of 50 and above. We made sure that parents of the participants are also Bedouin to ensure that the use of Hadhari features does not come from the parents. The interviews were conducted by three female interviewers in their twenties, one Qatari, who was Bedouin-Hadhari, and two Palestinians. The interviewers used their own dialects during the interviews to maintain a natural environment. Bedouin participants were identified based on their family names; names such as Al-Mansouri, Al-Qahtani, and Al-Hajri are known to be Bedouin (Al-Kathim, 1993).

Variables The variables we examine in this study are of the following categories: 1

Phonological: (i) The variable /k/, which has two variants: non-affricated voiceless velar stop /k/ in the Bedouin dialect and the voiceless palatal affricate /tʃ/ in the Hadhari dialect (Mustafawi, 2006); (ii) and the variable (dʒ), which also has two variants: the voiced palatal affricate /dʒ/ in the Bedouin dialect and the voiced palatal glide /y/ in the Hadhari dialect (AlAmdidhi, 1985). The following are examples of the Bedouin (B) and Hadhari (H) variants: B H Gloss /kəm/ /tʃəm/ ‘how much’ /rədʒdʒal/ /rəyyal/ ‘man’

2 Morpho-phonological: The 2nd person feminine singular accusative/possessive pronoun (2ndPFSA/P). This variable corresponds to the standard Arabic ( ِ‫)ك‬. It has a number of variants depending on tribal affiliations. While the Hadharis use the /-tʃ/ variant, the Bedouins use three different variants. The Marri and Rashidi tribes use /-ʃ/, the Hajri tribe uses /-s/ variants, the Dosari and Shammari tribes use the /-ts/ variant. Since all our participants are from the Marri and Rashidi tribes, who use the /-ʃ/ variant, this study does not comment on the other two variants. Given in Table 1.1 are examples of the Hadhari and Bedouin forms using the structure ‘your name’. 3 Lexical: We study five personal pronouns – two of them are 1st person singular and plural forms and the others are 3rd person forms. The following are the Bedouin and Hadhari variants of the pronouns with their glosses. a

1st person: B H Gloss /ʔənə/ /ʔanə/ ‘I’ /ħɪnnə/ /ʔɪħnə/ ‘we’

Table 1.1 Variants of the possessive form ‘your name’ in different dialects Variable

Variants

Tribe

Realization

Gloss

2ndPFSA/P pronoun

/-ʃ/ /-s/ /-ts/ /-tʃ/

Bedouin: Marri/Rashidi Bedouin: Hajri Bedouin: Dosari/Shammari Hadhari

/ʔɪsmɪʃ/ /ʔɪsmɪs/ /ʔɪsmɪts/ /ʔɪsmɪtʃ/

Your name Your name Your name Your name

16

From Rajjal to Rayyal

b

3rd person B H Gloss /hu/ /ʔohwə/ ‘he’ /hi/ /ʔɪhɪə/ ‘she’ /hʊm/ /ʔohmə/ ‘they’

4

Syntactic: The variables are ‘I want’ and ‘I see’. B H Gloss /ʔəbɣɪ/ /ʔəbbɪ/ ‘I want’ /ʔəʃuf/ /ʔətʃuf/ ‘I see’

Methodology The sociolinguistic interviews started with an ice-breaker about the participants’ childhood or any adventures they might have had. Then, they were asked general questions about their schools or neighborhood. Towards the end of the interview, a couple of questions were aimed at knowing their attitudes towards language shift in general, and the two dialect varieties in particular. The data consists of eight interviews including two with older men, two with older women, two with younger men, and two with younger women. Interview length ranged between 22 and 57 minutes long. The analysis of the phonological, morpho-phonological, lexical, and syntactic variables only includes the first 30 minutes of each interview apart from the short ones; they are analyzed in full. This was to eliminate any biases in the number of tokens that could be caused by the difference in the length of the interviews. All interviews were analyzed in full in terms of ideologies and attitudes. While coding data, if a participant repeated a word or phrase for emphasis, the number of all tokens were included in the count, because such repetitions occurred naturally. But when participants gave examples of how others speak, these examples were excluded as they were stylization or imitations.4 This data was supplemented with a survey that aimed at eliciting young Qatari’s ideologies of regarding the Bedouin and Hadhari dialects. The survey consisted of a printed questionnaire consisting of 60 questions that were distributed among 30 male and 30 female Qatari students. The participants were mainly college students, but a few of them were graduates and high school students.

Analysis and discussion In this section, first we discuss the results in terms of the variables and the use of the variants among the two generations. Then we provide an overall summary of the variation.

Phonological features With regard to the phonological variables (dʒ) and (k), Table 1.2 shows that while the older Bedouin men and women used the Bedouin variants /dʒ/ and /k/ categorically (100%), the younger generation shows a shift towards the Hadhari variants. While the use of the Hadhari variant /y/ of the variable (dʒ) was 22% among Bedouin men, it was 39% for Bedouin women. This gender-related difference corroborates other studies that have shown that women adopt the prestige form more than men. 17

Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad Table 1.2 Distribution of the variables (dʒ) and (k) across two generations Variable

Variants

Older men

Older women

Younger men

Younger women

(dʒ)

[dʒ] [y] [k] [tʃ ]

44 0 3 0

96 0 6 0

25 7 3 0

19 12 4 2

(k)

100% 0% 100% 0%

100% 0% 100% 0%

78% 22% 100% 0%

61% 39% 67% 33%

Regarding the variable (k), we see that younger men do not use the Hadhari variant /tʃ/, while women do (33%). This can be explained by the fact that the number of tokens for the variable (k) is only three, and therefore it is possible that if the interviews were longer or the topic of the conversation was different, the Hadhari variant would have occurred in the speech of younger men similar to women.

Morpho-phonological features Of all variables, the 2nd person feminine singular accusative/possessive pronoun is probably the most salient marker distinguishing the Hadhari dialect from the Bedouins. As discussed earlier, while the variant /tʃ/ is associated with the Hadharis, the variant /ʃ/ is indexical of Bedouin identity. The data in Table 1.3 shows a pattern that is similar to the pattern observed with the phonological variables. While the older Bedouin men and women only use the traditional Bedouin variants of the pronoun, the younger Bedouin men use the Hadhari variant quite robustly at 91%. What is extremely interesting is that the younger Bedouin women use the Hadhari variant 100% of the time. It is clear that for this variable, women show a complete shift from the Bedouin to the Hadhari variant. We argue that the shift is driven by ideologies in which the Hadhari dialect is generally seen as more positive than the Bedouin one. In the interviews many younger female participants described the Hadhari dialect as ‘the standard’, referring to its wider use in the media and work places. Another explanation, as we will see later, is that the Bedouin dialect indexes masculinity, which may be responsible for younger women adopting Hadhari features more than younger men.

Lexical variables: personal pronouns Since pronouns belong to a closed class of words, changes taking place in them are stronger signs of language shift. As is clear from Table 1.4, while the older generation predominantly uses the Bedouin variants, the younger generation in general tends to use the Hadhari dialect, although these variables show a mixed pattern based on gender. While younger men for the most part have kept the Bedouin variants /hu/, /hi/, and /hʊm/, women do show a shift to the Hadhari variants of these pronouns. In fact, they sometimes use the Hadhari variant more than the Bedouin variants with a frequency distribution of 50%, 56%, and 75% for /ʔohwə/, /ʔɪhɪə/, and /ʔohmə/ respectively. As for the 1st person pronouns, there appears two conflicting patterns for the younger generation. First, men use the Bedouin variant /ʔənə/ far more than women, and women use the Hadhari variant /ʔanə/ of the same variable far more than men. Second, both younger men and women only use the Hadhari /ʔɪħnə/ of the plural 1st person pronoun, and do not use the Bedouin /ħɪnnə/ at all. As we saw previously, younger women use the Hadhari variants more 18

From Rajjal to Rayyal Table 1.3 Distribution of variants of 2ndPFSA/P pronoun across generations Variable

Variants

Older men

Older women

Young men

Young women

[-ʃ ] [-tʃ ]

2 0

19 0

3 32

None 38

100% 0%

100% 0%

9% 91%

0% 100%

Table 1.4 Distribution of pronouns across generations 1stP F/M Sg. Variable Variants

‘I’ B /ʔənə/ Older 13 men 100% Older 23 women 100% Young 52 men 76% Young 13 women 18%

H /ʔanə/ 0 0% 0 0% 16 24% 60 82%

1stP F/M Pl.

3rdP M Sg.

3rdP F Sg.

3rdP M Pl.

‘we’ B /ħɪnnə/ 5 71% 8 100% None 0% None 0%

‘he’ B H /hu/ /ʔohwə/ 11 0 100% 0% 8 0 100% 0% 44 1 98% 2% 3 3 50% 50%

‘she’ B H /hi/ /ʔɪhɪə/ 3 0 100% 0% 1 0 100% 0% 10 0 100% 0% 4 5 44% 56%

‘they’ B H /hʊm/ /ʔohmə/ 4 0 100% 0% 3 0 100% 0% 10 0 100% 0% 3 9 25% 75%

H /ʔɪħnə/ 2 29% 0 0% 41 100% 11 100%

than the Bedouin ones. This corroborates earlier studies that show that women shift to more prestigious Hadhari variants more than men.

Syntactic variables The syntactic variables examined next are prominent markers of Bedouin and Hadhari identities. Table  1.5 shows that the older generation speakers have some variation in the use of the variants. However, it is clear that the younger generation has a stronger tendency to use the Hadhari variants more than the older generation. The data further shows that while the younger men use the Hadhari variant /ʔəbbɪ/ only 40% of the time, the younger women use /ʔəbbɪ/ 100% of the time. Similarly, while the use of the Hadhari variant /ʔətʃuf/ among men is 57%, it is 81% among women. This further shows that the shift from Bedouin to Hadhari is happening faster among women than men.

Ideologies, identity, and language change As discussed earlier, research has shown that language ideologies are often the driving force behind language maintenance and shift. In this section, we discuss speakers’ ideologies about the social meanings of speaking the two varieties as evidenced in the sociolinguistic interviews and the survey in order to understand the social factors that may contribute to the dialect shift. At the end of the interviews participants were asked questions that were intended to elicit their ideologies about the dialects. For the older generations, the ideologies regarding language and language shift were similar for both men and women. In response to a general question about the value of preserving dialects, they responded by saying that people should preserve their own dialects. However, 19

Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad Table 1.5 Distribution of syntactic variants across generations Variable

Variant

Older men

Older women

Younger men

Younger women

‘I want’

/ʔəbɣɪ/

2 33% 4 67% 4 100% 0 0%

7 100% 0 0% 24 100% 0 0%

3 60% 2 40% 13 43% 17 57%

None 0% 7 100% 6 19% 25 81%

/ʔəb(b)ɪ/ ‘I see’

/ʔəʃuf/ /ʔətʃuf/

when they were asked about how they would feel about young Bedouins using the Hadhari dialects, they answered that it was unacceptable for them to shift to Hadhari, and they frequently described it as ‘‫ ’عيب‬/ʕeb/, ‘shameful’. They however do not think that adopting the Hadhari dialect affects their broader Qatari identity, because they argue that both dialects represent the Qatari identity equally. While the older Bedouins did not approve of Bedouins shifting to Hadhari, they found it acceptable for a Hadhari person to shift to the Bedouin dialect. In fact, an older male participant was thrilled about it and said that it was a good thing as this would be a return to the ‘right Arabic dialect’. This is an indication of a strong sense of pride in and a claim of authenticity of the Bedouin dialect. The young Bedouins however show a different perception. While discussing the shift, the younger Bedouin participants acknowledged the phenomenon and mentioned that they are ‘affected by’ the Hadhari dialect and their language is ‘mixed with’ Hadhari words. They generally attributed this to two major factors: the environment and socialization. They also stated that they preferred to listen to the Hadhari dialect more because it is more ‘understood’ ‘‫ ’أسهل للفهم‬/ʔəshəl lɪlfɪhɪm/, ‘civilized’ ‘‫ ’متحضرة‬/mɪtħəðʳrə/, or that it is a variety their Hadhari friends use. Participants of the younger generation also mentioned that the reason why they should use the ‘easily understood’ Hadhari is that other people will have no trouble communicating with them. It is worth noting that both dialects are mutually comprehensible and therefore on an objective level, comprehension is not an issue. This can therefore be seen as an attempt to rationalize the shift that is not seen as positive among the Bedouin community at large. While this discussion helps understand the ideologies of shame attached to shift from Bedouin to Hadhari that older Bedouins demonstrated, it also shows the ideologies of the younger generation that tries to rationalize the shift by arguing that the Hadhari dialect is more easily understood. The next section tries to get deeper into the structure of the ideology regarding the two dialects among a larger population of both Bedouins and Hadharis.

Quantitative analysis of survey data The survey aims at examining the attitudes and ideologies of young Qataris – both Bedouins and Hadharis; the questionnaires were randomly distributed to 30 male and 30 female participants whose ages ranged between 18 and 30 (Table 1.6). In the following figures, (B) refers to Bedouin, (H) to Hadhari, and (BH) to people who have mixed parentage. The participants were asked to rate on a scale of 1 to 5 (1 being the lowest and 5 the highest) their perceived association of Bedouin and Hadhari dialects with six social features, 20

From Rajjal to Rayyal Table 1.6 Sample population Group

Males

Females

Total

Bedouin Hadhari Bedouin-Hadhari Total

12 12 6 30

6 17 7 30

18 29 13 60

namely prestige, social class, open-mindedness, modernity, masculinity, and purity of origin. They also had the option of choosing ‘not applicable’, which a few participants chose. This is why the percentages of ‘strong’ and ‘weak’ do not always add up to 100%. We grouped the score from 1 to 3 as ‘weak’ and the scores of four and five as ‘strong’. The following two charts show the percentages of the ratings by the Bedouin and Hadhari groups of the Bedouin dialect and the Hadhari dialects respectively. We report  percentages instead of actual raw numbers because the number of Bedouin participants is not equal to that of Hadhari participants. The left bars represent ratings by the Bedouin people, and the right bars represent ratings by the Hadhari people. It is clear from Figure 1.1 that there are differences in the values of Bedouins’ rating of their own dialects and the Hadharis rating of the Bedouin dialect. Most Bedouin participants rate their own dialect ‘strong’ in terms of the social features of prestige (61%), social class (89%), masculinity (89%), and purity of origin (94%), while they rate their dialects as ‘weak’ for the features open-mindedness (28%) and modernity (33%). These self-ratings are however contested by the Hadharis, whose ‘strong’ rating is lower for prestige (28%), social class (38%), or openmindedness (17%). There are however two features on which both groups converge, namely masculinity and purity of origin. While the Bedouin’s ‘strong’ self-rating for masculinity is 89%, it is 79% for Hadharis, and similarly while the Bedouin self-rating for purity of origin is 94%, it is 76% for Hadharis. We argue that the fact that both the Bedouins and Hadharis believe the Bedouin dialect indexes masculinity could be a reason why women tend to abandon the traditional Bedouin features more than men. While both groups agree that the Bedouin dialect is more ‘pure’ than the Hadhari, the purity of origin does not seem to play a role in explaining the shift. Figure 1.2 shows that while the Hadharis associate their dialect with prestige, social class, openmindedness and modernity, the Bedouin participants do not diverge much from them. In fact, Bedouins rate the Hadhari dialect stronger on open-mindedness (72%), more than the Hadharis (65%) themselves. What this suggests is that both Bedouins and Hadharis agree that the Hadhari dialect is more indexical of open-mindedness and modernity than the Bedouin dialect. A clear picture emerges when we combined the Bedouin and Hadhari data together. In the following two charts (Figures 1.3 and 1.4), the bars represent combined ratings of all participants (Bedouins, Hadharis, and Bedouin-Hadhari people) of the Bedouin and the Hadhari dialects respectively. The combined data clearly shows that while both Bedouins and Hadharis strongly associate the Bedouin dialect with masculinity and purity of origin, they do not associate it with openmindedness and modernity. As for prestige and social class, it is almost a 50–50 situation. The ideologies regarding the Hadhari dialect among both Bedouins and Hadharis are however clearer. Figure 1.4 shows that all participants view the Hadhari dialect in a positive light. More than two-thirds of the participants gave the Hadhari dialect a 4 or a 5 on prestige, social class, open-mindedness, and modernity. This clearly shows that Bedouins and Hadharis in general 21

Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad

100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

28 61

38

28

10

33 14

89 72

62

67

83

67

94 76

11 17

6

B H

B H

76

33 11 B H

B H

B H

B H

Prestige

Social class

Open mindedness

Modernity

weak

89 79

17 .

Masculinity Purity of origin

strong

Figure 1.1 Participants’ rating of the Bedouin dialect 100 90 80 70

56

60

44

50 72

72

50

72 66

83 72

55

50 55

41

44 41

H

B

40 30 20

44 24

10 0

B

50

44

H

Prestige

B

24

22 28

17

H

B

B

Social class

H

Open mindedness

weak

24 H

Modernity

B

Masculinity

H

.

Purity of origin

strong

Figure 1.2 Participants’ rating of the Hadhari dialect

associate the Hadhari dialect with positive features. Although the Bedouin dialect receives high scores in self-rating, it does not fare as well among the population at large. We conclude that based on the survey data, the attitudes of young Qataris indicate that the Hadhari dialect indexes prestige, social class, open-mindedness, and modernity, while the Bedouin dialect is rated ‘strong’ only for masculinity and purity of origin. In the survey questionnaire, the participants were asked to self-identify themselves as Bedouin (B), Hadhari (H), or Mixed (BH), and which dialect(s) they generally spoke. What is striking in the survey is the asymmetric pattern that emerges from their answers to these two questions. On the 22

From Rajjal to Rayyal

100 80

40

60

17

40 20 0

23

53 78

57

Prestige

83

83

13

12

72

43

Social Class

Open Mindedness Weak

Modernity

Masculinity Purity of Origin

Strong

Figure 1.3 Participants’ rating of the Bedouin dialect

100 80 60

70

73

28

25

27

Social Class

Open Mindedness

Modernity

68

65

28

Prestige

47

50

48

45

Masculinity

Purity of Origin

40 20 0

Weak

Strong

Figure 1.4 Participants’ rating of the Hadhari dialect

one hand more than half the Bedouin participants said they spoke both dialects, and the rest said they spoke only Bedouin. On the other hand, apart from one participant, all Hadharis said they ‘only’ speak the Hadhari dialect. This clearly suggests that bi-dialectalism is prevalent among Bedouins, who in addition to their own dialect also speak Hadhari. However, b­ i-dialectalism does not characterize the Hadhari population. These answers confirm that the direction of shift is from Bedouin to Hadhari.

Summary and discussion Based on an analysis of natural language data combined with a sociolinguistic survey, in this paper, we have demonstrated that young Bedouins are shifting to the Hadhari dialect. First, we have shown that while the old generation of Bedouins largely use the traditional Bedouin linguistic 23

Heba Al-Kababji and Rizwan Ahmad

features, the young Bedouins show a tendency to shift to the Hadhari variants. This dialect shift was documented in the use of phonological, morpho-phonological, lexical, and syntactic variables. Although the shift is associated with the younger generation in general, we further show that there are gender-related differences in the use of the variants. For instance, younger Bedouin women showed a higher tendency to use the Hadhari variants than younger men. With regard to the 2nd person singular feminine accusative/possessive pronoun, younger women showed a complete shift to the Hadhari variant [-tʃ ], while younger men used both variants. Second, we also examined ideologies that might have a role in the dialect shift. We show that while the older Bedouins showed a strong rejection of the shift and regarded it as socially inappropriate, the younger generation argued that using the Hadhari dialect was a good social skill. Based on an analysis of the language ideology survey, we further showed that both Bedouin and Hadhari speakers associated prestige, high social class, open-mindedness, and modernity with the Hadhari dialect. We argue that this positive ideology about the Hadhari dialect among Bedouins and Hadharis both, associated with corresponding negative ideologies about the Bedouin dialect, may be responsible for the shift among Bedouins. Even though the purity of origin and masculinity are two social features that are believed to be indexical of the Bedouin dialect, it has not stopped the younger generation from moving away from the Bedouin to the Hadhari dialect. Our results further show that the shift from the Bedouin to the Hadhari dialect first reported in Al-Amadidhi (1985) with reference to the variable (dʒ) has gathered more momentum and has become more robust over the last three decades; it is no longer confined to this variable alone. It is evidenced in other lexical and syntactic variables as well. Since our focus was on dialect shift, we didn’t delve deeper into the emerging gendered perceptions of the two dialects. The survey showed that 83% of young Qataris – both Bedouins and Hadharis – gave a strong rating of 4 and above to the Bedouin dialect for masculinity, whereas only 47% of them gave a similar strong rating to the Hadhari dialect. We have mentioned earlier that this ideology explains our finding that Bedouin women had a stronger tendency than men to use the Hadhari forms. Empirical research is needed to examine the impacts the associated masculinity and femininity of the Bedouin and Hadhari dialects respectively have on the language Hadhari men. Do Hadhari men show a shift to the Bedouin dialect, which to them is more masculine than their own? Although we have heard anecdotal stories about this shift, we didn’t have empirical data to answer the question. More research needs to be done to examine the gendered perceptions of the dialects and the consequences they have on dialect maintenance and/or shift in Qatar in particular and the Gulf in general.

Notes 1 Corresponding author. Email: [email protected]. 2 See Ahmad (2016) for a sociolinguistic study of the expatriate languages in Kuwait. 3 We use /y/ to represent the sound /j/ in IPA as it was used in Al-Amadidhi (1985). 4 See Del Torto (2010) for a discussion on the phenomenon of stylization.

References Abd-El-Jawad, H. R. (1987). Cross-dialectal variation in Arabic: Competing prestigious forms. Language in Society, 16, 359–367. Abu-Haidar, F. (1989). Are Iraqi women more prestige conscious than men? Sex differentiation in Baghdadi Arabic. Language in Society, 18, 471–481. Ahmad, R. (2016). Expatriate languages in Kuwait: Tension between public and private domains. Journal of Arabian Studies, 6, 29–52.

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From Rajjal to Rayyal Al-Amadidhi, D. (1985). Lexical and sociolinguistic variation in Qatari Arabic (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh. Al-Kathim, A. (1993). /ʔəttəɣəjjor ʔəlʔɪdʒtɪmaʕi wəθθəqafi fɪl mʊdʒtaməʕ əlqətʕəri/ [The social and cultural change in the Qatari society] (1st ed.). Giza: Hajr Printing, Publishing, Distribution and Advertising. Al-Rojaie, Y. (2013). Regional dialect leveling in Najdi Arabic: The case of the deaffrication of [k] in the Qasīmī dialect. Language Variation and Change, 25, 43–63. ˙ Bassiouney, R. (2017). Constructing the stereotype: Indexes and performance of a stigmatised local dialect in Egypt. Multilingua. doi:10.1515/multi-2016-0083 Bucholtz, M.,  & Hall, K. (2004). Language and identity. In A. Duranti (Ed.), A companion to linguistic anthropology (pp. 369–394). Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Bucholtz, M., & Hall, K. (2005). Identity and interaction: A sociocultural linguistic approach. Discourse Studies, 7, 585–614. Del Torto, L. M. (2010). ‘It’s so cute how they talk’: Stylized Italian English as sociolinguistic maintenance. English Today, 26, 55–62. Ferguson, C. A. (1959). Diglossia. Word, 15, 325–340. Hamoda, Y. (2017). Tackling Qatar’s urban development challenges. Gulf-Times. Retrieved from http:// gulf-times.com/story/547926 Holes, C. (1995). Community, dialect and urbanization in the Arabic-speaking Middle East. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 58, 270–287. Irvine, J.,  & Gal, S. (2000). Language ideology and linguistic differentiation. In P. V. Kroskrity (Ed.), Regimes of language: Ideologies, politics, and identities (pp. 35–84). Santa Fe: School of American Research Press. Kroskrity, P. (1998). Arizona Tewa Kiva speech as a manifestation of a dominant language ideology. In B. B. Schieffelin & K. A. Woolard (Eds.), Language ideologies: Practice and theory (pp. 103–122). New York: Oxford University Press. Kulick, D. (1992). Anger, gender, language shift and the politics of revelation in a Papua New Guinean village. Pragmatics. Quarterly Publication of the International Pragmatics Association (IPrA), 2, 281–296. Labov, W. (1963). The social motivation of a sound change. Word, 19, 273–309. Mustafawi, E. (2006). An optimality theoretic approach to variable consonantal alternations in Qatari Arabic (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). University of Ottawa, Ottawa. Silverstein, M. (1979). Language structure and linguistic ideology. In P. Clyne, W. Hanks, & C. Hofbauer (Eds.), The elements (pp. 193–248). Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society. Woolard, K. A., & Schieffelin, B. B. (1994). Language ideology. Annual Review of Anthropology, 23, 55–82.

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2 THE EMERGENCE OF A NATIONAL KOINÉ IN SAUDI ARABIA A perceptual dialectology account Yousef Al-Rojaie 1. Introduction Since its establishment in 1932, Saudi Arabia has experienced drastic socioeconomic and political changes that have transformed the cultural and social structure of its evolving society. The huge socioeconomic changes, particularly during the urbanization process, transformed the settlement patterns and lifestyles of most Saudi people throughout the country. The emergence of a new national identity (Toufik, 1985) that did not rely on historical group unities or affiliations caused socially, culturally, and politically induced changes and generated a new reality. The linguistic outcomes of these changes on speakers’ linguistic behavior and attitudes has received very little attention from Arabic sociolinguists, apart from a few focused variationist studies restricted to specific phonological variables in certain urban settings (e.g., Al-Essa, 2009; Al-Rojaie, 2013; Al-Shehri, 1993; Khtani, 1992). This chapter is therefore an attempt to shed light on linguistic outcomes at the national level, that is, the emergence of a national shared variety (koiné) based on a newly developed Saudi national identity. Adopting a perceptual dialectology approach, this study explores the perceptions of Saudi people about the emerging linguistic koiné and their spatial placement and extent in relation to it; hand-drawn maps are included to show the Saudi dialects with which the koiné is most closely associated in linguistic and sociocultural ways. It is rather difficult to describe the current linguistic situation in Saudi Arabia without first examining the history of this country. Thus, I shall briefly highlight the major historical, social, and economic developments that contributed throughout modern times to the formation of Arabic as it is spoken now in modern Saudi Arabia. At the same time, I shall examine the factors that facilitated the emergence of a Saudi national identity during the evolutionary process of building the new Saudi state.

2.  Saudi Arabia: sociohistorical background 2.1.  Brief history Contemporary Saudi Arabia is considered the Third Saudi State; it has followed two previous states that were established in Central Arabia with fluctuating borders (Al-Rasheed, 2010). 26

National koiné in Saudi Arabia

The First Saudi State was established by Muhammad bin Saud in the mid-18th century in an alliance with a local scholar and reformer named Muhammad ibn Abdul Wahhab in the town of Diriyah, near Riyadh. This politico-religious alliance soon became a strong and influential movement that took over most of Central Arabia (Najd), and its rule extended later to other regions of the Arabian Peninsula, including the most populous areas in Hijaz, ‘Asir, and al-Hasa. ˙ The emerging alliance continued to maintain its conservative religious teachings as the official and state-sponsored form of Islam up to this time. The First State collapsed in 1818 after a military campaign by the Ottoman Empire (Al-Rasheed, 2010). After nearly six years, in 1824, the Al-Saud family regained control of and power in Central Arabia with the capture of Riyadh, and they expanded their rule further to establish the Second Saudi State. It was relatively weaker than the first one, however, and faced internal and external struggles and challenges that eventually led to its collapse in 1891. The Third Saudi State, or present-day Saudi Arabia, was established in 1932 (Al-Rasheed, 2010). Its establishment came after a long, gradual state-formation process to unify vast territories with diverse populations; it focused on the main populous regions of the peninsula, namely, Hijaz in western Arabia with its two holy cities, Mecca and Medina; al-Hasa along the littoral ˙ zone of the Gulf; ‘Asir in the southwest region along the Red Sea; and the northern region stretching from the Gulf to the Red Sea, in addition to the interior region in Najd. Unlike in previous Saudi states, a sense of national unity and group identity has been generated among the people in the present state (Toufik, 1985). In the following section, I will examine the multiphase evolutionary process of building a national Saudi consciousness by exploring the interactions between several unifying factors that offset the erosion of previous fragmented affiliations and, at the same time, promoted the rise of a Saudi national identity.

2.2.  The emergence of a Saudi national identity Although most populations in the newly created Saudi state had several common identity markers such as language, ethnicity, religion, and historical traditions, they did not have “a historical memory of unity, or national heritage” (Al-Rasheed, 2010, p. 3). Unlike in other Arab countries, including some of the Gulf States such as Kuwait, Bahrain, and Oman, Saudi populations in the newly formed state did not have a cohesive national identity. Rather, they were more likely to affiliate themselves with tribal, social, regional, and political groups, including a tribe, clan, region, sect, former emirate, or even former country; some people, particularly in Hijaz in the western region of Saudi Arabia, had migrated from other countries, both Arab and non-Arab, to the holy cities and lived there for generations (Al-Rasheed, 2010; Toufik, 1985). National identity is defined here by Smith’s (1991, p. 14) definition of it as a sense of a collective identification that encompasses five “fundamental features”: “(1) an historic territory, or homeland; (2) common myths and historical memories; (3) a common, mass public culture; (4) common legal rights and duties for all members; (5) a common economy with territorial mobility for members”. (See Suleiman, 2003, for a discussion of national identity in the Arab world.) Prior to the establishment of contemporary Saudi Arabia, tribalism was the prevailing form of group identity and political affiliation, particularly among Bedouin populations (Cole, 2003; Maisel, 2014). All tribes were controlled by a tribal chief, who had independent political authority and autonomy. In addition, tribes claimed their own lands, pastures, and grounds for grazing and migration (Maisel, 2014). They also were in a state of constant mobility, which made it difficult for any ruler to control and integrate them under one political affiliation (Habib, 1970). When the Saudi national state and its central government were about to emerge, state-initiated plans were implemented to foster a communal national cohesion among tribal populations 27

Yousef Al-Rojaie

(Al-Hathloul & Edadan, 1993; Shamekh, 1975). The political affiliation was enhanced through the forming of national objectives, the creation of a national government, and a call for common religious beliefs (Toufik, 1985). Three fundamental factors can be credited for the cultural transformation and national integration of the tribes: A  religious ideology, the sedentarization project, and the national territories policy. The religious ideology, called sometimes Wahhabism or Salafism, served to unify the people of the created state, particularly tribal members, under one political and religious ideology that gave them a sense of national identity and became a source of cohesion and legitimacy (Toufik, 1985). The sedentarization project was initially political and military in nature, planned and executed before the creation of Saudi Arabia during the period from 1912 to 1930. It accompanied the establishment of the Ikhwan movement, a military political force used for army reserve support during the unification of Saudi Arabia (Habib, 1970). It was launched in 1912 for placing nomadic tribes in settlements (hijer) and was part of the government’s efforts to unite, integrate, control, and religiously educate the scattered Bedouin nomads (Shamekh, 1975). The plan resulted in changing the nomadic tribes’ lifestyles and converting their religious beliefs to Wahhabi teachings. The third factor was related to the government’s policy to converge “all rangelands to Public Lands by a Royal Decree issued in 1953” (Cole, 2003, p. 115), making the system of tribal territories and rangelands (hema) illegal, and thus weakening the political power that tribes traditionally had in their claimed territories. These plans together diminished the political power and structure of tribes, particularly after these territories were designated as government emirates rather than tribal divisions and were controlled as such (Akers, 2001). Similarly, sedentary populations living in small towns and villages across Saudi Arabia, as well as urban dwellers in Hijaz, were greatly influenced by the political and economic transformations resulting from the emergence of the newly formed nation. Unlike tribal communities, sedentary people generally defined their identity in terms of a specific place or region to which they belonged, regardless of their tribal affiliation. Their regional affiliations were also attached to the political power of local emirates. The defeat of these emirates by King Abdulaziz helped to unify and form the new country and put an end to the political power of the emirates; it was followed by a process of consolidating the political and economic powers of these communities. The situation in Hijaz is quite different from other regions, given the cultural and political structure associated with the historical and social background of the Hijazi people. In particular, the people of Hijaz have the most strongly articulated identity of any regional grouping in Saudi Arabia in terms of their social and cultural heritage for demographic, religious, and cultural reasons (Al-Rasheed, 2010, p.  194). Demographically, the Hijaz “is the most cosmopolitan region in the Arabian Peninsula” (Leatherdale, 1983, p.  12), with heterogeneous populations from different countries and cultures. In addition, because the two holy cities are located in Hijaz, many people from different countries, both Arab and non-Arab, have migrated throughout history to live in the region; their reasons for doing so involved religious and political beliefs and the wish to live in an area in which trade was flourishing. Many of these migrants became Saudi nationals. As the old-city Arab dwellers from Hijaz and other regions throughout Arabia became integrated with the migrant populations formed over the centuries, a unique cosmopolitan community took on one blended cultural and regional identity that came to be known as Hijazi. For all of these reasons, the people of Hijaz, particularly the urban elite families, began to position themselves as having a distinct social and regional identity tied to a cosmopolitan and urban culture. As time went on, the continuing socioeconomic transformations of people’s lives and culture in Hijaz and the influx of families and individuals from all parts of Saudi Arabia to 28

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live in the area gradually formed a new society; it has become more assimilated and integrated into the Saudi national identity and less attached to regional and cultural affiliations, particularly among younger generations.

2.3.  Socioeconomic changes in the emerging Saudi society The establishment of Saudi Arabia by combining vast territories with different regional and tribal populations was definitely a major, historic step in the formation of a nascent society with an emerging national identity. The drastic socioeconomic transformations that Saudi society has undergone in the past 80 years have accelerated and strengthened the formation of a national identity. The socioeconomic transformations were of a substantial magnitude and took place rapidly, changing Saudi Arabia from one of the poorest, most traditional, most isolated, and least urbanized countries in the world into one of the fastest-developing and fastest-growing countries at all levels. I identify three historical phases in which socioeconomic changes took place in Saudi Arabia: (1) The stage during which the sedentarization process took place and oil was discovered, which lasted from 1912 to 1974, (2) the stage during which oil prices boomed and a planned national development occurred, which lasted from 1974 to 2004, and (3) the stage during which a second phase of development, a further boom in oil prices, and much social change took place, which lasted from 2004 to the present. The first phase of socioeconomic changes (1912 to 1974) began before the establishment of Saudi Arabia and continued throughout the next four decades until the booming of oil prices in the 1970s. The first main change was the sedentarization project that the Saudi government launched for establishing the nomadic tribes in Bedouin settlements, particularly in the central and northern regions. It started in 1912 and then expanded significantly; more than 200 settlements were established for an estimated 400,000 nomads from various tribes by 1925 (Al-Hathloul & Edadan, 1993). The government’s efforts significantly decreased the number of nomads in the total population of Saudi Arabia, from 87% in 1900 (GEOPOLIS, as cited in Miller, 2007, p. 5) to 27% in the first official Saudi census in 1974 (Al-Mubarak, 1999). With the discovery of oil in 1938, followed by early economic prosperity after the Second World War, Saudi Arabia underwent substantial socioeconomic changes in terms of urbanization and industrialization, particularly in the eastern and northern regions. Such changes mostly accompanied the establishment of new oil towns in the eastern region in the 1940s and 1950s, namely, Dammam, Dhahran, and Al-Khobar. As a consequence, rapid internal migration, by both rural and Bedouin populations, was typical at this stage so people could find jobs and have better lives. By 1962, urban populations had increased to more than three times their earlier size to reach nearly 1 million inhabitants (Al-Ibrahim, 1982); the greatest increases were in the cities of Riyadh, Jeddah, and Ta’if, followed by Mecca and Medina. Riyadh replaced Mecca as the most populated city with its influx of the first wave of internal migrants and international labor migrants (Basha, 1988). Internal migration was at first mostly from nearby sedentary small towns; however, in the 1950s, nomads began to migrate directly from their original tribal areas to live in spontaneous nomadic settlements termed hilal (Shamekh, 1975), mostly in the peripheries of urban centers throughout Saudi Arabia. The second phase of socioeconomic change (1974 to 2004) was characterized mainly by an economic boom, rapid urbanization, and national government plans for modernization. In 1970, the Saudi government initiated its first Five-Year Plan for modernization (1970 to 1975) to update the country’s infrastructure and services, including education, health services, transportation, communication, mass media, and industrialization. The plan triggered the second and largest internal migration to urban centers in the history of Arabia, reaching its climax in 29

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the late 1970s and early 1980s. Consequently, the kingdom’s urbanization rate increased from 45% in 1974 to 81% in 2004 (Al-Jabri, 2008, p. 87). The third phase of socioeconomic change (2004 to the present) was influenced by an economic boom, increased contact among peoples from different areas, and westernization. During this phase, the Saudi people experienced the second and largest economic boom in the history of their country. Expansion at this level and of this magnitude affected not only the developing human resources and cultural integration, but also the increasing exposure to and contact with individuals from different cultures and linguistic backgrounds. Saudi Arabia probably experienced the most significant level of urbanization in the Arab world in terms of rate and magnitude. For example, the population of Riyadh jumped from 30,000 in 1932 to over 8 million in 2018, accounting for nearly one quarter of Saudi Arabia’s total population.

3.  The linguistic situation in Saudi Arabia 3.1.  Saudi dialects: past and present The Arabic dialects spoken in Saudi Arabia at the time of its establishment in 1932 and throughout the next few decades were poorly documented in the literature, and even now some dialects in large areas of the Arabian Peninsula remain unknown (Watson, 2011, p.  846). Recently, however, a growing number of publications have appeared to uncover the dialect diversity within the country. In general, four main regional dialects can be distinguished in Saudi Arabia (Ingham, 2006; Prochazcka, 1988): Hijazi, Najdi, eastern, and southwestern. Hijazi is spoken throughout the Hijaz in the western region of Saudi Arabia, particularly in urban centers such as Mecca, Medina, Jeddah, and Ta’if. Najdi is spoken in the interior region of Najd and the northern areas, including the capital Riyadh, towns in the provinces of Qassim and Ha’il, and their surroundings. According to Prochazka (1988), Najdi is spoken in a large area that is not limited to the geographical area of Najd in Central Arabia; rather, its use has probably extended over time southward, to include Najran and Bisha, and northward, to reach as far as the Syrian Desert. An eastern dialect is used in the areas of al-Hasa, al-Qat īf, and the coastal region in the ˙ ˙ eastern part of Saudi Arabia. A southwestern dialect is spoken in the regions of ‘Asir, al-Baha, Jizan, and Tihamah. A detailed description of the linguistic features of these regional dialects is beyond the scope of this study; it has been presented in some previous studies by Arabic dialectologists (e.g., Ingham, 2006; Prochazka, 1988). Prior to the establishment of Saudi Arabia and the resulting socioeconomic changes, the population in these four regional dialect areas included settled residents and nomadic groups. Thus, dialect variations among these groups can be distinguished according to a sociologically based division into two types: “Bedouin” (badawī) and “sedentary” (hadrī ) dialects (Ingham, ˙ ˙ 2006; Palva, 2006). Whereas sedentary dialects were spoken by the sedentary populations centered in towns and oases, Bedouin dialects were used by the nomadic populations in their territories throughout Saudi Arabia. Generally, Bedouin dialects were associated to some degree with the tribe to which its speakers belonged. In most cases, each tribe had its own virtually unique dialect that could be distinguished in varying degrees from other Bedouin dialects of other tribes (e.g., Al-Moziany, 1981, for the Harb dialect; Ingham, 1979, for the dialect of the ˙ Mut air tribe; Johnstone, 1961, for the dialect of the al-Dawasir tribe). Bedouin dialects are ˙ generally related, however, “to the area from which they originate and show links with the sedentary dialects of that region” (Ingham, 2006, p. 124). For example, Bedouin dialects spoken in Hijaz were relatively more similar to urban Hijazi than to Bedouin dialects spoken in Najd or eastern Arabia. Thus, the Hijazi dialect could be of two types: Urban Hijazi (see Sieny, 1972) 30

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and Bedouin Hijazi (see Al-Moziany, 1981). The same can be said about other regional dialects, that is, the Najdi, eastern, and southwestern dialects. Given the estimates of the total population of Saudi Arabia in 1932 by Basha (1988), nearly 70% of the Saudi people were nomads and thus could be assumed to be speakers of various Bedouin dialects, and the remaining populations were sedentary, speaking sedentary dialects. Currently, the sociolinguistic situation in Saudi Arabia has changed dramatically because of the political-socioeconomic changes that have transformed the structure of Saudi society and shaped its national and social identity. The population of the country is now predominantly urban, after having been predominantly Bedouin. Accordingly, categorizing a person as Bedouin or sedentary does not now reflect the physical locale in which a person is settled; rather, categories depend more on whether a person has continued to uphold the traditions and customs with which that person was associated in the past (Akers, 2001). Very little is known about the effects of the rapid and extreme transformations in Saudi Arabia on the linguistic behavior of the Saudi people.

3.2.  Dialect koiné One of the immediate linguistic consequences of the urbanization process resulting from internal migration and settlement is dialect contact (Trudgill, 1986), whereby speakers of different varieties having different cultural and linguistic backgrounds are brought into contact with each other (Miller, 2007). As a result of contact-induced situations characterized by increased and prolonged social interactions, the integration of different dialects among speakers, and the various linguistic processes of mixing, leveling, and simplification, a new compromise dialect called koiné has been formed in a dynamic process termed koineization (Kerswill, 2002; Siegel, 1985; Trudgill, 1986). Koineization involves the mixing of linguistic features of different dialects and the subsequent leveling of marked local features, leading to a new, compromise variety (Siegel, 1985, p. 365). Koineization is a gradual process that takes place over a long time; it “typically takes two or three generations to complete, though it is achievable in one” (Kerswill, 2002, p. 670). It occurs in distinct but overlapping stages; Siegel identifies four stages in the development of koinés: (1) The pre-koiné, or unstabilized stage, is characterized by the simultaneous use of various features of the contributing dialects. Leveling and some mixing begin at this stage. (2) The stabilized koiné stage occurs when a new compromise variety emerges with lexical, phonological, and morphological norms. (3) The expanded koiné stage is under way when use of the new variety has expanded linguistically and has become the formal standard for a country or is the language used for literary works. (4) The nativized koiné stage is characterized by use of the koiné as the native language of at least part of the population. It must be noted that urbanization and dialect contact do not necessarily lead to the formation of a koiné. Freeman (2002), for example, has examined the linguistic situation in San’a, the capital city of Yemen, in search of a koiné that may have resulted from urbanization, dialect contact, and mixing between the speakers of the capital’s dialect and speakers of the migrant dialects from all parts of Yemen in the past few decades. The results show that there is no stable koiné in San’a despite the occurrence of some leveling and limited language change; instead, at least two different competing dialects are developing separately in the city. Freeman attributed this unexpected situation to the existence of interrelated social factors; for instance, most migrants were not planning to settle permanently with their families in San’a, so their children were not encouraged to acquire the San’ni dialect, and at the same time, many migrants considered themselves to be part of dense, extensive social networks of family and friends in their home villages. 31

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Two types of koinés can be distinguished: Regional and immigrant (Kerswill, 2002; Siegel, 1985). Regional koiné is formed as a result of contact between regional dialects, usually between the local dialect of a region or an urban center and the dialects of speakers who migrated to the region or the urban center. Often, the use of the regional koiné spreads beyond the region where it was formed, and it does not necessarily supplant the contributing dialects of speakers (i.e., speakers continue speaking their original local dialects) (Kerswill, 2002). In contrast, immigrant koiné is the result of a large-scale migration to a new settlement where a new dialect is formed by immigrants speaking two or more mutually intelligible dialects of the same language. Once established, it becomes the new variety of the new settlement, replacing the migrants’ contributing dialects. In the Arabic-speaking world, most observed koinés can be classified as regional, where rural and Bedouin dialects come into contact with local urban dialects as a result of urbanization and migration. In Morocco, for example, the combination of intense migration and urbanization in the city of Casablanca over the past few decades has resulted in the emergence of a new urban koiné there (Hachimi, 2007). This newly formed koiné is now competing with the well-established urban linguistic models in Fez and Marrakech. According to Miller (2006, p. 596), this change is not restricted to Morocco, however, because similar changes were observed in most urban centers in North Africa (e.g., Algiers and Tunis), “where the old dialects tend to become restricted to women, while the urban koines of the capital cities are expanding, functioning as national dialect koine”. As already mentioned, the current sociolinguistic situation in Saudi Arabia has not received enough attention by researchers despite the massive political and socioeconomic changes that Saudi Arabia has experienced over the past few decades. To fill this gap in the literature, this chapter is intended to examine one potential linguistic outcome of these changes: The emergence of a newly formed national variety in urban centers in Saudi Arabia. Instead of studying speakers’ production of certain linguistic features, as Kerswill and Williams (2000) and Freeman (2002) have done, this study aims to depict the current sociolinguistic situation in Saudi Arabia from the perspective of Saudi dialects’ speakers. In particular, I will attempt to explore whether Saudi people believe that a new national koiné is emerging in their country based on their experience and actual use of Saudi dialects. If the answer is yes, the following questions will be asked to determine their perceptions of the koiné: (1) With which regional dialect do they connect the koiné? (2) What reasons do they have to support their claim? (3) What are the linguistic features of this emerging koiné? Another issue that deserves examination is whether the koiné is becoming a national variety that defines the Saudi national identity: (1) What kinds of attitudes do they have toward the koiné? (2) Is there variation across social groups (i.e., by age and sex) in identifying and locating the emerging koiné? To pursue this study, I have adopted a perceptual dialectology approach. Next, I shall briefly describe the field of perceptual dialectology and its importance in language research, as well as the method and procedures employed in conducting this study.

4.  Perceptual dialectology Perceptual dialectology (PD) is a subfield of folk linguistics (Preston, 2017) concerned with the study of the attitudes, beliefs, and ideologies that nonlinguists have about regional linguistic variation and its spatial distribution. It explores the underlying ideologies and mental representations that lay people construct over time about regional language varieties. The investigation of this kind of research is of critical importance to sociolinguists in their linguistic description and analysis of language variation and change. As Evans (2011) notes, “patterns identified by nonlinguists may reflect actual patterns of linguistic variation” (p. 385). 32

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That is, nonlinguists’ perceptions can help sociolinguists identify which linguistic variants are socially salient to them, and which sociocultural evaluations (i.e., involving feelings and emotion) are mentally associated with these variants that can indicate their social meanings to speakers in a speech community. Thus, such perceptions provide sociolinguists with clues to interpret and understand the patterns of variation that they observe in their studies (Preston, 2018), and at the same time help in proposing trajectories of change in the use of the linguistic variants in question. In addition, nonlinguists’ perceptions can help sociolinguists in exploring the intersections between language and society by identifying the social and cultural forces that may contribute to forming or transforming dialects such as language contact and isolation, social hierarchies, and migration. For example, such perceptions can provide sociolinguists with insights to understand “the internal structure of communities of speakers and how one community positions itself in relation to another (or how individuals position themselves with respect to surrounding communities of speakers)” (Evans, Benson, & Stanford, 2018, p. xxi).

5. Methods 5.1.  Draw-a-map surveys One common method in modern approaches to PD (Preston, 1989, 1999) involves the use of hand-drawn maps (commonly called “draw-a-map task”). Such a task has two techniques: Drawing-a-map and labelling. In the drawing-a-map technique, respondents were instructed to identify on a map of Saudi Arabia the dialects that they believe people speak differently by drawing a line around the areas that they believe to have a distinctive dialect. As for the labelling technique, respondents were asked to label the perceived dialect areas and provide their sociocultural evaluations. In addition to asking respondents to provide their dialect labels and sociocultural evaluations in a broad way, as commonly done in previous PD research studies (e.g., Evans, 2011, 2013), I formulated specific questions to be used as a structured guide for respondents during their use of this technique. These questions are based on analysis of the results of my previous PD studies about perceptions in variations in the Qassim province (AlRojaie, 2020), where some respondents struggled with the labelling technique and continuously needed additional assistance by asking them about certain frequent themes identified by other respondents. Thus, I thought it would be better for respondents to carry out this task via a structured list of questions, which also serve to make the data more comparable across social groups included in this study. To do this modification, I used the results of a preliminary analysis of a pilot study based on data collected in the Qassim province about respondents’ perceptions of Saudi dialects as a starting stage for the questions. I  kept adding additional questions and modifying the existing themes in a subsequent pilot study based on a small data sample collected from various cities in Saudi Arabia. The analysis of the data collected in the two pilot studies have resulted in several common themes that can be incorporated into the current study. These themes were addressed to the respondents as questions. Respondents were informed that answering these questions was optional as long as they had information about them. They were also encouraged to provide additional perceptions and evaluations beyond the scope of these questions. The present data are collected based on two questions: (1) The dialect closest to the Saudi national dialect, (2) the dialect closest to the Classical Arabic, Fusha, i.e., Old Arabic used in the Quran and early Arabic literature. The survey was presented to respondents in the form of a sheet with two sides (see Figure 2.9 in Appendix A). On one side, a brief description of the study and its aim is presented, followed by questions about respondents’ demographic information. On the other side, a basic map of 33

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Saudi Arabia showing major urban centers is shown. The demographic questions include age, sex, birthplace, place(s) where they grew up, current residence, and the dialect they identify themselves as speaking. The selection of these questions was aimed to explore the effect of social and demographic variation on their perceptions of dialects’ regions and boundaries. The identification of respondents’ dialects is included to find with which dialect region they associate themselves the most, and to avoid possible discrepancies between respondents’ answers, as some respondents were born, grew up, and currently reside in different places. The map of Saudi Arabia in the survey was designed in a basic format with limited geographic information, showing only the main urban centers in Saudi Arabia, as well as some relatively smaller cities representing certain local dialects of which respondents may have certain perceptions, such as Al Qat īf, Howtat Bani Tamim, Bisha, and Hafir Al-Batin. The basic design ˙ of the map is intended to avoid any possible impact of the geographic information in the maps on respondents’ perceptions.

5.2.  Post-mapping discussion Similar to Hachimi (2015), we conducted a brief discussion with respondents about their perceived dialect areas and the qualitative labels they assign to some dialects. For the current study, we were interested to discover the rationale that respondents have in identifying the dialects closest to the emerging Saudi dialect, and which linguistic features are associated with this dialect. I was also interested in the social meanings that respondents assign to the perceived dialect area, and whether the association of the dialect area with the emerging dialect is related to its features, speakers, or both.

5.3. Participants As Table 2.1 shows, a total of 674 respondents were recruited to participate in this study. They were balanced by gender (337 males and 337 females). In terms of age, they were divided into three groups: 328 participants were between the ages of 17–25 (young), 206 between the ages of 29–49 (middle-aged), and 140 over 55 years old (old). The youngest participant was 17 years old, whereas the oldest one was 91 years old, with a median age of 34.8. Two main criteria were adopted in selecting the participants: They had to be Saudi nationals and had to have lived most of their lives in Saudi Arabia. This is intended to ensure that participants have enough information about Saudi dialects and variation in speech patterns across Saudi Arabia. Some participants were recruited through networks of friends and family, especially women, while others were approached randomly. In order to obtain as much regional representation as possible, participants were recruited from major and smaller cities throughout Saudi Arabia. As illustrated in Figure 2.1, the fieldwork sites were located in 21 cities, including Riyadh, Jeddah, Mecca, Medina, Dammam, Table 2.1 Distr ibution of respondents by age and sex

Old (55–91 years) Middle-aged (29–49 years) Young (17–25 years) Total

Men

Women

Total

% of Total

70 105 162 337

70 101 166 337

140 206 328 674

20.8 30.5 48.7 100

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Figure 2.1 Sites of data collection

Taif, Buraydah, Ha’il, Abha, Al Baha, Bisha, Jizan, Najran, Tabuk, Al Qatif, Al Hofuf, Al Jouf, Arar, Al Qurayyat, Hafar Al Batin, and Howtat Bani Tamim. These sites covered nearly all geographic regions in Saudi Arabia. They also represent all major dialect areas in Saudi Arabia stated in the literature (Prochazka, 1988). The number of respondents from each city was based mainly on the city’s population according to the 2016 National Census of Saudi Arabia. Some 35

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other cities were also selected because they represent distinct dialects that may influence their residents’ perceptions, such as Howtat Bani Tamim, Al Qurayyat, and Al Qatif.

5.4. Procedures Participants were approached and invited to participate in the study by completing the map survey instrument. They were simply informed that it was a study about dialects in Saudi Arabia and their geographic locations. Once they accepted the invitation to participate in the study, they were instructed first to complete their demographic information. Then, they were asked to draw a line around the dialect areas where they think it is the closest dialect to the Saudi national variety. Next, they were instructed to draw a similar line but around the dialect areas where they think it can be considered the closest to Classical Arabic in terms of its grammatical and phonological features. Surveys were collected in different locations across Saudi Arabia, including university campuses (particularly for younger participants), cafes, houses, shopping centers, airports, and train stations. All surveys from male respondents were collected by the author, whereas surveys of female respondents were collected by three female fieldworkers who have been trained by the author on how to conduct data collection and answer the most frequently asked questions. The data collection process was conducted completely in Arabic, including language of the survey, oral instructions, and interviews (see Table 2.1).

5.5.  Data analysis To analyze the data from the draw-a-map surveys, we have incorporated the geographic information system (GIS), namely the mapping software ArcGIS 10.6, for the essential abilities and features that it can offer in processing and displaying a large number of maps containing geographical and demographic data, along with the qualitative labels generated from the respondents’ hand-drawn maps. Following the procedures outlined in Evans (2011) and Montgomery and Stoeckle (2013), we used a four-stage process: (1) Georeferencing and digitizing the respondents’ hand-drawn dialect areas, (2) adding demographic and perceptual labels to the digitized dialect areas, (3) aggregating all individual dialect areas in one composite map that shows the overlapping areas, and (4) calculating and displaying agreement about the frequency of dialect areas most identified by all respondents. This step includes identifying not only the location and extent of the most salient dialect areas by all respondents, but also showing the intensity of agreement on which dialect area is most frequently identified as being the closest to the emerging Saudi dialect, as well as which is closest to Classical Arabic. To further explore the emerging aggregated perceptual data, we have examined the effect of social variables on respondents’ perceptions of the two questions of interest. Thus, we have stratified the aggregate data based on the respondents’ social and demographic variables, namely age, sex, and spoken dialect in order to map social variation via a composite map for each variable.

6. Results 6.1.  Composite maps The composite map in Figure 2.2 shows that most respondents are in agreement that there is an emerging koiné in Saudi Arabia associated with the new Saudi identity, and the closest dialect to

36

National koiné in Saudi Arabia

Figure 2.2 Composite map of respondents’ perceptions of dialects areas as closest to the Saudi national koiné

it is Najdi Arabic, particularly the dialect of the capital city of Riyadh. By examining the density of respondents’ perceptual boundaries as shown in the maps’ legend, the dialect of Riyadh was marked with the darkest color, indicating its highest frequency of selection by up to 87% of all respondents. The second most frequently selected dialect area by up to 71%, which includes

37

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the cities nearby Riyadh, included Al-Kharj and Howtat Bani Tamim to the south of Riyadh. The third most frequently identified dialect area was selected by up to 48% of all respondents. It extends north of Riyadh to include the cities of Qassim province, where a variety of Najdi Arabic is spoken called the Qassimi dialect. It extends to the south and includes the city of Al Aflaj. The city of Wadi ad Dwasir, south of Riyadh, is included in the fourth frequently identified area, with an agreement level up to 28%. As for the second question regarding the relationship of the emerging koiné to Fusha Arabic, Figure 2.3 shows that respondents are almost divided into two main groups with the same agreement level (40%) for each group. The first group selected the Riyadh dialect, whereas the second group identified the southern dialect area. Some other respondents also identified Hijazi Arabic and the northern dialect with an agreement level up to 11%. These perceptions may suggest that the emerging Saudi koiné is not driven by standardization or association with features retained in a specific dialect. Figures 2.4 and 2.5 show where men and women spatially identify the dialect areas associated with the emerging Saudi koiné. First, they all agree that the Riyadh dialect is the most closely associated with the emerging koiné, with an agreement level above 80% for each of them. However, men and women have certain differences in terms of the extent and location of the perceived dialect areas. While men’s perceived areas are almost identical to the general perception by all respondents as reported in Figure  2.3, women’s areas are relatively smaller and focused more on the Riyadh dialect area. This may suggest that men tend to associate the emerging koiné with the whole area of Najdi Arabic in general, whereas women tend to specifically associate it with the city of Riyadh. Additionally, unlike men, some women perceive the area of Hijazi Arabic spoken in the urban centers of Jeddah, Mecca, and Ta’if to other areas associated with the emerging koiné, with an agreement level up to 28%. This finding seems contradictory to the respondents’ general perception, and it does not appear until the results are divided by gender. Further information about this group of women are stated in the results for the age groups. As shown in Figures 2.6–2.8, the age groups’ perceived areas show some differences in terms of the extent and location, notably the areas with the highest agreement levels. Old respondents tended to identify most frequently larger areas covering nearly the whole area of Najd, with an agreement level up to 80%. In contrast, the most frequently identified area by middle-aged respondents was relatively small and concentrated in the city of Riyadh. Another difference concerns the selection of the area of Hijazi Arabic as the place of the emerging koiné, with an agreement level up to 28%. Although the number of middle-aged respondents who selected Hijazi Arabic remains relatively low, it nevertheless indicates that there is a linguistic urban model in Hijaz that some people believe can compete in representing the emerging Saudi koiné. By adding the results of women’s perceptions with the results of middle-aged respondents, it becomes clear that this view is mainly held by middle-aged women. I  have further investigated the data again using the origin of respondents who selected the Hijazi Arabic area and found that they are entirely from Hijaz province, especially residents of Jeddah. Figure 2.8 shows the dialect areas identified by the younger respondents. The extent and location of the heat map seems similar to the overall perceptions by all respondents shown in Figure 2.2. The only exception, however, is that the boundary of the perceived dialect area extends to the north to include the Ha’il dialect area, which exhibits enough different linguistic features that some respondents do not consider it to be Najdi Arabic, but rather a variety of northern dialects. Such a finding indicates that younger respondents lack awareness of dialect variation that other age groups have due to less experience and contact with other speakers in the area. 38

National koiné in Saudi Arabia

Figure 2.3 Composite map of respondents’ perceptions of dialects areas that are closest to Fusha (Classical Arabic)

6.2.  Post-survey discussions The results of the post-surveys discussions revealed further and deeper insights about respondents’ mapping and rationale of the emerging Saudi koiné. As stated previously, I  was interested in four issues arising out of these discussions: (1) What the koiné in question is called, 39

Yousef Al-Rojaie

Figure 2.4 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by women (left)

(2) reasons for identifying the koiné’s perceived areas, (3) its associated linguistic features, and (4) the social meanings and attitudes toward it. The first question was usually about the name that they use to refer to the perceived koiné. A  number of names came up throughout the discussions; however, the most common ones include: “The white dialect”, “the common dialect”, “the Saudi dialect”, and “the standard 40

National koiné in Saudi Arabia

Figure 2.5  Composite map of Saudi national koiné by men (right)

dialect”. Apart from “the white dialect”, all names are clear and suggest respondents’ explicit awareness of the emerging koiné representing a language variety that can be used across Saudi Arabia. When questioned about the meaning of “white” in the koiné’s name, respondents related it to being accent-free and having no stigmatized linguistic features, so that no one can identify its speaker’s origin. Respondents had no information about exactly when and where 41

Yousef Al-Rojaie

Figure 2.6 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by middle-aged respondents (left)

this term was first used to name the emerging koiné and by which social group. The term is used more often in current data by younger respondents. The most frequent rationale by which respondents explained their association of the emerging koiné with the Riyadh dialect was related to its clarity, simplicity, and lack of marked features.

42

National koiné in Saudi Arabia

Figure 2.7 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by old respondents (right)

A female middle-aged speaker from Dammam overtly illustrated this reason by saying: “No other dialect in Saudi Arabia is like the dialect spoken in Riyadh in terms of clarity and being understood by everyone.” A similar sentiment was expressed by a young male speaker from Abha, southern province: “I always switch to the white dialect or how the people speak in Riyadh in order

43

Yousef Al-Rojaie

Figure 2.8 Composite map of Saudi national koiné by young respondents

to be understood, and I can easily understand other people too. It is like a passport to smooth communication in Saudi Arabia.” A businessman from Dammam made a good comparison: The dialect spoken in Riyadh is in the middle of everything. Not too Bedouin like tribal dialects, and not too urbanized like the Hijazi Arabic. It is also relatively pure, 44

National koiné in Saudi Arabia

not influenced by other dialects of neighboring countries, like the dialects on the borders. Another common reason mentioned by many respondents was related to the close relationship that the emerging koiné has with Saudi identity and the dialect spoken in the capital city. Respondents used labels like “formal”, “official”, “national”, and “the dialect used when working in the government”. A respondent elaborated on this in saying: “I usually switch to the white dialect whenever I talk to someone working in governmental ministries and offices in Riyadh. I believe it started there.” Another respondent added that “the Saudi common dialect represents the Saudi identity. We have a Saudi country and Saudi capital, so we have to use a Saudi dialect.” Similarly, a young male respondent thought that “by speaking the white dialect you get a sense of national feeling whether inside or outside Saudi Arabia. It truly represents our nation in general.” Another key common trait of the emerging koiné is its close association with urbanity and prestige. Respondents assigned frequent labels about this trait, including “urban”, “sedentary”, “prestigious”, “modern”, “elegant”, “high class”, and “elevated.” The rich urbane status of the elites who use it, particularly in the capital city, contributed the most to the construction of this prestige. However, not all Saudi people view it in this way. Some respondents, notably from the Hijaz province, perceive the koiné associated with the Riyadh dialect as being “Bedouin”, “rough” and sometimes “posh”. Instead, they believe that the Hijazi dialect is better for representing the Saudi identity due to its historical usage among the cosmopolitan society of Hijaz so that it embodies mixing, integration, and easy talk. This view can be understood as a reflection of the competition between two urban models in modern Saudi Arabia: The emerging urban model in the capital city Riyadh, and the traditional urban cultural standard associated with Hijaz. A speaker from Riyadh commented about this view: “Yes, Hijazi dialect presents an urban identity, but it remains regional and its use is limited to Hijaz. It also did not spread out of it.” Another speaker from al-Kharj, south of Riyadh, insisted that “the emerging koiné is shaped by the Riyadh dialect, which made it a symbol of urban and national identity.” As for the linguistic features commonly associated with the emerging koiné, respondents stressed that its linguistic system is based on Najdi Arabic, notably the dialect of Riyadh, but it does not necessarily share all of its features. A middle-aged woman from Qassim expressed this point by saying: “I agree that the white dialect is very similar to the dialect spoken by the Riyadh people, but there are some words and sounds adopted from other dialects.” A young male from Tabuk, northwestern region, added: There are words in the Riyadh dialect that are not understood or sound local to some people, so we don’t use them. Also, we don’t use the Bedouin style or the snobbish style that some Riyadh people use when speaking too formally. No sound alternation and avoidance of salient features are recurrent linguistic traits of the emerging koiné. A female schoolteacher exemplified this point by saying: “When I use the white dialect, I don’t use affricated sounds like ts or dz. I don’t also hear others use ch or z for th.”

7.  Discussion and conclusions In this chapter, I have explored the effects of urbanization and dialect contact on the perceived common speech norms emerging in Saudi Arabia, and their relationship with the new urban and national Saudi identity based on speakers’ attitudes towards Saudi dialects. The findings show that the majority of respondents perceived Najdi Arabic in general and the Riyadh dialect 45

Yousef Al-Rojaie

in particular as the closest variety to the Saudi national koiné, associated closely with Saudi national identity as well as an emerging urban linguistic model. Further examination of the results indicates that slight differences also exist among age and gender groups in terms of their perceived spatial area of the emerging koiné based on their aggregated levels of agreement as shown in composite maps. The current findings can be understood as part of the linguistic outcomes of the massive and rapid urbanization that reshaped the social landscape of Saudi dialects and identities. Like capital cities in the Arab world, the Saudi capital city, Riyadh, has become a hub of internal migration from all parts of the country. As a result of dialect contact between the migrant populations who speak different regional Saudi dialects with the old city dwellers of Riyadh, particularly political and urban elites over the past few decades, a new koiné has emerged and begun to diffuse outward to other regions in the country. As shown in the results, the new koiné has established itself across Saudi Arabia as a new urban linguistic standard. In addition, as the home of the Saudi government and the dialect spoken by political elites, it has become representative of Saudi national identity to many people. Overall, the current linguistic situation fits perfectly with Siegel’s (1985) description of the second stage of the koineization process, stabilized koiné, in which a compromise dialect has emerged characterized with leveled features from the contributing varieties. The only difference is that the emerging koiné in Saudi Arabia is dominated by Najdi Arabic, and the dialect of Riyadh in particular. Unlike the situation in San’a (Freeman, 2002), the migrant population settled permanently in Riyadh and established prolonged social interactions and close networks with speakers of different varieties in the country, and those factors together helped the koineization process to occur. In addition to socioeconomic and political changes, a number of other factors may have facilitated the emergence and spread of this koiné. One of these factors is the adoption of this common variety on social media sites by the younger generation, particularly those that provide video sharing such as YouTube, Snapchat, and Instagram. On these sites, users attempt to use a shared variety that can be understood by nationwide viewers from Saudi Arabia, and in some cases targeting viewers from other Arab countries for the sake of fame, popularity, and attraction. These sites served as a medium where the younger generation constructs their perceived Saudi national identity and communicates that identity to a wide audience. As has already been pointed out, koinés do not necessarily replace local dialects, and hence we should not assume a smooth and swift spread of the emerging koiné across Saudi Arabia in the near future, even by the younger generation. Two potential sources of linguistic maintenance and resistance deserve consideration. The first source is concerned with the regional affiliation, particularly among speakers of Hijazi Arabic. As an old and well-established urban model with a distinct linguistic system associated with a cosmopolitan society, Hijazi Arabic currently competes and co-exists with the newly formed urban linguistic variety originating in the Saudi capital. This is because speakers of Hijazi Arabic may feel a threat to their social identity from adopting the incoming common dialect. Thus, the use of Saudi regional dialects might continue for some time, and Hijazi Arabic might be the least affected by the emerging koiné. The second source of linguistic resistance is related to tribal dialects. Despite the huge urbanization process that transformed the structure of Bedouin society, there are no clear indications of a similar linguistic impact on the use of tribal dialects, especially those living in the peripheries of cities. With the rise of tribalism and tribal identity in Saudi Arabia in recent years (Maisel, 2014), a revival in the use of some tribal dialects may occur, or more likely certain Bedouin features may find their way into the new koiné. Despite the overwhelming perception that the respondents have expressed about the emerging koiné, we still need additional information about how this koiné is constructed in 46

National koiné in Saudi Arabia

actual produced speech. In addition, further research is still needed to examine the outcomes of the leveling process that commonly co-occur with the formation of a koiné. For example, it would be interesting to learn which salient and stereotypical linguistic features associated with local and regional Saudi dialects were leveled, as well as the interaction between linguistic and social practices accompanying this process. Another issue that merits further investigation is to what extent the emerging koiné is shaped by the original dialect of Riyadh and what type of influence the migrants’ regional dialects have contributed to this process. One crucial step in this regard would be to explore in detail what defines an urban and national linguistic model in Saudi Arabia, and how this model is connected with constructing a new Saudi identity.

References Akers, D. (2001). The Tribal Concept in Urban Saudi Arabia (Publication No. 9999369). [Doctoral dissertation, Ohio State University]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Al-Essa, Aziza. (2009). When Najd meets Hijaz: Dialect contact in Jeddah. In E. Al-Wer & R. de Jong (Eds.), Arabic Dialectology (pp. 203–223). Leiden: Brill. Al-Hathloul, S., & Edadan, N. (1993). Evolution of settlement patterns in Saudi Arabia: A historical analysis. Habitat International, 17¸ 31–46. Al-Ibrahim, A. (1982). Regional and Urban Development in Saudi Arabia (Publication No. 8229805). [Doctoral dissertation, University of Colorado]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Al-Jabri, N. (2008). Al-tahaddur fī al-Mamlakah al-‘Arabīyah al-Sa‘ūdīyah. Journal of Umm Al-Qura Uni˙ ˙ Educational Sciences, 20¸ 2–48. versity for Human, Social,˙ and Al-Moziany, H. (1981). Vowel Alternations in a Bedouin Hijazi Arabic Dialect: Abstractness and Stress (Publication No. 8119247). [Doctoral dissertation, University of Texas]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Al-Mubarak, F. (1999). Nomad settlements in Saudi Arabia: A cultural approach to understanding urbanization in developing countries. King Saudi University Journal (Arch. & Planning), 11, 21–44. Al-Rasheed, M. (2010). A History of Saudi Arabia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Al-Rojaie, Y. (2013). Regional dialect leveling in Najdi Arabic: The case of the deaffrication of [k] in the Qasīmī dialect. Language Variation and Change, 25, 43–63. ˙ Al-Rojaie, Y. (2020). Mapping perceptions of linguistic variation in Qassim, Saudi Arabia, using GIS technology. Journal of Linguistic Geography, 8, 1–20. Al-Shehri, A. (1993). Urbanisation and Linguistic Variation and Change: A Sociolinguistic Study of the Impact of Urbanisation on the Linguistic Behaviour or Urbanised Rural Immigrants in Hijaz, Saudi Arabia [Unpublished doctoral dissertation]. University of Essex, Colchester, UK. Basha, A. (1988). Migration and Urbanization in Saudi Arabia: The Case of Jeddah and Riyadh (Publication No. 8824713). [Doctoral dissertation, University of Pennsylvania]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Cole, D. (2003). Where have the Bedouin gone? Anthropological Quarterly, 76(2), 235–267. Evans, B. (2011). Seattletonian to faux hick: Perceptions of English in Washington State, American Speech, 86, 384–413. Evans, B. (2013). Seattle to Spokane: Mapping perceptions of English in Washington state. Journal of English Linguistics, 41, 268–291. Evans, B., Benson, E., & Stanford, J. (2018). Language Regard: Methods, Variation and Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Freeman, A. (2002). In Search of a Koiné in San‘ā’ (Publication No. 3057950). [Doctoral dissertation, Uni˙ versity of Michigan]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Habib, J. (1970). The Ikhwan Movement of Najd: Its Rise, Development, and Decline (Publication No. 7021673). [Doctoral dissertation, University of Michigan]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Hachimi, A. (2007). Becoming Casablancan: Fessis in Casablanca as a case study. In C. Miller, E. Al-Wer, D. Caubet & J. Watson (Eds.), Arabic in the City: Issues in Dialect Contact and Language Variation (pp. 97–122). New York: Routledge. Hachimi, A. (2015). ‘Good Arabic, bad Arabic’: Mapping language ideologies in the Arabic-speaking world. Zeitschrift Für Arabische Linguistik, 61, 35–70. Ingham, B. (1979). Notes on the dialect of the Mutair in Eastern Arabia. Zeitschrift Für Arabische Linguistik, 2, 23–35.

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Yousef Al-Rojaie Ingham, B. (2006). Saudi Arabia. In K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich, & A. Zaborski (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics (Vol. IV, pp. 123–130). Brill. Johnstone, T. M. (1961). Some characteristics of the Dosiri dialect of Arabic as spoken in Kuwait. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, XXIV, 249–297. Khtani, A. (1992). The Impact of Social Change on Linguistic Behaviour: Phonological Variation in Spoken Arabic, Asir, Saudi Arabia [Unpublished doctoral dissertation]. University of Essex, Colchester, UK. Kerswill, P. E. (2002). Koineization and accommodation. In J. K. Chambers, P. Trudgill, & N. SchillingEstes (Eds.), The Handbook of Language Variation and Change (pp. 669–702). Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Kerswill, P. E., & Williams, A. (2000). Creating a new town Koine: Children and language change in Milton Keynes. Language in Society, 29, 65–115. Leatherdale, C. (1983). Britain and Saudi Arabia, 1925–1939. London: Frank Cass. Maisel, S. (2014). The new rise of tribalism in Saudi Arabia. Nomadic Peoples, 18, 100–122. Miller, C. (2006). Dialect Koine. In K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich, & A. Zaborski (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics (Vol. I, pp. 593–597). Leiden: Brill. Miller, C. (2007). Arabic urban vernaculars: Development and change. In C. Miller, E. Al-Wer, D. Caubet, & J. Watson (Eds.), Arabic in the City: Issues in Dialect Contact and Language Variation (pp. 1–32). New York: Routledge. Montgomery, C.,  & Stoeckle, P. (2013). Geographic information systems and perceptual dialectology: A method for processing draw-a-map data. Journal of Linguistic Geography, 1, 52–85. Palva, H. (2006). Dialects: Classification. In K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich, & A. Zaborski (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics (Vol. I, pp. 604–613). Leiden: Brill. Preston, D. R. (1989). Perceptual Dialectology: Nonlinguists’ Views of Areal Linguistics. Dordrecht, Netherlands: Foris. Preston, D. R. (Ed.). (1999). Handbook of Perceptual Dialectology (Vol. 1). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Preston, D. R. (2017). Perceptual dialectology. In C. Boberg, J. Nerbonne, & D. Watt (Eds.), Handbook of Dialectology. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell. Preston, D. R. (2018). Introduction. In B. Evans, E. Benson, & J. Stanford (Eds.), Language Regard: Methods, Variation and Change (pp. 3–30). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Prochazka, T. (1988). Saudi Arabia Dialects. New York: Routledge. Shamekh, A. (1975). Spatial Patterns of Bedouin Settlement in Al-Qasim Region (Publication No. 7606145). [Doctoral dissertation, University of Kentucky]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Siegel, J. (1985). Koines and koineization. Language in Society, 14, 357–378. Sieny, M. E. (1972). The Syntax of Urban Hijazi Arabic (Publication No. 7304194). [Doctoral dissertation, Georgetown University]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Smith, A. D. (1991). National Identity. London: Penguin Books. Suleiman, Y. (2003). The Arabic Language and National Identity: A  Study in Ideology. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Toufik, S. (1985). The Emergence of a National Identity in Saudi Arabia (Publication No. 8518198). [Doctoral dissertation, University of Idaho]. ProQuest Dissertations Publishing. Trudgill, P. (1986). Dialects in Contact. Oxford: Blackwell. Watson, J. C. E. (2011). Arabic dialects (general article). In S. Weninger, J. Khan, M. Streck, & J. Watson (Eds.), The Semitic Languages: An International Handbook (pp. 851–896). Amsterdam: De Gruyter Mouton.

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‫‪Appendix A‬‬

‫أخي‪ /‬أختي الكريمة‪:‬‬ ‫‪.‬السالم عليكم ورحمة هللا وبركاته‬ ‫تهدف هذه الدراسة لمعرفة آراء الناس حول اختالف طريقة تحدث الناس (اللهجات المحلية) من مكان إلى آخر في المملكة‬ ‫العربية السعودية وتحديد من خالل خريطة المملكة في الصفحة األخرى‪ ،‬علما ً بأنه اليوجد إجابة صحيحة أو خاطئة أو كاملة‬ ‫أو ناقصة؛ حيث يعتمد رأيك الشخصي المطلوب حسب تجربتك الشخصية بالحديث المباشر أو السماع أو التقييم الشخصي‬ ‫‪.‬العام لتفاوت طريقة تحدث الناس (اللهجات المحلية) في المملكة‬ ‫لذا نأمل عمل الخطوات التالية‪:‬‬ ‫‪.1‬‬ ‫‪.2‬‬

‫بعد تعبئة المعلومات الشخصية العامة أدناه‪ ،‬قم برسم حدود للمواقع التي تعتقد أن الناس يتحدثون فيها بطريقة مشابهه‬ ‫‪.‬أومختلفة لطريقتك (لهجة خاصة) مهما كان حجمها‬ ‫‪.‬قم بتسمية تلك المواقع بعبارة أو مسمى شائع لديك أو وصف مختصر لطريقة التحدث الصوتية أو كلمات شائعة لديهم‬

‫العمر  ‪:........................................‬‬

‫الجنس‪ :‬ذكر أنثى‬

‫مكان الميالد‪: ................................‬‬

‫مكان النشأة‪: ..................‬‬

‫مكان اإلقامة حاليا ً بالمملكة‪................................................:‬‬

‫‪49‬‬

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Figure 2.9 Survey map

50

3 THE MULTILINGUAL NATURE OF SPOKEN ARABIC AND IDENTITY CONSTRUCTION IN LIGHT OF DISCOURSE MARKERS Abdelaadim Bidaoui 1. Introduction The focus of this chapter is on showing the multilingual nature of Maghrebi and Egyptian dialects and illustrating how the linguistic behavior contributes in constructing complex identities. The study of identity was based on a variety of forms such as nationality (Suleiman 2003), ethnicity (Fishman 1999; Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985), gender (Eckert and McConnell-Ginet 1992), religion ( Joseph 2004), region (Cramer 2011), among other forms. The discussion of identity construction in this chapter is based on a project that I have carried out for many years and that examines the use of Discourse Markers (DMs henceforth) in spoken Arabic by participants from Algeria, Morocco, and Egypt. The Moroccan and Algerian dialects represent what is referred to as the Maghrebi variety, while the Egyptian dialect represents the Egyptian variety. The Maghrebi variety is known for its heterogeneous linguistic situation and is characterized by variation in language use as described in many articles (Bentahila and Davies 1983; Belazi et al. 1994). The multilingual nature of countries in the Maghreb is linked to their colonial history. As explained by Le Page and Tabouret-Keller (1985), the colonial past is always a driving force leading to linguistic heterogeneous situations. They have also indicated that the long period of colonial history may give rise to the need to create a “new identity with new social patterns and structures” (1985, 5). Understanding the complexity of the linguistic situation in the Arab world in general, and in spoken Maghrebi and Egyptian dialects in particular, is crucial to understanding identity construction in this chapter. As we all know, many dialects of spoken Arabic may contain elements from Standard Arabic, dialectal Arabic, and from a foreign language such as French or English depending on the history of a given country (Bidaoui 2016a, 2016b). Of the countries represented in this study, Morocco and Algeria were colonized by France for a long period of time. Morocco was colonized by France between 1912 and 1956 (Bidwell 2012), while the colonial history of Algeria lasted from 1830 to 1962 (Shepard 2008). Egypt, on the other hand, was under British protectorate between 1914 and 1922 (Cole 1999). Although the three countries are known for their colonial past, the effect of the colonial past on the linguistic behavior may be seen in the Maghrebi variety more than in the Egyptian variety due to the length of the colonial period. 51

Abdelaadim Bidaoui

The goal of this chapter is to examine how the use of elaboration and causality DMs by participants representing Moroccan, Algerian, and Egyptian Arabic reflects identity construction. Based on the sociolinguistic landscape in the Arab world in general and in these countries in particular which is characterized by a heterogeneous linguistic situation, it is hypothesized that these participants may use different DMs to express the meanings of elaboration and causality. The hypothesis put forward is that the choice of DMs may serve the need to construct complex identities. Thus, a participant may have access to one or more variants and the choice of a given DM is hypothesized to be shaped by the choice of the type of identity that a participant wishes to project. The projection of identity through the linguistic behavior serves the need to bind people belonging to the same community together ( Jansen 1999). In the Arab world, the Arabic language has always been used as a tool to bind people together as stated by Suleiman (2003, 224) who argues that formulations of Arab nationalism, whether embryonic or fully fledged in character, are invariably built around the potential and capacity of Arabic in its standard form to act as the linchpin of the identity of all those who share it as a common language. This claim may hold for some Arabic-speaking countries but not for others, particularly those with a long colonial past. As it will be shown in this chapter, it is not only standard forms that may act as the linchpin of identity but also local and foreign forms. Building on the results of published work on DMs and on ongoing research, I argue that the use of DMs reflects the multilingual nature of spoken Arabic and displays the correlation between the linguistic behavior and the complex identities a participant exhibits as he or she uses language. In light of Le Page and Tabouret-Keller’s (1985) theoretical model, this chapter  shows this correlation and provides an explanation for the social motivations that shape the linguistic behavior. Thus, any linguistic behavior is seen as an “Act of Identity” which lies in the need to “behave according to the behavioral patterns of groups we find it desirable to identify with” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 182). This chapter also argues that identity is dynamic and is socially constructed as it stems from social interactions (Bucholtz 1999). The implications of this chapter are twofold, theoretical and empirical. At the theoretical level this chapter shows how two models can work together to account for the social meaning of the linguistic behavior; empirically this chapter brings new data to the study of Arabic identity.

2. Background Language was, and is still, considered by some formal and structural linguists as an internal linguistic product. For these linguists who do not incorporate the social conditions of language use, language is an autonomous and homogeneous object. Saussure, for instance, separated language from social factors and considered it an internal structure. For Saussure language is an ‘application’ of a linguistic system that already exists. Within the same line of thought, Chomsky looked at language as an idealized linguistic competence. Chomskian analysis does not include historical and social forces that help in shaping and understanding language. On the other hand, linguists such as Fishman & Nahirny (1964), Labov (1972), Gumperz (1971, 1982), Le Page and Tabouret-Killer (1985), Bucholtz and Hall (2004, 2005), among many others have tried to correlate the linguistic diversity with social motivations such as identity projection. Identity has been studied in light of many theoretical frameworks such as “Accommodation Theory” (Coupland 1984; Giles and Coupland 1991), “Audience Design” (Bell 1984), “Acts of Identity” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985), and “Language and Identity” Bucholtz and Hall (2004, 2005) among other theories. Giles and Coupland (1991) argued that participants 52

The multilingual nature of spoken Arabic

either tend to ‘converge’ by using the same styles of speaking as their addressees or ‘diverge’ by speaking differently. The linguistic behavior may also serve the purpose of accommodation (Coupland 1984). In other words, the speech of a person may serve the need to adjust with the speech of others. “Accommodation Theory” relates changes in speech to the need to emphasize or minimize the social differences between the participants and their interlocutors. Along similar lines, Bucholtz and Hall (2004, 2005) came out with a new model for the study of identity in light of the semiotic nature of the processes of identification. Practice, indexicality, ideology, and performance are key elements for the understanding of the semiotic processes of identification. Practice refers to the “habitual social activity” (2004, 377), indexicality applies to linking a linguistic behavior to a group of people, linguistic ideology is related to how language is perceived, performance lies in the evaluation of identity projection by a given audience. The Bucholtz and Hall model focuses not only on how identity is constructed but also on why it is constructed. They argue that identity construction serves the need to establish “relations of similarity and difference, of genuineness and artifice, and of legitimacy and disempowerment vis-à-vis some reference group or individual” (Bucholtz and Hall 2004, 383). This chapter relies heavily on the Le Page and Tabouret-Keller (1985) model to show the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity construction. The Le Page and TabouretKeller model was meant to provide a sociolinguistic account for linguistic variation which is considered the rule rather than the exception in linguistic behavior (1985, 247). Le Page and Tabouret-Keller examined the linguistic behavior of children of West India immigrants residing in Britain, in addition to some groups from Malaysia and Singapore. They noted that the long period of colonial history in these communities gave rise to the need to create a “new identity with new social patterns and structures” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 5). The creation of a new identity is achieved by the linguistic choices a participant makes. These choices constitute “Acts of Identity” which indicate that the linguistic behavior is not random but is loaded with social meanings. Thus, if linguistic items are used by an individual it is “because they are felt to have social as well as semantic meaning in terms of the way in which each individual wishes to project his/her own universe and to invite others to share it”. That is, linguistic decisions are made depending on how an individual wants to project himself or herself, and on the desire and ability to identify with a given group (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985). Interestingly, the ability to speak a given language may not necessarily predict its use in communication without considering the factors that shape the linguistic behavior. As argued by Le Page and Tabouret-Keller, the linguistic behavior is shaped by four qualifications which are placed in the same rank, 1 We can identify the groups 2 We have both adequate access to the groups and ability to analyze their behavioral patterns 3 The motivation to join the groups is sufficiently powerful, and is either reinforced or reversed by feedback from the groups 4 We have the ability to modify our behavior (1985, 182). These qualifications are necessary to perform any “Act of Identity” such as the need to “behave according to the behavioral patterns of groups we find it desirable to identify with” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 182). It seems that the desire to identify with a given group is valued. However, when the desire to identify with a given group is present, then the question remains what linguistic choices would achieve this goal. In some contexts participants may feel the need to resort to a given language as a means of identification with the participants they interacted with while others may resort to another language. 53

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Since this chapter focuses on how DMs, as a linguistic behavior, reflect complex identities, it is worthwhile to give an overview of the study of Arabic DMs. Al-Batal (1994) examined connectives, the term he used to refer to DMs, from a semantic perspective. Al-Batal used the word “connectives” to allow for the term to cover not only conjunctions but also adverbials and prepositional phrases. Al-Batal posited that connectives are used by the writer as “text-building elements” that signal to the reader how different parts in a text are linked. For Al-Batal (1994), connectives “render processing of a text more economical by overtly signaling to the reader the underlying semantic relationship”. A move from a focus on the occurrence of Arabic DMs in written texts to their occurrence in spoken texts started recently. Based on data from conversations in colloquial Cairene Arabic, Ghobrial (1993) studied three DMs, yaʕni (=I mean), tayyib (=well), and inta-ʕaaref (=y’know). The study focused on showing the functions of DMs. Ghobrial showed that tayyib signals introduction of a new topic (1993, 135), resuming the conversation after interruption, and showing a contrastive point of view. Inta-ʕaaref, on the other hand, is used to signal shared knowledge between the participant and hearer. As to yaʕni, it is used by the participant to show his/her understanding of the requirements of the conversation and his or her assessment of the prior participant’s contribution. Owens and Rockwood (2008) also looked at DMs based on data from spoken Arabic. The authors argue that the core meaning of elaboration can mean specification, generalization and continuation. The authors argue that yaʕni is used to guide the listener to relate the propositional content of an utterance to another one. Hence, yaʕni connects two utterances which are semantically comparable in a context where B complements A. Among the functions of yaʕni is its use as a politeness marker in a context where it is used as a way of acknowledging what has been said before proceeding to disagree with it (i.e. a concession marker) (2008, 108). Owens and Rockwood argue that yaʕni can also be used to signal code-switching in a context where it signals a switch between local and high variants. The DM yaʕni was also studied by Rieschild (2011) who examined the use of yaʕni in four Arabic dialects, namely Lebanese, Jordanian, Palestinian, and Egyptian Arabic. Rieschild argued that DPs in Arabic are derived from different origins. He also stated that a great deal of DPs are assessment and response words such as tayyib ‘fine/ok/well/now’, saHiiH ‘right/yes’, mazbuut ‘correct/right/maybe/ok’, kwayyis ‘good’, mash il-Haal ‘ok/very well’. Other DPs are derived from deictic words such as haida ‘this like’, haik ‘like this/this’, or derived from complementizers such as innu ‘that/that is/well/so/like’. Idiomatic expressions are also at the origin of a number of DPs as is the case for shu ismu ‘what’s its name’. As to yaʕni which is found both in classical texts, regional colloquial Arabic dialects, and media interviews, it is derived from the verb ʕana ‘to mean’, ʕtana ‘take care’, and maʕna ‘meaning’ (Rieschild 2011, 318–319). In order to examine identity construction in Maghrebi dialects, this chapter focuses on the use of DMs. As mentioned, the discussion in this chapter is carried out in light of the results of a project that examines the use of DMs in spoken Arabic and mainly in light of three studies: Bidaoui (2016a, 2016b), and Bidaoui (2017). The first study focuses on the use of elaboration DMs, the second focuses on causality DMs, while the third study examines both elaboration and causality DMs.

3.  Identity construction in light of Discourse Markers 3.1.  Identity construction based on spontaneous data As I said before, the discussion of identity construction in this chapter is carried out in light of published work focusing on the use of DMs (Bidaoui 2016a, 2016b, 2017). This subsection uses 54

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data from two studies (Bidaoui 2016a, 2016b) which was elicited through two tasks: informal multi-party conversations and structured interviews. The interactions included in the informal multi-party conversation are divided into two types: same nationality and mixed nationality. The reason for dividing this task into two types is that linguistic choices when talking to people from the same nationality may differ from talking to people from a different nationality due to reasons of intelligibility and relative prestige of the varieties involved. The same participant took part in more than one interaction to create more likelihood of variation in the choices of any single participant. As argued by Weinreich (1953, 73), variation in language is triggered by the environment and speech situation. The second task was structured, one-on-one interviews. In this task, the participants interacted with the investigator, a native participant of Moroccan Arabic. The results of the first study (Bidaoui 2016a) show that participants used different DMs to express the meaning of elaboration. The DMs used are two Arabic-origin, endoglossic DMs, and four foreign-origin, exoglossic DMs. The endoglossic variants are yaʕni and zəʕma, while the exoglossic variants are: ça veut dire, c’est-à-dire, je veux dire, and I mean. French DMs were used only by the Algerian participants, the dialectal DM, zəʕma, was used by both the Algerian and Moroccan participants, while yaʕni, the most frequent elaboration DM, was used by the Egyptian, Algerian, and Moroccan participants. Before further discussion of the results, one should know that yaʕni is derived from the Standard Arabic verb ʕana ‘to mean’, ʕtana ‘take care’, and maʕna ‘meaning’ (Rieschild 2011, 318–319). Though we can trace the derivation of yaʕni to words in Standard Arabic, knowing its current status is problematic. Owens and Rockwood (2008) consider yaʕni to be Lebanese, not a Standard Arabic borrowing, and they agreed with Al-Batal (1994) on this point. Owens and Rockwood also listed some dictionaries of dialectal Arabic such as Yemeni, Gulf, Libyan, and Moroccan Arabic dictionaries where yaʕni is defined as meaning “that is, in other words” (2008, 5). Rieschild (2011) stated that yaʕni is found both in classical texts, regional colloquial Arabic dialects, and media interviews. This implies that yaʕni has a special status. It is an expression that can be used as a local form as well as a Standard form shared among all Arabic-speaking countries. Hence, it will be referred to in this chapter as the Standard or shared DM. Interestingly, the Algerian participants used more diverse DMs for elaboration and expressed diverse “Acts of Identity” compared with the Egyptian and Moroccan participants. Their most frequent elaboration DM is yaʕni followed by a dialectal DM, zəʕma. While the dialectal DM was reserved for same nationality interactions and was used as an “Act of Identity” to express belonging to the Algerian community, yaʕni was mainly used in mixed nationality interactions and structured interviews to express belonging to a larger community, the Arab world. Here is an example of the use of yaʕni taken from a mixed nationality interaction: 1

Context: An Algerian speaker, from the East of Algeria, is talking about the West of Algeria: a b c

Ɂana ʒazajri bsˁaħ ma-ruħt-ʃ l-ɣarb I Algerian but neg.went.1sm.neg the-west “I am an Algerian but I have never been to the West.” l-ɣarb Ɂasˁlan manəʕrəfʃ The-west in fact neg know.1s.neg “In fact, I do not know anything about the West.” yaʕni, flʕadat w-taqalid maʃi kifkif DM, in-tradition.p and-costume.p neg same-same “I mean, in terms of habits and traditions it is not the same” (Bidaoui 2016a, 28). 55

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The Algerian participants opted for yaʕni when speaking to non-Algerians as it is part of a shared linguistic repertoire among the three nationalities. That is, the choice of DMs correlates with type of interaction. Knowing that yaʕni is a shared DM among participants in the Arab world, the participant used it to project an identity which is wider than the Algerian and Maghrebi identity, the Arab identity. In other contexts, zəʕma was used as an elaboration DM by the Moroccan and Algerian participants but not by the Egyptian participants. This suggests that this DM is typical to the Maghrebi dialects. Here is an example of zəʕma used by an Algerian participant in an interaction that includes Algerian and Moroccan participants: 2

Context: An Algerian participant is explaining a word in Algerian Arabic: a b c

Ɂaʃnu ka-təʕni qarnit what present-mean octopus “What does the word qarnit mean?” qarnit smart octopus smart “Octopus means smart” zəʕma, waħəd qafəz DM one smart “I mean a smart person” (Bidaoui 2016a, 31).

I would like to note that though Moroccan Arabic and Algerian Arabic are mutually intelligible, each dialect may contain words that are used differently. In example (2), the word qarnit was not clear to the Moroccan participant who asked for elaboration in line a. Elaboration was provided in line b explaining that the word qarnit refers to someone who is smart. The DM zəʕma was used only among participants representing Maghrebi dialects. The Algerian participants used zəʕma as it is part of a shared linguistic code among Maghrebi participants. Le Page and Tabouret-Keller categorized the vernacular as “a positive force” that “may be used in direct conflict with the standardized norms, utilized as a symbol by participants to carry powerful social meanings so resistant to external pressures” (1985, 246). The elaboration DM, zəʕma, is used to “index locality” and serves as an “Act of Identity” to express belonging to the Algerian and Maghrebi community. What characterizes the Algerian participants is their use of four exoglossic elaboration variants, ça veut dire, c’est-à-dire, and je veux dire. The use of an exoglossic DM serves the need to be identified with a certain group and project an “Act of Identity”, in this case the French heritage of the Algerian and Maghrebi community. Here is an example from structured interviews which includes an Algerian participant and the investigator: 3 Context: An Algerian participant is discussing the difference in access to knowledge between the US and Algeria: a b

nas li rahum hna ils savent utiliser l’information people that see.them here they know.3p use.inf  the information “People who live here know how to use knowledge.” Je veux dire, ils savent utiliser the means DM they know.3p use.inf  the means “I mean, they know how to use the means” (Bidaoui 2016a, 34).

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The participant starts line a in example (3) with Algerian Arabic and then switches to French. In line b, the participant opts for the French DM, Je veux dire, followed by a sentence beginning in French and ending in English. The Algerian participant used an exoglossic variant which may serve to perform an “Act of Identity” on behalf of the participant (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985). In the context of (3), the participant used je veux dire to project his identity and at the same time to be identified with the investigator who is from a country known for its French heritage, Morocco. The French elaboration DMs were used only by the Algerian participants in structured interviews and in same nationality interactions. None of the French DMs was used in mixed nationality interactions which include Egyptian participants. This is also explained by the fact that the exoglossic French elaborations DMs are not part of a shared code between the Algerian participants and Egyptian participants. According to Le Page and Tabouret-Keller, topic, audience, and setting are crucial to the shaping of an utterance. Depending on these factors, a participant may create “patterns of his linguistic behavior so as to resemble those of the groups with which from time to time he wishes to be identified or so as to be unlike those from whom he wishes to be distinguished” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 181). To provide depth to our understanding of the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity construction we are going to look at the results of the causality study (Bidaoui 2016b). Along similar lines with the results of the elaboration study, the results of the causality study show the use of a variety of causality DMs and the projection of various “Acts of Identity”. The DMs used to express the meaning of causality are five endoglossic DMs, liʔanna, liʔannu, ħit, laħqaʃ, and ʕaʃan, and two exoglossic DMs, parce que and because. All the participants from the three nationalities used the shared DM liʔanna. In addition to the shared DM, the Egyptian participants used the dialectal DM ʕaʃan, the Moroccan participants used the dialectal DMs ħit and laħqaʃ, and the Algerian participants used the dialectal DM liʔannu and the French DM parce que. There was only one case of the use of because by an Egyptian participant. Overall, the results of the causality study reinforce what has been found in the elaboration study in terms of the correlation between the use of DMs and identity construction. The causality study reinforces the claim made in this chapter that linguistic choices are not haphazard but indicate a desire to project an identity. The overuse of the exoglossic DM, parce que which outranked the other DMs, indicates that the Algerian participants have a strong desire to project an identity associated with their French heritage. Consider the following example which shows both the use of parce que and the use of French in Algerian Arabic: 4 Context: An Algerian participant explains how Algerians use French in their speech by telling a story about the difficulty a person from Saudi Arabia faced when he tried to understand a group of people speaking Algerian Arabic: a b c

Bdina nhadru avec une rapidité terrible Start.3mp talk.3mp with a speed terrible “We started to talk with high speed.” Hadak Saʕudi qaʕd jʃuf qalina: samħu li Ɂaʃ mən luɣa katatkalmu? that Saudi stay look.1s told.us excuse me what from language talk.3mp “That Saudi was looking and asked us: ‘Excuse me, what language were you talking?’ ” Parce que, hna luɣna taʕna tellement était rapide DM we language of.us very was fast “Because, we were talking in a very fast way.”

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d e

Yqul wahed 40% kant Français Say.3ms one 40% was French “One can say 40% was in French.” Donc huwa tbaħar so he sailed “So, he was lost” (Bidaoui 2016b, 602–603).

In example (4), it is not only the use of the DM parce que which shows that French is part of the Algerian identity but also language use in general. As we can see, French is used in many utterances in example (4). The fact that French is part of the Algerian identity is also clearly and explicitly stated by the participant who mentions in line d that 40% of their speech was in French. This means that the Algerian participant is aware of the fact that French signals the Algerian identity and he uses it as an “Act of Identity”. In addition to that, the content of example (4) also shows how the use of French distinguishes the Algerians from the Saudis. For the Algerian participant, the Saudi who was listening to the Algerians speaking was lost because of the use of French. In line with Bucholtz and Hall, the linguistic behavior may establish both “relations of similarity and difference . . . vis-à-vis some reference group or individual” (2004, 383). In the context of example (4), the use of French establishes similarity among the Algerians and difference from non-Algerians, in this case the Saudis. The projection of an identity linked to the French heritage through the use of the causality DM is also clearly seen in example (5), which reveals how French is part and parcel of the Algerian identity. As we see in example (5), the whole conversation in structured interviews with the investigator was conducted in French: 5

Context: An Algerian participant is talking about the overuse of French in his speech: a b c

J’ t’ai dit j’ai rêvé parce que il m’est arrivé un truc I you.aux said I.aux dreamed because it me.aux arrived a thing “I told I had a dream because something happened to me.” J’étais dans un café avec des collègues on parlait en Français I was at a café shop with some colleagues we talked in French “I was at a café shop with some colleagues and we were talking in French.” Parce que on avait une éducation Française DM we had an education French “Because we were educated in French” (Bidaoui 2016b, 603).

The participant in example (5) shows that French is used to signal the participant’s desire to “behave according to the behavioral patterns of groups we [he] find [finds] it desirable to identify with” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 182). The use of French in example (5) carries different social meanings; in addition to being a feature that characterizes Algerian Arabic and signals the Algerian identity it also projects the level of education of the speaker. The choice of French therefore also helps the participant to identify himself as someone who is educated and knowledgeable. The fact that linguistic choices vary from one interaction to another indicates that identity is a “relational and sociocultural phenomenon that emerges and circulates in local discourse contexts of interaction rather than as a stable structure located primarily in the individual psyche or in fixed social categories” (Bucholtz and Hall 2005, 585–586). Contrary to the Algerian participants, the Egyptian participants favored the Standard endoglossic DM liʔanna which outranked ʕaʃan. While liʔanna serves to project an Arab identify, 58

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ʕaʃan serves to project a local identity, the Egyptian identity. Here is an example of liʔanna used by an Egyptian participant: 6

Context: An Egyptian participant is comparing the situation of Egypt before and after the Arab Spring. a b

ħadˁritak gibt lklam Sˁ -Sˁaħ Sir.you brought.2ms the-speech the-right “Sir, now you are totally right.” liʔanna, law huwa bilmaqajis l-Ɂiqtisˁadija, jbɁa kan Husni MubaraK Ɂafdˁal DM if he with-measure the-economic become was Husni Mubarak better “Because, if we are to talk in economic measures, then the period of Husni Mubarak was better” (Bidaoui 2016b, 599).

The participant used liʔanna to project an identity which is wider than the Egyptian identity. This point is worth considering for a moment; what might account for the preference of the Standard DM is its indexicality. As discussed in Johnstone, “some variants index supra-locality, and can be used in the accommodative speech. Other forms index locality, and can be used in discourse that shape people’s sense of place and the social identities with place” (2010, 399). The use of liʔanna is meant to “index supra-locality”; it serves the need to signal membership to the Arab world. For the Moroccan participants, the dialectal DM ħit outranked the Standard liʔanna. The Moroccan participants also used another dialectal DM laħqaʃ. Consider the use of ħit in structured interviews: 7 Context: A  Moroccan participant is talking about the challenges he faced after joining Parkland College. a l-maatˁ lqit muʃ kil mʕah bzaf the-mathematics find.2s problem with.it a lot “I faced many problems with Mathematics.” b ħit l-muʃ kil l-mustawa ʕali DM the-problem the-level high “Because the problem lies in the high level (of the courses offered)” (Bidaoui 2016b, 601). The dialectal DM, ħit, was reserved for same nationality interactions among Moroccan participants and was used as an “Act of Identity” to express belonging to the Moroccan community. The dialectal DM ħit serves the goal to “index locality” and is “used in discourse that shapes people’s sense of place and the social identities with place” ( Johnstone 2010, 399). Interestingly, the desire to project a local identity, the Moroccan identity, outranked the desire to project a broad identity, the Arab identity. So far, I have discussed identity construction based on spontaneous data. The next subsection will bring light to identity construction based on data from a satellite Arab news channel.

3.2.  Identity construction in light of data from Al Jazeera While the two studies investigated how identity is constructed via multi-party conversations and structured interviews, this subsection will shed light on identity construction in light of data from Al Jazeera. This popular satellite Arab news channel targets audience from all the 59

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Arabic-speaking countries. This explains why most of its programs are presented in Standard Arabic. Al Jazeera requires from its journalists to use Standard Arabic and it highly recommends staying away from the use of dialectal forms unless it is strongly needed. Data was taken from Al Jazeera’s program Shahid ʕala ʕasˁr “A Witness of a Period in History”. This data consists of three interviews with participants from Morocco, Algeria, and Egypt. While the results of the two multi-party conversations and structured interviews show a variety of DMs to express causality and elaboration, the results of Al Jazeera show the use of a single DM for each meaning, yaʕni for elaboration and liʔanna for causality. Here is an example of the use of yaʕni by the Moroccan participant: 8

Context: The Moroccan participant describing the protests that resulted when Mohamed X, the previous king of Morocco, was exiled in 1953–1954: a b c

xaraʒna wa ħtafalna bi-ruʒuʕ l-malik Left.us and celebrated.us with-return the king “We went out and asked for the return of the king.” wa qatˁaʕna l-ʔaslaak wa ʔaʃʕalna n-naar And cut.us the-wires and burnt-us the fire “And we cut wires and burnt fire.” yaʕni, qumnaa bimuðˁaharaat ʕaniifa DM tood.us with-protests violent “I mean, we led violent protests” (Bidaoui 2017, 68).

In example (8), yaʕni and all the words in the example are in Standard Arabic. This may be an indication that the participant may be using yaʕni as an “Act of Identity” to display his familiarity with the formal context of Al Jazeera which is seen by viewers from all over the Arab world. In this case the Moroccan participant opted for Standard Arabic as a way of identifying with the audience. This finding may also suggest that though yaʕni may not be borrowed from Standard Arabic, it has gained some prestige and formality. I believe that the fact that yaʕni is shared among the dialects of Arabic, a feature that characterizes Standard Arabic, has led to its gaining the status of a formal expression in addition to its informal status. Along similar lines with elaboration DMs, the use of causality DMs in Al Jazeera featured the use of the Standard variant liʔanna for the three participants representing the three nationalities. Consider the use of liʔanna by the Algerian participant: 9

Context: The Algerian participant explains why he intended to specialize in psychology a b

kuntu ʔanwi ʔan ʔataxsˤasˤ fi l-amraadˁ n-nafsija was.2s intend.1s specialize.1s in-disease the-psychological “I was intending to specialize in psychological problems.” liʔanna, fi l-ʔamraadˁ n-nafsija hunaaka jamʕ bajna l-ʕilm wa l-ʔadab DM in the diseases psychological there addition between science and the-literature “Because, dealing with psychological problems involves knowledge about science and arts” (Bidaoui 2017, 69).

The consistency in the use of the Standard DMs in Al Jazeera data can be accounted for by Le Page and Tabouret-Keller’s (1985) theoretical framework in light of their two concepts: projection and focusing (1985, 181). The participants’ linguistic behavior in the Al Jazeera data is an act of projection of their Arabic identity. The use of Standard DMs is meant to identify with 60

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both the animator and the general audience. Due to the positive feedback they got from the animator and to the impression that they are understood by the audience which represents the whole Arab world, their linguistic behavior is reinforced which makes it more focused (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985). By focused, I mean that the same variants are used and maintained. The linguistic choice of Standard DMs became focused due to the “the motivation to join the groups” which is “sufficiently powerful” and is “reinforced . . . by feedback from the groups” (1985, 182). The results of Al Jazeera show the projection of a single identity, the Arab identity, shown in the use of the shared Standard DM liʔanna. In other words, selecting Standard Arabic as a choice serves to identify with the Arabic-speaking people all over the Arab world and to project an Arab identity. According to Le Page and Tabouret-Keller, the individual creates for himself the patterns of his linguistic behavior so as to resemble those of the groups with which from time to time he wishes to be identified or so as to be unlike those from whom he wishes to be distinguished. (Le Page and Tabouret-Kellerv1985, 181) In the context of Al Jazeera, the linguistic behavior that should be used to resemble and identify with the audience is Standard Arabic. To sum up, one can say that the context of use, the motivation to join a given group, as well as the feedback participants receive are needed to account for the exclusive use of the Standard DMs in Al Jazeera data.

4. Discussion The findings of the study of DMs discussed in this chapter clearly bring to light the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity projection. An important factor shaping this correlation is the context of the linguistic behavior. While informal settings in the two studies (Bidaoui 2016a, 2016b) resulted in the projection of various identities and variation in the use of DMs, the results of Al Jazeera (Bidaoui 2017), which represents the formal setting, showed the projection of a single identity through the use of a single DM for each meaning, yaʕni for elaboration and liʔanna for causality. For the formal setting, the use of the shared DMs, yaʕni and liʔanna, reflects a desire to project an identity shared among the whole Arabic-speaking world, the Arab identity. As to the informal setting, it was characterized by variation in language use. This diversity in the linguistic behavior found in Bidaoui (2016a, 2016b) supports the claim that language use represents “Acts of Identity” that speakers perform (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985). The Algerian participants, for instance, projected various identities through the use of various DMs. While the foreign DM, parce que, reflects an identity associated with the French heritage, the dialectal DM reflects a local and Maghrebi identity, and the shared DM reflects the broad Arab identity. Thus, the linguistic behavior is seen as “Acts of Identity” which lie in the need to “behave according to the behavioral patterns of groups we find it desirable to identify with” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 182). Unlike the Algerian participants who used exoglossic causality DMs excessively, the Moroccan participants used only endoglossic DMs. This finding supports Le Page and Tabouret-Keller claim about the four qualifications of “Acts of Identity”. In this context, even if the Moroccan participants have the ability to speak French they refrained from doing so due to the lack of the desire to project an identity associated with the French heritage. It is important to note that the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity construction may be impacted by factors other than identity projection. One of these factors is 61

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what Matras (2010, 79) refers to as implicational hierarchies when it comes to the borrowing of foreign elements. Based on the results of a study conducted in 1998, Matras argued that coordinating conjunctions follow a hierarchy of borrowing wherein if a language borrowed and it should have already borrowed or and but, while a language may borrow but without borrowing or and and. This suggests that the process of borrowing involves stages wherein some types of expressions precede others. Focusing on the type of meaning expressed by a given expression, Matras posited that the pragmatic meaning of contrast is a driving factor for borrowing (2010, 80). This is accounted for by the fact that there is “a correlation between borrowability and the semantics of elements that convey relative vulnerability of the participant’s assertive authority” (2010, 81). Hence, Matras indicated that there is high likelihood of borrowing elements that are related to modality, obligation, condition, purpose, and causality (2010, 81). This suggests that the meaning of causality may be a driving force behind the excessive use of exoglossic causality DMs by the Algerian participants compared to their scarce use of the exoglossic elaboration DMs. Contrary to the view that considers identity to be fixed, this chapter endorses the dynamic perspective of identity. The view that considers identity to be fixed was endorsed by linguists such as Turner (1999) who argues that identity reflects “social group membership with the associated value connotations and emotional significance” (1999, 8). In line with Bucholtz (1999), this chapter argues that identity is dynamic and is socially constructed as it results from social interaction. As discussed in this chapter, language choices are related to the way we project ourselves and establish social networks. Thus, identity projection may vary from one context to another depending on our desire to join a given group and also which social networks we are willing to establish. This means that the linguistic behavior should be seen as a concept we form as individuals, and to the extent to which, and the manner in which, we project our concepts on to those around us and establish networks of shared suppositions determines the nature of the groups in our society and their mode of operation. (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 247) Interestingly, the theoretical framework used in this chapter is similar to what Irvine and Gal (2000) refer to as “iconization” or “iconicity”. Irvine and Gal argued that “iconization”, a semiotic process used to examine the correlation between texts and “ideological representations”, shows the watertight relationship between a linguistic sign and the linguistic images that it represents. “Iconization” or “iconicity” refers to the fact that linguistic features are iconic representations of social activities. To understand this iconic relationship, one should have an idea about the historical and conventional forces that led to this iconicity. To illustrate how linguistic features can be explained through social, political, and conventional methods, Irvine and Gal discussed the motivation of language change in Southern Africa. Their study shows that a formalistic and internal study of the sound system of Nguni language cannot explain how clitics are used in this language. It is only through knowing the language ideology in the Nguni community that one gets an idea about clitics. Along similar lines, the choice of DMs in this chapter cannot be understood without looking at the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity projection. Finally, it is important to note that even if Le Page and Tabouret-Keller’s theoretical model shows some similarities with “Accommodation Theory”, these two models are different. While the latter focuses on interactive linguistic behavior and on accommodation taking place with the goal to converge or diverge with the interlocutors, the former is about “the way people 62

The multilingual nature of spoken Arabic

perceive of other groups, whether in intermediate contact or not and the way they clothe those perceptions with linguistic behavior” (1985, 2). The type of sociolinguistic account provided by Le Page and Tabouret-Keller provides the background for the understanding of the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity projection in this chapter.

5. Conclusion The goals of this chapter are twofold: the first goal is to show how the linguistic behavior contributes in constructing complex identities and the second goal is to bring light to the impact of the colonial past on the linguistic production of identity. These goals have been achieved in light of Le Page and Tabouret-Keller’s theoretical framework, which seems to work well for understanding identity construction in the Arab world. This model foregrounds the need to study language in the light of the correlation of the linguistic behavior with broad social categories such as nationality and also in light of psychological choices made by either the individual or the group. Le Page and Tabouret-Keller’s (1985) theoretical model predicts that if linguistic items are selected by an individual it is “because they are felt to have social as well as semantic meaning in terms of the way in which each individual wishes to project his/her own universe and to invite others to share it”. Furthermore, this model captures how psychological factors should be included in the study of the linguistic behavior. Thus, the linguistic behavior is seen as “Acts of Identity”, which lie in the need to “behave according to the behavioral patterns of groups we find it desirable to identify with” (Le Page and Tabouret-Keller 1985, 182). Additionally, this model has helped us understand how the colonial past can shape language use. As explained by Le Page and Tabouret-Keller (1985, 5), the colonial past is always a driving force leading to linguistic heterogeneous situations. The authors have also indicated that the long period of colonial history gave rise to the need to create “new identity with new social patterns and structures”. It is true that the model was developed in (1985) as a complete model; however, it still does a good job in helping us understand the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity projection. Though the model focused on data from the Caribbean, it was meant for any language situation as it was supposed to be universal. Finally and as a suggestion for future studies, this chapter has looked at the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity construction in spoken Arabic from a production perspective, it would be interesting if this correlation can be studied from a perception perspective. The perception perspective will test listeners’ perception of the correlation between the linguistic behavior and identity construction. In other words, the perception study would tap into language attitudes towards this correlation.

References Al-Batal, Mahmoud. 1994. “Connectives in Arabic diglossia the case of Lebanese Arabic”. In Mushira Eid, Vicente Cantarino, & Keith Walters (eds.), Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics VI: Papers from the Sixth Symposium on Arabic Linguistics. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 91–119. Belazi, Hedi M., Edward J. Rubin, and Almeida Jacqueline Toribio. 1994. “Code switching and X-bar theory: The functional head constraint”. Linguistic Inquiry: 221–237. Bell, Allan. 1984. “Language style as audience design”. Language in Society 13, no. 2: 145–204. Bentahila, Abdelali, and Eirlys E. Davies. 1983. “The syntax of Arabic-French code-switching”. Lingua 59, no. 4: 301–330. Bidaoui, Abdelaadim. 2016a. “Discourse markers of elaboration in Maghrebi and Egyptian dialects: A socio-pragmatic perspective”. International Journal of Arabic Linguistics 2, no. 1: 19–45. Bidaoui, Abdelaadim. 2016b. “Discourse markers of causality in Maghrebi and Egyptian dialects: A sociopragmatic perspective”. Open Linguistics 2, no. 1: 592–609.

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Abdelaadim Bidaoui Bidaoui, Abdelaadim. 2017. “Revisiting the Arabic diglossic situation and highlighting the socio- cultural factors shaping language use in light of Auer’s (2005) model”. International Journal of Society, Culture & Language 5, no. 2: 60–72. Bidwell, Robin. 2012. Morocco Under Colonial Rule: French Administration of Tribal Areas 1912–1956. Routledge. Bucholtz, Mary. 1999. “Why be normal?”: Language and identity practices in a community of nerd girls. Language in Society 28, no. 2: 203–223. Bucholtz, Mary, and Kira Hall. 2004. “Language and identity”. In A. Duranti (ed.), A Companion to Linguistic Anthropology. Blackwell, 369–394. Bucholtz, Mary, and Kira Hall. 2005. “Identity and interaction: A sociocultural linguistic approach”. Discourse Studies 7, no. 4–5: 585–614. Cole, Juan Ricardo. 1999. Colonialism and Revolution in the Middle East: Social and Cultural Origins of Egypt’s’ Urabi Movement. American University in Cairo Press. Coupland, Nlkolas. 1984. “Accommodation at work: Some phonological data and their implications”. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, no. 46: 49–70. Cramer, Jennifer S. 2011. “The effect of borders on the linguistic production and perception of regional identity in Louisville, Kentucky”. PhD diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. Eckert, Penelope, and Sally McConnell-Ginet. 1992. “Think practically and look locally: Language and gender as community-based practice”. Annual Review of Anthropology 21, no. 1: 461–488. Fishman, Joshua. 1999. Handbook of Language and Ethnic Identity. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fishman, Joshua A., and Vladimir C. Nahirny. 1964. “The ethnic group school and mother tongue maintenance in the United States.” Sociology of Education: 306–317. Ghobrial, Atef N. 1993. “Discourse markers in Colloquial Cairene Arabic: A pragmatic perspective”. PhD diss., Boston University. Giles, Howard, and Nikolas Coupland. 1991. Language: Contexts and Consequences. Thomson Brooks, Cole Publishing Co. Gumperz, John Joseph. 1971. Language in Social Groups. Vol. 3. Stanford University Press. Gumperz, John Joseph. 1982. Discourse Strategies. Vol. 1. Cambridge University Press. Irvine, Judith, and Susan Gal. 2000. “Language ideology and linguistic differentiation.” In P. Kroskrity (ed.), Regimes of Language, 35–83. Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press. Jansen, Thomas. 1999. “European identity and/or the identity of the European Union”. In T. Jansen (ed.), Reflections on European Identity. Brussels: European Commission Forward Studies Unit. Johnstone, Barbara. 2010. “Indexing the local.” In The Handbook of Language and Globalization, 386. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Joseph, John E. 2004. Language and Identity: National, Ethnic, Religious. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Labov, William. 1972. Sociolinguistic Patterns. No. 4. University of Pennsylvania Press. Le Page, Robert B., and Andrée Tabouret-Keller. 1985. Acts of Identity: Creole-Based Approaches to Ethnicity. Cambridge University Press. Matras, Yaron. 2010. “Contact, convergence, and typology”. In R. Hickey (ed.), The Handbook of Language Contact, 66–85. Oxford: Blackwell. Owens, Jonathan, and Trent Rockwood 2008. “Yaʕni: What it (really) means”. Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics 21: 83–111. Rieschild, Verna. 2011. “Arabic ya’ni: Issues of semantic, pragmatic, and indexical translation equivalence”. Intercultural Pragmatics 8, no. 3: 315–346. Shepard, T. (2008). The Invention of Decolonization: The Algerian War and the Remaking of France. Cornell University Press. Suleiman, Yasir. 2003. The Arabic Language and National Identity. Edinburgh University Press. Turner, John C. 1999. “Some current issues in research on social identity and self-categorization theories”. Social Identity: Context, Commitment, Content 3, no. 1: 6–34. Weinreich, Uriel. 1953. “Languages in contact: Findings and problems”. Publications of the Linguistic Circle of New York 1.

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4 THE EXPRESSION OF RURAL AND URBAN IDENTITIES IN ARABIC1 Ahmed Ech-Charfi

Writing about the conceptions of country and city in English literature, Williams (1973:1) makes the following remarks: On the country has gathered the idea of a natural way of life: of peace, innocence, and simple virtue. On the city has gathered the idea of an achieved centre of learning, communication, light. Powerful hostile associations have also developed: on the city as a place of noise, worldliness, and ambition; on the country as a place of backwardness, ignorance, limitation. These remarks indicate clearly that country and city are not mere places of human aggregations, but they rather define social categories with which individuals and groups identify (or reject), with all what that identification (or rejection) means for human lives. Williams seems to assume that the rural-urban divide is universal, but data from some non-Western societies suggest that it may not be so. In particular, societies that did not have a long history of urbanization – which include parts of the Arab World  – lacked such a social differentiation. It is only in modern times, and probably because of the influence of the Western model of modernity, that some of these societies started to distinguish and evaluate differently the rural and the urban ways of life and the identities associated with them. In the social and cultural dynamics of this process, it is not surprising that language does not only contribute to the expression of these identities where they are already established, but also to their construction where they are lacking. The study of language and identity in such situations is relevant to sociolinguistics as well as to sociology, social psychology, anthropology and other social sciences. The concept of identity will be taken to refer to the subjective perception of self and other as belonging to different categories. These can “encompass a) macro-level demographic categories; b) local, ethnographically specific cultural positions; and c) temporary and interactionally specific stances and participant roles” Bucholtz and Hall (2010:36). Because of space constraints, only macro-level categories will be considered here; and only data from urban studies will be provided. Besides, although Arabic refers both to the standard and the colloquial varieties, only the latter will be discussed, leaving the role of the standard and foreign languages in identity construction to be treated elsewhere.

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1.  “Rural” and “urban” in Arabic The adjectives “rural” and “urban” and their equivalents in most European languages seem to refer basically to spatial concepts, as testified by their etymologies. In these languages, the words denoting things “of or relating to the country, country people or life, or agriculture” derive ultimately from Latin “rūs” meaning “countryside” whereas those “of, relating to, characteristic of, or constituting a city” are derived, directly or indirectly, from Latin “urbs” meaning “city”. The opposition, then, is basically between “country” and “city” as places, and only derivatively between what these places stand for in terms of economics, society and culture. The problem, however, is that what constitutes a city, a town or a village can vary widely from one country to another and from one period to another; and where available, the criteria used to distinguish between these divisions can be largely ad hoc. In North Africa and the Middle East, where the rural-urban dichotomy was borrowed from the colonial administrative division, the distinction can sometimes be made inconsistently on different criteria, including statistics. In Morocco, for example, it was not unusual to find a rural “commune” that has a more populated village than an urban center before the government dropped the distinction altogether in a 2015 decree. Besides being imprecise as spatial terms, “rural”and “urban” may also be inappropriate when used as social categories to describe non-Western societies. As was remarked earlier, the social and cultural antagonism between country and city may not be universal. Cohen (1993), for instance, notes that there was no equivalent for “rural” in Chinese before the beginning of the 20th century when “nongden” (peasant) was borrowed from Japanese, itself coined to provide an equivalent to the Western concept. Cohen quotes the historian Mote as claiming that the premodern Chinese did not develop the idea that the country and the city life-styles were different or that city people held negative attitudes toward country folk, adding that “[t]he conditions allowing such attitudes in China seem to have vanished by the beginning of the imperial era [202 bc], so long ago that a sense of that kind of urban superiority has not remained” (p. 152). Mote remarks further that “Chinese civilization may be unique in that its word for ‘peasant’ has not been a term of contempt” (ibid.). Here again, we witness the prevalent belief that “rural” and “urban” are “natural” categories that are expected to be found in all societies and cultures, along with the attitudes favoring the second over the first. In reaction to this prevalent assumption, Leonard and Kaneff (2002:6) argue that “[t]he peasant emerged as an important sociological category as theorists worldwide sought to construct models of social progress and come to terms with the growth of capitalism”. In other words, the classification of all places outside the city as constituting a single category of ignorant, backward smallholders is an ideological position that takes urban life-style as a model of progress and, therefore, the rural-urban dichotomy may not be found where this ideology is not needed. In such situations, other classifications frame social identities. The social categories reflected by Classical Arabic (CA) provide one such example. While the traditional Arabian society was basically tribal, the tribes themselves were either “ħad ar” (sed˙ entary) or “badw” (nomad). Some of the settled tribes practiced trade, but most of them lived on subsistence agriculture and animal husbandry, activities that are nowadays associated with peasants. In comparison, the nomads shepherded camels and other animals across the desert in search for grasslands and lived on their meat and milk. Nomadism was also practiced seasonally by villagers. Corresponding to this socio-economic dichotomy, we find in CA the distinction between “madīnah” or “qaryah” (town or village) and “bādiyyah” (desert). Throughout the first centuries of Islam, the term “madīnah” was restricted almost exclusively to Yathrib, the city where the Prophet lived after his migration from Mecca. The Qur’an used “qaryah” (pl. qurā) (57 times) more than “madīnah” (13 times) to refer to towns and cities, and Mecca itself 66

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was called “ʔummu al-qurā” (the best of all cities) (cf. corpus.quran.com). This fact indicates that people identified basically with “qaryah” or “bādiyyah”.2 Thus, in the 9th century ad for example, we find the literary critic Al-Jumaħī classifying Arab poets as either “qarawiyyīn” or “badawiyyīn”. It was only later that the distinction became more fine-grained to reflect different socio-economic conditions outside Arabia. Ibn Manzūr of the 13th–14th centuries, for example, distinguishes between “madīnah” (city), “qaryah” (village) and “bādiyyah” (desert). This tripartite division is still maintained nowadays in Modern Standard Arabic (MSA), though with some variation. In North Africa, for example, “bādiyyah” has come to mean “countryside” in general, whether arid or fertile. Indeed, te adjective “badawīy” is often used synonymously with “qarawīy” to signify “rural”. In some Middle Eastern societies, the two are kept apart, with the first reserved to nomads. The division between “ħad ar” and “badw” must have been of great social significance to ˙ early Arab society. In addition to this dyad, old Arabic texts also distinguish between “ʕarab” and “ʔaʕrāb”. While the first had a general sense in that it refers to the people of Arabia, the second seems to have been reserved to the Bedouin. The Qur’anic use of “ʔaʕrāb” suggests that this category was also stigmatized; Ibn Manzūr’s dictionary is explicit that no Arab appreciated being named by this term. On the basis of this, we may conclude that the labeling was made by the sedentary to distinguish themselves from the Bedouin. Modern Arabic dialectologists have noticed major differences between sedentary and Bedouin dialects, chief among which is the [q]/[g] variation, as in [qāl]/[gāl] (he said) (cf. Versteegh 1995, among others). An explanation advanced for this classification is that sedentary dialects were spoken originally by settled conquerors while Bedouin dialects are found in regions conquered by nomadic Arabs. If this was indeed the case, we may conclude that sedentary and nomadic Arabs cultivated different identities and that the first considered themselves superior to the second. What has remained of this dichotomy in modern Arabic dialects? Data on this issue are terribly lacking and what will be said here is constructed only from reports from a few informants.3 The sociolinguist Hassan Abdel-Jawad (personal communication) asserts that the major division in the Gulf is indeed that between “ħad ar” and “badw”: the first includes populations ˙ of villages, towns, and big cities while the second invokes essentially raising livestock which, for reasons of natural geography, involves some form of nomadism. For him, there is no ruralurban distinction in Gulf societies. But given the massive urbanization of the 20th century, the situation is bound to change. In Saudi Arabia, for example, because of the political and religious movement launched by King Abdul-Aziz, large numbers of unruly nomads settled in small villages called “hijar” and changed their life-style in a matter of decades. The nomads accounted for 70% of the Saudi population in 1932, but their number dropped to 27% only four decades later (Mubarak 1999). Most of the Gulf countries apparently present a similar situation. Under these conditions, social identities are likely to undergo very complex dynamics in which old generations preserve traditional concepts while the younger generations try to develop new meanings for their conditions in the new urban centers. While nomadism may acquire some negative connotations, the tribal values of the Bedouin, such as nobility and generosity, are still prevalent and may provide incentives for keeping the Bedouin category alive. Thus, it is not unlikely that some city-dwellers still identify with the Bedouin, let alone those of the “hijar”. Inside Arabia, Yemen seems to present a different case. According to some informants, the adjective “badawī” is gradually gaining ground as an equivalent of “rural” in the capital Sana’a and the north in general. In Aden, however, “garawī” is more frequently heard. The reason is probably that, while Sana’a is not very far from the deserts of Tehama and the Empty Quarter, areas around Aden are more fertile. Therefore, the inhabitants of the capital city are more likely to be acquainted with the Bedouin than those of Aden, for whom villagers are more typical of 67

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surrounding ruralites. Another intriguing aspect of this dichotomy is the development of negative attitudes toward the countryside, bearing in mind that Yemen is one of the least urbanized countries in the region (11.4% of urbanization in 1974 and 27.4 in 1996). Even the tribal organization which still dominates rural areas seems to be stigmatized as well; some informants report that “gabīlī” (tribal) is also used with the meaning of “rural”. More research is needed before we can draw a clearer picture of how the rural identity is being created in the Yemeni society. The urban identity itself is still vague in many Arab societies, although a great number of urban centers have grown in the region in the last century. Most informants denied the use of “madanī” (urban) or some other equivalent and indicated instead that the nisba to a particular city is usually preferred, e.g. Sanʕānī, Makkī, Masqatī, etc. This fact suggests that city-dwellers in these societies do not consider themselves as forming a single category distinguished by its values and life-styles. But it seems that a label is not necessary for identity construction in times of change, and that labeling itself is subject to social and linguistic constraints which differ from one context to another. In comparison with Arabia, the situation further to the north is more complex. In Jordan and Palestine, Abdel-Jawad (1986) identifies three main groups generally known as “madanī”, “badawī” and “fallaħ”. The first includes the old urban stock of the Palestinian cities; the second refers to Bedouin tribes while the third singles out Palestinian peasants. This grouping, however, is not based essentially on place or economic activity but involves also other social factors that have made of the three groups different ethnicities. In newly founded cities such as Amman and Irbid, where the Jordanian Bedouin live side by side with Palestinian urbanites and villagers, people still identify with their original groups although they may no longer be related to the desert or to agriculture. In such a situation, “madanī” is not an equivalent of “urban” since it qualifies only a small segment of those who live in cities. But since the “madanī” life-style coincides with the modern conception of urbanites, it has become a target of emulation for the other two groups. There is no equivalent of “rural” in Jordanian Arabic either, but “fallaħ” seems to emerge as a likely candidate, given its association with peasantry. In comparison, the Bedouin, besides being the original inhabitants of Jordan, find pride in their traditions, and their tribal organization is a source of power for them. Therefore, it may be concluded that identification with one of the three groups seems to have more priority in Jordan than identification with rural or urban space. How the two ways of categorization interact in such a society remains to be explored. In nearby Syria and Lebanon, the rural-urban dichotomy seems to be already established. My informants showed no hesitation that a ruralite is called “dayʕaʒī”, derived from “d ayʕa” ˙ ˙ (farm). The attribute also carries negative connotations. We are witnessing here the emergence of social concepts based essentially on space: people living in the countryside are put in the same category, as opposed to those living in cities, irrespective of their tribal affiliations. It is not clear why the rural-urban dichotomy should have developed in Syria and Lebanon in a way that seems radically different from that of Jordan. Abdel-Jawad (personal communication) reports that “d ayʕa” is not very common in the southern part of the Levant, where “ʕizba” is more ˙ frequent. Abdel-Jawad adds further that, surprisingly, “ʕizba” is not stigmatized and, sometimes, it can even be prestigious if referred to by the rather classicized term “mazraʕah”, given that many wealthy urbanites own “mazraʕāt” as holiday resorts. But although this fact may explain how “ʕizba” is not used in the same way as “dayʕa”, it does not account for the emergence of ˙ a “rural” category in one case but not in the other. A more detailed study of the development of the “rural” concept can be found in Ech-Charfi and Azzouzi (2017). Like most Arabic dialects, Moroccan Arabic lacked the concept of rurality 68

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up till recently, though it had the word “mdini” referring to city-dwellers. As the researchers note, different words for “rural” are being developed in different parts of the country, and most of these words originally denoted ethnolinguistic groups typically associated with the peasants of particular regions. When an old city is found in any of these regions, the city-dwellers were generally distinct from the peasants in its surroundings. In the Atlantic plains, for example, the people of Rabat and Salé had a non-tribal organization, contrary to the surrounding ʕroubi tribes. In these circumstances, it is very likely that people of the city and those of the countryside referred to each other basically as ethnic groups rather than as occupiers of the urban or the rural space. When the concept of rurality was developed in the modern era, the names of the ethnic peasants started to be used with this meaning: “ʒbala” in the north, “shluħ” in the Middle Atlas and “ʕroubiya” in the Atlantic plains, while other parts of the country may be using other expressions or lack an equivalent altogether. With this brief survey of social organization in some Arab societies, it is obvious that the rural-urban classification is not deep-rooted in this part of the world. This fact raises a number of questions concerning rural and urban identities in these societies and how much variation these concepts can explain in Arabic sociolinguistics.

2.  The sociolinguistics of rural and urban identities When sociolinguistics first emerged as an academic discipline in the 1960s, urbanization in Western societies had already taken its final form. It was probably for this reason that there is little mention of the rural-urban dichotomy in sociolinguistic studies of these societies. For Western scholars, the rural and the urban are two different types of space and people identify with one or the other. In developing countries, however, old cities were flooded by rural migrants and new cities developed from scratch. In the Arab World, urbanization moved from 14.5% in 1900 to 59.7% in 2005. In Maghreb countries, the rise was even sharper, moving from 8.7% to 58.4% in the same period. In some countries like Jordan and United Arab Emirates, urbanization started very late but it hit more than 70% in half a century (cf. Miller 2007). For most of the Arab countries, urban growth started only in the second half of the 20th century, which means that many generations of migrants are still living side by side with those born and raised in the city. Only a few countries like Egypt and Syria had a significant urban population before the 20th century. In this context of rapid social change, city-dwellers are unlikely to form a homogeneous group completely distinct from the rural population they descend from. In such urban centers, identities will experience tensions between belonging to traditional social categories and the new urban space with its values and aspirations. This antagonism is usually reflected in language use, though sociolinguistic studies may not always succeed in capturing the conflictual trends. An example of a study that draws heavily on the theoretical apparatus of Western sociolinguistics is Moumine’s (1990) investigation of variation in Casablancan Arabic. Casablanca was just a small coastal town when the French colonial administration decided to expand the seaport and concentrate the major industrial activities there. This decision attracted the nascent Moroccan urban bourgeoisie, particularly from Fez, but most of the population migrated from the neighboring ʕroubiya tribes. Table 4.1 illustrates this development (Moumine 1990:97). These data show that up till 1971, 66.4% of the population was constituted of rural migrants, and the city continued to attract rural migration well into the 1980s. On the other hand, the percentage of those born in the city remained very low till the 1980s, when they became a majority. Most of these city-dwellers descended from rural migrants and lived in poor neighborhoods. In comparison, the well-to-do lived in villa zones, and white-collars in apartment 69

Ahmed Ech-Charfi Table 4.1 Percentages of rural and urban origins of Casablancan population

1948 1952 1962 1971 1982

Born in Casablanca

Born in other cities

Born in rural areas

9% 6.3% 15% 16.7% 60.58%

3% 8.4% 12% 16.9% 15.54%

87% 85% 73% 66.4% 23.88%

buildings. Given the history of Casablanca urbanization, we would expect to find some correlation between social class and the origin of bread-winners, with the ʕroubi migrants forming the working classes, the Fessi bourgeoisie the upper classes and the educated urbanites in between. Indeed, soap operas used to contrast Fessi and ʕroubi stereotypes as representing, respectively, the rich and the poor, but also the urban and the rural. Moumine starts from the assumption that language variation in Casablanca reflects socioeconomic stratification. His operational definition of social class relied on dwelling area, occupation and education on the basis of which he distinguished between an upper-middle class, a lower-middle class and a working class. When the variable (q) was correlated with social class, the middle classes were found to use [q] (69.15%) more than the working classes who tended to prefer [g]. With gender included, the results for casual-style and for word-initial position were as follows in Table 4.2. The researcher’s interpretation is that the variable (q) is socially stratified, with [q] emerging as the prestigious variant. The fact that women in the three social categories opt for it more than men is considered to be strong evidence in favor of this interpretation. Other data related to style, not included here for reasons of space, also indicate that the use of [q] tends to get higher as speakers move from casual to formal style. From this perspective, the variable (q) would apparently be similar to the variables investigated in Labov’s work, for example.4 But there are many reasons to doubt Moumine’s methodology and interpretation. In particular, his decision to ignore the origin of informants seems unjustified, given what was said earlier about the urbanization of Casablanca. The high frequency of [q] may be explained by the urban origin of the middle-class informants, especially that the researcher used convenient sampling. A better method should focus on the interaction between the various ethnic groups, their stereotyping and the ways of accommodation between them rather than on social class which cuts across ethnic origin.5 It is not clear whether g-speakers accommodate significantly to q-speakers, but Hachimi (2007) has found that a number of Fessi informants are dropping salient Fessi dialectal features in favor of their ʕroubi equivalents. This should not be a big surprise because, although Fessis enjoy high prestige, they form only a small minority among originally rural migrants. During contact between the two groups, their rural or urban origin is unlikely to go unnoticed or remain unexploited in the competition for symbolic capital. The traditional urbanites would boast their civilized life-style while the ruralites would retaliate by drawing a negative stereotype of them and, in parallel, seek pride in their Bedouin culture. Therefore, the study of language variation in new urban centers of the Arab World cannot ignore the role of urbanity and rurality as opposite values. Unlike Moumine, Abdel-Jawad (1986) does not consider class divisions and focuses instead on local categories that are more significant to the population. As was mentioned earlier, urbanization of the major Jordanian cities is relatively recent and to a large extent similar to that of Casablanca. Amman and Irbid grew into large cities mainly as a result of migration from 70

Rural and urban identities in Arabic Table 4.2 Percentage of [q] use (adapted from Moumine 1990:162) UMC

x¯ SD

LMC

WC

P

Male

Female

Male

Female

Male

Female

23.66 11.30

42.60 12.11

21.20 7.52

34.53 5.66

8.90 12.54

18.86 9.23

0.001

Palestinian territories after the 1948 and 1976 wars with Israel. Given that Palestinian society was divided into urbanites and ruralites (cf. Al-Wer 2007), the two groups have remained distinct even after they moved to the Jordanian urban centers. The original inhabitants of Jordan, on their part, are either sedentary or Bedouin but they spoke more or less similar dialects. On this basis, Abdel-Jawad proceeded to study the interaction between the three groups to determine the direction of accommodation. His findings indicate that the variety spoken by urban Palestinians have emerged as the most prestigious while that of rural Palestinians is falling into stigma. In between, the Jordanian dialects, which seem to be associated more with Bedouins than with villagers, tend to have a covert prestige reflected in the use of their variants. Concerning the variable (q), for example, while the urban variant [ʔ] tends to be used variably or categorically by the three groups, especially young females, and the rural variant [k] to be dropped even by rural Palestinians, the Bedouin [g] turns out to be positively evaluated even by nonBedouins, especially males. A similar finding was noted in Irbid by Khatib (1987). Abdel-Jawad concludes that sociolinguistic variation in Jordan exhibits two opposite tendencies: urbanization (i.e. use of urban variants) and Bedouinization (i.e. use of Bedouin variants). In this complex situation, it is very dubious that the city and the countryside form distinct social spaces defining the identity of their inhabitants. With the exception of urban Palestinians, who have always lived in cities, the other two groups seem to have an ambiguous relation toward space. Rural Palestinians living in Amman or Irbid are no more rural; that is why they tend to drop their linguistic markers. Abdel-Jawad (personal communication) remarks that the label “fallaħ” generally used to refer to this group is likely to acquire the meaning of “rural”. But since these live in urban centers, a category of urban “fallaħin” does not make much sense, especially to the new generations born and raised in cities. In comparison, Bedouins, being the original inhabitants of the Jordanian countryside, are the ones we would expect to associate with rurality. But since they give a lot of importance to their tribal affiliation, their political power as a solidary group may hinder the development of such an association. Therefore, if country folk and their urban kin continue to form one social group, it is perhaps unlikely that a distinct rural identity will be developed. But if urbanites try to distinguish themselves by aligning with different ethnic groups, an urban identity will certainly develop that will gradually weaken the traditional structures. Al-Wer’s work on koinézation in Amman seems to indicate that something along these lines is already taking place. Al-Wer (2007), for example, reports that the young generations in Amman are converging toward a common variety which mixes different ethnic variants. Her interpretation is that the koiné expresses a common Ammani identity that abstracts away from differences of origin. When this identity is socially recognized, the population surrounding Amman city will automatically be cast into a different category against which the Ammani identity can be defined. A less ambiguous case can be found in Mecca. Al-Jehani (1985) reports that the population of the city is constituted of two ethnicities: “al-ħadur” (sedentaries), who have always lived there, ˙ and “al-badu” (nomads), who migrated from neighboring villages and settlements. The  two 71

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groups had different life-styles and, apart from trade exchanges, they rarely had any other social relations. But as a result of rural migration, their contact intensified, leading to mutual influence. Because of their diverse origins, urban Makkans spoke a distinct Arabic dialect from the Bedouin varieties in general. Al-Jehani studied the interdentals θ, ð and ðˁ, which are preserved in Bedouin speech, and their corresponding stops or sibilants used by sedentaries. Al-Jehani found that the Bedouins in general tend to use the urban variants more than the reverse, especially in casual speech, and that the young generations tend to use these variants more than the old ones. Concerning ðˁ, for example, none of the old Bedouin informants pronounced it as a stop or a sibilant when the young informants did so 75% of the time in casual speech. In general, the results indicate that rural migrants are gradually adopting an urban identity by adopting the symbols traditionally associated with the old Makkan stock. Al-Jehani (1985:96), however, remarks that Bedouins use more stops than sibilants, a fact which he considers as an indication that they “want to be identified as prestigious city-dwellers rather than farmers or shepherds, but not as sedentaries”. This means that Al-ħad ur are not simple urbanites, but form a distinct ˙ ethnicity. In many traditional Arab cities, the old urban stock behave as a closed group; that is probably why new migrants tend to avoid identifying with them completely. Some evidence supporting this conclusion can be found in Messaoudi (2001) and ElHimmer (2001). The two researchers investigated the sociolinguistic situations in Rabat and Salé, respectively. The two cities have traditionally been inhabited by urbane groups, mainly of Andalusian origin. For this reason, these groups demarcated, both linguistically and socially, from neighboring ʕroubi tribes. Messaoudi and El-Himmer identify three major varieties corresponding to distinct social constituents: the old city variety spoken by the original urbanites, a rural/Bedouin variety used by migrants in peripheral neighborhoods, and an emerging variety associated with the new middle classes. Messaoudi notes that this emerging variety contains a lot of rural features but it is also distinguished by other urban features. That is why it appeals to the new generations aspiring to social mobility, including traditional urbanites, who continue to claim the city for themselves and hold the new migrants responsible for its ruralization. El-Himmer notes the same trend in relation with Salé. Both researchers, however, conclude that the old urban varieties are becoming invisible, gradually giving way to new urban varieties, though with many rural characteristics. Although their studies are limited in scope and suffer from some methodological shortcomings, Messaoudi and El-Himmer make a generalization that seems to hold for many Arab cities whose original population find themselves outnumbered by rural/Bedouin migrants, namely, that the new urbanites are developing a new identity of their own that is distinct both from rural populations and the original urban inhabitants. To conclude, the discussion in this and the previous sections has shown that the rural-urban dichotomy is not deeply anchored in the social organization of most traditional Arab societies. Therefore, the modern urbanization of these societies cannot be understood simply as the contact of urban and rural populations, but rather as the cohabitation of different ethnic groups in the urban space. For this reason, to lump all rural migrants into a single category on the basis of their geographical origin, just like dividing them into socio-economic classes, “not only misconstrues social reality but also immediately forfeits explanatory purchase” Archer (1995:178). But at the same time, the role of the rural-urban distinction, just like that of socio-economic stratification, in the restructuring of Arab societies and their cultures cannot be ignored. In the process of modernization, both old and new urbanites target the Western model to shape new identities against a traditional background. How this change happens and what forces drive it are questions to be treated in the last section.

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3.  Norm and agency Rural and urban identities in Arab societies raise a sociological and a sociolinguistic question. The sociological question is: how is the spatial categorization of people (into those who live in cities and those who live in rural areas) introduced into a society that gives more importance to ethnic/tribal categorization? The sociolinguistic question is: how do dialectal features originally associated with ethnic/tribal groups acquire rural or urban connotations in ruralized cities? To answer these questions, we will consider the role of social structures and the norms associated with them, on one hand, and that of individuals, on the other. A controversy that has plagued sociological theory concerns the explanatory powers of structure and agency. The controversy can be formulated as follows: does social structure determine individuals’ behavior or is structure merely the result of regularities in the behavior of individuals sharing similar interests and acting under similar constraints? Without having to present the various answers to this controversy for lack of space, I will limit the discussion to the realist position, as defended by Margaret Archer and others,6 according to which social structures have an independent reality. But although these structures constrain individual behavior, they do not completely determine it, thus allowing for the possibility to elaborate those structures by individual agency. The following diagram from Archer (1995:193) illustrates this point: Figure 4.1 shows that structure always precedes interaction between individuals in time (T1). Archer (1995:168–169) claims that: Social interaction (SI) elaborates on the composition of social structure(s) (SS) by modifying internal and necessary structural relationships and introducing new ones where morphogenesis is concerned. Alternatively, social interaction (SI) reproduces existing internal and necessary structural relations when morphostasis applies. In different words, when social conditions affect SI, SS tends also to be affected, leading to structural change; but when social conditions remain the same, SI tend to reproduce the same structures as those inherited from previous generations. With this brief, albeit sketchy, outline of the morphogenetic approach, I will try to answer the two questions posed earlier. To be sure, rural migration has introduced new relations in social interaction. As mentioned, urbanization in Arab societies moved from a very low rate in the first half of the 20th century to a very high rate in the second half. Thus, the strong relation that existed between social groups and their vital space was disturbed. It seems that when people from different tribal/ethnic origins live in the same neighborhoods, they are likely to knit networks that will ultimately

Structural conditioning T1

Interaction T2

T3 Social elaboration T4

Figure 4.1 The morphogenetic sequence

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result in new social structures. This is more so when tribes or ethnicities do not have their own institutions that can provide incentives for clinging to their membership. But cohabitation alone cannot result automatically in social restructuring. Migration to the city did happen in medieval times without necessarily leading to the assimilation of migrants into the urban structures. For example, before the French protectorate, Le Tourneau (1992:281) remarks that, “the label ‘həl fas’ (people of Fez) is reserved to a small minority among those who live in Fez, specifically, those who have settled there for generations and became members of a community that is centuries old”; the others apparently identified more with their kin than with the city. In such a situation, it seems that factors of stasis favoring maintenance of ethnic segregation were stronger than factors of change. Therefore, there must be some factors in the social dynamics that are leading to the establishment of the rural-urban dichotomy in modern times. In my opinion, the most important of these factors is the Western model of modernization. The Arab modernist discourse abhors tribalism and holds it responsible for the backwardness of Arab societies (Barakat 1984). The use of the term “gabīlī” (tribal) by Yemenis to refer to ruralites is perhaps an outcome of such ideas. As mentioned earlier, modernist ideologies also depreciate the peasantry and consider them responsible for the persistence of archaic social and economic structures. For ordinary people as well, the difference between city and country cannot be ignored, especially in underdeveloped countries where modern infrastructures are often limited to urban centers. Ramboud (1974, cited by Haddiya 1996:66–67) notes that, for rural folk, the urban world looks modern and developed, in contrast with the backward agrarian society. City life is considered the best model of well-being, and its culture the true culture while the rural culture is rejected and some of its products are given the modern sense of folklore. These values are often inculcated by the educational system, including textbooks. In Morocco, for example, Ibaaqil (1978, cited by Haddiya 1996:85) points out that both in Arabic and French textbooks, the family models presented to pupils are always middle-class families, and the context in which they are presented facilitates the communication of certain values. Thus, schools contribute to the acculturation of Moroccan children through reading texts. Mass media and other cultural institutions also contribute to the dissemination of such values, leading somehow to the division of people into city and country folks. But not all those who migrate to the city acquire an urban identity easily. Ech-Charfi and Azzouzi (2017) asked their informants if all those who lived in Fez could be considered Fessis, and 88.3% answered “no”, indicating that “fessi” applies only to a specific category of inhabitants. Similarly, 81% of the informants refused to consider all the inhabitants of Fez as “mdini” (urban), and the figure only dropped to 78% in connection with city-dwellers in general. These results suggest that living in a city is not sufficient to acquire the urban status. The researchers, however, found that the more educated informants were, the more they tended to consider city-dwellers as “mdini”. They also found that informants who had rural relatives tended to treat “mdini” more liberally than those who didn’t, a fact which could be interpreted as a resistance on the part of the descendants of rural migrants to their exclusion from the urban social space by the old city stock. It seems that where a city has a long history of urban life, as in the case of Fez, Cairo, Aleppo, Damascus and others, rural migrants can acquire an urban identity only after a long time. 74

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In new cities, however, the story may be more complex. Cities like Casablanca, Amman, Riyadh and others were urbanized only in the 20th century. In such cities, most inhabitants are from rural origin and there are no old urban populations against whom they could be defined as rural. The “rural” and “urban” categories in such situations emerged as a result of complex social interaction and the ideologies that framed and continue to frame them. In Casablanca, for example, it is surprising how quickly the descendants of early migrants ignored their origins and turned their back to their parents’ communities in the countryside, as reflected in the jokes they invented about country people. It is unknown when these jokes exactly began portraying the “ʕroubi” as ignorant, stupid, coarse, etc. but in the 1970s, they were already popular. It is very likely that the term “ʕroubi” was first understood in the ethnic sense denoting Bedouin, but it was soon extended to all ruralites and the “ʕoubiyya” (pl. of ʕroubi) became synonymous with the countryside. This indicates that Casablancans rejected the rural identity and sought to build another identity associated with the urban space and life-style. The outcome of this identity game is that city-dwellers became a social category while country folk were lumped together into a category of ruralites, irrespective of their ethnic/tribal affiliation. Now we come to the sociolinguistic question as to how dialectal features acquire the “urban” or “rural” connotations. Linguistic forms are indexical of the social contexts in which they are usually used, including the category of speakers who use them (cf. Silverstein 2003; Johnstone 2010).7 The association of form and context may be inferred from regularities in use, but it can also be communicated by metapragmatic discourse. In this way, [ʔ] became a symbol of “madani” speech, [k] of “fallaħi” speech and [g] of Bedouin speech in some parts of the Middle East. Similarly, interdentals indexed the category of “al-badu” while their corresponding stops or sibilants occurred regularly in the speech of “al-ħad ur” in Makka. Other examples can be ˙ multiplied almost infinitely. The problem, however, is how these forms changed their indexical meanings. In the case under study, the question is how forms traditionally associated with ethnic categories shift indexicality to rural or urban categories. In variationist sociolinguistics, linguistic forms tend to be treated as reflections of sociological categories. Language itself is assumed not to contribute to the construction of social categories, a process which seems to be left completely to objective sociological factors. This conception, however, faces some problems in accounting for the emergence of new social categories. Research on language and identity provides ample examples in which linguistic symbols are manipulated to express different stances in various speech events. Many of these ways of expression are specific to particular events and are, therefore, transient. But some of them will occur regularly and, consequently, crystallize into socially recognized registers, and when they do, they become indexical of specific categories and identities. Urban and rural identities are often constructed by a bricolage of symbols previously associated with traditional ethnic categories. In Amman, for example, new urbanites mix “madani” and Bedouin variants, with women favoring the first and men the second, thus assigning new meanings to traditional ethnic symbols. Consequently, [ʔ], which traditionally indexed the “madani” group, becomes also a sign of femininity while [g], which was associated with Bedouins, acquires connotations of masculinity and toughness. By gendering these variants, the Ammanis weaken the links between these variants and the groups they used to index and, thus, construct a new, albeit patched, Ammani identity. (For a recent study of language enregisterment in Jordan, see Doghan 2017.) Ruralites, on the other hand, will be singled out by their incompetence to do the patchwork correctly. In Casablanca as well, the new urbanites have developed a new identity usually expressed by the combination of traditional Bedouin and urban symbols. Because of the great number of Bedouin features, Casablancan Arabic has earned the reputation of being “ʕroubi”, and its speakers coarse, but for Casablancans, their speech can clearly be distinguished from that of 75

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neighboring ruralites. Hachimi (2007, 2012) has studied the Fessi immigrants in this city and found that, though these are extremely proud of their urban origins and their old urbane traditions, they are dropping a number of their salient dialectal features in favor of their Bedouin counterparts, including the [g] of “gal”. The reason Hachimi’s informants give for such a shift is to sound “ʃəʕbi” or “ʕadi” (normal, down to earth). It is surprising that this new Casablancan identity both Fessis and ʕroubis claim is normal and down to earth when urban identities tend generally to be sophisticated. It seems that the ideology of authenticity has won over that of unnatural sophistication during the development of this identity, and this is not surprising, given the large number of rural migrants to Arab cities. Apparently, these migrants find it unhealthy for their psychology to shift from their values and life-styles to radically different ones. The maintenance of rural variants, and indeed the emergence of regional and national koinés which exhibit many rural features (cf. Miller 2004, 2007), testifies to the effect of the ideology of authenticity in the development of new urban identities. In brief, sociolinguistic variation in ruralized cities both expresses and contributes to the restructuring of Arab societies by providing the linguistic symbols to construct urban and rural identities. New urban identities are constructed linguistically by combining traditional urban and rural variants while rural stereotypes serve as the background against which urban identities are defined. This identity dynamics has contributed significantly to the division of Arab societies into those who live in cities and those in the countryside.

Conclusion This chapter has shown that “rural” and “urban”, as they are used in European languages, were not socially recognized categories in many Arab societies. The classification of people into those who live in the city and those in the countryside in these societies is argued to be the outcome of new socio-economic trends, particularly urbanization, and the Western model of modernity. The massive migration of rural populations to the city disrupted traditional social structures by bringing together in the same neighborhoods individuals and families from different ethnic/ tribal origins. In such situations, language variation does not merely reflect traditional identities, but also provides the symbolic resources to construct urban and rural identities as they are portrayed by the Western model. Thus, social restructuring is the outcome of objective sociological factors as well as symbolic systems.

Notes 1 I would like to express my thanks to Hassan Abdel-Jawad for serving as an informant on the situation in Jordan and Oman and, also, for reading an earlier version of this chapter. Thanks also go to an anonymous reviewer for their comments. Neither of them, however, is responsible for the shortcomings of the chapter. 2 Ibn Manzūr (Lisān: ‫ن‬.‫د‬.‫ )م‬reports that the adjective “madanī” is reserved to people from Yathrib, while “madīnī” can be associated with other urbanites, especially those from Baghdad. 3 I have relied on information reported by one Omani and nine Yemeni students following their graduate studies in Morocco, one Saudi and two Syrian graduate students at the University of Texas, Austin, in addition to one scholar from Jordan currently teaching in Muscat, Oman. 4 The relevance of class as an analytical concept has been doubted in a number of contexts. For example, in his study of variation in a Guyanese village, Rickford (1986), argues that the use of local social categories proves to have more explanatory power than socio-economic class defined in terms of objective criteria. 5 Studies adopting this methodology are numerous, both in the Arab World (cf. Palva 1982; Holes 1995; de Jong 1996; Miller 2004; and the papers in Miller, Al-Wer, Caubet and Watson 2007) and Western societies (cf. Kerswill and Williams 2000, and the references cited therein).

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Rural and urban identities in Arabic 6 See in particular work by Roy Bhaskar (1975, 1987, among others). 7 Indexicality or enregisterment (cf. Agha 2003) is a process by which linguistic variants become associated with social groups. It is one of the mechanisms through which language ideologies develop. For lack of space, this issue cannot be developed any further here.

References Abdel-Jawad, H. R. (1986) “The emergence of an urban dialect in the Jordanian urban centres”, International Journal of the Sociology of Language 61, 53–63 Agha, A. (2003) “The social life of cultural value”, Language & Communication 23, 231–273 Al-Jehani, N. M. (1985) “Sociolinguistic stratification in Makkah”. Unpublished dissertation, The University of Michigan Al-Wer, E. (2007) “The formation of the dialect of Amman: From chaos to order”, in Catherine Miller, Enam Al-Wer, Dominique Caubet, and Janet C. E. Watson (eds.), Arabic in the City. New York: Routledge, pp. 55–76 Archer, M. (1995) Realist Social Theory: The Morphogenetic Approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Barakat, H. (1984) al-muƷtamaʕ al-ʕarabī al-muʕāsir. Beirut: markaz dirāsāt al-waħdah al-ʕrabiyyah ˙ London: Verso Bhaskar, R. (1975/1997) A Realist Theory of Science. ——— (1987) Scientific Realism and Human Emancipation. London: Verso Bucholtz, M.  & K. Hall (2010) “Locating identity in language”, in Carmen Llamas  & Dominic Watt (eds.), Language and Identities. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 18–28 Cohen, M. L. (1993) “Cultural and political inventions in Modern China: The case of the Chinese ‘peasant’ ”, Daedalus 122 (2); China in Transformation (Spring, 1993), 151–170 de Jong, R. (1996) “Examples of leveling and counterreactions in the dialects of Bedouin tribes in Northwestern Sinai”, Les Langues en Egypte 27–28, 355–381 Doughan, Y. (2017) “Imaginaries of space and language: A historical view of the scalar enrigesterment of Jordanian Arabic.” International Journal of Arabic Linguistics 3 (2), 77–109 Ech-Charfi, A.  & L. Azzouzi (2017) “Ethnic stereotypes and lexical semantics: The emergence of the rural-urban opposition in Moroccan Arabic”, in Augustin Emmanuel Ebongue & Ellen Hurst (eds.), Sociolinguistics in African Contexts: Perspectives and Challenges. London: Springer, pp. 147–69. El-Himmer, M. (2001) “Identité urbaine de la population de Salé”, Cahiers de sociolinguistique1 (6), 131–145 Hachimi, A. (2007) “Becoming Casablancan: Fessis in Casablanca as a case study”, in Catherine Miller, Enam Al-Wer, Dominique Caubet, and Janet C. E. Watson (eds.), Arabic in the City. New York: Routledge, pp. 97–122 Hachimi, A. (2012) “The urban and the urbane: Identities, language ideologies, and Arabic dialects in Morocco”, Language in Society 41 (3), 321–341 Haddiya, M. (1996) Socialisation et identité, Arabic translation by Ben Cheikh. Rabat: Publications de la faculté des lettres et sciences humaines Holes, C. (1995) “Community, dialect and urbanization in the Arabic-speaking Middle East”, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 58 (2), 270–287 Ibaaqil, L. (1978) “Le discours scolaire et l’idéologie au Maroc”, Lamalif 95, 32–43 Johnstone, B. (2010) “Locating language in identity”, in Carmen Llamas & Dominic Watt (eds.), Language and Identities. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 29–37 Kerswill, P. & A. Williams (2000) “Creating a new town Koiné: Children and language change in Milton Keynes”, Language in Society 29, 65–115 Khatib, M. A. (1987) “Sociolinguistic change in an expanding urban context: A case study of Irbid City, Jordan”. Unpublished dissertation, Durham University Leonard, P. & D. Kaneff (2002) “Introduction”, in P. Leonard & D. Kaneff (eds.), Post-Socialist Peasant? Rural and Urban Constructions of Identity in Eastern Europe, East Asia and the Former Soviet Union. New York: Palgrave, pp. 1–42 Le Tourneau, R. (1992) Fès avant le Protectorat. Arabic translation by Mohamed Lakhdar and Mohamed Hajji. Bayrout, Lebanon: Dar Al-Gharb Al-Islami Messaoudi, L. (2001) “Urbanisation linguistique et dynamique langagière dans la ville de Rabat”, Cahiers de sociolinguistique 1 (6), 89–100 Miller, C. (2004) “Variation and changes in Arabic urban vernaculars”, in Martin Haak, Rodulf de Jong and Kees Versteegh (eds.), Approaches to Arabic Dialects: A Collection of Papers Presented to Manfred Woidich on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday. Leiden and Boston: Brill

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Ahmed Ech-Charfi ——— (2007) “Arabic urban vernaculars: Development and change”, in Catherine Miller, Enam Al-Wer, Dominique Caubet, and Janet C. E. Watson (eds.), Arabic in the City. New York: Routledge, pp. 1–31 Miller, C., E. Al-Wer, D. Caubet, & J. Watson (eds.). (2007). Arabic in the City: Issues in Dialect Contact and Language Variation. New York: Routledge Moumine, M. E. (1990) “Sociolinguistic variation in Casablanca Moroccan Arabic”, unpublished thesis, Casablanca, University Mohammed V Mubarak, F. (1999) “Cultural adaptation to housing needs: A case study, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia”, The IAHS Conferences Proceedings. San Francisco, 1–7 June Palva, H. (1982) “Patterns of Koineization in Arabic”, Acta Orientalia 43, 13–32 Ramboud, P. (1974) Société rurale et urbanisation. Paris: Seuil Rickford, J. (1986) “The need for new approaches to social class analysis in sociolinguistics”, Language & Communication 6 (3), 215–221 Silverstein, M. (2003) “Indexical order and the dialectics of sociolinguistic life”, Language and Communication 23, 193–229 Versteegh, K. (1995) The Arabic Language. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press Williams, R. (1973) The Country and the City. New York: Oxford University Press

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5 OPTIONAL YOU AND THE INVOCATION OF SHARED IDENTITY IN LEVANTINE ARABIC Youssef A. Haddad 1. Why you? When social actors interact with others, be that in speech or writing, they share their thoughts with their hearers or readers and invite them to consider these thoughts and eventually accept them as part of their view of reality. These thoughts may be purely objective (e.g.,  factual, informative); for example, the statement The Himalayas are a mountain range in South Asia given as an answer on a geography test. Alternatively, they may be purely subjective. That is, they may be an expression of an attitude or an emotion based on personal or shared beliefs, values, or experience; for example, the exclamation Wow! said in disbelief, fear, or admiration upon seeing a full-grown alligator for the first time. Often, however, expressions are neither purely objective nor purely subjective; rather, they comprise both objective and subjective elements. In other words, they constitute content about objects, individuals, ideas, behaviors, actions, or states of affair, as well as the speaker’s evaluation of some or all of this content. In fact, it is reasonable to say that there are hardly any evaluationfree utterances. As Stubbs (1996: 197) would put it, when speakers or writers produce an utterance about a certain entity (e.g., an object, an action), more often than not they also evaluate it or express their stance toward it (in Martin and White 2005: 92; see also Alba-Juez and Thompson 2014: 5). Evaluation or stancetaking normally comprises feelings and value assignment (Martin and White 2005; Du Bois 2007; Iwasaki and Yap 2015). That is, when social actors evaluate an entity, they may express how it makes them feel (happy, anxious, excited, etc.). They also assign it a value as good, bad, (un)ethical, (un)authentic, (in)appropriate, etc., all in accordance with their identities, the identities of their interlocutors, and shared or personal norms and beliefs. Evaluation as an expression of stance via interaction allows social actors to move their stance from the realm of the personal, private, and subjective to the realm of shared, public, and intersubjective. The social actors’ purpose is to make the hearer adopt their stance and accept it as part of her or his view of reality. If they are successful, they manage to manipulate the status of an underlying belief, value, or norm either by affirming it as shared and thus reinforcing it, or by challenging and possibly redefining it. Alternatively, social actors may express a stance to introduce and negotiate an uncertain or new (probably personal and not yet shared) belief, 79

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value, or norm. In the process, relationships may get affirmed, enhanced, redefined, or challenged. For related discussions, see Brinton (1996: 31 and works cited there); Ochs (1996: 424); Thompson and Hunston (2000: 6); Spencer-Oatey (2002, 2008); Iwasaki and Yap (2015: 1); Haddad (2018, Ch. 2). To be effective at influencing others’ thoughts about or stance toward a certain entity, social actors may employ verbal and non-verbal elements that invite hearers or readers to view the content of an utterance from a specific perspective. Consider, for example, the following scene from an episode of the 2002–2006 American sitcom Still Standing.1 A father learns that his son Brian and his daughter Lauren are planning to go to a dance with a date. He approves of Brian’s plan, but not of Lauren’s. When his wife asks him why, he explains as follows: Brian is just gonna take this girl to the dance and try to get lucky, but this Evan guy is gonna take Lauren to the dance and try to get lucky. He says almost the same thing about both of his children and their dates . . . except for two differences, one verbal and one non-verbal. With regard to the verbal aspect, the father inserts just in the first half of the utterance in an attempt to diminish the seriousness of his son’s plan and to signal his evaluation of it as innocent. In contrast, he uses this Evan guy in reference to Lauren’s date to signal his evaluation of his daughter’s date as immoral. At the non-verbal level, the father employs a neutral, rather dismissive tone in association with his son’s plan; however, he expresses his disdain of his daughter’s date’s plan via an indignant tone of voice and a facial expression of disgust. The verbal and non-verbal elements just described serve as perspectivizers à la Verhagen (2005, 2010). They invite the hearer to view the content of an utterance from a specific perspective. In this sense, the utterance becomes a perspectivized thought. A perspectivized thought is more than just informative; it is argumentative. Another way social actors may perspectivize their utterance is by employing the secondperson pronoun you in order to mark their reader’s or hearer’s engagement in what is being said. Consider, for instance, the exchange in (1) from a Lebanese talk show called ʔaħmar bi-l-xatˁ l-ʕari:dˁ ‘A Red Line with a Thick Stroke.’ The episode is entitled hiya ʔaydˁan sayyidat l-qara:r ‘She Too Has the Right to Make Decisions,’ and it focuses on the role of women in marital relations. During the first few minutes of the show, one of the male guests, who has been married twice and divorced once, expresses his belief that men are superior to women and disagrees with the view that a wife should have the right to participate equally in decision making in a relationship. Rather, he maintains, she may have a say with regard to some but not all matters. When the presenter of the show resumes the floor, he makes reference to the guest’s first marriage and asks him about what led to the divorce. Instead of providing a specific answer, the guest answers in rather general and vague terms. He maintains that men and women must play distinct roles in the house, and he adds:2 1 ma: fiyya: hiyye tiʒi: tʔarrir ʕann-ak , ʔinte ʃu: NEG can she come decide for-you , you what baddak taʕmil . . . w-titdaxxal bi-ħaye:t-ak you.want do . . . and-she.interfere in-life-your l-ʃaxsˁiyye w-bi-ʔahl-ak w-bi-ʕaylt-ak the-personal and-in-parents-you and-in-family-your ‘She shouldn’t be allowed to decide for you or decide what you could or could not do . . . or interfere in your personal life and in the life of your parents and your extended family.’ The guest goes on for over a minute addressing the same point. He does not address the issue by using a first-person I or me. Rather, he addresses the male presenter by using an impersonal 80

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you. By anchoring the potential behavior of wives in general to the presenter, and by association to any man present in the studio or watching at home, he marks the presenter’s, as well as these men’s, engagement. He places them inside his experience and invites them to evaluate it as shared. That is, he takes away from them the role of passive spectators and assigns them the role of active participants instead (Myers and Lampropoulou 2012). This observation is in line with experimental results by Ditman, Brunyé, Mahoney, and Taylor (2010) who find that participants show more active involvement in a narrative and better retention of the details when they are inserted in it via a second-person pronoun. In addition, as Laberge and Sankoff (1979) put it, by using you, the guest “assimilates himself to a much wider class of people, downgrading his own experience to incidental status in the discourse, phrasing it as something that could or would be anybody’s” (429) or, in this case, any man’s. The presenter of the show (1) tries to bring back the discussion to the guest’s personal experience by asking him personal questions. He asks him if his ex-wife actually interfered with his life; he also inquires about the reasons the guest considers such interference a problem rather than a right. This attempt fails; the guest refuses to address the issue from a purely personal perspective and continues to use an impersonal you instead of I/me. At this point, the presenter turns to another male guest and asks for his input on the topic. By seeking input from another male rather than female guest, the presenter shows that he is tacitly aware of the first guest’s tactic of marking the engagement of all men in the audience. By bringing another man into the discussion, the presenter tests the first guest’s tactic to see if he is successful in invoking a shared identity in the men around him. The second male guest does express the same attitude toward women and their role in marital relationships and as such he shows that the you in (1) in fact involves him. If, however, other male guests or viewers disagree that women have less than an equal status in a marital relationship, and in fact some do, their disagreement indicates that the you used by the guest in (1) does not involve them and that his attempt to solicit their assent and invoke their shared membership has failed. The use of you in expressions like the one mentioned is common in world languages. What is interesting for our purposes is that Arabic makes use of another type of you as well: an optional you in the form of a dative pronoun. The boldface pronoun in (2) is an example.3 2

Context: A journalist asks Palestinians on the street if they watch any TV shows during Ramadan (a holy month in the Islamic calendar during which Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset; special TV programs are aired during this month). A woman responds by saying that she does. She goes on to criticize TV shows based on what she reads on Facebook: bas muttˁaliʕa ʕala: l-Facebook ʕala: ʔa:ra:ʔ but I.am.informed on the-Facebook about opinions kti:r na:s ʔinno sˁa:r fi: ʔisa:ʔa many people that happened there harm la-l-muslimi:n ʔisa:ʔa la-l-na:s l-mutadayyini:n for-the-Muslims harm for-the-people the-religious w-he:k w-ħatta: fi: l-musalsala:t l-misˁriyya . . . and-like.this and-even in the-shows the-Egyptian . . . bisawwir-lak l-muslim ʔirha:bi: dayman dayman portray-you.D the-Muslim terrorist always always ‘But I am informed about the opinions of many people on Facebook who believe that TV shows have been harmful to Muslims and religious people and such, and even Egyptian shows portray [you] Muslims as terrorists all the time.’ 81

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In Haddad (2018), I consider this form of optional you as an interpersonal pragmatic marker, and I refer to it as a Hearer-Oriented Attitude Dative. Like the you in (1), the dative pronoun in (2) may be described as an impersonal you that references, not only the hearer, but people in general, including the speaker her- or himself. Unlike the you in (1), the boldface pronoun in (2) is optional in the sense that it is neither syntactically required for the utterance to be grammatical nor semantically necessary for it to make sense. Stated differently, (2) would be structurally complete and would mean exactly the same with or without the dative you. This type of you does, however, make pragmatic (attitudinal and/or relational) contributions typical of interpersonal pragmatic markers in general. One such contribution is the invocation of a shared identity by attributing certain knowledge, experience, and/or attitude to the hearer/reader by marking it as shared rather than personal. A brief note on the morphosyntactic distribution of optional you is in order before we proceed. This type of dative you is always realized as a clitic attached to a verbal element; that is, unlike other selected forms of you that serve as arguments, optional you may not be realized as a stand-alone pronoun. Also, there is no upper limit on the number of optional you’s that may occur in an utterance; as many optional you’s as there are verbal elements may be licensed in a sentence, as some of the next examples illustrate. See Haddad (2014) for more details. Optional you like the one in (2) is the main focus of this chapter. The chapter draws on my earlier work, mainly Haddad (2018); it focuses the discussion on the issue of identity and the role of optional you as an invoker of shared identity in Levantine Arabic (a term used to refer collectively to Jordanian, Lebanese, Palestinian, and Syrian Arabic). The rest of the chapter is organized as follows. Section 2 presents a number of attested utterances with optional you from Levantine Arabic and discusses their pragmatic contribution in their social context. The utterances are only a sample that illustrate a rather prevalent phenomenon in Levantine Arabic, as well as other Arabic varieties; the sample comes from a large pool of data extracted from fieldwork recordings, soap operas, movies, plays, talk shows, and social media platforms. Section 3 draws on Langacker’s (2000, 2008) Cognitive Grammar and Du Bois’s (2007) Theory of Stance and provides a sociocognitive analysis of such utterances and the role that optional you plays in them. Section 4 is a conclusion.

2. Optional you in its social context Optional you is characteristic of informal communication in Levantine Arabic. This may include oral conversations, such as face-to-face or phone conversations, as well as written communication on social media. And while it makes no semantic contribution to utterances, this dative you does make a number of pragmatic contributions (Haddad 2013, 2014, 2018, Ch. 4). For example, it may be used in storytelling to grab the hearer’s/reader’s attention and direct it to the most important, most exciting, scariest, or funniest part of the story; see Labov and Waletzky (1997), Labov (1972), and O’Connor (1994). Consider (3) from data I collected in Lebanon during field work in 2014.4 The speaker relates an incident that happened in her village; she anchors the part of her story that she evaluates as the funniest (the punchline) to her hearer via an optional you in order to direct his gaze to it to make sure he does not miss it. 3

Context: The speaker relates the story of a disagreement that took place one day right after midnight between two men, a local and a visitor, in her village in Lebanon. The disagreement almost devolved into a fist fight, but other locals interfered and it ended without anyone getting hurt. When the confrontation was over, the visitor had gotten so cold or 82

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scared or both that he went to a nearby wall and urinated. The speaker relates this part of her story as follows: baram dˁahr-o w-ʔiz bismaʕ-lak he.turned back-his and-suddenly I.hear-you.DAT xari:r mayy tinkling water ‘He turned his back (to us), and all of sudden I hear [you] tinkling water.’ Another function of optional you in Levantine Arabic is to anchor an entity (e.g., an event, a behavior, an idea, an object, and/or an individual), along with the speaker’s evaluation of it, to the hearer in an attempt to fulfil two objectives. First, by using an optional you, the speaker tries to recruit the hearers’ emotional engagement. That is, if the speaker is excited or indignant about a certain event, individual, or behavior, an optional you is an attempt to get the hearers to adopt the speaker’s emotions as something that they would also experience if they were in the same position. Second, by inserting an optional you in an utterance, the speaker tries to invoke shared membership and shared cultural understanding with the hearers. If the speaker judges an entity as good or bad, an optional you is an attempt to get the hearers to adopt the same judgment. If the hearers do, they become or continue to be members of the same group to which the speaker prescribes. These objectives are often present in communication, with or without the use of an optional you. The employment of an optional you makes the attempt of the speaker to fulfil them more overt and hard to deny. That is, if confronted by Why do you involve me in this? by the hearer, the speaker will have some explaining to do! The use of optional you – or any pragmatic marker for that matter – does not happen in vacuum. Rather, it interacts with elements of the social context. These include the sociocultural values, beliefs, and norms that they and their community live by and take for granted. These elements inform the use of optional you, as we will see. Another contextual dimension that is relevant in interaction is the speakers’ and hearers’ identities. In their attempt to invoke a shared identity, speakers are aware of their identity and the identity of their hearer; these identities inform their linguistic choices. Identity includes a social actor’s individual identity, such as her or his personality traits and reputation. It also includes her or his group identity, which normally reflects assimilation to or identification with a certain group or groups; for example, an individual may perceive herself as a Palestinian woman in terms of her group identity. Finally, identity includes a social actor’s relational identity as a mother, brother, boss, employee, etc. (Brewer and Gardner 1996). Not all types of identities are relevant all the time. The rest of this section presents a number of examples to illustrate the interaction between optional you and the elements of the context. Observe the excerpt in (4) from a Syrian soap opera, ba:b l-ħa:ra ‘The Neighborhood Gate.’ The soap opera is set in the early twentieth century. Example (4) comes from Season 1, Episode 15. The speaker is an important community member in a meeting with the mayor and other leading figures in the community. He relates a story about another individual that he recently interacted with and praises him for his generosity. He speaks with a tone of excitement, which indicates that he has positive emotions toward the individual and his selfless behavior. The speaker uses an optional you, and by doing so, he recruits his hearers’ emotional engagement and tries to get them to feel the same way. He also characterizes the experience as shared; that is, as something that the hearers as individuals or as representatives of a specific group (as Damascene, Arab, male, and so on) would also experience under similar circumstances. The response he gets from 83

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his hearers indicate that the speaker has succeeded in asserting his and his hearers’ in-group membership and in affirming their group identity.5 4 Context: Abu Esam is a leading figure in an affluent community in Damascus, Syria in the early 1900’s. He and another community member have just come back from a tour to surrounding neighborhoods to collect money in support of the rebels against the British occupation of Palestine. In a meeting with the neighborhood committee, the sheikh inquires about the tour and whether it has paid off. Abu Esam answers: Abu Esam: . . . ma: fi: riʒʒa:l bi-kil l-ʃa:m . . . ma: . . . NEG there man in-all the-Damascus . . . NEG ntaxa: w-dafaʕ min xa:tˁr-o . . . bi-ba:b tu:ma acted and-pay from will-his . . . in-Bab Tuma . . . fat-lak wa:ħed , ʔallaah yku:n . . . enter-you.D one , God be bi-ʕo:n-u , byiʃtiɣel ʕata:l , ʃe:x-i:. wallaah in-help-his , he.work carrier , sheikh-my. by.God l-ʕazˁi:m kil nha:r-o biʔadˁi: ʔarbaʕ the-almight all day-his he.pass four xams ʔru:ʃ ytˁaliʕ-hum. ħatˁtˁ-un five pennies he.earn-them. he.put-them mitil ma: hinne ʕa-l-tˁa:wle w-ra:ħ ! like that they on-the-table and-left ! ‘There was no man in Damascus who didn’t man up and pay of his own will. In the neighborhood of Bab Tuma, there entered [you] a man, God help him, who works as a carrier. I swear he works all day to earn four or five pennies. He placed his whole earnings on the table and left.’ Sheikh:

ʔalla: yʕawwidˁ-hun ʕale-e w-ʕala: God replace-them for-him and-for kil mi:n biʔa:ʒir bi-ʔirʃ walla: bi-nigli. every who contribute with-penny or with-dime. ‘May God reward him and anyone like him who has made a donation no matter how small.’

Everyone: ʔa:mi:n . . . ‘Amen.’ In (4), the speaker is aware of the identities of his hearers as charitable community members and of the sociocultural values they hold dear, including the value of supporting fellow Arabs against foreign oppression. He would not use an optional you if he were relating the same event, say, to a police officer affiliated with the British in Palestine or the French in Syria. A shared identity may be invoked in relation to any value or behavior that the speaker wishes to promote. The purpose of the speaker is to get as many social actors as possible to rally behind the value or behavior and thus prescribe to the speaker’s group as members. The more members the speaker is able to attract, the higher the chance that the value or behavior she or he is trying to promote will transcend the status of individual preference and becomes communal. In (4), an

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optional you is employed to invoke a shared identity in relation to an arguably positive (laudable, legal, charitable, etc.) value. Alternatively, shared identity may be invoked in relation to a value or a behavior that the rest of the community, to the exclusion of the speaker and hearer and their cohort, considers negative (e.g., reprehensible, illegal). A case in point is (5) from the Lebanese play, Nazl l-suru:r ‘The Surour Inn’.6 5

Context: One man criticizes the government for banning hashish plantations and explains how that has affected his life. baʔa , ya si:d-na: l-kari:m , tˁilʕit-lak ha-l-dawle so , VOC good sir , go.up-you.D this-the-government ʕa-l-sahel , w-ʔe:l mamnu:ʕ zarʕ l-ħaʃ i:ʃe , to-the-plain , and-said forbidden planting the-hashish , smaʕu: ʔʃaʕu: , ya: ʒame:ʕa , niħna: ʕe:yʃ i:n listen look , VOC people , we living ʕa-ha-l-ʃatle , le: , ma: fi: , ki:f ma: fi:. on-this-the-plant , why , no.answer , how no.answer. l-ħa:sˁl-o bi-l-nihe:ye , ʕidna: zraʕna: dara. the-conclusion-it in-the-end , we.went.ahead planted corn. ‘So, my good sir, government officials went [you] to the plains of the Beqaa Valley and forbade the planting of hashish. We tried to explain to them that this plant is our livelihood, but in vain. So eventually we ended up planting corn.’

The speaker and hearer in (5) are playing backgammon and chatting. The speaker shares with the hearer a problem he has had with the Lebanese government and its decision to ban the illegal plantations of hashish in the Beqaa Valley in Eastern Lebanon. He describes how that decision has affected his source of income. In order to get the hearer’s attention, the speaker uses an optional you in the form of a dative pronoun. He directs his hearer’s gaze away from the game and to the issue he raises. Importantly, the speaker is dissatisfied with the government; by using an optional you, he invites his hearer to feel the same. He also tries to recruit his hearer’s assent and invoke his in-group membership. In a possible world where the speaker is able to get enough members to prescribe to his group, he may be able to bring about change in the law whereby the plantation of hashish may actually become legal. Note that the speaker in (5) is aware of his hearer’s identity and thus of his chances at recruiting him as an empathizer and a potential supporter of hashish plantation. If the hearer were a government official, the speaker could still perform the same complaint or criticism. However, the use of the optional you would be quite risky. The dative would index an out-group as an in-group; it would invoke his empathy and shared understanding when he is in fact the one causing the damage. Examples (4) and (5) target specific events and anchor them to the hearer. Alternatively, an optional you may be used in relation to general observations about cultural phenomena. Consider the Facebook posts in (6) and (7), for example. In both posts, the Facebook users seem to have certain criteria for piety; for example, they believe that for an individual to be truly pious, they must adhere to a certain dress code. If an individual does not abide by these criteria, they consider her or his claim to piety as hypocritical, and it is this hypocrisy that they criticize. Importantly, they anchor their evaluation to their readers and Facebook friends via their use of multiple instances of optional you. Based on the reactions (e.g., likes, responses) to both posts

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on Facebook, the friends seem to be like-minded individuals whose identities and sociocultural beliefs align with those of the Facebook users. Both posts invoke this shared identity and affirm the sociocultural belief. 6 btilbis-lak fi:zo:n biʒib-lak l-ruʔya bring-you.D the-visibility she.wear-you.D tights 3D & HD w-btiħki:-lak btiħlam bi-l-ʒanne 3D & HD w-she.say-you.D she.dream of-the-paradise ‘She wears [you] tights that provide [you] details that may be characterized as threedimensional and high definition, and yet she claims [you] that she dreams of heaven (that is she is very religious).’ 3D & HD ‫بتلبسلك فيزون بجيبلك الرؤية‬ ‫وبتحكيلك بتحلم بالجنة‬ 7

ʔaħqar l-na:s yalli: byilbis-lak qina:ʕ Most.despicable the-people who wear-you.D mask l-ħamal l-wadi:ʕ hahaha w-huwwe the-lamb the-gentle hahaha and-he ma: byiswa: sˁurma:ye w-biku:n ʕa:mil NEG worth shoe and-he.would make ħa:l-o mitil ʃurafa:ʔ makka w-huwwe self-him like nobles Mecca and-he ma byaʕrif tˁari:ʔ l-ʒa:miʕ ʔasˁlan w-fo:ʔ NEG know way the-mosque to.begin.with and-above kil ʃ i: bifut-lak bi-l-ħala:l w-l-ħara:m everything he.go-you.D in-the-allowed and-the-prohibited ha:do:l l-nawʕiyya:t ya:  we:l-hum min  ʔalla: those the-types woe.betide.them ‘The most despicable of people are those who wear [you] the mask of a gentle lamb when in fact they are not even worth a shoe (they are worthless). They pretend to be as pious as the nobles of Mecca, but they do not even know the road that leads to the mosque. And above all this, they get involved [you] in debates about the halal (the allowed) and the haram (the forbidden). Woe betide these people.’ ‫احقر الناس يلي بيلبسلك قناع الحمل الوديع ههه وهو ما بيسوى صرماية وبيكون عامل حالو متل شرفاء مكة وهو ما‬ ً ‫هللا‬# ‫اصالوفوق كلشي بفتلك بالحالل والحرام وهدول النوعيات يا ويلهم من‬ ‫بيعرف طريق الجامع‬

It may be argued that the social actors in (6) and (7) redefine or even challenge what piety means by highlighting some circumstances under which they consider the claim to piety hypocritical. By using an optional you, they anchor the redefinition to their readers and Facebook friends and they redefine their shared identity in the process. This attempt brings those who agree with them closer and thus enhances their shared identity. Those who disagree with the redefinition will feel that the optional you invokes an identity to which they do not prescribe. Such individuals may choose to react by challenging the redefinition and/or by unfriending the Facebook users. The utterance in (8) further illustrates how a social actor may challenge and redefine a sociocultural belief, value, or norm instead of affirming it. The comment7 is made by a reader in response to a 2009 article8 about an incident of honor killing in Jordan. A young woman in her twenties was found dead after she was stabbed twenty times in her neck. The crime was 86

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labeled as honor killing, a homicide performed by a member of the family – in this case, the brother – because he believed that his sister brought dishonor to the family by engaging in a sexual relationship out of wedlock. The short article concludes with a statement that the medical examination confirmed that the victim was still a virgin when she was murdered, implying that honor killing was not justified in this case. The comment by the reader in (8), unlike the vast majority of the other 196 comments that condemned the murder, indicates that she or he is pro honor killing. However, the contributor goes on to define dishonor and to delimit the types of behavior that may bring it about. 8

ʔawwalan, ʔalla: yirħam-a: w-yiɣfir-la:. first, God have.mercy-her and-forgive-her.D. θa:niyan, le:ʃ sˁa:r mafhu:m-na li-l-ʃaraf second, why happened notion-our for-the-honor murtabitˁ bi-l-ʕuðriyye faqatˁ ? ʔana: linked to-the-virginity only ? I la: ʔaqsˁid l-fata:t wa-la:kin NEG mean the-girl and-but bi-ʃakl ʕa:m. yaʕni: ʔaħya:nan in-manner general. this.mean sometimes taʒid fata:ya:t ʒamʕiyya:t bitsˁa:ħib-lak you.find girls organizations go.out.with-you.D ʃabb w-ra:yħa w-ʒa:yi wi-l-mixfi: ʕiʃri:n twenty young.men and-going and-coming and-the-hidden ʔaʕzam . . . yaʕni: l-ʕuðriyye hiyye l-ʃaraf more.grave . . . this.mean the-virginity it the-honor w-ma: du:n ðalik muʃ ʃaraf ? ɣari:b ! and-that less than NEG honor ? strange ! ‘First, may God have mercy on her soul and forgive her. Second, why is our notion of honor linked to virginity? I  do not mean single/unmarried women only; I  am talking in general terms. I mean, sometimes you find single women who are members of social organizations and yet they go out [you] with twenty young men, and you see them coming and going, and what you don’t see might be worse. Is virginity the only measure for honor, while anything less than that doesn’t count? Strange!’ ً ‫ ليش صار مفهومنا للشرف مرتبط بالعذرية أنا ال أقصد الفتاة ولكن أتحدث بشكل‬:ً ‫ ثانيا‬..‫أوالهللا يرحمها ويغفر لها‬ ً ‫ شب ورايحة وجاية والمخفي أعظم من لمسات وقبالت وكالم‬20 ‫ يعني أحيانا تجد فتيات جمعيات بتصاحبلك‬..‫عام‬ !!!!‫ يعني العذرية هي الشرف وما دون ذلك مش شرف ؟؟؟؟‬..‫فاحش وبدون علم أهلها على نية أنها بتروح الجامعة‬ !!!!! ‫غريييييب‬

By using an optional you, the writer of the comment in (8) anchors the redefinition to other readers. Her or his attempt is to redefine what it means to be a ‘conservative’ Jordanian and wants fellow Jordanians to adopt this redefinition as part of their group identity. If the writer is a man (the comment does not include the name of the contributor), he also redefines his shared relational identity with other men, promoting a more stringent belief that their honor is contingent not only on the virginity but also on the general behavior of the women in their families. In the process, he challenges the less ‘conservative’ views that oppose honor killing, as well as the readers who prescribe to such views. The comment section of the article does not contain any responses to this particular individual. Any readers who disagree with the writer of (8) are bound to feel that the optional you does not refer to 87

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them. If, say, a Jordanian man chooses to respond, he will have the option of getting himself unanchored first by saying something like (9), with stress on the verb with the dative pronoun. By doing so, he will isolate the dative from the rest of the utterance in an attempt to ask the question: X? What do you mean X? à la Potts (2011). He may then go on to discredit the rest of the comment. 9 ħa:ʒ tsˁa:ħib-li: w-tsˁa:ħib-lak . . . enough.with go.out.with-me.D and-go.out.with-you.D . . . ‘Enough already with this type of thinking.’ Note that the datives in (9) target both the speaker and hearer; this is in line with the observation that the type of you under examination is an impersonal you that references not only the hearer, but people in general, including the speaker (Myers and Lampropoulou 2012: 1206). In fact, optional you of the type discussed here may always be replaced by an optional us. This interpretation also explains its function as an invoker of shared identity. The following section presents a sociocognitive analysis of optional you as used in utterances like the ones in (2) through (9).

3.  A sociocognitive account of optional you In Haddad (2018), I label optional you as a Hearer-Oriented Attitude Dative and classify it as a type of interpersonal pragmatic marker that serves two broad functions: (1) an attitudinal function to express a stance toward the main message of an utterance and toward any underlying values and beliefs, and (2) a relational function to manage (affirm, maintain, challenge, etc.) relationships between social actors (see Halliday 1970; Brinton 1996, Chapter  2; Beeching 2016, Chapter 1). To account for the social functions of optional you, as well as the other types of attitude datives and interpersonal pragmatic markers, I put forth a sociocognitive account that draws on Langacker’s (2000, 2008) Stage Model and Du Bois’s (2007) Theory of Stance. I call it the Stancetaking Stage Model. This section provides a summary of this model in relation to optional you. Consider the Stage Model in Figure 5.1. According to Langacker (2008), when a speaker (SP) and hearer (HR) interact, they resemble viewers in a play. They occupy the off-stage region, along with their identities and their shared knowledge of social norms and sociocultural values, and they direct their gaze to the on-stage region; see also Taylor (2010: 346) and Verhagen (2005: 5). By making an utterance, the speaker presents an object (OBJ) on stage and

SP OBJ HR On Stage

Off Stage Figure 5.1 Stage Model

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Optional you, shared identity

invites the hearer to attend to it and to accept it as part of her or his view of reality. The hearer considers whether she or he wishes to do so, as the broken line in Figure 5.1 indicates. Crucially, when social actors use words, they do more than present an object on stage. They also present their stance toward that object; they assign value to it, and they position themselves toward it by expressing (verbally or non-verbally) how it makes them feel. By doing so, they invite their hearer to align positively with them; that is, to evaluate the object in the same way and to feel the same way they feel (Du Bois 2007). Du Bois presents this relationship schematically via the Stance Triangle in Figure 5.2. Combining Langacker’s Stage Model with Du Bois’s Stance Triangle, we end up with Figure 5.3 and the Stancetaking Stage Model. To ensure success, speakers may make certain verbal or non-verbal choices in order to manipulate the viewing arrangement on stage. In this way, they may manipulate the hearer’s perspective and what she or he could and should see or attend to. One such choice is the optional you we examined in the previous section. As Figure 5.4 schematically illustrates, by using an optional you, the speaker places the hearer on stage, makes her or him part of the foreground, and anchors to her or him the object (OBJ) or the main message of the utterance, along with any evaluation linked to it. By doing so, the speaker attributes a certain identity to the hearer and invites her or him to view the object from this perspective. In this sense, optional you functions as a perspectivizer, rending the object a perspectivized thought (Verhagen 2010).

SP ◄aligns►

OBJ

HR Figure 5.2 The Stance Triangle

SP ◄aligns►

OBJ

HR H Off Stage

On Stage

Figure 5.3 The Stancetaking Stage Model

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SP S ◄aligns►

Optional you

OBJ

HR H On Stage

Off Stage

Figure 5.4 The Stancetaking Stage Model of optional you

SP ◄aligns►

Optional you

OBJ

HR On Stage

Off Stage

Figure 5.5 The Stancetaking Stage Model of optional you – unanchored

The solid lines that connect the hearer off-stage to optional you and to the object in Figure 5.4 indicate that the speaker marks the object, the new identity that she or he attributes to the hearer, and her or his evaluation of both as a part of the hearer’s view of reality and thus as already accepted by the hearer. In this way, the speaker makes it harder for the hearer to align negatively with her or him. If the hearer chooses to disagree with the speaker with regard to any of the elements on stage, she or he will have to get unanchored first, as Figure 5.5 illustrates. That is, the hearer will need to reject the identity attributed to her or him and the claim that the content of the speaker’s utterance is part of their shared experience. One way to do so is by questioning or outright rejecting the use of optional you as in (9).

4. Conclusion When we communicate with others, it is usually in our best interest to get them to agree with us and to adopt our views of reality, along with any values or beliefs we may have, as theirs as well.9 The more people we are able to influence in this way, the more legitimate these views, values, and beliefs become. Such legitimation is important because it promotes our way of life and our sense of who we are (i.e., our identity) from individual to communal status, rendering them a normality rather than an anomaly or an exception. Also, by getting as many people as possible to agree with us and share our views, we are able to stand stronger against different others. To ensure success, we often present the content of our utterance in a way that we 90

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believe will influence the hearer’s decision or reaction. Words matter, and our choice of words makes a difference. This chapter has focused on one linguistic choice that is available to speakers of Levantine Arabic: optional you. By using an optional you in the form of a dative pronoun, Levantine Arabic speakers anchor the content of their utterance, along with any implied value or belief, to their hearer. Optional you functions as a perspectivizer that invites the hearer to view the content of an utterance and any evaluation linked to it as shared. In this sense, an optional you invokes a shared identity, making the speaker’s goal to solicit the hearer’s assent more attainable.

Notes 1 https://www.dropbox.com/s/nhk5psxh0cc9vbz/Optional.YOU-Ex.StillStanding.mp4?dl=0 2 https://www.dropbox.com/s/8zoc6hz9qnzlv3n/Optional.YOU-Ex.1.mp4?dl=0 3 https://www.dropbox.com/s/duzky6mw8263i3c/Optional.YOU-Ex.2.mp4?dl=0; www.youtube.com/ watch?v=smodfAKiNIE&t=85s (at 00:2:10; last accessed 10/22/2017). 4 https://www.dropbox.com/s/ese6uecrz43dma9/Optional.YOU-Ex.3.wav?dl=0 5 https://www.dropbox.com/s/6k21o8kudoape2o/Optional.YOU-Ex.4.mp4?dl=0 6 https://www.dropbox.com/s/sknvhkoy5xob750/Optional.YOU-Ex.5.mp4?dl=0 7 www.assawsana.com/portal/comment.php?comment_id=247998 (last retrieved on 11/2/2017). 8 www.assawsana.com/portal/pages.php?newsid=13118 (last retrieved on 11/2/2017). 9 An exception, of course, is when we say something to intentionally offend others; e.g., a racial slur. In this case, we want our hearers to align negatively with us, with the goal of alienating them.

References Alba Juez, Laura and Geoff Thompson. 2014. The many faces and phases of evaluation. In Geoff Thompson and Laura Alba Juez (eds), Evaluation in Context, 3–24. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Beeching, Kate. 2016. Pragmatic Markers in British English: Meaning in Social Interaction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brewer, Marilynn B. and Wendi Gardner. 1996. Who is this ‘we’? Levels of collective identity and self representations. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 71: 83–93. Brinton, Laurel J. 1996. Pragmatic Markers in English: Grammaticalization and Discourse Functions. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Ditman, Tali, Tad T. Brunyé, Caroline R. Mahoney, and Holly A. Taylor. 2010. Simulating an enactment effect: Pronouns guide action simulation during narrative comprehension. Cognition 115: 172–178. Du Bois, John W. 2007. The stance triangle. In Robert Englebretson (ed), Stancetaking in Discourse: Subjectivity, Evaluation, Interaction. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Haddad, Youssef A. 2013. Pronouns and intersubjectivity in Lebanese Arabic gossip. Journal of Pragmatics 49: 57–77. Haddad, Youssef A. 2014. Attitude datives in Lebanese Arabic and the interplay of syntax and pragmatics. Lingua 145: 65–103. Haddad, Youssef A. 2018. The Sociopragmatics of Attitude Datives in Levantine Arabic. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Halliday, Michael A. K. 1970. Language structure and language function. In John Lyons (ed), New Horizons in Linguistics, 140–165. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Iwasaki, Shoichi and Foong Ha Yap. 2015. Stance  – marking and stance  – taking in Asian languages. Journal of Pragmatics 83: 1–9. Laberge, Suzanne and Gillian Sankoff. 1979. Anything you can do. In Givon Talmy (ed), Discourse and Syntax, 419–440. New York: Academic Press. Labov, William. 1972. The transformation of experience in narrative syntax. In William Labov (ed), Language in the Inner City: Studies in the Black English Vernacular, 354–396. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Labov, William and Joshua Waletzky. 1997. Narrative analysis: Oral versions of personal experience. Journal of Narrative and Life History 7: 3–38.

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Youssef A. Haddad Langacker, Ronald W. 2000. A dynamic usage-based model. In Michael Barlow and Suzanne Kemmer (eds), Usage – Based Models of Language, 1–63. Stanford, CA: CSLI Publications. Langacker, Ronald W. 2008. Cognitive Grammar: A Basic Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Martin, J. R. and P. R. R. White. 2005. The Language of Evaluation: Appraisal in English. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Myers, Greg and Sofia Lampropoulou. 2012. Impersonal you and stance-taking in social research interviews. Journal of Pragmatics 44: 1206–1218. Ochs, Elinor. 1996. Linguistic resources for socializing humanity. In John J. Gumperz and Stephen C. Levinson (eds), Rethinking Linguistic Relativity, 407–437. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. O’Connor, Patricia E. 1994. ‘You could feel it through the skin’: Agency and positioning in prisoners’ stabbing stories. Text 14: 45–75. Potts, C., 2011. Conventional implicature and expressive content. In Claudia Maienborn, Klaus Von Heusinger, and Paul Portner (eds), Semantics: An International Handbook of Natural Language Meaning, Vol. 3, 2516–2536. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Spencer Oatey, Helen. 2002. Managing rapport in talk: Using rapport sensitive incidents to explore the motivational concerns underlying the management of relations. Journal of Pragmatics 34: 529–545. Spencer Oatey, Helen. 2008. Culturally Speaking: Managing Rapport Through Talk Across Cultures, 2nd edition. New York: Continuum. Stubbs, Michael. 1996. Towards a modal grammar of English: A matter of prolonged fieldwork. In Michael Stubbs (ed), Text and Corpus Analysis, 196–229. Oxford: Blackwell. Taylor, John R. 2010. Cognitive Grammar. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thompson, Geoff and Susan Hunston. 2000. Evaluation: An introduction. In Susan Hunston and Geoff Thompson (eds), Evaluation in Text, 1–27. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Verhagen, Arie, 2005. Constructions of Intersubjectivity: Discourse, Syntax and Cognition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Verhagen, Arie. 2010. Construal and perspectivization. In Dirk Geeraerts and Hubert Cuyckens (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Cognitive Linguistics, 48–81. Oxford: Oxford University Press. TV Shows: ʔaħmar bi-l-xatˁ l-ʕari:dˁ ‘A Red Line with a Thick Stroke,’ talk show, Season 5, hiya ʔaydˁan sayyidat l-qara:r ‘She Too Has the Right to Make Decisions,’ directed by Elie Abi Aad, Lebanese Broadcasting Corporation International, 2014. ba:b l-ħa:ra ‘The Neighborhood Gate,’ soap opera, Season 1, Episodes 15, directed by Bassam al-Mulla, Aj Co. for Art Production and Distribution, 2006. Nazl l-suru:r ‘The Surour Inn,’ play, directed by Ziad al-Rahbani, 1974. Still Standing: Still Admiring, sitcom, Season 3, Episode 18, directed by Mark Cendrowski, CBS, 2005.

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6 SAUDI FOLKS’ ATTITUDES AND PERCEPTIONS TOWARDS ACCENT SWITCHES The /k/ reflexes across dialects Manal A. Ismail 1. Introduction The chapter explores language attitudes and motivations to accent switches between the reflexes of /k/ in the colloquial speech of a range of Saudi women and men from different regional backgrounds residing in the capital city of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Language attitudes play a pivotal role in speakers’ linguistic choices and in the dynamics of language variation and change (e.g.,  Ervin-Tripp, 2001; Garrett, 2010; Garrett et  al., 2003; Labov, 1972). However, studies that have examined language variation in the Arabic-speaking world more often make no reference to research on language attitudes. Arabic sociolinguistic studies require a broad ranging qualitative interpretation and quantitative treatment of linguistic attitudes (Walters, 2007; Owens 2001). Moreover, studies on Arabic speakers, in general, have not explored linguistic attitudes across dialects within a speech community. Cross-dialectal attitudinal studies would be a significant area of research since language variation is not uniform across dialect communities. The impact of gender on language attitudes is another area that requires investigation given that Arabic sociolinguistic studies have documented significant gender-based differences in language choices (see, e.g., Haeri, 2000; Owens, 2001). The paper takes a folk linguistic approach (discussed in Section  3) that draws on Saudis’ metalinguistic comments to uncover the sociolinguistic dimensions and cultural values underlying their use of indigenous variants of /k/. It is argued that speakers’ metacommentary and perceptions regarding their language use may offer insights into how social values are attached to linguistic variables and rationalized in peoples’ cultural/ideological system, while highlighting regional dialect variation and cross-community cultural differences. The chapter  is structured as follows. I  begin by providing a brief backdrop to the study. I then define language attitudes and offer an overview of the methodological techniques used to uncover linguistic attitudes. The geolinguistic distribution of /k/ reflexes is presented as well as a synopsis of their various realizations in the colloquial speech of Saudis. In the methodology section, the participants are described, the questions of the interview are made available, and the methodological concerns are conveyed. Afterwards, an account of how folk respondents’ comments were analyzed and categorized is exemplified and the challenges faced are discussed.

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In the final sections, I present an exploratory description of Saudi folks’ attitudes and motivation towards accent switches to /k/ and then I assess the implications of the study.

2. Background Before the establishment of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia in 1932, most of the region was a large desert of rural nomadic or seminomadic communities. Bedouin tribes were located all over the Arabian Peninsula with each tribe previously having control over a rough geographical area. For centuries, tribes were the basic social and political unit. Social stratification was based largely on tribal affiliation and genealogy. Loyalty to family and clan are a cornerstone of Bedouin culture. Bedouins significantly view themselves as Arab societies’ purest representative. Today, most Saudis live in cities due to widespread urbanization and industrialization. The study focuses on Saudi speakers residing in the capital city of Saudi Arabia, Riyadh. This is the largest urban centre in the country and the most populated. Riyadh is situated in the centre of the Arabian Peninsula in the region locally referred to as Najd. The city is the political and administrative centre of the country. It is made up of a mix of Saudis of local Najdi origin and Saudis from different parts of the country as well as many expatriates. Riyadh is thus characterized by language diversification and intercultural encounters which makes it a significant site to explore attitudes to linguistic diversity.

3.  Attitudes to language Attitudes are a complex phenomenon that generally include many facets (Garrett et al., 2003): Cognitive (comprising beliefs), affective (involve feelings), and behavioural (predispositions to act in a certain way). I take a general definition of attitude “as an evaluative orientation to a social object of some sort” such as language that has a degree of stability that allows it to be identified (Garrett, 2010: 20). There are two main approaches to studying language attitudes: Directly and indirectly. The direct approach typically elicits speakers to articulate their attitudes to various language phenomenon overtly. Folk linguistics is a direct approach to the study of language attitudes that has been brought to the forefront by Dennis Preston (e.g., 1993, 2002, 2011). This approach is interested in what folk, nonlinguists, say about language. A broad definition of folk linguistics here includes “not only the comments that nonlinguists make about linguistic topics but also the reactions they have to varieties of language and language use, including overt as well as subconscious responses” (Preston, 2011: 15). Several techniques have been used for the collection and interpretation of data in the area of folk linguistics such as traditional approaches (e.g., examining sayings and practices) and operational methods (e.g., map-based tasks to uncover where dialect regions exist in peoples’ minds). This paper focuses on the discoursal method by attempting to “record and analyze commentary on language and its use by nonlinguists” (Preston, 2011: 16). However, the elicitation of peoples’ responses through such a direct approach may be affected by the wording of questions and ‘Interviewer’s Paradox’, the researcher’s ethnicity and the gender of both researcher and interviewee (Garrett, 2010: 45). Another significant criticism of folk linguistics is whether peoples’ knowledge about language is reliable and precise (Albury, 2017: 39). However, McGregor (1998: 32) believes a layperson can “contribute ‘commonsense’ or ‘real world’ insights into the nature of human communicative behaviour, by serving to complement or warrant particular analytic claims”. The recently developed and expanding field of citizen sociolinguistics also advocates the study of peoples’ metacommentaries on language and language practice. Citizen sociolinguistics 94

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engages lay people to do sociolinguistic research and studies how they “use their senses and intelligence to understand the world of language around them” (Rymes and Leone, 2014: 26). Although folk linguistics does not engage nonlinguists to do the research themselves, both fields view the study of lay peoples’ metacommentaries as a significant source of data that can illuminate the social value placed by speakers on their language use (Svendsen, 2018). Indirect approaches, on the other hand, use more subtle techniques to investigate language attitudes. A notable example is the matched guise test that was made popular by the social psychologist Wallace Lambert (1967). Typically, this technique asks respondents to rate recordings of the same speaker in two or more guises on a questionnaire. This approach has its drawbacks too, in particular, its artificiality, whether it is possible to produce authentic speaker guises, and its limited number of evaluative dimensions (Garrett et al., 2003; Garrett, 2010). Given that all approaches are limited in some way or another, language attitude research should employ an integrated approach that uses a range of direct and indirect methods (Garrett et al., 2003; Garrett, 2010; Preston, 2011). Many of the studies that have examined linguistic attitudes in the Arab-speaking world nonetheless have opted for the matched guise technique (Benrabah, 1994; El-Dash and Tucker, 1975; Herbolich, 1979; Hussein and El-Ali, 1989; Sawaie, 1994). In order to produce authentic vernacular speech to investigate Egyptians’ attitudes towards Cairene Arabic and other Arabic vernaculars (Syrian, Saudi, and Libyan), Herbolich (1979) used recordings that did not rely on speakers reading a text in order to avoid a standard reading and opted for individually prepared native guises. On the other hand, El-Dash and Tucker (1975) presented Cairene Egyptians with five guises (standard Arabic, colloquial Arabic, American English, British English, and Egyptian English) that described the same topic, the Giza pyramids. On exploring the suitability of language variety in a particular domain, the authors found the Egyptian Arabic guise scored highest in the home domain, whilst the standard Arabic guise scored the lowest. This result would point to Arab speakers being well aware that particular varieties of Arabic are suitable in certain domains. Some attitudinal studies on Arabic speech communities have examined the interaction of gender with specific linguistic variables (Benrabah, 1994; Hussein and El-Ali, 1989; Sawaie 1994). Hussein and El-Ali (1989) found the standard Arabic guise that utilized [q] to be more positively evaluated by both female and male Jordanians than their native colloquial variants of /q/. Yet, Benrabah (1994) study showed Algerian female informants preferred the guise that realized the urban variant of /a/ more than their pharyngealized rural variant. Sawaie’s study (1994: 89) showed Jordanians to associate certain sounds with feminine and masculine traits, for example, the [ʔ] reflex of /q/ in a male’s voice marked the most effeminacy. The researcher believes this gendered association of certain linguistic variants may be attributed to women and men favouring these sounds in their speech. Despite the paucity of studies concerned with examining linguistic attitudes to varieties of Arabic, it is generally acknowledged that different local vernacular varieties do not share the same level of prestige. The linguistic value of dialectal varieties is influenced by socioeconomic factors such as the dominance of urban centres or the influence of the ruling Royal elite (Bassiouney, 2009). In general, there are two opposing forces operating on Arabic speech communities: Levelling pressures on the one hand and maintenance of indigenous forms as signs of regional or group identity on the other hand. Al-Kahtany (1997) perceived Arab men from different nationalities to be ethnocentric towards their native dialect while answering a questionnaire to investigate their attitudes to the diglossic situation in the Arabic-speaking world. Egyptians also exhibited ethnocentric tendencies when they rated their own Cairene Arabic more favourably than other dialects (Herbolich, 1979). 95

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A culturally rooted and very significant part of many Arabs’ social identity is their tribal affiliation and Bedouin identity. The label Bedouin has diverse social interpretations in the Arab world; it may be a positive label of identity by Arabs that prize their tribal affiliations and lineage or it may display that the speaker is rural. Indeed, a Bedouin variety of Jordanian Arabic was rated more positively than other colloquial varieties by university students in Hussein’s and El-Ali’s (1989) study. Yet, Abd-el Jawad (1986: 58) claims that the Bedouin and rural people of Jordan preferred the urban reflex [ʔ] of /q/ at the expense of their local variant because the urban variant was “concomitant with modernization, prestige, and civilization”. This would suggest that people conceive links between linguistic forms and social images. That is, language has indexical power to encode nonlinguistic aspects of life (Silverstein, 2003).

4.  Reflexes of /k/ in Saudi Arabia There are various colloquial realizations of /k/ in Saudi Arabic. This study focuses on the [k, ʦ, ʧ, ʃ ] reflexes of /k/. The [k] reflex corresponds to the orthographic, kāf (the name of the Arabic letter). The supraregional standard within and across borders feeds off written Arabic (Mitchell, 1986: 8). The kāf is a common feature of supralocal dialects that are spoken in urban centres across Saudi Arabia (Al-Azraqi, 2007b; Al-Essa, 2009; Al-Rojaie, 2013; Holes, 1991; Ingham, 2009). Notably, dialects that realize the /k/ as [k] are locally referred to as kāf dialects and are generally acknowledged to have a wider geographical distribution in the Arab-speaking world. Yet, the affrication of /k/ is typical of many Bedouin dialects of Arabic (Abu-Haidar, 2006; Al-Rojaie, 2013; El Salman, 2016; Holes, 1991; Johnstone, 1963; Rosenhouse, 2006). The [ʦ] reflex is commonly associated with central Arabian Peninsula dialects of Najd (AlAzraqi, 2007b; Al-Essa, 2009; Holes, 1991; Ingham, 1994, 2008, 2009; Johnstone, 1963, 1967; Prochazka, 1988), in particular the Qasīmī dialect of the north-central region (Al-Rojaie, 2013), ˙ and the dialects of the north-western region of Hā’il (Alrasheedi, 2015). The eastern region of the Arabian Peninsula is marked by the use of the affricated form [ʧ] of /k/ (Al-Azraqi, 2007a, 2007b; Holes, 1991; Ingham, 2009; Johnstone, 1963, 1967; Prochazka, 1988) and also some areas of the south-west (Holes, 1991). The south-west, in general, and some areas of the eastern region of Saudi Arabia utilize the [ ʃ ] reflex (Holes, 1991; Ingham, 2009; Prochazka, 1988). Thus, the reflexes of /k/ are regionally restricted and would potentially be socially marked. The non-[k] reflexes of /k/ can occur in the stem of a word such as tabtsi:n ‘cry’ instead of tabki:n (Al-Rojaie, 2013: 63) and ʧiθi:r ‘many’ rather than kiθi:r (Ismail, 2012: 276). They more commonly occur in the second-person feminine singular (2 F.SG.) object/possessive pronoun suffix marker as the following examples illustrate: ʤawa:l-iʦ (mobile telephone-your.F ‘your mobile’) instead of ʤawa:l-ik, muʃkilat-iʧ (problem-your.F. ‘your problem’) rather than muʃkilat-ik, and marħaba:b-iʃ (welcome-you.F. ‘you are welcome’) instead of marħaba:b-ik (Ismail, 2019: 198). It is significant to point out however that kāf dialects have two koineized phonologically conditioned allomorphs of the 2 F.SG. object/possessive pronoun suffix that are realized: [-k] in words ending with a vowel and [-ik] in words ending in a consonant (Al-Azraqi, 2007b; Al-Essa, 2009; Al-Rojaie, 2013; Ismail, 2019). Variationist sociolinguistic studies, in general, show Saudi speakers to replace their native reflex of /k/ in favour of the supralocal form [k], which may be due to dialect levelling (AlAzraqi, 2007b; Al-Essa, 2009; Al-Rojaie, 2013; Ismail, 2019). Levelling is “the reduction or attrition of marked variants” wherein marked refers to “forms that are unusual or in a minority” (Trudgill, 1986: 98). Levelling can be regarded “as an outcome of accommodation (mutual convergence) between speakers of different dialects” (Tagliamonte, 2012: 58). If a speaker accommodates more often to a specific accent “then that feature may become a permanent part of a 96

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speaker’s accent or dialect, even replacing original features” particularly if attitudinal factors are positive (Trudgill, 1986: 39–40). Speech accommodation theory assumes that interlocutors linguistically converge to reduce the dissimilarities between their speech when they want to gain each other’s social approval, show solidarity and promote communication efficiency, and diverge to dissociate themselves and promote distinctiveness (Coupland, 1980, 2007; Giles et al., 1991).

5. Methodology 5.1. Participants The work reported here expands on research that has examined accent accommodation towards the supralocal 2 F.SG. object/possessive pronoun suffix [-k] by three dialect groups of Saudis in their workplace (Ismail, 2019). The study’s subjects were 107 Saudi women and men between the age of 21 to 57 years living in Riyadh, the capital city of Saudi Arabia that the researcher came into contact with at banks, hospitals, universities, and shopping centres and those elicited through intermediates such as friends’, acquaintances’, and relatives’ networks. Participants’ family origins were rooted in different regions of the Arabian Peninsula: The central (Najd) region (Qasīm, Dawādmi, Kharj, Alwashim, Sudeir, Bureidah, Al-Aflāj, Hā’il, and Hotah), the southern ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ( Janūb) region (Abhā, Asīr, Ragdān, Najrān, Jizān, Namās, and Sarat Ubeida), and/or the eastern (Sharqia) region (Hasā, Qatīf, and Khobar). Subjects were demarcated into three dialect group˙ ˙ ings according to their native regional realization of /k/, that is, [ʦ], [ʧ], or [ ʃ ] dialect speakers. Elicitation of subjects mainly depended on their willingness to participate in a recorded interview in their workplace environment with the researcher and on securing a proportionate representation of women and men from the three dialect groupings under investigation. Saudis are more often cautious about participating in recorded interviews due to the sociopolitical environment. However, when subjects were told that the objective of the interview was to collect data on language use in Saudi Arabia and the questions were displayed prior to the interview, subjects were reassured about the aims of the research and were more willing to participate in the study. Table 6.1 displays the number of participants in the study according to their gender and native reflex of /k/.

5.2.  Asking questions: tapping into motivations for accent switches and attitudes to native dialect The interview consisted of two parts. During the first part of the interview, the researcher significantly resorted to a colloquial speech style in order to induce a casual conversation that would elicit interviewees’ native dialect. The objective of the first part of the interview was to collect demographic information related to subjects while encouraging the elicitation of the 2 F.SG.

Table 6.1 Participants according to native /k/ reflex and gender Gender

Female Male

[ʦ] Dialect speakers (N=37)

[ʧ] Dialect speakers (N=33)

[ʃ] Dialect speakers (N=37)

Total

Number

Percent

Number

Percent

Number

Percent

Number

Percent

20 17

54.1 45.9

18 15

54.5 45.5

20 17

54.1 45.9

58 49

54.2 45.8

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object/possessive pronoun suffix (see Ismail, 2019). The second part of the interview allowed subjects to verify their native reflex of /k/ and then used a direct elicitation technique that aimed to explore language attitudes and motivation to switching between [k] and subject’s native variant by using spoken questions. The second part of the interview is the focus of this study. Participants were asked which reflex of the 2 F.SG. object/possessive pronoun suffix /-k/ they used at home. It was clear from their responses that their native reflex of /k/ was an integral part of their dialect. This is exemplified by the answers: ‘My dialect with its’ (lahʤǝt-i: bi-l-iʦ [dialect-my with-the-its]) and ‘I use the itch in my dialect’ (ʔǝ-staxdim ǝl-iʧ bi-lahʤǝt-i: [I-use the-itch with-dialect-my]). Some respondents drew on their native reflex of /k/ to broadly label their dialect e.g.,  ‘the shīn dialect’ (lahʤǝt ǝl-ʃi:n [dialect the-shīn]). The question was necessary for content validity since some of the subjects did not use their native reflex of /k/ during the interview. Only subjects that acknowledged they were native users of either [-ʦ, -ʧ, -ʃ ] variant of the second-person feminine clitic were included in the study. To tap into subjects’ motivation into accent switching between the reflexes of /k/, they were requested to answer the question: Do you ever use [k] in your speech instead of its/itch/shīn? The variant denoted to would depend on the speaker’s acknowledged native reflex of /k/, that is, [ʦ], [ʧ], or [ ʃ ] respectively. Whether the answer was yes or no, the interviewee was asked to explain their response. These targeted questions were not only used to elicit respondents’ observations regarding their language use, but also to draw out any metalinguistic commentary that may uncover speakers’ linguistic attitudes and the community’s language ideology.

5.3.  Methodological issues The questions required subjects to comment on their own usage of the variables under study. Significantly, any self-evaluation may not match “an accurate perception of the respondents’ own speech production” (Labov, 1972: 131). Additionally, a face-to-face interview may well lead to “social desirability bias” and “acquiescence bias”, that is, respondents may give socially desirable responses or prefer not to disagree with the interviewer in order to gain her/his approval. These biases undoubtedly affect some people more than others and prevent respondents disclosing, in particular, their negative views (Garrett, 2010: 44–45). Nonetheless, this approach was deemed necessary in order to survey a wide range of participants from diverse socioeconomic and linguistic backgrounds.

6.  Analyzing folk respondents’ metacommentary 6.1.  Categorizing responses The researcher transcribed subjects’ responses using the International Phonetic Alphabet and then analyzed them to establish key thematic categories. The labels given to categories were data-driven as well as their definitions. Although some of the categories have been referred to in the literature (e.g., affective, language correctness, and comprehensibility), they were adapted and redefined according to the data in this study. To facilitate the coding of comments in relation to the unstructured transcripts and the managing of comparisons between different dialect groupings of women and men, the transcripts were uploaded on to the NVivo 10 software. Six categories were identified from the interviews: Affective judgements, cultural associations, community membership, contextual observations, language correctness, and comprehensibility. Some categories pertained to both respondents’ native realization of /k/ and supralocal form [k], while others were only concerned with one or the other form. As such, comments 98

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were classified as either related to vernacular usage (V) or kāf (K). In turn, some categories could be further divided into positive (+) or negative (-) evaluative meanings. The following illustrates the thematic categories identified in the study.

6.1.1.  Affective judgements These were comments that were emotionally charged. These were subdivided into two broad categories: + Affective and – Affective. The former are comments expressing positive emotional judgements by using terms such as ‘better’, ‘liking’, ‘pride’, and ‘comfort’ towards the ­community-wide [k] (+ Affective K) or their vernacular (+ Affective V). The latter were comments expressing negative emotional judgements like dislike and undesirable aesthetic dimensions, and significantly were all directed towards vernacular usage (– Affective V). The following comments by respondents exemplify these categories. + Affective K. ‘Using the kāf is always better’ (istixda:m ʔǝl-ka:f da:jman ʔafdˁǝl [using the-kāf always better]), ‘the kāf is liked socially’ (ʔǝl-ka:f muћabbah idӡtima:ʕijj-an [the-kāf likeable sociallyACC.INDF.]), and ‘the kāf dialect is nicest’ (lahʤǝt ʔǝl-ka:f ʔaћla: [dialect the-kāf nicest]). + Affective V. ‘I like my dialect’ (lahʤǝt-i: tiʕʤib-ni: [dialect-my like-I]), ‘I feel more comfortable when I use my dialect’ (ʔǝ-ћus bi-ra:ћǝ ʔakθar lǝmma ʔǝ-staxdim lahʤǝt-i: [I-feel withcomfort more when I-use dialect-my]), and ‘I am proud of my dialect’ (ʔǝ-ftǝxir bi-lahʤǝt-i: [I-proud with-dialect-my]). – Affective V. ‘I don’t believe it’s nice to hear’ (ma: ʔǝ-ћisǝ-ha: ћilwǝ ʕǝl ʔiðin [not I-feel-it nice on ear]), ‘I don’t love my dialect’ (ma: ʔa-hib lahʤǝt-i: [not I-like dialect-my], and ‘I don’t like it’ (ma: tiʕʤib-ni: [not like-I]).

6.1.2.  Cultural associations of vernacular These are comments in relation to vernacular usage that evoked relationships to cultural representations. These were all positively cultural (+ Cultural V) because they suggested links between vernacular usage and prized Bedouin identity, pride in bloodline, and/or an indication of origins deep-rooted in the Arabian Peninsula. It is important to point out that traditionally Bedouin people have been desert-dwellers, and mainly for this reason Bedouin speech can be infused with connotations of rurality. However, subjects’ responses in this study did not associate their dialect with social images of rurality, which could be due to the fact that this study relies on asking subjects to articulate explicitly the reasons for their accommodation behaviour. Direct techniques to elicit attitudes may inhibit people voicing their privately held emotional and conceptual views (Garrett, 2010: 42). Significantly, people would be more unwilling to articulate unfavourable connotations associated with their speech. The following examples illustrate the favourable cultural connotations linked to speakers’ native dialect. + Cultural V. Native dialect seems to be a strong indicator of a person’s tribal membership. This is emphasized in the following comment: ‘In the south, we know from the person’s dialect where they come from and their tribe’ (fi-l-ʤanu:b n-iʕrif min lahʤǝt ǝl-ʃaxsˁ min ʔaj maka:n jantami: wa ʔaj gabi:lǝh [in-the-south we-know from dialect the-person from which place belongs and which tribe]). Use of native dialect displays that a speaker valued their tribal lineage is exemplified by the comment ‘men use their heritage dialect to cherish their tribe and ancestors’ (ʔal-riʤa:l jastaxdim-u:n ǝl-lahʤǝh ʔal-ʔasˁli:jah li-ʔiʕza:z-uh bi-gabi:lǝt-uh wǝ ʔaʤda:d-uh [theman.PL. using.PL. the-dialect the-original to-cherish-his with-tribe-his and ancestor.PL.-his]). Another respondent rationalized a man’s adherence to his native dialect as a confirmation of his pride in family and tribal associations (ʔǝl-ʃaxsˁ ǝl-mutamas-ik bi-lahʤǝt-uh mutǝʔasˁil wa faxu:r 99

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bi-ʔahl-uh wa gabi:lǝt-uh [the-person the-adheres-M.S. with-dialect-his deep rooted and proud with-family-his and tribe-his] ‘the person who adheres to his dialect is deep-rooted and proud of his family and tribe’). This comment would suggest that “style shifting represents a degree of inauthenticity in that speakers are not representing themselves for what they are” (Guy and Cutler, 2011: 158). The respondent drew on the adjective mutǝʔasˁil ‘deep-rooted’. To be firmly rooted would mean that a person has a long and recognized line of ancestry in the country. The comment highlights a link between vernacular usage and one’s pride of an established line of ancestors within the Arabian Peninsula. The association would be important since genealogy plays a significant role in social stratification in tribal culture. It is common for Saudis to proudly display their lineage trees. A person’s genealogy appears then to still remain an important social parameter in Saudi Arabia that would seem to exert an influence on speaker’s linguistic behaviour. People view language as having indexical connections (Silverstein, 2003), for Saudi folk use of native dialect seems to convey their deeply rooted bloodline and pride of tribal identity.

6.1.3.  Community membership Dialectal forms are very intimately attached to geography in Arabic speech communities and thus a significant index of regional identification and community membership. Subjects’ comments that demarcated reflexes of /k/ according to regional affiliation and positive in-group membership were classified as + Community Membership V, whilst comments that suggested undesirable regional preconceptions or social disadvantage were classed as – Community Membership V. These categories are exemplified next. + Community Membership V. People were highly attentive to the geographical distribution of /k/ reflexes. This is exemplified by such comments as ‘the -its is for the Najd people’ (ʔǝl-its li-ʔahl naʤd [the-its for-people Najd]), ‘people from the eastern region use the -itch’ (ʔahl ǝl-ʃarqijjah jastaxdim-u l-iʧ [people the-Sharqiyah use-PL the-itch]), and ‘in the south they use the shīn more’ (fi: l-ʤanu:b jastaxdim-u l-ʃi:n ʔǝkθar [in the-south use-PL the-shīn more]). Native variants were reported to be important markers that not only delineated regional membership but also in-group boundaries. This was clearly inherent in statements such as: ‘My family speak with the -its’ (ʔahl-i: jǝtakalam-u:n bi-l-its [family-my speaks-PL. with-the-its]) and ‘my friends use the -itch’ (sˁa:ћba:t-i jǝstaxdim-u l-iʧ [friend-my use-Pl. the-itch]). – Community Membership V. Attitudes towards languages and their varieties is inextricably tied to attitudes towards their users (Preston, 2002; Garrett, 2010). This was evident in the following comments made by respondents to explain their switching to [k]: ‘People might judge a person from his dialect in a negative way’ (ǝl-na:s mumkin taћkum ʕal ʃaxsˁ min lahʤǝt-uh bi-ʃakil silbi: [the-people maybe judge over person from dialect-his in-manner negatively]) and ‘speaking the original dialect may reflect negatively on the person’ (ʔǝl-taћaduθ bi-lahʤǝh l-ʔasˁlijah qad jaku:n ʕa:ʔid ʕalǝ l-ʃaxsˁ bi-tˁari:qah silbijah [the-speaking with-dialect the-original may be return on the-person in-way negatively]). These comments would allude to negative preconceptions regarding people from certain regional backgrounds in Saudi society. It would seem then that linguistic features that index social groups “appear to be iconic representations of them, as if a linguistic feature somehow depicted or displayed a social group’s inherent nature or essence” (Irvine and Gal, 2009: 403).

6.1.4.  Contextual observations People maintained certain contexts were more closely linked to the realization of either the supralocal [k] or their native reflex of /k/, while others claimed they always used their native 100

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dialect irrespective of the context of the situation. Subjects’ responses that acknowledged styleshifting between [k] and their native variant were coded as + Contextual and comments that admitted to categorical use of their native reflex of /k/ were classified as – Contextual. The following illustrates both categories. + Contextual. Specifically, the setting and social distance between participants were significant factors in speakers’ linguistic choices. For, example, a respondent acknowledged switching to [k] at work because it was conventional to do so (ʔǝl-da:riʤ fi l-ʕamal ћarf ʔǝl-ka:f [the-­ commonplace in the-work letter the-kāf] ‘at work, the letter kāf is commonplace’). It was clear that “speakers design their style primarily for and in response to their audience” (Bell, 2001: 143) as exemplified by the comments: ‘With my mother and sisters I speak with the its’ (maʕ um-i: wǝ xwa:t-i: ʔǝt-kallam bi-l-iʦ [with mother-my and sister-my I-speak with-the-its]) and ‘if the person is not close to me, I switch to kāf ’ (law ǝl-ʃaxsˁ mu: qari:b min-i: ʔǝ-ћawil li-l-ka:f [if the-person not near from-me I-change to-the- kāf]). Many respondents maintained that they switch to kāf because it is the mainstream variety used by the people of Riyadh, e.g., ‘most people in Riyadh speak with kāf ’ (ʔǝʁlab ʔǝhl ǝl-rija:dˁ jǝtkalǝm-u:n bi-l-ka:f [most people theRiyadh speak-PL. with-the-kāf]). Some comments affirmed that the lingua franca is with kāf, e.g., ‘the White dialect in Riyadh is with kāf ’ (ʔǝl-lahʤǝ l-beɪdˁah fi l-rija:dˁ bi-l-ka:f [the-dialect the-White in the-Riyadh with-the-kāf]). The ‘White dialect’ is an expression locally used to refer to a colloquial Arabic variety that is used by Saudis for conversational purposes that shares many of the phonological features of standard Arabic like the realization of /k/ as [k]. These comments exhibited respondents’ communicative competence to make the appropriate language choices in response to their sociocultural knowledge. – Contextual. However, some respondents claimed they used their native dialect everywhere (e.g.,  ʔǝ-staxdim-ha fi kulli maka:n [I-use-it in all place]) or would not change their dialect (e.g., ma: ʔǝ-ʁajir lahʤǝt-i: [not I-change dialect-my]).

6.1.5.  Language correctness K These comments all asserted that the [k] reflex of /k/ is part of standard Arabic and thus the correct form. For example, ‘the original is the kāf ’ (ʔal-ʔasˁil ʔal-ka:f [the-original the-kāf]), ‘the Arabic language is with kāf ’ (ʔal-luʁǝ l-ʕarabijah bi-ћarf ǝl-ka:f [the-language the-Arabic with-letter the- kāf]), and ‘the academic register is with kāf ’ (ʔǝl-lahʤǝ l-ʔǝka:dimijah bi-l-ka:f [the-dialect the-academic with-the-kāf]). Preston (2002: 64) believes that correctness is at the root of most linguistic evaluations in US English.

6.1.6.  Incomprehensibility V Comprehensibility of message during interdialect encounters was a major concern for some of the respondents when realizing their native reflexes of /k/. This is exemplified by the comments: ‘There are people who don’t understand the shīn’ (fi: na:s ma: jafham-u:n ǝl-ʃi:n [in people not understand-PL. the-shīn]) and ‘I am afraid she says to me what are you saying’ (ʔǝ-xa:f tǝ-gul-li: wiʃ ta-gu:l-i:n [I-afraid she-says-to me what you-say-F.]). While, the kāf was viewed as more comprehensible (e.g., ʔǝl-ka:f mafhu:mǝ ʔakθǝr [the-kāf understood more]). To avoid miscommunication speakers changed their dialect (ʔǝ-ʁajir lahʤǝt-i: li-ʔaku:n mafhu:m [I-change dialect-my to-be understood] ‘I change my dialect to be understood’) which given the previous comments would entail the realization of the supralocal [k] reflex of /k/ instead of their native variant to insure clarity. Speech accommodation theory assumes that interlocutors linguistically converge to reduce the dissimilarities between their speech and enhance communication 101

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efficiency (e.g., Coupland, 1980, 2007; Giles et al., 1991). Moreover, the possibility of native dialect being incomprehensible to the hearer seemed to threaten a speaker’s face. To avoid potential threats of embarrassment to face, a subject reported switching to the communitywide [k] (ʔǝ-ra:ʕi: nafsi: ʕaʃa:n ma: ʔan-ћǝriʤ wǝ t-kalam bi-l-ka:f [I-take care myself because not I-embarrass and I-speak with-the-kāf] ‘I take care of myself so that I am not embarrassed and speak with kāf ’). It would seem then that social interaction requires a monitoring of interactants’ face (Brown and Levinson, 1987).

6.2.  The challenges in categorizing responses Although some comments posed a challenge to classify, they still could be assigned to one of the categories in the previous section. For example, the indirect response by a respondent that justified his absolute use of native /k/ reflex: ‘If you take pride in your dialect you will use it always’ (law ta-fxar fi lahʤǝt-ak raћ ta-staxdim-hǝ da:jman [if you-pride in dialect-yours.M. will you-use-it always]). The conditional clause (‘if you take pride in your dialect’) was classified as + Affective V because although phrased in the second-person singular it implies that the respondent was proud of their dialect and for this reason would use it always and the main clause ‘you will use it always’ was regarded as – Contextual. On the other hand, certain comments had veiled responses such as one respondent’s explanation for her accent shifts to [k]: ‘I don’t want anyone to know where I am from’ (ma: ʔabʁǝ ʔaћad jaʕraf ʔana: min weɪn [not want one knows I from where]). This would mean that the respondent viewed the realization of the [k] reflex of /k/ as a way to mask her regional identity, most probably so as not to evoke negative reactions due to regional bias and for this reason was coded as – Community Membership. Thus, the analysis did not only rely on respondents’ direct statements but also on presuppositions in the discourse to uncover further layers of information.

7. Findings 7.1.  Attitudes and motivation towards accent switches to /k/ The categories identified from respondents’ responses can be considered factors that may affect speakers’ linguistic choices. That is, comments that would favour switches to the supra-local form [k] by speakers expressed positive emotional meanings towards [k] (+ Affective K), negative affective responses with vernacular usage (– Affective V), native community membership bias or discrimination (– Community Membership V), a need to adjust speech in response to contextual factors (+ Contextual), articulated correctness of [k] (Language Correctness K), and/or acknowledged vernacular’s incomprehensibility (Incomprehensibility V). Subjects’ comments that favoured their native dialect were emotionally charged positively towards it (+ Affective V), linked its use to prized cultural associations such as tribal lineage (+ Cultural), viewed their dialect as a positive marker of native community affiliation (+ Community Membership V), and/or purported to categorically maintain their native reflex of /k/ (– Contextual). Speakers’ responses varied from one concise comment to a maximum of five. It is significant to point out that when a thematic category was alluded to in a speaker’s response twice, it was only counted as one instance of this category. A total of 342 comments were categorized from all respondents’ responses. Table 6.2 displays the number of comments for thematic categories that would favour switching to [k] by women and men in each dialect group, whilst Table 6.3 shows the categories that would favour respondents’ native reflex of /k/. 102

Saudi folks’ attitudes and perceptions Table 6.2 Comments favouring switches to [k] by dialect group and gender Thematic categories

Frequencies of comments

+ Affective K – Affective V – Community Membership V + Contextual Language Correctness K Incomprehensibility V Total

[ʦ] Dialect speakers

[ʧ] Dialect speakers

[ ʃ] Dialect speakers

Female

Male

Female

Male

Female

Male

3 2 1 6 5 3 20

4 5 2 7 8 6 32

8 4 2 4 5 2 25

6 5 3 9 7 4 34

9 5 6 5 8 9 42

11 6 7 8 10 12 54

Table 6.3 Comments favouring native reflex of /k/ by dialect group and gender Thematic categories

Frequencies of comments

+ Affective V + Cultural V + Community Membership V – Contextual Total

[ʦ] Dialect speakers

[ʧ] Dialect speakers

[ʃ] Dialect speakers

Female

Male

Female

Male

Female

Male

7 10 12 9 38

3 14 3 1 21

6 9 6 3 24

4 10 7 1 22

3 4 7 5 19

2 6 3 0 11

Figure 6.1 provides an overall picture of the proportional differences between women and men in each dialect grouping in relation to comments favouring switches to [k] and those favouring native reflex of /k/. Percentages were calculated for each gender as a proportion of total comments made by women and men in each dialect group.

7.2.  Dialectal comparisons and gender differences The distribution of comments across the three dialect groupings as displayed in Figure 6.1 shows [ ʃ ] dialect speakers’ comments would considerably favour switches to the supralocal [k] form (76%) more than [ʧ] dialect speakers (56%) and native users of [ʦ] (47%). Of the three dialect groups, [ʦ] dialect speakers’ comments (53%) were most favourable towards their vernacular whilst [ ʃ ] dialect speakers showed the least positive statements (24%) in relation to their native dialect. As shown in Table 6.3 both [ʦ] and [ʧ] dialect speakers’ comments pointed to more + Cultural and + Community Membership associations with their native dialect than [ ʃ ] dialect speakers. The affricated reflexes of /k/ are a characteristic of Bedouin dialects (Abu-Haidar, 2006; Al-Rojaie, 2013; El Salman, 2016; Holes, 1991; Johnstone, 1963; Rosenhouse, 2006) and probably for this reason were seen by their users as having + Cultural connotations and + Community Membership that seemed to outweigh the – Community Membership prejudices and – Affective comments regarding their vernacular (see Table  6.2). Some [ ʃ ] users’ comments nonetheless also pointed to a link between dialect and tribal membership (refer to 103

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% Comments Favoring Native /k/ Re lex

% Comments Favoring Switches to [k] 50

43

45 40

34

35 30

24 23

25 18

20

33

32

29

21

19

15

15

9

10 5 0

Female

Male

Female

Male

Female

Male

[ʦ] Dialect Speakers (n=111) [ʧ] Dialect Speakers (n=105) [ʃ] Dialect Speakers (n=126) Figure 6.1

Percentage comments favouring switches to [k] and favouring native /k/ reflex by dialect group and gender

Section 6.1.2.). A repeated feature of [ ʃ ] respondents’ comments was their dialect’s incomprehensibility, as Table 6.2 displays, which reportedly motivated their accent shifts to the supralocal [k], whilst [ʦ] and [ʧ] dialect speakers’ comments were comparatively less inclined to mention incomprehensibility as motivation for switching to [k]. For native [ ʃ ] users, it would seem then that the community-wide [k] had more potential benefits than their localized native regional variant. However, linguistic convergence may not only entail social rewards, but costs as well (Giles et al., 1991). That is, switching to [k] would ease communication at the expense of a loss in regional identity. Significantly, the [ts] reflex of /k/ is indigenous to the central Najd region of Saudi Arabia (Al-Azraqi, 2007b; Al-Essa, 2009; Alrasheedi, 2015; Al-Rojaie, 2013; Holes, 1991; Ingham, 1994, 2008, 2009; Johnstone, 1963, 1967; Prochazka, 1988) where the capital city of Riyadh lies. The [ʧ] reflex is a feature of Gulf dialects (Holes, 1991; Johnstone, 1963, 1967) which many Saudis are exposed to hearing on popular TV programming. These dialectal features would thus be more familiar and could perhaps explain why [ts] and [ʧ] users did not often verbalize comprehensibility of their dialect as a motivating factor for switching to the supralocal [k]. Overall, it seems that [ ʃ ] dialect speakers would be more disposed than the other dialect groups to adopt the supralocal [k] and [ʦ] dialect users the least. Within dialect groups, women [ʦ] users’ comments favoured their native reflex of /k/ (34%) more than the supralocal form [k] (18%), while the comments of their male counterparts seemed more positively inclined towards [k] (29%) than their vernacular (19%). There were no pronounced gender differences regarding the [ʧ] dialect group’s positive comments towards their native dialect since the percentage of women’s comments (23%) and men’s comments were quite similar (21%). However, the [ʧ] men’s comments were more favourable towards [k] (32%) than their female counterparts (24%). For [ ʃ ] speakers, the men’s comments also favoured the 104

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supralocal form [k] (43%) in relation to the women’s (33%), whereas the comments of women were more positive towards their vernacular (15%) than the men (9%). Thus, across dialect groupings, in general, women’s comments were more positively inclined towards their vernacular whilst men’s comments viewed the supralocal [k] reflex of /k/ more favourably. Arabic sociolinguistic studies frequently find men favouring standard forms more than their female counterparts (Haeri, 2000).

8.  Concluding remarks The approach adopted in this study to investigate motivation for accent switches between /k/ reflexes while eliciting attitudes to colloquial varieties of Saudi Arabic was limited to one interview question. That is, subjects were asked to elaborate on their own language use regarding a specific phonological feature of their dialect and their word-of-mouth responses were recorded. Although this approach does not allow for rigorous statistical investigation of peoples’ dialect perceptions, Saudi folks’ metacommentaries did provide colourful insights into social and cultural associations attached to the language varieties under investigation. There is a need for research that draws on both qualitative and quantitative methods to shed light on different facets of language attitude. The present study should be viewed as exploratory. It is hoped that the results of this research be used in conjunction with other language attitude techniques to investigate further Saudis’ attitudes towards language variation. Nonetheless, the study showed that, in general, [ ʃ ] dialect group speakers were more inclined to verbalize comments that were favourable towards switching to the supralocal [k], whilst native users of [ʦ] produced more positive commentary in relation to their native dialect. On the whole, Saudi women’s comments were more favourable towards their vernacular. Most probably because Saudi society is patriarchal and women’s networks would be more imbedded within the local community. Saudi folk had strong geographical associations regarding where /k/ reflexes are typically used in the Arabian Peninsula. Native dialect not only had the capacity to index regional identity, but also sociocultural meaning. A speaker’s native dialect is the language of family, personal relations, and community. The realization of native /k/ reflexes [ʦ, ʧ, ʃ ] were linked to sociocultural representations such as tribal membership and exhibiting genealogical roots that were long established in the country. Folk respondents’ metacommentary also eluded to stereotypical judgements about regional groups and discrimination. Switching to the supralocal [k] reflex of /k/ has a social value of rendering speakers’ local origins less visible and as part of standard Arabic would bespeak education. It was apparent that the perceived sociocultural norms that speakers were able to articulate in relation to their phonological choices was an integral part of their communicative competence. Saudi folks’ attributions in relation to their speech adjustments and attunements underscore, consciously or unconsciously, their linguistic attitudes and motivations for achieving their communicative goals.

References Abd-el-Jawad, Hassan R. (1986). The emergence of an urban dialect in the Jordanien urban centers. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 61, 53–63. Abu-Haidar, Farida (2006). Bedounization. In Kees Versteegh, Mushira Eid, Alaa Elgbali, Manfred Woidich and Andrej Zaborski (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Vol. 1, pp.  269–274. Leiden: Brill. Al-Azraqi, Munira (2007a). Kaškašah and kaskasah. In Kees Versteegh, Mushira Eid, Alaa Elgbali, Manfred Woidich and Andrej Zaborski (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Vol. 2, pp. 555–557. Leiden: Brill.

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Manal A. Ismail ——— (2007b). The use of kaškašah/kaskasah and alternative means among educated urban Saudi speakers. In Catherine Miller, Enam Al-Wer, Dominique Caubet, and Janet C. E. Watson (eds.), Arabic in the City: Issues in Dialect Contact and Language Variation, pp. 230–245. London: Routledge. Albury, Nathan J. (2017). How folk linguistic methods can support critical sociolinguistics. Lingua 199, 36–49. Al-Essa, Aziza (2009). When Najd meets Hijaz: Dialect contact in Jeddah. In Enam Al-Wer and Rudolf de Jong (eds.), Arabic Dialectology: In Honour of Clive Holes on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday, pp. 203–222. Leiden: Brill. Al-Kahtany, Abdallah H. (1997). The “problem” of diglossia in the Arab world: An attitudinal study of modern standard Arabic and the Arabic dialects. Al-‘Arabiyya 30, 1–30. Alrasheedi, Eisa S. (2015). Affrication in Ha’ili Arabic: A rule-based approach. International Journal of Linguistics 7 (4), 27–41. Al-Rojaie, Yousef (2013). Regional dialect levelling in Najdi Arabic: The case of the deaffrication of [k] in the Qasīmī dialect. Language Variation and Change 25, 43–63. ˙ Bassiouney, Reem (2009). Arabic Sociolinguistics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Bell, Alan (2001). Back in style: Reworking audience design. In Penelope Eckert and John R. Rickford (eds.), Style and Sociolinguistic Variation, pp. 139–169. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Benrabah, Mohamed (1994). Attitudinal reactions to language change in an urban setting. In Yasir Sulaiman (ed.), Arabic Sociolinguistics: Issues and Perspectives, pp. 213–225. Richmond: Curzon Press. Brown, Penelope and Stephen C. Levinson (1987). Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Coupland, Nikolas (1980). Style-shifting in a Cardiff work-setting. Language in Society 9 (1), 1–12. ——— (2007). Style: Language Variation and Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. El-Dash, Linda and Richard Tucker (1975). Subjective reactions to various speech styles in Egypt. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 6, 33–54. El Salman, Mahmoud (2016). The linguistic and social aspects of the Bedouin dialect. Advances in Language and Literary Studies 7 (4), 20–24. Ervin-Tripp, Susan (2001). Variety, style-shifting, and ideology. In Penelope Eckert and John R. Rickford (eds.), Style and Sociolinguistic Variation, pp. 44–56. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Garrett, Peter (2010). Attitudes to Language. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Garrett, Peter, Nikolas Coupland and Angie Williams (2003). Investigating Language Attitudes: Social Meanings of Dialect, Ethnicity and Performance. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Giles, Howard, Justine Coupland and Nikolas Coupland (1991). Accommodation theory: Communication, context, and consequence. In Howard Giles, Justine Coupland, and Nikolas Coupland (eds.), Contexts of Accommodation: Developments in Applied Linguistics, pp. 1–68. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Guy, Gregory R. and Cecelia Cutler (2011). Speech style and authenticity: Quantitative evidence for the performance of identity. Language Variation and Change 23, 139–162. Haeri, Niloofar (2000). Form and ideology: Arabic sociolinguistics and beyond. Annual Review of Anthropology 29, 61–87. Herbolich, James B. (1979). Attitudes of Egyptians toward various Arabic vernaculars. Lingua 47, 301–321. Holes, Clive (1991). Kashkasha and the fronting and affrication of the velar stops revisited: A contribution to the historical phonology of the peninsular Arabic dialects. In Alan S. Kaye (ed.), Semitic Studies in Honor of Wolf Leslau, Vol. 1, pp. 652–678. Weisbaden: Harrassowitz. Hussein, Riyad, F. and Nasser El-Ali (1989). Subjective reactions of rural university students toward different varieties of Arabic. Al-‘Arabiyya 22 (1–2), 37–54. Ingham, Bruce (1994). Najdi Arabic: Central Arabian. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company. ——— (2008). Najdi Arabic. In Kees Versteegh, Mushira Eid, Alaa Elgbali, Manfred Woidich and Andrej Zaborski (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Vol. 3, pp. 326–334. Leiden: Brill. ——— (2009). Saudi Arabia. In Kees Versteegh, Mushira Eid, Alaa Elgbali, Manfred Woidich and Andrej Zaborski (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Vol. 4, pp. 123–130. Leiden: Brill. Irvine, Judith T. and Susan Gal (2009). Language ideology and linguistic differentiation. In Alessandro Duranti (ed.), Linguistic Anthropology: A Reader, 2nd ed., pp. 402–434. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell. Ismail, Manal A. (2012). Sociocultural identity of Arab women’s and men’s code-choice in the context of patriarchy. Anthropological Linguistics 54 (3), 261–279. ——— (2019). Accent accommodation in the workplace: Cross-dialectal realizations of 2.F.SG. object/ possessive suffix by Saudis. International Journal of Applied Linguistics and English Literature 8 (1), 195–204.

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Saudi folks’ attitudes and perceptions Johnstone, T. M. (1963). The affrication of “kaf ’ and “gaf ” in the Arabian dialects of the Arabian Peninsula. Journal of Semitic Studies 8, 210–226. ——— (1967). Eastern Arabian Dialect Studies. London: Oxford University Press. Labov, William (1972). Sociolinguistic Patterns. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Lambert, Wallace E. (1967). A social psychology of bilingualism. Journal of Social Issues 23 (2), 91–109. McGregor, Graham (1998). Whaddaweknow? Language awareness and non-linguists’ accounts of everyday speech activities. Language Awareness 7 (1), 32–51. Mitchell, T. F. (1986). What is educated spoken Arabic? International Journal of the Sociology of Language 61, 7–32. Owens, Jonathan (2001). Arabic sociolinguistics. In Arabica, T. 48, Fasc. 4, pp.  419–469. Linguistique Arabe: Sociolinguistique et Histoire de la Langue. Preston, Dennis R. (1993). The uses of folk linguistics. International Journal of Applied Linguistics 3, 181–259. ——— (2002). Language with an Attitude. In J. K. Chambers, Peter Trudgill and Natalie Schilling-Estes (eds.), The Handbook of Language Variation and Change, pp. 40–66. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. ——— (2011) Methods in (applied) folk linguistics: Getting into the minds of the folk. AILA Review 24, 15–39. Prochazka, Theodore, Jr. (1988). Saudi Arabian Dialects. London: Kegan Paul International. Rosenhouse, Judith (2006). Bedouin Arabic. In Kees Versteegh, Mushira Eid, Alaa Elgbali, Manfred Woidich and Andrej Zaborski (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Vol. 1, pp. 259–269. Leiden: Brill. Rymes, Betsy and Andrea R. Leone (2014). Citizen sociolinguistics: A  new media methodology for understanding language and social life. Working Papers in Educational Linguistics 29 (2), 25–43. Sawaie, Mohammed (1994). Linguistic Variation and Speakers’ Attitudes: A Sociolinguistic Study of Some Arabic Dialects. Damascus: Al-Jaffan and Al-Jabi Publishers in Co-operation with Institut Francais d’Etudes Arabes de Damas. Silverstein, Michael (2003). Indexical order and the dialectics of sociolinguistic life. Language and Communication 23, 193–229. Svendsen, Bente A. (2018). The dynamics of citizen sociolinguistics. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 1–24. Tagliamonte, Sali A. (2012). Variationist Sociolinguistics: Change, Observation, Interpretation. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Trudgill, Peter (1986). Dialects in Contact. Oxford and New York: Basil Blackwell. Walters, Keith (2007). Language attitudes. In Kees Versteegh, Mushira Eid, Alaa Elgbali, Manfred Woidich and Andrej Zaborski (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Vol. 2, pp.  259–269. Leiden: Brill.

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7 LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY IN POST-REVOLUTION TUNISIA Between authenticity and commodification Lotfi Sayahi 1. Introduction This chapter  discusses language ideology and national and social identity (re)construction in modern-day Tunisia. The country’s recent history, with major socioeconomic and political changes since Independence from France in 1956, offers a good opportunity to probe the topic of ongoing shift in language ideologies and their public display in a rapidly changing and increasingly interconnected society. The decision by the political elite to continue the use of French in education and public administration after Independence was followed by a succession of changes in the educational system. These changes put in place inconsistent policies that advocated for a more comprehensive Arabization process and yet increased the presence of the English language without significantly threatening the prominent position of French as language of science and technology. The Revolution, ignited in December 2010, which culminated with the installment of a democratic system, a novelty across much of the region, has contributed to a fast-paced reshaping of language use in public discourse and in mass and digital media. This is especially the case given the oversized role that social media and other types of global communication play among the educated younger sector of the population in Tunisia (Breuer and Groshek 2014). The variable and overlapping use of the different linguistic varieties available to the Tunisian of average education has pushed changing language policies and language practices into the forefront of the process of democratic transition, and by consequence a (re)negotiation of national and social identity. At the same time, the robust role that religion unfailingly plays in assuring the position of standard Arabic as the anchor of a pan-Arab Muslim identity is weighed against efforts to solidify a specific Tunisian national identity that aim to enlist both other linguistic varieties from a multilingual repertoire (Tunisian Arabic, Berber, French, and English) and the democratic transition process itself as evolving markers of identity in post-Revolution Tunisia. Any time there is a change in power relations, language ideologies play a significant role in the renegotiation of identities in view of the new sociopolitical system. The Tunisian Revolution, the ensuing installation of a democratic government, and the writing of a new constitution have opened the door for the issue of language and identity to become part of new types of discourse practices banned under the dictatorship. As Tunisia made big strides in consolidating

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the right to free speech over the last few years, several of the issues related to language are allowed to be discussed openly and frequently. These include the place of Tunisian Arabic, the instruction of/in French and increasingly English, and reclaiming Berber as a key component of Tunisian identity. First, use of Tunisian Arabic has increased in domains that previously saw its use restricted. Second, either a defense or criticism of the use of French and English could be interpreted as politically aligning oneself with one foreign power or another and could question the user’s loyalty to the ideals of the New Republic. Third, Tunisian Berber (Amazigh) is attracting the interest of scholars and community members alike who are now seeking its official recognition for the first time in Tunisia. The purpose of this chapter  is three-fold. First, identify the underpinnings of language ideology and how they bear on identity construction and (re)negotiation within the context of Arabic diglossia in Tunisia; second, assess the commodification of French and its role in the construction of social identity; and third, pinpoint ways the far-reaching changes that have been reshaping post-Revolution Tunisian society help construct and express language ideologies in public discourse. Observations of these issues are based on recorded interviews with speakers in Tunis and a questionnaire administered to 25 Tunisian secondary school teachers. In addition, the analysis will include instances of language display and discussion of language use by public figures and private citizens in public and quasi-private discourses, as can be gleaned from mass communication and digital media.

2.  Language and identity in multilingual settings In the last few decades, a wealth of sociolinguistic research has established that language is a prime element in the construction and renegotiation of social identity. By and large, studies in wide-ranging language settings agree with Gumperz and Cook-Gumperz (1982: 7) that “social identity and ethnicity are in a large part established and maintained through language.” Accordingly, individuals from different social and ethnic backgrounds perceive and use the linguistic varieties in their communities differently. At the individual and local community level, Labov (2010) showed that the diffusion of new linguistic forms, such as instances of sound change, can be part of the adoption of a new identity when speakers seek membership in another social group that exhibits attractive social traits. He put it this way: if such attitudes are to be used to account for linguistic diffusion, it is necessary to posit a covert belief structure: that speakers feel that their adoption of the linguistic form will lead others to attribute to them the positive traits of the given group and allow them to share the privileges of that group. (Labov 2010: 191) It is not far-fetched, then, to view the diffusion of a certain linguistic feature as part of identity construction/renegotiation done to “share the privileges” of a given social group, and that this can be linked to the spread of a foreign language where competence in that language carries with it social and educational privileges and is seen as reflective of certain skills or even political views. It may also be that speakers reverse course and increase their use of a language, or of an individual linguistic feature associated with a less-advantaged group in order to reclaim that group’s identity. Later, I will discuss the cases of the use of the stigmatized [g] sound in public discourse, instead of the voiceless uvular stop [q], and the rising awareness of the place of Berber in democratic Tunisia.

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With regard to multilingual settings, another major strain of research on language and identity (Schieffelin et al. 1998; Blackledge and Pavlenko 2001; Woolard 2015) advocated for an ethnographic approach that can complement approaches better suited for the study of monolingual societies. Blackledge and Pavlenko (2001: 243–244) posit that identity should not be considered just an “explanatory concept” for linguistic variation. They give importance to both the practices of language use and the beliefs about them to argue for an approach that considers how identities are constructed and displayed through interactions as opposed to only being expressed according to a set of sociolinguistic variables. In addition to its role in social identity negotiation, language also has been assigned a prominent role in national identity construction (Suleiman 2003). This is often highlighted as a determining factor in the case of the emergence of the European states at the end of the Latin diglossic situation (Wright 1982; Posner 1996). For instance, the genetic relationship between Castilian Spanish and Catalan on the one hand, and Castilian Spanish and Portuguese on the other is the same: they are all Romance languages. Yet, in terms of identity this relationship has been wielded in different ways by different people in the case of Catalan throughout the 20th century and into the present moment. Catalan nationalists perceive it as a main component in their claim for an independent Catalonia while central nationalist Spanish governments, especially during the Franco dictatorship (1939–1974), underplayed the linguistic differences either by claims that Catalan is not a separate language or that all Catalans are primarily Spanish speakers. The same is true for language policies and national identity in many postcolonial settings. The role of language in national identity construction is clearly illustrated in the case of language policies in Africa. The fact that English in Nigeria, French in Côte d’Ivoire, Portuguese in Mozambique, and Spanish in Equatorial Guinea enjoy official statuses speaks to the role these languages play in the construction of national identity even when they are not nativized by most of the population. Furthermore, in multilingual societies a struggle can exist between legitimacy and the commodification of language or what Heller (2003: 475) described as “tensions between commodity and authenticity.” The symbolic power that a certain linguistic variety holds is associated with the economic benefits that derive from its use in the local linguistic market (Bourdieu 1982). On the other hand, some varieties are undeniably more tied to identity, and proficiency in them can be perceived as proof of being a legitimate member of a certain social or ethnic group. This is the case again of minority languages in Spain where competence in Catalan or Basque is attributed the highest value as an index of identity, to the degree that a difference is even established between those born into a family that speaks the minority language and those that acquire it through formal instruction. In the case of the Galician language, spoken in northwestern Spain, a distinction is drawn between neofalantes (new speakers who acquire the language in a formal setting) and native speakers who acquire the language in a naturalistic manner, with the latter being perceived as more authentic speakers than the former and their competence not as scrutinized as that of the first group. In the context of the Arabic language, as discussed in this volume and elsewhere, language contact further problematizes processes of national identity constructions in the Middle East. Suleiman (2003: 3) emphasizes “the centrality of language in the articulation of nationalism in the Arab Middle East” and argues that the multilingual and diglossic situation in Lebanon, for example, shows how both standard Arabic and French have often been deployed to display social identities that are interwoven with religion and ethnicity. This in addition to identity (re) negotiation and establishing of social distances through variable use of linguistic forms as discussed by Haeri (1996, 2000) and Bassiouney (2013) in the case of Egypt.

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In North Africa, the coexistence of different varieties of Arabic along with French, the former colonial language, the autochthonous Berber languages, and increasingly English has made the language planning and language-in-education policies a thorny issue since Independence.1 Studies have drawn attention to the complexity of not only the diglossic situation but also the multilingual character of many communities. Bentahila and Davis (1992) analyzed language attitude among Moroccans from different dialect regions in the country. Regarding Berber in particular, they reach the conclusion that “both Berber and non-Berber speakers expressed little sense of regret about the shift, and some described how their parents had actively encouraged them to use Arabic in preference to Berber in childhood” (Bentahila and Davies 1992: 199). Bentahila and Davies (1992: 203) conclude that in their study “Berber is rapidly being lost, but that this is not felt to imply a loss or change of identity.” Arguably, this has been changing in recent years with increased awareness among Berber speakers of the need to recognize the language and maintain it. In his study of language ideology in Morocco, Chakrani (2017) describes the attitudes speakers hold towards the different linguistic varieties in the Moroccan linguistic market and the role of the official policies on language of instruction and the economic reality of the speakers who use them. By examining the symbolic value of each of the codes available, Chakrani argues that the language of instruction, determined by the State, directly conditions the language attitudes of the users as they progress through the educational system. He argues that competence in both French, and increasingly English, is perceived as closely tied with a positive outlook on educational and professional success among university students. In Tunisia, competence and display of French has been linked with higher educational achievement and greater opportunities for social mobility (Sayahi 2014, 2015). Sayahi (2014: 97) discussed cases of speakers who attributed their failure to progress more successfully in their studies to the lack of a higher competency in French. Proficiency in French has also been associated with ideologies about language and gender. Walters (2011) explores the history of French in Tunisia and proposes that “gendered language ideologies” associate a greater use of French and use of native-like features more with female speakers than male speakers. As a result, there exists the belief by many Tunisians that “Tunisian women are better at French than Tunisian men” (Walters 2011: 93). At the same time he argues that similar links could be found between “masculinity and Arabic” (Walters 2011: 104). I will argue later that, in addition to this gendered ideology, the commodification of French leads to judgments of speaker ability and performance based on display of proficiency in the French language. Keeping in mind that in multilingual settings languages compete for both symbolic and material resources (Blackledge and Pavlenko 2001: 254), I will focus on two concepts: authenticity, as sought and negotiated using the different Arabic varieties and the reclaiming of Berber, and the continuing commodification of French and increasingly English in Tunisia as part of identity construction and renegotiation.

3.  The diglossic situation: issues of authenticity The diglossic situation of Arabic has been the subject of many studies within different subdisciplines in linguistics (see Sayahi 2014, 2016, for a review of the literature). Within the area of language ideology and language attitude, the question of which variety of Arabic, standard Arabic or the local vernacular, is considered the mother tongue is a contentious issue that often triggers a wide array of ideological stances among scholars and users alike. Arabic in general across North Africa and the Middle East is perceived as closely tied to national identity and seen as a unifying element with other Arabic-speaking nations. In addition, the Arabic language,

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particularly in written form, is revered by its speakers as one with a rich history and higher degrees of lexical and structural ‘perfection’ (see Suleiman 2003). As a result, higher levels of proficiency in standard Arabic are often associated with a deeper understanding of the Arab intellectual heritage and a pride in a shared history that harkens back to pre-Islamic times. Responses from a 14-question questionnaire that I  administered to a group of 25 high school teachers in the Greater Tunis area (Sayahi 2015) show that, while they all agree that the language situation in Tunisia is unsatisfactory and that there is a need for a revision of the language policies in place, the dominant perception is that standard Arabic is the ‘real’ language. A total of 96% (24/25) agree that more attention needs to be paid to standard Arabic as part of revising language policies, but only 36% (9/25) agree that additional attention should be paid to Tunisian Arabic. This ideology, coupled with the inseparable link between religion and Arabic, has positioned standard Arabic as a pillar of Tunisian identity, separating it from non-Arabic speaking countries. Some participants clearly emphasize the link between standard Arabic and religion, as put by one of them: “Yes, more importance needs to be given to standard Arabic because it is our language, the language of our religion, and the language of the Quran.” Among the participants who object to giving importance to Tunisian Arabic are those who believe that “it has affected negatively the cultural level in general” and that “the dialect doesn’t mean much in front of having competence in other languages especially our authentic Arabic language.” This same last person added that standard Arabic “is the most important language, we have to give it more importance. Had that happened earlier, we would not have gotten to where we are now.”2 Authenticity is also extended to Tunisian Arabic, with a special focus on internal variation as opposed to a clear favoring of Tunisian Arabic at the expense of standard Arabic. A separation exists between the urban coastal variety, mainly used around the capital Tunis and the coastal areas, and rural varieties spoken in the interior regions of the country. The difference between the two varieties is often reduced to some minor lexical and structural features, including the highly marked [g] sound (Gibson 2002; Sayahi 2014). The distinction in prestige between these dialect areas is reflected in the following quote extracted from an oral interview, where the speaker describes how the perception of the Tunis dialect as the de facto legitimate dialect can lead to a differentiated treatment at public institutions of those who speak other varieties: You feel it [the distinction between the dialects] when, for example, you go to an office or an institution to run an errand. It is not the same when you speak the Tunis dialect than when you speak another dialect. The way they treat you differs. There are some who when you talk to them like that [using a different variety], they help you, they take care of you and listen to you. But if someone sees you, I don’t know, like of a lower level or something, they don’t show you the respect you deserve or help you the way you would like be helped. They take into consideration the dialects even if they have nothing to do with it. Normally you are there to serve everyone.

4.  Bilingualism and multilingualism: issues of commodification In communities where bilingualism is closely associated with educational and professional attainments, higher levels of proficiency in the second language can be used as a proxy metric for success in education and the workplace. Often, a marked learner accent and grammatical errors in using a second language, especially if it is the one associated with more valuable material resources, are interpreted as lack of expertise and qualifications to carry out a given task or occupy a given position where high proficiency in the second language is expected. This represents an additional way how language ideology can shape judgment of professional ability and 112

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performance, in addition to common judgments based on register and native regional varieties at the workplace within monolingual societies (Gumperz and Cook-Gumperz 1982). In Tunisia, although French does not compete with Arabic as an index of authenticity and moral character, it nevertheless competes with it as a marker of symbolic power and is a valued language in the Tunisian linguistic market. Indeed, competence in French is associated with higher expertise by employees, especially those in the science and technology fields, while lack thereof is interpreted as a sign of sloppiness, lower qualifications, and overall lack of ability to perform at the expected level. In a country where the native language is Arabic, and Berber for those who speak it, French is used for the creation and ‘perpetuation of social distance’ (Gumperz and Cook-Gumperz 1982: 5), including across socioeconomic class and gender lines. It was mentioned that Walters (2011) described how higher competence in French in Tunisia is associated with female speakers, like other cases where an unmarked foreign accent in a second language can be associated with femininity. What I am proposing here is that higher levels of competence in French are also closely associated with better qualifications and efficiency in carrying one’s job. In this way, I agree with Heller (2003: 474) that language is “a marketable commodity on its own, distinct from identity.” This means that while Tunisians may seek to affirm a shared Arabo-Islamic identity encoded through Arabic as discussed previously, by commodifying French they manage to establish degrees of distance at the socioeconomic and educational level. This process of commodification of French accelerated following Independence from France and the spread of education. Among the 25 high school teachers who filled out the questionnaire, only two feel French is not needed for courses in science and technology and they both argue for English to replace it. The majority, however, agree that French is needed because “all references are in French,” “it facilitates scientific tasks,” and “because scientific terms are in French and not in Arabic.” One participant states that French has to be taught to schoolchildren at the same time when the teaching of Arabic starts. It has to be used in the domain of science and technology because we are open to the world and this openness requires competence in the French language. In an indication of the perception that higher educational attainments in many ways depend on proficiency in French, one participant writes that “the student who is not competent in French will perform poorly in other subjects as well.” It has to be mentioned, however, that this emphasis on French as a language of science and technology is also coupled with the feeling that this should not undermine standard Arabic and that English should be taught as a foreign language as well, as discussed in the previous section. A marked accent and the public display of faulty French often result in public humiliation and the questioning of the person’s ability to perform their duties. Outcries over the inability to speak French, or even claims of ‘massacring French,’ as perceived through the occurrence of non-standardized forms or grammatical errors in signage and by public employees are abundant in the digital media. This belief that without competence in French school performance is inevitably affected and, as a result, people with lower competence in French are ill-prepared and downright incompetent became obvious following a speech that was given by the Governor of the Tunisian Governorate of Sousse, Adel Chelioui. The Governor was invited in July 2017 to give a speech as part of the commemoration of the attacks that took place in Nice, France, given that the city of Sousse had suffered attacks as well and is twinned with Nice. The Governor gave a speech in French in front of high-ranking dignitaries including current and former French presidents. His use of French was marked by a heavy accent and, as a result, 113

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he received strong rebuke in Tunisian media and social networks for what was perceived as a very poor representation of Tunisia. The bilingual Tunisian news website Kapitalis (2017a) published the following: Example (1) Le gouverneur de Sousse devient la risée de Nice Lors de la commémoration du 1er anniversaire de l’attentat de Nice, hier, vendredi 14 juillet 2017, le gouverneur de Sousse a très mal représenté la Tunisie. “Le gouvernement tunisien aurait dû choisir un meilleur profil pour représenter le pays à cette commémoration.” . . . “Le gouverneur de Sousse nous a foutu la honte en cette cérémonie de commémoration diffusée en direct par toutes les chaînes françaises et suivie par des millions de téléspectateurs de par le monde.” . . . “Il a massacré un discours mal préparé, lu en français châtié. Il a écorché des noms propres. Ce gouverneur fût la risée et la stupéfaction des présents dont les 3 présidents et des hautes personnalités venues du monde entier.” . . . Ceci n’est là qu’un échantillon des réactions écoeurées de milliers de Tunisiens qui n’ont cessé, depuis hier, de critiquer le gouvernement pour ce ratage, en rappelant que le gouverneur Adel Chelioui est, finalement, le fruit de l’alliance Nidaa/Ennahdha, un haut responsable dont l’incompétence le dispute au manque de finesse et qui doit son poste à ses liens politiques plus qu’à ses qualités intrinsèques: il n’en a visiblement pas. The Governor of Sousse becomes the laughingstock of Nice At the commemoration of the first anniversary of the attack in Nice yesterday, Friday, July 14, 2017, the Governor of Sousse represented Tunisia very poorly. “The Tunisian Government should have chosen a person with a better profile to represent the country at this commemoration.” . . . “The Governor of Sousse has done us shame in this memorial ceremony broadcast live by all French channels and followed by millions of TV viewers worldwide.” . . . “He slaughtered a badly prepared speech, read in broken French. He massacred proper names. This governor was the laughingstock and caused the amazement of the attendees, including the three presidents, and high dignitaries from all over the world.” . . . This is just a sample of the appalled reactions of thousands of Tunisians who have been constantly criticizing the Government for this failure since yesterday, recalling that Governor Adel Chelioui is ultimately the fruit of the alliance Nidaa/Ennahdha, a high-ranking official whose incompetence is coupled with a lack of finesse and who owes his position to his political ties rather than to his intrinsic qualities: he obviously does not have any. It is important to note that in example (1) what is considered faulty French results in direct criticism of the Governor’s professional qualifications and ultimately the legitimacy of his appointment, declared to be the result of ties with one political coalition rather than merit. In a way, both the Governor and the Government are being called out as incompetent because of a heavy accent in French while giving a brief speech. What is more telling about the commodification of European languages in Tunisia is that, in his defense, the Governor expressed in an interview with the radio station Shems FM (Shems FM 2017) that he actually speaks four languages (Arabic, Russian, English, and French) and that given his academic background he considered Russian, not French, to be his second language, before stating that he is not incompetent but that he was nervous and after all it was God’s will: 114

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Example (2) – Radio host: ʒadall sar aʕlɛ:ʃ si ʕa:dil tkallim bi luɣa faransiyya miʃ sħi:ħa, tlaʕθim. ˙ ˙ – Governor: . . . sa:rit trac. θna:ʃ alf qoddɛ:mi, θlɛθa ruʔasa: duwwal, blɛ:d, ma:w taʕrif ˙ maʕnɛ:ha tsir allah ɣa:lib ɛ:nni maʕnitha kunt nħibb nmaθil madi:nat su:sa aħsan tamθi:l ˙ allah ɣa:lib. . . . – Radio host: lɛ:muh si ʕa:dil ʕlɛ:ʃ ma xtartiʃ taħki bi l-luɣa al-ʕarabiyya. – Governor: wu allah maʕnitha hu:ma kɛ:nnu iqu:lu l-ħakyɛ:n bi l-lu:ɣa al-firansiyya, kilma dix minutes bi l-luɣa al-firansiyya. ʕlɛ:ʃ ma naʒmu:ʃ naħkiwu bi l-luɣa l-firansiyya? nitkallim arbʕa luɣa:t ʕarabiyya, russiyya, inglizyya wu l-firansiyya. nqu:lu madi:na siya:ħiyya xalli:na nqu:lu madi:na siya:ħiyya wu nqu:lu maʕnitha yɛlzmu yaʕrif l-lu:ɣa:t, ha:w wɛ:li su:sa yitkallim bi l-luɣa r-russiyya.  .  .  . ti allah ɣa:lib maʕnitha hiyya luɣitna l-umm wu l-luɣa illi niftaxru bi:ha hiyya l-luɣa l-ʕarabiyya. Bon, l-protocole mtɛ:ʕhum ma yasmaħiʃ bɛ:ʃ naħki bi:ha, l-luɣa θ-θɛ:niya bi nisba li ɛ:nni hiyya l-luɣa r-russiyya. hɛ:ða huwwa illi nnaʒim nqu:lu allah ɣa:lib. wɛ:ħid yitkallim, wu xa:tib al-qawma bi ma: yafhamu:n wu iʒtahidna iʒtahidna wu akahuwwa. ɛħna niqblu: n-naqid wu nħa:walu: bɛ:ʃ nsalħu: ma θɛmma ħatta muʃkil ʕa:di ʒiddan. allah ɣa:lib. ˙ – Radio host: A discussion took place why Mr. Adel spoke in a faulty French language. He stumbled. – Governor: I was nervous. Twelve thousand people in front of me, and three presidents. You know, I mean, it happens. It’s God’s will. I wanted to represent the city of Sousse the best of representations; it’s God’s will. – Radio host: They blamed you, Mr. Adel, why you didn’t choose to speak in the Arabic language. – Governor: They said the speech had to be in the French language, a ten-minute speech in French. Why can’t I make the speech in the French language? I speak four languages: Arabic, Russian, English and French. Let’s say this is a tourist city and let’s say he has to know foreign languages, the thing is that the Governor of Sousse knows how to speak Russian. . . . It was God’s will, I mean, our mother tongue and the language of which we are proud is the Arabic language. Well, their protocol didn’t allow for me to use it. The second language for me is the Russian language. This is what I can say; it’s God’s Will. I do speak, and [as they say] “address people in the language they understand.” We made the effort, we tried but that’s it, we accept criticism and we will try to correct it. There is no problem in that. It is very normal. It’s God’s will. This is clearly an illustration of the ideology that proficiency in French, and other European languages, is an index of efficiency and high qualifications. It results in a type of power asymmetry where a better knowledge of French, having a certain accent or a first-hand experience with the language becomes a measure of meritocratic standards in a context where French is one of the “bureaucratically accepted modes of communication” (Gumperz and Cook-Gumperz 1982: 7). The case of the Governor, and other cases where public employees including teachers are questioned about the job they are doing as a result of faulty French, is in sharp contrast with the often favorable views of Tunisian politicians who are able to express themselves fluently, not only in French, but also in English including the former Interim President Moncef Marzouki and former Prime Minister Youssef Chahed. Prime Minister Chahed’s interventions in English on CNN and BBC were very well received in Tunisia and he was lauded as being a highly competent politician that represents Tunisia favorably. As English becomes increasingly commodified as the language of social media, transnational jobs, high-skilled migration and the 115

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consumption of American cultural products, being able to speak English and French bestows the highest value in the Tunisian linguistic market and serves as a tool for the judgment of ability and performance. The fact that more parents are choosing to send their children to the rapidly growing number of private schools that emphasize the teaching of French from early on is a clear index of the desire to improve their chances of success later on (Sayahi 2015).

5.  Changing language practices and the contestation of identities in post-Revolution Tunisia Since the Revolution, aspects of the contestation of sociopolitical powers have become evident in elements of language ideology regarding regional varieties and the Berber language. So far, it has been argued that the idea of “Arab authenticity” is built around the Arabic language, religion and a perceived shared history. However, as Tunisians start to seek a distinct postRevolution national identity, they rely on a new political reality and additional differentiating features that can set them apart from other Arab countries. This results in increased competition between a Tunisian identity and a pan-Arab identity. Next, I will focus on three elements that show this increased search for a post-Revolution Tunisian identity: the use of [g] in public discourse, the writing of Tunisian Arabic and adoption of political slogans in Tunisian Arabic, and finally the reclaiming of Berber. The fact that users choose to write the [g] sound on social media (Sayahi 2017) is a form of contesting the capital-centered identity and reclaiming a regional identity from within the underserved regions. An example of display of [g] in the public sphere is the case of Majdouline Cherni, the former Minister of Youth and Sports, who in public interviews does not accommodate to the capital’s variety, dominant in all types of public interactions. She systematically uses [g] where other politicians regardless of their regional origin use [q]. It is part of her discourse and argument for decentralizing government and increasing equities among regions. In addition, as both public and private media outlets are free to interview people on the street about their, usually dire, situation and as the number of American-style talk shows increases dramatically, different features of Tunisian Arabic now make it to the national stage, including the use of [g] by a variety of speakers, which was uncommon before the Revolution. At the national level, to index an increasingly well-defined identity of Tunisia as a democratic state, there is an increase in the domains of use of Tunisian Arabic, similar to the changes following political upheaval in the Greek diglossic context (Suleiman 2006: 55). Gumperz and Cook-Gumperz (1982: 12) correctly observe that “sociopolitical change and especially shifts in power relationships can cause basic shifts in language usage norms.” In post-Revolution Tunisia, both the political change and the emerging multimodal communication have led to new and “different discourse conventions” (Gumperz and Cook-Gumperz 1982: 7). Perhaps this is most obvious in the many slogans that contest governmental policies, which include popular political demands such as mɛ:ni:ʃ msɛ:miħ “I don’t forgive” and wi:nu l-bitru:l? “where is the oil?” There have also been efforts to have the constitution translated into Tunisian Arabic under the slogan d-dustu:r bi d-dɛ:rʒa “the constitution in the vernacular,” which led to the translation of the new constitution by the Tunisian Society for Constitutional Law into Tunisian Arabic. In early 2018, the Ministry of Finance made public a 12-page document in Tunisian Arabic that explains the budget to citizens, mizaniyat al-muwa:tin li-sanat 2018 “Citizen’s budget for the year ˙ 2018,” which constitutes one of the first official written documents produced by the Government in Tunisian Arabic (Sayahi 2019). Indeed, writing in Tunisian Arabic and the search for a unified orthography is at a particular juncture at this moment. Suleiman (2006: 53) indicates that “[o]rthography is an effective way 116

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of making visible, of constructing, differences between languages.” As an additional example of the gradual legitimization of the use of Tunisian Arabic in print, recently the book La chose publique was translated from French into Tunisian Arabic, and the press seems to see it as acceptable (Kapitalis 2017b). What is interesting about example (3) is the focus on democracy, the highlighting of the historical depth of writing in Tunisian Arabic, and the involvement of universities in the process. These three factors associated with Tunisian Arabic seem to increase its usage beyond private electronic communication and social media where it is already very frequent. In addition, referring to Tunisian Arabic as a “language that everyone pays attention to” is particularly telling in this case, and contrasts with some of the opinions described in Section 3. Example (3) Dar al-Janoub published a new book entitled aʃa:n al- ʕa:m huwa illi yaʒmaʕna “The common good is what unites us” by Tunisian film and theater actor Majd Mastoura. Majd Mastoura translated this French book by scholar Philippe Dujardin from French into the Tunisian dialect, Darja, a language that everyone pays attention to, because his simplifying educational purpose is clear. The writer chose to translate what was written in French under the title “La chose publique ou l’invention de la politique” to the Tunisian dialect after other Tunisian writers, such as Ali Douaaji, demonstrated high efficiency in raising the dialect from the ordinary to one used for artistic creation. The writer translated the book in the form of a myth to describe the ways we form groups, especially political ones, as well as the rules of the game that allow for a democratic “coexistence.” It illustrates the virtues of argument and nobility of the eternal choice that man bravely faces in order to put the common good first. As a reminder, the President of the University of Manouba, Chokri Mabkhout, and a number of its faculty members contributed in the translation of the book into the Tunisian dialect. The final change in progress regarding language and identity in Tunisia is related to ethnic identity and the reclaiming of the Berber element as part of an ethnonational identity (Heller 2003). The negotiation of identities that challenge the mainstream discourse is more difficult under totalitarian regimes, which explains the delay in a reclaiming of Berber until postRevolution Tunisia, especially given the reduced number of native speakers of the language. The Tunisian Berber reawakening falls under the scenario described by Gumperz and CookGumperz (1982: 5–6) where Individuals build upon residual elements of shared culture to revive a common sentiment upon which to found ethnically based interest groups. Ethnic identity thus becomes a means of eliciting political and social support in the pursuit of goals which are defined within the terms of reference established by the society at large. In an article on CNN in Arabic titled “The Amazighs of Tunisia are looking for official recognition like their companions in Morocco and Algeria,” the authors establish a close connection between the Revolution and the emergence of a Berber movement in Tunisia: The struggle of the Amazighs in Tunisia to establish self-confidence at a steady pace started since the Jasmine revolution, relying on the activity of associations to introduce 117

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their existence and revive their culture, and taking advantage of the climate of freedom in the country. The Revolution opened the way for them to return to the scene and claim their rights. (CNN 2017) While it remains challenging for language to be playing the central role in solidifying a Berber identity in Tunisia, given the low levels of proficiency, the perception that Tunisian Arabic contains many Berber loanwords and the fact that speaking Tunisian Arabic includes the use of a Berber element is gaining traction. Even mass media outlets celebrate the presence of the Berber element in Tunisian Arabic as in the following title of an article published by the daily newspaper Assabah (2017): “What many Tunisians do not know: Hundreds of Berber words in Tunisian dialect.” There is not however an easy path for Berber grassroot movements to achieve the recognition and normalization of the use of Berber as there is limited governmental support and a continuing skepticism by some Tunisians who perceive these efforts as less urgent at this juncture for the country.

6. Conclusion This chapter has confirmed the role that Arabic, with its different varieties, plays in identity construction in Tunisia, as a channel for expressing authenticity and national identity. On the other hand, the French language is commodified as an index of material resources to the degree that lack of competence in French can be equated with professional incompetence. In addition, it has been argued that the political changes that led to the establishment of a democratic state where free speech is guaranteed has opened the way for more recognition of regional varieties and Tunisian Arabic in general. Finally, the Berber language is identified as a symbol of an increasing awareness of Berber identity, or at least there being a hybrid identity in Tunisia. While it remains unclear where these new discourse practices will lead, it is obvious that rapid sociopolitical change, and changes in power relations, undoubtedly will continue to reshape public and private discourse conventions and the way the different linguistic varieties shape social and national identities.

Notes 1 For an overview of language-in-education policies in North Africa see, for example, Daoud (2011) for Tunisia, Benrabah (2007) for Algeria, and Chakrani (2017) for Morocco. 2 All quotes are translated by the author.

References Assabah. 2017. https://perma.cc/5LP3-MR3Y [01/24/2018]. Bassiouney, Reem. 2013. Arabic Sociolinguistics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Benrabah, Mohamed. 2007. The language planning situation in Algeria, in Language Planning and Policy in Africa. Vol. II, edited by Robert Kaplan and Richard Baldauf. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters, 25–147. Bentahila, Abdelali and Eirlys E. Davies. 1992. Convergence and divergence: Two cases of language shift in Morocco, in Maintenance and Loss of Minority Languages, edited by Willem Fase, Koen Jaspaert, and Sjaak Kroon. Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 197–210. Blackledge, Adrian and Aneta Pavlenko. 2001. Negotiation of identities in multilingual contexts. International Journal of Bilingualism 5 (3): 243–257. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1982. Ce que parler veut dire: l’économie des échanges linguistiques. Paris: Fayard. Breuer, A. and J. Groshek (2014). Online media and offline empowerment in post-rebellion Tunisia: An analysis of Internet use during democratic transition. Journal of Information Technology & Politics 11 (1): 25–44.

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Language and identity in Tunisia Chakrani, Brahim. 2017. Between profit and identity: Analyzing the effect of language of instruction in predicting overt language attitudes in Morocco. Applied Linguistics 38 (2): 215–233. Daoud, Mohamed. 2011. The sociolinguistic situation in Tunisia: Language rivalry or accommodation? International Journal of the Sociology of Language 211: 9–33. Gibson, Maik. 2002. Dialect levelling in Tunisian Arabic: Towards a new spoken standard. In Aleya Rouchdy (ed.), Language Contact and Language Conflict in Arabic: Variations on a Sociolinguistic Theme. New York: Routledge Curzon, 24–40. CNN. 2017. https://perma.cc/LU27-WFDP [01/24/2018]. Gumperz, John J. and Jenny Cook-Gumperz. 1982. Introduction: Language and the communication of social identity. In John J. Gumperz (ed.), Language and Social Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1–21. Haeri, Niloofar. 1996. The Sociolinguistic Market of Cairo: Gender, Class, and Education. London, New York: Kegan Paul International. Haeri, Niloofar. 2000. Form and ideology: Arabic sociolinguistics and beyond. Annual Review of Anthropology 29: 61–87. Heller, Monica. 2003. Globalization, the new economy and the commodification of language and identity. Journal of Sociolinguistics 7 (4): 473–492. Kapitalis (2017a). http://kapitalis.com/tunisie/2017/07/15/le-gouverneur-de-sousse-devient-la-riseede-nice/ [01/24/2018]. Kapitalis (2017b). https://perma.cc/T7BU-57AL [01/24/2018]. Labov, William. 2010. Principles of Linguistic Change. Vol. 2. Oxford: Blackwell. Posner, Rebecca. 1996. The Romance Languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sayahi, Lotfi. 2014. Diglossia and Language Contact: Language Variation and Change in North Africa. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sayahi, Lotfi. 2015. A moving target: Literacy development in situations of diglossia and bilingualism. Arab Journal of Applied Linguistics 1 (1): 1–15. Sayahi, Lotfi. 2017. Diglossia in North Africa. Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Linguistics. http://linguis tics.oxfordre.com/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199384655.001.0001/acrefore-9780199384655-e-394 [02/10/2018]. Sayahi, Lotfi. 2019. Diglossia and the normalization of the vernacular: Focus on Tunisia. In Enam Al-Wer and Uri Horesh (eds.), Handbook of Arabic Sociolinguistics. Milton: Routledge, 227–240. Schieffelin, Bambi B., Kathryn Ann Woolard and Paul V. Kroskrity. 1998. Language Ideologies: Practice and Theory. New York: Oxford University Press. Suleiman, Yasir. 2003. The Arabic Language and National Identity: A Study in Ideology. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Suleiman, Yasir. 2006. Constructing languages, constructing national identities, in Omoniyi, Tope, and Goodith White (eds.), The Sociolinguistics of Identity. London: Continuum, 51–71. Walters, Keith. 2011. Gendering French in Tunisia: Language ideologies and nationalism. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 211: 83–112. Shems FM (2017). https://perma.cc/R3WK-RM2W [02/10/2018]. Woolard, Kathryn. 2015. Double Talk: Bilingualism and the Politics of Ethnicity in Catalonia. Redwood City: Stanford University Press. Wright, Roger. 1982. Late Latin and Early Romance in Spain and Carolingian France. Liverpool: F. Cairns.

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8 LANGUAGE ATTITUDES IN THE ARAB WORLD Nadia Abdulgalil Shalaby

Introduction The language situation in the Arab world is not a simple neat “division of labor” between a classic High (H) variety used in writing and formal situations, and a vernacular Low (L) variety restricted to everyday speech and informal situations, as Ferguson (1959) once claimed in his classic article “Diglossia.” Rather, Ferguson’s critics argue, it is a much more complex situation, a fact he himself later acknowledged (Ferguson, 1991, 1996). To begin with, there are many varieties of Arabic, not just two, which do not necessarily exist in complementary distribution. Badawi (1973), for example, posits five levels, and Hary (1996) argues for a continuum of many varieties, with the H variety at one end, and the L variety at the other. In addition, in a number of Arab countries, other local ethnic languages such as Berber in Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia; Nubian in Egypt; and Kurdish in Northern Iraq, Syria, as well as Jordan, are also used by ethnic minorities. Furthermore, the history of colonialism in most Arab countries, together with the impact of globalization, has resulted in the current widespread use of European languages, mainly English and/or French. Thus, the repertoire of the average native speaker of Arabic includes a number of codes from which to choose and mix. Choices are generally not random; besides reflecting the attitudes of speakers to the varieties chosen, they also reflect the identities their users seek to negotiate or affirm by their choice of code(s). The aim of this chapter is to survey representative research conducted on language attitudes in the Arab world and the factors that influence these attitudes. The study of language attitudes is crucial to understanding language ideologies in a particular society, and more importantly, it sheds light on identity as perceived by the self and others (Suleiman, 2011; Hachimi, 2012; Bassiouney, 2014). The chapter begins with an overview of the different research methods used to study language attitude in general, and then moves on to a survey of selected research on language attitudes in the Arab world. The survey is by no means exhaustive, given the limitations of one chapter. The chapter concludes with suggestions for further research in this area.

Definition of attitudes Attitudes are generally seen as involving three aspects: cognition, affect, and behavior (Allport, 1954, cited in Garrett, 2010, p. 19; and Cargile, Giles, Ryan and Bradac, 1994, p. 221). 120

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Cognition is related to beliefs people have regarding an issue or a language, for example, while affect has to do with their feelings towards it. The behavioral component of attitude is concerned with people’s actual language practices. Garret (2010, p. 20) defines attitude as an evaluative orientation to a social object of some sort, whether it is a language, or a new government policy, etc. . . . as a “disposition,” an attitude can be seen as having a degree of stability that allows it to be identified. While attitudes are psychological constructs, they can, nevertheless, be measured. The following section is a brief overview of the methods generally adopted to measure language attitudes.

Research methodology in the study of language attitudes Research in language attitudes investigates what people believe about a certain language (or languages) or a variety thereof, their feelings towards it, and their actual linguistic behavior. It also examines the extent to which people’s actual language practices are reflective of, or consistent with what they think and feel about a language or variety. Linguists have generally followed three main approaches to the study of language attitudes: the indirect measure, the direct method, and the societal treatment of language varieties. The first approach, which is also known as the matched guise technique, was among the earliest methods used to measure attitude. Although it was most popular in the sixties and seventies of the previous century, it is still used. This method is based on the belief that, because attitudes are an intangible psychological construct, they cannot be measured directly; the best way to measure attitudes is to do so indirectly without alerting the subject to the true nature of the study or its aims. Typically, participants in a study would be required to listen to recordings made by a native-like bilingual speaker (or several speakers) in the two languages, or varieties of one language under study. Then on a Likert scale, the participants would rate the speaker(s) on certain features related to personality or status, for example. Since the speaker is actually the same person, but posing as two, what the participants in the study are actually rating is not the speaker, but rather the language or the variety which they hear. Examples of classic studies of language attitude using this approach are Lambert, Anisfeld, and Yeni-komshian (1965) to study attitudes towards Arabic and Hebrew, and Giles (1970) to study attitudes towards accents in Britain. Examples of studies in the Arab world using the matched guise technique are El-Dash and Tucker (1975) in Egypt, Bentahila (1983) in Morocco, and Sawaie (1994) in Jordan. In the direct method, participants are explicitly informed that they are being asked about their attitudes toward a language or variety. Typically, they would be required to respond to a questionnaire by either rating the language (or variety) in question on a Likert or a semantic differential scale, or by providing an (open-ended) written answer. The questionnaire would include items to gauge the participants’ beliefs about a language or dialect, their feelings towards it, and their actual behavior. Thus for example, a statement such as: “Egyptian Colloquial Arabic is appropriate for elementary school textbooks” is related to beliefs about one of the vernacular varieties of Arabic, while the statement “FusHa Arabic is a beautiful language” would probe the participants’ feelings regarding this variety. On the other hand, a question such as “What language(s) do you use when texting/chatting?” is designed to find out the participants’ self-reported language behavior in electronic communication. Questionnaires are the most widely used tools in language attitude studies. Researchers often follow up questionnaires with interviews, another direct method of measuring attitudes. This is because questionnaires have been criticized for yielding unreliable 121

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results as subjects may provide the answer that they think is socially acceptable or more appealing to the researcher rather than what they actually believe. (See Walters [2007] for a critique of questionnaires used in attitude studies, and Garret [2010] for an evaluation of the different methods used in measuring attitudes.) Also, a participants’ self-reported linguistic behavior may differ from her/his actual behavior. Interviews are generally conducted with some of the participants in the study, either individually or in focus groups. The interviewees may be asked to elaborate on responses they have given on the questionnaire or they may be asked other relevant questions which would shed light on the truth value of their responses in the written questionnaire. Furthermore, during the interview, the researcher can observe the participants’ actual linguistic behavior, rather than only relying on their self-reported behavior. The use of interviews as follow-up to questionnaires (triangulation) has been adopted by a number or researchers as, for example, Saidat (2010) to investigate language attitudes in Jordan; Albirini (2016) in a comparative study of language attitudes in Morocco, Egypt, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia; and Shalaby (2018) to investigate the language attitudes of bilingual students in Egypt. Another example of the direct method in the study of language attitudes is the ethnographic approach. In this approach, the researcher also depends on interviews to collect data; however, the interviews would generally be the main tool for data collection, not a followup to questionnaires. Due to this, several, rather than one interview, would be held with the participants, and, typically, the interviews would be longer than those which are a follow-up to a questionnaire. Furthermore, interviews in ethnographic studies are generally less structured than those accompanying questionnaires, allowing the flow of conversation to guide the interview. Another characteristic of ethnographic studies is that they are usually case studies, focusing on the linguistic behavior and attitudes of one or two persons, or a limited number of people. Moreover, the researcher probes into the history of the interviewees, focusing on the language(s) to which they have been exposed and other factors which may have influenced their attitudes. The researcher will also closely observe the actual linguistic behavior of the participants in the study. S/he will then rely on in-depth analyses of the interviews together with the history of the interviewees to come up with conclusions. Abou Ras (2012) adopted this approach in her study of the attitudes of Egyptian Nubian university students towards Arabic and Nubian languages. Likewise, Hachimi (2007, 2012) adopted the ethnographic approach in her study of the attitudes of Moroccan women to the Fessi and Casablancan dialects of Moroccan Arabic. Along the same lines, Serelli (2018) adopted an “anthropological-cultural approach” (p. 229) to explore the language attitudes of the Siwi people inhabiting the Siwa Oasis in the North Western Egyptian Desert. The third method of conducting research on language attitude is the societal treatment of language varieties, which is also known as content analysis. This involves analyzing the content of media discourse, or popular literature to arrive at how people in general regard the varieties of language used in their society. An example of this approach is Kramer (1974) and Kramarae’s (1982) study of gender and language (cited in Garret, 2010). In the Arabic context, Suleiman (2004, 2011, 2013) analyzed books and articles (both historical and modern) and media discourse on the Arabic language to examine the history of attitudes toward SA and the vernaculars. Likewise, Bassiouney (2014) analyzed media discourse, film, and songs to investigate language attitudes in Egypt, and the association of varieties of Arabic: Standard Arabic (SA), and Egyptian Colloquial Arabic (ECA), with identity. Also, Hachimi (2013), discussed below, analyzed media discourse to examine language ideologies towards Mashreqi and Maghrebi varieties of Arabic.

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Language attitudes in the Arab world

Attitudes to Arabic in the Arab world The study of language attitudes in the Arab world has generated much interest as the linguistic situation in it has always been a rich and complex one. Today, long after the end of colonialism, the hegemony of Western culture continues to reflect on the status of English and French in the region. As an exhaustive survey of all the studies on language attitude in the Arab world is not feasible, the following is a discussion of a number of studies and their findings regarding attitudes to FusHa, SA, the vernacular varieties of Arabic, ethnic languages spoken in the Arab world, English, French, and codeswitching. (The term Standard Arabic [SA] will be used throughout the paper to refer to the two H varieties of Arabic: FusHa, the variety used in the Holy Qur’an, Hadith, Pre-Islamic and Islamic literature, and its simplified modern counterpart, Modern Standard Arabic [MSA], referred to here as SA. The distinction between these two H varieties, however, is generally only made by specialists, not the average Arab individual.)

Attitudes to Standard Arabic Studies of language attitudes in the Arab world have generally found attitudes towards SA to be positive. (See for example El-Dash and Tucker, 1975; Sawaie, 1994; Murad, 2007; Albirini, 2016; Shalaby, 2018.) This comes as no surprise since for the average speaker of Arabic, both FusHa and SA (the H varieties of Arabic) are first and foremost associated with the Holy Qur’an and, therefore, revered by Muslims who form the majority of the population in the Arab world. Yet, FusHa and SA are also associated with tradition, a vast literary heritage, eloquent expression, and a pan-Arab identity, and, as such, they are respected and admired by Arabs in general regardless of their religious affiliation (see Suleiman, 2004). While a number of researchers do point to the fact that participants in their studies see that SA lacks the instrumental value associated with English, SA is still generally highly esteemed by Arabs for its symbolic value. (See Haeri, 2003; Suleiman, 2004, 2013.) Furthermore, positive attitudes to SA on the affective scale have been consistently reported as for example by Albirini (2016), Bentahila (1983), El-Dash and Tucker (1975), Ennaji (2007), Hussein and El-Ali (1989), Saidat (2010), Sawaie (1994), and Shalaby (2018), among others. One of the earliest works gauging attitudes towards SA, alongside other codes, was a study conducted by El-Dash and Tucker (1975) in Egypt. Using the matched guise technique, El Dash and Tucker investigated the attitudes of college-level and high-school students in Cairo towards SA, Egyptian Colloquial Arabic, American English, British English, and Egyptian English. They found that the participants expressed the most positive attitudes towards SA. Similarly, using the matched guise test along with a questionnaire, to gauge the attitudes of Moroccan bilingual students, Bentahila (1983) found that SA rated highest in richness and beauty, while French rated highest for modernity and instrumental value. Not surprisingly, Moroccan Arabic rated highest for everyday interactions. The importance of Bentahila’s study lies in the fact that it is the first extensive study of bilingual speakers’ language attitudes in North Africa, and thus Chakrani (2011) describes it as “foundational.” According to Stevens (1985, p. 73), the value of Bentahila’s work lies in its being “the first book-length account of bilingualism anywhere in North Africa.” SA, however, does not always receive the highest positive rating by participants in attitude studies. Murad (2007) found that attitudes towards SA were related to the level of education of the participant in the study. To investigate language attitudes towards Iraqi Arabic and SA, he surveyed 196 participants: 107 college students, and 89 non-students who did not have a

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post-secondary education. Results indicated that those who were enrolled in college education had significantly higher positive attitudes to SA than those who did not have a college degree or were not working towards one. Al Wer (2002), on the other hand, argues that education in the Arab world is in fact “a proxy variable, acting on behalf of other variable(s)” (p. 42). Using Milroy’s (1980) network theory as a point of departure, she contends that it is not education in itself which influences linguistic behavior in the Arab world, but, rather, it is the social contacts of the speaker, resulting from the type and level of education, which have an overriding effect in determining language attitude. In the same vein, regarding students at the American University in Cairo as a distinct community of practice, with elite social contacts, Reigh (2014) explored the attitudes of 55 Egyptian students (29 females and 26 males) towards SA, ECA, and codeswitching. She collected data by means of a questionnaire and a matched guise test, in addition to group interviews with seven of the students to arrive at the participants’ covert and overt attitudes to SA and ECA. She found that students were divided regarding their attitudes towards SA as important for maintaining Egyptian/Arab identity, with 53% agreeing that it was, and 47% disagreeing. On the other hand, ECA was rated high for solidarity, and identity as Egyptians/Arabs. Despite this, she concluded that “overall participants saw Fus’ha as reasonably important in terms of both status and solidarity” (p. 43). Moreover, although many participants acknowledged their limited abilities in FusHa, they “expressed regret for their limited capacity in the language” (p. 43). Taking a refreshingly different approach to the study of language attitude, Bassiouney (2014) gleaned from public discourse the overt and covert attitudes of Egyptians to SA, ECA, and English. Bassiouney states that her aim is “to study identity by resorting to different socio-­ pragmatic theories, including mainly indexicality, stance and positioning” (p. 40). Bassiouney further elaborates on the notion of indexicality, particularly in terms of its “creation of semiotic links between linguistic forms and social meaning” (p. 40). Through their language choices, individuals not only reflect their ideologies about language, but also (indirectly) their attitudes towards it. Bassiouney sees that “since attitude is more abstract than ideology, an indirect approach is more effective in eliciting realistic dispositions” (p. 109), hence her choice of public discourse, including films, TV interviews, posters, and caricatures found on Facebook and web pages (Bassiouney, 2014, p. 106). Bassiouney’s (2014) findings regarding SA are very much in agreement with those of previous studies in that she found attitudes towards SA to be generally positive. SA is “associated with legitimacy and authority” (p. 137). Furthermore, it is the symbol of a larger entity – the Arab nation” (p. 116). Attitudes to teachers of SA, on the other hand, are not so favorable. Based on her analysis of two Egyptian films, the first, Ghazal El Banat (1959) (The Flirtation of Girls), and the second Ramadan Mabruk Abu al-‘Alamayn Hammudah (2008), Bassiouney found SA to be depicted as “difficult and not necessarily useful” (p. 125). In addition, it is “associated with premodern lifestyle, the countryside, the lower classes and rigid teachers” (p. 125). Furthermore, Bassiouney concluded that while SA in general may index authority, in the two films, “this authority is easily overridden by other social variables – in particular, social status” (p. 127). On a wider and more comprehensive scale than most other studies, Albirini (2016) conducted a comparative study of the language attitudes of 639 university students in four Arab countries, Egypt, Jordan, Morocco, and Saudi Arabia. He deemed these countries representative of four parts of the Arab world due to their historical and socio-cultural background. The aim of the study was to find out the participants’ attitudes towards SA, colloquial varieties (abbreviated by Albirini as QA), local ethnic languages, English, French, and codeswitching. He also investigated the effect of demographic variables on their attitudes. To collect data for this study, Albirini used questionnaires, conducted interviews, and observed the language behavior 124

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of individuals in the four countries. The first two methods involved student populations in each of the four countries while his observations of language behavior involved non-student populations. The responses to the questionnaire were analyzed quantitatively, while data collected from the interviews and the observed behavior were analyzed qualitatively. As for attitudes towards SA, the results of the analysis of the responses to the questionnaire revealed that, as in previous studies, all the students, regardless of nationality, rated SA highest on the affective scale when compared with QA, English, and French. This, Albirini (2016, p. 91) noted, is in line with the findings of other research on attitudes to SA. (He cites Al-Muhanadi, 1991; Chakrani, 2010; Ennaji, 2007; Haeri, 1997, 2000; Hussein and El-Ali, 1989; Murad, 2007; Saidat, 2010.) However, he also found that “cognitively, SA was contested by English in terms of its utility and importance” (p. 91). Results of the analysis of the interviews in Albirini’s (2016) study are for the most part consistent with previous research. In response to the question of which variety of Arabic they preferred, QA or SA, Albirini found that SA was preferred by most (44.7%) on the grounds of its beauty and its being “the language of the Qur’an . . . Arab heritage and civilization” (p. 96). Similar attitudes towards SA have been reported by most other studies on attitudes to Arabic. What is interesting, however, is that a third of the students (32.9%) indicated that they “had equal preference for SA and QA because each is important and needed in some way” (p. 97). A much fewer number (22.4%) said they favored QA “because it is “easier,” simpler,” “natural,” and “used by everyone” (p. 97). These findings reflect a more positive attitude to QA than that reported in former studies.

Complex attitudes towards SA Commenting on (and lamenting) the negative representation of the Arabic language and Arabic language teachers in films, such as those analyzed by Bassiouney (2014), Mahmoud Abbas (2018), professor at Al Azhar University, rhetorically asks (in SA) in an interview broadcast on The Holy Qur’an Radio Station based in Cairo, “How can we respect our language when we have been waging war against it for so many years . . . and when there are so many who ridicule it and make fun of its teachers?” (Author’s translation) By referring to “our language,” Abbas is referring to FusHa and SA, not all the varieties of Arabic. It is indeed remarkable that despite the ridicule to which FusHa (and SA) has been subjected in Egyptian films and plays that it is still respected, revered, and highly valued by Arabs, even by those who acknowledge that they are not proficient in it. Abbas (2018) also decries the replacement of Arabic, again, presumably SA, by English on billboards and street signs and asks in dismay, “How can we feel our language when we do not see it as a sign of our character?” Yet, contrary to Abbas’ apprehension, research has shown that even when other languages coexist alongside Arabic, Arabs still associate Arabic with their identity, with whom they see themselves to be, and do respect it. Shaaban and Ghaith (2002) in a study of university students’ perceptions of the ethnolinguisitic vitality of Arabic, French, and English in Lebanon found that Arabic was rated highest as “the symbol of identity” (p. 569). Likewise, Shalaby (2018) found that even when bilingual students expressed a preference for English in written expression, or codeswitching between Arabic and English in oral communication with one another, and even when they described SA as difficult for them, they still perceived SA as “beautiful,” “expressive,” and “unique.” Most importantly, they felt that SA embodied their identity as Arabs. They voiced their regret at not being more proficient in it and indicated they would be willing to spend money to improve their proficiency in SA. Furthermore, they wanted their children to be more skillful in SA than they were. 125

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Historically, however, not all attitudes to SA have been so positive. In fact, in the previous century calls to replace SA with the vernaculars have been made by prominent public figures. In Egypt, the playwrights Salama Mousa and Lenin El Ramly, and the literary critic and university professor Lewis Awad were among those who called for the replacement of SA with the Egyptian vernacular, on the grounds that ECA is more accessible to the average Egyptian, and more reflective of an Egyptian identity. Along these lines, Eisele (2003) analyzes the competing discourses surrounding the status of SA and its value in modern Arab society. He analyzed these discourses in terms of Bourdieu’s notion of habitus and practice (Bourdieu, 1991), and also Hanks’ (1987) views regarding genre and generic practices (Eisele, 2003, p. 48).

Attitudes to the vernacular varieties Studies of language attitudes to Arabic have generally found attitudes to the spoken varieties of Arabic to be negative, regarding them as corrupted versions of SA and, as such, inferior to it. The vernaculars are also regarded as less eloquent and less expressive than SA and, therefore, not fit as the medium of literature or any form of writing. Being the L variety of Arabic, the colloquial varieties are traditionally used in the home domain, and informal spoken interaction. Furthermore, they have traditionally been associated with lack of education. Studies of attitudes to the vernaculars have also sometimes focused on attitudes to specific linguistic variables associated with different varieties of colloquial Arabic. In this section, I discuss a number of studies of the Arabic vernaculars, ranging from those which focused on attitudes to specific phonological variables, to those which trace recent developments in the use of vernaculars, and their extension to domains where they were not formerly used. The implications of these recent trends for language attitude and identity are also discussed. In an extensive and elaborate study of linguistic variation and language attitude, Sawaie (1994) studied the effects of various demographic variables on speakers’ attitudes towards different dialects of Arabic in the Jordan-Palestine area. Using a sample of 325 participants, he focused on three phonological variables: (q), (θ), and (d ). In this area of the Arab world, (q) has ˙ five phonetic variants [k], [ʔ], [q], [g] and [j], which Sawaie states “is very limited in distribution” (p. 3). The phonological variable (θ) has three variants, [θ], [t], and [s] while the variants of (d ) are [d ], [z], and [d]. The three variables (q), (θ), and (d ) were chosen because “they represent ˙ ˙ ˙ a significant phonetic differentiation in various Arabic dialects, and this difference has social significance” (Sawaie, 1994, p. 1). Sawaie carried out his study in two cities in Jordan: Irbid and Amman, on a population of mainly Jordanian and Palestinian students (84.7% of the participants). The remaining participants in the study were teachers, professionals, and employees. To detect the participants’ attitudes towards the phonological variables under study, Sawaie (1994) first required them to listen to recordings of sentences in which these variables occurred. An equal number of sentences were recorded by the same male and female students. The participants were then asked to respond to statements on a questionnaire to probe their attitudes towards the dialects, and to indicate on a 5-point Likert scale their degree of agreement, or lack thereof, to these statements. Results of the questionnaires were analyzed quantitatively. Sawaie then followed the questionnaires with interviews with 30 of the participants, representing different demographic backgrounds. In general, Sawaie found that, regardless of background, all the participants agreed that the standard sounds [q], [θ], and [d ] (the SA variants) were more “pride evoking” (p. 98), “most ˙ capable of evoking affinity with their users” (p.  102), and had high “survivability potential” (p. 110). Moreover, all the participants expressed that they intended “to transmit the standard variants [q], [θ], [d ] to their offspring” (p. 110), despite the fact that they themselves were not in ˙ 126

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full command of them. Sawaie’s findings add to the growing literature on the generally positive attitude of Arabs towards SA, also reflected in previous research. To investigate language ideologies related to the Fessi and Casablancan varieties of Moroccan Arabic, Hachimi (2007, 2012) adopted an ethnographic approach combined with discourse analysis. Hachimi (2012) investigated the language ideologies of two Casablancan women of Fessi origin, and the ways in which their ideologies contributed to both the construction and indexing of identities. She interviewed two women belonging to two generations, one in her mid-forties, and the other, her niece, in her early twenties. The older woman had migrated from Fez to Casablanca approximately 20 years prior to the interview while her niece was born in Casablanca. The interviews were conducted in Moroccan Arabic with frequent codeswitching to French, as the women acknowledged that this was how they would normally speak. Nevertheless, they expressed a negative attitude towards codeswitching. The two women’s metalinguistic discourse not only revealed their attitudes towards the Fessi and the Casablancan varieties of Moroccan Arabic, but also how these two varieties where associated with the articulation of the linguistic variable (r). The older of the two women believed that “sounding Fessi is polite, refined and feminine, whereas Casablancan is inherently coarse, lower class and unfeminine” (Hachimi, 2012, p. 331). In her view, Fessi, an urban dialect, was iconized in the rendering of the linguistic variable (r) as the post-alveolar approximant [ɹ]. On the other hand, in Casablancan, generally regarded as a Bedouin or rural variety, /r/ is pronounced as an alveolar trill [r]. The woman associated this articulation of /r/ with “roughness and toughness” (p. 329), features which she associated with Casablancans themselves. Hachimi concludes that “the implicit metapragmatics of discourse suggest that Fessi [ɹ], iconized as sounding Fessi, metacommunicates an idealized femininity that the Casablancan variant, in contrast, apparently fails to accomplish” (p. 330). However, this attitude is not shared by the younger generation, represented in this woman’s twenty-one-year-old niece. To her the Fessi approximant [ɹ] is viewed negatively when used by men; it is associated with being “effeminate” or even “homosexual” (p. 331). Hachimi believes that the difference in attitude between the two generations reflects that the linguistic variable “has been re-valuated in gendered terms in Casablanca” (p. 331). Another interesting finding in Hachimi’s (2012) study of ideologies regarding Fessi and Casablancan varieties is related to the variable (q) specifically in the word /qa:l/ (said). It may be pronounced [qa:l] which has traditionally been recognized as the more prestigious, urban form, and also the one used by Fessis, or [ga:l] the less prestigious and Casablancan way of saying this word. Hachimi points out that [qal] is perceived as one of the defining features of being a Fessi of Casablanca, and indexes authenticity as a real Fessi. Despite the fact that this variant of /q/ applies to only 7% of the words in Moroccan Arabic (Hachimi cites Moumine, 1990 in this regard), it is “highly salient and ideologically loaded” (Hachimi, 2012, p. 333) with [q] associated with the urban variety and upper-middle-class speakers, and [g] associated with the rural variety and lower working classes. However, Hachimi found that her young informant, like many of her generation, did not uphold this attitude towards [q] and [g] when it is used in the word [qa:l]. Her informant reported using [ga:l] herself, and even considered it “stupid” to say [qa:l]. Hachimi concludes that “the variable (q) has been refunctionalized in terms of social class . . . and is now perceived as normal” (p. 333). She also contends that it has undergone reevaluation and has become “important in constructing distinctiveness from Fessis of Fez and a resource in becoming Fessi of Casablanca” (p. 335). The study sheds light on how a linguistic variable may be used to index a certain identity. Hachimi’s (2012) study is significant as it points to a change in progress in attitudes to the linguistic features indexical of Fessi and Casablancan varieties. It also provides an alternative to the 127

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traditional linguistic approaches to the study of language attitudes. Ethnographic approaches, by focusing on individual cases, afford a detailed in-depth investigation of the language history of individual speakers and allow us to see how linguistic, social, and historical factors combine to influence language behavior and ideology. However, as is the nature of case studies, generalizations can only be made with caution. In a subsequent study, Hachimi (2013) investigated the perceived hierarchical relation between different varieties of spoken Arabic. Using media discourse as data, Hachimi (2013) explored the ways in which the Maghrebi (Western) and Mashreqi (Eastern) spoken varieties of Arabic are perceived in relation to one another. Specifically, she studied how language ideologies are “enacted” in a YouTube video clip of an episode of the popular television talent/reality show Star Academy Arab World. She also investigated the language ideology latent in viewers’ reactions to the episode. She found that Mashreqi Arabic, spoken in the Middle East and the Levant was seen as superior to Maghrebi Arabic, spoken in North Africa. Hachimi (2013, p. 270) identifies the following three indicators of the Mashreqi dialects’ assumed superiority: 1 2 3

Maghreb speakers bear the communicative burden (Lippi-Green, 1997); Maghreb varieties are objects of mockery; and Mashreq varieties are objects of adulation.

Hachimi analyzes the interaction in an episode between Maghrebi and Mashreqi youth in terms of the stances they adopt towards each of these varieties, how they evaluate the varieties, and how they position themselves and others in relation to them. She underscores the importance of “stance taking’s role in the indexicalization processes and in the reproduction and reconstitution of linguistic hierarchies ( Jaffe, 2009)” (p. 271). The interaction between the youth shows the Maghrebi speakers, both men and women, having to accommodate to their Mashreqi interlocutors in what Hachimi describes as an “uneven distribution in the communicative burden” (p. 278). When communication breaks down, it is the Maghrebi speaker who has to exert effort to restore it. She gives an example of an interaction between a Maghrebi (Tunisian) female and a Mashreqi (Egyptian) male. When the Egyptian young man does not understand what the Tunisian young woman is saying, it is the Tunisian woman who deploys a number of “accommodative strategies” such as, for example, “recast[ing], substitutions of French loan words with their Arabic counterparts . . ., [and] intrasentential shifts among different Arabic dialects” (p. 278). Her efforts are playfully dismissed by the Egyptian man, who assumes the upper hand in deciding what counts as comprehensible Arabic, and makes fun of her Tunisian dialect. This was the case even when one of the supposedly incomprehensible/problematic words was actually a SA word, suggesting that he deemed it stylistically inappropriate to the speech situation. The same situation was repeated elsewhere in the video, but with a Moroccan man addressing a Lebanese women. Again when communication broke down, the onus was on the Moroccan interlocutor to do the repair work. Other instances of the asymmetric status of the Maghrebi and Mashreqi dialects is apparent in the Mashreqi speakers engaging in what Hachimi (2013) describes as “stylized mockery” of Maghrebi Arabic, specifically a parodying of the Moroccan dialect by Mashreqi speakers. She quotes Bucholtz and Hall (2004, p. 497) who elaborate on the effect of parodying and the underlying assumptions behind performing a parody, saying: “Distinction is often the intended by-product of performance genres that involve parody, in which speakers mock characteristics of practices ideologically associated with particular identities in order to position their own identity as not sharing these traits” (Hachimi, 2013, p. 282). Despite the intended humor in parodying the Maghrebi variety of Arabic, the Mashreqi speakers in effect position their own 128

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variety of Arabic as superior to that of the Maghrebi speakers. Mashreqi Arabic is presented as a variety to be emulated. This is communicated in a scene where a Lebanese woman is teaching a Tunisian man how to speak in the Lebanese variety of Arabic. In another related study, Hachimi (2015) explored the hierarchical organization of vernacular varieties of Arabic. She found a change in Moroccans’ perceptions of different Arabic dialects, and their value judgments of these varieties as either “good” or “bad” Arabic. She found that the majority (77%) of the participants in her study rated the Syrian dialect as the best. This was due to their belief that the Syrian dialect is closest to SA and is thus “associate[d] with authentic Arabness” (p. 52). They also rated it highest on account of its “correct pronunciation . . . panArab intelligibility . . . aesthetic pleasantness . . . status . . . morality . . . gender appropriateness, (i.e. it suits both men and women . . .) and social attractiveness” (Hachimi, 2015, p. 52). Hachimi (2015), however, noted a generational divide in the participants’ attitudes with the older generations favoring Egyptian Arabic and the younger ones favoring Syrian Arabic. She sees that this shift of admiration from Egyptian to Syrian Arabic is partly due to the recent developments in the Syrian film industry. For a long time, the Egyptians dominated the film/ entertainment industry in the Arab world, but now with the surge in Syrian film and soap opera productions, particularly historical soap operas which are generally rendered in SA, it is the Syrian dialect which has become more familiar to other Arabs now and which has also gained wider appeal, with younger informants. Hachimi’s (2015) findings are corroborated by Albirini (2016). In his comparative study of the language attitudes of Egyptian, Jordanian, Moroccan, and Saudi students, he found that “the majority of [the Moroccan students] favored the Syrian dialect, followed by the Egyptian dialect” (p.  97). Conversely, when he asked participants in the study which dialect they found “most difficult,” the majority (with the exception of the Moroccan students) said it was the Moroccan dialect. Interestingly though, when he asked the students which dialect was their favorite, most of the Egyptian, Jordanian, and Saudi students favored their own, based on their seeing it as “understood by all Arabs and . . . closest dialect to Al-FusHa” (p. 97). (See Albirini (2016) pp. 86–87 for a discussion of research on attitudes towards different colloquial varieties of Arabic.) Also shedding light on perceptions of the hierarchy of the Arabic vernaculars is Bassiouney’s (2014) study of attitudes to ECA as reflected in Egyptian media discourse, particularly involving celebrities. She found ECA to be “associated with cultural hegemony that Egyptians have (or believe they have) over the Arab world” (p. 146), particularly in the film industry, show business, and the performing arts, to the extent that “mastering ECA may be the gateway to fame and fortune for any non-Egyptian actor or singer” (p. 146). She cites as an example a television interview with the Jordanian actor Iyad Nassar who had played both minor and leading roles of Egyptian characters in a number of Egyptian television series. The host commends him for his fluency in ECA. Likewise callers-in to the talk show express the same admiration. Bassiouney also refers to the Tunisian actress, Hind Sabry, who speaks fluent ECA and has been given lead roles in a number of popular Egyptian soap operas. Bassiouney thus demonstrates the popularity and attraction of ECA in the film and music industry for non-Egyptians, and the ensuing advantages of mastering it. So much so that those who openly resist performing in ECA are taken to task by the Egyptian media, as in the case of the Lebanese singer Najwa Karam (Bassiouney, 2014, pp.  130–131). Thus while Hachimi’s (2015) and Albirini’s (2016) studies suggest that there is a shift from favoring the Egyptian dialect to favoring the Syrian one, Bassiouney’s (2014) study reveals that Egyptians will not easily cede their perceived “cultural hegemony” reflected in celebrities’ admiration of their dialect, and willingness to emulate it. The use of the vernacular is oftentimes associated with authenticity, national identity, and loyalty to it, and to the nation. Bassiouney (2014) found in the media discourse data that she 129

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analyzed that ECA was associated with “authenticity” (p. 37) and with being Egyptian (p. 37). Such is the case in the exclusive use of this variety on the Egyptian privately owned satellite channel O-TV launched by the Christian billionaire Najib Sawiris in 2006 (p. 137). The use of ECA in all programs presented on the channel, even the news, was justified as an attempt to offer a “100 percent Egyptian channel” (p. 38). Bassiouney sees that this decision was made in order to “reflect political opposition, honesty, freshness and innovation” (p. 137). She likewise notes that ECA was used by a number of opposition papers in the years preceding the fall of Mubarak’s regime “as a symbolic resistance mechanism” (p. 137) which contrasted with the use of SA in the official government newspapers. (See also Aboelezz (2017) for the use of ECA by the opposition and political activists in Egypt.) Likewise, in the Moroccan context, Hachimi (2017) found that the use of the Moroccan vernacular (darija) was associated with loyalty to a Moroccan identity. This was revealed in the analysis of data she gleaned from a Facebook page designed for discrediting Moroccan celebrities. On the other hand, celebrities who did not adhere to darija on broadcast media were rebuked for their accommodation to Middle Eastern interlocutors by adopting the Middle Eastern varieties (Hachimi, 2017, p. 247). In a similar vein, examining data from diverse contexts in contemporary Morocco, Caubet (2018) demonstrates how darija is associated with “Moroccaness,” and has recently been adopted as the language of expression, mainly by youth, in various contexts, such as music, creative writing, advertising, and online communication.

Changing attitudes to colloquial Arabic Earlier studies of language attitude in the Arab world reported quite negative attitudes to the vernacular varieties, ranging from informants denying using it, even in everyday speech, to simply regarding it as a degenerate form of SA. (See for example Albirini, 2016; Al-Toma, 1969; Suleiman, 2004, among others). Recent studies, however, suggest that there is a current growing acknowledgment of the use of colloquial Arabic as the variety for everyday communication, and even acceptance of its use in domains typically associated with SA. Along these lines, Albirini (2016) cites Soliman (2008) who found that Egyptians were more accepting of religious discourse in colloquial Arabic than might be expected. Based on his study, Soliman maintains that “the Egyptian public opinion nowadays regards the use of Egyptian Arabic in religious discourse to be ‘more practical’ ‘simpler’ and ‘more influential’ than classical Arabic” (p. iv, cited in Albirini, 2016, p. 118).

Extension of the vernacular to writing A similar change of attitude can be seen with regard to the use of the vernacular in writing, whether in personal communication or other domains. While, formerly, writing was a domain reserved for SA, with the advent of computer-mediated communication and digital technology, the use of the vernacular, particularly on social media, has spread widely and is generally tolerated. Thus, blogs are frequently written in vernacular Arabic, as are Facebook posts and tweets. Shalaby (2018) found that bilingual Egyptian university students reported using SA on Facebook with lower frequency than any other code in their repertoire: only 8.53% reported using SA on Facebook, compared to 45.2% who reported using ECA, while 69.95% reported using Franco Arab (writing Arabic, usually the vernacular, in Roman letters). Likewise, Franco Arab was reported as the variety used the most in texting friends. When interviewed, however, a number of students expressed their contempt for Franco Arab and saw it as demeaning of Arabic culture and identity. (See also Brustad, 2017.) Some 130

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reported making a (successful) conscious effort along with their friends to stop using Franco Arab and to write in Arabic script. Furthermore, the students generally showed more tolerance than that expressed in previous studies to the expanding use of the colloquial in literature and in public space. (See also Doss, 2006; Høigilt and Mejdell, 2017; Mejdell, 2006, 2008; Nordenson, 2017; Rosenbaum, 2004; Walters, 2003, on the increasing use of the vernacular in writing in different parts of the Arab world.) Interviews with the students also revealed that some of them supported the rapidly spreading trend, especially among young writers, to write literature in ECA. However, none of them wanted to see ECA replace SA in literature, textbooks, or newspapers. Contributions to a volume edited by Høigilt and Mejdell (2017) and dedicated to tracing change in writing practices in the Arab world, underscore the increasing use of the vernacular in writing in the Arab world. The volume mainly focuses on the situation in Morocco and Egypt. For example, Miller (2017) investigated the surge in the use of darija, the colloquial variety in Morocco, in diverse written contexts and compared this with the use of ‘ammiyya, ECA, in the Egyptian context. Likewise, Hachimi (2017) investigated the effects of the use of darija and mixing it with SA and other codes for humorous effects, and stance-taking. Høigilt (2017), on the other hand, examined the use of ECA in print media, specifically in a popular comic, Tuk-Tuk, and a magazine, IHna (both published in Egypt), seeking to identify situations in which ECA is used and the implications of such use. Also in the same volume, several studies dealt with the use of the vernacular in political contexts. Abdul Latif (2017) investigated the spread of the Egyptian vernacular in cyberspace, and studied the use of profanity in viewers’ comments on YouTube videos of a political debate in 2012. In another study, Aboelezz (2017) examined the relationship between language ideology and the use of ECA by entities and individuals whom she described as “agents of change,” due to their instrumentality in propagating the use of the vernacular. One of these is the Liberal Egyptian Party, a political party founded in 2008, while the other is the publishing house, Malamih, which encouraged the publication of works in ‘ammiyya, in addition to other varieties (Aboelezz, 2017, p. 213). In the case of the political party, ECA was advocated to voice “separatist Egyptian nationalism,” while in the case of the publishing house, ECA was used to express “integral Egyptian nationalism” (p. 232). Moving to the Kuwaiti context, Nordenson (2017), analyzed the use of Kuwaiti Arabic as opposed to SA in online political debates of different movements in the country. Based on his analysis of blog debates in 2006 and debates on Twitter in 2012, he found that political activists tended to use more features of Kuwaiti Arabic when they were involved in informal discussions in debates with “fellow activists.” This was the case of the blog debates. However, “a more formal tone featuring many SA markers [was] considered appropriate for a public political discourse” (Nordenson, 2017, p. 287). Nordenson sees this as a measured choice of linguistic resources. These studies, together with other contributions in the volume, all point to a changing attitude towards the vernaculars, translated into changing practices, and shed light on the widespread growing current acceptance of the colloquial varieties as a medium of written expression in diverse spaces and contexts.

Attitudes to ethnic languages in the Arab world The literature on attitudes to ethnic varieties in the Arab world is sparse. Studies that investigate attitudes to ethnic varieties such as Berber in North Africa, Kurdish in Iraq, and Nubian languages in Egypt usually do so by comparing attitudes to these ethnic varieties with attitudes to SA and the local vernacular(s). In the following section, I refer to research on language attitudes to ethnic languages in Egypt, North Africa, Jordan, and Iraq. 131

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Attitudes to Nubian The Nubian languages (NLs) are spoken in Nubia, the South of Egypt, and by Nubians who emigrated out of Nubia, after the building of the Aswan High Dam in Upper Egypt, to settle in other parts of the country. Abou Ras (2012) explored the linguistic practices and attitudes of 40 Egyptian Nubian university students towards the two NLs, Nobiin and Kenuzi-Dongola, and Arabic. Twenty of the students were studying outside of Nubia in Alexandria and Cairo, while the other 20 lived in the Nubia area and studied in South Valley University. These students lived in Aswan and ten surrounding Nubian villages. Adopting an ethnographic, participant observer approach, she collected data for the study by general observation of the language behavior of the Nubian students. In addition, she also used a questionnaire and interviews. As Abu Ras is Nubian herself, it was easy for her to travel to the South of Egypt and mingle with the Nubian students there. This was facilitated by Nubian friends who introduced her to Nubian villagers whose homes she visited, and who invited her to attend a number of social events where she was able to observe the language(s) the Nubian community used. In general, Abou Ras (2012) noted that the Nubians are preoccupied with the preservation of their language, and that those in the South speak it at home and make an effort to use it. While the older Nubians in the villages generally speak Nubian at home, not all Nubians can speak Nubian. This is due to the migration of Nubians to cities in the North of Egypt in the wake of the building of the High Dam in search of a new livelihood. In many cases, a language shift from Nubian to Arabic occurred. Oftentimes Nubian men married Nubian women who were raised outside Nubia and could not speak Nubian. Thus it was quite common to find the fathers speaking Nubian, while the mothers spoke Arabic only. Abou Ras notes, however, that “all students and their mothers who do not speak Nubian inside or outside the Nubian region expressed a strong desire to learn NL” (p. 39). Thus reflecting a positive attitude to the language and a strong desire to maintain it. Based on her study, Abou Ras (2012) concluded that many Nubians had some degree of competence in NLs and the overwhelming majority had positive attitudes towards it. She noted that “60  per cent of participants living outside the Nubian region could at least understand NL and some of them even speak some words of it” (p. 44). As for those living in the Nubian region, the overwhelming majority could speak NL and only 5% said that they only knew a few words. In answer to the question of whether they would like to teach their children Nubian, 65% of those living in the Nubia region said they would, compared to 75% living outside the Nubia region. Thirty percent of those living in the Nubia regions said they would let their children decide, compared to 25% outside the Nubia region while only 5% of those living in the Nubia region said they did not care about teaching them Nubian. With regard to Arabic, participants generally had a positive attitude towards it and preferred to use it in all domains except the home domain, or except when talking with another Nubian friend. In general, the study shows that Nubians see using, learning, and maintaining the Nubian language as part of their efforts to preserve their distinct ethnic identity.

Attitudes to Siwi Using the same approach of a participant observer used by Abou Ras (2012) to study Nubian, Serelli (2018) investigated attitudes to Siwi and Egyptian Arabic in the Siwa oasis North West of Egypt. By participating in the Siwi community’s daily activities, she was able to observe the language they used in various situations. In addition, she also interviewed several members of 132

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the community to arrive at the meanings associated with the languages used in the community. Using indexicality as a theoretical framework, mainly Silverstein (2003), she found that members of the community saw that use of the local Siwi language was indexical of a local Siwi identity. Moreover, a Siwi identity “is connoted as a site of authenticity, characterized by a slow(er) and more traditional lifestyle in harmony with the environment” (Serelli, 2018, p. 227). Furthermore, Serelli investigated the ways in which language is used to construct identity, and “index meaning” (Serelli, 2018, p. 226). Based on her study of the languages used by the Siwi community, she argues that “at first-order indexicality, the language [Siwi] simply indicates membership in the community” (p. 240). At second-order indexicality, the use of Siwi indicates “group solidarity and conservatism, but also backwardness” and stands in opposition to Egyptian Arabic, which indicates “modernness, educatedness, and open-mindedness” (p. 240). Analyzed in terms of third-order indexicality, Siwi is intentionally practiced for touristic purposes, to authenticate a Siwi cultural identity. This she sees is “the result of processes of commodification of language and identity for economic purposes” (p. 240). Thus Serelli sees that Siwi can be deliberately used, as in the case of second- and third-order indexes to construct a certain Siwi identity, but with different goals in mind in each case.

Attitudes to Berber In an extensive study of attitudes towards the languages spoken in Morocco, Bouzidi (1989) investigated the attitudes of 682 informants of diverse backgrounds to SA, Moroccan Arabic (MA), Moroccan Berber (MB), and French and the implications of these attitudes for education. To do so, he used both indirect and direct methods of data collection: a matched guise test, observation, interviews, and a questionnaire. With regard to attitudes to MB, he found that MB speakers were perceived as individuals who “cling to their language . . . [and are] proud of their language among themselves” (p. 137). He also reports that a “limited number of informants (mainly MB speaking) stated that they ‘prefer an education in MB’ and ‘demand the revival of their language which is part of their identity’ ” (137). The majority of informants, however, favored SA as the medium of education, together with French (p. 160). They also favored SA in “public worship . . . [and] . . . the administration of Justice” (p. 160). Discussing the reasons for the decline in the use of Berber, Ennaji (1997) argues that the relegation of Berber to the status of an uncodified dialect, together with urbanization and the spread of free education (in Arabic) has led to the limitation of its use to the domain of the home and friends in the Berber community. However, Ennaji noted a change of attitudes towards Berber among university students who appreciated the relationship between ethnic languages and identity, and have developed a more positive attitude towards the language. This, he says, is a result of the role of the media, among other factors, in reviving and promoting Berber. More recently, however, the endorsement of multiculturalism in Morocco has led to the acknowledgment of Berber as an official language as stated in article 5 of the Moroccan constitution (2011), suggesting a more positive attitude to Berber. (See for example Wyrtzen [2014] for a discussion of multiculturalism in contemporary Morocco and its implications for the status of Berber.)

Kurds’ attitudes to Arabic and Kurdish The Kurdish language is spoken mainly by the inhabitants of Kurdistan, a mountainous area which spreads over Turkey, Northern Iraq, Iran, Armenia, and Syria. Many Kurds have also migrated to and settled in Jordan. Within the Arab world, Kurdish is acknowledged as an official language in Iraq, and is taught in schools in the Kurdistan area of the country; however, 133

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it does not enjoy official status in either Syria or Jordan. (See Al-Khatib and Al-Ali, 2010; Blau, n.d.) In a study to gauge the attitudes of Kurdish students living in the Kurdistan area towards the Arab minority living there, and towards learning Arabic, Hama (2017) collected data by means of a questionnaire given to 37 undergraduate and graduate Kurdish students. He found that, in general, the students had neutral attitudes towards the Arabs, but positive attitudes towards the Arabic language. Hama concluded that the participants in the study “believe[d] that Arabic is useful and worth learning” (p. 23). This, he contends, is due to two major reasons: first that both Arabic and Kurdish are official languages in Iraq, and second, that Arabic is a desirable prerequisite for office jobs in the Kurdistan region of Iraq. Although Hama does not mention religious motivations, it is probably also a factor, as the majority of Kurds are Muslim. In a study of language and cultural shift among the Kurds of Jordan, Al-Khatib and Al-Ali (2010) probed, among other issues, the attitudes of Kurds living in Jordan to Kurdish and Arabic. Data for the study was collected by means of a questionnaire, interviews, and observation of the language behavior of the participants. Participants in the study were 100 Jordanian Kurds (61 males and 39 females) of different age groups and different educational and occupational backgrounds. Regarding the proficiency of the participants in Arabic and Kurdish, results of the questionnaire revealed that the majority of them (76%), particularly the younger generation, could not understand Kurdish, and, therefore, did not use it in conversation. A limited number of the older generation (6%) reported that they could use Kurdish. On the other hand, 96% of the participants could speak, read, and write in Arabic (p. 18). Due to the participants’ low proficiency in Kurdish, they used Arabic in most of their daily life situations: 77%–85% used Arabic in different domains and situations, while Kurdish with Arabic was used by fewer than 11% of the participants (Al-Khatib and Al-Ali, 2010, p. 20). (The domains in the questionnaire covered the home, social occasions, and public space, while the situations included talking with family, friends, and other unknown Kurds, as well as the language accompanying emotions such as anger and excitement.) Based on the findings of their study, Al Khatib and Al-Ali (2010) concluded that the Jordanian Kurdish population is undergoing a process of language shift, where the Kurdish language is being replaced by Arabic. Despite the shift to Arabic, the Jordanian Kurds had positive attitudes towards their own language. Even though 74% of the participants believed that Kurdish was dying in their homes, and 79% acknowledged that it was dying in Jordan too, the majority (70%) still believed that it was important for them to learn Kurdish (p. 22). In general, based on the results of the questionnaire and on the interviews, Al-Khatib and Al-Ali (2010) concluded that the Jordanian Kurds were “emotionally attached to their language” (p. 23). Furthermore, they had “strong positive attitudes towards Kurdish as a symbol of identity” (p. 23). Research on ethnic languages in the Arab world, discussed earlier, suggests that the ethnic minorities living in the Arab world, whether they actually practice their language or not, all take pride in their languages and see them as part of their identity. Those who do speak their ethnic language, as for example Nubians, Moroccan Berbers, and Iraqi Kurds, maintain it and have taken steps to upgrade its status. Those who do not speak it express a desire to see the language reestablished in their communities and would like to maintain it, and pass it on to future generations.

Attitudes to English, French, and codeswitching English and French in the Arab world are generally associated with science, progress, advancement, and modernization. However, English is becoming the dominant European language in 134

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the Arab world, progressively pushing out French both in the Mashreq (see Esseili, 2011), and the Maghreb (see Albirini, 2016), reflecting the impact of globalization and the growing expansion of English worldwide. Along these lines Albirini (2016) reports that the groups of students he studied in Egypt, Jordan, Morocco, and Saudi Arabia had a more favorable overall attitude towards English than French. In the case of Moroccans, however, the difference was slight: a mean rate of 2.64 (on a scale of 4) for English compared to 2.25 for French. In general, it can be noted that English is also encroaching on domains where Arabic is expected to be used. It has become a common means of written communication, not only in multinational companies in the Arab world but also much of the private sector. The perceived value of English in the Arab world is attested by the rapidly increasing number of private educational institutions in which English is the language of instruction. Commenting on the status of English in Lebanon, Shaaban (2017, p. 171) notes that it is “a major linguistic presence that is edging French out of many functions in the Lebanese society.” He further adds that “the English language has been steadily gaining ground and strengthening and widening its base of operations” (p. 171). Along these lines, he cites Esseili’s (2011) study of English in Lebanon, in which she observed the widespread use of English in the public sphere, as for example on billboards. (See Plumlee (2017) for a study of the linguistic landscape of Cairo.) Furthermore, she found more students were interested in studying English than French, and that participants in her study ranked English alongside Lebanese Arabic highest in order of importance (98%), followed by SA (93%), while French trailed behind (78%) (Shaaban, 2017, p. 169). Based on the findings of her study, Esseili concludes that “the Lebanese society is steadily transitioning to using English as the first foreign language” (Esseili, 2011, p. x). Esseili (2017) also discusses the widespread use of English, and English/Arabic codeswitching in public space and in personal communication.

Gendering of codeswitching and certain linguistic variables Investigating language ideology in Tunisia, Walters (2011) argues that the use of French, Arabic/ French codeswitching and the uvular /ʁ/ is gendered. Walters looked into the origins and the social history of French in Tunisia in an attempt to arrive at the reasons why French, which is spoken by both men and women in Tunisia, and codeswitching, a natural linguistic phenomenon of all bilingual speakers regardless of gender, have come to be associated with women. He examined this prevalent language ideology in the light of Irvine and Gal’s (2000) work. They believe that such ideologies are constructed and perpetuated due to three processes: iconization, fractal recursivity, and erasure. Walters demonstrates how these three processes can be invoked to explain the dominant ideology in Tunisia which associates French with women. Based on an ethnographic investigation, Walters (2011) identified four language practices that are generally perceived as iconic of women: “speaking French,” “Speaking French without an accent,” “use of the French pronunciation of /r/,” and “(frequent) codeswitching involving French” (p. 96). This ideology is reflected in metalinguistic jokes, comments made by various people he encountered, and both unpublished and published articles by Tunisian men and women. Furthermore, he states that the process of “fractal recursivity” has rendered the use of French, the uvular /ʁ/, and codeswitching as typical of women only when it is in fact used by both genders. He states: “the dominant language ideology projects intragroup and intraspeaker variation onto intergroup categories of gender linked in complex ways to bodily morphology” (Walters, 2011, p. 96). Thus while the features associated with women could actually reflect individual difference in language use, they are “projected” as defining characteristics of Tunisian women. 135

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Finally, the third process, erasure, is also seen as contributing to the dominant language ideology in Tunisia. Erasure is a process which involves “simplifying the sociolinguistic field, render[ing] some persons or activities (or sociolinguistic phenomena) invisible” (Irvine and Gal, 2000, p. 38, cited in Walters, 2011, p. 96). This is another process which has contributed to the dominant language ideology in Tunisia. Walters observes that while women in Tunisia do tend to use French more than men, speak it with a more native-like accent than men, and are more likely to use the linguistic variable [ʁ] while men would use its variant [r], the fact remains that men also do use French and they do codeswitch. Thus to see these linguistics features as indexical of women only is a misrepresentation of a linguistic reality whereby “all the variability within groups and speakers gets reduced, coded as gender difference while other sorts of difference – for example, urbanness versus ruralness or matters of social class – disappear” (p. 96). Walters attempts to account for the prevalence of this ideology by looking into the history of French in Tunisia, and how it has been, to a great extent, limited to the elite, and more specifically women. In addition to the ethnographic work he conducted, he also looked into jokes which reflected “gendered language ideologies” (p. 106). As Walters noted, such ideologies are “in no sense limited to Tunisia, the Arab World, or the developing world more broadly” (p. 106). In the same vein, the association of codeswitching with the speech of women is also corroborated by Suleiman (2004). He cites Kamhawi (2000) who found it more widespread among females in the Jordanian society. Suleiman (2004) sees that “it is not surprising that females, who are traditionally more prestige conscious than males, do resort to codeswitching” (p. 30). He adds: The fact that English and French are considered languages that convey sophistication, elegance, beauty, modernity, and social liberation in the Arabic- speaking countries must also be a factor in their deployment in female Arabic speech through codeswitching. As a form of language display, codeswitching of this kind is an attempt at identity negotiation whereby the speaker seeks symbolically to ascribe to the self some of the attributes associated with a more prestigious group. (pp. 30–31) The findings of these studies suggest that in the case of Arabic, just as in the case of American and British English, women tend to use more “prestigious” forms of speech than men (see Labov, 1966; Trudgill, 1974). What counts as prestigious, however, is relative. While in Labov and Trudgill’s studies (and Western sociolinguistics in general), the prestigious variety is the standard one, in everyday interaction in the Arab world, SA is not necessarily seen as the prestigious variety. To this end, Ibrahim (1986) argues that in the Arab world the mastery of SA is a function of education, rather than social class. As such then, the H variety of Arabic does not carry social prestige, but rather, he argues: “the L varieties must have their own hierarchical order or prestige independently of H” (p. 119). Accordingly, Arab women are more likely to choose or at least attempt to use the socially prestigious vernacular L variety, rather than the H variety. He concludes by saying: Evidence from various sources and different Arab countries shows that spoken Arabic (L) has its own local prestigious varieties which always comprise certain features that are not only different from but are often stigmatized by H norms. All available data indicate that Arab women in speaking Arabic employ the locally prestigious features of L more than men. (Ibrahim, 1986, p. 124) 136

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The locally prestigious variety of Arabic will inevitably be that of socially privileged groups living mainly in the capital cities. Along these lines, in her study of varieties of Arabic in Cairo, Haeri (1996) found that women were more likely to produce the non-standard variant of (q) than men, to the point that this deviation from the standard became a marker of femininity. She also claims that for many women in the Arab world, deviation from the standard is regarded as the more prestigious form. Likewise, the prestigious code to use in a number of Arab communities is the one associated with a foreign language, specifically English or French. Ability to speak a foreign language fluently is indeed perceived as “symbolic capital” accessible to a privileged few, namely the uppermiddle and upper classes who can afford a bilingual education. Thus, the frequent switching to English and/or French in women’s speech serves as a reaffirmation of their belonging to a prestigious social group.

Changing attitudes to codeswitching in parts of the Arab world Most previous studies on language attitudes in the Arab world have shown a predominantly negative attitude to codeswitching between Arabic and other languages, mainly English and French. (See Bentahila, 1983; Walters, 2007; Albirini, 2016.) However, a change in attitudes can be detected in more recent studies, particularly among bilinguals and more socio-­economically privileged groups who are likely to be more exposed to the West than the rest of the population on account of their education, ability to travel, and general life-style. As attitudes are intrinsically related to ideologies, which often change according to changing political and social conditions, it is no surprise that there would be a change in attitudes towards codeswitching in the Arab world, given the extensive sociopolitical changes that have taken place in the region. Codeswitching is now a widespread practice in the Arab world, not only in personal verbal interaction, but also in media discourse, various forms of writing, including literature, online communication, and signs in public space. It is also becoming increasingly prevalent in the performing arts, including films, television series, soap operas, songs, and stand-up comedies. Writing on the current prevalence of English in Lebanon, Esseili (2017) gives numerous examples of the innovative mixing of Arabic with English on T-shirts, mugs, posters, and greeting cards which attests to the widespread use of language “blending” in Lebanon. She quotes the owners of a studio for designing greeting cards who state that they use “a combination of languages . . . to break established conventions” (p. 698). They add that they blend languages on their greeting cards in order to “reflect the contemporary way of communication in the region” and also to render their cards “personalized, easy to relate to and appealing” (p. 698). Such expanding use of codeswitching reflects a latent positive attitude towards this practice, at least in some circles, or it would not be so widespread. Furthermore, it is now difficult to deny that codeswitching takes place at all, as has been reported in previous research.

Mixed attitudes to codeswitching The current prevalence of codeswitching between Arabic, English, and French in various domains and contexts, however, must not be seen as widespread change in attitude towards codeswitching. Research suggests that while codeswitching may be met with approval in some circles, is still negatively regarded by others. Commenting on the ambivalence towards codeswitching, and referring to its use by Maghrebi humorists, particularly Algerians, Caubet (2002, p. 234) notes: “CS [codeswitching] is stigmatized (officially) but in reality, it shows a mastery of the language of social promotion (French).” 137

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More recent research also suggests that mixed attitudes to codeswitching still prevail. Reigh (2014), in her study of the language attitudes of students enrolled in the American University in Cairo, found that some students regard codeswitching negatively as a sign of showing “off” (p. 20). Others, on the other hand, deemed it “important for fitting into a social group” (p. 20), in this case a socially prestigious, elite group. Similarly, Shalaby (2018), in a study of language attitudes of bilingual Egyptian students, found that, in general, while there were mixed attitudes towards codeswitching between Arabic and English, the attitudes were more positive than what has been formerly reported. However, the type of end of high school education, and type of university education (private vs. national) proved to be important variables in determining attitudes towards this linguistic behavior. Students enrolled in a prestigious private university, where all instruction took place in English, and the majority of whom had studied for an international end of high school certificate, had significantly more positive attitudes towards codeswitching than those who studied in the English department of a national university, and had studied for the national end of high school certificate. Both groups of students also differed significantly in reporting their own practicing of codeswitching on social media, with those in the private university reporting much higher rates of codeswitching than those in the national university. However, interviews with the students revealed that most students in both groups were tolerant of codeswitching as a linguistic practice among bilinguals and did not see it as a sign of lack of proficiency in either language. Some students (more in the national university than in the private one), however, had negative attitudes towards codeswitching, particularly when used in public, seeing it as ostentatious and pretentious. Shalaby (2018) also points out that the type of education (national vs. international, offered in private schools) as a variable must also be viewed in light of the socio-economic differences between the two groups. Furthermore, students who had studied for an international education and were attending a private university were probably more attuned to English speaking cultures, and, therefore, more tolerant of the use of English than those who studied for a national high school certificate and attend a national university. (See also Al Wer [2002] for the implications of education as a variable.) Obliquely related to codeswitching is the use of foreign loan words in Arabic. Loan words differ from codeswitching in that the former are originally words of foreign origin which have been integrated into the language in question, and are modified to follow both the phonological, morphological, and syntactic structure of the language in which they are adopted. They are generally understood by a monolingual speaker of the borrowing language. Codeswitching on the other hand, is usually practiced by bilinguals, generally includes the mixing of more than one word into the native language, and may or may not be understood by monolinguals. (See Heath [2013] and Myers-Scotton [2002] for a discussion of borrowing vs. codeswitching). Using a questionnaire, Ayad (2014) investigated 60 university students’ use of loan words in their speech. Then using a matched guise test, she investigated the attitudes of 60 other students towards this linguistic behavior. Her sample was evenly divided between male and female students in each group. She found that all students used loan words and all had a positive attitude towards using them. However, their motivations for using loan words differed. Furthermore, she found that female and male students used loan words in different domains. She states that female students “tend to use loan words for prestige purposes . . . to validate their social status in their speech” (p. 87) and for euphemism. They also tended to use loan words to refer to physical appearance. Male students on the other hand tended to use loan words when talking about sports and cars. Both male and female students used loan words to discuss academic issues and technology. In general, she found that female students tended to use more loan words than male students. This finding is in accordance with the findings of Esseili (2011) who found that 138

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Lebanese women used French more than Lebanese men, and Walters (2011), discussed earlier, who also found that the use of French in Tunisia was associated with women. The findings suggest that women are more concerned with projecting an identity associated with the prestige inherent in being fluent in English or French.

Codeswitching and identity The relationship between codeswitching and identity has been explored by several researchers. Miller (2007) notes that “codeswitching is increasingly present in the language practices of the young urban population, in both the written and oral form” (p. 21). She adds that “it is both a sign of informality and ability to move across and play within the languages and the culture” (p. 20). To this effect, codeswitching would be regarded as a skill of sorts, not available to all, and one that defines in-group membership in a certain community. Along these lines, Miller (2017) states that in North Africa, it “functions as a badge of identity for youth belonging to the upper- and middle-class strata” (p. 21). The same findings have been reported by Esseili (2011) in the Lebanese context. In the Egyptian context, Bassiouney (2014) demonstrates how codeswitching between ECA and English in the Egyptian films Ramadan Mabruk Abu al-‘Alamayn Hammudah is employed to highlight a westernized-Egyptian identity. This can be inferred from the speech of one of the main characters in the film, the son of the Minister of Education, who, on account of being educated in private bilingual schools, is unable to hold a conversation with his Arabic teacher in fluent Arabic. The young boy can only express himself by codeswitching between Arabic and English, and eventually ends up addressing his teacher in fluent American English. Bassiouney concludes that in the film codeswitching is negatively portrayed as indexing westernization.

Conclusion The research on language attitude discussed in this chapter suggests that language attitudes and language practices are closely related to the language users’ perceived identities, ideologies, and identities they wish to project to others. Furthermore, a change in attitudes appears to have taken place in the past 10–15 years or so towards codeswitching and the Arabic vernaculars. Former studies have generally reported a markedly negative attitude to both. In more recent studies, however, participants acknowledge that codeswitching is part of their linguistic behavior, and are also more accepting of it in interaction with other bilinguals, even when they do not regard it favorably. This could be due to the rapid spread of language schools, international schools, and also private universities in which English is the medium of instruction. Such is the case in Egypt, for example, and, more specifically, Cairo. Furthermore, the growing importance of English in a globalized market and in multinational businesses around the Arab world has led to the increased general importance of English. Moreover, while SA still generally ranks highest in the affective and cognitive domains, we find many more Arabs acknowledging the use of the vernacular varieties in many domains, including writing. The change in attitude towards the vernacular is likely due to the proliferation of new modes of computer-mediated communication and other forms of electronic writing which resemble spoken language, or at least occupy a space between the spoken and the written. The immediacy of interaction in these new modes of writing makes users write as if they were speaking, rendering the vernacular more convenient and more appropriate to the situation. Its proliferation has, in turn, made it more acceptable today in writing. Social media, in general, has also offered its users the opportunity for unprecedented engagement with others, and a constant 139

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exchange of ideas. This has encouraged more users to draw on the various linguistic resources available to them, not only the local vernaculars, but also SA, English, French, and the mixing of these codes. Users also appear more aware of the affordances of the linguistic resources available to them, and also of the implications of their use in terms of who they are, and the identities they wish to negotiate, and project to others. Along these lines, possible areas for future studies could be the investigation of the actual linguistic behavior of Arab populations of different age groups on social media, and the identities they lay claim to by their use of certain codes. The language attitudes of people of different backgrounds towards these practices could also be gauged. Actual practices on social media can be compared with reported behavior and attitudes. Furthermore, gender differences in the use of new modes of linguistic/visual communication such as Franco-Arab, English written in Arabic alphabet, and emojis on social media and computer-mediated communication could be studied along with attitudes towards linguistic and visual modes of communication. As noted by Walters (2006) and Bassiouney (2014), the majority of studies on language attitudes have targeted student populations, mostly due to the accessibility and convenience of this sample. However, while university students in the Arab world do come from varied and diverse social backgrounds (rural vs. urban, and diverse socio-economic backgrounds), they still only represent one age group. More studies on language attitudes which target other populations are needed. Another interesting area of research would be to gauge the attitudes of urban populations in Arab countries to the ever-growing presence of English, colloquial Arabic, Franco-Arab, and its reverse, English written in Arabic letters, on billboards, shop signs, and other public signs.

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PART II

Identity and politics

9 DIGLOSSIA, FOLK-LINGUISTICS, AND LANGUAGE ANXIETY The 2018 language ideological debate in Morocco Yasir Suleiman and Ashraf Abdelhay 1. Introduction In this chapter we discuss the recent Moroccan language ideological debate about the use of some dialectal/colloquial words (dārija) in the national school curriculum. The Ministry of National Education, Vocational Training, Higher Education and Scientific Research in Morocco issued a statement on its Facebook page on 4 September 2018 to settle a controversy about the inclusion of these words in the new educational curriculum, triggering, in the process, a host of comments in response. The Ministry rationalized the use of dārija words on pedagogical grounds. This chapter has two key objectives: first, to situate the language ideological debate in hand within its social context with a focus on the role of language in education and identity construction. Second, in doing so we invoke folk conceptualizations of the Arabic language situation to understand the structure of this debate. To wit, we argue that this debate is permeated with an understanding of Arabic that is very much in line with Ferguson’s diglossia framework, first articulated in 1959 and revised in 1991. We further argue that discourses of language anxiety are part of the socio-communicative repertoire of Arabic speakers, and that this anxiety, acquired through socialization, is an integral part of the nexus of language ideology and folk-linguistics. One of the observations advanced in this study is that expressions of support for the fushā’s ˙˙ formal domains of usage can be formulated in the dārija, or an intermediate register, as is the case here, without any feel of antipathy or hostility between the two in situations of this kind. We may expand this by saying that whenever non-fushā forms are used in defense or support ˙˙ of the fushā, in its capacity as the carrier of the standard language ideology, the sociolinguistic ˙˙ order in the dominant language ideology is held in equilibrium at the macro-level in society. However, this equilibrium is thought to come under attack when the non-fushā forms, as in the ˙˙ case under consideration, is injected in domains that belong to the fushā, for example educa˙˙ tion. From an ideological point of view, this injection is treated as an act of transgression that undermines the socially sanctioned order in the language as we shall explain. We further contend that the historical depth of this hierarchical ordering of the two forms of the language, the fushā and the dārija, going back in history to pre-modern times, makes violations of the socially ˙˙ constructed divide between them, be they real or imagined, an occasion for ideological dueling in society. In cases of this kind, language is used as a proxy to speak about identity, authority, 147

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and the well-being of society. Language anxiety is related to this amalgam of social constructions in which the folk-linguistic view of the diglossic nature of the Arabic language situation is considered a social dictum. The main source of data for the analysis is the official statement published by the Ministry of National Education on its Facebook page and the corpus of metalinguistic comments it triggered. As discursive acts/events, these time-limited materials were analyzed to specify the main issues they raise which, in turn, guided the selection of the examples referenced in this study for illustrative purposes. The chapter is divided into three sections. In the next section, we briefly situate the Moroccan debate in its wider context. In the third section, we discuss the concept of “language ideological debates” to frame the structure and content of the Moroccan case. The final section concludes the chapter by reflecting on the nexus of diglossia, folk-linguistics, and language anxiety.

2.  The Moroccan language ideological debate The choice of the medium of instruction in North Africa generally and, particularly, in Morocco, has recently been the subject of debate (see Iddins 2015; Alalou 2018). At the start of the academic year in September  2018 it emerged that the primary school textbooks for Arabic contained some words borrowed from the Moroccan dārija. In spite of the paucity of these words, reported to be no more than eight, snapshots of the pages in which they appeared circulated on mainstream and social media networks, leading to a public debate about the matter by different stakeholders, including parents, teachers, linguistic experts, politicians, and businesspersons. The debate generated intense hostility from members of the public in which accusations of deliberate tampering with the linguistic order by government officials were voiced. The Ministry of National Education, Vocational Training, Higher Education and Scientific Research responded by issuing a statement on 4 September 2018 to answer these accusations and, so it seemed, to settle the controversy.1 The statement was published on its Facebook page but failed to achieve the desired outcome. In fact, it sparked public rebuke and generated around 664 comments and was shared 467 times in less than two weeks (see Figure 9.1). We will first reproduce this statement, followed by an English translation, before we select some responses from the public to be subjected to close analysis.

A clarification Following recently circulated social media and Internet responses to the use of some “dārija expressions” in the new elementary curriculum, the Ministry of National Education, Vocational Training, Higher Education and Scientific Research would like to clarify to the public at large and to those working in the educational field that the adoption of some proper nouns for Moroccan sweets, foods or items of clothing in the elementary stream was based on purely pedagogical grounds. Furthermore, the Ministry is aware of a French document, in which a poem in dārija, rendered in Arabic and Latin script has been in circulation, and it categorically denies that this document is derived from any approved/licensed curriculum. Based on these clarifications, the Ministry continues to call on educationists and all segments of society to mobilize, to ensure that the new academic year is a success; and to refuse to succumb to whatever may distract those concerned from making the [planned] reform workshops achieve their goals of improving the educational system and enhancing its returns.

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Diglossia, folk-linguistics

Figure 9.1 Official statement by the Ministry of National Education

This text is an “official” statement made by a formal institution of social reproduction on a social network (posted on its Facebook page) in the timely context of a public controversy over using dārija words in the new primary school curriculum. It is addressed to members of the public and educational specialists as its intended audience. The Ministry stated that the use of the names of Moroccan sweets, food, and items of clothing was motivated by purely pedagogical considerations. The Ministry categorically denied its approval of any document in French that contains a dārija verse written in Latin or Arabic script. The Ministry urged all educational agents and society at large to work for the success of the new academic year, and not to be distracted from the reform efforts it had initiated. The following examples, rendered here verbatim in their original script with accompanying translations in English, provide a snapshot of some of the major points of attack adopted by members of the public:

An English translation

Metalinguistic comments in Arabic ‫ما هي هذه المبررات البيداغوجية الصرفة؟؟‬

1

‫ اوال الدارجة ليست لغة ثانيا اذا كانت هناك مبررات ال نعلمها‬ ‫ اذا كان ابني سيذهب حامال كم هائل‬، ‫ فسروا لنا تلك المبررات‬ ‫ من  الكتب  ليتعلم  كيف  شكل  البغرير  فاحسن  له  ان  يبقى  في‬ ‫المنزل و يأكله ربما بحتفظ بصحته على االقل‬

2

What are these pure pedagogical justifications? First, dārija is not a language. Second, if there are justifications that we do not know, please tell us what they are. If my son goes to school carrying a load of books to be taught the shape of bughrīr [Moroccan crepe], it would be better for him to stay at home and eat it; at least by doing this he would save his health [energy].

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An English translation

Metalinguistic comments in Arabic

What are the pure pedagogical justifications behind this colloquial nonsense?

‫ ما هي المبررات البيداغوجية الصرفة التي كانت سببا وراء هذه‬ ‫ ؟؟؟؟‬. . . ‫ الخزعبالت العامية‬

3

The bughrīr [Moroccan crepe]  .  .  . the ħarsha [pan-fried bread). . . . The shabākia [Moroccan pastry]. . . . This is a joke!

‫ ومن الهم ما يضحك‬. . . .‫ الشباكية‬. . . ‫ الحرشة‬. . . ‫البغرير‬

4

Improving one’s language competence is achieved through the fushā not through the lan˙˙ guage of the alley-ways/street language [dārija].

‫التجويد بالترقي اللغوي الفصيح وليس باعتماد اللغة الزنقاوية‬

5

May God have mercy on the Arabic language, the language of the Holy Qur’an [euphemistically, the Arabic language is dead].

‫رحمة هللا على اللغة العربية لغة القران‬

6

I call on the ministry of rubbish/ignorance, who have corrupted education, to fear God in our sons and daughters. Did Abū al-ʿAlā’ Al-Maʿarrī (d. 1057) say “My father likes to bake”? Did Sībawayhi (d. 793) say “My mother is warming up her bones” [taking a shower]? Did Naguib Mahfouz (d. 2006) say “My mother likes to dig?” Is it plausible that a person would like backbreaking work!!

‫ ياوزارة التكليخ يا من أفسدو التعليم اتقوا هللا في ابنائنا هل قال‬ ‫ ابو العالء المعري ابي يحب ان يخبز هل قال سيبويه امي تسخن‬ ‫  عظيماتها هل قال نجيب محفوظ امي تحب ان تحفر هل يعقل ان‬ !!‫يحب المرء عمل شاق‬

7

There is no justification for introducing any dārija words for sweets or anything else, or to smuggle ideologies that do not align with the pure [Islamic] faith and the national conventions that do not conflict with Islam. To sum up, we should all be interested in education and the right way of doing things on which no one would differ.

‫ ال مبرر إلدراج كلمات درجة حلويات كانت او غيرها أو تمرير‬ ‫ بعض  األيديولوجيات  ال  تتماشى  مع  تعاليم  الدين  اإلسالمي  و‬ ‫ خالصة القول‬.‫ األعراف الوطنية التى ال تتنافى مع ديننا الحنيف‬ ‫اهتموا بالتعليم و التربية الصحيحة التي ال يختلف عليها اثنين‬

8

Intelligence cannot be developed by these methods.

‫تطوير الذكاء ال يتم بهذه الطرق‬

9

Instead of reinforcing the Arabic language and making it the language of communication at home and in the street, and more so in our schools, they are, instead, trying to submerge our identity, domesticate our children and create a new generation incapable of writing two correct lines in a simple style free of any spelling mistakes.

‫ بدل  ترسيخ  اللغة  العربية  وجعلها  لغة  تواصل  في  المنزل‬ ‫ والشارع  وهذا  أجدر  أن  يفرض  في  مدارسنا  ها  هم  يحاولون‬ ‫ طمس الهوية شيئا فشيئا وتدجين اطفالنا وخلق جيل ال يستطيع‬ ‫ كتابة  سطرين  كاملين  خاليين  من  األخطاء  اإلمالئية  وبأسلوب‬ ‫بسيط‬

10

This is wanton interference in and betrayal of our religion, history, and homeland.

‫هذا عبث وخيانة للدين والتاريخ والوطن‬

11

Fear God in the scientific Arabic language  .  .  . Moroccan ghrība [cookies], bughrīr and brīwāt [pastry] are home words children acquire from their families. You in the ministry of education should be concerned with academic and pedagogical attainment. However, you people hate scholarly criticism and seek to teach trivialities and mumbojumbo to lead us to the abyss. Allah is Sufficient for us, and He is the Best Disposer of affairs.

‫  ثم  إن  غرييبة‬. . . ‫ اتقوا  هللا  تعالى  في  اللغة  العربية  العلمية‬ ،‫ والبغرير  والبريوات  لغة  منزلية سيحصلها  الطفل  مع  عائلته‬ ‫ وأنتم في التربية الوطنية اهتموا بالتحصيل العلمي وبيداغوجيا‬ ‫ ولكنكم قوم تكرهون االنتقاد العلمي وتسعون‬،‫ التحصيل العلمي‬ ،‫ إلى  تدريس  التفاهات  والفراغات  التي  توصلنا  إلى  الهاوية‬ ‫حسبنا هللا تعالى ونعم الوكيل‬..

12

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An English translation

Metalinguistic comments in Arabic

We learn the dārija words for sweets while crawling. We do not need to learn them from an academic curriculum. The school should enlighten our minds with new concepts that motivate us to develop our knowledge. Every school year is worse than the previous one. This year, you have by your behavior paid tribute to the Zionist and LGBT lobbies to kill our identity, language and moral standards . . . God is our help and succor against you.

‫ الكلمات الدارجة للحلويات نتعلمها و نحن نمشي عى اربع ال‬ ‫  المدرسة  عليها  ان  تنور  عقولنا  بمفاهيم‬.‫ نحتاج  لمنهج  تعليني‬ ‫  دخول  مدرسي  اسؤأ  كل‬. . . ‫ جديدة  تلزمنا  لتطوير  معارفنا‬ ‫ شكرتم بطريقتكم هذه جهود لوبي‬،‫ هذه السنة‬.‫ سنة من سابقتها‬ ‫ حسبنا‬..‫ الصهاينة و لوبي الشواذ في قتل هويتنا و لغتنا و اخالقنا‬ ‫هللا فيكم‬

13

The leftist Zionists are tampering with education.

‫صهاينة اليسار يلعبون بالتعليم‬

14

You teach your children English and French literature and register them in French and American schools, but ours study this bullshit and the language of alleyways. Fear God in us and in our children, and do not forget the Day of Judgment at which you will be held accountable for [what you have done to] this poor nation.

‫ انتم تعلمون أبنائكم اآلداب الفرنسي و آداب انجليزي و تسجيلهم‬ ‫ في  البعثات  الفرنسية  و  أمريكية  و  أبنائنا  مكين  غير  وصفات‬ ‫ شميشة او عبارات زنقاوية اثقوا هللا فينا وفي ابنائنا وال تنسوا‬ ‫ انه يوجد يوم اسمه يوم الحساب و كلكم مسوؤووووووولن عن‬ ‫هذا شعب الضعيف‬

15

This may be the beginning of making the dārija official to replace the [standard] Arabic to finish off what is left of our identity.

‫ ربما هي البداية لترسيم الدارجة و إحاللها محل اللغة العربية‬ ‫لضرب ما تبقى من هويتنا‬

16

They have confirmed that the classrooms use Arabic and French as languages of instruction, but our ministry uses dārija terminologies.

‫ وقد  أكدوا  لنا  استعمال  لغة  التدريس  اللغة  الفرنسية  والعربية‬ ‫ بينما نجد وزارتنا هي التي استعملت‬.‫ داخل الفصول الدراسية‬ ‫مصطلحات بالدرجة‬

17

In the future, the Arabic language will become extinct – this is the pedagogical goal of the ministry of ignorance and donkey-like stupidity in this miserable country.

‫ في المستقبل اللغة العربية ستنقرض هذه هي البيداغوجية التي‬ ‫ تسعى  الى  تحقيقها  وزارة  التكليخ  واالستحمار  في  هذه  البالد‬ ‫التعيسة‬

18

‫اللغة العربية تشتكي منكم‬

19

The Arabic language is complaining about you.

We consider the official statement and the metalinguistic comments it triggered as exchanges in a language ideological debate in which the protection of the standard language as a symbolic resource in society is the primary target. We will sketch this perspective in broad outline in the next section.

3.  Language ideological debates as sites of contestation and language anxiety Drawing on the work of Blommaert (1999), we understand language debates as historically situated events or encounters involving different parties in a community, vying for control of, or influence over, the deployment of its linguistic resources to achieve ends of an extralinguistic nature, be they the defense of the existing socio-political order or the attempt to change it (Stroud 1999). This is in line with Gramsci’s view that “every time the question of language surfaces, in one way or another, it means that a series of other problems are coming to the fore” (1985: 183). In the Moroccan debate, we can identify two main parties: the Ministry 151

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of National Education, on one side, and the public, on the other. As historical moments of discursive construction in which language as a symbolic resource is the subject of contention, language ideological debates are occasions for doing politics by proxy (Suleiman 2013a, 2013b). The target of the debate in hand is public policy, modulated through the educational reform agenda of the state and the place of the standard language in it. The Moroccan debate is therefore about the right and limits of the power of the state to affect change in public policy and, conversely, the right of the public to resist this power. Read in this manner, the Moroccan debate is doubly extra-linguistic: it transcends both language as an object of study, and its place in the educational arena as a site of social reproduction. Language can perform this role because of the symbolic meanings it carries as a sign of identity in society, as is clear from the reference to this concept in the public comments. Under this reading, language ideological debates are political acts, with a small “p”, that point to the political loadings of language as a social resource. Participants in these debates may be itinerant lay linguists (Suleiman 2013a), or linguistic experts who claim authority in the topic of the debate, acting as brokers to (de) legitimize, perpetuate, subvert, or challenge the actions, policies, conditions, and structures that permeate society (Ross and Rivers 2019). In playing this role, ideological brokers draw on their folk understanding of how language should be used (Suleiman 2013a; Rymes and Leone 2014). We further contend that linguistic debates are shaped by the language ideologies of the community. Following Freeden’s (2003: 32) definition of political ideology, we take language ideology to mean the set of ideas, beliefs, opinions and values that exhibit a recurring pattern [in society and] are held by significant groups, [who deploy them to] compete over providing and controlling plans for public policy . . . with the aim of justifying, contesting or changing the social and political arrangements and processes of a community. We may add to this understanding of language ideology the fact that it assumes the status of “common sense” in the community (Verschueren 2012), making it a kind of social axiom that is in no need of empirical proof or validation (Suleiman 2013a, 2013b). It is this that endows language ideology with moral authority (Irvine 1989) and makes it an effective instrument of contestation in pursuit of public policy options (Friedrich 1989). The normative nature of language ideology thus acts as a bulwark against attempts to change the existing order in the socially reproductive institutions of society, education being a prime example as in the Moroccan case. In this case, the diglossic nature of Arabic is the main plank of a language ideology in which the High (fushā) and Low (dārija) forms of the language are ordered and normatively ˙˙ (though not in terms of real practice) distributed in terms of the domains which they instrumentally serve. In the field of education, textbooks are traditionally bound to a fushā-based lan˙˙ guage ideology that tolerates little or no competition from the dārija. Thus, the attempt to inject dārija words in a fushā-bound domain is considered a kind of ontological transgression which ˙˙ must be resisted to maintain the existing monoglot, standard-based language policy (Silverstein 1996), thus restoring the equilibrium at the heart of the dominant diglossic language ideology (comments 2, 4, 5, 8, 12, 13). Monoglot language ideologies organize symbolic resources into binary choices in terms of status and quality (e.g., pure vs impure; eloquent vs corrupt; formal vs informal), and thus seek to enforce marked linguistic boundaries systematically as indicated earlier. The diglossic arrangement of socially marked registers (e.g., standard vs dialect) into a polarizing hierarchy of “High vs Low” is sustained by this monoglot ideology (for a detailed discussion of “diglossia” see Ferguson 1959, 1991; Fishman 1967; Hudson 2002; Suleiman 2013a). The use of dārija words 152

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“out of context” is resisted by the arrangements inscribed in this ideology. The introduction of these words where they are thought not to belong is therefore considered an expression of a centrifugal conception of language variability in the educational domain. This inflection in linguistic practice works against the centripetal pull of monoglot language ideology towards the standard (for the discussion of these forces see Bakhtin 1981). The injection of the same words in the textbooks breaks another ideological taboo by infringing the integrity of the divide between the “oral” and the “orthographic” and, by extension, infusing the “fixity” of the orthographic with the “liquidity” of the oral. In addition, the fact that the words in question refer to aspects of the mundane and quotidian in everyday life – hence the references to the language of the home in the public comments (comments 2, 5, 12, 13) – seems to transgress by crossing the boundary between the formality associated with the educational field and the informality of daily life. It is therefore not surprising that, in the face of these transgressions, the public comments are infused with language anxiety as we shall discuss later. We also believe that language ideological debates are inseparable from language anxiety and consider this as a significant addition to the conceptualization of these debates. Language anxiety has two functions in these debates. On the one hand, it expresses a generalized and persistent fear about the fate of the language and the well-being of the group to which the language belongs. The Moroccan debate conforms to this understanding of language anxiety: the consistency of the strategies used to express this anxiety and the absence of any empirical validation for them is evidence of this (comments 6, 7, 10, 16, 18, 19). The fears expressed in the public comments are generally unjustified in empirical terms, but this is part of what makes language anxiety a generalized, rather than specific, form of anxiety or, more accurately, stress. On the other hand, language anxiety is future-oriented. It aims to marshal the support of the community in defense of the language to ensure its health, instrumentally, as a vibrant medium of communication. Language vitality is the main issue at stake here. In addition, language anxiety aims to secure the role of the language as a symbolic resource in identity construction and maintenance. In his study of language anxiety, Suleiman provides the following definition of this concept which we quote here in full (2014: 59): [Language anxiety refers to] heightened and generalized concerns about language that straddle the linguistic and extra-linguistic worlds, coming to the fore at times of stress, crisis, or conflict in society. Language anxiety is future oriented and demands vigilance to ensure that the perceived dangers it anticipates – the decline of the language both instrumentally and symbolically – do not come to pass, hence its role as a motivating factor in task-orientation in society. In this sense, language anxiety is anxiety about language (its communicative instrumentality in society) that goes beyond language (what it symbolizes socio-politically for the society in question). We believe that linguistic debates can take different forms, the most prominent of which emerge through a dynamic process of textual dueling between the parties in the debate. As discursive acts/events, linguistic debates have their own “aesthetic”, this being determined by the intensity of the debate. Some of the expressions used in the public comments in the Moroccan debate evince a stance of ridicule, and real or faked incredulity at the incompetence of the government officials as we shall explain later. As instruments of rebuttal or persuasion, these rhetorical stances, to be effective, need to resonate with the intended audiences. We contend that the demeaning tone in the Moroccan public comments reflect an attitude of some currency in society towards state officials as incompetent agents who cannot be trusted with the 153

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cultural-cum-political capital of the community, language being a part of this capital. In fact, the Minister of National Education during this debate, Sa‘īd Amzāzī, was dubbed bughrīr (Moroccan Crepe) to signal ridicule by the public.

4.  The Moroccan language ideological debate: a close reading Let us now turn to a close reading of the Ministry’s statement and the public comments we referenced earlier. However, before doing so we must enter the following caveats. First, we must acknowledge that we are dealing with a snapshot, or slice, of this debate without reference to the pre-debate interactions that gave rise to the Ministry’s statement. In a similar vein, we have not tracked the course of this debate beyond the two weeks following the publication of this statement. In spite of these time limitations, we believe that, owing to it being ideological, the main contours of the Moroccan debate and its content remain within the orbit of the following analysis. This is corroborated by Suleiman’s extended discussion of the conflict between the fushā and the dialects (2004: 58–95), albeit that this study was not framed from a language ˙˙ ideological-debate perspective. The Ministry’s statement names the dārija and French explicitly but not the fushā. In spite ˙˙ of this, the fushā is conspicuous by its absence. It is the “unmarked” category by reference to ˙˙ which the dārija and French are made textually visible. However, the textual (but not thematic) invisibility of the fushā needs an explanation. We believe that this avoidance strategy is used for ˙˙ tactical purposes: it helps avoid pitting the dārija against the revered fushā in any attempt to read ˙˙ the two forms of Arabic from an oppositional perspective. It further helps to avoid identifying the fushā as the only legitimate form of Arabic from an ideological standpoint, and therefore ˙˙ treating the dārija as a deviation from it. This interpretation is borne out by the public comments which are based on an oppositional understanding of the dārija in relation to fushā and ˙˙ al-lugha al-‘arabiyya (the Arabic language) in the public comments (comments 2, 5, 16), with the latter being used more frequently than the former as the bi-polar name for the dārija. In other words, the public comments restore to the fushā/al-lugha al-‘arabiyya the textual visibility it was ˙˙ denied in the Ministry’s statement (comments 5, 6, 10, 12, 16). Our interpretation is further borne out by the use of the dārija expressions/words in quotation marks in the Ministry’s statement. We believe that these marks perform two functions. On the one hand, they signal that this is a borrowed expression from those who opposed using the words concerned in the school textbooks, in what we called the pre-debate stage. On the other hand, these marks signal distance and equivocation on the part of the Ministry which implicitly refuses to consider them as purely dārija expressions. The statement implicitly considers the use of such expressions as part of its reform agenda of, implicitly again, the Arabic language curriculum; hence, the appeal to educationists and the public at large to mobilize to ensure that these reforms succeed. As far as the aesthetics of language ideological debates is concerned, we may therefore consider the play of textual visibility versus invisibility as part the “tug of war” in dueling between competing ideological brokers. Let us now turn to the reference to French in the Ministry’s statement. French is not a neutral ideological player in the Moroccan linguistic scene. Monoglot language ideology considers it to be a competitor of the fushā by virtue of the socio-economic prestige it carries in ˙˙ society and its links with modernization. This is explicitly signaled in comment 15. However, the Ministry’s statement avoids this ideological framing of the language. Instead, it refers to its use as a medium to circulate a verse in the dārija that is rendered in Arabic and Latin scripts. By rejecting the claim that the document circulating this verse originated in the Ministry, the statement circumvents a three-pronged attack: sanctioning a verse in the dārija in violation 154

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of the standard/monoglot ideology; committing this verse to writing via the Latin script in violation of the long-standing orthographic convention of using the Arabic script; and, using French, the language of the former colonizer, to promote these practices to undermine the authority of the fushā. The reference to French is important because it signals the reference to ˙˙ outside interference in language ideological debates involving Arabic, harking back to colonial times. This trope of outside interference responds to the stereotypical recourse to conspiracy theory as an explanation for the malaise infecting Arab political and social life (Suleiman 2013b). By rejecting that it has anything to do with the putative French document, the Ministry rejects that it is part of any conspiracy to undermine the monoglot standard language ideology. The avoidance strategy mentioned earlier is further marked by the absence of any specification of the “purely pedagogical grounds” underlying the use of the dārija words. As the official purveyor of a “scientific view” of language, the Ministry accords itself the right to speak ex cathedra without the requirement to provide explanation or justification. The public comments challenge the entitlement to authority at the heart of this stance with the counter-authority of the standard language ideology, thus appointing themselves as the guardians of this authority against a transgressing state. In this respect, the public comments confirm the observation that “attitudes of linguists (professional scholars of language) have little or no effect on the general public, who continue to look at dictionaries, grammars and handbooks as authorities on ‘correct’ usage” (Milroy and Milroy 1985: 6). Thus, comments 1, 2, 3 ask about the Ministry’s reasons for using the dārija words, while comment 8 denies that there could be any grounds for the inclusion of these words in the textbooks. By withholding information, the Ministry raises the suspicion of the public who provide their own interpretation of what the intention behind these words is. If the intention is improvement of the curriculum, the comments deny that this could be achieved by recourse to the “language of the alley-ways” (comments 5, 15), or by the “nonsense” (comment 2) and “trivialities [or] mumbo-jumbo” (comment 12) promulgated by the Ministry. We interpret the public’s stance as an aspect of language purism in the educational field which, we contend, is a strong strand of monoglot/standard language ideology, making it an effective site of attack and resistance in language ideological debates. It is worth noting here that linguistic purism (Thomas 1991) is inseparable from school orthographic literacy and questions of national identity (for a detailed discussion of the politics of writing in the Arab world see Høigilt and Mejdell 2017). In addition, linguistic purism is considered as a strategy for preventing the production of a dysfunctional generation (comments 5, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13). Furthermore, the attempt to purify the textbooks from “corruption” is an important dimension of the centripetal force of monoglot/standard language ideology which, in this case, invokes a deep understanding of the Arabic language situation that is akin to Ferguson’s understanding of diglossia in bi-polar terms (1959, 1991): despite the complexity of actual linguistic practice, the public “imagine” Arabic in dichotomous terms with fushā and dārija occupying mutually ˙˙ exclusive domains of use. The technology of writing contributes to this understanding, wherein the dārija is seen as corrupt because it is ideologically correlated with orality in comparison with the fushā ˙˙ which is projected as “pure” because of its association with alphabetical literacy. The cultural effect of writing on the way fushā is viewed is further correlated with the “relative stabil˙˙ ity” Ferguson ascribes to it (1959, 1991). This stability is buttressed by the institutionalization and textualization conferred on it through education; hence the importance of school textbooks as an arena in the Moroccan debate. To this we may add that the dārija words are considered as “out of place” in these textbooks because they violate the constraints of 155

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“domain” and “status” imposed on them by the standard/monoglot language ideology. Members of the public in the Moroccan language debate conceptualize the dārija as “home language”, directly or indirectly (comments 2, 12, 13), exhibiting in this respect a sociolinguistic competence that, normatively, assigns it to informal domains of language use as ordained in the standard language ideology. The public comments base their arguments on other grounds. Instrumentally, as exemplars of the dārija, the “offending” words are not compatible with scientific progress (comments 5, 9, 10, 12, 13) which, by implication, is projected as the domain of the fushā. Symbolically, these ˙˙ words are thought to be antithetical to a conception of Moroccan identity in which Islam is an important marker (comments 6, 8, 11, 12, 15). Comment 11 declares the use of the dārija words as “wanton interference in, and betrayal of, our religion, history, and homeland”. The culprits in this effort are said to be “Zionists of the left who tamper with [our] education” (comment 14), peddling ideologies that run counter to the “pure faith and the national conventions that do not conflict with Islam” (comment 8). The aim of these culprits is said to be the codification of the dārija for use in place of the fushā to strike against all that has remained of Moroccan ˙˙ identity (comment 16). As a result of the Ministry’s pedagogic stance, the Arabic language (read fushā) will become extinct (comment 18). And, instead of enjoying the Ministry’s support, the ˙˙ Arabic language is complaining against it (comment 19). Consistent with the notion of dueling in language ideological debates as discursive acts/ events, let us now consider the rhetorical devices the public used in their comments. One device is the recourse to ridicule or scorn as evidenced by the expressions “colloquial nonsense” (comment 3) and “language of the alley-ways” (comments 5, 15) to refer to the dārija words; and, “ministry of rubbish/ignorance” (comments 7, 18) to refer to the Ministry of National Education. Another device is the resort to political and cultural outing of the presumed enemy as in the use of “Zionist lobby” (comment 13) and “leftist Zionists” (comment 14) to refer to Ministry of National Education officials; and, “the LGBT lobby” (comment 13) for the same purpose. Another device is the rhetorical “animalizing” of the enemy to describe the Ministry officials as “donkeys” (comment 18). In Arab culture, the word “donkey” is used metaphorically to denote stupidity when referring to human beings. However, the expression wizārat al-istiħmār is a clever coinage for two reasons. On the one hand, it describes the Ministry’s main task to be that of using education to make people stupid, or donkey-like according to cultural norms. On the other hand, the expression istiħmār seems to be coined by analogy with isti‘mār (colonialism). This makes the Ministry of National Education a “ministry of colonialism”. According to this, the Ministry acts as a foreign occupying power that imposes its will on the people, for its own sinister purposes, through coercion and illegitimate force. Finally, comment 19 uses intertextuality to refer to the iconic poem by the Egyptian Ĥāfiż Ibrāhīm (1872–1932) “The Arabic Language Laments/Bewails its Fortune among Its People” to describe the treatment of the fushā at the hands of the Ministry of National Education. This ˙˙ poem describes the pitiful state of the language at the beginning of the twentieth century (1903) at a time of national gestation in Egypt, but it has continued to be popular to this day, as is evident from its circulation on the Internet and the many titles it has received, most of which revolve around the idea of “complaining” (Suleiman 2013b: 110–119). The poem describes the fushā to be under attack from the inside by its own sons, and from the outside by the forces ˙˙ of colonialism (as represented by the British at the time). Approached from a different angle, the fushā is pictured to be under attack from the colloquials and the European languages. The ˙˙ poem warns that should these attacks continue, Arabic would wither and die. Considering the subject matter of this poem and some of the themes raised in the public comments, it is not surprising that the author of comment 19, who must be immersed in Arabic culture as 156

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an ideological broker, has chosen to invoke Ĥāfiż Ibrāhīm in dueling with the Ministry of National Education. The close reading of the Moroccan language debate shows that it is permeated by anxiety about the fate of the fushā. The cavalier attitude of the Ministry of National Education towards ˙˙ the binary divide between the fushā and dārija is the source of this anxiety which, as we have ˙˙ stated, is an integral part of language ideological debates. The Ministry’s attitude, camouflaged as a scientific stance based on pedagogic considerations, is questioned by the public who play the role of ideological brokers, yielding in this the monoglot, standard language anxiety into which they are acculturated. The public accuse the Ministry of endangering the instrumental efficacy of the fushā as a medium of progress (comments 5, 9, 10, 12, 13), leading to its demise ˙˙ (comments 16, 18). And they charge the Ministry with undermining the ability of the fushā to ˙˙ serve as a symbolic marker of their identity with its Islamic inflection (comments 6, 8, 11, 12, 15). In all of this, the public are animated by a folk-linguistics in which the relationship between the fushā and the dārija is conceptualized in binary terms. ˙˙

5.  Conclusion: diglossia, folk-linguistics, and language anxiety We have argued that the Moroccan language ideological debate is premised on a binary view of the Arabic language situation into fushā and dārija, and that this binarity is essentially diglossic ˙˙ in the Fergusonian sense (1959, 1991). In advancing this argument we are aware of the many critiques of the “di-” in Ferguson’s diglossia which, we are told, essentializes dynamic and hybrid linguistic practice into a dichotomy of language varieties, the High (fushā) and the Low ˙˙ (dārija) in the case in hand. In response, critics of Ferguson’s diglossia proposed different ways of capturing the liquidity of the Arabic language situation without ditching the “glossia” model, using terms such as “tri-glossia”, “poly-glossia”, “tetra-glossia”, “multi-glossia” to describe the variation on the continuum between the High and the Low (see Kaye 1994). Others such as Badawi (1973) tried to capture this liquidity through a taxonomy of language use into “levels”. We contend that users of the language (as Ferguson calls them, 1991: 226) are aware of the complexity of the Arabic language situation, and that the various modes and categories of describing the liquidity of this situation proposed by professional linguists may resonate with these users (see Theodoropoulou and Tyler 2014 for the application of this knowledge in perceptual dialectology). But, paradoxically, we also contend that the overarching understanding of the Arabic language situation for the users of the language remains diglossic in nature. The sharp distinction between fushā and dārija in this local view is part of a linguistic reality which, ˙˙ we argue, professional linguistics cannot ignore in spite of the undeniable liquidity of that reality. What is needed therefore is a model that can capture liquidity and binarity at the same time. This leads us to argue that while Ferguson’s diglossia may be judged to be wanting from the perspective of the professional linguist, it still has validity when considered from the perspective of the users of the language. The Moroccan language ideological debate is one example of this paradox. At the ideological level, it works through binarity. At the level of practice, which is the primary concern of the professional linguist, this binarity is instrumentally infringed by the use of intermediate forms of the language between the High and Low in the public comments to argue for upholding the binarity in hand. This paradox is further exemplified from the other side by the use of the fushā in the Ministry of National Education statement to advance ˙˙ an alternative ideological perspective, albeit tentatively, that does not abide by the principle of binarity. In other words, one can argue for upholding or breaking the binarity between the fushā and dārija, but, for the “users of the language”, the binarity as an ideological construct ˙˙ remains a “fact” of their linguistic reality. We believe that this argument is essentially in line with 157

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Ferguson’s comment in his 1991 paper, “Diglossia Revisited”, when he comments on his 1959 study of diglossia as follows: I recognized the existence of intermediate forms and mentioned them briefly in [my 1959] article, but I felt then and still feel that in the diglossia case the analyst finds two poles in terms of which the intermediate varieties can be described; there is no third pole. Also the users of the language in a diglossia situation typically deal with it attitudinally as a two-term relation and use metalinguistic labels that refer to the two poles and ‘mixed’ or ‘in-between’ varieties. (1991: 226, emphasis added) Ferguson’s statement “there is no third pole” is an assertion of binarity which, we contend, structures and animates the Moroccan language ideological debate, in spite of the existence of “intermediate varieties”. Without this binarity there would be no debate. We also believe that Ferguson’s framing of this binarity as “attitudinal” is in line with our description of language ideology stated earlier. In this respect, the binarity is part of the “set of ideas, beliefs, opinions and values that exhibit a recurring pattern” among the language users that, additionally, are brought to bear on a public policy issue in the educational field with the intention of upholding the status quo in society (Freeden 2003: 32). Therefore, instead of ditching this binarity as many professional linguists would rightly argue for on the basis of linguistic practice, we call for its preservation and application in a more inclusive sociolinguistics in which language ideologies must be an integral part. To capture the local perspective on its own terms, we need to reformulate our research strategy by adding a much-needed folk-linguistic dimension to language ideological debates as a conceptual/explanatory category (Niedzielski and Preston 2000). A folk-linguistic dimension allows us to capture ethnographically “the range of views and attitudes people have about their language, including its origin and the myths surrounding it” which are ideological in nature, in line with the understanding of ideology we propose here (Suleiman 2013a: section  11.2, para. 1). This folk-linguistic perspective can help us access the ideological orientations and assumptions of the language users, and the ways they structure the verbal repertoires of the members of both the “speech” and “language” communities which we must theorize as distinct but overlapping concepts in the Arabic language situation (Suleiman 2008). A point of departure for this folk-linguistics is the insiders’ views of their language situation which situates it in its socio-political world. Impregnated with language ideology, this folk-linguistics can be used as an effective dueling instrument, as in the Moroccan language debate, to challenge the power and authority invested in the agents of the state, with the purpose of resisting change in public policy. In the Moroccan case, folk-linguistics is pitted against a “scientific” view of language (what may be called professional linguistics) that does not fully subscribe to the binarity principle. The infringement, consisting of eight words, is quantitatively miniscule, but the extra-linguistic consequences imputed to it, as described in the preceding section, seem to be qualitatively enormous in comparison. From a rational perspective, it would be unreasonable to argue that the mere introduction of eight words in the primary school textbooks could lead to consequences that threaten faith, homeland and history, or the extinction of the fushā as ˙˙ the public comments proclaim. In short, the means cannot achieve the ends; or, alternatively, the ends are out of all proportion to the means. What matters here is not the materiality of the Ministry’s infringement, but its symbolic loading in the extra-linguistic world. When the presumed consequences of a given linguistic act are gigantically out of scale in relation to the means that are assumed to bring these consequences about in the extra-linguistic 158

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world, we can speak of linguistic anxiety in the community. This is the case in the Moroccan language debate. There is, strictly speaking, no way that the apocalyptic scenario painted in the public comments – hence the talk about the “abyss” and “extinction” – could be achieved through the materially insignificant action of the Ministry of National Education. The equation simply does not stack. However, this is the wrong perspective to engage here. In situations of language anxiety, symbolism trumps materiality. The public perceive the language and its symbolic loadings in society to be under attack. Being future-oriented, language anxiety is invoked to defend the materiality of language as an instrument of communication and, more importantly, its symbolic value as a marker of the nation and the homeland. In the Moroccan debate, the fushā had to be defended as the means of scientific progress, ethical mooring in ˙˙ society and as an index of the nation. A professional linguist has no or little interest in this view of language. A sociolinguistics of the kind we envisage here would take this perspective on language seriously because it links it to public policy and the way a language community imagines itself. As a theoretical construct, language ideological debates provide a framework for studying the links language can contract with public policy. But for them to do so, they need to accommodate a folk-linguistics perspective and be further linked to language anxiety. In addition, as discursive acts/events they need to be analyzed closely to identify the strategies and tropes in which they are couched to deliver their persuasive power. The discussion in this chapter has been framed with these theoretical impulses in mind.

Note 1 www.facebook.com/217195898394205/ (accessed 8 September 2018).

References Alalou, Ali (2018). The Question of Languages and the Medium of Instruction in Morocco. Current Issues in Language Planning, 19(2): 136–160. Badawi, Alsa‘id (1973). Mustawayaat al-‘arbiyya al-mu‘aasira fii misr [Levels of contemporary Arabic in Egypt]. Cairo: Daar Al-Ma‘aarif. Bakhtin, Mikhail (1981). The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays by M. M. Bakhtin, edited by Michael Holquist, translated by Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist. Austin: University of Texas Press. Blommaert, Jan (1999). The Debate Is Open. In Jan Blommaert (ed), Language Ideological Debates (pp. 1–38). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Ferguson, Charles (1959). Diglossia. Word, 15: 325–340. Ferguson, Charles (1991). Diglossia Revisited. Southwest Journal of Linguistics, 10(1): 214–234. Fishman, Joshua (1967). Bilingualism With and Without Diglossia; Diglossia With and Without Bilingualism. Journal of Social Issues, 23(2): 29–38. Freeden, Michael (2003). Ideology: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Friedrich, Paul (1989). Language, Ideology, and Political Economy. American Anthropologist, 91(2): 295–312. Gramsci, Antonio (1985). Selections from Cultural Writings (trans. W. Boelhower). London: Lawrence and Wishart. Høigilt, Jacob and Gunvor Mejdell (eds) (2017). The Politics of Written Language in the Arab World: Writing Change. Leiden: Brill. Hudson, Alan (2002). Outline of a Theory of Diglossia. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 157: 1–48. Iddins, Annemarie (2015). Debating dārija: Telquel and Language Politics in Modern Morocco. Media, Culture and Society, 37(2): 288–301. Irvine, Judith (1989). When Talk Isn’t Cheap: Language and Political Economy. American Ethnologist, 16(2): 248–267. Kaye, Alan (1994). Formal vs. Informal in Arabic: Diglossia, Triglossia, Tetraglossia, etc., Polyglossia – Multiglossia Viewed as a Continuum. Zeitschrift für Arabische Linguistik, 27: 47–66.

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Yasir Suleiman and Ashraf Abdelhay Milroy, James and Lesley Milroy (1985). Authority in Language: Investigating Language Prescription and Standardization. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Niedzielski, Nancy and Dennis Preston (2000). Folk Linguistics. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Ross, Andrew and Damian Rivers (eds) (2019). Discourses of (De)legitimization: Participatory Culture in Digital Contexts. New York: Routledge. Rymes, Betsy and Andrea Leone (2014). Citizen Sociolinguistics: A New Media Methodology for Understanding Language and Social Life. Working Papers in Educational Linguistics, 29(2): 25–43. Silverstein, Michael (1996). Monoglot ‘Standard’ in America: Standardization and Metaphors of Linguistic Hegemony. In Donald Brenneis and Roland Macaulay (eds), The Matrix of Language: Contemporary Linguistic Anthropology (pp. 284–306). Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Stroud, Christopher (1999). Portuguese as Ideology and Politics in Mozambique: Semiotic (Re)constructions of a Postcolony. In Jan Blommaert (ed), Language Ideological Debates (pp. 343–380). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Suleiman, Yasir (2004). A War of Words: Language and Conflict in the Middle East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Suleiman, Yasir (2008). Egypt: From Egyptian to Pan-Arab Nationalism. In Andrew Simpson (ed), Language and National Identity in Africa (pp. 26–43). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Suleiman, Yasir (2013a). Arabic Folk Linguistics: Between Mother Tongue and Native Language. In Jonathan Owens (ed), The Oxford handbook of Arabic Linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI:10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199764136.013.0011 Suleiman, Yasir (2013b). Arabic in the Fray: Language Ideology and Cultural Politics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Suleiman, Yasir (2014). Arab(ic) Language Anxiety: Tracing a ‘Condition’. Al-Arabiyya: Journal of the American Association of Teachers of Arabic, 47: 57–81. Theodoropoulou, Irene and Joseph Tyler (2014). Perceptual Dialectology of the Arab World: A Principal Analysis. Al-‘Arabiyya: Journal of the American Association of Teachers of Arabic, 47: 21–39. Thomas, George (1991). Linguistic Purism. London: Longman. Verschueren, Jef (2012). Ideology in Language Use: Pragmatic Guidelines for Empirical Research. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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10 THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE EGYPTIAN NATIONAL IDENTITY AT TIMES OF CONFLICT Amira Agameya In the past several years, Egypt has been witnessing an escalation in terrorist attacks, often committed by Islamic militants against Coptic Christians, tourists, army and police personnel, and recently even Muslim worshipers. The increase in these attacks and their effect on the country’s social and economic wellbeing has unnerved, angered and puzzled many Egyptians. As a consequence, and in trying to make sense of the nature of the people who can perpetrate such horrors, writers in the daily Egyptian papers have reflected on the essence of Egyptian identity. This is because “identities come to the fore under conditions of stress, conflict and lack of security, which is often the case in national identity at times of historical, social or political crisis” (Suleiman, 2006, 51). In reaction to these troubling events, many writers have attempted to make sense of these events, often by reflecting on the identity of the true Egyptians and, by implication denouncing the identity of those who would commit such horrors on their own people. Such reflection has led some to also suggest ways to recreate or reinvent Egyptian identity. Against this backdrop, the topic I address in this paper, therefore, is how the media constructs the Egyptian national identity at times of conflict. As human beings living in a society, we have several identities. According to Bucholtz and Hall (2005, 586; 2009, 18) “Identity is the social positioning of self and other,” which means that it is “a discursive construct that emerges in interaction” (587). Depending on the interactional context and our relation to the interlocutor, different aspects of our personal identity emerge. When we align ourselves with human or even animal suffering in some place in the world, we are displaying our global human identity. We also have a national or cultural identity, which “include(s) a range of potential avowed and ascribed categorizations and roles, such as nationality, ethnicity, religion, gender” (Handford, 2014, 42). National identity takes form when it overrides personal identity, thereby resulting in people acting as members of a group (Van Stekelenburg, 2014). In general, citizens strive to defend their country against criticism. This is because “people derive a sense of self-value from their membership in national groups, they tend to engage in tactics that serve to protect the image of that national group” (Gilmore, 2014, 306); but also see Gilmore et al. (2013). What this suggests is that by protecting one’s national identity, one is, in fact, protecting one’s own identity (Gilmore, 2014), that is, one’s national identity is an integral component of one’s personal identity.

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The common identity shared by a group of people has to have some “symbolic markers that underpin their identities, e.g. language, religion or dress” (Suleiman, 2003, 27), but it is language that is often a marker of identity or even an act of identity (Mair, 2003). The Arabic language, however, is not used to anchor Egyptian identity in the data examined here, perhaps because the Arabic language is taken for granted as the language of communication in Egyptian newspapers and the writers seek features that are more defining of national identity. The strength of these markers depends on the symbolic significance members of a community attach to these symbols (Del Olmo and Xifra, 2017). Some symbols are overt signs that signal identity, such as Islamic dress, for example, since traditionally religion is a dominant feature of Egyptian identity. Other symbols are more covert and are integral parts of the cultural heritage of a community, such as Egypt’s ancient civilization. Identity can also be signified by other components such as shared cultural and geographical space. Another component, also traditionally presented as a core value of Egyptian identity, is Arabness. This derives from the fact that Arabic is the language of Quran and the role the Arabic language has played as a unifying communication system across the Arab world, despite the fact that locally each Arab country has its own vernacular variety. (For an overview of the complex relation between Classical and the local vernacular varieties of Arabic and conceptions of speakers as well as how language is manipulated as a political lever, see Haeri, 2000. For a different perspective on the ideology associated with the different regional vernacular Arabic varieties, see Hachimi (2013). As a sociolinguistic construct, identity is taken to emerge and gain social meaning during interaction (Bucholtz and Hall, 2005) or through verbalizing experiences in oral narratives (Schiffrin, 1996). Newspaper writing is essentially interactional, since the writer is communicating with the reader; in this particular context both are disconcerted by the terrorist attacks that have led to the loss of many innocent lives. However, the nature of interaction between writer and reader is different from situations where individuals interact face-to-face and a version of their identity evolves. In this medium of communication, the writer is sharing his or her own reflection or opinion with the reader and leaving it to the reader to agree or disagree with the writer. We will find that in the media, writers – in trying to unite the nation against these terrorist attacks and in their contemplation of Egypt’s national identity – invoke Egypt’s glorious history. Anchoring identity in history is a common theme in the literature on identity since history makes possible “the restoration of collective dignity through an appeal to a golden age” (Smith, 1991, 163). It is no surprise, hence, that writers invoke Egypt’s history in situations of conflict, since what makes Egypt exceptional is its long history and great civilization. Other aspects of identity include notions such as religion and language. But as we will see in the analysis and discussion sections, the Islamic religion seems to be a dimension of the problem. On the other hand, language in this particular situation is no more than a medium of communication, i.e. a communication tool that mediates the way identity is perceived and presented by newspaper writers. Research on national identity agrees on a number of principles or variables that converge to form national identity. These variables include “genealogy, age, gender, sexuality, class, occupation, locality (be it regional, district, village and so on), tribe, religion, confession or sect, ethnicity, nationality or state citizenship” (Suleiman, 2003, 6). Suleiman adds language to these variables, specifically Arabic in the case of Arab national identity (see also Albirini, 2016, for a similar argument). In support of Suleiman’s argument and in the context of Arab nationalist discussion, the Arabic language takes center stage in most research on identity (see for example, Bassiouney, 2014; Benkharafa, 2013; Zabarah, 2012, among others). Due to the fact that the present study is set at such a point in Egypt’s history, where domestic conflict dominates the political scene, features other than language seem to dominate the discussion of the Egyptian 162

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identity, with the result that, as mentioned, Arabic is no more than the tool that mediates between writers’ ideas and their readers. When a group of people shares “a presumed common culture and a set of traditional values which provide the basis for group-mobilization in the political sphere” (Suleiman, 2003, 24), these values can be invoked to mobilize public opinion. This is supported by the texts under examination in this study, in which cultural and historical values are invoked to construct national identity. At the individual level, by contrast and depending on the interactional situation, individuals “may linguistically mobilize different identity forms for varying purposes, and they may construct and reconstruct various identity forms based on changing contextual factors” (Albirini, 2016, 65). As a consequence, Albirini argues that “context-specific factors involved in the social construction of identity” (ibid.) should be taken into consideration when researching identity. Albirini’s argument can be extended to public discourse, e.g. newspaper discourse, since the particular context of writing is influencing the way Egyptian writers construct Egyptian national identity. According to Albirini (2016), Egyptian national identity in its modern form was developed in the nineteenth century by Rifaa’a Al-TahaTaawi, who “maintained that loyalty should not be directed to ethnic background or religion, but to the ‘homeland’ ” because “the homeland is the space where members of the nation belong, live, and acquire their rights” (129). In the context of national identity, there are factors that can influence the way people perceive their identity. Among these are political convictions, ethnicity, race and religious affiliation. Religion may become an identity marker when a person’s perception of his/her relation to others is based on their spiritual beliefs (Albirini, 2016, 141). This is not the same as when an individual may identify him- or herself by their religion, without considering this religion as an identity marker. Albirini (2016), however, points out that religion is an important marker of self-identification in the Arab world and, as a consequence, the Islamic religion and the Arabic language are closely interconnected due to the fact that Arabic is the language of the Quran. Within the same nation, minority groups may not have the same strong national feeling as the majority, for example, if this group does not attach the same value to markers of national identity. This is particularly obvious when these groups are physically removed from their home society. Egyptian Copts, for instance, particularly when living in other societies are more likely to adapt linguistically than Egyptian Muslims living under the same conditions. In support of this, a study by Gogonas (2012) on language maintenance found that second-generation Egyptians in Greece are more likely to maintain Arabic in household communication if they come from a Muslim background, compared to those who come from Coptic families. This finding is interesting because it emphasizes the fact that even though Coptic second-generation Egyptians may identify themselves as Egyptian, how they perceive or index their identity can be based on a sub-collection of the components that make up Egyptian identity. It also suggests that religious belief is ingrained in all Egyptians as “a core value” forming their identity (Gogonas, 2012, 114) and that religion is in many cases a determinant of affiliation, with Muslims perceiving Arabic as the language of their holy scriptures and therefore are more attached to it as part of their identity. This is not the case for Copts. Thus, within Egypt there are sub-communities, whereby for Egyptian Muslims Arabic is one of the core ingredients of their identity, i.e. Arabic embodies the Islamic religion (Haeri, 2000), but that may not be the case for Egyptian Christians. It should be emphasized, however, that while living side by side in the same country, language, i.e. Arabic, is one of the most important core values that pull all Egyptians together. In the setting in which Gogonas conducted his study, both groups of Egyptians were removed from Egypt, which suggests that having to use the national language does not offer people an option; when another language is an option for communication, Arabic will be abandoned at least by some. 163

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In addition to language and religion as fundamental components of identity that can unify or divide a group of people, political views and affiliations can play a similar role. In autocratic countries, the voice of the other is suppressed and persecuted and those who have opposite views are excluded. This sub-community may perceive of its identity differently, whereby exclusion and persecution can result in making certain groups in their country an enemy – a viable target. This might well be the motive of radical and fundamentalist groups in committing terrorist attacks that have targeted Coptic Christians, army and police personnel, and Muslim civilians. But the reasons behind the rise of terrorism in Egypt are not under study in this paper. Rather it is how writers in their attempt to make sense of a precarious reality have positioned themselves from these events by reflecting on the Egyptian national identity. The fact that religion is the element that triggered these incidents has disconcerted many Egyptians, including these writers. This is no surprise since research has indicated that religion is an ideological component of identity (Albirini, 2016; Omoniyi and Fishman, 2006). Yet, in rejecting and condemning the acts of terror committed in the name of religion, Egyptian writers seem to have taken an essentialist approach to describing Egyptian identity, i.e. “that the attributes and behavior of socially defined groups can be determined and explained by reference to cultural and/or biological characteristics believed to be inherent to the group” (Bucholtz, 2003, 400).

Texts for analysis To explore how identity is indexed, hence conceptualized, in Egyptian daily newspapers, I searched for (al-hawiyya), i.e. the Arabic word for identity, in the archives of three Egyptian dailies: Al-Ahram (http://gate.ahram.org.eg), Almasry Alyoum (www.almasryalyoum.com/) and Alshorouk (www.shorouknews.com/). The first is the official state-owned daily and the second and third are the independent, private dailies considered to have most distribution. The Al-Ahram had 388 hits; Almasry Alyoum 3,527, and Alshorouk 7,440 hits. Since the focus of this paper has been on conceptualizations of Egyptian identity, I had to limit myself to opinion pages, where writers reflected on this topic. It should be noted also that examining other sections in which al-hawiyya appeared did not render any contextualized results. I also decided to limit the time span to reflections published between 2014 and 2107. This is because the purpose of my paper was to examine such conceptualizations in light of recent events in Egypt. Skimming through the different sections, I found most occurrences occurred in speeches in which politicians used identity as a political tool to allow them to condemn certain groups – mainly Islamists – in a fragmented manner and where no reflection on identity was attempted. So, I decided that the most appropriate texts were articles published in opinions pages. These were not many, but they were the most promising because they offered authors’ reflections on Egyptian identity. Articles in opinion pages were of two types, either general reflections on Egyptian identity or reactionary reflections to terrorist attacks committed post 2011. There was a total of 14 such articles published between 2014 and 2017 in the three dailies – three of which were discarded because they lacked coherence in the way they presented identity. In one article, for instance, the writer argued that the Egyptian identity should be promoted in the Egyptian foreign policy without explanation. Another argued that the true Egyptian identity was that of the newly elected president in 2014 – again without justification. Five of the remaining articles were general descriptions of the Egyptian identity. These were interesting in that they provided a good base for how some writers perceived Egyptian identity and help identify how politicohistorical events have influenced the way writers perceived identity. The rest of the articles were reactions to current events in which the writers reflected on Egyptian identity in light of these events. The excerpts presented, hence, comprise 11 articles which were either general 164

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reflections on Egyptian identity or reactionary reflections to current events and terrorists attacks committed in Egypt. Two of the articles were published in Al-Ahram, three in Almasry Alyoum and six in Alshorouk. The lack of balance reflects the fact that Alshorouk published what I thought were the most reflective articles on the topic. General descriptions are presented first, followed by reactionary ones. These texts are representative of how Egyptian writers conceptualize Egyptian identity since they have been published within the same time span, come from a specific section in the three dailies, namely, opinion pages and also since they represent views published in both state-owned and private newspapers.

Analytical framework In this study, Bucholtz and Hall’s (2005) framework for analyzing identity is adopted, together with their definition of identity as “the social positioning of self and other” (586). The advantage of Bucholtz and Hall’s framework lies in the fact that it combines cultural and social factors with linguistic features in the representation of identity. Their framework consists of five principles: emergence, positionality, indexicality, relationality and partialness. The emergence principle argues against a static and pre-existing view of identity and presents identity instead as a construct that develops and transforms based on the dynamics of the interactional situation. Positionality proposes that “Identities encompass (a) macro-level demographic categories; (b) local, ethnographically specific cultural positions; and (c) temporary and interactionally specific stances and participant roles” (592). In the same interactional situation, Bucholtz and Hall point out, interactants take different positions, which makes it necessary, when performing an analysis, that one consider “multiple facets in order to achieve a more complete understanding of how identity works” (593). Their third principle is indexicality, which focuses on the way interactants position themselves in interaction through using linguistic expressions that convey a speaker’s stance, hence identity. Relationality, the fourth principle, assumes that “Identities are intersubjectively constructed through several, often overlapping, complementary relations, including similarity/difference, genuineness/artifice, and authority/delegitimacy” (598). Relationality is realized through “tactics of intersubjectivity,” i.e. what they term adequation (foregrounding similarities and downplaying differences) and distinction (focusing on the identity relation of differentiation and suppression of similarity) (599–600). Another pair used as a tactic of intersubjectivity is authentication and denaturalization, where denaturalization draws attention to “the ways in which identity is crafted, fragmented, problematic, or false” (602). These are employed when “an identity violates ideological expectations” (602). The last pair that falls under intersubjective relations is authorization and illegitimation. Of these, illegitimation is relevant to the discourse under analysis here, as it focuses on “the ways in which identities are dismissed, censored, or simply ignored” (603). Their fifth and last principle is partialness, which assumes the partialness of all representations of culture. A similar approach is adopted by Bassiouney (2014), who conceives of “language as a social process and social practice” (39). Her approach to the analysis of public discourse includes positioning, stance and indexicality, as the main elements of analysis. Similar to Suleiman (2003) and Albirini (2016), Bassiouney assigns a central role to language in the expression of identity; however, unlike both researchers who perceive Arabic as an ingredient of pan-Arab and regional Arab identities, Bassiouney takes language to be a resource that is employed “as a classification category” (50) and as a tool for expressing stance. In her approach, language in general is taken to be a communication code that is utilized to achieve an end. This code could be Arabic or English, with each playing a role in projecting an aspect of identity. Choice of code and switching between codes, she contends, index attitudes and ideologies. Reaction to code-choice, for 165

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example, can project a speaker’s attitude towards the code chosen by another and the ideology of that person. In her approach to indexicality, she assumes that “indexes mediate between linguistic forms and clear identity markers” (51). In that sense, indexicality is a vehicle for expressing stance.

General perceptions of Egyptian national identity To be able to show how conflict in the form of terrorist attacks on civilians has shaped the way columnists in daily papers construct Egyptian national identity, it seems relevant to provide a few general descriptions of this identity. Note: All translations are idiomatic. Excerpt 1 ‫ لم تكن أول مرة‬،‫ أى منذ نحو أربعين عاما‬،‫عندما هبت رياح التغريب على مصر فى سبعينيات القرن الماضي‬ ‫ إلى‬،‫ وتأثرها بما يجرى فيه‬،‫ إذ يرجع انفتاح مصر على العالم الغربى الحديث‬،‫تهب فيها هذه الرياح على مصر‬ ‫وقد أثار التغريب‬ .‫ بأكثر من قرن ونصف القرن‬،‫ أى قبل انفتاح السادات‬،‫بداية عصر محمد على على األقل‬ ‫ وكثيرا ما اتخذ االستياء والغضب صورة التعبير عن الخوف‬،‫استياء وغضبا لدى عدد كبير من المصريين‬ ‫”على” الهوية‬، When Egypt began westernization (open door policy) in the 1970s, that is, about 40 years ago, this was not the first time this happens, since Egypt’s opening to the modern Western world and its exposure to it goes back at least to the beginning of Mohammed Ali’s rule, that is, more than a century and a half before Sadat’s open door policy. This exposure to the West antagonized a large number of Egyptians because they feared its influence on our identity. In this excerpt, the writer attempts to trace, and then explain the historical background that led to the rise of fundamentalist Islam and associating the Muslim religion with Egyptian identity. The writer in this case adopts the perspective of a sub-section of Egypt’s population and traces a change in Egyptian political ideology in the 1970s and attributes the rise of fundamentalist groups (the Other) as a reaction to the fear of the loss of Egyptian (Muslim) identity. Westernization, i.e. modernization, from the perspective of a sub-section of Egyptians indexes a threat to their identity. Violence against modernization is their way to protect their identity. The perspective here is that the true Egyptian identity is a conservative, religious one and that westernization would change this identity through its secular orientation. Militant actions, thus, are seen (at least from the perspective of the militants) as attempts to preserve the Egyptian identity. Other writers contemplate the Egyptian national identity from a more general perspective, as in the following excerpt. Excerpt 2 ‫ توجد فكرة عامة سائدة للوجود أو‬،‫ بجانب ماليين األفكار الصغيرة المتداولة بين الناس‬:‫ـ الفكرة العامة للوجود‬ ‫ أمكن القول إنها‬،‫ وإذا أردنا أن نحدد النظرة العامة للوجود السائدة فى مصر‬.‫ تحدد هوية هذا المجتمع‬،‫للكون‬ ‫ وتؤمن‬،‫ وتؤمن بوجود أخالق طبيعية مطلقة‬،‫ والرساالت السماوية‬،‫ وبالعدل المطلق‬،‫نظرة تؤمن بوجود هللا‬ ‫ ويوجد لدى الناس فى مصر إحساس عام‬.‫ وقدرته على اكتشاف المبادئ السامية لألخالق‬،‫بقوة العقل اإلنساني‬ ‫ وإحساس عام بالتقارب بين ما تقضى به هذه‬،‫بالتقارب بين المبادئ األخالقية فى الديانات السماوية المختلفة‬ ‫المبادئ وبين ما يقضى به العقل‬ There is a general understanding among the people that defines/demarcates the identity of this society. If we want to define the general perception of existence in Egypt, it can be said that it believes in God, absolute justice, monotheistic religions, absolute ethical values, the power of the 166

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human mind and its ability to identity the sublime ethical principles. The people in Egypt have a common perception of the similarity across the ethical/moral principles in all religions and a shared feeling of the similarities across these principles. In this extract, broad, abstract concepts constitute identity. It is noticeable that religion comes to the fore in the constitution of identity, but in a positive way. Religion here indexes subliminal values in all Egyptians, regardless of their religious denomination or affiliation. The writer takes the stance that religion is a force that brings people together through shared moral and ethical values across the religion line. Religion, thus, is a unifying rather than divisive force. People are endowed with the brains that help them discern the substantial similarities across their faiths and hence this writer takes religion to be an integral part of all Egyptians’ identity. The indexes of identity used here are culturally based, since they create ideological associations with the call for coexistence between believers in different faiths in Egypt. Technically, the writer employs Bucholtz and Hall’s (2005) relationality principle, focusing on the unifying relations of similarity and genuineness. Underlying this approach, one can surmise, are sectarian issues that erupt between Muslims and Christians, which most Egyptians condemn. Excerpt 3 ‫ فكان‬. . . ‫فمنذ بداية تاريخنا الحديث وتجريب السياسيين والمثقفين مستمر بشأن هوية هذه األمة الداخلة مؤخرا‬ ‫ صلة‬.‫أن استقررنا على هذه الصيغة الجامعة التى تم تصويرها فى تكامل على وجهى أوراق العملة الوطنية‬ ‫ وهذا هو معنى الوطنية‬،‫الوطن بالنسبة لماليين المصريين تجب صلة الدم واللغة والدين والنسب‬-‫األرض‬. Since the beginning of our modern history, politicians and intellectuals have been experimenting with the identity of this nation as it was ushered into modernity. As a result, we settled on this comprehensive formulation as represented on both sides of our bank notes, where on one side there is an Islamic building and on the other a Pharaonic monument. Egyptian identity cannot be reduced in either because both sides represent the deep, complex and complete Egyptian identity, which cannot be broken into pieces – and that is the essence of nationalism. The approach taken by this writer is that the nature of Egyptian identity is shaped, and perhaps also manipulated, by politicians and intellectuals. In other words, identity is the outcome of experimentation – quite an unusual way of examining identity. The writer then suggests that all (politicians and intellectuals) have agreed on the components of this identity, thereby dealing with identity as an emergent one that does not develop and transform based on the dynamics of the interactional situation but rather that is shaped by an elite group. Interestingly, the writer uses the pictures printed on bank notes (a picture of a mosque on one side and an ancient Egyptian monument on the other) to offer his representation of Egyptian identity. These pictures symbolize Egypt’s history and the Islamic religion. In other words, the representation of identity in this excerpt represents Egypt as only having one religion, which is a fragmented way which ignores an essential component of the Egyptian population. Excerpt 4 ”‫ وليس على قناعات “جماعية‬،‫تقوم الهوية الذاتية لإلنسان الحديث المتحضر على تبنيه قناعات شخصية‬ ‫ نحن جميعًا أوالد ذرية قدماء‬.‫ نفتخر نحن المصريين بقدم حضارتنا‬،‫ نعم‬. . . ‫مفروضة عليه فرضًا بمنهج‬ ً‫ ولذلك اليمثل األقباط “أقلية” بل عنصر مكون‬.‫ أوالد مصر العربية اإلسالمية‬،‫ أوالد مصر القبطية‬،‫المصريين‬ ،‫ فمقام األقباط هو مقام المسلمين فى بلورة الوطن المشترك‬.‫للذاتية الوطنية المصرية العربية الحديثة المشتركة‬ ‫وليس أقل‬. 167

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A modern, civilized individual’s identity is based on one’s personal conviction, not “group” convictions imposed by some school curriculum. . . . We, Egyptians, are proud of our old civilization. We all are descendants of ancient Egyptians: the children of Coptic Egypt; the children of Arab Islamic Egypt. Therefore, Copts do not represent a “minority” but a formative constituent of the shared modern, national, Arab, Egyptian identity. The status of Copts is the same as that of Muslims in shaping their shared nation, not less. Unlike the writer of the previous text, the writer here takes the stance that all Egyptians, through their shared venerated history, come from the same descent. He invokes the relation of adequation in Bucholtz and Hall’s (2005) relationality principle to emphasize similarities between the two main components of Egypt’s people and position Copts and Muslims as alike and equal. The use of the first-person pronoun we indexes the unity or oneness of the people. The writer also, quite skillfully, makes Egypt’s old civilization the frame of reference in the construction of identity, with the result that faith becomes no more than a detail in the construction of identity. He also quite adeptly shows that all Egyptians descended from the same lineage diachronically: ancient Egyptians, followed by Coptic Egyptians and then Muslim Egyptians. Notably, he ends this extract by making the point through implication that, even though a minority, Coptic Christians have equally contributed to shaping their nation as the majority. Excerpt 5 ‫ فإذا نظرت إلى أى فئة من‬.‫ال شيء يعكس تركيب الهوية المصرية قدر وجهى عمالتنا الورقية بديعة التصميم‬ ‫ بينما تجد على وجهها اآلخر صورة‬،‫ فستجد على أحد وجهيها صورة لصرح إسالمي‬،‫فئات عمالتنا الورقية‬ ‫ فالوجهان معا يمثالن الهوية‬،‫ ال يمكن اختزال الهوية المصرية فى أى من الوجهين‬.‫لنقش أو تمثال فرعوني‬ ‫المصرية العميقة والمركبة والمتكاملة وغير القابلة للتجزئة أو التقسيم‬ Nothing reflects the Egyptian identity more than both sides of our bank notes. If you look at any note, you will find that on one side there is a picture of an Islamic edifice/building and on the other a Pharaonic monument. Egyptian identity cannot be reduced to either because both sides represent the deep, complex and complete Egyptian identity, which cannot be broken into pieces. In this description of Egyptian identity, the writer takes a stance whereby national identity is an accumulation of qualities acquired over time. Egyptian identity is everything the Pharaohs stood for, but the coming of Islam many centuries ago added other identity components to the Egyptian identity, amalgamated them together to produce the current Egyptian identity. In this sense, the picture of a mosque indexes Islam and that of a pharaonic monument indexes Egypt’s illustrious civilization, and, by implicature, it indexes Coptic Christians. It is noteworthy, however, that the identity this writer projects is based on a description of a physical object, the two sides of the Egyptian currency, rather than the way people themselves project their identity in interaction. Identity, thus, is based on association. The idea of association was used in a study on identity by Omoniyi (2006) to examine the significance of identification as a process in which individuals create identities by association. The process includes two levels of recognition “the physical visual” and “the cognitive,” i.e. the conceptual frames invoked by a physical object. Omoniyi showed an Arabic road sign to a group of people who did not know Arabic and asked them to guess what the sign indicated. The respondents recognized Arabic script and some of them associated Arabic with Islamic identity. That is, for some, Islam indexed a salient identity feature for those who use Arabic script. Along similar lines, this writer associated the sides of Egyptian bank notes with aspects of Egyptian identity. Notably, in this construction of 168

Construction of Egyptian national identity

Egyptian identity, Islam features as a central component and the ancient Egyptian civilization as a representation of Christians. As can be seen, the representations of identity in these texts index different components of Egyptian identity. In this sense, they represent individual perceptions of the Egyptian identity. Yet, they all emphasize the integral components of identity such as historical roots, values, shared geographical space and faith. It is remarkable that some writers use faith in general as a component of identity rather than referring to specific religions. This is done in an attempt to undermine religious differences in a country that has suffered from sectarian conflict and religious terrorism.

Identity in reaction to conflict and terrorism Excerpt 6 . . . ‫المعركة ضد االرهاب سوف تنتصر فيها مصر اليوم أو غدا ولكنها تحتاج الى أفكار أخرى لتعبئة الناس‬ ‫بتأكيد على الهوية المصرية منذ فجر التاريخ‬. Egypt will sooner or later prevail in the war on terror, but it needs novel ideas to mobilize people by emphasizing Egyptian identity since the dawn of history (Al-Ahram). This writer focuses on the war on terror – reassuring the reader that Egypt will prevail in this war. To prevail, though, people need to be mobilized using untraditional ways. This can be done by invoking the Egyptian civilization as the source of Egyptian identity. The implication here, again, is that religion should not be a constituent of our identity. The invocation of history as the root of identity resonates Nashef ’s (2013, 324) statement that “[w]hen the search begins for a new identity, . . ., for many, history constitutes the easiest venue.” This is also echoed by Albirini’s (2016) description of national identity in the Arab region as involving “more emphasis on historical and ethnic commonalities” (65). At the same time, there is a presupposition that the reason why Egypt has become a victim to terrorism is because Islamists have abandoned their original identity and adopted a new one based on an extraneous factor, i.e. religion. Identity in this view indexes all the values that have contributed to building Egypt’s ancient, illustrious civilization and suggests that enacting these values is the only way for Egypt to rise again. Excerpt 7 ‫تعرضت الهوية المصرية لكثير من محاوالت التشويش و التشويه و خاصة من أنصار تيار اإلسالم السياسى‬ ‫الذين روجوا ألفكار تدعو الى تبنى الهوية الدينية كبديل للهوية الوطنية‬،. Egyptian identity has been subjected to maiming attempts, particularly by proponents of the Islamic movement who promoted ideas that call for a religious identity as an alternative for our national identity. Significantly, identity is indexed here as something that can be maimed and that a religious component to the Egyptian identity causes it to lose its character. The use of the passive voice allows for putting Egyptian identity, the patient, in subject position, thereby highlighting the verb complex “has been subjected to maiming attempts.” The argument in this extract suggests the Egyptian national identity should not be tinted with religious affiliation. This writer uses othering to project Islamists as the enemy whose aim is to disfigure the true Egyptian identity, which is presented as our national identity. By doing so, this writer is discounting religion from the constitution of Egypt’s national identity. It is observable that this reflects a trend among 169

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some writers in reaction to sectarian violence and terrorist attacks against Egyptian Christians. To express their indignation, these writers believe that religion can be a divisive factor inciting sectarian violence and, hence, should not be seen as a component of the Egyptian national identity, which by definition should consist of components that unify all Egyptians regardless of their religious affiliation. Excerpt 8 ‫عند هذا المنحنى خرج الشعب المصرى إلى ميدان التحرير ليتعرف على هويته الحقيقية ويستعيدها وقد عبر‬ ‫ يناير على الهوية المصرية‬25 ‫ تأثير ثورة‬. . . ”‫عنها فى الشعار المرفوع “عيش ــ حرية ــ عدالة اجتماعية‬ ‫وقفز التيار االسالمى عليها بعد وعود بتحقيق ديمقراطية حقيقية وعدالة اجتماعية اال ان المفاجأة كانت فى‬ ‫محاولة أخونة الدولة باندفاع شديد‬ At this point the Egyptian people went to Tahrir Square to identify their true identity and restore it back, which was expressed in the motto “bread, freedom, social justice,” . . . the influence of the January 25th revolution on Egyptian identity and how Islamists hijacked it, after making promises of implementing genuine democratic rule and social justice. What was shocking, however, was their hard push to Islamicize the whole nation. Identity, in this extract, is indexed as something people have lost and seek to find. In a description of what sparked the January 25, 2011 revolution, the writer uses the motto the protesters used to represent their demands as representing the components of the Egyptian identity that were taken away from them by the Mobarak regime. Regardless of the imprecise way the writer uses to describe the features of identity as bread, freedom and social justice, Islamists are the “other,” the usurpers of Egyptian identity on which they tried to impose Islam (or more accurately the values of the Brotherhood). Remarkably, the use of “the Egyptian people” signifies the unity of the people regardless of their religious denomination. The way Islamists are indexed, e.g. hijacking the revolution and making false promises, denigrates their religious identity and represents Islamists in a disparaging manner, which resonates with the ideological tone used by the political regime. The stance the writer takes, thus, is that the Islamists deceived the protesters and the Egyptian people at large by promising to implement the motto of the revolution. Excerpt 9 ‫ وهذه‬.‫أصبحنا نرى اآلن ومنذ سنوات محاوالت حثيثة لتغيير الهوية المصرية الراسخة فى عمق التاريخ‬ ‫المحاوالت كما يبدو لى أنها تسير باتجاه بعيد ومختلف عن مكونات وأصول وشكل الهوية المصرية العريقة كما‬ ‫نعرفها وكما نشأنا عليها وكما تبدو فى كل الصور التى تؤرخ لبلدنا‬. We currently witness deliberate attempts to change the Egyptian identity whose roots go back to the depth of history. These attempts, it seems to me, are taking us in an unfamiliar direction that is different from the components, origins and appearance of noble Egyptian identity as we know it and as we grew up to know it and as it appears in every description of the history of our country. Along similar lines, the writer very implicitly describes attempts to alter the nature of Egyptian identity, invoking its historical roots, and taking it in a different direction. Reference to the Islamists can be easily identified through implicature. They are trying hard to change Egyptian identity and make it look different. The implicature here is that the appearance the Islamists are trying to impose on both Egyptian men and women is foreign to our culture and long history. 170

Construction of Egyptian national identity

By doing so, the writer is delegitimatizing the attempts of Islamists to change Egyptian identity. There is also an attempt at denaturalization (Bucholtz and Hall, 2005), since the writer is making the argument that the features of identity these people are trying to impose on Egyptians are foreign, false and problematic. Excerpt 10 ‫ وقتل رجال الجيش والشرطة يتم على‬،‫إذا كان قتل المواطنين المسيحيين المصريين يتم على أساس الهوية الدينية‬ ‫ فإن تطبيق القانون بعدالة ناجزة وحاسمة دون تهاون أو تراخٍ فى حق هذا الوطن هو‬.‫أساس الهوية الوطنية لهم‬ ‫السبيل للحفاظ على الهوية المصرية‬. If murdering Egyptian Christian citizens is done based on their religious identity and targeting military and police personnel is based on their professional identity, it follows that the only way to preserve Egyptian identity would be to apply the law fairly and expeditiously. This writer of this excerpt emphasizes how certain aspects of identity, such as religious faith or membership of the army or police force, make members of these groups target for murder. The perpetrators are implied, since the writer is using nominalization to avoid mentioning who is committing those atrocities, counting on the familiarity of the reader with the context and realizing that recovery of the absent agent is straightforward. The use of the phrase “to preserve Egyptian identity” presupposes that such targeted killings are a threat to the true Egyptian identity. The whole sentence is a conditional structure, where the result of the condition calls for applying the law in an expeditious manner. There is implicit reference here to applying the death sentence on terrorists. The writer, hence, is calling on the law enforcement system to prosecute those who commit terrorist acts in an expeditious manner as the only way to preserve our identity. In other words, this writer is presupposing that the Egyptian identity is under threat and that the only way to protect and preserve it is by quickly putting the perpetrators to trial. The link between murdering people based on either their religious or professional identity and the danger on Egyptian national identity is implicit. Indexicality in this case is achieved by using nominalizations and the passive voice in the conditional clause to avoid explicit mention of who commits those murders that threaten Egyptian identity. The reader is left to reach through implicature the identity of the culprits, who are not named explicitly here. Excerpt 11 ‫ وهى ما تعنينا‬-‫ والهوية الوطنية‬.‫ينبغى أن تنطلق المواجهة الثقافية القتالع جذور اإلرهاب من حسم مسألة الهوية‬ ‫ وتحدد عنوان الوالء‬،‫ مسألة تتعلق بأمة محددة تعيش فى وطن محدد‬-‫فى حديث دولة المواطنة المدنية الحديثة‬ ‫ أنه إذا كانت هناك أمة فى العالم محددة الهوية بغير التباس فانها األمة‬-‫ وأكرر‬-‫ وقد كتبت‬.‫واإلنتماء الوطنى‬ ‫ وقبل آالف السنين من ظهور الحركات والدول القومية في أوروبا‬.‫المصرية؛ أول أمة تكونت على وجه األرض‬ ‫تمكن المصريون القدماء بقيادة ملوكهم منذ عهد مينا من إقامة وحفظ حدود دولتهم القومية المركزية الموحدة من‬ ,‫ يربطهم النيل بحياة اقتصادية مشتركة‬,‫ واندمجوا في أمة واحدة علي أرض الوادي والدلتا بمصر‬،‫رفح الي حلفا‬ ‫ وتجمعهم‬,‫ وتوحدهم روابط اللغة والثقافة والتاريخ والجنس والدين‬,‫ويكونون نسيجا متماسكا من الوحدة الوطنية‬ ‫المصالح والغايات العليا المشتركة ومشاعر الوالء واالنتماء للوطن‬ We should launch a cultural confrontation to uproot terrorism from the issue of identity. We are concerned with national identity when we consider coexistence in a modern, secular nation. It is an issue that relates to a nation that occupies a specific space and believes in loyalty to the nation. I have written before and repeat here that if there is a nation in the whole world that has a clearly defined identity, it is the Egyptian nation – the first nation on earth. Thousands of years before national movements in Europe, the ancient Egyptians under the leadership of their kings were 171

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able to construct and protect their unified national existence from Rafah (in the north) to Halfa (in the south) and merged in one nation in the Nile valley and Delta in Egypt, with the Nile offering them a stable economic existence. They interweaved into a homogenous fabric of national unity, unified by language, culture, history, race and religion. Redefining identity is another approach taken up in this rather long excerpt. Interestingly, this writer takes the stance that terrorism has become a stigmatized component of Egyptian identity that needs to be uprooted. In this sense, the writer considers terrorism an aspect that “denaturalizes” and fragments Egyptian identity and hence needs to taken out as one of its components. Significantly, since terrorism is committed in the name of Islam, the Islamic religion is implied here, particularly when the writers refers to coexistence in the context of defining national identity. To reconstruct national identity, the writer again resorts to history, i.e. invoking the relationality principle (Bucholtz and Hall, 2005). By describing Egypt as “the first nation on earth,” the writer employs authentication by referring to Egypt’s long history. The reader is left to make inferences regarding the ethnic groups that comprise a unified Egypt and “construct and protect their unified national existence” “interweaved into homogenous fabric of national unity,” which presupposes the composure of the population from different ethnic and/or religious groups. This description interestingly ends with indexing the components of the Egyptian national identity, which include religion. Since religion in this context is a unifying element, it can be inferred that religion in this context refers to faith in general, rather than a particular denomination.

Discussion The analysis of these texts supports Clifton and Van De Mieroop’s (2010, 2450) proposal that different aspects of identity become relevant at different points in time, since each aspect of identity becomes relevant depending on the orientation of the interaction. It also supports Bucholtz and Hall’s (2005) proposal that identity is a social product that is, at least in part, the outcome of ideological processes. Public discourse, and, in fact, discourse in the media in general, tends to categorize, generalize and juxtapose (Bassiouney, 2014, 50). These tendencies influence and even condition people’s perception of their national identity. At the more general, nation-wide level, each writer is invoking aspects of the Egyptian identity that can help orient it away from those components that divide the nation. Since writing is a deliberate act, which is essentially different from spontaneous interaction as described in Clifton and Van De Mieroop, each writer is invoking components of identity that can pull people together and help them see what is common and shared among them. The context in which these writers operate dictates dealing with religion in some way. In most discussions of broad, macro-level components of national identity, religion, among other categories, is taken to be an integral component (Benwell and Stokoe, 2006; Dervin, 2011); yet, given that it is in the name of religion that violence is committed by Islamists in Egypt, most of these writers try hard to dissociate religion from a description of Egyptian national identity. But it should be noted that some have a strong belief that religion is an innate component of Egyptian identity, so much so that in describing this identity, they denounce only the version of Islam that fundamentalist groups embrace, while promoting a more moderate version as the true version of Islam that is ingrained in the Egyptian identity. Others still view religion, in the sense of faith, as central to any description of the Egyptian identity but in their writing they promote a more absolute version that supersedes any particular religion. The way identity is projected by these writers suggests that as terrorism claims innocent lives in Egypt, these writers are trying to grapple with what gave rise to it and the nature of the 172

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Other, i.e. the people who commit those acts of terror. Hence, othering is used as a distancing device for rejecting the extremist version of Islam. In their reflection on Egyptian identity, these writers activate the notion of ideology. Their approach to identity is both ideologically shaped and reflects their stance-taking, which reflects their evaluation and ideological positioning. Until recently, Egypt was the most influential geographic and cultural center in the Arab world, through its media production. This role is, at least partially, lost. In other words, Egypt’s cultural and political influence cannot be considered components of Egypt’s national identity anymore. Cultural and political influence can be aspects to derive pride from. These writers, it follows, resort to the only solid source of pride they can use to project national identity: Egypt’s long history with its ancient civilization. This supports Bucholtz and Hall’s (2005) proposal that “In identity formation, indexicality relies heavily on ideological structures, for associations between language and identity are rooted in cultural beliefs and values – that is, ideologies – about the sorts of speakers who (can or should) produce particular sorts of language” (594). The fact that terrorism is homegrown poses a challenge to these writers as they try to grapple with a representation of national identity in the enacting of their writing practices. Each writer realizes that identity constitution is multiple and that our national identity is shifting. Even though it is not spelled out explicitly, there is an implicit assumption that the ideology of Islamic extremism has become ingrained in a sub-section of the Egyptian population. So, in addition to delegitimatizing and denigrating extremists, some writers offer a plan to the government to help reshape or redefine the Egyptian national identity, by for example including teaching the traits of national identity in the national educational curriculum. Others denounce the way Islamic fundamentalists have claimed the country as their own and their desire to impose an alien identity on the people. Others still invoke Egypt’s illustrious history as the most salient ingredient of Egyptian identity, thereby excluding religion as a fleeting aspect from any description of national identity. In terms of indexicality, terrorists and terrorism are denounced and in denouncing them the version of Islam they embrace is rejected. Concerning the issue of religion and its relation to identity, furthermore, Islamic extremists are presented as the other. Such identity positioning is occasioned by the events the country is witnessing and the ideological associations developed as a result and that have come to shape the construction of the national identity. In other words, at this point in Egypt’s history, religion has been withdrawn from the constitution of the national identity. The implied reason is that terrorists are taking the spirit of this religion in an undesirable direction that deviates from its true teachings of moderation, forgiveness and acceptance of the other. The central point here is that what is othered are groups of people who are politically motivated, not the religion itself. The fact remains, though, that because it is in the name of Islam that such horrific acts are being committed, Islam has been taken out from almost all discussions of identity, especially when the writer was reflecting on the Egyptian national identity vis-à-vis acts of terror. Representations in the media of the terrorists, who commit terrorist acts against different sections of the Egyptian society, indicate a transformation in the Egyptian identity; that is, we get the impression that a new Egyptian identity is evolving. This echoes what Bucholtz and Hall (2005) describe as the influence of discursive practices on emergent identity. In the current context of terrorist acts in Egypt, it is both the discursive practices of individuals that result in emergent identity and the more purposeful practice of writers that willfully attempts to make sense of a confusing situation by reflecting on identity. In other words, identity as approached in this paper is the “macro-level” demographic identity (Bucholtz and Hall, 2005), or what Gee (2001) called “core identity” as juxtaposed to the Other, i.e. those who commit terrorist acts. This transformation is shaped by rejection of acts committed in the name of Islam. Writers, as a consequence, either reject the idea that those perpetrators can be true Muslims, arguing 173

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that the essence of Islam is against violence and that its central message is for peace, or take the stance that religion is not a component of the Egyptian identity. For them, religion is a divisive element, since it restricts Egyptian identity to a sub-component of the Egyptian society, thereby undermining part of the Egyptian population. In doing so, they use the tactic of discounting Islam as an integral component of the Egyptian identity. Hence, in constructing national identity, these writers derive self-value from membership of a group that supersedes specific religious affiliation, a stance that is very common among many Egyptians and seeks unifying elements as components of their national identity. This is done by using indexicalizations that aim at reconstructing and reconstituting the concept of national identity, e.g. by going back to their Pharaonic roots. To make these ideologically motivated reconstructions of Egyptian identity salient in the readers’ minds, their arguments revolve around the idea that at times of conflict the construction of identity should focus on those traits that can unify the people; thus several writers in the sample presented employed faith and piety in their construction of identity.

Conclusion The texts examined in this study indicate that the emergent Egyptian national identity is one that transcends the Islamic religion – one that treats all Egyptians as the same – the Egyptian people, regardless of their religion. Faith is always present in the conceptualization of Egyptian identity; however, it is used as a macro category of identity – an ingrained trait in all Egyptians. The texts analyzed in this study represent a context in which writers reflect on identity in a political, social and historical local context filled with conflict and problems. Attacks against Coptic Christians in particular alarm most Egyptians and fear of eruption of sectarian violence, which is motivated by religious hatred, pushes many to decry the terrorist attacks against churches and in some cases individuals as motivated by an ignorant and wrong interpretation of the teachings of Islam. To characterize identity in a way that unifies all Egyptians, therefore, Islam has to be removed from any constitution of Egyptian identity. Interestingly, despite the fact that the whole Islamic world suffers from terrorism and its consequences at sociopolitical and economic levels, these writers do not view the problem of terrorism in its more global context when they write. This perhaps reflects their deep concern and alarm about the effect of terrorism on the Egyptian society.

References Albirini, Abdukafi. (2016). Modern Arabic sociolinguistics: Diglossia, variation, codeswitching, attitudes and identity. London and New York: Routledge. Bassiouney, Reem. (2014). Language and identity in modern Egypt. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Benkharafa, M. (2013). The present situation of the Arabic language and the Arab world commitment to Arabization. Theory and Practice in Language Studies 3(2), 201–208. doi:10.4304/tpls.3.2.201-208 Benwell, B., & Stokoe, E. (2006). Discourse and identity. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Bucholtz, M. (2003). Sociolinguistic nostalgia and the authentication of identity. Journal of Sociolinguistics 7(3), 398–416. Bucholtz, M., & Hall, K. (2005). Identity and interaction: A sociocultural linguistic approach. Discourse Studies 7, 585–614. doi:10.1177/1461445605054407 Bucholtz, M., & Hall, K. (2009). Locating identity in language. In C. Llamas and D. Watt (Eds.), Language and identities. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Clifton, J., & Van De Mieroop, D. (2010). Doing’ ethos: A discursive approach to the strategic deployment and negotiation of identities in meetings. Journal of Pragmatics 42(9), 2449–2461. Del Olmo, Francisco-Javier Ruiz, & Xifra, Jordi. (2017). Public relations discourse, ethical propaganda and collective identity in Luis Buňuel’s Spanish civil war films. Public Relations Review 43, 358–365.

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Construction of Egyptian national identity Dervin, F. (2011). Cultural identity, representation and othering. In J. Jackson (Ed.), Routledge handbook of intercultural communication (pp. 181–194). Abingdon: Routledge. Gee, J. P. (2001). Identity as an analytic lens for research in education. In W. Secada (Ed.), Review of research in education (Vol. 25, pp. 99–125). Washington, DC: American Educational Research Association. Gilmore, Jason. (2014). American exceptionalism in the American mind: Presidential discourse, national identity, and U.S. public opinion. Communication Studies 66(3), 301–320. doi:10.1080/10510974.2014. 991044 Gilmore, J., Meeks, L., & Domke. D. (2013). Why do (we think) they hate us: Anti-Americanism, patriotic messages, and attributions of blame. International Journal of Communication 7, 701–721. Gogonas, Nikos. (2012). Religion as a core value in language maintenance: Arabic speakers in Greece. International Migration 5, 113–128. doi:10.1111/j.1468–2435.2010.00661.x Hachimi, Atiqua. (2013). The Maghreb-Mashreq language ideology and the politics of identity in a globalized Arab world. Journal of Sociolinguistics 17(3), 269–296. Haeri, Niloofar. (2000). Form and ideology: Arabic sociolinguistics and beyond. Annual Review of Anthropology 29, 61–87. Handford, Michael. (2014). Cultural identities in international, interorganisational meetings: A corpusinformed discourse analysis of indexical we. Language and Intercultural Communication 14(1), 41–58. doi: 10.1080/14708477.2013.866123 Mair, Christian. (2003). Acts of identity – interaction-based sociolinguistics and cultural studies: An introduction. Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik 28(2), 195–199. Nashef, Hania A. M. (2013). Hello and bonjour: A  postcolonial analysis of Arab media’s use of code switching and mixing and its ramification on the identity of the self in the Arab world. International Journal of Multilingualism 10(3), 313–330. doi:10.1080/14790718.2013.783582 Omoniyi, T. (2006). Hierarchy of identities. In T. Omoniyi and G. White (Eds.), The sociolinguistics of identity (pp. 11–33). London: Continuum. Omoniyi, Tope,  & Fishman, Joshua (Eds.). (2006). Explorations in the sociology of language and religion. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Schiffrin, Deborah. (1996). Narrative as self-portrait: Sociolinguistic constructions of identity. Language in Society 25(2), 167–203. Smith, C. D. (1991). Palestine and the Arab-Israeli conflict. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Suleiman, Yasser. (2003). The Arabic language and national identity. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Suleiman, Yasser. (2006). Constructing languages, constructing national identities. In T. Omoniyi & Goodith White (Eds.), The sociolinguistics of identity (pp. 50–74). London: Continuum. Van Stekelenburg, Jacqulien. (2014). Going all the way: Politicizing, polarizing, and radicalizing identity offline and online. Social Compass 8(5), 540–555. Zabarah, Dareg A. (2012). The language that unites and the language that divides us: Why was Arabic kept and Serbo-Croatian abolished? Nationalities Papers 40(4), 545–559. doi:10.1080/00905992.2012. 685060

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11 LANGUAGE-IDENTITY DYNAMICS IN POST-ARAB SPRING ERA The case of Jordan Abdulkafi Albirini 1. Introduction The Arabic language has, for long, been at the heart of identity dynamics in pan-Arab nationalist discourses across the Arabic-speaking world. It is difficult to fully understand the discussion on pan-Arab identity (Arab identity, henceforth) without considering its linguistic dimension. The geopolitical map of the so-called al-watan al-‘arabiyy ‘the Arab homeland’ is mainly drawn based on linguistic factors: the existence of a common language among the majority of the population in an ethnically and culturally diverse region. The Arab League defines an Arab as “a person whose language is Arabic, who lives in an Arabic- speaking country, and who is in sympathy with the aspirations of the Arabic- speaking people.”1 As the definition suggests, language is a primary criterion of identifying who an Arab is. The Arab context with its complex sociopolitical circumstances and relationships provides the framework within which Arabic speakers construct their identities and define themselves in relation to others. Since the dimensions of context may change continuously, the relationship between language and identity may also change. A central question for understanding the ­language-identity nexus in the Arab region is whether and how the Arabic language is involved in speakers’ construction of particular identities. A second question concerns the role of Standard Arabic (SA) and Colloquial Arabic (CA) in indexing different social identities. A third question relates to the implications of the coexistence of a number of global languages (e.g., English) sometimes in the same social spheres for Arabic speakers’ view of themselves as members of certain social groups. These questions are focal areas in the research presented in this chapter. The chapter  examines these questions with particular attention to the Jordanian context. Jordan is a unique place because it has attracted many incomers from neighboring countries in recent years, especially after the so-called Arab Spring. According to the United Nations, the number of registered displaced Syrians in Jordan in the wake of the Arab Spring reached 628,634 by the end of the year 2016. The number of registered displaced Iraqis was 62,830 during the same period.2 Jordan also has a significant number of Egyptians, Libyans, and Yemenis, many of whom moved to Jordan after the Arab Spring. The existence of different Arab nationals in the same context provides an interesting platform for investigating the impact of this diversity on the Jordanians’ sense of Arab identity. 176

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The relationship between language and identity is complex and multi-faceted. It is not surprising therefore the interaction of identity and language has been approached from different perspectives and frameworks, such as social constructionism (Hall, 1996; Kroskrity, 2000), antiessentialist view of the self (Bucholtz et al., 1999), categorization and membership definition (Antaki and Widdicombe, 1998), social and discursive practice (Fairclough, 1989), and indexicality (Silverstein, 2003; Blommaert, 2010). The bulk of research on identity dynamics in the Arab region has focused on historical narratives; much less has investigated identity feelings and identity dynamics in everyday social behavior in Arabic-speaking communities, which is the focus of this work. However, before I discuss the main topic, it is important to provide a brief historical account of the intricate relationship between the Arabic language and Arab identity.

2.  Interplay of Arab identity and Arabic language: a brief historical sketch As far as the existing historical records go, the Arabs did not form a “nation” in the current understanding of the word, and so the concept of “national” Arab identity possibly did not exist. However, this applies to many other peoples because nationalism as the ideology based on which many modern nation-states were formed started to develop only in the 18th century in Europe. However, the term “Arab” recurred in pre-Islamic and early Islamic writings and was often contrasted to ‘Ajam ‘non-Arabic-speaking people’ (Aldawri, 1984; Chejne, 1969). Since the Arabs did not form a coherent religious group or a unified political entity, the Arabic language was possibly one of the main shared resources linking the various Arabic-speaking people. The advent of Islam enhanced the Arabs’ sense of common identity. The Arabs felt a sense of pride in their “Arabness” because the Qur’an, the holy book of Islam, was in Arabic and the Prophet of Islam spoke Arabic. However, because Prophet Mohammad denounced racial and ethnic distinctions in favor of religious unity, this sense of pride based on ethnic grounds could not surface till many years after his death, particularly after the expansion of the new Muslim state beyond the Arabian Peninsula. The Arabs’ sense of identity after the conquests induced endeavors to highlight the distinctive aspects of their heritage, particularly their language and literature (Nassar, 1956). This explains why, during the Ummayad and Abbasid periods, a plethora of literary and non-literary works focused on the Arabic language and its link to the Arabs’ ethnic identity (Aldwari, 1984; Chejne, 1969). The Arabs’ sense of pride in their identity started to wither gradually as they were overcome by the Mongols, Crusaders, Turkic and Persian dynasties, and eventually the Ottomans. Simultaneously, SA became restricted to the religious domain and withdrawn from everyday use (Chejne, 1969). Toward the end of the Ottoman rule, however, a renewed sense of Arab identity started to emerge due to the implementation of the Turkification policy in the ­Ottoman-ruled Arab region (Antonius, 1938). A number of Arab intellectuals summoned the Arabs’ glorious past and language to assert their distinct identity. This movement was accompanied by attempts to revive the role of the Arabic language in literary and public domains in what is called An-Nahda ‘the renaissance’ in the 19th century. ˙ The pan-Arab nationalist movement has been associated with SA, whereas CA has been discarded for its divisive and negative role on pan-Arabism. As Suleiman (2003, 10) suggests, Relying on standard Arabic, nationalism in the Arab Middle East can define for itself a usable past, a source of tradition and authenticity that can enable it to stand its ground in relation to other nationalisms inside and outside its immediate geographical context. 177

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Arab nationalism therefore falls under what Smith (1986) calls an “essentialist” view of the nation, in which the nation is presented through political discourses focusing on common descent, history, culture, territory, and other sociocultural elements. Within this framework, language is often a key mechanism in the construction of national identity. The Arab nationalist movement, the Arabs’ sense of collective identity, and the prospect of building a unified Arab nation suffered a major blow after the British and the French divided among themselves much of the land that was under the Ottomans. During this period, a number of state-based nationalist movements emerged, particularly in Egypt and Greater Syria. These local nationalisms were sponsored and fueled by colonial powers to create linguistic barriers between Arabic-speaking people and thereby sustain the fragmentation of the Arab region. However, the independence of Arab countries after World War II weakened these local nationalist movements and revived pan-Arab discourses. The resurgence of pan-Arab nationalism in most post-independence Arab countries was reflected in the language policies implemented by the Arab states, most of which adopted SA as the official language of the state. The establishment of several language academies to protect, regulate, and modernize SA is another manifestation of pan-Arab nationalism. However, the Arab nationalist discourses have been in constant decline due to various political and economic factors, including the collapse of Arab-unity projects, internal conflicts among Arab regimes, rise of religious and sectarian discourses, among other factors. In addition, Arab nationalist discourses have been overwhelmed by state-based nationalisms that promote loyalty to the ruling family, party, or sect. These factors, along with the fact that most Arab countries are governed by repressive political systems, have mitigated pan-Arab nationalism in most Arab states and opened the door for new localized discourses demanding basic human and civil rights, such as freedom of speech, justice, and equal opportunity. The Arab Spring arguably falls under this type of movement. The emergence of the Arab Spring movements brought to the surface new political, social, and economic realities, which have been discussed extensively in the literature (see Albirini, 2015). However, the linguistic dimensions of the Arab Spring have not received much scholarly attention. In this chapter, I focus on the language-identity link in the aftermath of the Arabic Spring. The Arabic Spring started in Tunisia when Mohamed Bouazizi set himself on fire in December 2010, igniting a wave of protests that eventually toppled the Tunisian regime. The success of the Tunisian experience inspired similar attempts to overthrow the regimes in Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Syria, and Bahrain. These protests had dissimilar degrees of success.3 The Tunisian case, for example, resulted in changing the government and ushering in more democratic space and policies. The Yemeni and Syrian scenarios, by contrast, led to prolonged and bloody conflicts. The Arab Spring weakened the grip of some Arab regimes and led to further divisions in the region based on sectarian, religious, and political factors. The Arab Spring led to the displacement of many Arabs from their land and their relocation to other Arab states. The present chapter seeks to investigate the language-identity nexus in Jordan in the light of these developments and the influx of incomers from neighboring countries. The two main research questions pursued in this chapter are: • •

How do Jordanians relate to the notion of pan-Arab identity versus Jordanian identity? What is the relationship between identity dynamics and the status and usage of SA, CA, and English as reflected in everyday life, political discourse, print media, education, and language attitudes?

These two research questions will be investigated using the methods in the next section. 178

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3. Methods Most of the data for this study were collected during two summer study-abroad programs in 2016 and 2018. During these programs, I often wrote observations related to language in general and sociolinguistic research in particular, such as language attitudes, language use, and identity sentiments. Most of these observations were jotted down as memos and then transferred into elaborate notes on my laptop. However, I sometimes wrote the detailed notes directly on my laptop. In addition to these naturalistic observations, I conducted semi-structured interviews with eight students from the host university, all in humanities or social sciences majors. The aim was mainly to verify the accuracy of my observations and also complement the other types of data used in this study (see Appendix). Two of the interviewees came from southern Jordan (Karak and Ma‘aan), one from Irbid, and one from Jarash. The remaining four came from Amman and they were Jordanian citizens with Palestinian roots. These students were recruited with the help of two professors in the host university. The interviewees ranged in age between 20 and 26 years. Four of them were males and four were females. The interviews lasted between 11:07 and 17:34 minutes and were recorded with a digital recorder. The duration of all eight interviews was 116:28 minutes. The interviews were transcribed analytically in a word document. Thus, the author listened to each audio recording carefully, paused the recording after each utterance or related utterances produced by the participants, and then summarized them in English or wrote them verbatim in Arabic as possible quotes. Once the transcription phase was finished, the author looked for common themes in the transcribed data, which are reported in the Findings section. This study also used authentic materials from three main sources. The first source is 30 issues in Al-Dastour newspaper between 17 May and 15 June, 2016. My interest in this major Jordanian newspaper started during my 2016 study-abroad program. I had the chance to skim through an issue of this newspaper during a visit to a colleague’s office in May 2016. After noticing my interest, my colleague indicated that an online version of this newspaper exists, which I used to collect the data. The Jordanian government has the biggest share in Al-Dastour newspaper (35%; via Jordan Press and Publishing Co.), and therefore it is considered as a mouthpiece of the government. I focused on the headlines/titles used in these issues, particularly in two pages: (1) Local and (2) Arab and International. The Local page focuses on Jordanian affairs, whereas the Arab and International page focuses on Arab and world affairs. In analyzing these titles, I focused mainly on word selection and phrasing. The aim was to see how issues pertaining to Jordan and the Arab World are presented and framed in Jordanian print media. The second type of authentic materials is three speeches by King Abdullah II in three different situations. In one of these speeches, dated 3 March 2013, King Abdullah addressed “the Jordanian family” in a televised speech. The second speech was addressed to notables in Amman on 30 August, 2015. In the third speech, dated 13 December, 2017, King Abdullah addressed the Islamic Summit concerning President Trump’s decision to recognize Jerusalem as the capital of Israel. The videos of the three speeches were retrieved from YouTube. The length of first speech was 5:38 minutes, the second 5:05 minutes, and the third 7:36 minutes. I listened to each video three times. As I listened, I paused the videos to write notes and observations that are pertinent to the topics of this chapter. I paid particular attention to the use of SA and CA and identity-related words and expressions in these speeches. Lastly, I watched one full session for the Jordanian Parliament that was held on 3 January, 2017. The duration of the session was 53:38 minutes. The meetings of the Jordanian Parliament are usually televised live on the Jordan TV channel, and some are posted on YouTube, 179

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including this one. This meeting was selected because it is long enough to examine language use by several Parliament members. Apart from the President’s moderative remarks and statements, 47 speakers took turns to give their views on two main legislative issues: the creation of a new committee in the Ministry of Tourism and the creation of an independent fact-seeking committee about a violent incident in the city of Karak. As was the case with the other videos, I watched this video three times, pausing the video and taking notes concerning issues of language and identity.

4. Findings In this chapter, I will focus on language-identity dynamics with respect to five key social aspects: everyday life, political speeches, print media, education, and language attitudes. The goal is to examine how the relationship between language and identity unfolds in different social realms.

4.1  Language-identity link in everyday life The influx of many Egyptians, Iraqis, Libyans, Syrians, and Yeminis in the post-Arab Spring era has created tensions in Jordan for two main reasons. First, the fact that these new incomers had to share the same scarce resources available in Jordan put strain on the Jordanian economy. Second, many of the new incomers left their lands and belongings behind as they departed their countries and moved to Jordan. Therefore, many had to accept low-wage jobs to be able to support themselves and their families in their new milieu. For example, the vast majority of the Syrians, Yemenis, Egyptians, and Iraqis I met in Amman worked in construction, food services, or store services. The advent of cheap labor reduced the number of job opportunities for the local Jordanians. This created a strained relationship between many Jordanians, especially the young and less established, and the incoming Arab nationals. Many Jordanians complain publicly about the socioeconomic difficulties in Jordan, which they attribute mainly to the increasing number of Arab incomers. Paradoxically, the fact that many of these Arab incomers took low-wage and low-prestige jobs, which most Jordanians do not usually accept, gave these Jordanians an elitist view of themselves. The situation in Jordan thus emulates the conditions in the Gulf region after the discovery of oil and the arrival of foreign labor. The socioeconomic gap between the incomers and the locals developed gradually into disparity based on country of origin and eventually led to pride in national identity among the Gulf people. In other words, the socioeconomic privileges associated with being member of the Gulf society led to pride in national identity. This pride in national identity includes many aspects related to Gulf countries, including language. This explains the creation of an identity boundary between Gulf and non-Gulf Arabs; Gulfness became a more salient marker of identity than Arabness in these countries. The new identity is visible in individual practices by society members (e.g., treatment of Gulf vs non-Gulf Arabs) as well as on a broader national level (e.g., creation of the Gulf Cooperation Council). A similar pattern seems to be evolving in Jordan, though it is still less transparent because shifts in national identity are protracted by nature. A growing division between Jordanians and Arab nationals is triggered by socioeconomic disparities (e.g., type of jobs) that did not exist prior to the Arab Spring. These disparities translate into distinctions based on country of origin and are gradually fostering a sense of pride among the local people in their national Jordanian identity. Their sense of pride in the Jordanian identity encompasses a wide range of aspects, including language. One of the informative cases I encountered is a Syrian young man who worked in a store close to my residence. While I was in the store, I asked this young man about 180

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the location of an item which I could not find. He replied to me in a mixed Syrian and Jordanian dialect, particularly using the negative forms mis and maa-š (e.g., ma-fii-š ‘there is not’). After a short conversation with him, I realized that he had to adjust his accent because, for him, it was “better.” While I did not press for clarification of what “better” meant, I assumed that he wanted to blend in, possibly to avoid drawing attention and be accepted as “normal.” While this was a single case, it could be telling about one aspect of identity dynamics in everyday life in Jordan. Still, however, many Jordanians feel that the newcomers have a negative effect on the Jordanian economy and their personal welfare as Jordanian citizens. Before the Arab Spring, a distinction in the Jordanian socioeconomic and political landscape is often made between Jordanian nationals with Transjordan origin versus Palestinian origin. The reason behind this distinction is beyond the scope of this paper. However, since the 1970 Black September conflict between the Jordanian Armed Forces and the Palestinian Liberation Organization, the ruling family and successive governments in Jordan have strived to assert the Transjordan identity of the Kingdom. For example, most of the key positions in the government and military have been occupied by people from Transjordan. Similarly, although Jordan has a significant population of Jordanian citizens of Palestinian descent, the Jordanian government opted for a dialect that highlights Transjordan identity as independent from Palestinian identity. This explains why the Bedouin dialect of the southern tribes (e.g., in Karak and Ma‘aan) has become a main mark of Jordanian identity. For example, national songs are almost exclusively sung in this Bedouin dialect. After the Arabic Spring, a new division has emerged between Jordanian citizens on one hand and the new incomers on the other. Again, language has been a main identifier of Jordanians and non-Jordanians. One of the distinctive features of the Jordanian society is that Arab nationals are generally identified by their state nationalities. For example, a Syrian named Salem is normally called Salem the Syrian rather than just Salem. Similarly, an Iraqi or a Libyan named Rami would be called Rami the Iraqi or the Libyan. The speakers’ dialects become critical in identifying their Jordanian or non-Jordanian identity, and this may give salience to CA as a marker of Jordanian identity as a privileged form of identity. Although CA could have been implicated in defining national identity between Jordanian and non-Jordanian Arabs even before the Arab Spring, it now seems to provide an additional dimension of pride in the Jordanian identity.

4.2  Language-identity in political discourse Political discourses provide an important indication of identity politics because identity dynamics in many countries are determined by the politically powerful. For example, French was made the official language in Algeria immediately after France claimed Algeria as an  integral part of France in 1814 (Ager, 2001). French was enforced in political discourses, in official documents, in education, and in other key social spheres. By contrast, SA was banned for these same domains. This language policy has less to do with communication and more with a change in the identity of the whole country. As noted in the methodology section, I watched three speeches by King Abdullah II in different situations. In one video, he spoke to the notables in Amman. This is a common practice that King Abdullah employs to relate to his people. He delivered this speech in an informal setting, a tent similar to a madaafa, which is a guest house where many Jordanian families hold their family meetings, such as weddings, condolence visits, and Eid get-togethers. In this speech, King Abdullah used the Jordanian dialect exclusively. The use of the local dialect may be seen 181

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as a form of displaying solidarity with the Jordanian people as members of the same society. It could also be an attempt to highlight their shared Jordanian identity. Holes (1993) reported similar findings with respect to the previous Egyptian president Jamal Abdulnasser, who used to deploy the Egyptian dialect to demonstrate solidarity with the Egyptian people and to kindle Egyptian nationalism. King Abdullah’s second speech was addressed to the Jordanian family. Here he resorts mainly to SA but uses CA in some occasions. The use of SA is not surprising because SA is associated with political speeches, although the topic may seem to be social. This type of speech seeks to enhance the King’s popularity and approval among the Jordanian people. The use of SA in this speech not only meets the expectations of this formal domain and his immediate and broader audiences, but also conveys a sense of education, knowledge, and sophistication. However, he intersperses his SA-based speech with CA elements to convey a sense of Jordanian uniqueness, as I explain next. In other words, he successfully meets the general expectations of a political speech and simultaneously highlights his Jordanian identity. These two speeches by King Abdullah are characterized by three main features, which are vital to understanding his nationalistic views. The first feature is the emphasis on his Hashemite origin of the Kingdom. For example, he usually starts his speeches by invoking the name of God and then sending “blessing and peace to His Hashemite prophet.” The word “Hashemite” recurs frequently in his speeches to Jordanian audiences. Prophet Mohammad is a Hashemite, and therefore by invoking the Prophet’s family, King Abdullah seeks not only to underline his link to the Prophet of Islam, but also create a sense of pride among Jordanians with respect to their Jordanian belonging and identity. While underlining the Hashemite/Islamic identity of Jordan, he simultaneously avoids situating Jordan within any other nationalist frameworks, including pan-Arab nationalism. Since Muslim-majority countries do not form a unified nation, Jordan may not viewed as part of a recognized nation. The only viable framework within which Jordan can be viewed is through its current status as a unique nation with unique Hashemite founders. The second feature of King Abdullah’s speeches to Jordanian audiences is his constant use of the term šaʕbna ‘our people’ in reference to the Jordanian people, whereas the same term is not used in reference to the Arab people. When referring to Arab people and countries, he uses a variety of terms, such as neighboring countries, Arab countries, and peoples of the region. The Jordanian people and country are therefore set apart from their Arab neighbors. In his speech to the Jordanian family, he also used the word watan ‘homeland’ twice to refer to Jordan while the Arab countries were constantly referred to as al-mintaqa ‘the region.’ King Abdullah sporadically ˙ uses the term Arab, but always in connection with one of three terms: Jordanian, Hashemite, and Islamic. These associative combinations debilitate the distinctiveness of “Arabness” as an independently recognized form of identity. The third feature of King Abdullah’s speeches is his recurrent reminders to his Jordanian audiences of the grievous political and socioeconomic situation in the neighboring countries or peoples of the region. These reminders serve two interrelated purposes. First, it reminds Jordanians of the destiny that befell people who rose against their governments and possibly warns them against a similar fate if they follow the footsteps of their Arab neighbors. Second, it points to the privileges that Jordanians are experiencing in their safe and stable country. For example, in his meeting with the Amman notables, King Abdullah reports that he received assurances from Western countries concerning the stability of Jordan as a strategic ally to the West. Again, these assurances heighten Jordanians’ sense of pride in their national identity, which is underwritten by the Hashemite family. In his speech to the Islamic summit about Jerusalem, King Abdullah used SA exclusively as he read his speech from a scripted text. His use of SA is not surprising given the fact that SA is 182

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traditionally associated with Islamic identity (Chejne, 1969). Thus, the use of SA could be seen as an attempt to project Jordan as part of the vaguely demarcated Islamic world. Apart from his use of SA, King Abdullah emphasized the Islamic identity of Jordan and its adamant position against the recognition of Jerusalem as capital of Israel. The King not only invokes the link to the Hashemite Prophet right at the beginning of his speech, but also suggests that Jordan, as the “Hashemite guardian of Jerusalem . . . is honored by its historical responsibility towards Jerusalem.” He also indicates that Jordan is ready to “confront any changes to the historical and legal situation in the Aqsa Mosque” and invites the Islamic nations to support Jordan in fulfilling its historical role. There is a perception among many Muslims that the Hashemite family of the Prophet has a leading role in Islamic history, past and present. By couching Jordan within an Islamic framework and invoking this link between the ruling family in Jordan and the Hashemite family of the Prophet, King Abdullah puts Jordan in a unique Islamic position and asserts its leadership among Muslim-majority nations. The King’s speech is directed not only to the summit, but also to the millions of Jordanians who are eager to hear their government’s stance on the Jerusalem issue. This in turn enhances Jordanians’ sense of pride in their Jordanian belonging. Lastly, with respect to the session of the Jordanian Parliament, CA was profusely used throughout the session. In such a highly formal setting, one would expect the speeches and discussions to be mainly in SA. However, this is not the case, although the majority of members in the Jordanian Parliament are highly educated individuals with several having graduate degrees in different disciplines. The Parliament’s President used CA almost exclusively in moderating the session. Among the 47 speakers in the session, only nine used SA exclusively, and most of these speakers of SA were reading their contribution from a script. By contrast, spontaneous speeches were mostly in CA and sometimes in a mixed SA-CA variety. This suggests that SA may be receding from domains that were reserved for this language variety and giving way to CA as a representative of the local Jordanian identity, especially if we consider the notion that the increasing presence of CA in these domains goes along with identity politics in Jordan. Apart from the use of CA, speakers used terms that highlight their Jordanian identity throughout the session. For example, the word watan ‘homeland’ which has often historically been deployed in connection with al-watan al-‘arabiyy ‘the Arab homeland,’ was used four times by three different speakers in this session, all referring to Jordan. In general, the political discourse in Jordan seems to emphasize Jordan’s unique sociopolitical circumstances, role, and identity. This unique identity is sometimes sociolinguistically enacted in the growing presence of CA at the expense of SA in the political domain.

4.3  Language in education Language policy is an important indicator of identity dynamics in any given country. Language policy usually demonstrates the values assigned to different languages in a given society. An official language usually accrues more prestige than a non-official language. More importantly, language policies may underscore the projection of a people’s identity in relation to “other” sociopolitical orders and languages. This explains why most Asian and African nations annulled the language policies imposed by colonial powers once they gained their independence. In the Arab region, for example, SA was adopted as the official language in post-independence Arab states in effort to assert the identity of the Arabic-speaking people in the region. After gaining its independence in 1946, Jordan, like its other Arab counterparts, sought to undo the language policies of the British colonizers and assert the Arab identity of the majority of its population. The selection of SA as the official language of Jordan secured the place of SA in the public domain (e.g., media), but particularly in official, political, and educational 183

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domains. In addition, an academy of Arabic was established in 1979 to regulate the structure and use of SA in Jordan and in collaboration with other academies of Arabic across the Arabicspeaking region. Moreover, SA was reinstated as the official language in Jordanian educational institutions. This means that SA was supposed to be used as the language of instruction, and not only as a subject matter that is studied like a foreign language (e.g., English). However, a number of recent reports suggest that the role of SA has been diminishing in Jordanian education (see Albirini, 2015; Bani-Khaled, 2014a, 2014b; Alrfooh, 2014). This has to do with many factors, such as the difficulty of SA grammar, its limited uses in society, and the lack of urgent need to learn it for career advancement. The status of SA in Jordanian education stands in contrast with the rising presence and prestige of English as a global language. According to Bani-Khaled (2014a), the increasingly dwindling use of SA in education has also to do with the fact that most young Jordanians do not view SA as a mark of their national identity. In other words, this shrinking role of SA in Jordanian education has to do not only with utilitarian factors but also socio-affective factors. The reports concerning the declining presence of SA in education have been confirmed in my experiences in Jordan. During my stay in Jordan, I collected data from two private schools in Amman for language acquisition studies. I was invited by an administrator at one of these schools to provide feedback on language instruction at this school. I attended two classes, an Arabic class and an English class, both at primary school level. The Arabic class focused on SA grammar, particularly on the types of khabar ‘predicate’ used in al-jumla al-ismiyya ‘the nominal sentence.’ It is beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss the class format or dynamics. What is important here is the fact that SA was the subject of analysis almost throughout the class period; the focus was on learning the rules of grammar pertaining to the target form. The teacher provided examples of the target forms in SA, analyzed them methodically, and then presented a set of grammar rules. However, while SA grammar was the subject matter of the whole class, CA served as the language of instruction. In other words, the teacher used CA extensively both to explain the target forms and to interact with the students. Even basic classroom instructions were mostly rendered in CA. In the English class, by contrast, the content and language of instruction were both in English. In other words, English served not only as the subject matter but also the medium of communication and interaction between the teacher and the students. Arabic was used only a few times throughout the class, mainly when the teacher felt the students were confused and needed clarification. In one instance, a student asked a question in CA to which the teacher answered in English first and then reiterated her answer in CA. The class was lively with activities that provided a platform for the use of English by the teacher and the students. When discussing my observations with the school administrator, I was informed that the focus on English is a major selling point for the school. Many parents enroll their children in this school so that they can develop high proficiency in English at an early age. By contrast, the parents do not consider learning SA as a priority. When I asked the Arabic teacher about her use of CA, she explained that many students find SA difficult, and therefore her use of CA was meant to make the learning of SA easier to the students and increase the chances of their understanding of the content. The English teacher indicated that her almost-exclusive use of English is demanded by the school administration. Moreover, she received positive feedback from parents concerning her contribution to their children’s English learning. The teacher also mentioned that students became accustomed to English use because English is taught in this way from pre-school. The decline of SA use is also observed in Jordanian universities. During my 2016 studyabroad program in Jordan, I  was assigned an office adjacent to two classrooms in the host 184

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university, one right next to my office and another across the corridor from my office. While I could clearly hear the voices coming from both classrooms, the lectures from the bordering classroom were too audible for me to overlook. Throughout the month-long program, I spent the mornings in my office as my study-abroad students were in their Arabic language classes. As I stayed in my office, I unavoidably heard bits of lectures and discussions in this classroom. What caught my attention is that although some of these lectures were in Arabic literature, CA recurred with a notable frequency. Stretches of CA discourses were particularly discernable in one-on-one teacher-student interactions (e.g., answering students’ questions or making remarks to individual students) in ways that emulate everyday conversations. Upon my return to Jordan for the 2018 study-abroad program, I wanted to verify whether this was a common practice rather than an isolated case. I asked my interviewees whether CA was used in their SA classes (i.e., Arabic classes). All eight interviewees indicated that CA is used amply in their SA classes. When I inquired about the percentage of CA usage as a language of instruction in their classes, the interviewees gave percentages that ranged between 60% and 90%. I also asked whether CA was used in non-SA classes. All of the participants stated that CA was used frequently (55% to 90%) or exclusively depending on the type of course and instructor. Prompted to give more details about what they thought the rationale behind the profuse use of CA was, the interviewees gave almost an identical answer, that CA is thought to be easier to communicate with and convey ideas to students. I also asked the students whether they prefer SA or CA as the medium of instruction in their classrooms in general. Five interviewees reported a preference for CA, again citing its easiness compared to SA. As one of the interviewees argued, “CA conveys the idea in an easier way . . . as a means of communication it is easier for both parties [student and instructor].”4 Among these five students, three also attributed their predilection for CA to the fact that they just “got used to it” or “feel more comfortable” using it, or they are “very weak in Arabic [SA].” One of them also maintained, “I prefer that he [the professor] talks to us in CA so that he is closer to us.”5 However, two students reported a preference for SA. One of them explained, “because in the home, we use CA . . . why not hear my language in its correct accent (SA) in the time I go to learn.”6 The other student with a liking for SA rationalized, “because we as Arab students must have a way of speech . . . SA. But when we see that the professor himself or the teacher is not using SA, so we already will not use it.”7 The eighth student said that she prefers SA in her SA classes and CA in other classes. She explained that “In Arabic classes, SA should certainly be used because this is Arabic language and it is no longer in use nowadays and one has to use it in order to be able to understand it.”8 She also explained her choice of CA in non-SA classes, “because it [CA] is on a level similar to students’ understanding because we are not holding on to the Arabic language [SA] so we do not understand all the expressions said.”9 In general, SA seems to be heading into a periphery role in Jordanian education. It is not seen as essential to children’s education as global languages, such as English. By contrast, CA is gaining more grounds as the language of instruction in Jordanian schools and universities. Mizher and Al-Abed Al-Haq (2014) argue that language policy makers are responsible for the weakened role of SA in Jordanian education.

4.4  Language-identity link in the media SA is used in print media across the Arab region, and Jordan is no exception. SA is used in this domain by default since the regional and local CA varieties are not codified and therefore do not have established and agreed-upon writing rules and conventions (Versteegh, 2001). The use of SA in print media may also be based on its appeals to a wider audience across the Arab region, 185

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as it is the language thought to be most fitting to the main audience and consumers of print media, that is educated Arab speakers. This means that the use of SA in print media in Jordan and across the Arabic-speaking region may not necessarily reflect identity dynamics. Given that the use of SA is possibly a default choice, an analysis of the media content is necessary to examine identity subtleties in Jordanian print media. As noted, I have examined 30 issues of Al-Dastour, a main newspaper in Jordan that largely reflects the opinions and position of the Jordanian government. In particular, I looked at the titles of two pages in this newspaper, one focusing on Local affairs and the other dealing with Arab and International affairs. The grouping of these three labels in itself is telling because Arab issues are neither considered Local nor assigned an independent page or heading separate from International. Admittedly, there may be organizational or space rationales behind this grouping. The titles in the Local news included three instances of the word watan, all used to refer to Jordan. The word mamlaka ‘kingdom’ occurred four times also in reference to Jordan. By contrast, the word Arab or Arabic is used only twice and in reference to the 1916 Great Arab Revolt, which was led by the Hashemite Sherif Hussein Bn Ali, the great grandfather of current King Abdullah. Jordan is the only Arab country that commemorates the Great Arab Revolt as a national holiday. The reference to the Great Arab Revolt is significant because it underscores the role of King Abdullah’s Hashemite family in the very establishment of Jordan. The reference to the Arab Revolt is part of state-based nationalist discourses that seek to exalt the ruling family in to attempt to ensure loyalty to the state. This type of discourses is common across the Arab region (Albirini, 2015). In the Arab and International page, the titles covered four main themes: (1) regional conflicts and tragic events (e.g., suicide bombings), (2) the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, (3) Western-Arab relations, and (4) other Arab and global affairs. The Arab-related titles focused mainly on the chaotic situation and hostilities in the region. For example, 42 of the 118 titles in the pages over 30 days reported cases of bombings, confrontations, or meetings that revolve around political problems in the region. Out of these 42 titles, 11 focused on violent acts committed by ISIS. Similarly, 33 of the 118 titles addressed the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The type of events covered in this page presents a gloomy picture of the Near East region. It is true that this region is going through turmoil, but the exclusively negative representation of the region might have a sociopolitical purpose, namely, demonstrating the glaring contrast between the situation in Jordan and its neighboring countries and thereby presenting Jordan in a positive light compared to its Arab neighbors. It is no coincidence that Jordan was not mentioned in any of these violence-focused titles. The presentation of the grim Arab situation and its implicit contrast to the situation in Jordan possibly aims to remind Jordanians of the boons of being part of this safe country and eventually raise their sense of appreciation of their Jordanian belonging. Pan-Arab nationalist symbolism and narratives are completely absent in the titles of these newspaper pages. For example, terms that are often charged with Arab-identity feelings, such al-‘umma al-‘arabiyya ‘Arab nation,’ al-qawmiyya al-‘arabiyya ‘Arab nationalism,’ al-watan al-‘arabiyy ‘the Arab homeland,’ ‘al-ashiqqaa’ al-‘arab ‘the Arab brothers,’ and other expressions of Arab nationalism, solidarity, and commonness are missing in the titles. When referring to neighboring countries and peoples, the titles identify them as “Syria,” “Iraq,” “Yemen,” and “Egypt” with no indexicality of Arabness or any shared forms of identity. When used without such qualifiers, these terms serve to set Jordan apart from its neighboring countries and eventually create a sense of unique Jordanian identity that is severed from its Arab identity. Similarly, the term laaji’iin ‘refugees’ is used to describe incomers from neighboring countries. This term is problematic because it carries negative connotations, unlike its equivalent nazihiin, which may carry the same meaning but has less negative connotations. The term ˙ 186

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laaji’iin is particularly negative in this context because many Jordanians, Syrians, and Iraqis were historically part of the same family, clan, or tribe. For example, the people in the north of Jordan and south of Syria were historically part of Huraan Plain before being split in the 1916 Sykes-Picot agreement. It is not uncommon to find members of the same family, clan, or tribe on the opposite sides of the Jordanian-Syrian border. When the term laaji’iin is not used, these incomers are called by their countries, such as ‘Syrians’ with no other reference to any link to Jordan or any other form of shared identity. This may be seen as a form of othering that downplays the importance of Arabness as a common identity marker. In general, the print media tries to distance Jordan from other Arab nationals and states. This is achieved by the selective use of terms that underscore the difference between Jordan and its Arab neighbors and simultaneously ignoring discourses that highlight aspects of their common history, language, and ethnic background.

4.5  Attitudes toward SA, CA, and English Language attitudes may be informative of identity sentiments. Individuals usually have favorable attitudes toward languages or language varieties associated with their identity. This is particularly true when they feel that their language is under threat, as is the case of SA, which faces competition from global languages, such as English and French, and from local CA varieties (Albirini, 2015). I reported on a study focusing on the attitudes of 156 Jordanian students in two Jordanian universities toward SA, CA, English, French, and other languages (Albirini, 2015). Questionnaires and interviews were used to collect the data.10 The data from the attitudes scale in the questionnaire indicated that, overall, Jordanian college students had more favorable views of English than both SA and CA because of its association with modernity, science and technology, professional careers, and worldwide utility. Apart from English, SA received slightly more favorable attitudes than CA mainly because of its link to the Qur’an and Islam and its importance for literacy and formal domains (e.g., education), rather than because of its link to Arab identity. These attitudes reveal that the affective advantage that SA used to have over CA and foreign languages is no longer sustained. They may also explain the occasional calls in academic discourses across the Arab region for strengthening the position of SA relative to English and CA (Abdulaliim, 2012; Hamaada, 2012; Nourddiin, 2012). In terms of identity sentiments, the data showed that Jordanian college students had relatively positive attitudes toward their Arab identity. For example, they responded favorably to questions concerning their appreciation of the traditions and practices in the Arab culture and their relationship with members or groups of Arab background. The findings also revealed a positive correlation between their attitudes toward SA and their sense of Arab identity; participants who had favorable views of SA also had positive views of their Arab identity, and vice versa. However, the data also pointed to a positive correlation between CA and Arabic identity. In other words, feeling a sense of belonging to and pride in Arab identity is associated not only with SA but also with CA. As noted, given the current socioeconomic and political situation in Jordan and the region, CA has become a critical identity marker, separating Jordanian and nonJordanian Arabs. This adds a new dimension to identity where state-based identity becomes a major marker of national identity. For this study, I  asked the eight interviewees six questions focusing on the relationship between their language attitudes and identity feelings (see Appendix). One question was, “How would you describe your identity?” Three participants identified themselves as “Arab Jordanian,” whereas only one described himself as “Jordanian.” A  fifth participant claimed a 187

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“Palestinian Jordanian” identity and a six an “Arab Palestinian Jordanian” identity. The seventh labeled herself a “Muslim Arab Palestinian Jordanian” and the eighth a “Palestinian” because her family migrated not long ago from Galilee to Jordan. Thus, whereas all the participants identified themselves by their local region “Jordanian/Palestinian,” none linked him-/herself exclusively to the Arab ethnicity. Arabness seems to be used as a qualifier rather than a main marker of identity. A second question I asked was, “Which language or dialect represents you as a . . . [the identity descriptors each participant used in the previous question]?” Interestingly, all of the eight interviewees associated different varieties of CA with their identity. Three indicated that “Jordanian Arabic” is the dialect that represents them, with one particularly naming “the southern Bedouin dialect” in Jordan. Three others identified the dialect spoken in Amman as markers of their identity, with one referring to it as “the variety we speak at home.” One participant opted for the “rural dialect” also because it is spoken at home. The last participant identified the “Palestinian” dialect as a representative of her identity because she, as someone who migrated from Palestinian to Jordan relatively recently, still identifies herself as Palestinian. Surprisingly, none of the participants identified SA as a representative of their identity, although one acknowledged that “it truly should be SA which is the language of Qur’an . . . but unfortunately [it is] CA.”11 This shows that the current sociopolitical situation in Jordan not only nurtures these local forms of identity, but also gives salience to the unique aspects of these forms of identity, including the local CA varieties associated with them. I also asked about what SA and CA represent for the participants or mean to them. Seven interviewees indicated that CA represents their identity, while three of these seven also described it as a means of communication. Only one participant described CA as just “a way to communicate with all.” The participants’ views of SA varied widely. Only one participant labeled SA as a representative of his “identity as an Arab.” Four participants described SA as a marker of “Arab civilization,” “Arabness,” “our roots and origins,” and “culture, particularly the old Arab culture.” One student defined SA “an expressive . . . strong” language that should be used in Arab society, while another called it “a subject matter” that she had to study. The eighth student depicted SA as a language “alien” to the Jordanian society because it is not used, claiming that it would be strange to hear it in everyday communication. A related question was whether SA is still a symbol of the collective Arab identity, as it used to be in the past. All eight participants problematized the historical link between SA and Arab identity. While four participants argued that the link is no longer active in the light of the current sociopolitical circumstances in the region, the remaining four gave different reasons for the disconnection between SA and Arab identity. One student argued that this has to do with the current focus on CA in each Arab country and in each region. Another suggested that the link between SA and Arab identity is in existence only theoretically and in some discourses, but did not existence “in practice.” One of the students did not see any link because “SA is extinct and if it is ever read, it is only when one reads Qur’an.”12 Another attributed the decline of SA as a marker of Arab identity to English, “now there is a move more toward English and people hold on to English more . . . so they are not holding on to SA much.”13 Lastly, I asked the interviewees about their views of English and whether its spread in the Jordanian society affects their own identity feelings or the Jordanian society. All of the participants expressed positive views of the spread of English, highlighting in particular its importance for career advancement and international communications. For example, one students described English as “a language of success,” pointing out “in Jordan . . . a person who knows English is called educated and has respect.”14 Another reflected that English “helps us in economic aspects  .  .  . to communicate  .  .  . to open our minds for example for new things abroad.”15 188

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Despite the positive side of English spread in Jordan, some students were cautious about its unfavorable effects, including its use as a marker of social class or prestige and its negative impact on Jordanians’ culture, native language, and identity. For example, one student contended that, “It [the spread of English] is a good thing and not a good thing because we are losing our Arab identity and a good thing because we are moving along the other peoples [in terms of ability to communicate].”16 Another student argued that, “The English language here in Jordan affected the Arabic language a lot with respect to children more than adults because the international schools are abundant and the father and the mother talk with their kids in English.”17 Thus, although the participants welcomed the spread of English and saw several positives about it, some also saw some caveats in the overuse of English and its adoption at an early age or as merely a form of prestige. In general, the participants’ attitudes reveal an increasing recognition of the value of CA, possibly because of its link to their local Jordanian identity. This is an important development because CA has historically been stigmatized for its divisive role. English is also receiving favorable views – a new pattern that contradicts its depiction as a colonial language in post-­independence Transjordan (Abdulaziz, 1986).

5.  Discussion and conclusion This study investigated identity dynamics in relation to the linguistic landscape in Jordan after the Arab Spring. Jordan is a unique country because it was directly affected by the Arab Spring due to the large number of incomers from neighboring Arab countries, including Egypt, Iraq, Libya, Syria, and Yemen. The influx of many Arab nationals has influenced the Jordanian social fabric and impinged negatively on Jordanian economy. The sociopolitical unrest in the region and the various internal and external threats to Jordan in the post-Arab Spring era, such as the possibility of internal upheavals or the fear of external conflicts spilling over to Jordan, have been used by the Jordanian government to enhance Jordanians’ sense of national identity. This appears particularly in political discourses and media, but is also clear in everyday conversations with Jordanians who often overtly express their content with the political (but not socioeconomic) situation in Jordan when compared to the surrounding countries. Jordan is safer and more stable than most of its Arab neighbors, which creates a sense of security and privilege in being a Jordanian citizen. This has led to a greater sense of pride in their unique Jordanian identity and its sociopolitical emblems, such as the ruling Hashemite family and the Jordanian Bedouin dialect. Another consequence of the Arab Spring is the growth of cheap labor in Jordan, which created a double problem for Jordanian youth. First, the arrival of many workers in Jordan has limited job opportunities for many young Jordanians. This economic situation has instigated ill feelings toward the incoming Arab nationals and indirectly created a negative impact on pan-Arab national feelings. Arab identity is typically invoked in association with periods of prosperity and power in Arab history. Nowadays, however, Arab identity is associated with fragmentation, political powerlessness, and economic disadvantages. Paradoxically, the fact that the vast majority of these Arab incomers accepted low-wage and low-prestige jobs has created a sense of elitism among the majority of Jordanians, which in turn bolstered their pride in their Jordanian belonging and identity. These political and socioeconomic complications make the idea of a collective Arab identity pragmatically less appealing to many Jordanians, especially the youth, because it carries political and economic disadvantages. This may possibly explain why the discourse on Jordanian identity fares better than the discourse on pan-Arab identity among Jordanian youth. Although identity 189

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feelings among many Jordanians may be rooted in economic and political factors, it is however visible in the social and linguistic domains. For example, linguistically, the post-Arab-Spring era has witnessed a large number of nationalist songs that are sung in the Bedouin Jordanian dialect. Pan-Arab nationalist symbols and terminology, such as al-‘umma al-‘arabiyya ‘Arab nation,’ al-qawmiyya al-‘arabiyya ‘Arab nationalism,’ al-watan al-‘arabiyy ‘the Arab homeland,’ have almost disappeared in the media and political discourses. In education, the role and usage of SA are gradually receding. The construction of a distinct Jordanian identity rests heavily on creating discourses that highlight the unique attributes of Jordan, such as its Hashemite rulers and their link to the Prophet of Islam, its support by external powers, and its stable political situation. These discourses are prevalent in the Jordanian media and politics. Apart from solidifying its internal cohesion and self-image of being different from other Arab states in terms of safety, security, and leadership, Jordan seems to project itself more within a global framework than within an Arab framework. For example, King Abdullah is more active in strengthening ties with European, American, and Asian allies than with Arab allies. The 30-day titles covered in Al-Dastour newspaper cite three international visits made by King Abdullah to non-Arab allies. King Abdullah has a strong command of English, and he uses English almost exclusively in his international visits, meetings, and speeches.18 His use of English is part of the projection of global identity as it creates an aura of modernity and openness about Jordan and its ruling family. Part of Jordan’s attempts to situate itself within a global framework is also reflected in its implementation of English in education and other social spheres. Thus, English has become an important language in many spheres in Jordan, such as tourism, business, technology, media, and international trade. Similarly, many Jordanian youth seem to project themselves around a global identity rather than an Arab identity. In other words, they seem to forgo their immediate Arab belonging and envisage their place in the world. This may explain their more favorable views of English compared to SA. The global dominance of English makes it appealing to young Jordanians, who may embrace it for instrumental and ideological reasons. The appeal of English lies in the fact that desirable societal traits in Jordan, such “modernity” and “openness,” are associated more with English than with SA (Siraaj, 2013). Thus, young Jordanians’ views of English is somehow compatible with the dominant sociopolitical discourse in Jordan, which couches Jordan more within a global framework than within an Arab framework – given the various tensions and inconveniences associated with the latter framework. It is therefore possible that the Jordanian youth tend to adopt English and a more fluid identity due to their growing frustration with the political, economic, and social situation in the Arab region, which impacts their attitudes toward SA (Albirini, 2015). SA has recently been receiving more and more competition from CA. Historically, CA was stigmatized for its divisive and counter-Arab-nationalist effects (Suleiman, 2003). However, since the prospect of Arab unity is nowhere on the horizon and the pan-Arab nationalist discourse is in constant decline, CA is receiving more favorable views from the Jordanian youth, as the interviews in this study and previous studies show (Albirini, 2015; Mizher and Al-Abed AlHaq, 2014). It is illuminating that the status of SA, which was taken for granted after the Arab states’ independence, is highly contested nowadays. This explains the current rise in the number of conferences and calls for salvaging SA and its position among Arab youth (see Albirini, 2015 for a review). However, these mostly academic demands do not seem to uplift SA in key social spheres, including education, because language policy is mainly a political act (Fishman, 1974). SA is still one of the main emblems of Arab history and culture for many Jordanians, as the interviews suggest, but this does not conflict with the rising status of CA as a marker of Jordanian national identity. 190

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In conclusion, the Arab Spring and the subsequent influx of many Arab nationals into Jordan has fueled Jordanian nationalist discourses and created a sense of pride in Jordanian belonging, which translates linguistically into more appreciation of CA. At the same time, the aftermath of the Arab Spring has contributed to undermining the discourses of Arab nationalism and its symbols, including SA. SA is receding in key social spheres – even though its links to Arab history and culture are still acknowledged – whereas English and CA are gaining growing recognition among Jordanian youth. Whether these changes have a long-term effects or will disappear once the current sociopolitical situation in Jordan and the whole region improves needs to be seen over the coming years.

Notes 1 Obviously, this definition does not cover many people who reside in the Arab region. 2 The number was much higher a few years ago, but many Iraqis used Jordan as a transition place to move on to more affluent countries, particularly in Europe and North America. 3 Success is used here in relation to the objective of the movement. It is therefore relative and may be judged differently by different individuals and peoples. 4 The Arabic quote: “‫كوسيلة تواصل إنو تكون أسهل للطرفين‬. . . .‫”العامية توصل الفكرة أسهل‬ 5 The Arabic quote:  “‫”بفضل إنو هوي يحكي بالعامية حتى يكون أأرب إلنا‬ 6 The Arabic quote:  “‫ ليش ما يكون هادا الوأت اللي أنا رايح فيه مشان أتعلم أسمع لغتي بلهجتها الصحيحة‬. . . ‫”ألنو بالبيت تستخدم العامية‬ 7 The Arabic quote: ‫ الفصحى لكن لما نشوف انو الدكتور نفسو أو المعلم ما عم‬. . . ‫ طريقة بالحكي‬. . . ‫”ألنو نحنا كطالب عرب المفروض يكون عنا‬ already “‫فإحنا ما حنستخدما‬ ‫يستخدم اللغة العربية الفصحى‬ 8 The Arabic quote: ‫”بكورسات العربي أكيد اللغة الفصحى هيي مفروض تكون مستخدمة ألنا هادي لغة عربية وبطلت متداولة هأل والزم الواحد‬ “‫يتداولها عشان يكون آدر يفهم عليها‬ 9 The Arabic quote: “‫”عشان تكون على مستوى فهم الطالب ألنو مش كتير نحنا متمسكين باللغة العربية فما بنكون فاهمين كل المصطلحات اللي بتنحكى‬ 10 Naturalistic observations were also used, but they are not reported here for space limitations. 11 The Arabic quote:  “‫ بس مع األسف اللغة العامية‬.‫”األصل انو تكون هي اللغة العربية الفصحى اللي هيي لغة القرآن‬ 12 The Arabic quote:  “‫”اللغة الفصحى برأيي اندثرت وإذا كانت ت ُقرأ بس لما الواحد يجي يقرأ قرآن‬ 13 The Arabic quote:  “‫ مش متمسكين بالعربي كتير‬. . . ‫ فما‬.‫”هأل في توجه لإلنكليزي أكتر وصار ناس متمسكة باألنكليزي أكتر‬ 14 The Arabic quote:   “. . . ‫”نحن عنا في األردن اللي يعرف إنكليزي هادا يأولولو مثقف وإلو احترام‬ 15 The Arabic quote: ً ‫ بتفتح عأولنا‬. . . ‫ حتى تواصل‬. . . ‫من نواحي اقتصادية‬. . . . ‫” بتساعدنا‬  “‫مثالعلى شغالت جديدة برة‬ 16 The Arabic quote:  “‫”هوي اشي منيح ومش منيح ألنو نحناعم نفأد هويتنا العربية واشي منيح ألنو عم نواكب العصر عم نواكب العالَم التاني‬ 17 The Arabic quote: ‫”اللغة اإلنكليزية أثرت كتير هون باألردن على اللغة العربية من ناحية األطفال أكتر من الكبار ألنو صارت المدارس الـ‬ “‫ وكتير األب واألم بيحكو مع والدهم باألنكليزي‬. . . ‫ كتير‬international 18 I watched a few speeches for King Abdullah which he delivered in English.

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Abdulkafi Albirini Abdulaziz, M. H. (1986). Factors in the development of modern Arabic usage. International Journal of the Sociology of Language, 62, 11–24. Ager, D. E. (2001). Motivation in language planning and language policy. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters. Albirini, A. (2015). Modern Arabic sociolinguistics. London: Routledge. Aldwari, A. (1984). Al-takween at-taariikhi li-l-umma l-‘Arabiyya: Diraasa fi l-hawiyya wa-l-wa’y [the historical establishment of the Arab nation: a study in identity and awareness]. Beirut: Markaz Diraasaat al-Wahda al-‘Arabiyya. Alrfooh, A. (2014). Effectiveness of applying inquiry strategy on the achievement of ninth grade students in Arabic language grammars in Petra: Jordan. Journal of Education and Practice, 5(9), 1–9. Antaki, C., & Widdicombe, S. (1998). Identity as an achievement and as a tool. In C. Antaki & S. Widdicombe (Eds.), Identities in talk (pp. 1–14). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Antonius, G. (1938). The Arab awakening: The story of the Arab national movement. London: Hamish Hamilton, Simon Publications. Bani-Khaled, T. (2014a). Attitudes towards standard Arabic: A case study of Jordanian undergraduate students of English. International Journal of Linguistics, 6(4), 154–181. Bani-Khaled, T. (2014b). Standard Arabic and diglossia: A problem for language education in the Arab world. American International Journal of Contemporary Research, 4(8), 180–189. Blommaert, J. (2010). The sociolinguistics of globalization. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Bucholtz, M., Liang, A. C., & Sutton, L. (1999). Reinventing identities. UK: Oxford University Press. Chejne, A. (1969). The Arabic language: Its role in history. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Fairclough, N. (1989). Language and power. London: Longman. Fishman, J. A. (1974). Language modernization and planning in comparison with other types of language modernization and planning. In J. Fishman (Ed.), Advances in language planning (pp.  79–102). The Hague, The Netherlands: Mouton. Hall, S. (1996). Who needs “identity?”. In S. Hall & P. du Gay (Eds.), Questions of cultural identity (pp. 1–17). London: Sage Publications. Hamaada, S. (2012). Al-lugha wa-l-huwiyya al-‘arabiyya fi muwaajahat ‘asr al-ma‘luumaat wa-l-‘awlamah  – ˙ of information and globalizadiraasa taħliiliyyah [the Arabic language and identity in the face of the age tion – an analytic study]. Paper presented at the First International Conference on the Arabic Language, Beirut, 19–23 March. Available at www.alarabiah.org/index.php?op=view_all_studies&id=15 Holes, C. (1993). The use of variation: A study of the political speeches of Gamal Abd al-Nasir. In Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics (Vol. V, pp. 13–45). Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Kroskrity, P. (2000). Regimenting languages: Language ideology perspectives. In P. V. Kroskrity (Ed.), Regimes of language (pp. 1–34). Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press. Mizher, R.,  & Al-Abed Al-Haq, F. (2014). Attitudes towards using standard Arabic among academic staff at Balqa applied university/center in Jordan: A sociolinguistic study. International Journal of English Linguistics, 4(1), 53–59. Nassar, H. (1956). Al-Mu‘jam Al-‘Arabyy: Nash’atuhu wa-Tatawuruhu [The Arabic dictionary: Its creation and development]. Cairo: Maktabat Misr. Nourddiin, K. (2012). Istikhdaam al-kalimaat al-ajnabiyya fi l-lugha al-‘arabiyya wa-mawqif al-majaami ‘ al-‘arabiyya min thaalik [the use of foreign words in the Arabic language and the attitudes of the Arab academies toward it]. Paper presented at the First International Conference on the Arabic Language, Beirut, 19–23 March. Available at www.alarabiah.org/index.php?op=view_all_studies&id=15 Silverstein, M. (2003). Indexical order and the dialectics of sociolinguistic life. Language & Communication, 23, 193–229. Siraaj, N. (2013). Al-shabaab wa lughatu al-‘asr [The youth and the language of the contemporary age]. Beirut: Mu’assatu Al-Fikr Al-‘Arabiyy. Smith, A. (1986). The ethnic origins of nations. Oxford: Blackwell. Suleiman, Y. (2003). The Arabic language and national identity. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Versteegh, K. (2001). The Arabic language. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

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‫‪Appendix‬‬

‫‪Interview Questions‬‬ ‫‪  1‬ممكن تحكيلي شوي عن حالك (اسمك‪ ،‬عمرك‪ ،‬من وين‪ ،‬وين ساكن‪ ،‬شو بتدرس‪ ،‬الخ)؟‬ ‫‪ 2‬هل بتستخدَم اللهجة العامية بدروس العربي اللي أخدتها أو اللي بتاخدها بالجامعة؟‬ ‫‪ 3‬هل بتستخدَم اللهجة العامية بالدروس التانية اللي أخدتها أو اللي بتاخدها بالجامعة‪ . . . ‬يعني غير دروس العربي؟‬ ‫‪ 4‬هل انتي بتفضل الفصحى أو العامية كلغة تدريس وتواصل بالصفوف اللي بتاخدها؟‬ ‫‪ 5‬كيف ممكن توصف هويتك؟‬ ‫‪ 6‬أي لغة أو لهجة بتمثلك كـ‪. . . . .‬؟‬ ‫‪ 7‬شو بتمثل اللهجة العامية بالنسبة إلك أوشو بتعنيلك؟‬ ‫‪ 8‬شو بتمثل الفصحى بالنسبة إلك أوشو بتعنيلك؟‬ ‫‪ 9‬هل بتظن إنو الفصحى لسهاتها رمز للهوية العربية المشتركة متل ما كانت بالماضي؟‬ ‫‪ 10‬شو رأيك بانتشار اللغة اإلنكليزية باألردن وشو رأيك بتأثيرها على المجتمع األردني؟‬ ‫‪ 11‬بتحب تضيف أي شي تاني؟‬

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12 ARABIC AND IDENTITY IN THE CONFLICT-RIDDEN REALITY IN ISRAEL Muhammad Amara

1. Introduction Language establishes intellectual, cultural, and national boundaries between mother tongue speakers and ‘others’ and, as such, is one of the most important components of individual and collective identity (Haarmann, 1999; Suleiman, 2011). Similarly, language plays a substantial role in the public arena: the higher the position and prominence of any given language, the greater its symbolic value and vitality are considered to be (Amara, 2018a). Thus, knowledge pertaining to the use and status of Arabic in Israel necessarily reflects on essential aspects of Palestinian Arab identity and can serve as a barometer for examining relations between Arabs and Jews. Arabic in Israel is a special and complex case. It has undergone many upheavals – from the majority language prior to the state’s founding, to the minority language of the Palestinian Arabs, while remaining the dominant language of the Middle East. The Palestinians in Israel, accounted for 20 percent of the population of Israel in 2018, are those who remained in their homeland in the wake of the Palestinian defeat of 1948 and the establishment of the State of Israel. They identify emotionally, culturally, and nationally with the Arab world and the Palestinian people. They constitute an important part of the Palestinian nation. However, their unique circumstances as citizens of Israel, whose experiences differ from those of other Palestinians in the last seven decades, have also had an effect on their attitudes in the domains of education, language, society, politics, and institutions (Amara, 1999; Amara and Mar’i, 2008). The Palestinian citizens of Israel are in conflict with the Jewish majority on two central issues: internally there is the problem of the definition of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state, resulting in marginal civil and national status for the Palestinians in Israel; externally, there is the effect of the continued struggle between Arab states and Israel, influencing the nature of contact between Hebrew and Arabic (Amara and Mar’i, 2008; Suleiman, 2004). The tension in the relations between the State of Israel and its Palestinian citizens does not at its core affect only material demands but pertains to more fundamental issues as well. They are an indigenous group with its own unique historical narrative, one that clashes with the historical narrative of the Jewish majority, especially with respect to issues concerning the conflict since 1948, and such fundamental topics as the land, identity, and the nature of citizenship (Amara and Kabaha, 2005). 194

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These issues have a tremendous impact on the formation and crystallization of the Palestinian identity repertoire in Israel (Amara and Schnell, 2004). Arabic is an essential component of identity formation. However, numerous challenges are encountering Arabic in the conflict-ridden reality of Israel. The diminishing older generation, coupled with Palestinians’ isolation from their Arab brethren in the Arab world, has led to a diminution in the knowledge and use of Arabic. This is accompanied by Hebraization, represented in the pervasive presence of Hebrew encroaching upon proficiency in Arabic. Add to this the forces of globalization which weaken ties to indigenous modes of operating in the world in favor of mainstream culture (Amara, 2018a). The current paper deals with the complex relationship of Arabic and identity in Israel. To explore this matter, in the following section I shed light on the rise of Arabic in Palestine, providing the broader context, followed by a section on language and identity in Israel. In the final two sections, one examines Arabic among Palestinians in Israel, and the other Arabic among Israeli Jews.

2.  Islam and the rise of Arabic in Palestine A brief background to the recent socio-historical context of the languages of Palestine will give a broader context and better understanding of the current situation of Arabic in relation to identity in Israel. A turning point in the dominance of Arabic in Palestine was with the spread of Islam during the first decades of the seventh century ce. Palestine, a part of Syria at that time, was conquered by the Arabs. Arabic replaced the Syrian Aramaic language, the lingua franca of the region at the time. Ever since, Arabic has been the native language of the Palestinian Arabs, and the most prominent language of the public domains. During the Crusades, French, German, and English were used. However, the language of daily communication was Arabic. The Franciscan Fathers who came to Palestine after the Crusades introduced the teaching of Italian among Christians in Bethlehem and Jerusalem (Giacaman, 1990). In 1517 Palestine was conquered by the Ottoman Turks who ruled Palestine till 1917. Turkish was the official language of the government, and the Arabic language was weakened, though remaining the widely used language in the public sphere (Ayish et al., 1983). The nineteenth century witnessed a cultural renaissance due to Napoleon’s campaign in Egypt and Syria in 1799. Arabic gained additional strength as a result of the opening of Western missionary schools in Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine (Hassassian, 1987). Maoz (1975) reports that there was unending competition among the various Christian churches. Each church taught its own language: French or Italian (Catholics), English (Presbyterians, Anglicans, and Quakers), German (Lutheran), and Russian (Orthodox). Spolsky and Cooper (1991) describe Palestinian multilingualism in Jerusalem where the following languages and varieties were used in the late nineteenth century: Spoken Arabic, Classical Arabic, Turkish, Greek, Latin, French, Armenian, English, and German. In 1917, towards the end of Ottoman rule in the Arab countries (including Palestine), Turkish was made the official language and Arabic was discouraged as an educational language. In spite of the Ottoman attempts to weaken the Arabic language, Arabic remained the most prominent language in Palestinian, as reflected in daily life practices (Amara,1999). The developments of the twentieth century, following the end of the Ottoman rule in Palestine in 1917, are the most dramatic ones. Since the British Mandate period in Palestine, Hebrew, along with English and Arabic, has been recognized as an official language (see Amara, 2002; Amara and Mar’i, 2002; Saban and Amara, 2002). During the British Mandate period in Palestine, English became the main language of the government. However, although the 195

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communities, Arab and Jewish, operated their own separate school systems, there was language contact, generally with the Jews learning Arabic (Spolsky and Shohamy, 1999; Amara and Mar’i, 2002). Jews learnt Arabic mainly through informal contact with Palestinian Arabs. However, the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, and the dominance of Hebrew in everyday interactions and all domains of life have had the most profound impact on the status of the Arabic language. In 1948 Israel was established on most of Mandatory Palestine with the exception of the West Bank of Jordan (annexed to Jordan), and Gaza Strip, administered by Egypt. Arabic is the official language of Jordan and Egypt. English was and is the only foreign language taught at government schools of the West Bank and Gaza Strip (Tushyeh, 1986). In private schools, French, German, and Spanish are taught in addition to English. The Jordanian and Egyptian curricula were in effect in the West Bank and Gaza respectively during the Israeli occupation of these areas from 1967 till 1994. During the Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza, English served as a lingua franca between Palestinians who did not know Hebrew and Israelis who did not know Arabic. English is viewed as a neutral language (Al-Masri, 1988). The establishment of the Palestinian National Authority in Gaza and Jericho in 1994, and in 1995 and 1996 in major West Bank cities, has not changed the multilingual situation essentially. However, some changes in relation to teaching English, Hebrew, and other European languages were observed (Abu-Lughod, 1997; Amara, 2003). Within the newly established state, Israel, Arabic in Israel is legally recognized as a second official language. Arabic is the mother tongue and the main national and cultural language of more than one-and-a-half-million Palestinian Arabs, who are citizens of Israel. Likewise, Arabic is the community language of hundreds of thousands of Sephardic Jews. It is taught as a mother tongue in all Arab schools in Israel from the first to the twelfth grades, and in several colleges of education. It is also studied by tens of thousands of Jews as a foreign language (Amara, 2002, 2015; Amara and Mar’i, 2002). In brief, the Palestinian linguistic repertoire and the status of the Arabic language were mainly influenced by the geo-political transformations. Arabic today is a prominent language in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, due to the Palestinian National Authority rule in these regions, and Arabic within Israel is a marginalized language due to the Jewish hegemony in Israel.

3.  Language and identity in Israel Since the focus of the article is on Arabic and identity in Israel, this section sheds light on the significance of language in Israel in general and of the Arabic language in particular. The entrance of Hebrew into the arena was a major element in transforming the sociolinguistic landscape in Palestine. Arabic, which was for many centuries the most prominent language of the public sphere, was replaced by Hebrew. Hebrew, the hegemonic language of the Jewish majority is perceived as the legitimate language in public life, and the extensive and symbolic use of minority languages are perceived as a threat to it (Saban and Amara, 2002; Shohamy, 2006). Accordingly, the connection between language and identity, as perceived and adopted by the Zionist movement,1 meant monolingualism, which implied making Hebrew the primary language while marginalizing other languages, including Arabic and the languages of Jewish immigrants. This ideology encouraged or even pressured Jewish immigrants to Israel to learn and accept Hebrew as the main language and accelerated the shift from the immigrants’ original languages to Hebrew. The perpetuation of the mother tongues among the Jewish immigrants was perceived as an expression of hatred of and resistance to the new national identity (Shohamy, 1999; Spolsky and Shohamy, 1999). In 196

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this reality, therefore, the Jewish immigrants’ languages of origin were perceived as obstacles to the success of the Zionist enterprise. This process is named Hebraization. Hebraization was undoubtedly very successful. The Israeli establishment supported the Hebrew language by putting it on the national agenda, teaching it to new Jewish immigrants, and promoting its use as a language of wider communication among the members of different Jewish ethnic groups. Over the years, it became the prime language of communication in all domains of life, both private and public. Hebraization also found its way into the Palestinian linguistic repertoire in Israel. It is extremely difficult for Palestinian Arabs to function outside their localities without proficiency in Hebrew. Hebrew is now the main source of borrowing in Palestinian Arabic in Israel ‒ not only Hebrew words but also English words borrowed via Hebrew (Amara, 1996). The impact of Hebrew is not confined to borrowing from the various lexical domains but rather extends to the Palestinian linguistic landscape in Israel (Ben-Rafael et al., 2006; Amara, 2015). The prevalent approach in Israel is “language as a problem” (Amara et al., 2016), perceiving other languages as a threat to the hegemony of the Hebrew language. This relates mainly to two groups: Jewish immigrants and indigenous Arabs. Israel espouses the policy of ‘melting pot,’ and as such it demanded that the Jewish immigrants give up their languages in favor of the Hebrew language. Accordingly, the language of instruction and public space is Hebrew, while the languages of immigrants remain spoken mainly at home and in their communities. Arabic, as we will see, though recognized as one of the two official languages of the country, serves mainly the internal life of the Arab society, and actually it is a marginal language compared to Hebrew, the dominant language in the public sphere. However, in spite of the success and dominance of the Hebrew language, some groups (especially the Palestinians in Israel, several denominations of ultra-Orthodox Jews, and the new immigrants from Russia) continued to use their native languages and preserve their identities for various reasons, thus challenging the Hebrew language. Spolsky and Shohamy (1999) argue that the monolingual ideology in Israel, ‘One language for one nation,’ is changing, and that the country is showing signs of greater tolerance for multilingualism. Indeed, there are more signs of language diversity in private and some public domains than there were a few decades ago. Ben-Rafael (1994) suggests that in the first stage, traditional Jewish multilingualism was replaced ideologically by Hebrew monolingualism. In the second stage in the 1970s, with the global spread of English, a new type of Hebrew-English bilingualism began to develop (Fishman, 1977).2 English today in Israel has many uses in various domains, whether in government offices, the linguistic landscape, higher education, scientific publications and conferences, or even in teaching courses in English not only for foreigners but also for Israelis, despite the fact that English is not an official language in Israel (see Amara et al., 2016). The need for the English language has increased over the years in Israel (Cooper, 1985). Today, English serves as the language of access to business, science, education, and travel. In addition, English is one of the most important languages for Jews in the Diaspora (Spolsky, 1996). It is worth mentioning that in the Israeli education system, 40 percent of English teachers are native speakers of the language (Inbar-Lourie, 2010). Russian poses another challenge to Hebrew. The Russian migration to Israel in the 1990s was based primarily on pragmatic rather than ideological reasons, that is, socio-economic reasons (e.g. Al-Haj, 2008; Al-Haj and Leshem, 2000). Contrary to other immigrants from other parts of the world, Russian immigrants feel more confident in using their first language in various fields, not only at home but also in public domains when possible – such as on their shop windows, theatre, and mass media – thereby expressing pride in their language and culture. 197

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A further challenge comes from foreign workers. At work, they communicate with their employers in rudimentary Hebrew (i.e. pidgin Hebrew) or English, if it is spoken by the employer (Hashahar and Harati, 2002). The languages that foreign workers bring with them to Israel augment language diversity in the general domain and add new, unfamiliar features to the Hebrew language. However, these languages do not constitute a serious threat to Hebrew in Israel.

3.1  The place of Arabic in Israel Though English and Russian pose some challenges to the monolingualism of Israel, the major challenge comes from the Arabic language. Israel may be considered an island surrounded by an Arabic ocean, and the Arabic language is rooted in every spot of the land: streets, neighborhoods, villages, cities, plains, mountains, valleys, institutions, and so on (Amara, 2018a). Even the places that were Judaized and given Hebrew names still carry the Palestinian Arabic names. Though nowadays, in the Israeli reality, the Arabic language does not pose a real threat to Hebrew in Israel, it is not perceived as such by the Jewish majority or among policy makers. Since the establishment of Israel, it has been at war with the Arab countries. The Arab-Israeli conflict has raised fears concerning the very existence of the Jewish state and its Jewish identity. Arabic in Israel is perceived as the language of the enemy (Amara and Mar’i, 2002). This is reflected in the study of Arabic by Jews where Arabic is emphasized as the language of security (Mendel, 2014). Added to this, Western cultural values, including the linguistic ones, are viewed very positively due to the fact that many Jewish Israelis perceive Israel as a modern Western state. They even perceive it as a Western country, though it is located physically in the Middle East. This can partially explain the highly positive image of the English and French languages in Israel (Ben-Rafael, 1994), whereas Arabic has a low linguistic capital value. What is the status of the Arabic language in Israel? After the establishment of Israel in 1948, Arabic was legally recognized as an official language on a par with Hebrew. Under the new national law, adopted by the Israeli Knesset in July 2018, Arabic is no longer an official language. It was given a special status, which is not yet defined. However, the status accorded to Arabic in Israeli law is still devoid of any practical significance in Israeli public life. For all intents and purposes, Hebrew is virtually the only language of Israeli civic life. By and large, this is the language in which the Israeli public domain ‘speaks.’ It is the language of bureaucracy, of higher education, almost exclusively of the domestic electronic media, and, most importantly, of those sectors of the labor market that are open to the Arab minority. The major significance of the status of Arabic in Israel resides in the extent of protection it affords the internal life of the minority (rather than society as a whole), particularly as regards the right to education in the minority tongue (Saban and Amara, 2004). The Palestinian citizens of Israel reject the current devoid status of Arabic, and they demand the country to recognize the official status of Arabic as a de facto language in the public sphere and not only declaratively. Besides, they demand the State to recognize Arabic as the language of the Palestinians as a national and indigenous group. Meanwhile, their main activism in this regard is the referral of their case to the Supreme Court. However, no dramatic change has occurred yet because the identity conflict between Jews and Arabs within Israel is still rife. It has even increased in the last decade under the rule of right-wing governments, which marginalize not only the Arabs in Israel, but also the Arabic language. This is reflected in the many proposed bills advocating the nullification of the official status of Arabic and the retention of Hebrew as the only official language in Israel. This has been evident in the Law of Nationality, which practically advocates the exclusion of Arabic from the public sphere ( Jabareen, 2015). 198

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4.  Arabic as the indigenous language of Palestinian Arabs In 2006–2007, four fundamental documents, known today as the ‘Future Vision’ documents, were released by leading Palestinian Arab civil society organizations in Israel. They include (1) The Future Vision for the Palestinian Arabs in Israel, published in December 2006 by the National Committee for the heads of the Arab Local Authorities in Israel; (2) An Equal Constitution for All? On a Constitution and Collective Rights for Arab Citizens in Israel, published in November 2006 by Mossawa – Advocacy Centre for Arab Citizens in Israel; (3) The Democratic Constitution, published in March 2007 by Abdallah – The Legal Centre for Arab Minority Rights in Israel; and (4) The Haifa Declaration, published in May 2007 by Made al-Carmel – The Arab Centre for Applied Social Research. All the ‘Future Vision’ documents, without exception, require the State of Israel to recognize the Palestinian Arabs as an indigenous national group, entitled to collective rights such as the right to administer the Palestinian minority’s cultural, educational, and religious issues (The Future Vision of the Palestinians in Israel, 2006, 14; The Haifa Declaration, 2007, 15–16; The Democratic Constitution, 2007, 8; The Mossawa Document, 2006, 50). As regards the language situation in Israel, the documents seek to put an end to the linguistic hegemony of the Jewish majority, considered to be part of Jewish ethnic hegemony, by expanding the use of Arabic in the public domains and empowering it as a legitimate vehicle whereby Palestinian Arabs can express and build their cultural and national identity in Israel.3 As for the role of Arabic in Israel, it is the mother tongue and the national and cultural language of the Palestinian Arabs in Israel. Arabic is the language of instruction during all stages of education until the end of high school. Arabic is also the medium of instruction in colleges of education such as the Arabic department at Kaye College in Beersheba, the Arab Academic Institute for Education at Beit Berl College in Kfar Saba, the College for Education in Israel in Haifa, and Al-Qasemi College in Baaqa Al-Gharbiyya. Landau (1993, 48) believes that this decision was made so that “Arabic culture would be central in its scholastic importance, so as to enable Arabs to maintain their religious, historical and literary values.” In view of the post-1948 socio-political reality, in which Palestinian Arabs have become a marginalized minority in Israel, the question remains as to whether they will succeed in maintaining Arabic as their native language; and if so, then to what extent and in which domains will Arabic be used? Satisfactory answers to the previous questions can be provided by employing the model of “ethnolinguistic vitality” introduced by Giles et al. (1977)4 as a useful and practical framework for the investigation of the vitality of Arabic in Israel (for greater details, see Amara, 2006). As regards the status factors, Giles and colleagues (1977) discuss the group’s economic wealth, social status, and the symbolic status of its language. The economic status of a minority language is likely to be a key element in language vitality. Palestinian Arabs in Israel, who constitute an indigenous and national minority, are considered a minority of low socio-economic status (Haider, 1991; Lewin-Epstein and Semyonov, 1993; Rosenfeld, 1978; Smooha, 2015). As BenRafael et al. (2006, 13) explain, The standard of living of large strata among them stands substantially below the average of the Jewish population while the definition of Israel as the homeland of the Jewish people entails preferential treatment in several respects for the Jewish majority and its symbols. As to language status, though recognized as an official language of Israel, Arabic does not enjoy a high status within the state. However, Palestinian Arabs in Israel perceive Arabic as one 199

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of the most important components of their national and cultural identity, and an investigation of status factors reveals that the Arabic language in Israel has a low-to-medium level of vitality. Giles et al. (1977) explain that the demographic variables concern the number of speakers of a certain language within a particular area, the geographic distribution of a language minority group and the number of mixed-language marriages. In contrast to status factors, the analysis of demographic factors indicates a medium-to-high vitality of the Arabic language. Arabic is the language spoken at home and the language of the community (with some erosion in mixed cities and among those serving in the Israeli army, mainly Arab Druze and Bedouins) and it is passed on from one generation to the next. Institutional support is another set of factors that significantly affect the vitality of a minority language. According to Baker (1993, 53), the relevant institutions include “national, regional and local government, religious and cultural organizations, mass media, and not least education.” Thus, the more the minority group members and their language are represented in the various institutions, the more the minority language is used and its vitality maintained. Arabic is used in all Palestinian institutions in Israel. In institutions dealing with Arab-Jewish relations, both Arabic and Hebrew are used. At the national level, Hebrew is the most dominant language and serves as a lingua franca for both Arabs and Jews. Thus, an examination of institutional factors reveals that the Arabic language in Israel has a medium level of vitality. In conclusion, in spite of the geo-political transformations in the region, there has not been a drastic language shift among the Palestinian population in Israel. The Arabic language is used in many realms of life: at home, in school, in daily life among themselves, and in local journalism. It is possible that the most important factor for the vitality of Arabic in Israel – helping preserving individual and national identity of the Palestinians within – was the decision by the education committee to perpetuate the British policy of permitting Palestinian schools to use Arabic as their language of instruction (Spolsky and Shohamy, 1999). Beyond this, the success of Arabic in the national public sphere is very limited, and the hegemony of Hebrew is almost absolute. Hebrew is a vital necessity for effective functioning in most domains of life at the national level. Although Arabic in Israel is still vital among the Palestinian Arab citizens, three major challenges face the Arabic language in Israel, as reflected in the following contexts. The first challenge is the old-new challenge related to diglossia and modernization, as in other Arab contexts. The issue of diglossia/multiglossia is not new to the Arab world, but its problems in the field of language education are still evident. This means that Arab learners face serious difficulties in learning the standard variety and the results obtained are not satisfactory. This also implies that many future learners will not be able to use the standard variety properly in academic and real-life tasks.5 As regards the modernization of Arabic, the arguments vary widely. Reformists suggest corpus planning that ranges from slight to drastic in relation to various aspects of Arabic structure. In contrast, the conservatives reject any change, accusing the proponents of modernization of conspiracy against the Arabic language. They often accuse foreign interference of attempting not only to change the Arabic language but also to ruin the unity of Arab nationalism and the pillars of Islam (Amara, 2018b). Although this heated discussion commenced at the beginning of the last century, no serious changes occurred with regard to Arabic structure. No appropriate and effective solutions for learning the standard variety were suggested, and the challenge still exists, as reflected in the low academic achievements and the wide use of foreign languages in education. Second, Arabic in Israel became a minority language after serving as a majority language for many centuries – from the spread of Islam in the seventh century ce till the establishment of Israel in 1948. This signifies that the Palestinian Arab minority in Israel is dependent on the 200

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Jewish majority in many different fields, including language, in order to gain access to the public sphere and avail itself to its resources. The language of the majority has become the language of empowerment and social mobility in Israel. Hebrew became the dominant language in the public sphere. Due to the dependence of the minority on the majority in most domains of life, there is a dire need for a high degree of competence in Hebrew, which in many cases comes at the expense of Arabic. On the one hand, Palestinian Arabs realize that Arabic is important for their survival and for the preservation of their collective identity. On the other, the challenges of daily life require the extensive use of Hebrew. Third, there is the challenge that involves modernization, technological development, and globalization. The Palestinian Arab citizens of Israel come into contact with different cultures, causing them to undergo a modernization process that comes at the expense of their traditions. In the era of technological development, mainly the internet, Palestinians establish contacts with other individuals from various language backgrounds for a variety of reasons. The immediate society and the state in which they live no longer constitute the limits of their relationships and interactions. Globalization, with its advantages and disadvantages, imposes itself on various parts of the world, including the Palestinians. It also affects identity crystallization. In this case, globalization poses challenges to Arabic no less than Hebraization does. In short, while Arabic in Israel is a vital and extremely important language for preserving Palestinian Arab identity in the Israeli conflict-ridden reality, both Hebraization and globalization are challenges facing the Arabic language, though to different degrees, and for the time being it seems that Arabic is the most prominent language for their individual and societal identities.

5.  Arabic among Jews: the language of the enemy Knowledge of Arabic among Jews in Israel is a dire necessity and not a luxury for the following reasons. First, more than 20 percent of the state’s population are Palestinian Arabs. Second, Israel is located in an Arab region in which the dominant language is Arabic. That means it is the most dominant language of the region. Third, half of the members of Jewish society are Mizrahi in origin (coming from the Middle East and North Africa), a significant portion of whom are influenced by the Arabic language and culture. Fourth, the stage of achieving peace with the Arab world will require the development of diplomatic, economic, and cultural relations. This means that Jewish society will be obliged to learn Arabic in order to communicate with the Arab world in these domains. Fifth, Arabic is an important language in international organizations (Amara et al., 2008; Amara et al., 2016). Though Arabic is extremely important for Israeli Jews, in reality things are different. Nearly 70  years since Israel’s foundation, the Israeli attitude to Arabic as a ‘problem’ rather than a (human and material) resource is still widespread. Many Jews perceive Arabic as a language that threatens the Jewish sovereignty in the country, and it is perceived as the language of the enemy more than the language of the neighbor. Therefore, the study of the language is mostly encouraged for intelligence and military purposes, and almost none of the reasons mentioned earlier are considered in knowing Arabic (Mendel, 2015). The teaching of Arabic among Jews aroused public controversy even prior to the establishment of Israel. In spite of the support for teaching Arabic to Jews6 this notion did not gain real impetus or implementation during the Mandate period; only two Jewish schools in Haifa taught the language (Yonai, 1992). The public controversy continued after the establishment of the State of Israel. The socio-political sphere was not conducive to the idea of teaching Arabic as a subject matter in Jewish schools. This was due to the ideological dominance of Hebrew as the main language of the public sphere ‒ a symbol of the dominance of the Jews in the new 201

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state. It was further attributable to the competitive value of English and French as global languages, as Spolsky and Shohamy (1999) explain. For building the nation and bolstering the collective identity among Jews in Israel, the Arabic language was deliberately neglected in the Jewish schools. As such, the Palestinian Arabs became the ‘other’, meaning, in this case, enemy rather than friend. In a detailed study about Arabic among Israeli Jews, Mendel (2014) has revealed a new type of Arabic. He explains that it is not the Arabic used by the Palestinian citizens of Israel, nor the Arabic of other Arabs in the region. Mendel rightly discusses the creation of this new type of Arabic as the language of the enemy, not the language of the neighbor. He illustrates that the new ‘type’ of language did not bring its learners closer to those who speak the language, rather it was intended to help the learner comprehend ‘the Arabs’ in an impersonal and sterile way, or to decode ‘what the Arabs want’ without regard for the Arabs as their neighbours – not to mention as citizens of the same state. (p. 8) The new Arabic is employed as an instrument in the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, rationalizing the study of Arabic for security purposes in the name of peace. The negative, security-centered attitude toward Arabic reveals a disregard for the Arab’s presence in the region, and a lack of respect for their culture. What this situation in Israel really calls for is not the revocation of the status of Arabic as an official language – as recently suggested by the Nationality Law mentioned earlier – but rather a boosting of the status of Arabic in order to effect a positive change. Israeli Jews should strive to make Arabic an integral part of their lives and culture and their Middle Eastern identity, just as Palestinian Arabs in Israel recognize Hebrew and it is part of their daily lives. Put another way, the time has come to ‘civilianize’ the Arabic language in Israel.

6. Conclusion Although the Arabic language is vital to Palestinian Arabs in Israel and constitutes one of the most important components for their individual and national identities, transmitted from one generation to the next and used in many contexts and domains, it encounters numerous challenges, whether internal (diglossia and modernization) or external, particularly those posed by both Hebraization and globalization. The relationship with Israeli Jews and the Hebrew language is complex, and the Palestinian Arabs, citizens of Israel, are in constant conflict with the Israeli establishment and the Jewish majority. On the one hand, as a result of their citizenship, they have many shared spaces and interests with Israeli Jews and they use Hebrew in innumerable jobs and domains (e.g. in government offices, in employment and in higher education). On the other, there is a dispute between Palestinian Arabs and Jews regarding essential matters such as the land, the identity of the country, and the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. This generates constant tension between the two sides. Arabic among Jews is perceived negatively, as the language of the enemy not of the neighbor. The negative attitude towards Arabic leads to disrespect to the Arabic language and its culture. Accordingly, Arabic is perceived by the overwhelming majority in Israel as a problem not as an asset, leading to learning it mainly for dealing with the ‘Arab enemy’. The ‘new Arabic’, described earlier, is employed as an instrument in the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, rationalizing the study of Arabic for security purposes in the name of peace.

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Only when the Arabic language is seen as the indigenous and national language of the Palestinian Arabs in Israel, and as an asset in Israel, and linguistic difference is not perceived as a threat to Jewish sovereignty, will there be an opportunity for building a genuine linguistic mosaic that is truly two-way and bilingual to arise. Such a situation would help to build true bridges between Jews and Arabs in Israel and beyond, and possibly paving the road for historical reconciliation in the region.

Notes 1 Hebrew revival was connected with the Zionist Movement  – a socialist and territorial movement  – which strove to recreate the Jewish individual. 2 In the legal field, when various interpretations of a law are required in the three languages, Paragraph 32 of the law gives preference to Hebrew over Arabic and English. 3 For greater details see Amara (2010) and a more detailed article on the same topic by Amara and Agbaria (2011). 4 The model proposes a group of societal variables that provide structural factors promoting or impeding the long-term maintenance of the language of an ethnic group. The variables are clustered under three main headings: (1) status factors; (2) demographic variables; and (3) institutional support factors.   The model posits that the greater the vitality possessed by ethnolinguistic groups, the more they will be able to preserve their collective social identity and maintain their native language in various domains of life. In contrast, those ethnolinguistic groups that have little (or no) vitality may lose their unique collective identity and native language. For greater details on ethnolinguistic vitality and minority education, see Ehala (2009, 2010). 5 A comparison of international exams in mother tongue languages reveals that Arab countries are at the bottom of the scale (see http://timss.bc.edu/ PDF/P06_IR_Ch1.pdf ). PIRLS is one of the exams administered by the international organization for evaluating achievement in education. It examines literacy reading among a sample of fourth-grade pupils in various countries. In the exam conducted in 2011, the sample comprised 45 countries. The Arab countries participating in the exam were at the bottom of the scale: Morocco ranked 45, the last on the scale; Oman 44, the one before the last; Qatar 43, Saudi Arabia 41; and United Arab Emirates 40. 6 For instance, at a conference held in Jerusalem in 1935, it was proposed that Arabic should be made compulsory in all Jewish schools.

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Website http://timss.bc.edu/ PDF/P06_IR_Ch1.pdf

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13 IDENTITY PERFORMANCE AND POSITIONING IN ONLINE DISCOURSE IN JORDAN Muhammad A. Badarneh

1. Introduction Although Jordan is viewed as a country of a fairly homogeneous population, Jordanian society at large is characterized by overlapping layers of identity that are typically constructed and performed through language involving a variety of political, social, cultural, and religious expressions that sound idiosyncratic to Western discourse (see e.g. Badarneh and Migdadi, 2018). This varied linguistic performance of identity is a direct result of the different political circumstances and events that Jordan has experienced and witnessed since its independence, leading to the formation and construction of a cluster of identities in the country, along with the linguistic resources used to express them. The purpose of this chapter is to explore these multiple identities and how they are expressed through analysis of data from online discourse. One factor that has drastically affected the notion of identity in Jordan is the huge Palestinian influx brought about by the Arab-Israeli wars, making ‘Palestinian identity’ in Jordan an integral, yet polarizing, factor in Jordanian life. The main reason for this is that this mainly ‘urban’ Palestinian identity has collided with the local traditional ‘tribal’ identity of native Transjordanians who have viewed such Palestinian identity, in all its forms, as a threat to their own national identity, and hence as a threat to their power (see Brand, 1995). This collision between the two identities has played a role in creating and maintaining what Ryan (2013) calls “ethnic identity politics” in Jordan. Thus, as Köprülü (2013, 59) puts it, “Jordan epitomizes a case that can often be found in the region where pan-Arab, Palestinian, and tribal identities interact and interplay with one another”. This identity conflict in Jordan has been further aggravated by a clash between panArabist (secular) and Islamist (religious) discourses (see Jonasson, forthcoming), which are both proponents of cross-national identity and whose ideological underpinnings transcend a local ‘Jordanian identity’. The scene, and the conflict herein, has been further complicated by the appearance of other ‘sub-identities’ within the country, such as nationalists, leftists, and secularists. All this has created what Bani Salameh and El-Edwan (2016) refer to as an identity crisis in Jordan. This varied and complex clustering of identity in Jordan have been very recently captured, unwittingly perhaps, in a caustic statement on Facebook made by an Islamist MP, which was reported in the local media, commenting on the defeat of the Islamists in the elections of the highly politicized Jordan Engineers Association ( JEA) after they had controlled it for over twenty-five years:1 206

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‫ وكذلك االمر لكافة‬,‫لها الحق الكامل للتحشيد ضد ‘قائمة انجاز’ في نقابة المهندسين‬,‫بقايا اليسار بأنواعها‬ ‫ وفروع‬،‫العلمانيين والليبرالين وأبناء الطوائف وفصائل حركة فتح القدامى والمستجدين من الملتزمين والمتفلتين‬ ‫ وهؤالء وأولئك أمة من الناس ال‬،‫القوميين والناصريين والبعثيين والماسون والمستغربين والالدينين والمثليين‬ ‫يستهان بعددهم‬ The remnants of the Left, of all kinds, have the full right to mobilize against the Islamist EJA candidates, as do all secularists, liberalists, followers of (other religious) sects, factions of Fatah movement, both old and new, diehard and apathetic, and groups of nationalists, the Nasserists, the Baathists, the Freemasons, the Occidentalists, the irreligious, and the homosexuals. These and those are groups of people whose numbers cannot be underestimated. (Ammonnews.net, 5.5.2018) In this post, the Islamist MP attacks what he perceives to be collective machinations of other apparently anti-Islamist parties against the Islamist candidates in the EJA elections. In doing so, the MP sarcastically resorts to identity work by positioning the Islamist identity as opposed to all other identities in Jordan, which include secularists; liberalists; Christians, who are implicitly referred to as abnā aţ-ţawā’f ‘literally: sons of sects’; Palestinians, who are metonymically referred to as ‘Fatah factions’; and Arab nationalists, embodied mainly by followers of the Baath Party and Nasserism, in addition to groups with various ideological orientations like freemasonry, Occidentalism, and homosexuality. Linguistically, the writer displays his own Islamist identity by using the proximal deictic ‫‘ هؤالء‬these’ and the distal ‫‘ أولئك‬those’ followed by the expression ummah min an-nās ‘group of people’. What is peculiar about this usage is that it invokes the discourse of the Quran where the use of ummah refers to a ‘group of people’ rather than ‘nation’ as used in Modern Standard Arabic. Furthermore, the word ummah is commonly used in the Quran in contexts referring to past nonbelievers, and thus the MP insinuates that the groups he listed are antithetical not to the Islamist candidates per se but to the whole religion and doctrine of Islam. This example encapsulates reference to a curious amalgam of identities that can be found in public discourse in Jordan, especially in online and social media discourse that have gained more and more weight in providing venues for identity expression. Identity discourse in Jordan, however, involves more aspects and more complex constructions that are predicated on various national, tribal, socio-cultural, ethnic, and religious aspects that need to be analyzed in order to form a better picture of the intricacies and complexities of identity work and discourse in Jordan, and how Jordanians draw on the linguistic resources available to them as they construct these identities. Therefore, a study of identity in Jordan should take into account people’s complex multilayered identities, given the importance Jordanians attach to supra-state identities, most notably tribal, national, and religious ones, which will be the focus of this study. Following Baumann (2000, 1), this chapter adds “performance” to “the nexus of language and identity”, so its investigative focus is an exploration of “when and how identities are interactively invoked by sociocultural actors” (Kroskrity, 1993, 222) through the discursive deployment of linguistic resources. Furthermore, this chapter focuses on “identity practices” (Bucholtz, 1999), that is, acts by an individual or group that affirms what identity the entity is assuming either by stating what it is not (negative identity practice) or by emphasizing what it is (positive identity practice).

2.  Previous research Considerable attention has been given to the issue of identity in Jordan in light of the role it has played in the formation of Jordan, given the turbulent geopolitical and demographic circumstances that the country has experienced throughout its rather short history (George, 2005), 207

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most prominently the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (Gandolfo, 2012). However, a survey of studies on the complex issue of identity in Jordan reveals that it has been approached mainly from historical, demographic, or political perspectives, with little attention paid to the relationship between identity and language in Jordan, how identity is performed, or the linguistic resources deployed in constructing and expressing this identity. One line of research has focused on the events that have contributed to shaping of Jordanian identity. Gallets (2015, 1) points out that “the events of Black September were a turning point in the development of Jordanian identity”, leading to “the crystallization of a distinct Jordanian identity as a reaction to the developing Palestinian identity”. These events have resulted in identity conflict involving Transjordanians and Palestinian Jordanians, creating identity struggle and even clash in local public discourse in Jordan (Fruchter-Ronen, 2008). Manifestations of this identity conflict included a difference in patterns of speech and dress. Thus, a salient feature serving as an identity marker is how a Palestinian Jordanian typically pronounces the qaf as [ʔ], while a Transjordanian would pronounce the qaf as [g]. Another identity clash has semiotically manifested itself in more Palestinian Jordanians adopting the black-and-white kefiyyeh as an identity marker, while more and more Transjordanians adopted the red-and-white kefiyyeh as a symbol of their own Jordanian identity (Gallets, 2015). However, these can only be taken as general observations of the language and semiotics of identity in Jordan, as a Transjordanian may use [ʔ] instead of qaf or wear a black-and-white kefiyyeh. As Ryan (2011, 565) points out, while this line between Palestinians and East Jordanians can at times be deeply divisive, it is also but one of many levels of identity within the country (Brand, 1995; Lynch, 1999; Massad, 2001; Alon, 2007). This multilevel identity situation has resulted in an interlocking web of identities that form and contribute to a perceived one Jordanian identity, and has created a space where multiple identities shape the formulation of one’s loyalties and political affiliations. Based on data from online sources, the analysis will focus on the various overlapping aspects of such Jordanian identity as expressed in online discourse, focusing on three identity constructions: tribal identity, national identity, and religious identity.

3.  Theoretical approach The present study of identity in the Jordanian context is theoretically grounded in the notion of positioning as advocated by positioning theory which adopts a discursive approach and focuses on the level of language use and meaning construction through discourse (Davies and Harré, 1990; Harré and Moghaddam, 2003; Harré and van Langehove, 1991, 1999; Tan and Moghaddam, 1999). Positioning is defined as “the discursive process whereby selves are located in conversations as observably and subjectively coherent participants in jointly produced story lines”, which may involve “interactive positioning in which what one person says positions another” and “reflexive positioning in which one positions oneself ” (Davies and Harré, 1990, 48). The term positioning is used as an alternative to the idea of personhood and to the concept of role, thus constituting a more dynamic view of identity that overcomes the shortcomings of static role-based theories. Within this theory, identity is discursively produced in the course of communication, in which discourses provide a range of positions or categories that participants identify with, as well as their meanings. As a result of the ‘here-and-now’ quality of positioning, it can be seen as a conceptualization of ‘doing identities’ in talk (Andreouli, 2010, 4). According to Davies and Harré (1990, 46), [o]nce having taken up a particular position as one’s own, a person inevitably sees the world from the vantage point of that position and in terms of the particular images, 208

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metaphors, storylines and concepts which are made relevant within the particular discursive practice in which they are positioned. Positioning theory conceptualizes the ‘other’ as an integral part of this positioning process, as positionings are always jointly (re)produced and relational. In other words, the adoption of a position always assumes a position for the interlocutor as well, so positioning processes involve both self and other positions (van Langehove and Harré, 1999). People take positions within discourses that allow the presentation of a particular identity, or particular aspects of an identity, in a particular context or situation. Furthermore, there is an aspect of polyvalence or multiplicity of identity, whereby identity cannot be seen as a monolithic entity to which individuals do or do not correspond. Identity rather constitutes a continuum of ‘ingroupness’ to ‘outgroupness’ in which every person can take on different positions and each individual has the capability of combining several identities (Duszak, 2002). As Davies and Harré (1990, 49) point out, “the positions created for oneself and the other are not part of a linear non-contradictory autobiography”. Furthermore, at the micro-level of conversations, identities can shift in the course of one conversation according to the different story lines that are taken up (Davies and Harré, 1990), which eventually results in the existence of ‘repertoires of identity’ (Kroskrity, 1999). Social actors discursively construct their versions of social reality, which is informed by and based upon discursive practices embedded in their socio-cultural environment. As discourses of these social actors are grounded in subject positions, they take up particular positions whereby they interpret the world from the perspective of that position in terms of images, symbols, metaphors, values, storylines, and the socio-cultural concepts available to them within a given discursive environment in which they are positioned (Davies and Harré, 1990). Social actors have a cluster of rights and duties that they access when they engage in interactions in a given context and which shape their public discourses (Davies and Harré, 1990; Harré and Moghaddam, 2003). The discourse and positioning of social actors in communicative settings reflect the available interpretative repertoires or discursive practices embedded in their given context, and can be understood through their collective belief systems, values, and socio-cultural experiences. This positioning in discourse is not static: it is subject to fluctuation and alteration in accordance with the discourse environment, time, space, and circumstances. Culture plays an important role in this positioning. As pointed out by Tan and Moghaddam (1995, 393), “a satisfying discussion of positioning on any level absolutely requires the inclusion of cultural considerations” since cultural factors “fundamentally affect positioning practices” (original emphasis). According to them, positioning practices vary with three factors: 1) the particular cultural ideals persons desire to move toward through positioning; 2) the particular dimensions which persons find relevant in positioning themselves and others in discourse; and 3) with the preferred forms of autobiographic telling, which may influence the types of stories people tell themselves about themselves in the process of positioning. (1995, 393) Carbaugh (1999, 160) further emphasizes that every social interaction presupposes and creatively invokes culture, intelligible forms of action and identity. Interacting through symbolic forms carries with it claims, tacitly or consciously, about the kind(s) of person one (and other) is, how one is 209

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(currently being) related to others, and what feelings are to be associated with the social arrangement. Positioning theory may thus provide an all-embracing analytical tool for analyzing and understanding the interplay between social and psychological considerations in identity. Furthermore, the focus of positioning theory on language in use and on the discourses that emerge and are shaped in ongoing language use makes it an apt analytic framework for the study of identity (Lee, 2018, 421).

4.  Identity construction This section provides an exploration of how social actors attempt to provide a particular identity construction and the way they deploy this identity as a resource for their descriptions of what they consider to be the ideologically ‘right’ or ‘positive’ position in relation to a particular issue, which serves to position them as people with a legitimate view and a justifiable worldview. The analysis will focus on three identity constructions online: tribal, national, and religious.

4.1  Tribal identity construction Tribalism is one of the basic pillars of identity in Jordan, one that is colored with Bedouin values. As explained by Massad (2001, 18), “the Bedouin are seen as the carriers of Jordan’s true and authentic culture and traditions” to the extent that “Bedouin tribes have come to symbolize Jordan’s national identity” (Layne, 1989, 24). When tribalist discourse is deployed, it implicitly excludes, or at least marginalizes, other communities, mainly Palestinian, from the national base, and the nomadic traditions of ‘native’ Jordanians are juxtaposed to the heritage of these other communities, to the extent that the terms ʕašāɁiri ‘tribal’, watani ‘patriotic’, and urduni ˙ ‘Jordanian’ have progressively become equivalent ( Jungen, 2002, 201). Accordingly, there has been a promotion of tribal components in the process of national construction (Massad, 2001). However, saying that “East Bank Jordanians have a deeply ‘tribal’ culture” does not mean in any way “living a nomadic Bedouin lifestyle”, but refers to “relying heavily upon family, clan and tribal ties in navigating the economic, social and political domains” (Ryan, 2010). Furthermore, “while many Westerners use the term ‘tribe’ pejoratively, to signify such ills as insularity, nepotism and frontier justice, many Jordanians see the enduring tribal structure as the most purely Jordanian aspect of Jordanian society” (Ryan, 2010). For a great number of Jordanians, tribal identity is as strong and important as religious and national identity. Manifestation of this tribal identity construction can be seen in the following reader comment posted on a local news website. It was in reaction to a shooting rampage by a Jordanian police officer at an international police training center in Amman, which resulted in the death of three foreign police trainers and two local interpreters, in addition to the attacker himself (Badarneh and Migdadi, 2018, 99): What a travesty! [He is] an officer turned extremist and [yet] you [i.e. the dead officer’s tribe] seek compensation. Where is the government? [It] should come and demolish the mad āfah that you are in. [It is] really a travesty! [It is] ʕšāɁirriyah for nothing. ˙ What nonsense! [You should] be ashamed that your son [i.e. the dead officer] is a murderer. You son tarnished the reputation of the Public Security Force. If there was true ʕšāɁirriyah, [it would mean] your son insulted the face of the Public Security Force and murdered the daxīl who sought refuge in the tnāb of the Public Security ˙ 210

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Force. But regrettably you don’t understand ʕašāɁirriyah and what it means to kill a daxīl. Your son murdered them [i.e. the victims] while they were having lunch, but it is not your fault [ironic] – it is the fault of the Public Security Chief who is silent about murdering his own daxīls. The price for that act is so hefty that the whole tribe of the officer cannot pay. No [real] men are left! (Ammonnews.net) In this text, the reader performs his tribal identity through deployment of collectivist tribalist discourse. To begin with, the reader is not attacking or blaming the police officer as an individual who is the one solely responsible for his own acts, but is instead castigating and denouncing the whole tribe to which the officer belongs for what the reader perceives to be the tribe’s lack of observance of ‘authentic’ tribal traditions. This focus on the tribe of the officer rather than the individual himself shows how the individual is defined in terms of their own social group, in this case, the tribe. This text provides a case of identity construction predicated on allegiance to and ‘proper’ understanding of tribal traditions, which positions the reader as a Jordanian with a good sense of what it means to belong to a tribal community and uphold its values and traditions. To accomplish and index this identity, the reader invokes lexical items that are distinctly Bedouin. Being the locative form of diyāfah ‘hospitality’, an inherent tribal tradition, the word madāfah ˙ ˙ is a symbolic tribal construct. The term refers to the place where the tribe convenes to discuss their affairs. The term ʕašāɁirriyah ‘tribalism’ is called upon three times in the text, thus accentuating the identity perspective of the text producer. It is used by way of lamenting lack of true understanding of tribal traditions by the officer’s tribe. The third term daxīl, which is also called upon three times, is a purely Bedouin concept referring to a person who sought, and has been granted, refuge with a third party and so cannot be subject to any aggression or harm. Another Bedouin term, tnāb, is equally of pure Bedouin provenance and refers to the inviolable sanctuary ˙ of the tribe, which metaphorically refers here to the sanctuary of the security forces that was transgressed by the police officer. This re-appropriation of tribal discourse by this Transjordanian reader thus constitutes a way of constructing and asserting his authentic ‘Jordanian’ identity (see Jungen, 2002). The use of these linguistic resources shows how the reader positions himself within the context of a specific moral order of speaking (Davies and Harré, 1990; Harré and van Langenhove, 1991), in this case the tribe and tribal community, which is maintained by certain linguistic practices through which social relations between people and between groups of people are regulated (Harré, 1984, 246). Tribal identity construction is further accomplished through reference to the ‘face’ of the Public Security Forces, where ‘face’, or wijih, is a central component of tribalism and tribal identity in Jordan. The security apparatus is positioned in a tacit way (Harré and van Langehove, 1999) as a ‘tribal’ entity whose ‘face’, or public image, has been tarnished by the actions of its own police officer, in the same way the tribe’s face has been damaged through the actions of its own member. The reader holds the whole tribe accountable for the actions of the police officer, lamenting flouting of the inherently Bedouin values of ‘manliness’ which forbid assaulting defenseless people, by stating that ‘no [real] men are left!’ This tribal identity construction is essentially collectivistic, whereby the group is “the primary unit of concern and no sharp boundary is drawn between the self and others” so “rather than striving for the Western ideal of the distinct and autonomous self, various forms of interdependence and connectedness are seen as desirable” (Tan and Moghaddam, 1995, 397). This is forcefully expressed by calling for demolishing the madāfah of the officer’s tribe as madāfah represents the physical representation of ˙ ˙ a tribe’s identity in Jordan and removing it therefore would constitute a symbolic act against an 211

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entity that has flouted the tribal tradition ‘do not kill/attack/harm a daxīl’, even though the act of killing was committed by one single member of the tribe.

4.2  National identity The tribal heritage of Jordan’s Bedouins native to the East Bank, a glimpse of which was noted in the earlier text, has been exploited to forge a new national identity whose focus is tribalism, as part of what Massad (2001) describes as a process of ‘tribalization’ of national identity of the Jordanian state at a cultural level, specifically in the popular realm, e.g. music and songs. This is consistent with the assertion that “the designers of national identities and national cultures aim at ‘linking membership within the political nation state and identification with national culture’ . . . so that culture and state become identical” (de Cillia et al., 1999, 155). Tribalism in Jordan was one of the main attributes through which the construction of a new national identity was defined, the other attributes being loyalty to the Hashemites and Islamic values, as opposed to urbanity, pan-Arabism, and liberal ideologies, which were perceived to reflect ‘Palestinian’ identity, which meant privileging non-Palestinian aspects of Jordanian national identity (Alon, 2007; Fruchter-Ronen, 2008; Massad, 2001; Nanes, 2008). Thus, a distinctive feature of identity discourse in Jordan has been the construction and indexing of Jordanian national identity against ‘Palestinian identity’, the latter having been perceived as a threat and antithetical to the first, hence constructing a national identity along with the construction of difference and distinctiveness (cf. Martin, 1995). The following text serves to illustrate this point (Badarneh and Migdadi 2018, 101): Wasfi, God rest his soul, said, “The land is my land and the wheat is my wheat”. If you understand this statement, Khadra, then understand that there is a [royal] makruma for the sons of servicemen, and there is a Jordanian law that honors the sons of martyrs and those wounded in action who have protected you until you became a professor and [then] a minister of higher education. I wish I knew where they brought you from and how they appointed you [a minister]! (Ammonnews.net, 6.8.2015) The text is an online comment posted by a reader in reaction to proposals by the then minister of higher education in Jordan to eliminate special privileges granted to native Jordanians, or ‘sons of the tribes’, to gain university admission, even though they may not have the requisite admission requirements. The comment begins with Wasfi, the first name of the Jordanian Prime Minister Wasfi Al-Tal who defeated the Palestinian guerilla groups in Jordan in the 1970 civil war popularly known as ‘Black September’. This event was a turning point in the construction and manifestation of Jordanian national identity discourse and even chauvinism (Brand, 1995), and Al-Tal has consequently become a symbol of Jordanian national identity. This explains calling upon his name in the text by way of attacking the plans of the then Minister of Higher Education, referred to by his family name Khadra, who is of Palestinian origin (i.e. one of the refugees and displaced people from the 1948 and 1967 wars), which suggests distance from a ‘true’ Jordanian identity. This ‘non-Jordanian’ origin is hinted at through the optative statement ‘I wish I knew where they brought you from and how they appointed you [a minister]!’ which tacitly positions the minister as hailing from outside the country and thus carrying a different, non-Jordanian identity. Reference to Wasfi as an iconic national figure in the history of Jordan, along with his famous statement about ‘owning the land and owning the wheat’, serve to construct and index a ‘true’ 212

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and ‘native’ Jordanian identity. This act evokes the notion of “collective memory” (Halbwachs, 1992), that is, “the selective recollection of past events which are thought to be important for the members of a specific community” (de Cillia et al., 1999, 154). This collective memory “maintains historical continuity by recalling specific elements from the archive of ‘historical memory’ ” (de Cillia et al., 1999, 155) and plays a role in the discursive construction of national identity, “especially regarding the question of which ‘national history’ is told by a nation’s citizens, what and how they recollect, and between which ‘events’ they make a connection in their subjective ‘national narrative’ ” (de Cillia et al., 1999, 155). This is further manifested through reference to past wars and ‘sacrifices’ by native Jordanians which enabled this minister and by extension all non-Jordanians to have their opportunities in life (“the sons of martyrs and those wounded in action who have protected you until you became a professor and [then] a minister of higher education”). Performance of national identity is further accomplished through reference to an exclusively Jordanian construct, namely makrumah. This makrumah is a historical system of a deep-rooted, highly targeted affirmative action program for (native) Jordanians who cannot secure university admission on a competitive basis, which is why it was suspected to be the target of the (Palestinian Jordanian) minister’s plans to ‘reform’ higher education in Jordan. While makrumah admissions are portrayed as ‘gifts’ from the King, they are enshrined in the higher education admissions regulations. They are highly political since they overwhelmingly benefit East Bank Jordanians (i.e. Jordanians from tribal backgrounds) as opposed to those of Palestinian origin. As such, this makrumah system, which literally means ‘act of generosity’, has become part and parcel of Jordanian national identity and culture. This makrumah system is a paramount example of the contribution of the state to the creation of national identities, as described by Bourdieu (1994, 7–8): Through classification systems . . . inscribed in law, through bureaucratic procedures, educational structures and social rituals  .  .  ., the state moulds mental structures and imposes common principles of vision and division. . . . And it thereby contributes to the construction of what is commonly designated as national identity (or, in a more traditional language, national character). (original italics) By defending this makrumah system of the state, the reader thus positions himself as a ‘true’ Jordanian who deserves this state privilege by virtue of being a native Jordanian, or ibn balad, while the minister is positioned as an ‘outsider’ working against the interests of native Jordanians and trying to undermine their rights and privileges.

4.3  Religious identity The religious identity landscape in Jordan has always been a sensitive and delicate issue. As an avoidance strategy, national and even tribal identity discourse has typically trumped any religious identity. There is a tendency to downplay religion in public discourse in favor of a national and/or pan-Arab discourse, which is often justified by the need to ‘preserve national unity’. As Phillips (2013, 68–69) notes, Jordan’s national discourse has “placed Islam in the background” and in cases of physical threat, as for example the terrorist attacks of 2005, it is “state nationalism” that is promoted. Religious identity is flagged through injecting Islamic rhetoric into official speeches and through Islamic references such as bi-cawn illāh ‘with God’s help’ and inšāllah ‘God willing’, even though these phrases have evolved into colloquialisms and 213

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are not always transcribed into written documents (Phillips, 2013, 68). However, apart from this official downplay of religion, religious identity constitutes an important part of everyday and online communication and discourse. It is especially popularly called upon, promoted, or defended when it is perceived to be under threat. The following example illustrates such appeal to Islamic religious identity as a component of Jordanian identity: This is not the first time, Ro’ya. I call for suing the channel, its administration, and its staff. We are Muslims, we are conservative, so don’t let us hear what hurts our ears and watch what contravenes our creed and faith. Our religion, Ro’ya, does not accept [that]. If you want to continue [broadcasting such programs], then adhere to the principles of al-šarc al- hanīf. Jordan is a Muslim country and its people ˙ are Muslims. If you are not Muslims, then I call on the authorities concerned to shut down this TV channel and send you to court immediately. (Ammonnews.net, 9.8.2015) Religion, or religious affiliation, represents “a social identity anchored in a system of guiding beliefs”, which has “a uniquely powerful function in shaping psychological and social processes” and provides an identity “grounded in a belief system that offers epistemological and ontological certainty” (Ysseldyk et al., 2010, 60). Parks and Tracy (2015) identify four types of religious discourse: rituals, religious styles of speaking, religious language outside religious settings, and religion-linked public controversy. They further state, Discourses of religion invariably carry a function of doing religious identity category work. By engaging in discourses of religion, individuals align themselves with ­religiouscommunity membership. This alignment can presuppose identity work that involves distancing a person from a religious identity, such that the effect of religious discourse is to align a person more or less with a given religious identity. (2015, 456–457, original italics) The comment is a clear example of religious discourse that serves the function of doing religious identity work and in which all but the first type can be discerned. The text is a comment posted by a reader, who is clearly a Muslim, after a local privately owned TV station, named Ro’ya ‘Vision’, was accused of broadcasting a children’s program that contained explicit adult language and references that were deemed inappropriate to children and to the predominantly Muslim majority of the country. After accusing the TV station of doing this before, and after calling for legal action against it, the reader makes an explicit identity statement through the use of the first person plural nahnu muslimūn nahnu muhāfizūn ‘we are Muslims, we are conservative’. ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ The reader thus positions himself as a member of a dominant religious group, and uses that to make a directive speech act asking the TV station to stop broadcasting such ‘offensive’ programs. The use of the first person plural nahnu ‘we’ shows indexing of a collectivist religious identity, ˙ which indicates how a person’s identity in a collectivist society like Jordan is defined as part of one’s affiliated group-identity that is interpersonally oriented, aimed at group cohesiveness, and where “the group . . . is the primary unit of concern and no sharp boundary is drawn between the self and others” (Tan and Moghaddam, 1995, 397). The next identity statement, “our religion does not accept that”, is similarly framed in first person plural our and positions the TV station, which is directly addressed, as an entity that contravenes Muslim religious teachings, and hence carrying an identity that is different from that of the majority. A further indication of identity shows in the use of al-šarc al- hanīf ‘the Straight ˙ 214

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Law’, which is a collocation in common religious parlance referring to Islam as a source of legislation. This use reflects a religious style of speaking and establishes the identity of the reader as a Muslim, thus distinctively positioning the reader as not only a Muslim, but also as a Muslim defending his faith against what is perceived to be a violation of its values and injunctions. Finally, the reader makes a macro identity statement by referring to the whole country and its people: “Jordan is a Muslim country and its people are Muslims”. Through this statement, the reader positions himself as a member affiliated with the religion of the majority, thus having the power and/or right to stop these acts which contravene the religious identity of the majority. This assumed power and/or right is invoked by the reader’s call to shut down this TV station and take immediate legal action against it, unless the TV station shows conformity to Islamic teachings. Thus, being a member of a collectivist society, this reader is emphasizing his/ her own individual religious identity by appealing to a broader religious group identity, which is in sharp contrast with an individualist culture where individual identity is emphasized over a broader group identity (Cai and Fink, 2002). Furthermore, this example shows that the TV station is tacitly positioned as promoting a secularist identity by its promotion of TV programs that contain a degree of sexual freedom. The perceived attempt by the TV station to broadcast such programs and the vehement popular reaction against it can be further seen in light of the clash between Islamists and liberal secularists in the Arab world, where the two sides espouse and defend two diametrically opposed points of view: the protection of individual freedom for liberals, and the application of the moral code and religious law codified in the sharia for Islamists (Kaul, 2013).

5. Conclusion This chapter  has outlined and analyzed aspects of the discursive construction of three layers of identity that can be discerned in online discourse in Jordan today: tribal identity, national identity, and religious identity. In the four examples discussed in this chapter, the participants invoked their tribal, national, or religious identity to position themselves positively while positioning others negatively. These participants mobilized their respective identity so as to establish legitimacy, attack others, and/or redress perceived transgression against one’s beliefs, ideology, or one’s own identity. Thus, one may position others as non- or anti-religious, transgressors of authentic native (i.e. tribal) identity, or as a threat to one’s national identity and the rights and privileges that come with such identity. In doing such identity work, participants claim a ‘Jordanian’ category membership, which presupposes that they carry one ‘Jordanian identity’. However, the examples discussed shows that a multiplicity of identities can be performed, depending on the exigencies or context of the communicative event, and being a ‘Jordanian’ involves multiple layers of identity rather than one single identity. For example, a Jordanian may mobilize their tribal identity to respond to a perceived threat to or transgression of this identity, while the same individual may mobilize their religious identity when they perceive a flouting of their beliefs or a threat by an entity with ‘secular’ orientations. This is consistent with the view that identity is multidimensional, so the same agent can have multiple identities, e.g. religious, gender, national, that “intersect” with each other (Shahin, 2015). While this may be expected to reflect individual identity performance, the examples have shown that this identity performance is collective, whereby the individual positions themselves to be a representative of or speaking for others who are assumed or perceived to share the same identity. This is a natural reflection of the predominantly collectivist nature of society and culture in Jordan, where there dominates a powerful sense of belonging to a group, typically 215

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the tribe, in which membership is claimed, but which is subject to transformation over time (Mi’ari, 2009). As research on identity has shown that people will, on occasions, claim or mobilize their membership of one or other category (Widdicombe, 2017, 460), and given the politically and socially intricate and delicate identity landscape in Jordan, one area that may warrant future research is to investigate how social actors in Jordan may “reject, resist or modify category membership because of the sensitive inferential and interactional issues invoked” (Widdicombe, 2017, 460).

Note 1 All translations are my own, unless otherwise indicated.

References Alon, Yoav. 2007. The Making of Jordan: Tribes, Colonialism and the Modern State. London: I.B. Tauris. Andreouli, Eleni. 2010. Identity, positioning and self-other relations. Papers on Social Representations 19: 14.1–14.13. Badarneh, Muhammad A., Migdadi, Fathi. 2018. Acts of positioning in online reader comments on Jordanian news websites. Language & Communication 58: 93–106. Bani Salameh, Mohammed Torki, El-Edwan, Khalid Issa. 2016. The identity crisis in Jordan: Historical pathways and contemporary debates. Nationalities Papers: The Journal of Nationalism and Ethnicity 44(6): 985–1002. Baumann, Richard. 2000. Language, identity, performance. Pragmatics 10(1): 1–5. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1994. Rethinking the state: Genesis and structure of the bureaucratic field. Sociological Theory 12(1): 1–18. Brand, Laurie. 1995. Palestinians and Jordanians: A crisis of identity. Journal of Palestine Studies 24(4): 46–61. Bucholtz, Mary. 1999. “Why be normal?”: Language and identity practices in a community of nerd girls. Language in Society 28: 203–223. Cai, Deborah A., Fink, Edward L. 2002. Conflict style differences between individualists and collectivists. Communication Monographs 69(1): 67–87. Carbaugh, Donald. 1999. Positioning as display of cultural identity. In Rom Harré, Luk van Langenhove (eds.), Positioning Theory, 160–177. Oxford: Blackwell. Davies, Bronwyn, Harré, Rom. 1990. Positioning: The discursive production of selves. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 20(1): 43–63. de Cillia, Rudolf, Reisigl, Martin, Wodak, Ruth. 1999. The discursive construction of national identities. Discourse & Society 10(2): 149–173. Duszak, Anna. 2002. Us and others: An introduction. In Duszak, Anna (ed.), Us and Others: Social Identities Across Languages, Discourses and Cultures, 1–28. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Fruchter-Ronen, Iris. 2008. Black September: The 1970–71 events and their impact on the formation of Jordanian national identity. Civil Wars 10(3): 244–260. Gallets, Barbara. 2015. Black September and identity construction in Jordan. Journal of Georgetown UniversityQatar Middle Eastern Studies 12: 1–9. Gandolfo, Luisa. 2012. Palestinians in Jordan: The Politics of Identity. London: I.B. Tauris. George, Alan. 2005. Jordan: Living in the Crossfire. New York: Zed Books. Halbwachs, Maurice. 1992. On Collective Memory. Translated and Edited by Coser, Lewis A. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Harré, Rom. 1984. Personal Being: A Theory for Individual Psychology. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Harré, Rom, Moghaddam, Fathali M. 2003. The Self and Others: Positioning Individuals and Groups in Personal, Political, and Cultural Contexts. Westport: Praeger. Harré, Rom, van Langehove, Luk. 1991. Varieties of positioning. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour 21(4): 393–407. Harré, Rom, van Langehove, Luk (eds.). 1999. Positioning Theory. Oxford: Blackwell. Jonasson, Ann-Kristin. forthcoming. Islam and national identity in Jordan: A clash of discourses? In Soler I Lecha, Eduard, Stenberg, Leif, Andersson, Dan-Erik (eds.), Islamism and Nationalism: Competing, Converging or Overlapping Ideologies? Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

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Identity performance and positioning Jungen, Christine. 2002. Tribalism in Kerak: Past memories, present realities. In Joffé, George (ed.), Jordan in Transition 1990–2000, 191–207. London: Hurst & Company. Kaul, Volker. 2013. Freedom and identity. Philosophy and Social Criticism 39(4–5): 487–498. Köprülü, Nur. 2013. The interplay of Palestinian and Jordanian identities in re/making the state and nation formation in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. In Christie, Kenneth, Masad, Mohammad (eds.), State Formation and Identity in the Middle East and North Africa, 59–85. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Kroskrity, Paul V. (ed.). 1993. Language, History, and Identity: Ethnolinguistic Studies of the Arizona Tewa. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Kroskrity, Paul V. 1999. Identity. Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 9(1–2): 111–114. Layne, Linda L. 1989. The dialogics of tribal self-representation in Jordan. American Ethnologist 16(1): 24–39. Lee, Sinae. 2018. Discourse on Southeast’s bad reputation: Positioning of African Americans in Washington, DC. Discourse & Society 29(4): 420–435. Lynch, Marc. 1999. State Interests and Public Spheres: The International Politics of Jordan’s Identity. New York: Columbia University Press. Martin, Denis-Constant. 1995. The choices of identity. Social Identities 1(1): 5–20. Massad, Joseph A. 2001. Colonial Effects: The Making of National Identity in Jordan. New York: Columbia University Press. Mi’ari, Mahmoud. 2009. Transformation of collective identity in Palestine. Journal of Asian and African Studies 44(6): 579–598. Nanes, Stefanie. 2008. Choice, loyalty, and the melting pot: Citizenship and national identity in Jordan. Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 14: 85–116. Parks, Russell M., Tracy, Karen. 2015. Discourses of religion. In Tracy, Karen, Ilie, Cornelia, Sandel, Todd (eds.), The International Encyclopedia of Language and Social Interaction, Vol. 1, 456–465. London: Wiley Blackwell. Phillips, Christopher. 2013. Everyday Arab Identity: The Daily Reproduction of the Arab World. London: Routledge. Ryan, Curtis R. 2010. “We are all Jordan” . . . But who is we? Middle East Report Online 255. Available at www.merip.org/mero/mero071310 (Accessed 29 May 2018). Ryan, Curtis R. 2011. Identity politics, reform, and protest in Jordan. Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism 11(3): 564–578. Ryan, Curtis R. 2013. Governance, reform and resurgent ethnic identity politics in Jordan. In Khadim, Abbas (ed.), Governance in the Middle East and North Africa: A Handbook, 342–356. London: Routledge. Shahin, Saif. 2015. News framing as identity performance: Religion versus race in the American-Muslim press. Journal of Communication Inquiry 39(4): 338–356. Tan, Siu-Lan, Moghaddam, Fathali M. 1995. Reflexive positioning and culture. Journal for the Theory Social Behavior 25(4): 387–400. Tan, Siu-Lan, Moghaddam, Fathali M. 1999. Positioning in intergroup relations. In Harré, Rom, van Langehove, Luk (eds.), Positioning Theory, 178–194. Oxford: Blackwell. van Langehove, Luk, Harré, Rom. 1999. Introducing positioning theory. In Harré, Rom, van Langehove, Luk (eds.), Positioning Theory, 14–31. Oxford: Blackwell. Widdicombe, Sue. 2017. The delicate business of identity. Discourse Studies 19(4): 460–478. Ysseldyk, Renate, Matheson, Kimberly, Anisman, Hymie. 2010. Religiosity as identity: Toward an understanding of religion from a social identity perspective. Personality and Social Psychology Review 14(1): 60–71.

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14 THE DE-ARABISED ISRAELI ARABIC Between eradication among Arab-Jews and Ashkenisation in society Yonatan Mendel Introduction At the present time in Israel, it is apparent that the link between Jews and the Arabic language has reached a nadir, both in terms of the command of the language and in terms of the attitude to it. After 1,500 years in which Arabic was part and parcel of the language repertoire of the Jewish inhabitants of the region, including Palestine/Erets-Yisrael, its use is waning and it has almost become extinct, and indeed has been forgotten as an indicator of culture and identity among Jews, in general, and among Mizrahi Jews (Arab-Jews) in particular. This process began in the twentieth century, but became especially striking from the middle of the twentieth century, when hundreds of thousands of Jews from countries of the Arab Jewish diaspora converged in Israel after the war of 1948, the Palestinian Nakba, and the establishment of the State of Israel. Many of them were composed of the length and breadth of the linguistic umbrella called Arabic. They spoke many dialects of Arabic languages, at varying levels of proficiency and a considerable proportion of them could also read and write. In a matter of fact, it seems that there was no other territory in the world that had assembled such a wealth of Arabic languages in such a short time as had come together in Israel. These variegated immigrants represented the great waves of Jewish immigration from Arab countries in the 1950s and 1960s, and while they did reflect the Arabic-speaking world they became part of the “Israeli society” (a term that contains Jews only). Seventy years later it seems that these linguistic and cultural riches have totally dissipated. They have been replaced by hostility towards Arabic on the one hand, and Ashkenisation of the language on the other hand. This article strives to study some of the important landmarks of this tragic process.

Arabic in Israel: hatred, eradication, denial After its establishment in 1948, Israel indeed declared the Arabic language as an official language, but this was not due to any desire to become integrated into the area. In effect, it was the result of a default situation and a decision to retain the linguistic situation as it had been under the British Mandate (three official languages: English, Arabic, Hebrew, in this order) with one exception: the removal of the English language as an official language. In this way, Arabic became an official language not due to any pro-active measure as was the case with respect to the Hebrew language,1 218

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but for one reason only – it became an official language because it had not been obliterated. The basis for the status of official language that was assigned to Arabic, therefore, was an appendix to the Mandatory Law that refers to King George V in Article 82 of the King’s Order in Council of 1922.2 And so, the status of the language at the time of the establishment of the State of Israel was very unsecure, with a structural gap between rhetoric (an official language) and practice (an official language on paper only).3 This was part of a process that had begun in the 1930s and 1940s when there was segregation (physical, political and social) between Jews and Arabs in Mandatory Palestine that found expression in linguistic separation too. On the subject of the physical and social separation which became more pronounced after 1929, Hillel Cohen has written extensively,4 but one of the indicators that I wish to emphasise in this article is the fact that, alongside the segregation and the physical boundaries between Jews and Arab-Palestinians that became more marked in the 1930s and 1940s, another barrier was growing – that between Jews and the Arabic language. After 1948, when the Jewish minority became a majority in Israel, through uprooting the vast majority of the Arab-Palestinian community during the 1948 War (for example, in Lydda, Ramla, Haifa, Acre, Beersheba)5 and mass immigration of Jews, the change in the importance of the Arabic language and its reduced potency was palpable. Focusing on the place of Arabic in the Jewish education system, as this article suggests, can provide much evidence about the overall Israeli discourse about Arabic. Interestingly, in the period following 1948, a number of personages claimed that the new socio-political reality made it mandatory to decrease the study of Arabic in Jewish schools. This was due to several factors, including the lack of social connections between the Jewish majority in Israel and the Arab-Palestinian citizens who have turned into a minority in their own country following the War, as well as the increasing hostility between the two groups. In 1949, for example, Shlomo Morag, one of the leading scholars at the Hebrew University and a prominent student of Shlomo Dov Goitein, one of the founders of the Institute for Oriental Studies at the University, asserted that, in light of “the new political reality that was being shaped after the establishment of the State”, there was “no further point in studying spoken Arabic”. Morag’s rationalisation was that the opportunities for real encounters between the Jewish citizens of Israel and its Arab citizens were much reduced compared to the situation that existed during the Mandate period. Morag’s argument was that “The opportunity for real contact between the Jewish citizens of the State and its Arab citizens are fewer than those that existed during the Mandate period”. He further stated that even in situations when such encounters were to occur, it was reasonable to assume that, given the new political and demographic reality, they would be conducted in Hebrew.6 Over and above that, when the “Instructional Allocations Committee”, also known as “The Hours Committee”, of the Ministry of Education met to determine the subjects of instruction and how many hours of study would be devoted to each subject for Jewish students in elementary schools, various opinions were aired. On the one hand, Yaakov Halpern, the Chief Inspector from the workers’ stream, declared that from a political point of view, every Jew in Israel is obliged to know Arabic [as of the middle school level], reading and writing, for we are neighbors on all sides with Arab countries and it is with them that we shall always have to meet and negotiate.7 However, taking the opposing position, Moshe Dafna, the Inspector of the general state school system and member of the Committee, disagreed with Halpern about the geographic reason for studying Arabic. According to Dafna: If we want to take into consideration our proximity with the Arab peoples, we will have to devote ourselves more to physical education. We shall always be fewer in 219

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number compared to the Arab countries in the area, and we shall always have to be on guard and not devote many hours to studying [Arabic]. Now, in times of air travel, our proximity to the West is not more distant than to the East. Arabic is not an easy language and cannot be learned in two years . . . so it would be better for them [the Arabs] to accustom themselves to us and to learn Hebrew. . . . We must free ourselves from our Diaspora inferiority.8 In light of these statements, it is clear that if Arabic was suffering from significant difficulties before the establishment of the State, in the post-1948 era, it became even more difficult to justify the teaching and learning of Arabic, since the language had lost its practical relevance. Therefore, gradually, Dafna’s assertion – to decrease the teaching of Arabic owing to its absence of relevance in the new political reality  – became the predominant, “Western” approach in Israel. Arabic was perceived as a language that did not have a practical application, on the one hand, and, on the other hand, was treated as having inferior cultural capital, as a language holding negative connotations – “the language of the enemy”, and also as a language representing the past, the pre-independence Diaspora life, whereas Hebrew connoted the new patriotism, the native-born “Sabra” lifestyle, and the rising Jewish-Israeli nationalism. Arabic, it must be noted, was not only relegated to a place behind Hebrew, but was even placed behind English, for English was much more popular and was accorded prestigious status, and was even perceived as much more practical than Arabic. In this way, as additional evidence of its secondary stature, Arabic became fixed in the education system – and in the context of language policy, there is a clear link between the status of a language in the school system and its status in the public sphere – as a “second foreign language”. This is a designation that speaks for itself, in my opinion, and alludes to the inferiority and foreignness of the Arabic language in Israeli society, and, hints at the similar low status accorded to its speakers in the State. And so, in a process that began towards the end of the 1920s, persisted through the major junction of the year 1948, and reached its zenith in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s – years in which Israel distanced itself from Arabic for educational purposes and tightened the linkage between the security system and the education system9 – Arabic was transformed from a language where the main motivation for learning it was in order to become oriented in the area; for communication in and between communities; integration; culture and commerce, into a battered language with few motivations for its study. So bad was the situation that Arabic became a language that Israeli students found almost no practical value in acquiring – other than enlisting in military units like the Intelligence Corps. Paradoxically, these units represent Israeli separation from the area as well as the expression of the danger that Arab-Palestinians feel by every Jewish speaker who knows Arabic. Statistical evidence supports this assessment. As seen in a 2006 report based on a survey conducted jointly by the Pedagogical Secretariat of the Ministry of Education and the Henrietta Szold Institute, 62.9% of the Jewish students in Israel who chose to take Arabic for the matriculation examinations expressed their desire to serve in the Intelligence Corps as their main motivation for learning the language. It further indicated that 72.8% of the teachers of Arabic who participated in the survey claimed that enlisting in the Intelligence Corps was the central motivation for their students choosing to learn Arabic. Furthermore, it showed that more than 50% of the teachers of Arabic in middle and high schools mentioned that the inferior image of Arabic was a central difficulty in teaching the subject.10 In an article on this topic, Reuven Snir, former Dean of Humanities at Haifa University and Head of Department of Arabic Language and Literature, stated that

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there is no better proof of the link between Arabic studies and military intelligence in Israeli society than the quantitative and qualitative discrepancy between the resources invested in security frameworks to know the enemy, and the resources channeled into activities aimed at promoting Arabic culture among Jewish Israelis. Only someone who knows both systems intimately, even in a minor way, knows how great that gap is.11 Other evidence of the ongoing link between the teaching of Arabic and the Intelligence Corps and of the national security considerations was raised in 2014, when then-Minister of Education Shai Piron decided to officially remove the study of Arabic in 10th grade from the core instruction lessons for Jewish students in Israel. In a letter sent to the Minister from the Committee for Arabic Studies of the Ministry of Education, the head of the Committee, Prof. Eliezer Schlossberg, wrote it thus on behalf of the members of the subject committee for the teaching of Arabic, the Arab world and Islam: We view this decision with much concern and wish to warn you of the possible repercussions of this move: 1. Harm to the security of the state: At present, some 10,000 students take matriculation examinations at various levels (1 unit of study, 2 supplementary studies for 3 study units, 2 supplementary studies for 5 study units). The number of students exposed to Arabic in 10th grade is some 4,000. A large proportion of these later choose to study at the level of 5 units. If Arabic as a compulsory subject is cancelled for the 10th grade, many students will not be exposed to the Arabic course of study. As a result, the pool of students directed at serving in the Intelligence Corps will be significantly reduced, first and foremost, among the graduates of 5 study units – something that will certainly harm state security. Even today there is a serious lack of personnel knowing Arabic at a high level, and reducing the number of learners of Arabic will worsen the existing situation even more.12

The Arab-Jews and the eradication of Arabic as a language of culture The processes of the tightening linkage between military practice, intelligence service motivation and the teaching of Arabic in Israeli schools were accompanied by a parallel process which was the weakening of Arabic as a spoken communicative and civilian language for Jewish Israelis. This is what explains, for example, the amazing and tragic fact that was uncovered in the 2015 research report “Command of Arabic among Jews in Israel” prepared by a group of researchers headed by Prof. Yehouda Shenhav-Shaharabani. The report revealed that less than 1.4% of the Jews living in Israel testified that they were able to write a short letter or email in Arabic, and only 0.4% stated that they could read a book in Arabic.13 It is important to devote some attention to these low numbers, for they refer not only to a new historical situation for the attitude of Jews living in the Middle East to Arabic, but it also constitutes a new low point in the attitude of Jews in Palestine/Israel to Arabic. Hence, I personally find myself explaining over and over to students and scholars who come to lectures on the Arabic language and its history in Israel/Palestine, that it is important to emphasise, in every possible way, that this situation, in which the majority of Jewish-Israelis speak Hebrew, able to speak English as a second language, but have no ability to communicate effectively in Arabic, is the exception and is not representative of the long history of Jewish creativity in Arabic and the use of Arabic as a means of communication and as an integral part of life in the region. To a certain extent it is possible to see in this Jewish distancing from the Arabic language – a Semitic language just

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as Hebrew is and a “sister language” to Hebrew – as a negation of the region in which Israel is located and as an eradication of the long-standing culture of Jews from Arab lands. It is my contention that this situation, this eradication, of the Arabic language – a Semitic language that is the closest to Hebrew as compared with widely spoken languages around the world – constitutes a real rupture between the Jews and Arabs, and Jews and the Middle East as a region. This rupture is so great that even the most prominent Jewish intellectuals, who wrote and operated within Arabic culture and the Arabic language, have undergone in Israel a process of Hebraisation and Israelisation, whether in terms of their appellations or pronunciations. To put it another way, if the giants of Jewish Arab intellectual creativity were to arise from their graves, they would not only not recognise their own names, the Hebraised versions, with their new Ashkenazi pronunciation, on street signs, but would also be bewildered by the way Jews had abandoned their traditions, and what had been the language of the region for so many generations. Abū ʿImrān Mūsā ibn ʿUbayd Allāh ibn Maymūn al-Qurt ubī became the Ram˙ bam in Hebrew; Saʿīd ibn Yūsuf al-Fayyūmī became Saadia Gaon; Abū Ayyūb Sulaymān ibn Yahyā ibn Jabīrūl was transformed into Shlomo Ben Gvirol – in the Hebrew pronunciation of ˙ which there is not even one Arabic syllable; and Abū Ibrāhīm Ismāʿīl ibn Yūsuf ibn Naghrīla was transformed into Shmuel Hanagid, and his Arabic name is transliterated into Israeli Hebrew from his name in Latin.14 In this connection it appears that one of the strangest, but also symbolic, facts of the recent era is the prohibition Israel imposed on introducing the translation of the Book of Kuzari by Yahudha al-Lawi/Yehouda ha-Levi into Israel. The translation by Dr. Nabih Bashir from JudeoArabic into Arabic letters contained the original names of the book and its authors, “Al-Kitab al-Khazarī: Kitāb al-Hujja wa-al-dalīl fī nasr al-dīn al-dhalīl” by Abū al-Hasan Yahudha Ibn ˙ ˙ ˙ Samawʾal Al-Lāwī, but the shipment of the translated books was stopped at the border, and its ˙ import into Israel was prohibited because it was “against the law on trading with the enemy”.15 The securitisation processes that Arabic underwent have participated in turning it into a Latin-style language – into a language in which the skills taught are textual translation, verb analysis, and sometimes understanding of newspaper articles and news broadcasts. In other words, the students studying Arabic have been limited, over the years, to learning two main skills required by the Intelligence Corps – translation and listening comprehension. To a large extent, the Israeli public has learned to accept the requirements of the community of mediators and experts on the Arabic language, a community whose training paths tend to resemble each other and to be oriented towards state needs: study of Arabic in high school, service in the Intelligence Corps, B.A. degree in the Middle East Department or the Department of Arabic Language and Literature, research at semi-academic and semi-strategic centres, and then dispersal among various spheres – some to the foreign or security service, some to the media and some to the education of a new generation of Arabists at schools.16 Already in 1956, during the period when the Oriental Classes were being founded – the advanced track for studying Arabic in the Hebrew education system, which itself was a product of an encounter between security-education-army, and in which the students were taken to Arab villages to learn about the lives and culture of the Arabs – the Prime Minister’s adviser on Arab affairs conceptualised the principles: The Oriental Classes (also known as Oriental tracks) were founded in the wake of a worsening scarcity, in government ministries and the army, of a cadre of workers with a command of Arabic. . . . Our intention is to continue to train young people who have completed the Oriental track after school. . . . During compulsory service in the IDF, these young people will be given additional training on Arab affairs in the form of courses, and they will also be allowed to specialise in positions linked to Arab affairs. 222

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At the completion of their military service the suitable graduates of this track will continue their training under the auspices of the Institute for Middle East Sciences at the university.17 This track became the life cycle of the average Israeli Arabist. Just as it is in a closed circle, and closely suited to the 1956 vision described here of the Prime Minister’s advisor on Arab affairs, the students who completed the Oriental track (later titled as “5 study units of Arabic”) do indeed go on to the army (the Military Government from 1948–1966 and the Intelligence Corps from 1948 onward) and from there to a B.A. degree with a major in Oriental studies or Arabic studies, and from there to service in security, foreign affairs, media, academe or the education system, where they will shape additional graduates precisely suited to this system. It is evident that it was not for nothing that, over the years, the Arab-Palestinian speakers of Arabic as a mother tongue were absent from the process. This was for two reasons: the overwhelming majority of them could not, nor did they wish to, participate in the system which treated Arabic as “the language of peace and security”, and which was made up of intelligence work whose purpose was to “know your enemy”. In this process, Arabic was not only taken out of the hands of Arabs, but also out of the hands of Arabic-speaking Jews and their descendants. In his book, The Arab Jews: A Postcolonial Reading of Nationality, Religion and Ethnicity, Yehouda Shenhav-Shaharabani recalls the flourishing of Arabic among those who had originated in Iraq and who served in the Intelligence Corps: My father’s colleagues were a ‘nature reserve’, as the Israeli expression goes: they spoke Arabic, read the Arabic press, and listened to Arabic radio stations; some of them spent time in other countries and identified themselves as Arabs. They eavesdropped on the famous radio conversation between Egypt’s President Abd al-Nasser and Jordan’s King Hussein a few days prior to the outbreak of the June 1967 War, in Arabic of course. How ironic that their very entry into the Israeli collective, which was made through their intelligence work, demanded that they remain part of the Arab world against which they worked. Such is the logic of the Israeli state: top-heavy with contradictions. On the one hand, it wants to strip its Arab Jews, citizens of Israel known as Mizrahim, of their Arabness, while on the other, it implores some of them (like my father and his friends) to go on living as Arabs by license.18 This quotation, by Israeli scholar Yehouda Shenhav-Shaharabani, provides an interesting glimpse into the reality of the Arab-Jews, following their arrival in Israel. In their countries of origin – primarily Iraq, Egypt, Syria, Palestine, Yemen, Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria – the Arabic language and its accompanying dialects were an essential part of their lives.19 Yet, as mentioned before, Israel, which considered Arabic to be an official language in theory only, did not encourage them, and, to a certain extent, did not allow them to maintain Arabic as a fully functioning language, unless they were part of the security establishment.20 With the benefit of Shenhav’s insights, it becomes easier to understand the reality confronting the Arab-Jews in post-1948 Israel: a country in which the Jews were fighting against the Arabs, and in conditions of a “zero sum game” of two identities – Jewish and Arab – they were forced to change the hyphen that joined their Jewish-Arab identities into a dividing hyphen. In the same way, the two languages – Hebrew and Arabic – were positioned in opposition to each other rather than alongside each other. In my research on the place of Arabic in Palestine/Israel in the years 1935–1985, I did not find a single entity in Israel which expressed a greater regret about the lost generation of those born in Arab countries than the Intelligence Corps which 223

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repeatedly noted its evaluation that “the first generation of serious Arabists who emigrated from Arab countries is decreasing in the intelligence community”.21 The second generation of Arab-Jews developed a sense of alienation towards Arabic, thereby becoming “more Israeli” according to Israeli socio-political definitions. Concomitantly  – ­particularly in the early 1970s when Arabic-speaking Jews retired from various positions in the state – the new situation and the lack of a future for indigenous Arab-Jews in Israel constituted a new challenge for the Israeli state-security sector – the Intelligence Corps, the Army and the foreign and security systems. Up until that time, the Arab-Jews had occupied main political and security positions related to Arabic in the 1950s and 1960s, serving in the fields of education, intelligence, politics, communications, the foreign ministry and so on. Prominent figures of the first wave of immigration to the State who served in some of these positions but had no successors included, for example, Avraham Sharoni, born in Baghdad in 1918, who headed the Signals Intelligence unit of the army’s Intelligence Division in the 1960s; Shmuel Toledano, born in 1921 in Tiberias to a Jewish family from Morocco, served as the Prime Minister’s Advisor on Arab Affairs in the 1960s; Nissim Malul, born in Safed in 1892 to a Tunisian Jewish family, translated “Reshumot”, the official gazette of Israel in the 1950s; and Efraim Douek, born in Cairo in 1930, served as Israeli ambassador. Due to the sensitivity of the subject, I was not able to gain access to much archival material that corroborates this connection, but just a few prominent examples from the army that will suffice to provide evidence. It is possible that this shortage of Arabic-speaking Jews was most acutely felt in those very areas in Jewish society which had the most frequent and vital need for Arabic: the Intelligence Corps in which command of Arabic was crucial. Therefore, the Intelligence Corps was the first to take note of this trend with regard to Arabic and to hear the warning bells tolling. The new reality in which the first generation of Arab-Jews were reaching retirement age constituted a source of serious concern for the Intelligence Corps, and as a consequence, the members of the Corps felt that they had no alternative but to employ all the means at their disposal to create a pool of Arabic experts able to respond to national security needs.22 Evidence for this can be seen in the letter sent by Yaakov Eyal, Inspector of Arabic Studies in the Ministry of Education, to Aharon Yadlin, Minister of Education in 1974. Eyal’s letter mentions the retirement of Arab-Jews and their influence on Arabic studies. He wrote that he had decided to compose this letter in the wake of a discussion with General Shlomo Gazit, Head of the Military Intelligence Corps, explaining that there was no choice but to establish a national institute for training teachers of Arabic. Eyal stated: I view the establishment of an institute as described above as essential for promoting the knowledge of Arabic in Israel, for some of the generation of this who knew this language from among the immigrants from Arab countries are already approaching retirement age. If we do not train a future cadre of people accomplished in Arabic before it is too late, in a few years’ time we shall be faced with an irreversible situation, and will not be able to fill important, sensitive national positions with authoritative personnel.23 Eyal is using the coded language of the security apparatus about Arabic studies in Jewish society in Israel. He notes how crucial Arabic is for “important, sensitive national positions” without clarifying what these positions are. It is interesting to note the sense of urgency in his words – that was generated after his meeting with the Head of the Intelligence Division. In 1967, two years later, Haim Basok, Deputy Mayor of Tel Aviv, and the person in charge of the education in the city, posited a similar prognosis. Basok wrote a letter to the Minister of 224

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Education about the Tel Aviv municipality’s decision to launch a project for promoting Arabic studies. He asserted that “Arabic studies are more important than ever” and based his explanation on three main points: 1 2 3

Improving the opportunity for interaction between us and our Arab neighbours and reducing hostile relations; Great interest in the language evinced by the army authorities (Intelligence Corps, units active in the Occupied Territories, etc.) for obvious reasons; Given the absence of immigration from Arab countries, the Arabic-speaking intelligence echelon in Israel is considerably diminishing and it is important to refill these ranks that have thinned out.24

Basok too, therefore, was using the well-known formulae of “Arabic for peace” (interaction between us and our Arab neighbours) and “Arabic for security” (great interest evinced by the army authorities). However, for our purposes, his third reason is important – the diminishing body of Arab-Jews who speak Arabic. It is interesting that also Avraham Katz, Head of the Knesset Committee on Education and Culture, used those three exact reasons. In a 1976 session of the committee meeting on the subject of motion for the agenda presented by MK Nuzhat Katzav, Katz explained why the committee had decided to support Katzav’s motion. After addressing the crucial nature of Arabic for national security, he added: The significant numbers of immigrants that came from Iraq and Egypt are decreasing. . . . Lieutenant Colonel Lapid laid out for us in detail the needs of the IDF in respect to command of the Arabic language, and the matter is understandable.25 At the same session, in response to Katz’s statement, the Committee initiated a discussion about making Arabic a compulsory subject in schools. Lieutenant Colonel Lapid, who supported the proposal, shared the army’s position on the subject. He, too, emphasised the need to find an alternative for Arabic-speaking Jews: With regard to the needs of the army, the problem that we are suffering from is that the first generation of serious Arabists who emigrated from Arab countries.  .  .  . is decreasing among the intelligence community. We [the Intelligence Division] require 250 [new] men for compulsory service who have a high level of Arabic knowledge for the Oriental track. . . . We are talking about a subject in which coming to grips with the enemy is a challenge taking seconds. We require people with command of Arabic at the level of seconds, in order to understand what the enemy is saying. . . . The army is a party to promoting this subject and declaring it compulsory.26 Lapid’s explanation for the enormous importance of Arabic-speaking Jews is completely direct. In his perception, the knowledge of Arabic could be a matter of life and death. Therefore, and according to the Intelligence Division, the retirement of Arab-Jews and the shortage of Arabic speakers among the second generation is a serious and worrisome security problem. Returning to the concept of the “security license”, mentioned by Shenhav, it seems that it was indeed, and in many cases as noted in the documents cited here, one of the central elements that preserved Arabic. But, for most of the Mizrahi Jews, especially for those not involved with “Arabic tasks”, the emphasis on the Arab part of their Jewish identity – with its new links to 225

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Israel as inferior, enemy, foreign, fifth column, hostile – was undesirable, to put it mildly, and most of the Mizrahi Jews, especially those of the second generation, not only did not have any pride in their Arabness and the Arabic language, but also wanted to distance themselves from it as much as possible.27 In this way, in a scissors-like motion – from above and from below – Arabic was caused to be forgotten and was dropped by the Arab-Jews: on the one hand, the State made use of the Jews who were already Arab speakers mostly for “Orientalist tasks”, a code name for jobs with links to national security – including the Ministry of Defense, the Intelligence Corps and the main intelligence unit of the army, 8200 (which, as Prof. Sasson Somekh joked, relies on eight Ashkenazim and 200 Iraqis), the media, Zionist public information in Arabic, Arab schools operating in Israel under tight supervision of the military authority, and the Orientalist tracks for the study of Arabic in Hebrew schools. On the other hand, there was the second generation and even more so the third generation, which chose to distance themselves from this language, and to root it out from among them. Several research studies have been written about the alienation of the Arab-Jews from their language, particularly among the second generation in the 1950s, the 1960s and the 1970s. Among them were research studies examining attitudes towards the study of Arabic and Arabic culture among children of Arab-Jewish families in Israel who have, indeed, uncovered low levels of motivation and some even display outright hostility towards Arabic and Arab culture. Brosh and Ben-Rafael’s research demonstrated that both Ashkenazi and Mizrahi students perceived Arabic as a “low capital language”, whose speakers “alienate the Jews”. However, they claimed that Mizrahi students tended to have even more negative opinions about Arabs than Israelis of Ashkenazi origin. The research assumed that this was because Mizrahi children were trying to differentiate themselves from Arab people and culture by minimising the symbols they had originally shared, including the mutual connection to Arabic.28 Kraemer analysed this phenomenon employing Tajfel’s Social Identity Theory:29 The desire of the Mizrahi Jews to integrate into the mainstream modern Jewish state and to shape their identity in terms of its dominant culture and language fosters psycholinguistic distinctiveness from the ‘significant other’ Arab group, which presents a negative social identity.30 Suleiman has argued that this Arab-Jewish alienation from Arabs and Arabic stems from the close proximity of the two communities. According to him, Mizrahi youth try to differentiate themselves from Arabs because they are similar linguistically, culturally and socio-economically.31 These studies can provide an explanation for other data according to which, in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s, students whose parents knew Arabic gave less preference to studying Arabic than those who had not spoken Arabic at home. In other words, by not knowing Arabic, and through hostility to the language, two processes were taking place: the distancing of the ArabJew from this language as a characteristic of the new Westernised Israeli identity which is everything other than Arab; a prolonged process of Ashkenisation of the language – starting with the generation of German philologists and the Hebrew University,32 continuing through the Oriental tracks that were established in well-to-do localities, in the neighbourhood of Rehavia in Jerusalem and in Ramat Aviv in Tel Aviv and in the Reali school and on the Carmel in Haifa, but not in localities that had a Mizrahi majority, and through the “Latinisation” of Arabic in schools and in the 8200 intelligence unit after the disappearance of the Arab-Jews who knew Arabic from home.

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An intense de-Arabisation was imposed on Arab-Jews which achieved its aim, even though it was not undertaken by force. As we have learned from Antonio Gramsci’s analysis of the term hegemony,33 the objects of oppression collaborated with the process of de-Arabisation in order to belong, because of the institutional processes of co-option and mainly because of the negative status of Arabic which was considered a hostile language in Zionist-Israeli culture. This oppression can perhaps explain a dissonance that is found in deeper layers of the Mizrahi attitude toward Arabic in Israel, an attitude which on its “outside” is characterised with hate, but “deep inside” it one can find traces of nostalgia to a forgotten past. This has been studied by Dallashi, who argued that: focusing on the Arab-Jewish community in Israel . . . I find processes that have resulted in the dialectical relations in which Arabic concomitantly represents various, contradicting and even dissonant values of fear, love and hate. In other words, Arabic as a language that is aesthetically admired (for instance, in relation to music) and represents the language of ‘the grandparents’ generation’, while at the same time is hardly spoken and is viewed as the language of ‘the enemy’.34 This way or another, in a historical perspective, it is apparent that the connection between ArabJews and the Arabic language is at a point lower than it has ever been in the last 1,500 years. The eradication of Arabic is most powerful in an inter-generational comparison. The survey mentioned earlier, Command of Arabic among Jews in Israel, which is so important for this article due to the fact that it segments the population by ethnic origins – something that is usually considered not politically correct, for example by the Central Bureau of Statistics – shows that among the first generation of Arab-Jews, born in the 1920s and 1930s, 41% of them still speak Arabic at home, as compared with 13.5% in the second generation, born in the 1950s and 1960s, and 2.4% of the third generation. Further, a weighted indicator of proficiency in Arabic indicates an even more dramatic drop in an intergenerational comparison. Among the first generation of Arab-Jews, only 26% of them are still proficient in Arabic today. Among the second generation, the proportion drops to 14%, and for the third generation the proportion is only 1%.35 All of this is taking place in a country in the heart of the Middle East in which Arabic is an official language (between the years 1948–2018) and the mother tongue of an indigenous minority. Moreover, the alienation of the Mizrahim from the Arabic language and the Ashkenisation of the language are also noteworthy in their attitude to the language and their motivation to learn it. While about 58% of Ashkenazis supported preserving the official status of Arabic, this proportion is some 10% lower among the Mizrahim, whose mother tongue used to be Arabic. Similarly, 74.2% of immigrants from Arab countries claim that Arabic should be learned in order to know the enemy, as compared to a lower proportion, some 60%, among the Ashkenazim. What is also evident from this research is that the proportion of Ashkenazi Jews who studied Arabic at the university is more than four times that of those from Arab countries; and that the proportion of Ashkenazi Jews who studied Arabic in the army is three times greater than those who originated from Arab countries.36

Summary The process of eradication of Arabic – precisely because it is an official language (officially in Israel during the years 1948–2018) and the regional language and the language of neighbouring countries, and the language of the indigenous Arab-Palestinian minority – has become more

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resonant than the eradication of any other language in Israel. In the wake of this, Arabic has become a project and an instrument of exclusion for the Arabs, on the one hand, and the Mizrahim on the other hand – a project whose ramifications are certainly far-reaching. In Israel that was structured under notions of the “iron wall” on the one hand, and the “villa in the jungle” on the other hand; in order to be considered Israeli in terms of the Zionist national discourse and, to a certain extent, the militaristic discourse, Mizrahi Jews have been compelled to abandon the Arab aspects of their identity.37 In an attempt to fit in, the Arab-Jews in general and the second generation in particular, have placed an emphasis on their Jewish identity at the expense of their Arab culture and origins and have adopted Zionist ideology while neglecting anything that appears to them to be “too Arab” including the Arabic language as the main most modern characteristic of their identity. Hence, the larger tale about the Arabic language that comes to the fore here is the path that was not taken, the opportunity that was not tried, and that is the story of forgetting, of making people forget, of abandonment and denial. As an anecdote, it should be mentioned that the only case in which the Zionist movement actively and genuinely encouraged, in a practical manner, Arab-Jews to consume Arab culture, to listen to Arab music and to become acquainted with Arab-Palestinians was also rooted in the sphere of security: this was the training and activities of the Mistaʿaravim unit of the Palmach (the Dawn Unit) in which Arab-Jews disguised as Arabs of Muslim or Christian descent for security, undercover and spying missions took part in outlining anew the boundaries between Jews and Arabs.38 To put it another way, the only time the Zionist movement encouraged Jews to assimilate, really and truly, among the Arabs in Israel and into Arabness was after it sent them there under a false and fraudulent identity. In a nutshell, this is the story of Arabic in Israel, its preservation as a security language, its ascent as a language with more Ashkenazi than Mizrahi speakers and its decline as a possible instrument for Jewish-Arab life in the Middle East generally, and more importantly in Israel/Palestine.

Notes 1 Hebrew was given precedence as an official language, among other reasons because it was mentioned in Israel’s Declaration of Independence, the Citizenship Law, the Criminal Law Act and more. See: Yonatan Mendel, Dafna Yitzhaki and Meital Pinto, “Official but Not Recognized: The Precarious Status of the Arabic Language in Israel and the Need to Redress This,” Gilui Daat, 10 (2016), 27, (in Hebrew). 2 Ilan Saban, “Minority Rights in Deeply Divided Societies: A Framework for Analysis and the Case of the Arab-Palestinian Minority in Israel,” New York University Journal of International Law and Politics, 36 (2004), 925. 3 For further reading, see:   Yonatan Mendel, The Creation of Israeli Arabic: Political and Security Considerations in the Making of Arabic Language Studies in Israel (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 41–44; Muhamad Amara and Abd Al-Rahman Mar‘I, A Language in Dispute: An Analytical Reading of Linguistic Terms Relating to the ArabIsraeli Conflict (Beit Berl and Kafr Kara: The Center for the Study of the Arabic Language, Society and Culture and Dar Al-Huda, 2004), 30 (in Arabic); Ilan Saban and Muhamad Amara, “The Status of the Arabic Language in Israel: Law, Reality, and the Boundaries of the Use of the Law to Change Reality,” State and Society, 4 (2004), 892 (in Hebrew). 4 Hillel Cohen, Year Zero of the Arab-Israeli Conflict 1929 (Brandeis: Brandeis University Press, 2015). 5 For other readings of the Palestinian Nakba, see:   Avi Shlaim, The Iron Wall: Israel and the Arab World (New York: W. W. Norton, 2001); Benny Morris, The Birth of the Palestinian Refugee Problem Revisited (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Ilan Pappé, The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (Oxford: Oneworld, 2006). 6 Shlomo Morag, “The Teaching of Arabic in the Light of Reality – 1948,” in Landau, Jacob M. (ed.) The Teaching of Arabic as a Foreign Language ( Jerusalem: School of Education of the Hebrew University and the Ministry of Education, 1961), 50.

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The de-Arabised Israeli Arabic 7 Emanuel Kopelowitz, “Problems of Arabic Teaching Viewed in Documentation,” Organ for Teachers of Arabic and Islam, 14 (1993), 18. 8 Ibid. 9 Yonatan Mendel, The Creation of Israeli Arabic: Political and Security Considerations in the Making of Arabic Language Studies in Israel (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014). 10 Adva Him-Younes and Shira Malka, Towards the Development of a Curriculum for the Teaching of Arabic in Junior-High and High Schools in the Jewish Sector  – Evaluation Research, Ministry of Education, Pedagogical Secretariat, Division for Curriculum Planning and Development and the Henrietta Szold Institute  – the National Institute for Research on Behavioral Sciences ( Jerusalem: Henrietta Szold Institute and Keter, 2006), 11, 78,159. Amd 185. Accessible at: http://meyda.education.gov.il/files/ Tochniyot_Limudim/DochotMechkarim/Aravit.pdf.   On the same topic, see Or Kashti, “Arabic Studies – Not in our School,” Ha’aretz, November 30, 2006. 11 Reuven Snir, “Jews Like Arabs: The State of Research,” Ruah Mizrachit, 2 (Summer 2005), 15. 12 In: Ya’ara Barak, “Minister of Education Shai Piron Cuts Arabic Studies,” Army Radio, January 23, 2014. Accessible at: http://glz.co.il/1064-34809-HE/Galatz.aspx. 13 See Yehouda Shenhav et al., Command of Arabic among Jews in Israel (the survey was conducted by the B.I. and Lucille Cohen Institute for Public Opinion Research at Tel Aviv University). Accessible at: www.vanleer.org.il/sites/files/product-pdf/%D7%99%D7%93%D7%99%D7%A2%D7%AA%20 %D7%A2%D7%A8%D7 %91%D7%99%D7%AA%20%20%D7%98%D7%A7%D7%A1%D7%98%20 %D7%9E%D7%9C%D7%90.pdf. 14 Yonatan Mendel, The Creation of Israeli Arabic: Political and Security Considerations in the Making of Arabic Language Studies in Israel (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 13–15. 15 Akiva Eldar, “Israel Bans Lebanese Edition of Jewish Philosophical Work,” Haaretz, May 15, 2012. Accessible at: www.haaretz.com/jewish/.premium-lebanese-edition-of-jewish-philospher-s-master piece-barred-from-israel-1.5155373. 16 See: Yonatan Mendel, “The Arabists’ Jungle: An Israeli-Arab Affair,” The Forum for Regional Thinking, November 2017. Accessible at: www.regthink.org/en/articles/the-arabists-jungle-an-israeli-arab-affair. 17 Shmuel Divon’s letter to the Director of the Ministry of Education, September 2, 1956, Israeli Defence Forces Archive, 1960/86–18. 18 Yehouda Shenhav, The Arab Jews: A Postcolonial Reading of Nationalism, Religion, and Ethnicity (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006), 3. Emphasis mine. 19 The biggest waves of Arab-Jewish immigration to Israel took place in close proximity to the creation of Israel, in the early 1950s, mostly from Iraq, Syria, Yemen and Egypt. However, additional waves, mostly from Morocco, arrived in the early 1960s. In the early 1970s, the Mizrahi community in Israel constituted the majority of the Jewish population. See: Uri Ram, The Changing Agenda of Israeli Sociology: Theory, Ideology and Identity (New York: State University of New York Press, 1995), 97; Shlomo Swirsky, Israel: The Oriental Majority (London: Zed Press, 1989). 20 Yonatan Mendel, “Re-Arabising the De-Arabised: The Mistaʿaravim Unit of the Palmach,” in Z. Elmarsafy, Bernard, A. and David Attwell (eds.) Debating Orientalism (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 94–116. 21 Yonatan Mendel, The Creation of Israeli Arabic: Political and Security Considerations in the Making of Arabic Language Studies in Israel (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 180. 22 This is another example that shows that Arabic was not subject only to the Ministry of Education, but became a joint effort on the part of the security system and the education system. 23 Letter from Inspector Eyal to the Minister of Education, November 5, 1974, Israel Central Archives, GL-13133/9. [My emphases.] 24 Letter from Basok to the Minister of Education, March 25, 1976, Israel Central Archives, GL-17918/4. 25 Minutes of the Knesset Committee on Education and Culture, session on Arabic studies, November 7, 1976, Israel Central Archives, C-504/13. 26 Ibid. 27 For further reading, see: Reuven Snir, Arabness, Jewishness, Zionism: A Struggle of Identities in the Literature of Iraqi Jews ( Jerusalem: Ben-Zvi Institute, 2005), 520 (in Hebrew); Reuven Snir, “ ‘Ana min alYahud’: The Demise of Arab-Jewish Culture in the Twentieth Century,” Archiv Orientální, 74 (2006), 387–424. 28 Eliezer Ben-Rafael and Hezi Brosh, “A Sociological Study of Second Language Diffusion: The Obstacles to Arabic Teaching in the Israeli School,” Language Planning and Language Problems, 15(1) (1991), 1–24; See also: Yasir Suleiman, A War of Words: Language and Conflict in the Middle East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 157.

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Yonatan Mendel 29 Henri Tajfel (ed.), Differentiation between Social Groups: Studies in the Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations (London: Academic Press, 1978). 30 Roberta Kraemer, “Social Psychological Factors Related to the Study of Arabic among Israeli Jewish High School Students,” (Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, School of Education, Tel Aviv University, 1990), 73. 31 Yasir Suleiman, A War of Words: Language and Conflict in the Middle East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 157. 32 On the establishment of the Institute for Oriental Studies at the Hebrew University in 1925, see: Menahem Milson, “The Beginnings of Arabic and Islamic Studies at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem,” Judaism, 45, no. 2 (1996), 169–183. 33 Anderson, Perry, “The Antinomies of Antonio Gramsci,” New Left Review, I, no. 100 (November– December 1976), 5–78. 34 Maisalon Dallashi, “The Arab Jews and the Arabic Language in Israel: An Ongoing Ambivalence between Positive Nostalgia and Negative Present,” in Yonatan Mendel and Abeer AlNajjar (eds.) Language Politics and Society in the Middle East: Essays in Honour of Yasir Suleiman (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2018), 187. 35 See Yehouda Shenhav et al., Command of Arabic among Jews in Israel. The survey was conducted by the B.I. and Lucille Cohen Institute for Public Opinion Research at Tel Aviv University. 36 Ibid. 37 On the loss of Arab elements in the new Mizrahi identity, see also: Henriette Dahan-Kalev, “The ‘Other’ in Zionism: The Case of the Mizrahim,” Palestine – Israel Journal of Politics, Economics and Culture, 8, no. 1 (2001), 94. 38 For further reading, see Yonatan Mendel, “Re-Arabising the De-Arabised: The Mistaʿaravim Unit of the Palmach,” in Ziad Elmarsafy et al. (eds.) Debating Orientalism (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 94–116. The Mistaʿaravim unit of the Hagana [pre-State army], also known as the Syrian Department, operated in the years 1940–1943, ibid., 97. The Mistaʿaravim unit of the Palmach [the most advanced fighting unit of the pre-State para-military Hagana Zionist forces], known also as the Arab Department or The Dawn, operated from 1943–1950, ibid., 99.

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PART III

Identity globalisation and diversity

15 LANGUAGE AND IDENTITY CONSTRUCTION IN THE UNITED ARAB EMIRATES Challenges faced in a globalized world Ahmad Al-Issa and Laila S. Dahan Introduction The Arabic language and Arab identity have been tightly intertwined, for decades, but even more so recently, and this fact is very obvious in the Arabian Gulf region, including: the UAE, Qatar, Bahrain, Oman, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia. These particular Arab countries, perhaps more than others, have had a long history with English, and have quite forcefully embraced global English as they strive to be open to the world in terms of business, tourism, and education. Owing to this heavy reliance on English, there has been a growing concern among some about the role of Arabic. Due, in part, to unease over the decline of Arabic as the foremost language in the region, there has been a need or desire to find ways to encourage the importance of Arabic. This is usually done by equating the Arabic language as proof of an Arab identity. Furthermore, Arabic is then additionally tied to Islam and the importance of Arabic as the language of the Quran. However, recent studies have found that not all Arabs in the Gulf region see Arabic as the main marker of an Arab identity. This is in contradiction to what governments, the Arab League, and the media continue to expound upon as the sign of an Arab and an Arab identity: the ability to speak Arabic. This chapter focuses on the sometimes tenuous connection between Arabic and an Arab identity in the UAE, where the multilingual population gives Arabic speakers countless ways to construct complex identities. The chapter  will discuss the subject of language and identity through a post-structuralist lens with the emphasis on the UAE. In the 21st-century globalizing world, one language has emerged as the global language or the lingua franca of this time period, and that is English (Canagarajah, 2006, 2007; Prodromou, 2008). In fact, as Crystal (2003) points out, those who speak English as a second or foreign language greatly outnumber the native speakers of English. Therefore, when we talk about language and identity, in any region of the world, but especially in the UAE, we must always be cognizant of the role of globalization and global English. This is due to the fact that globalization is definitively behind the spread of global English. In the UAE there is an enormous need for foreign workers. In fact, as Al-Najjar (2013) argues, the “contribution of foreign laborers and experts is essential in all aspects of economic, social, and sometimes cultural life” (p. 1). In addition, these foreign workers need a language in which they can all communicate, and that language is usually English, not Arabic. 233

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Globalization Globalization is a term that initially was used in discussions about economic progression throughout the world. Today, however, since the term is used more broadly, deliberations about globalization refer to “political, social, and cultural expansions across borders in ways that are far easier than in the past” (Al-Issa and Dahan, 2007, 149). Currently globalization is essentially a part of a cultural phenomenon, and those items associated with it are viewed as commodities, including: television, cinema, narratives, and more ( Jay, 2001). Despite the seemingly overwhelming positive views of globalization, there are those who look upon it as a negative influence on languages, cultures, identities, and nations. In the Arab world, in particular, globalization is seen as “Americanization” and there is a perception that its power should be resisted (Najjar, 2005). In the UAE, for example, globalization is felt widely throughout the country. Because the UAE is rapidly changing and the local population is much smaller than that of the expatriates, it is a country that consistently lives with the effects of globalization. Often, globalization is then viewed as a threat to the Arab identity. However, on the other side, while Arabs in the UAE feel the effects of globalization, some may see globalization as promoting choice. Some can see that the identity imposed by society is not the only identity they must assume. As indicated, globalization arrives with global English. This pairing has led to an interest in language in post-colonial theory, as economic supremacy has replaced the colonial subjugation of land (Hawa, 2014). With this in mind, it is important to include a discussion of global English and its role in the UAE in order to clearly outline how the two have impacted Arabs’ concerns about Arab identity.

Global English and the UAE English has become the world’s lingua franca, meaning that it is a “language used for communication between speakers of two mutually unintelligible languages” (Galloway and Rose, 2015, p. 255). Consequently, in today’s progressively more globalized world English is regarded as a vital form of linguistic capital (Canagarajah, 2006, 2007). What this lingua franca offers society is a way for people from many different countries, representing countless languages, the chance to communicate in one language (Salih and Holi, 2018). Since some of the highest numbers of foreign labor in the world work in the Arabian Gulf countries, many studies have concluded that a “loss of national identity” might occur because of this element (Al-Najjar, 2013, 1). In the UAE the majority of the population is made up of foreign workers (Al-Khouri, 2010; Al-Najjar, 2013), resulting in UAE nationals being a “minority in their country” (Badry, 2011, 90), or roughly 15% of the entire population (Weber, 2011). It is estimated that more than 200 nationalities live in the UAE and about 100 different languages are used to communicate (Habboush, 2009). For this reason, it is obvious why English is the lingua franca in the UAE (Boyle, 2011; Constantine, 2007). However, this influx of foreign workers with their large number of diverse languages makes the “present linguistic situation critical” (Bassiouney, 2009, 255). As Suleiman (2013) points out, when perceived threats arise, individuals and nations rely on supposed identity markers in order to fight off possible danger. It is the apprehension that their nation is facing “cultural fragility” that has led the UAE to try to find ways to safeguard its local identity (Al-Khouri, 2012, cited in Hopkyns, 2016). Although Arabic is the official language of the UAE, and only Arabic is mentioned in the country’s constitution, the country does not have a clearly delineated language policy (Gallagher, 2011). With the continued need for outside labor and working professionals, across all 234

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levels of society, a common language is imperative. Arabic, of course, is spoken by Emiratis and Arab employees; however, foreign residents of the UAE are not required to learn the language, and the widespread use of English makes learning any Arabic unnecessary. In fact, according to Al-Najjar (2013), in both government institutions and the private sector Arabic usage is “shrinking” (p. 16). Instead, global English holds a central role in the transformation and expansion of the UAE as many expatriate workers already have some familiarity with the language. In addition to the place of English as the lingua franca in the UAE, most of the educational structure from kindergarten through university has now appropriated English as a medium of instruction (EMI). These educational policies are aimed at preparing students to succeed in today’s globalized world. However, there are concerns that the international educators being hired to work in the UAE have resulted in both curricula and social values that are not in keeping with local norms and values (Al Saayegh, 2008). In fact, the educational institutions hiring international instructors rarely or never offer any “cultural sensitivity training” (Weber, 2011, 63). These factors all lead to worries that the continual focus on EMI has lowered Arabic’s prestige and status as the country’s native language, and furthermore will “impede the development of Arabic and its wide use in different fields of life” (Zughoul, 2003, 123). With regards to higher education, which is primarily EMI, Findlow (2005) contends that the UAE is the fastest growing nation in the Gulf in terms of the numbers of students matriculating. It is this extensive movement to force English into most of the universities in the UAE that has led to the preoccupation over Arabic and identity (Troudi, 2007). Particularly among those who see English and globalization as “Americanization,” this move to immerse young people in English at university is indefensible. They view the continued focus on English while lessening Arabic’s role in the classroom as inexcusable (see Randall and Samimi, 2010; Troudi, 2007). This concern has led to some demanding that Arabic be brought back as the language of instruction in the UAE, since Arabic is viewed as a fundamental piece of UAE identity (El Semary et  al., 2012), and “students should be fully competent in their native language” (Rugh, 2002, 402). Additionally, due to concerns over the continued falling standards of Arabic there have been demands for students to take an Arabic test (similar to TOEFL) as a prerequisite for admission into university (see El Shamaa, 2008). Since there continues to be a certainty that there is a strong relationship between Arabic and having an Arab identity, the current prominence allotted to global English, as demonstrated through EMI policies, is raising anxiety (see Abed, 2007; Zughoul, 2003; Najjar, 2005). There are, of course, divergent views regarding the role of English around the world. Some scholars look upon global English negatively, particularly in multicultural settings wherein they view the language as having far too much stature and power (see Pennycook, 1998; Phillipson, 1998). However, as Abdel-Jawad and Radwan (2011) argue, global English is “an evil we cannot do without” (p. 147). In fact, according to Albirini (2016) in the Arab world, English is looked upon favorably because it is linked to “globalization, power, versatility, practicality, and prestige” (p. 120), and it is both a globally prestigious language and it is effective in helping people communicate. The Arab world today needs both English and Arabic. On the one hand, English is today’s global language and is required in order for countries to modernize, while Arabic is the sacred language of the Quran, which represents Islamic identity and “spiritual commitment” (Weber, 2011, 64). Several studies carried out with students in the UAE found mainly positive views of English (see Dahan, 2017; Findlow, 2006; Hopkyns, 2016; Morrow and Castleton, 2011; Randall and Samimi, 2010). And a 2015 survey carried out in the GCC countries found that 63% of participants believed that being fluent in English was more important than being fluent in Arabic 235

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in terms of career advancement (Bell, 2015), as the language is now regarded as central to communication (Badry and Willoughby, 2016). Yet despite this seemingly positive view of English, there are many in the UAE, mainly educated Emiratis, who have concerns that Arabic is losing its role in the country, especially in the work sector, due to the continual spread of English (Holes, 2011; see also Al-Issa, 2017; Al-Issa and Dahan, 2007, 2011; Badry, 2011). Both the need for foreign workers and the movement of global English into the educational sphere have caused Arabic to seem like a “minority language” (Eisele, 2017, 309). In the UAE, English is essentially the gatekeeper to higher education as most of the institutions now teach in English (Belhiah and Elhami, 2015; Cullinon, 2016). In spite of how the dueling languages are viewed, it should never be underestimated that the persistent spread of global English has lasting effects on issues of everything from Arab traditions and culture to national identity (Weber, 2011, 65). In the Gulf region there have been a number of attempts to find ways to ensure that Arabic and Arab identity are maintained. Hopkyns (2017) highlights these in great detail; however, in the interest of space we mention only those in the UAE. In the past few years culturally themed conferences have continued to crop up in the region. For example, 2008 was named the “year of national identity” in the UAE, which was the same year that Arabic was pronounced the official language of all government agencies. Additionally, a large number of conferences on Arabic and identity and the importance of Arabic were held. In 2014 the Mohammed bin Rashid Arabic Language Award was initiated, in addition to recent projects designed to promote the Arabic language and Arab identity (pp. 52–55). Finally, the Emiratization program was established to encourage Emiratis to enter the workforce in the hopes of making foreign workers less essential. Despite how these factors aim to help Arabic and Arab identity, Findlow (2005) argues that Emiratization is “increasingly colored with Americanization as the epitome of modernism and globalism,” both of which are considered imperative for the UAE to attain a high standing on the global stage (p. 298).

Identity Identity is widely applied across a range of different disciplines, and for this reason, it is difficult to find one precise definition of the term. Identity has been studied from a variety of perspectives including: historical, political, anthropological, sociological, and psychological (Albirini, 2016). It is important to be aware of the major ways in which identity is viewed, and the distinctions between them. It is mainly psychologists who see identity as a comparatively unchanging sense of self through time and space and believe that identity is “internal and persists through change” (Gleason, 1983, 918). While sociologists, for the most part, see identity as an interactional attainment that is vibrant and fluid. They define identity as the portions of a “self which are made up of the meanings that persons attach to the multiple roles they typically play in contemporary society” (Stryker and Burke, 2000, 284). From a post-structuralist perspective, identity is viewed as something which is definitively “not an essence” (Porto and Byram, 2017, 2). People construct their identities in different ways depending on where they are and who they are with, as they “build their own stories” (Porto and Byram, 2017, p. 2; see also Joseph, 2004). People are not born with an identity; it is built through social and cultural enactments (Pennycook, 2004). Individuals are capable of changing their identities and making new ones (Reyerson, 2012), which manifest as “complex units depending on the surrounding conditions” (Suleiman, 2013, 17). Although identities are always part of every individual and group, they tend to reveal themselves most obviously when there is conflict or crisis. For example, Suleiman (2013) maintains 236

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that during political uprisings or social unrest, identity may be revived and become more evident (see also Guibernau, 2007, cited in Bassiouney, 2009). Another example in the Arab world is when there is a perceived crisis of Arab identity and a search for a unifying factor to pull a nation or population together occurs. In the UAE that link holding Arabs together is the Arabic language. This is due to the fact that the “Arab nation as an ideology is built on a number of factors, prominent among which is language” (Bassiouney, 2009, 209). However, we must still keep in mind that the UAE is a very complex society, and in these particular “societies the people tend to have more than one social identity” (Cole, 2014, 19).

Language and identity In the past few years there has been an increase in the amount of linguistic research on identity, mostly within the fields of sociolinguistics and linguistic anthropology (Sarah, 2018), in addition to a growing interest in the field of language education (see Atkinson, 2011; Block, 2007; Pavlenko and Blackledge, 2004). Among scholars addressing the topic of language and identity, it is clear that there is a relationship between language and identity, as humans use language to construct their identities. Language therefore is one way for people to designate their identity ( Jenkins, 2007; Joseph, 2004; Kramsch, 1998; Suleiman, 2003). Language and identity has been explored in a variety of areas, with the subject of second language learners and identity construction being of particular interest. Norton’s (1997; NortonPeirce, 1995) study on immigrants in Canada was extremely influential in leading to the expansion of the theoretical and empirical base of social identity and intergroup relations (Tajfel, 1978) to the relationships of second language learners in EFL/ESL learning circumstances. The structuralist foundations of Social Identity Theory (Tajfel, 1978) are obvious in the focus on group membership. These include identity categories such as nationality, ethnicity, and culture wherein language is identified as the fundamental approach through which these categories are formed. Much of the contemporary research on language and identity relies upon sociolinguistics and utilizes insights from various theorists including: Bourdieu (1992), Giddens (1991), and Weedon (2001). Current research in the field looks at how language is used by individuals in order to co-construct “their own social roles and identities and those of others” (Hall, 2012). This more post-structuralist vision of language and identity recognizes that identity is not static, but is multiple and fluid, depending on what a person encounters and experiences. Additionally, there have been a number of studies that focus on the dynamic way in which identities are co-constructed. Some of these include educational identities (Higgins, 2009; Moore, 2006), culture and ethnicity (Dahan, 2017; May, 2008), gender identity (Holmes and Meyerhoff, 2003; Lakoff, 2004), and professional identities of non-native English teachers (Amin, 1997; Dogancay-Aktuna, 2008). This chapter  is particularly interested in discussing how the Arabic language is tied to an Arab identity in the UAE by viewing it from a poststructuralist perspective, allowing for a more subtle understanding of the connection between language and identity. When viewed from a post-structuralist standpoint, the connection between language and identity is not fixed. Instead post-structuralist theories of identity underscore the notion that identities are seen as performances depending upon the time and location of a specific context in which these identities are executed; additionally, people can perform multiple identities throughout their lives (Norton and McKinney, 2011; see also Norton, 2013; Pavlenko and Blackledge, 2004). Post-structuralism portrays “individuals as diverse, contradictory, dynamic, and changing over historical time and social space” (Norton, 2013, 4). This allows agency and choices in the identities individuals perform (Norton and McKinney, 2011). Human beings 237

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have the ability to make choices, including their identity, and this is the central role of agency (see Ahearn, 2000, 2001; Giddens, 1979). The importance of the post-structuralist view of identity is that we can understand that people choose a language, not “due to their identity, but instead, they perform their identity using language” (Pennycook, 2000). This means that language is more of a resource for communication than the central marker of an individual’s identity, because it is the speakers who determine what identity they will reveal depending on the situation and who they are speaking to (Spolsky, 2010). With this in mind, it is significant to look at why the Arabic language has been so closely tied to the notion of an Arab identity, and to seek ways to unravel that notion through a post-structuralist lens.

The Arabic language and identity In the Arab world recently, the link between language and identity is central to discussions about “Arab politics, literature, education, and other social sciences” (Albirini, 2016, 122). Much of this dialogue is due to the perception in the Arab world that language is the most obvious sign of a cultural or ethnic identity, and emotional feelings arise when there is any hint that language loss is possible ( Joseph, 2004). In the UAE specifically there is growing concern that the spread of English is threatening Arabic (see Abed, 2007; Zughoul, 2003), while Albirini (2016) argues that the spread of globalization and English calls into question the role of Arabic as an identity marker (p. 151). Additionally, linguistic hybridization is clearly visible in the UAE through the advent of ‘Arabizi’ or ‘Arabish,’ used especially among the younger generation; it is a mixture of Emirati Arabic and English and is found in both spoken and online written contexts (O’Neill, 2016). We view Arab identity as an ethnic identity, meaning that Arabs have a regional sense of belonging in the MENA (Middle East and North Africa) region. That ethnic identity, in very complex ways, overlaps with other forms of social belonging such as nationality, religion, and most especially culture. The advent of globalization and global English has disrupted the connection between language and identity. For some Arabs in the UAE, their experiences in a globalizing world have given them new ways of revealing their Arab identity. Arabic’s association with an Arab identity is “inscribed in the lexical link between the name of the people, Arab, and that of the language, arabiyya” (Suleiman, 2013, 51). This is nurtured and developed by those who articulate the link between language and identity – the “elites of a nation” (Suleiman, 2013, 29). Since the Arab world remains an extremely diverse region of the world, economically, culturally, and historically, leaders view “language as the safest haven” to mark an Arab identity (Bassiouney, 2009, 209). However, this continuous belief in an unwavering bond between Arabic and an Arab identity is not really tenable. This is due to the many language varieties that are found within Arabic. This diglossic situation means that every country and region has their own dialect, apart from Modern Standard Arabic, which is taught in school, but never spoken on a daily basis. This wide chasm across a geographic region from Morocco to Yemen ensures that many Arabs cannot always clearly communicate with one another in their own dialects; at that point they often use English. Furthermore, due to the multiple languages being spoken in the Arab world, the divergent ethnicities, religions, and affiliations make it almost impossible to discuss identity as a “monolithic concept” (Albirini, 2016, 169).

Disconnect between language and identity Our views of language and identity are built upon the theories that see no correlation between language use and identity. These theories point to globalization as emphasizing the vibrant, 238

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changing, and sometimes fragmentary experience of space and locality (Viswanathan, 2001). Therefore as individuals physically move or are exposed to globalization, the language or languages that they learned as children will always be part of their identity construction (Stroinska, 2003); however, ultimately these languages are not the marker of a person’s identity. This is because globalization shifts people across “national, cultural, and geographic borders” (Lin, 2008, 209), and a specific language that someone grows up with may not be what a particular person identifies with later in life. Post-structuralists see no indication that language and identity are bonded together; they view identity construction as an agentive act. In fact, the social identity of individuals in the UAE, which is considered to be Arab and shared with other Arabic speakers, may not reflect or be equivalent to their personal identity, which is how they identify themselves. Even if people come from the same culture or share the same language that does not make them similar. And while individuals feel that they belong to a specific religion, nation, culture, or language, these factors in no way shape their entire identity. In reality, due to the many languages and affiliations found in the Arabic-speaking world, it becomes apparent that Arabic speakers have diverse forms of identity that “converge, diverge, or even clash based on various factors” (Albirini, 2016, 169). Arabic speakers maintain identities which are made up of “historical and religious frames of reference, value systems, and ethnic origins, as well as geographical, class, and professional relations” (Al-Najjar, 2013, 6). Therefore it is difficult to claim that the Arabic language is the main marker informing an Arab identity.

Studies regarding Arabic and identity Many of the most current studies regarding Arabic and identity, have focused more on the role of global English and Arabic speakers’ attitudes towards the increasingly central position of that lingua franca. Very few studies have questioned Arabic speakers about their own feelings or beliefs regarding their Arab identity, or if Arabic is, in fact, a major marker of that identity. The following are a few studies that have ventured into asking about language and identity among Arab students in the UAE. Badry’s (2011) study was designed to contribute to the homogeneity-heterogeneity debate. She did this by examining the impact of global English on the cultural identity of university students. Her findings revealed that the linguistic behavior of these students was fluid and porous depending on their interlocutors and the context. Another study of Arab students in the UAE was Ronesi’s (2011), wherein she was seeking to understand how Arabic-speaking students observe themselves as speakers of English. These findings showed that the students felt strongly attached to their Arab identity regardless of the amount of English they encounter on a daily basis. These two studies, which did incorporate some discussions of identity, revealed that the participants claimed a link to affiliation, a feeling of belonging to a group (see Block, 2007), and situation, the context in which they interacted with others (see Fishman, 2000). In other words, the participants used both their languages depending on whom they were speaking to and the context of those conversations. Neither of these studies ever specifically asked the students about any link between Arabic and an Arab identity. However, Dahan’s (2017) study of Arab university students in the UAE did ask the participants if they believed that Arabic was the basis for an Arab identity and if it was the only marker of said identity. The results of the study pointed to young people who have a wide variety of markers for their identity, and Arabic is not central. The participants did not feel constricted by what defined them, and discussed several markers that they believed built their Arab identity. Some of the students pointed to family as being of major importance, while others talked about their nationality; however, all of them mentioned the experiences 239

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they face in life as having an effect on their Arab identity. In addition, Hopkyn’s (2016) study of Emirati university students did have a portion which explored participants’ perceptions of global English on “various layers of Emirati cultural identity” (p. 96). Her study, in line with those mentioned, discovered that Emirati cultural identities are multidimensional, complicated, and even contradictory. These findings, regarding the multilayered views of Arab identities in the UAE, point to a post-structuralist position regarding identity. What we find from these studies is that identity is not just based on one factor, language for example; instead agency is involved. In today’s global world, people can choose to foster alternate identity choices (Canagarajah, 2004). This is what we are seeing in the UAE at this time, an Arab identity that is created and formed socially. The students in these various studies all show an awareness of both their personal identities, and the identity they share with their group: their social identity, although even group identities can be multiple. These findings seem to agree with the post-structuralists’ view in the literature that does not see any one-to-one correlation between language and identity. The other common thread throughout these studies is a concern among university students in the UAE that they are losing touch with their Arabic and even losing literacy in their native tongue. This was discovered in Al-Issa’s (2017) study, wherein Emirati university students in some cases were unable to read or write in Arabic. This should be a major concern for everyone involved in the English versus Arabic debate in the UAE. The continual reliance on English at the expense of Arabic is already taking hold and turning out Emirati university graduates who are essentially illiterate in their native language. Although Al-Issa’s study did not specifically ask about Arabic and an Arab identity, many of the student responses pointed to major concerns about the loss of Arabic, their own in some cases, but more for the next generation. In some cases, they did acknowledge that losing their Arabic could impact their Arab identity, but the main finding was the limited Arabic literacy among native speakers of Arabic. Some of the participants revealed some anger that the majority of their years in school had been about focusing on English, while relegating Arabic to a lesser status in their lives.

Conclusion In conclusion, when it comes to Arabic as the main marker of an Arab identity in the UAE, we do not believe this to be the case. Certainly, Arabic is important to all Arabs, it is of particular importance to Muslims, as the language of the Quran; however, in a multilingual site, like the UAE, languages have become items that support communication, much more than markers of a particular identity. Therefore, we concur that identities are produced in reaction to the fluctuating social and material circumstances of language, culture, and life (Collins and Blot, 2003; Watson-Gegeo, 2004). This allows us to theorize the sense of self within a larger social framework. And although people, as individuals or parts of groups, do use language to negotiate their identities; we must always acknowledge the role of human agency (Auleear Owodally, 2011). We chose to use a post-structuralist lens to interrogate the topic of language and identity in the complex setting of the UAE, because post-structuralism views identity as constantly fluid and in no way static. From this viewpoint identity is not stable or fixed, but instead is a “process” (Block, 2007). Post-structuralism in this chapter is understood as an “attempt to investigate and theorize the role of language in construction . . . of social identity” (Pavlenko, 2018, 282). The main advantage of the post-structuralist approach, according to Pavlenko (2018) is that it “provides a more context-sensitive way of theorizing” social identity (p. 295). She furthermore maintains that post-structuralist approaches are “well equipped to examine the multilingual reality of the contemporary world and see individuals as users of multiple linguistic resources 240

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and as members of multiple communities of practice” (p. 295). The reality of today’s rapidly globalizing world points to an intertwined world with porous borders, which no longer encourage a fixed national identity or an identity based on language. There are several areas regarding the Arabic language and identity which do require more research. What came up in all the studies addressed here is the fairly clear dichotomy between the uses of Arabic and English. As we have discussed previously (Al-Issa and Dahan, 2007, 2011), Arabic continues to represent a less modern part of Arabs’ lives. As Clarke, Ramanathan, and Morgan (2007) contend, the UAE embraced globalization and global English “within a policy of linguistic dualism whereby English is associated with business, modernity and internationalism, and Arabic is associated with religion, tradition and localism” (p. 584). We have found that it is often the parents who push English over Arabic, with the mistaken notion that as long as their children speak Arabic the language will remain protected. However, this belief contradicts findings which argue that children lose interest in their mother tongue when a second language is promoted in school (Pan and Gleason, 1986; Skutnabb-Kangas, 2000), and speaking an Arabic dialect at home does not lead to literacy in MSA. Arabic literacy is another issue that must be addressed in the UAE. It is fine to be concerned about Arabic and identity, but the real problem lies with Arabic and literacy. Young people in the UAE reveal an ease in terms of their identity; they do not see it marked by Arabic, but most of them do feel they have an Arab identity. However, they are worried about their rapidly failing literacy skills in their mother tongue. Anecdotal evidence and studies (Al-Issa, 2017; Al-Issa and Dahan, 2011) have revealed that many university students in the UAE are lacking in literacy skills in Arabic. This is a subject which requires immediate attention from policy makers. Decisions need to be made about when to introduce English, and how much should be introduced. Furthermore, English should be viewed more as a foreign language than a second language, in order to give Arabic the needed focus for young Arabs to become fluent and literate. In the final analysis, there are several reasons why the UAE is so concerned about Arabic and Arab identity. The country is consistently undergoing changes in terms of infrastructure, business, education, tourism, and more; its demographics are very unbalanced with the local Emirati population a fraction of the expatriates; and finally global English is spreading throughout education and society at an intense rate. With these persistent changes there are worries that an Arab identity will be lost. But as we have discussed in this chapter, there is now a disconnect between Arabic and an Arab identity. Young people in particular are able to pick and choose what they believe identifies them as Arabs, and in some cases they have changing identities depending on affiliation or situation, which may not be Arab at all. Overall there is no fear of global English having the ability to lessen or destroy an Arab identity. This is due to the fact that many people in the UAE do not embrace Arabic as the main marker of their Arab identity.

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16 DIASPORIC ARABIC(S) Speakers, usages, and contacts Alexandrine Barontini and Lauren B. Wagner

Introduction Many varieties of Arabic are found across the ‘Arab World’, ranging from the Gulf Peninsula to the Eastern Mediterranean and across Northern and Northeastern Africa. Their local and regional variations, as well as their evolutions through media and other forms of linguistic contact, have been thoroughly addressed within the field of Arabic linguistics (Aswad, 1980; Walters, 1996; Owens, 2001; Versteegh, 2001; Rouchdy, 2002; Bassiouney, 2009; Dean-Olmsted, 2010; Bassiouney and Katz, 2012; Miller et al., 2007). Yet, the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region is not by any means the only place in the world where varieties of Arabic – which we call Arabic(s) – might be natively practiced languages. Generations of migrants whose parents and ancestors originated in this region continue to use Arabic(s) in their daily lives, despite living in countries where neither spoken nor written Arabic varieties may be recognized as official or commonly used forms of communication. Such communities are called ‘diasporic’, in that they maintain practices – cultural, linguistic, political, or otherwise – that perpetuate their connection to an ancestral homeland. In such communities, Arabic(s) may not be spoken in the same ways as they are used by those currently living in their country of origin, but new usages and practices emerge that are distinctly rooted in Arabic. This chapter provides an overview of these different communities around the world, along with the more specific story of how Arabic(s) maintain a strong presence in France. Our approach to language comes from a basis in sociolinguistics, meaning we investigate language as a living and social process, generated through oral and written interactions as much as through institutions and traditions that try to define a ‘language’. Sociolinguistically, we contend that while the many forms of Arabic in use within the Arab World and among diasporic communities are recognizable as ‘Arabic’ because they share certain linguistic features – sets of sounds (phonetics, phonemics), meanings (semantics), and structures (grammar, morphology) – they can also be wildly different from each other, and sometimes unintelligible among users. Even though they may show some resemblance to canonical references or institutions that define Arabic – like the Quran – their differences may outnumber their similarities. Nevertheless, we consider these to be Arabic(s) because their basic forms are traceable from the spread of Arabic evolving across places, over time, through practice. These sociolinguistic evolutions are markedly different for diasporic populations than for those who remain within MENA. Diasporas are often not supported by institutions, like schools, that 245

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standardize usage across a nation-state; nor are they always able to keep their familial or community language vibrant when set against a dominant alternative in the surrounding community. Yet, surprisingly, many diasporic communities continue to use their own languages at home and in public despite external pressure against it. These persistent practices can contribute to a sense of cohesive, unique community identity, especially in groups that are socio-economically or politically marginalized. They can even spread from minority group to majority society when linguistic features from a diasporic community are adopted by others. The example we discuss in detail here, concerning diasporic North African communities in France, demonstrates some of these different dynamics and outcomes in how practices of Arabic(s) are maintained, contested, and evolving in broader social contexts. Before digging into that example, we provide an overview of how varieties of Arabic are found worldwide through diverse diasporic communities. After first defining what we mean by ‘diasporic’, we survey existing research on migratory waves emanating from the MENA region around the globe. Many of these Arabic(s)-speaking communities are well known within migration studies as existing for generations, yet their communicative practices and the sociolinguistic status of Arabic(s) have not been researched in much depth. We draw on the research accessible to us (in English, French, and Spanish) to document their trajectories. Finally, we turn to the case of North African Arabic(s), which illustrates the evolving presence of Arabic(s) as they take hold sociolinguistically in diaspora.

Dynamics of diaspora Classic ideas of ‘Diaspora’ with a capital D have been associated with national, ethnic, or religiously designated communities. These groups, like ‘Jewish’, ‘Armenian’, and ‘Irish’ Diasporas, often migrated en masse at a certain historical moment because of a crisis, like war or famine. They became uniquely designated as ‘Diasporas’ because, over generations, they maintained strong coherence as a community that identifies and shapes itself in relation to a remembered homeland, often by perpetuating cultural practices that distinguish that community from the surrounding one where they live. These classic examples are part of the basis for Robin Cohen’s (1997, 180) defining of diaspora. He proposes nine qualifications for what makes a ‘diaspora’, in contrast to simply a group of migrants:

Cohen’s definition of diaspora 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Dispersal from homeland, often traumatically Or dispersal for economic pursuits (work/colonization) Collective memory/myth about homeland Idealization of ancestral home Return movement Strong ethnic consciousness over long period Troubled relationship with host society Sense of solidarity with co-ethnic in other countries Possibility for distinctive enriching life in other countries.

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The idea of diaspora, in this perspective, focuses on a community spread out in different places, created by dispersal from a single geographic place and historical time, whose members maintain some kind of connection to an original ‘homeland’ while also adapting to the location where they live. It is different from an ‘enclave’, which might be purposefully cut off from its surroundings, but also arguably different from more common patterns of migration, in which migrants do not maintain as strong a connection to their ‘homeland’ nor a connection to ‘the Diaspora’ across other geographic locations. Cohen, among others, sees diaspora as a form of collective migration which perpetuates the connection to ‘home’. We use diasporic as an adjective, rather than diaspora as a noun, to describe the practices – for our purposes, especially sociolinguistic practices – which communities of individuals engage in which perpetuate a reference and connection to a distant, ancestral homeland (Brubaker, 2005; Wagner, 2012). The focus on diasporic processes is especially crucial to sociolinguistic investigations because, as much as speakers are inherently social and therefore always in contact with others, their repertoires of linguistic resources are also in contact and constantly adapting over time. Along these lines, we follow Kalra et al. (2005, 29) in thinking that, [m]ore is to be gained, perhaps, if diaspora can be considered not in terms of homogenous groups of people, but rather as a process which has an impact on the way people live and upon the society in which they are living. Diasporic Arabic(s) as a process draws attention to the historical trajectory of a particular community as a grounds for a range of questions about linguistic practices. How do diasporic speakers carry practices to new places? How do communities maintain certain practices from their homelands, but not others? How do linguistic forms and sociolinguistic habits change within a generation or across generations? How do different forms of contact – with groups from the same homeland or from the new place or residence – influence the perpetuation of diasporic repertoires? In the next section, we document in more detail how different Arabic-speaking groups followed waves of migration that created diasporic Arabics.

Waves of migration Since the 19th century, the majority of migration by Arabic speakers was instigated by colonization. From the Ottoman Empire through the colonial projects of Western Europe in the MENA region, imperial occupation disrupted previous economic, social, religious, and/ or national status, which prompted some people to leave their countries and families to seek sustainable livelihoods elsewhere. Those migrants opened the way for numerous settlements of Arabic-speaking communities, spreading varieties and cultures of Arabic around the world. According to the World Bank, 20 million people, or about 5% of the MENA region’s total population, live diasporically outside of the region (“Arab World Diaspora’s Strong Attachment to Home Could Play Role in Regional Development”, n.d.). This figure may not include descendants of migrants – the children and grandchildren (or further) of an original migrant, who may be born elsewhere but still considered part of a diasporic Arabic-speaking community. The most numerous settlements of Arabic speakers abroad are found in Central and South America. The Arab American Institute estimates that Latin America is home to “anywhere from 17 to 30 million people of Arab descent”, including 7 million Lebanese in Brazil – more

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than the population of Lebanon itself (“The Arabs to Our South”, n.d.). Cities like Sao Paolo (Brazil), Buenos Aires (Argentina), Baranquilla (Colombia), and Caracas (Venezuela) boast large Arab populations, along with Global Northern cities like Dearborn (Michigan, USA), London (United Kingdom), and the Paris-Ile de France region in France, which may be more widely known as communities of Arabic speakers (“Out of MENA”, 2015). As much as the destinations for Arabic-speaking migrants have been global, the source of migration covers the whole of the MENA region. Furthermore, those who migrated are not of single profile: they include Muslims, Christians, and Jews, as well as other religious affiliations and ethnic designations within their countries of origin. Table 16.1 shows an overview of the origin sources, destinations, and community profiles of diasporic communities which have been documented by researchers. Dividing the region between the Middle East (Lebanon, Syria, Palestine) and North Africa (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia), there are two important trajectories, both beginning during the 19th century, that characterize MENA migrations. The subsections to follow give an overview of key elements of these two trajectories and how they have changed over time.

Middle Eastern migrations Departing from the Ottoman Empire, Lebanese, Syrians, and Palestinians first migrated in significant numbers to the American continents and the Caribbean in the middle or late 19th century, with more groups following during World War  I, and still more in the 1920s and 1930s. Travelling via the port of Marseille, some of them paved the way for lasting settlement throughout America and the Caribbean (see Table 16.1). Others migrated into France, including many Lebanese migrants who settled in what was then French West Africa (Arsan, 2014). A few commonalities emerge about these communities, whatever their place of settlement. First, many migrants had departed from the same regions and villages (Ottoman Syria, North Lebanon, etc.), which encouraged the emergence of social networks and forms of solidarity that facilitated settlement. Next, the migrants were generally farmers (growers or breeders), seldom educated, and mostly Christians. In a large part, they left to improve their economic condition, though sometimes also for political or religious reasons (Calmont et al., 2008, 73). On arrival, many became door-to-door salespeople or traders specializing in fabric or clothing (Asal, 2016; Roussillon, 2007). Such circumstances ensured that newly arrived migrants came directly and immediately into contact with the local population and probably accelerated their social and linguistic inclusion (Calmont et al., 2008). While these waves of migration effectively came from consistent geographic locations, their geopolitical designation changed along with colonial transitions. Early waves left as subjects of the Ottoman Empire, and later waves departed as subjects of the French and British Mandates in the wake of World War I. Following conflicts and agitation related to independence movements (1943 for Lebanon and 1946 for Syria) and the Balfour declaration which created a Jewish state, migrants from this region became ‘Lebanese’, ‘Syrian’, or ‘Palestinian’ (Calmont et al., 2008, 17), as they are commonly known today. Immigration from this region continued regularly in response to conflicts in the Middle East – especially related to the Lebanese Civil War (1975–1990), from which many migrants arrived in Europe and the Americas (“Syro-Lebanese Migration (1880-Present)”, n.d.). Similarly, flows of Iraqi, Egyptian, and Yemeni migrants have principally settled in the United States, the United Kingdom, and France, following more recent conflicts. Continued waves of migration have had the effect of repeatedly reviving networks that might otherwise have receded into the historical past (Biondi-Assali, 1991; Dean-Olmsted, 2010; King et  al., 2014; Kläger and 248

North Afr ica: Morocco, Alger ia, Tunisia, Libya, Maur itania

France and Europe: (Belgium, Holland, Spain, Italy) Canada USA Other Arab countr ies Israel

Haer i, 2000; Rouchdy, 2002; Albir ini and Chakrani, 2016; Aswad, 1980; Ennaji, 2016; Zabel, 2006 Roussillon, 2007; Kabchi, 1997; Kar pat, 1985; Moore and Mathewson, 2013 Abouyoub, 2016; Bale, 2010; Cumoletti and Batalova, 2018; Kayyali, 2006 Asal, 2016; Abdelhady, 2011 Behaine, 1980; Martínez-Albar racín, 2006, 2012; Restrepo Mejía, 2003 Bérodot and Pozzo, 2011; Biondi-Assali, 1991, 1998; Nancy and Picard, 1998 Mar ín-Guzmán and Zeraoui, 2003; Dean-Olmsted, 2010 Cuche, 1997 Guedr i, 2008; Lesser, 1996; Mor r ison, 2005 Nicholls, 1986, 1992; Atine, 2009; Lafleur, 1999; de Bruijne, 2006; Calmont et al., 2008; Dubost, 2008, 2000; Giraud et al., 2009 Abdulkar im, 1996; Aly, 2015; Wardini, 2017 Arsan, 2014 Hage, 2002 Asselah Rahal, 2004, Barontini, 2013, 2014, 2016, 2017; Bidet and Wagner, 2012; Biichlé, 2012, 2014; Bruno et al., 2009; Caubet, 2001, 2004, 2006, 2007, 2008; El Yazami et al., 2009 Boumans, 1998; Daoud, 2011; El Aissati and Bos, 1998; Ennaji, 2016; Benítez Fer nández, 2017; Filhon, 2009; García-Sánchez, 2010; Nortier, 1990; Sayahi, 2011; Wardini, 2017

North Amer ica

Amer icas: The Car ibbean Europe Afr ica Other Arab countr ies Israel

Middle East: Syr ia Lebanon Palestine Jordan Iraq Egypt

249 Europe

Europe West Afr ica Australia France

South Amer ica USA Canada Colombia Argentina Mexico Peru Brazil The Car ibbean

Research sources

Known populous diasporic communities

Destination region

Departure or origin region

Table 16.1 Diaspor ic profiles from MENA migration

Diasporic Arabic(s)

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Stierstorfer, 2015), while also reviving the presence of Arabic with new speakers arriving and joining existing diasporic communities. In the years since, migrations from Middle East have not ceased. On the contrary, waves of migration between established diasporic communities and their origin regions are regularly renewed as these countries have been (or are still) subject to many conflicts, political troubles and religious persecutions. The ongoing Syrian conflict led new populations to migrate and to join one community or another in diaspora (Balloffet, 2016). In these locations, some populations are recently arrived while others have been around for centuries, including several generations born there. From these ongoing flows connecting diasporic locations with new migrants, we can surmise that practices of Arabic are still present in these communities. However, there is little research available about sociolinguistic practices to supply more detail. Lebanese, Syrian, and Palestinian diasporas in the Americas and the Caribbean have been predominantly researched in relation to cultural heritage, identity, and ethnicity rather than language (see Table  16.1). Sociolinguistic practices, like the maintenance, transmission, and presence of Arabic has been quite poorly studied, especially given the importance and size of these groups. Considering the attention these communities have earned from other disciplines, more research is warranted to understand the continuing presence of Arabic repertoires as part of how the communities themselves are able to persist.

North African migrations Migrations from North Africa – first from Algeria, then Tunisia and Morocco – began in the middle of the 19th century, spurred by French colonization in the region (Algeria 1830–1962, Tunisia 1881–1956, Morocco 1912–1956 by French and Spanish protectorates). The colonial transformation destabilized local economies, leading people to migrate to France as members of the French Empire (Sayad, 1999, 2006; Stora, 1991; Green and Poinsot, 2008, Bruno et al., 2009; Giraud et  al., 2009), while France also began to actively recruit workers from North Africa for French factories or infrastructure projects. In addition to laboring to rebuild France after the two World Wars, North Africans (along with other populations from countries colonized by France) were conscripted into the French army. Among those who arrived before World War II, relatively few stayed permanently, yet their impact remains – not only from their contribution as laborers, but also the tense cultural and political relationship created between French society and institutions and North African communities. After the Algerian Independence War (1954–1962), more diverse Arabic-speaking migrants arrived in France, alongside European descendants of colonial settlers called ‘pieds-noirs’: members of the Algerian Jewish community and Algerians Muslims who served the French side during the Independence War, called ‘harkis’ (Besnaci-Lancou and Moumen, 2008). While most North Africans speak local varieties of Arabic, many migrants were (and are) speakers of Amazigh or Berber varieties as well as Arabic, or without Arabic, as part of their repertoire. Furthermore, in more recent years, many North African migrants have chosen destinations beyond France, including elsewhere in Europe (Belgium, the Netherlands, Spain, Italy, and the United Kingdom) as well as the United States and Canada. Jewish North African communities in particular are located in France, Canada, and Israel, with some families connecting all three countries.

Case study: North African Arabic(s) in France Today, linguistic practices rooted in North Africa are shared by many French citizens. By the best estimates, there are around 4 million potential speakers of North African Arabic(s) (hereafter 250

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NAA), including Tunisian, Algerian, and Moroccan varieties, among both Muslim and Jewish populations (Caubet, 2008; Barontini, 2013). The true number is difficult to calculate because many of these groups are not identifiable through the statistics collected by the French government,1 but these populations are often recognized through their concentration in certain cities, like Paris (Deroo et al., 2003) and Marseille (Temime, 2007). Whatever the number of speakers, the presence of NAA in France has developed an influence and role beyond diasporic communities, into the everyday language of society. NAA shares its presence in France along with other diasporic Arabic(s). While descendants of migrations from colonial French West Africa are more common, France has also been a place of settlement for migrants from Lebanon, Syria, and Egypt. Among this range of diasporic communities, moreover, there may be regional and confessional variations – meaning two diasporic French-Moroccans, one Muslim from the North and one Jewish from the West, may practice different varieties of Arabic. It is often conjectured that the contact among speakers in France from different parts of the Arabic-speaking world has fostered a ‘French Arabic’, combining elements rooted in many historical and geographical locations, yet this central variety has not been shown to exist. Instead, research has demonstrated that speakers rooted in different Arabic(s) accommodate to one another’s practices, especially in cities where diasporic communities from a range of backgrounds may live side by side (Barontini, 2013), thereby enabling Arabic(s) to be maintained and perpetuated over generations in diaspora. Alongside all of these spoken, ‘dialectal’ Arabic(s), Modern Standard Arabic (MSA), literary or classical Arabic, can all be found as codified, standardized, written languages taught in some schools and universities in France. These varieties can also be found in media broadcasts targeting Arabic speakers around the world as the commonly accepted ‘institutional’ forms of Arabic, purportedly functioning as a lingua franca between the many communities of Arabic speakers. The distinction between spoken ‘dialects’ and written ‘languages’ plays an important role in how diasporic Arabic(s) are shaped and evolving in France. Yet, through NAA alongside other forms, practices of Arabic(s) are very much a part of the public sphere.

Family practices: transmission and mixture When we speak of 4 million speakers of NAA in France, we presume that these are not monolingual speakers, but more likely bi- or multilingual individuals who count NAA among their repertoires alongside French and possibly Amazigh languages from North Africa (Chaker, 2008, 2013). In 1984, Louise Dabène and Jacqueline Billiez initiated French research on the bilingual practices of children of migrants, focusing on the persistence of their use of their parents’ language and possible effects in their education of being able to learn in their “language of origin” (Dabène and Billiez, 1984). This was one of the first French studies to document how households can actively mix usage of multiple languages, making up a multilingual repertoire. At that time, studies on bilingualism worldwide espoused many presumptions and assumptions that have since been deconstructed. Some considered that children raised bilingually would be less able to master one or the other language because each would ‘interfere’ with one another, or that an ideal bilingual must have perfect mastery – written and spoken – of both languages. Neither of these presumptions have been substantiated; in fact, most scholars currently agree that bi- or multilingualism involves a spectrum of knowledges and practices in different linguistic repertoires, and moreover often has a positive effect on the individual’s linguistic capacities (Deprez, 1996; García and Kleifgen, 2010; Hélot, 2007; Hélot et al., 2008; Tabouret-Keller, 1990). Yet, the negative assumptions still persist for many members of the public, manifesting, for example, in stereotypes about the ‘interference’ of a different language 251

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spoken at home with a child’s ability to learn a dominant language at school. Such stereotypes often intersect with other negative public discourses related to migration or the presence of minority communities and the ‘danger’ they pose to a majority society. Many studies since Dabène and Billiez’s have investigated NAA through ‘family transmission’, or how diasporic varieties are learned through family activity, as well as through the linguistic practices of bi- and multilinguals. Quite often, these studies have focused on adolescents, encompassing their home environment (parents, relatives, siblings), educational environments, and sometimes peer groups and social activities (Caubet, 2007; Trimaille, 2004). This accumulated research shows that NAA is undoubtedly present and perpetuated in France by a wide swath of diasporic communities. Its usage falls in the spectrum of multilingual knowledges and practices shown in other places, in which speakers may have different layers of capacities in their accessible languages based on how they were exposed to them. These capacities might be activated through different contexts and interlocutors and shift over time and according to individual orientations towards one linguistic community or another (Pennycook, 2018). Very few NAA speakers would be considered ‘ideal bilinguals’, who can speak, hear, read, and write equally in multiple languages – which is substantially related to the institutional practices discussed in the next subsection. Yet many elements of NAA manifest through practices of creatively mixing repertoires, like codeswitching and borrowing, where speakers draw on their multiple linguistic communities within a single communication. These forms will be elaborated more in the final subsection.

Institutional practices: education and recognition Diasporic Arabic(s) most commonly found in France (like NAA) contrast significantly with the global versions (like MSA) that are widely used in Arabic language education. Within the Arabic-speaking world, the wide range of spoken varieties are contrasted to the ‘real’ or standardized versions of Arabic codified as MSA or classical Arabic and disseminated in media, like news broadcasts and all kinds of written materials. In fact, for some users it is ‘incorrect’ to write spoken varieties of Arabic because only ‘real’ Arabic should be written using Arabic script. Within countries where Arabic is an official language, written and spoken versions can coexist as diglossic (Owens, 2001), serving different purposes and in some ways influencing each other as diverse repertoires in a single language. In France, however, standard Arabic has been institutionally recognized, largely to the detriment of NAA and its speakers. In 1999, with the European Charter of Regional and Minority Languages created by the Council of Europe, NAA, along with several other languages rooted in former colonies and external possessions, was included in the list of ‘languages of France’ (Kremnitz, 2013). While the idea of the Charter was embraced and signed by part of the French government, it was never fully ratified and therefore not put into effect across French institutions. However, this agreement precipitated some changes in the certification system of French education. From the year 2000, students passing the baccalaureate exam – the cumulative conclusion of secondary education in France and a large determinant of one’s possible career trajectory – no longer had a separate, optional test offered in ‘dialectal Arabic’ (NAA or Middle Eastern Arabic) in contrast to standard ‘Arabic’. Previously, the dialectal Arabic test offered a way for diasporic NAA speakers to garner official recognition of their linguistic skills by using their own variety, written in a choice of Arabic or Latinate (e.g. French) script, with the majority choosing the latter. After 2000, Arabic script was the only option for this exam. For students who had not had an opportunity to study standard written Arabic, which is available in France through limited private tutelage and only rarely in secondary school, this meant that their linguistic 252

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knowledge as a minority group was suddenly disregarded by the central educational institution of their country. In some ways, this episode reinforces the problematic notion of an ‘ideal bilingual’, able to communicate equally in their different languages, in both written and oral forms. Even more problematically, it solidified this notion through an important institutional framework, effectively penalizing this minority group for their linguistic practices that were primarily spoken and not written, without providing sufficient resources to enable them to meet the new criteria. This kind of disadvantaging of NAA speakers was not surprising, as North African communities have faced stigmatization in France over many generations and in many forms (Boubeker, 2003). In the last decade, nationalist (and Islamophobic) rhetoric has become increasingly vocal against moves by successive Ministers of Education to support the teaching of living languages, labeling it an intolerable ‘imposition of Arabic’ in French society (Barontini, 2017). In this discourse, Arabic in France (whether spoken or written) is accused of being a proxy for Islamicist movements and of promoting exclusionary society and endangering the idea of French national unity based on citizens who equally and uniformly speak French (Lochak, 2013; see also endnote 1). Luckily, many individuals resist this discourse and use their multilingual practices  – including NAA and other Arabic(s) – in both private and public spheres.

Creative practices: social innovations/politics and diversity Despite the difficulties in getting support on an institutional level, the long history of contact between France and North Africa, though full of its own tensions, ensures that NAA maintains a place in French culture. This is not to say that France is home to increasing numbers of monolingual NAA speakers. Rather, to recognize the presence of NAA in France is to observe the practices of mixture that are present in private and public spheres, among French citizens in all corners of the country. The nearly two centuries of intensive relationship between France and North Africa has fostered reciprocal influences in linguistic practices of both geographical locations. As much as French became extremely influential as an elite language in Algeria, Tunisia, and eventually Morocco – surviving in some forms to this day as an important linguistic practice in families and institutions (Dakhlia, 2004; Ziamari, 2008) – NAA has taken root in France through diasporic communities emanating from those former colonies. Some NAA words, like bled, chouiya, or walou, after becoming so commonly used by bilinguals and others familiar with NAA, have been integrated into French dictionaries as French words. While use of individual words like these, or more extensive phrases, may be linguistically referred to as ‘borrows’ or ‘codeswitching’ when they reflect a separate linguistic repertoire being used within another variety (such as inserting these words into an utterance that otherwise uses French vocabulary and grammar), over time and repetition by a significant population, they can be recognized as fully integrated into other varieties. In regard to NAA in France, these integrations often relate to the ways that young people pick up and propagate practices from their peers. Those shared youth practices can sometimes spread beyond diasporic communities, to a broader population of youth in contact with each other and eventually to a general public domain. NAA has also become more present in French culture through artistic production and the creative industries, where utilizing the full range of linguistic practices is essential to resonate with a contemporary public. From theater to cinema to comedians, from literature to comic books, and especially in music, NAA practices are perpetuated and integrated into France. To a certain extent, NAA artistic production in France is founded in the migration of laborers – both male and female (Yahi, 2009) – who were also musicians and artists (Abdallah, 2008; El Yazami et al., 2009). 253

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Migrants were, of course, consumers of music as well, and other forms of NAA performance would be heard in a household and play a role in transmission within the family (Barontini, 2013). These forms also spread beyond the diasporic household, becoming a shared cultural product among different citizens of France (Caubet, 2006, 2007). Today, use of NAA in creative works and performances contributes to a more positive and integrated sense of the presence of North Africans in France (Caubet, 2004). Over time and with repetition, more aspects and features of NAA become common knowledge to the French consumer of culture, challenging assumptions about ethnic norms and ideas of closed or exclusive communities (Honneth, 2002). Importantly, these usages are characterized by mixture: not exclusively in a French or North African variety, but integrating multiple influences to be accessible to many. The spread of linguistic practices in this manner  – not within a holistic idea of an ‘ideal bilingual’, but as mixture between multiple influences – shows the importance of sociolinguistic research that observes actual practice rather than simply declared behaviors. Linguistic practices related to diasporic communities are nearly always influenced by a plurality of sources and responding to situational factors. By investigating how these sources and situations manifest in the practices of speakers, researchers can more accurately understand how diasporic communities maintain themselves while also integrating and connecting with parallel minorities and wider majority societies.

Conclusion What we have tried to show in this chapter  is how Arabic(s) exist diasporically: as a living language that evolves through its users and their migrations. Branches and varieties of spoken Arabic have undoubtedly spread far beyond the traditional boundaries of the Arab World. The migrations that have carried Arabic(s) to perhaps unexpected places have long histories, with communities embedded in Europe and the Americas for several generations. Diverse forms of contact, communities of practice, and politics of belonging contribute to different manifestations of Arabic(s) elsewhere. Even though the existence of these communities is recognized in academic literature, their sociolinguistic status and practices are sorely under-researched. While the example of France illustrates a relatively well-researched case, even there the existing studies only cover a slice of the many practices, communities, varieties, and interactional manifestations of Arabic(s) in everyday life. That said, this overview, and particularly the case of France, illustrates how Arabic is present and persistent in diasporic communities around the world.

Note 1 As part of the history of the Republic of France, it is against the law to collect data that characterizes French citizens through ‘ethnic’ designations, as all citizens are considered equally French no matter what their familial background. In parallel to this, all citizens are expected to be communicative in the French language, which is the only official language.

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Diasporic Arabic(s) Ennaji, M. (Ed.). (2016). New horizons of Muslim Diaspora in North America and Europe. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Filhon, A. (2009). Langues d’ici et d’ailleurs: transmettre l’arabe et le berbère en France. Paris: INED, Institut national d’études démographiques. García, O., & Kleifgen, J. A. (2010). Educating emergent bilinguals: policies, programs, and practices for English language learners. New York: Teachers College Press. García-Sánchez, I. (2010). The politics of Arabic language education: Moroccan immigrant children’s language socialization into ethnic and religious identities. Linguistics and Education, 21(3), 171–196. Giraud, M., Dubost, I., Calmont, A., Daniel, J., Destouches, D.,  & Milia-Marie-Luce, M. (2009). La Guadeloupe et la Martinique dans l’histoire française des migrations en régions de 1848 à nos jours. Hommes & Migrations, 1278, 174–197. Green, N.,  & Poinsot, M. (Ed.). (2008). Histoire de l’immigration et question coloniale en France. Paris: La documentation française. Guedri, C. M. (2008). A sociolinguistic study of language contact of Lebanese Arabic and Brazilian Portuguese in Säo Paulo (Doctoral). University of Texas at Austin, Austin. Haeri, N. (2000). Form and ideology: Arabic sociolinguistics and beyond. Annual Review of Anthropology, 29, 61–87. Hage, G. (Ed.). (2002). Arab-Australians today: citizenship and belonging. Carlton South: Melbourne University Press. Hélot, C. (2007). Du bilinguisme en famille au plurilinguisme à l’école. Paris: L’Harmattan. Hélot, C., Benert, B., Ehrhart, S., & Young, A. (Eds.). (2008). Penser le bilinguisme autrement. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Honneth, A. (2002). La lutte pour la reconnaissance. Paris: Ed. du Cerf. Kabchi, R. (1997). El mundo árabe y América Latina. Madrid: Ediciones UNESCO. Kalra, V. S., Kaur, R., & Hutnyk, J. (2005). Diaspora and hybridity. London: Sage. Karpat, K. (1985). The Ottoman emigration to America. International Journal of Middle East Studies, 17(2), 175–209. Kayyali, R. (2006). The Arab Americans. Westport, CO: Greenwood Press. King, R., Christou, A., & Levitt, P. (2014). Links to the diasporic homeland: second generation and ancestral “Return” mobilities. London: Routledge. Kläger, F., & Stierstorfer, K. (2015). Diasporic constructions of home and belonging. Berlin: De Gruyter. Kremnitz, G. (Ed.). (2013). Histoire sociale des langues de France. Rennes: Presses universitaires de Rennes. Lafleur, G. (1999). Les Libanais et les Syriens de Guadeloupe. Paris: Karthala/Le Phénicien. Lesser, J. (1996). (Re)Creating ethnicity: Middle Eastern immigration to Brazil. The Americas, 53(1), 45–65. Lochak, D. (2013). Intégrer ou exclure par la langue. Plein Droit, 98, 3–6. Marín-Guzmán, R., & Zeraoui, Z. (2003). Arab immigration in Mexico in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Assimilation and Arab heritage. Mexico-Austin: ITESM-Augustine Press. Martínez-Albarracín, C. J. (2006). Introducción a la situación sociolingüística de la comunidad árabe de Macao, Guajira (Colombia). Estudios de Dialectología Norteafricana y Andalusí, 10, 7–51. Martínez-Albarracín, C. J. (2012). La lengua árabe en Colombia. In C. Patiño Rosselli  & J. Bernal Leongómez (Eds.), El lenguaje en Colombia. Tomo I: Realidad lingüística en Colombia. Bogotá: Instituto Caro y Cuervo, Imprenta Patriótica, 801–813. Miller, C., Al-Wer, E., Caubet, D., & Watson, J. (Eds). (2007). Arabic in the city. Issues in dialect contact and language variation. London/New York: Routledge-Taylor. Moore, A., & Mathewson, K. (2013). Latin America’s Los Turcos: Geographic aspects of Levantine and Maghreb diasporas. Nóesis. Revista de Ciencias Sociales y Humanidades, 22(43–42), 292–308. Morrison, S. (2005). “Os Turcos”: The Syrian-Lebanese community of São Paulo, Brazil. Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, 25(3), 423–438. Nancy, M. (Ed.), & Picard, É. (Coll.). (1998). Les Arabes du Levant en Argentine. Aix-en-Provence: Institut de recherches et d’études sur le monde arabe et musulman. Nicholls, D. (1986). The Syrians of Jamaica. The Jamaican Historical Review, 15. Nicholls, D. (1992). Lebanese of the Antilles: Haiti, Dominican republic, Jamaica and Trinidad. In A. Hourani & N. Shehadin (Eds.), The Lebanese in the world, a century of emigration. Taris: Center for Lebanese Studies and I. B., 339–360. Nortier, J. (1990). Dutch-Moroccan Arabic code switching among Moroccans in the Netherlands. Dordrecht, Holland: Foris.

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Alexandrine Barontini and Lauren B. Wagner Out of MENA: Nine cities the Arab Diaspora calls home. (2015, May 8). Al Bawaba. Retrieved January 24, 2019, from www.albawaba.com/slideshow/out-mena-nine-cities-arab-diaspora-calls-home-691942 Owens, J. (2001). Arabic Sociolinguistics. Arabica, XLVIII. Leiden: Brill, 419–469. Pennycook, A. (2018). Repertoires, registers, and linguistic diversity. In A. Creese & A. Blackledge (Eds.), The Routledge handbook of language and superdiversity. Abingdon: Routledge, 3–15. Restrepo Mejía, I. (2003). Encuentro entre dos Mundos: La Migración Árabe en Colombia. OASIS, 9. Bogotá: Universidad Externado de Colombia, 181–214. Rouchdy, A. (Ed.). (2002). Language contact and language conflict in Arabic: Variations on a sociolinguistic theme. London/New York: Routledge Curzon. Roussillon, A. (2007). Diasporas arabes en Amérique latine? De l’invisibilité à l’effervescence identitaire. Transcontinentales. Sociétés, idéologies, système mondial, (4), 99–119. Sayad, A. (2006 [1991]). L’immigration ou les paradoxes de l’altérité. Paris: Raison d’agir. Sayad, A. (1999). La double absence, des illusions de l’émigré aux souffrances de l’immigré. Paris: Seuil. Sayahi, L. (2011). Spanish in contact with Arabic. In M. Díaz-Campos (Ed.), The handbook of hispanic sociolinguistics. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 473–489. Stora, B. (1991). Histoire de l’Algérie coloniale (1830–1954). Paris: La Découverte. Syro-Lebanese Migration (1880-Present): “Push” and “Pull” Factors. (n.d.). Middle East Institute. Retrieved January 24, 2019, from www.mei.edu/publications/syro-lebanese-migration-1880-present-push-andpull-factors Tabouret-Keller, A. (1990). Le bilinguisme: pourquoi la mauvaise réputation? Migrants-Formation, 83, 18–23. Temime, E. (Ed.). (2007). Migrance: Histoire des migrations à Marseille. Marseille: J. Laffitte. The Arabs to Our South: The Arab Diaspora in Latin America. (n.d.). Arab American Institute. Retrieved January 24, 2019, from www.aaiusa.org/the_arab_diaspora_in_latin_america Trimaille, C. (2004). Etudes de parlers de jeunes urbains en France. Eléments pour un état des lieux. Cahiers de sociolinguistique, 9, 99–132. Versteegh, K. (2001). Linguistic contacts between Arabic and other languages. Arabica, XLVIII. Leiden: Brill, 470–508. Wagner, L. B. (2012). Feeling diasporic (Paper No. 21). Tilburg: Babylon Center for Studies of the Multicultural Society, Tilburg University. Retrieved from www.tilburguniversity.edu/research/institutes-andresearch-groups/babylon/tpcs/download-tpcs-paper-21.pdf/ Walters, K. (1996). Diglossia, linguistic variation and language change. In M. Eid (Ed.), Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics VIII. Amsterdam: Benjamins, 157–197. Wardini, E. (2017). Arabic in Stockholm: Practice and perception among second generation young heritage speakers. In K. Eksell (Ed.), Öst är väst och väst är öst: en vänbok till Henry Diab. Lund: Portlak, 113–133. Yahi, N. (2009). Les femmes connaissent la chanson. In D. El Yazami, Y. Gastaut, & N. Yahi (Eds.), Générations. Un siècle d’histoire culturelle des Maghrébins en France. Paris: Gallimard/ Génériques/ Cité nationale de l’histoire de l’immigration, 140–147. Zabel, D. A. (Ed.). (2006). Arabs in the Americas: Interdisciplinary essays on the Arab diaspora. New York: Peter Lang. Ziamari, K. (2008). Le code switching au Maroc. L’arabe marocain au contact du français. Paris: L’Harmattan.

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17 COMPLEX IDENTITIES Arabic in the diaspora Luca D’Anna and Chiara Amoruso1

1. Introduction The study of diasporic and transnational Arabic-speaking communities has attracted considerable interest in the last few decades, although the sociohistorical phenomena that resulted in the Arab diaspora have been at play for more than a century. Arab migration from Lebanon toward the US, in fact, started at the end of the 19th century and mainly involved Christian unskilled workers, followed by immigrants from Greater Syria, Yemen and Iraq after WWII (Rouchdy, 1992, 17–18). The unstable political situation of the Middle East in the last few decades resulted in a continuous flow of immigrants to the US, even though more restrictive laws have tried to curtail the intake (D’Anna, 2020: 304). Arab immigration to Western Europe, on the other hand, started in the wake of the decolonization process and was initially directed toward France, where large groups of Algerians, Moroccans and Tunisians settled during the 1950s and 1960s. The countries involved also included the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Italy and Spain. In accordance with a common trend, typical of labor immigration, men came first, followed by their families once their financial conditions reached a certain stability (Boumans and De Ruiter, 2002, 259). The events that radically changed the political situation of the MENA region after 2011 resulted in a new wave of mostly young immigrants, which was met by increasingly stricter immigration laws and a consequent rise of the phenomenon of undocumented immigration. As a result of the diaspora briefly outlined in the preceding section, Arabic-speaking communities are today present in most countries of Western Europe and in the US. Despite the obvious differences and inevitable exceptions, Arabic-speaking communities do not usually enjoy much social prestige and have been experiencing a worrying rise of discrimination after 9/11 (Albirini, 2016, 320) and the most recent wave of immigration. The way in which the social profile of Arabic-speaking communities interacts with their language dynamics is the object of Section 2, while Section 3 provides an overview of the existing literature concerning the relation between language and identity. Section 4 presents the results of a particularly interesting case study, the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo (Italy), and is followed by our conclusions.

2.  Main linguistic trends in Arabic diasporic communities The study of Arabic-speaking communities in the diaspora has focused mainly on their linguistic trends, with specific reference to language maintenance, erosion and codeswitching. The “law 259

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of the three generations” (Canagarajah, 2008, 151) also seems to work for Arabic in the diaspora, so that the first generation starts experiencing language erosion, the second (sometimes partially) loses active competence in the heritage language and the third experiences the final loss of passive competence. This trend is widely documented in both the European and the American diaspora, as evident from the following quotes: The Moroccan communities exhibit a strong tendency toward the exclusive use of the socially dominant European languages within two or three generations, which is also faster than in some other immigrant communities, like the Turks or the Chinese. (Boumans and De Ruiter, 2002, 282) The shift to English is not surprising, but the speed at which it is taking place is . . . the complete shift on the production level in the first generation of American-­ Lebanese children and on the comprehension level in the second generation needs to be explained. (Daher, 1992, 29) As said, exceptions do exist. The Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo (Italy), for instance, defies the law of the three generations, since third-generation speakers still display both passive and active competence in Arabic (D’Anna, 2017, 64). The reasons behind language maintenance and loss can be successfully explained according to the ethnolinguistic vitality theoretical framework (Giles et  al., 1977; Ehala, 2015). In its classical form, this framework maintains that three factors determine the linguistic vitality and language dynamics of a minority community, namely status, institutional support and demography. In the previous section, we have already seen that Arabic-speaking communities do not usually enjoy a high social status. Iraqis in the UK represent a textbook example of the covariation of social status and language maintenance. While the original Iraqi community in the UK kept a low profile and was characterized by a fast shift to English, in fact, the arrival of more affluent immigrants demarginalized Arabic and resulted in a revival of cultural activities and increased rates of language maintenance (Abu Haidar, 2012). Institutional support to Arabic-speaking communities varies from country to country, but it is rarely a decisive factor in language maintenance. The first generations of Arab immigrants in the US faced a widespread negative attitude toward Arabic and other languages as well, since the English-only movement considered them as a threat to the American way of life. Things changed in the wake of 9/11, when the importance of having professionals who master foreign languages (especially the so-called critical languages) led policy-makers to turn toward heritage speakers, even though the motivations behind this change raise doubts among many Arab-Americans (Albirini, 2016, 320). European countries have usually been more supportive of immigrant communities and their language rights. The HLI (Home Language Instruction) program launched in the Netherlands and implemented in other European countries, however, failed in keeping up with the linguistic diversity that was a defining trait of Moroccan (and most Maghrebi) Arabic-speaking communities. While heritage learners were proficient in different varieties of Moroccan dialect and/or in one of the three varieties of Berber (Tašelhit, Tamazigt ˙ and Tarifit) (Extra and De Ruiter, 1994, 160–161) spoken in Morocco, in fact, the HLI program only offered instruction in Modern Standard Arabic, which was the only variety parents valued for cultural and religious reasons. As said previously, other countries implemented similar programs, sometimes in cooperation with the governments of the origin countries, but with similarly unsatisfactory results. In exceptional cases, the desire to preserve the ethnic identity led 260

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to extreme choices. In Mazara del Vallo (Italy), for instance, the Tunisian immigrants obtained from the Tunisian government the opening of a fully Tunisian school in their neighborhood, where Italian was initially not even taught as a second language. Education in the heritage language, in this case, was provided at the expense of instruction in the socially dominant language, with long-term negative effects on second-generation speakers (Amoruso, 2007a; Hannachi, 2008; D’Anna, 2017, 73–77). Demography thus remains, in most cases, the decisive factor in determining the ethnolinguistic vitality of a diasporic community. When speakers are few and scattered in different neighborhoods, thus, shift occurs at a faster rate. When the community is concentrated in a definite area, as happens in some Dutch towns (Boumans, 2004, 50) and in Mazara del Vallo (D’Anna, 2017, 26–30), on the contrary, the processes of erosion and shift are slowed down, mainly because the heritage language is not confined to the speakers’ home. The standard ethnolinguistic vitality model has been updated to integrate the principles of social identity theory. The extended model, thus, is able to account for the impact of subjective vitality (SV) and the way in which identity influences the language dynamics of a speech community. Ethnolinguistic identity theory proposes that a high level of SV increases members’ identification with the group and their wish to maintain their language or ethnic speech style in intergroup communication. This tendency is strengthened if the group members perceive the intergroup boundaries to be rigid and impermeable and the intergroup situation as unstable. . . . Conversely, if the speakers have low-vitality perceptions, they see the intergroup situation as stable and legitimate and the intergroup boundaries as permeable, allowing for social mobility, they would choose to accommodate linguistically to the majority language speakers. (Ehala, 2015, 2–3) A final note on the definition of diasporic communities itself is necessary. The theoretical paradigm of “diaspora”, in fact, is sometimes inadequate to describe the situation of many Arabic-speaking communities, especially in Europe. The development of social media, the possibility of audio and video interaction with the country of origin (satellite TV, Skype, video messaging, etc.) and the availability of increasingly cheaper connections, in fact, created transnational communities, whose networks, activities and patterns of life encompass both their host and home societies. Their lives cut across national boundaries and bring two societies into a single social field. (Schiller et al., 1992, 1) Due to the increased opportunities to practice the heritage language, thus, transnational communities tend to display more conservative language dynamics than purely diasporic ones. After briefly describing the main linguistic trends in Arabic-speaking diasporic/transnational communities, the following sections will analyze the relation between language and identity and its impact on their language dynamics.

3.  Identity and heritage language: a complex relation In her chapter on language and ethnicity for the Cambridge Handbook of Sociolinguistics, Fought writes that “ethnicity can have a more striking relationship to language than other social factors such as gender, age, or social class” (Fought, 2011, 238). At the same time, however, the author 261

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warns us that “Language is not simply an expression of a previously determined ethnic identity; it is a crucial part of how this identity is constructed in the first place” (Fought, 2011, 238–239). Even though the relationship between language and ethnicity is unquestionable, thus, the construction of identity can stress different aspects (such as culture or religion) at different times.2 From a historical point of view, the Arabic language has undoubtedly played an important role in the construction of the Arab ethnic identity, as evident from the following quote, drawn from one of the main theorists of Arab nationalism in the 19th and 20th century: Individuals who belong to an Arab country and speak Arabic are Arabs. They are, despite the name of the country of which they are officially a citizen, despite the religion they practice or the confession they belong to, they are despite their origin, their ancestry or the roots of the family they belong to. They are Arabs, period. (al-Husrī, 1985, 14, translation mine) ˙ ˙ The importance of Arabic in the construction of ethnic identity in the Arabic-speaking world can hardly be downplayed and was embodied in the movement of Arabization that marked the decolonization process in the second half of the 20th century (Ennaji, 1999, 384). Its role in diasporic communities, however, needs to be further investigated. Among the many facets of the Arab ethnic identity, Arabic has been first and foremost linked to the Islamic religion, contrary to Husri’s attempt to divorce it from religion and link it to Arab nationalism. This relation was empirically demonstrated in Greece, where second-generation Egyptian Muslims displayed a better command of Arabic (and a worse command of Greek) when compared to second-generation Coptic Egyptians (Gogonas, 2011). In immigration contexts, on the other hand, religious institutions (such as Christian churches) have often played a major role in the social and linguistic integration of the newcomers. Not only are Muslim Arabs generally exempt from such an influence, but Islamic institutions usually provide spaces in which the heritage language can be used, at least during the prayer. Religion, however, is not the only aspect of the Arab ethnic identity that is reflected in language performance. A comparative study of Palestinian and Egyptian heritage speakers in the US, for instance, showed that the former consistently outperform the latter (Albirini et al., 2011, 300). The explanation provided by the authors is not far from the theoretical framework of subjective vitality mentioned earlier. Palestinians, precisely “because of their apprehension of identity loss (Albirini, 2016, 321)”, tend to consider Arabic as the strongest tie to their threatened identity. [A] possible reason for the difference may have to do with the Palestinian parents vesting the Arabic language with a greater sense of identity than their Egyptian counterparts, possibly because of the geopolitical context from which the Palestinian parents came. Language may be one of the strongest links to their Palestinian and Arab roots in a world in which many Palestinians feel a strong need to maintain those ties. It is important to stress that these are speculative interpretations of the findings, and a more in-depth investigation with a larger sample is the only way to test whether these tentative interpretations are correct. (Albirini et al., 2011, 300) It is important to underline that the authors here are not just discussing the importance of Arabic for the construction of ethnic identity, but the role of identity in language

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maintenance. We are on a slippery path, since a wide consensus exists on the fact that exposure to language and frequent usage determine the rate of language maintenance or loss. The conundrum is tentatively solved hypothesizing that the greater sense of ethnic identity showed by Palestinians prompts them “to explore Palestinian cultural artifacts and traditions. This may translate into greater chances of exposure to the target language” (Albirini, 2016, 321). Palestinians probably represent an extreme case, where the “apprehension of identity loss” is felt dramatically. In other cases, however, language usage is still the major factor in language maintenance. Even though the link between language and ethnic identity is stressed by first-generation immigrants, thus, the focus tends to shift to other aspects of the ethnic identity when chances to practice the heritage language decrease for second- and thirdgeneration speakers. Even though it is not related to Arabic, the analysis of language shift in Sri Lankan speakers in the US (Canagarajah, 2008) is particularly useful to understand this phenomenon. The study focuses on the interaction between language, ethnic identity and the role of the family. Since chances to visit Sri Lanka and interact with Tamil monolingual members of the family are low due to the unstable political situation of Sri Lanka, in fact, second-generation speakers have less and less motivation to preserve their heritage language. Members of the Sri Lankan community in the US, in fact, are generally bilinguals, which means that knowledge of Tamil is not necessary to interact with the nuclear family. This situation results in surprisingly fast rates of language shift, sometimes even within firstgeneration speakers who arrived in the US at a relatively young age (Canagarajah, 2008, 150–151). Language shift does not necessary entail, however, identity loss. On the contrary, other aspects of the speakers’ Tamil identity are stressed, such as dances, music and other cultural practices (Canagarajah, 2008, 168). Canagarajah’s study shows that the role of language in the construction of ethnic identity changes from place to place and across generations, so that generalizations are difficult to draw. The situation of Palestinians in the US represents a case in which the perceived threat to one’s identity triggers phenomena of language preservation, but data on other communities are needed to sketch a profile of Arabic in the diaspora and its role in the construction of identity. The analysis is complicated by the diglossic situation of the Arabic-speaking world and the way in which it is reflected in Arab diasporic communities. When al-Husrī stressed the ˙ ˙ importance of Arabic in the construction of the Arab ethnic identity, in fact, he meant Classical Arabic. At the same time, when the link between Arabic and Islam is stressed, it is again Classical Arabic we are talking about. On the other hand, most heritage speakers are only proficient in their dialectal variety of Arabic, since Fushā is only learned through formal education. The ˙˙ speakers’ attitude toward the two poles of the Arabic diglossic situation and the socially dominant language(s), thus, needs to be further investigated. In order to partially fill this lacuna, the next section provides a case study from the less known Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo (Italy). Also in this case, the role of Arabic in the construction of a Tunisian and Arab identity varies across generations.

4.  Arabic and identity in the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo (Italy) 4.1  Sociolinguistic background The Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo came to exist within the more general context of the wave of immigration from the Arab-speaking world to Western Europe in the wake of

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the decolonization process. At the end of the sixties, a large number of male speakers left their native countries, mainly in Northern Africa, and emigrated to Western Europe in search of better jobs. Within this general context, the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo is almost an accident in the history of Arab migration to Italy. While larger urban centers were usually the main poles of attraction for the immigrants, in fact, the specific economic situation of Mazara del Vallo created the ideal conditions for the birth of the oldest Arab community in Italy. In the sixties, in fact, the so-called Italian boom resulted in better economic conditions for the country, which in turn prompted many young Italians to pursue higher education and to look for better paid government jobs, neglecting traditional occupations, such as fishing in Mazara del Vallo (Cusumano, 1976, 10). The vacancies that consequently originated in the fishing industry were filled with immigrant labor, even though the local labor unions fiercely opposed, at least initially, the employment of Tunisian workers (D’Anna, 2017, 24).3 While this is the general socio-economic context in which the Tunisian community first originated, three specific factors contributed to shape its unique characteristics. First of all, the largest majority (>90%) of the immigrants came from two neighboring towns on the Tunisian coast (the so-called Sāhel), namely al-Mahdia (ca 80%) and Chebba (ca 10–15%), creating a ˙ close-knit community speaking extremely similar dialects. Second, the newcomers settled in the old historical center of Mazara del Vallo, built by the Arabs during the Middle Ages and still closely resembling a North-African medina. The historical center, partially damaged by the terrible earthquake that shook Sicily in 1968, was progressively abandoned by the Italians, who rented their houses to the Tunisian immigrants, de facto turning the area in a ghetto at least until the beginning of the new century (D’Anna, 2017, 61). The presence of a close-knit community, living in a relatively small and well-defined area, contributes to enhance the ethnolinguistic vitality of the Tunisian community (Giles et al., 1977). The extreme geographic proximity of Mazara del Vallo to the Tunisian coast, finally, constitutes the third factor. Only 100 nautical miles separate the two shores of the Mediterranean, making Mazara del Vallo the closest Italian town to the Tunisian coast. This, in turn, translates into the availability of frequent and inexpensive travel options, which most Tunisian immigrants use to spend long periods (at least one month a year, often more) in their hometowns. While Fishman rejected the idea that geographic proximity might be a factor in dynamics of language loss and preservation (Fishman, 2004, 427), Canagarajah convincingly argued that the necessity to maintain strong relations with monolingual speakers in the homeland is in itself a factor that enhances language maintenance (Canagarajah, 2008). This peculiar situation results, as seen previously, in social and linguistic dynamics that markedly differ from what is observed elsewhere in Europe and the United States. From a linguistic perspective, Tunisian Arabic is maintained up to the third generation, although language erosion is visible in younger speakers (D’Anna, 2017, 85–86). From a social and psychological perspective, these factors resulted in the birth of a “suspended” community, who straddles two worlds. The newcomers’ original project, in fact, consisted in a temporary permanence in Italy, after which a return to Tunisia was seen as the only possible choice. A  first step toward a more permanent settlement was taken in the eighties, when the Tunisian immigrants, at first only men, started to bring their families from Tunisia. The close geographic proximity and the frequent trips to Tunisia, however, produced the impression that the immigrants had never actually left Tunisia. It is very common, thus, to hear Tunisian speakers say that they chose Mazara del Vallo, despite its worse economic situation (when compared to most European towns), because it gives them the feeling that they never

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actually left Tunisia. Especially for men, moreover, this feeling is heightened by the fact that they spend (or at least they used to) the largest part of the year at sea, in a state of actual suspension between the two shores. One of the consequences of this peculiar situation is the previously mentioned Tunisian school, opened in 1981 with the purpose of providing formal education in MSA. The fact that Tunisian immigrants perceived their permanence in Italy as temporary is evident from the initial absence of the Italian language from the curriculum, which was fully Arabicbased.4 The availability of formal instruction in MSA, which complements the informal transmission of Tunisian Arabic at home and in the neighborhood, gives us the opportunity to gauge the importance of the two varieties of Arabic in both the first and the second generation.

4.2  The linguistic repertoire of the community Defining the linguistic repertoire of any given community is a complex operation. Quoting Blommaert, we choose to define it as the collective resources available to anyone at any point in time . . . repertoires are biographically emerging complexes of indexically ordered, therefore functionally organized resources. Repertoires include every resource used in communication – linguistic ones, semiotic ones, sociocultural ones. (Blommaert, 2014, 96) From this perspective, the repertoire of a migrant community is a complex structure, in which some languages lie at the core, while others emerge and disappear at the margins. The languages that form the core of the linguistic repertoire of the community are Tunisian Arabic, MSA, Italian and Sicilian. Tunisian Arabic is the L1 for most speakers and it is learned at home. Differently from what happens in other diasporic communities, however, it is also a widely used language in the neighborhood, which gives rise to interesting phenomena of dialect levelling (D’Anna, 2018). MSA, as in the rest of the Arab world, is only learned through formal education and its place in daily life is close to nil. At the same time, however, the perceived necessity to learn MSA for religious and cultural reasons managed to determine the choices of many speakers for decades. In some cases, the consequences of these choices were quite extreme. Many young speakers, for instance, were sent back to Tunisia to further their education after completing the Tunisian elementary school (the only available) in Mazara del Vallo (Amoruso, 2007a, 36). Italian and Sicilian, on the other hand, occupy a different position in the repertoire of firstand second-generation speakers. Among first-generation speakers, moreover, there seems also to be a gender-based difference with reference to patterns of usage and of awareness of the difference between Sicilian and (regional) Italian. According to Amoruso, in fact, first-generation women employ the Sicilian dialect without being fully aware of the language borders between Italian and Sicilian. First-generation men, on the other side, employ Sicilian much more frequently, independently of their awareness. Second-generation speakers, finally, do not seem to use Sicilian frequently,5 but they show native-like awareness of the language borders between Italian and Sicilian (Amoruso, 2007b, 212). At the periphery of the repertoire, we find French and, for second-generation educated speakers, English. French is still widely used by first generation immigrants, for whom it

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represents a prestige variety that coexist (in a sort of complementary distribution) with Classical Arabic/MSA. Even in the speech of second-generation immigrants, however, it frequently occurs, giving rise to interesting phenomena of code-switching and polylanguaging. In the following sample, collected from a young female speaker, Tunisian, French and Italian are simultaneously employed:6 fi-s-SCUOLA SUPERIORE kāni . . . kānu ʕand-i in-DEF-school high be:3.M.PL.PST be:3.M.PL.PST at-me COMPAGNI twānsa donc SI È CREATO classmates Tunisians so REFL be:3.M.SG.PRS create:PST.PTCP.M.SG yaʕni QUEL GRUPPETTO tūnsi donc nəhkīw ˙ PRS.3.M:mean.SG that small.group Tunisan so PRS.1:speak:PL aktər bi-t-tūnsi (AFS4)7 more with-DEF-Tunisian “In high school I had Tunisian classmates, so we created, you know, this small Tunisian group, so we used to speak more in Tunisian.” English, on the other hand, has a very marginal role in the repertoire, and its presence is limited to Computer-Mediated Communication (CMC), indexing a sense of belonging to a global youth culture (D’Anna, 2017, 147). After this concise description of the repertoire of the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo, the next subsection will analyze the complex relation between Arabic (both Tunisian and MSA) and identity.

4.3  Arabic and identity Unfortunately, no linguistic research on the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo is available for the period stretching from 1969, when the first immigrants arrived, and 2007, when Amoruso published the results of her fieldwork. The analysis of the language attitudes displayed by the immigrants during the four decades that precede Amoruso (2007a) is, therefore, somewhat tentative. While traditional sociolinguistic descriptions, in the form of questionnaires and surveys, are not available, however, a glimpse of such attitudes can be caught from the community’s response to the availability of formal education in MSA. As said, in fact, a Tunisian school was opened in 1981, and Amoruso (2007a, 2007b) investigates its role in the life of the community. When the school was first opened, approximately 20 students enrolled, and the number kept increasing in the following years. In 1987, when the first students graduated from elementary school (the only Tunisian school provided), their families faced two equally difficult options: sending them to Tunisia to further their education or enrolling them in the Italian middle school, even though they were basically illiterate in Italian. Despite this huge problem, enrollments kept increasing steadily, and they reached 100 students in 1998, years after the “illusion of return” had started to wane. In 2000, the Tunisian school counted 141 students, reaching its peak (213) shortly after. The following years witnessed a slow but steady decline, with the lowest point (only 17 students, less than in its opening year) reached in 2016 (D’Anna, 2017, 72–74). When considering these numbers, it is important to reflect on the fact that those parents who chose the Tunisian school for their children chose it over the Italian one, since the two options were mutually exclusive. Literacy in Arabic, thus, was preferred over literacy over Italian, the socially dominant language in the host country.

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Amoruso, who investigated in detail the issues of young Tunisians in their difficult process of integration, collected data concerning the indexical values attached by first-generation immigrants to the Arabic language and, as a consequence, to the Tunisian school. See, for instance, the following excerpt (translated from the speaker’s L2 Italian): See Chiara, it is not because of me. When my children were young, I wanted them to go the Mazarese [i.e. the Italian] school. But he [the husband] used to be very stubborn at that time. He used to say: “I don’t want my children to study Italian! I don’t want my children to eat Mazarese meat!” He was the problem, not me. I wanted my children to go to the kindergarten when they were two or three years old. He used to be very mean. (Amoruso, 2007a, 36)8 The excerpt is extremely interesting, because it expresses clearly the indexical values attached to Italian: westernization and moral corruption (exemplified in the consumption of unlawful meat, i.e. not slaughtered according to the Islamic law). Arabic, on the contrary, is seen as a powerful tool to preserve the identity of second-generation immigrants. It is important to underline that Tunisian Arabic was (and still is) learned by all second-generation speakers at home, so it was MSA which was invested with the responsibility to preserve the young speakers’ identity. It is possible to analyze these data within the framework of the ethnolinguistic vitality, both in its classic (Giles et al., 1977) and updated version (Ehala, 2015). The situation here observed is typical of new immigrant groups, especially if they perceive “the intergroup boundaries to be rigid and impermeable and the intergroup situation as unstable, that is, if they see cognitive alternatives to the existing group status relations” (Ehala, 2015, 2). Even though we lack more specific data, thus, it is safe to hypothesize that, during its first decades, the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo perceived a strong link between Classical Arabic/MSA (henceforth CA/MSA) and the preservation of their identity. Amoruso (2007b), on the other hand, investigates the attitude of community members toward the core languages that shape their repertoire, namely CA/MSA, Tunisian Arabic, Italian and the local Sicilian dialect. Within the larger corpus of her informants, five Tunisian families were selected for a specific survey. For each family, the researcher interviewed the two parents and a teenage son/daughter. The informants listened to short audio-files in the four languages (Classical Arabic/MSA, Tunisian Arabic, Italian and Sicilian), and were then asked to grade them on a Likert scale from 1 (lowest) to 5 (highest) in terms of knowledge, appreciation and utility (for first- and second-generation speakers). The results are summarized in the following Table  17.1, which provides the average score for each question (Amoruso, 2007b, 179): Table 17.1 Language attitudes in the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo

Knowledge Appreciation Utility for 1st gen Utility for 2nd gen Average

CA/MSA

Tunisian

Italian

Sicilian

3.1 4 3.9 2.5 3.4

4.9 4.7 4.8 4.3 4.6

3.3 4.5 4.6 4.8 4.3

1.8 2.7 2.5 1.2 2

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The average score for the three types of informants (father, mother, son/daughter) is provided in Table 17.2 (Amoruso, 2007b, 184): Table 17.2 Language attitudes per age segment CA/MSA Knowledge

Appreciation

Utility for 1st gen

Utility for 2nd gen9

Average

F 4.4 3.1 F 4.8 4 F 4.1 3.9 F 3 2.5 F 3.8 3.4

Tunisian

M 4

S/D 1.4

M 5

S/D 2.4

M 4.8

S/D 2.8

M 3

S/D 1.6

M 4.4

S/D 2

F 5 4.9 F 5 4.7 F 5 4.8 F 4.4 4.3 F 4.8 4.6

Italian

M 5

S/D 4.8

M 5

S/D 3.9

M 5

S/D 4.4

M 4.4

S/D 4.4

M 4.8

S/D 4.3

F 3.4 3.3 F 5 4.5 F 4.6 4.7 F 5 4.8 F 4.5 4.3

Sicilian M 2.9

S/D 3.8

M 4.4

S/D 4.8

M 4.8

S/D 4.8

M 5

S/D 4.4

M 4.2

S/D 4.4

F 2.6 1.8 F 3.2 2.7 F 2.8 2.5 F 2 1.2 F 2.6 2

M 1.2

S/D 1.7

M 2.4

S/D 2.6

M 2

S/D 2.8

M 1.2

S/D 0.6

M 1.7

S/D 1.9

It is immediately evident that Tunisian Arabic and Italian outscore CA/MSA and Sicilian.10 Apart from that, it is possible to draw some observations: 1 Tunisian constantly scores higher than CA/MSA, both in first- and second-generation speakers; 2 Quite surprisingly, Italian also outscores CA/MSA. While the “utility” values are considerably higher, as was to be expected, fathers and sons/daughters also show higher appreciation rates for Italian than they do for CA/MSA (mothers show here a more conservative attitude). All other values being similar, the “utility” ratings are the main reason for Italian’s higher position on the Likert scale; 3 If we consider the data collected from second-generation speakers, CA/MSA appears to be less known and less appreciated than Sicilian, even though it is considered slightly more useful, probably for religious purposes. What appears to have happened in the community is a shift toward a utilitarian approach to language, already noted by Amoruso (2007b, 182–183) and confirmed, ten years later, in D’Anna (2017, 134). Utilitarianism is a key factor in the subjective vitality (SV) model: Utilitarianism U characterizes the commitment to the traditions and values of the ingroup vs. the detachment from those traditions and values and adherence to utilitarian values that stress personal needs and aspirations. Low U enhances vitality while high U decreases it. (Ehala, 2015, 6) Utilitarianism, thus, signals a shift away from the commitment to traditions and towards more individualistic values, which may eventually result in language erosion and loss. Although 268

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the ethnolinguistic vitality of the community is still very high, mainly because of its demographic trend (D’Anna, 2017, 81), the link between Arabic (both CA/MSA and Tunisian) and identity has already been weakened. D’Anna (2017, 135–138) includes a questionnaire tackling directly the issue of identity, with four questions that address it from two distinct perspectives: 1

Do you think that speaking Tunisian (or one’s native dialect) is essential to be considered an Arab? 2 Do you think that speaking CA/MSA is essential to be considered an Arab? 3 Do you think that those community members who speak Italian more than Arabic can be still considered Tunisians? 4 Do you think that those community members who no longer speak Arabic can be still considered Tunisians? While a large majority of speakers (62.2%) answered affirmatively to the first question, a considerable minority (37.8%) explicitly stated that speaking Tunisian is not essential to be considered an Arab. The attitude toward CA/MSA, on the other hand, is much more defined: the largest majority of the interviewees (88.6%) does not consider knowledge of CA/MSA a distinctive trait of their Arab identity. The answers to questions 3 and 4 are equally interesting: despite condemning those Tunisians who speak Italian more than their heritage language, 89.2% of the interviewees agree on considering them Tunisians. The percentage is lower for question 4, but a solid majority (58.3%) affirms that also those who no longer speak or understand any form of Arabic must be still considered as Tunisians (D’Anna, 2017, 135–136). In this case, moreover, the informants insisted on the fact that parents are to blame more than their children, since they are ultimately responsible for their upbringing. It is clear, however, that the bond between Arabic and identity has been considerably loosened, which does not necessarily mean that the speakers’ Tunisian identity is any less cherished. It simply resides elsewhere, even though its definition requires more research. One of the interviewees, commenting on the fact that Tunisians who no longer speak Arabic are no less Tunisians, states (D’Anna, 2017, 136): trudd-ha xātər ənti tuffāha tnažžəm ˙ ˙ because you apple PRS.2:can.M.SG PRS.2:transform.M.SG-her battīxa? (AMS9) ˙˙ watermelon “Because, can you turn an apple into a watermelon?”

5. Conclusions At the end of this concise survey, it is possible to draw some conclusions on the relation between Arabic and identity in diasporic and transnational communities. We can start, again, from Fought’s quote, which states that such a relation is established as a scientific fact: language plays a crucial role in the construction and maintenance of ethnic identity. In fact, ethnicity can have a more striking relationship to language than other social factors such as gender, age, or social class. (Fought, 2011, 238) 269

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While there is no doubt on the reality of the bond between language and identity, the actual role played by different languages in culturally distinct diasporic communities is more complex, as recognized by Fought herself: If the relationship of language and ethnic identity is strong, though, it is neither simple nor straightforward. When linguists begin to look at different types of speakers and their communities, matters of relating language to ethnicity quickly become complex. (Fought, 2011, 239)11 The case study here presented, namely the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo, is a textbook example of such a complexity. The community, in fact, features an unusually high level of ethnolinguistic vitality, mainly due to demographic factors. Tunisian Arabic is still the L1 for almost all second- and third-generation speakers, and Classical Arabic/MSA was invested with indexical values of identity for at least three decades, as evident from enrolling rates in the Tunisian school. The same children who attended the Tunisian school, however, rank CA/MSA very low in terms of knowledge, appreciation and utility. The necessity to command this variety for religious purposes (a leitmotiv in the literature concerning Arabic and identity), thus, is not as felt as we would expect. It is not uncommon, for instance, to hear Tunisian children take oaths which are unmistakably Islamic in their nature, yet are uttered in Italian, as the following example clearly shows: giuro    sopra Dio dodici io! Ti [. . .] ti to-you PRS.swear:1.SG on God twelve I to-you giuro sopra moschea (D’Anna, 2017, 127) PRS.swear:1.SG on mosque “I swear to you on God, twelve! I swear on the mosque!” At the same time, both first- and second-generation speakers gradually adopted a utilitarian approach to language, which weakened the bond between Arabic (in this case, both Tunisian and CA/MSA) and identity. This situation is not exclusive to the Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo. As seen earlier, in fact, the language loss experienced by Sri Lankan (Canagarajah, 2008, 168) in the diaspora resulted in a greater emphasis on other aspects of their culture (such as dances and songs), which were invested with identity values. In Mazara del Vallo, however, this shift seems to be happening even without any major phenomenon of language loss, which again underlines the specificity of each community. Further research, thus, is needed to investigate which aspects of the Tunisian/Arab identity are being stressed and (partially) replacing the role of Arabic.

Notes 1 Luca D’Anna wrote Sections  1, 2, 3 and 5, while Chiara Amoruso wrote Section  4 and all its subsections. 2 It must be noted, however, that another trend in scholarship tends to consider language as a secondary factor in defining ethnic identity, compared to race, class and political affiliation (Ennaji, 1999, 38–383). 3 The labor unions feared that the willingness of Tunisians to accept lower salaries and worse working conditions might have bad consequences for the job market as a whole.

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Complex identities 4 Italian was subsequently integrated into the curriculum, although it plays a very marginal role. In the last few years, after most families realized that a return to Tunisia was impossible, enrollments started to dwindle, and the school is nowadays on the verge of closing down permanently (D’Anna, 2017, 73–75). 5 It should be noted, however, that Sicilian, not much used in face-to-face interaction, plays an important role in Computer-Mediated Communication (CMC), especially on social media (D’Anna, 2017, 141–148). 6 The sample is drawn from D’Anna, 2017, 114. AFS4 stands for Adult Female Speaker 4. 7 In order to visually distinguish the three languages employed, Tunisian Arabic is transcribed in italic, French is underlined and Italian capitalized. 8 The speaker, Jamila (40 years, low education level), had been living in Mazara del Vallo for 13 years when the interview was collected. 9 Here, fathers and mothers are the 1st generation, while sons and daughters are the 2nd. Both groups were asked to grade the utility of the four languages for both the generation they belong to and the other. 10 Concerning the reasons behind the low ratings of Sicilian, see D’Anna (2017, 138–139). 11 While Fought is here writing about language and ethnicity, the same discourse holds true for the relation between language and identity.

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INDEX

Note: Italicized page numbers indicate a figure on the corresponding page. Page numbers in bold indicate a table on the corresponding page. Arabic sociolinguistics see Qatari language identity study; shared identity in Levantine Arabic Arab-Israeli wars 206 Arabization process 108 Arab-Jews 218, 221 – 228 Arab Jews: A Postcolonial Reading of Nationality, Religion and Ethnicity, The (ShenhavShaharabani) 223 Arab Local Authorities 199 Arab nationalism 5, 186, 190 – 191, 206, 262 Arabo-Islamic identity 113 Arab Spring see Jordanian language identity Archer, Margaret 73 Ashkenazis see de-Arabised Israeli Arabic authentic Arabic language 112 authorization in intersubjectivity 165 autochthonous Berber languages 111

Abdul-Aziz, King 67 Abdullah II, King 179, 181 – 182 Abdulnasser, Jamal 182 accent switches see language attitudes and accent switches Accommodation Theory 52 – 53, 62, 97, 101 Acts of Identity 53, 55 – 63 Advocacy Centre for Arab Citizens 199 affect in language attitudes 94, 120 – 121 age variants in language identity 13, 20 Al-Ahram newspaper 164 – 165 Algerian Arabic 51, 56 – 58 Algerian Independence War (1954–1962) 250 Al Jazeera 59 – 61 Almasry Alyoum newspaper 164 – 165 Alshorouk newspaper 164 – 165 Al-Tal, Wasfi 212 – 213 Amazighs in Tunisia 117 – 118 American English 95, 123, 139 Americanization 234, 235, 236 American University in Cairo 124 Appiah, Kwame A. 6, 8 Arab American Institute 247 Arab Centre for Applied Social Research 199 Arabic language and identity see identity; Jordanian language identity; Qatari language identity study; Saudi Arabian koiné identity; United Arab Emirates (UAE) language identity Arabic language and identity in Israel: among Jews in Israel 201 – 202; challenges 198; introduction to 3, 194 – 195; Islam and 195 – 196; overview of 196 – 198; Palestinian Arabs 199 – 201; summary of 202 – 203; see also de-Arabised Israeli Arabic

Baron, Dennis 5 Bashir, Nabih 222 Basok, Haim 224 – 225 Bedouin/Bedouins: internal migration by 29; language identity 13 – 24 (see also Qatari language identity study); nomadic use of dialects 30, 67; social interpretations of 96; tribal identity in Jordan 210 – 212; vernacular usage links to 99 Bedouin Hijazi dialect 31 behavior in language attitudes 94, 120 – 121 bilingualism 112 – 116, 123, 197, 251 Billiez, Jacqueline 251 – 252 Black September 181, 208, 212

273

Index migrations 248 – 250; migration waves 247 – 250; North African Arabic(s) in France 250 – 254; North African migrations 250; summary of 254 diglossic situation of Arabic 111 – 112, 263 direct method of language attitude 121 – 122 Discourse Markers (DMs) 7, 51 – 52, 54 – 61 discursive environment 209 Douglas, Mary 4 draw-a-map survey 33 – 45, 34, 35, 37, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44

British English 95, 123, 136 British Mandate period 195 – 196, 218, 248 Bucholtz, Mary 5 Butler, Judith 5 Cairene Arabic 54, 95 Cambridge Handbook of Sociolinguistics (Fought) 261 – 262 capitalism 66 Casablancan Arabic 69 – 70, 75, 127 – 128 Catalan nationalists 110 Central Bureau of Statistics 227 Chahed, Youssef 115 – 116 Chelioui, Adel 113 – 114 Chomsky, Noam 52 citizen sociolinguistics 94 – 95 Classical Arabic (CA) 36, 66, 182 – 185, 266 – 270, 267, 268 classic studies of language attitude 121 codeswitching (CS) 123 – 127, 135 – 139, 252 – 253, 259 – 260 cognition in language attitudes 94, 120 – 121 Cohen, Robin 246 – 247 collective identity 178, 194, 201 – 202 collective memory 213, 246 collectivist society 214 – 215 Colloquial Arabic (CA) 176, 182 – 185, 187 – 189; see also Egyptian Colloquial Arabic colloquial realizations of /k/ 96 – 97 colloquial speech of Saudi men and women see language attitudes and accent switches common identity 27, 162, 177, 187 communication code 165 – 166 Coptic Christians 161, 164, 168, 174 Coptic Egyptians 168, 262 creative practices and North African Arabic (NAA) 253 – 254 cross-dialectal attitudinal studies 93 Crusades 177, 195 cultural factors in positioning 209 – 210 cultural identity 96, 133, 161, 200, 239 – 240

eastern dialect in Saudi Arabia 30 educational identity 183 – 185, 237 EFL/ESL learning circumstances 237 Egyptian Arabic 51 – 52, 58 – 59, 95, 129 Egyptian Christians 163, 170 – 171 Egyptian Colloquial Arabic (ECA) 122, 123, 126 – 131 Egyptian English 95, 123 Egyptian national identity: analytical framework 165 – 166; discussion 172 – 174; general perceptions of 166 – 169; integral Egyptian nationalism 131; introduction to 3, 69, 161 – 164; summary of 174; terrorism and 162 – 164, 169 – 172; textual analysis 164 – 165 Egyptian Nubian university students 122, 132 Eliot, T.S. 7 English as a medium of instruction (EMI) 235 English language 108, 134 – 137, 233 – 236 Equal Constitution for All? On a Constitution and Collective Rights for Arab Citizens in Israel, An 199 erasure, defined 15, 135 – 136 ethnic identity 117, 132, 177, 206, 238, 260 – 263, 269 – 270 ethnographic studies 122 ethnolinguistic vitality 199, 260 – 261, 264, 267 – 270 evaluation as expression of stance 79 – 80 explanatory concept for linguistic variation 110 Eyal, Yaakov 224

Dabène, Louise 251 – 252 Dafna, Moshe 219 – 220 dative pronoun 81, 85 de-Arabised Israeli Arabic: Arab-Jews and 218, 221 – 227; introduction to 218; overview of 218 – 221; summary of 227 – 228 de Certeau, Michel 5 Democratic Constitution, The 199 denaturalization 165, 171 diasporic Arabic(s): creative practices 253 – 254; defined 246; dynamics of 246 – 247; family practices 251 – 252; institutional practices 252 – 253; introduction to 245 – 246; main linguistic trends 259 – 261; Middle Eastern

family practices and NAA 251 – 252 Fatah factions 206 femininity of Casablancans 127 Fessi immigrants 70 – 76, 127 – 128 First Saudi State 27 fitna, defined 7 – 8 Five-Year Plan for modernization in Saudi Arabia 29 – 30 folk linguistics 6, 32, 94 – 95, 147 – 148, 157 – 159 Franciscan Fathers 195 Franco Arab 130 – 131 Franco dictatorship (1939–1974) 110 freemasonry 207 French language 3, 113, 134 – 137, 154

274

Index fushaa: as carrier of standard language ideology 8; defined 4 – 5; importance of 8; Moroccan language ideological debate 152 – 159 ‘Future Vision’ documents 199 Future Vision for the Palestinian Arabs in Israel, The 199

261, 262, 269 – 270; gender identity 237; group identity 27, 38, 83 – 87, 95, 214 – 215, 240; introduction to 3 – 9; language ideologies 19 – 20, 20; linguistic anthropology and 13 – 14; multilingual nature of spoken Arabic 54 – 61; multiplicity of 209, 215; national identity 162; professional identity 237; religious identity 164, 169 – 171, 208, 213 – 215, 262; tribal identity 46, 100, 206, 208, 210 – 215; United Arab Emirates 236 – 237; westernized-Egyptian identity 139; see also Egyptian national identity; language ideology and identity in modern Tunisia; Qatari language identity study; shared identity in Levantine Arabic; social identity; sociolinguistic identities identity performance in Jordan: construction of 210 – 215; introduction to 206 – 207; national identity 212 – 213; positioning theory 208 – 210; previous research 207 – 208; religious identity 213 – 215; summary of 215 – 216; tribal identity 210 – 212 identity (re) negotiation 110 Ikhwan movement 28 illegitimation in intersubjectivity 165 impersonal you 80 – 82 indexicality 15, 53 – 59, 75, 124, 133, 165 – 166, 171 – 173, 177, 186 ingroupness 209, 268 Institute for Oriental Studies 219 institutional practices and NAA 252 – 253 institutional support factors 200, 260 integral Egyptian nationalism 131 Intelligence Corps 222, 223 – 226 Iraqi Arabic 123 Islam and Arabic in Israel 195 – 196 Israel see Arabic language and identity in Israel; de-Arabised Israeli Arabic Israeli-Palestinian conflict 186, 208 Italian boom 264 Italy see Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo

Gazit, Shlomo 224 gender differences: in Arabic context 95, 97, 97, 103, 122, 129, 140; Bedouin variants 75; Casablancan Arabic 70, 127; in codeswitching 135 – 137; cross-dialectal attitudinal studies 93; cultural identity and 161; ethnic identity and 261, 269; first-generation speakers and 265; Hadhari variants 17, 18, 19, 24; language attitudes and motivations 103 – 105, 104, 111, 113; language ideologies 111; national identity and 162; perspectivized thought 80; religious identity and 215; Saudi speech patterns 34, 38, 46 gender identity 237 geographic information system (GIS) 36 globalization: of Arabic language 8 – 9, 201, 233, 234, 238 – 239; of English 234 – 236 “glossia” model 157 – 159 Goitein, Shlomo Morag 219 Gramsci, Antonio 227 Great Arab Revolt (1916) 186 group identity 27, 38, 83 – 87, 95, 214 – 215, 240 habitual social activity 53 Hadhari language identity 14 – 24, 46; see also Qatari language identity study Haifa Declaration, The 199 Hall, Kira 5 Halpern, Yaakov 219 Hearer-Oriented Attitude Dative 82, 88 Hebraization 195, 197, 201 – 202 Hebrew language 196 – 198, 218 – 222 Hijazi dialect 30 – 31, 38, 45 Hijaz urban dwellers 28 – 29 HLI (Home Language Instruction) program 260 homogeneity-heterogeneity debate 239 homosexuality 127, 207 honor killing 86 – 87

Jenkins, Richard 6 – 7 Jewish-Israeli nationalism 220 – 221 Jordan Engineers Association (JEA) 206 Jordanian dialects 69, 71, 129, 134, 189 Jordanian language identity: Arab identity vs. language 177 – 178; attitudes toward SA and CA 187 – 189; in education 183 – 185; everyday life 180 – 181; introduction to 3, 176 – 177; in the media 185 – 187; in political discourse 181 – 183; research methods 179 – 180; summary of 189 – 191; tribal identity 206, 208, 210 – 215; see also identity performance in Jordan

ibn Abdul Wahhab, Muhammad 27 Ibn Manzūr 67 iconization/iconicity 15, 62, 135 identity: Acts of Identity 53, 55 – 63; AraboIslamic identity 113; codeswitching and 139; collective identity 178, 194, 201 – 202; common identity 27, 162, 177, 187; cultural identity 96, 133, 161, 200, 239 – 240; defined 6; educational identity 183 – 185, 237; ethnic identity 117, 132, 177, 206, 238, 260 – 263,

Kapitalis website 114 Karam, Najwa 129

275

Index Katz, Avraham 225 Katzav, Nuzhat 225 Knesset Committee on Education and Culture 225 koiné dialect in Saudi Arabia see Saudi Arabian koiné identity Kurdish language 133 – 134 Kuwaiti Arabic 131

Maghrebi Arabic 51 – 52, 54, 128 – 129 makrumah, defined 213 Malul, Nissim 224 Mandatory Palestine 196, 219 Mashreqi (Eastern) spoken Arabic 128 matched guise test 95, 121 – 124, 133, 138 media and language identity 185 – 187 MENA (Middle East and North Africa) region 238, 245 – 248, 249, 259 Middle Eastern migrations 248 – 250 Ministry of National Education, Vocational Training, Higher Education and Scientific Research in Morocco 147, 148 – 157, 149 mixed-language marriages 200 Mizrahi Jews (Arab-Jews) 218, 226 – 228 modernity rating in dialects 21, 21 – 23, 22, 23 Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) 207, 251, 252, 266 – 270, 267, 268 Mohammed bin Rashid Arabic Language Award 236 monoglot language ideology 152 – 156 monolingualism 110 – 113, 138, 196 – 198, 251 – 253, 263 – 264 Moroccan Arabic (MA) 3, 51 – 52, 56, 59, 123, 127 – 128, 133, 260 Moroccan Berber (MB) 133, 134 Moroccan language ideological debate: close reading of 154 – 157; contestation and language anxiety 151 – 154; “glossia” model 157 – 159; introduction to 147 – 148; language anxiety 147 – 148, 151 – 154, 157 – 159; overview of 148 – 151 Moroccan vernacular (darija) 130 – 131, 148 – 159 Morocco 3, 74 morphogenetic sequence 73 morpho-phonological variables 14, 16 – 19, 19, 24 morphosyntactic distribution of optional you 82 Mossawa Document The 199 multilingualism 112 – 116, 195 – 197, 251 multilingual nature of spoken Arabic: Al Jazeera data 59 – 61; background on 52 – 54; Discourse Markers 51 – 52, 54 – 61; discussion 61 – 63; identity construction 54 – 61; introduction to 51 – 52; spontaneous data 54 – 59; summary of 63 multiple-negation in English indexes 15 multiplicity of identity 209, 215 Muslim Arabs 188, 262 Muslim Egyptians 168 Muslim religious teachings 213 – 215

laaji’iin (refugees) 186 – 187 Lambert, Wallace 95 language anxiety 147 – 148, 151 – 154, 157 – 159 language attitudes and accent switches: affective judgements 98, 99; background on 94; categorizing responses 98 – 102; colloquial realizations of /k/ 96 – 97; community membership 98, 100; comprehensibility 98, 101 – 102; contextual observations 98, 100 – 101; cultural associations 98, 99 – 100; defined 94 – 96; dialectal comparisons and gender differences 103 – 105, 104; folk respondents’ metacommentary 98 – 102; introduction to 93 – 94; language correctness 98, 101; methodology of study 97, 97 – 98; study findings 102 – 105, 103; summary of 105 language attitudes in Arab world: codeswitching 135 – 139; defined 120 – 121; Egyptian Colloquial Arabic 122, 123, 126 – 131; English and French 134 – 135; to ethnic languages 131 – 134; introduction to 120; Kurdish language 133 – 134; Moroccan languages 133; Nubian languages 132; research methodology in 121 – 122; Siwi Arabic 122, 132 – 133; Standard Arabic histories 122 – 126; summary of 139 – 140 language blending 137 language ideology 19 – 20, 20, 151 – 154 language ideology and identity in modern Tunisia: bilingualism and 112 – 116; contestation of 116 – 118; diglossic situation of Arabic 111 – 112; introduction to 108 – 109; multilingualism and 112 – 116; in multilingual settings 109 – 111; summary of 118 Law of Nationality 198 Lebanese Civil War (1975–1990) 248 leftist Zionists 151, 156 Legal Centre for Arab Minority Rights 199 Le Page, R.B. 5 Levant, the 3, 68, 128 Levantine Arabic see shared identity in Levantine Arabic lexical variables 16, 18 – 19 LGBT lobby 151, 156 The Lies That Bind: Rethinking Identity – Creed, Country, Color, Class Culture (Appiah) 6 linguistic anthropology 5, 13 – 14, 237 linguistic dualism 241 literacy spread in Qatar 14

Najdi dialect 30, 38, 45 – 46 National Census of Saudi Arabia 35 national identity 27 – 29, 162, 212 – 213; see also Egyptian national identity nation-state nationalism 5, 8 native dialect 95, 97 – 105, 269

276

Index neofalantes (new speakers) 110 Nguni language 62 nomadic tribes in Saudi Arabia 28 – 29 non-standard supra-local dialect 13 nonverbal stancetaking 79 – 80 North African Arabic(s) (NAA) 250 – 254 North African migrations 250 Nubian languages (NLs) 122, 131 – 132 Nunberg, Geoff 5

religious identity 164, 169 – 171, 208, 213 – 215, 262 Riyadh dialect in Saudi Arabia 38 – 46 rural-urban identities in Arabic: introduction to 65; norm and agency 73, 73 – 76; overview 66 – 69; sociolinguistics of 69 – 72, 71; summary of 76 Sabry, Hind 129 Saudi Arabian koiné identity: draw-a-map survey 33 – 45, 34, 35, 37, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44; introduction to 3, 26; koiné dialect 31 – 32; perceptual dialectology 32 – 33; Saudi dialects 30 – 31; Saudi national identity 27 – 29; socioeconomic changes in 29 – 30; sociohistorical background 26 – 30; summary of 45 – 47 Saudi colloquial speech see language attitudes and accent switches Sawiris, Najib 130 Schlossberg, Eliezer 221 second-person pronouns 80 – 82 Second Saudi State 27 sedentary populations in Saudi Arabia 28, 30 self-hood 7 separatist Egyptian nationalism 131 shared identity in Levantine Arabic: HearerOriented Attitude Dative 82, 88; impersonal you 80 – 82; introduction to 79 – 82; optional you 82 – 91; Stancetaking Stage Model 88, 88 – 90, 89, 90; summary of 90 – 91 Sharoni, Avraham 224 Shems FM radio 114 – 115 Shenhav-Shaharabani, Yehouda 221, 222 Siwi Arabic 122, 132 – 133 Snir, Reuven 220 – 221 social class 21, 21 – 23, 22, 23, 70 social identity: cultural identity 96; ethnolinguistic vitality model and 261; indexing of 59, 176; language ideologies and 13, 15; politicalsocioeconomic changes and 31; religious affiliation and 214; rural-urban dichotomy 66 – 67; threats to 46; in UAE 239 – 240; see also language ideology and identity in modern Tunisia Social Identity (Jenkins) 6 – 7 Social Identity Theory 226, 237 social interaction (SI) 31, 46, 52, 62, 73 – 75, 102, 209 social media 3 – 4, 7 – 8, 46, 82, 108, 115 – 117, 130, 138 – 140, 148, 207, 261 social reality 72, 209 socio-cultural environment 209 socioeconomic factors: dialectal varieties and 95, 98; language-identity dynamics 180 – 182, 187, 189; language variation in Casablanca 70; Saudi Arabian linguistic koiné 26, 28 – 32, 46; in Tunisia 108, 113

Occidentalism 207 Occupied Territories 7, 225 openmindedness rating in dialects 21, 21 – 23, 22, 23 optional you 82 – 91 Oriental Classes 222 – 223 orthography 116 – 117 Ottoman Empire 27, 195, 247 – 248 outgroupness 209 Palestinian Arabs/Arabic 5, 194 – 203 Palestinian Nakba 218 Palestinian National Authority 194, 196 Palestinians in Israel 194 – 197, 199 Palestinians in Jordan 206 – 208 Palestinian territories 71 pan-Arabism 177 – 178, 206, 212 perspectivized thought 79 – 80, 89 phonological variables 16, 17 – 18, 18, 126 political affiliation in Saudi Arabia 28 political discourse and language identity 182 – 183 political ideology 152, 166 polyvalence of identity 209 positioning theory 6, 208 – 210 post-Revolution Tunisia see language ideology and identity in modern Tunisia post-structuralism, defined 238 – 240 prestige rating in dialects 21, 21 – 23, 22, 23 professional identity 237 proxy metaphor 5 purism in language 8, 155 purity of origin rating in dialects 21, 21 – 23, 22, 23 Qasīmī dialect 38, 45, 96 Qatari language identity study: analysis and discussion 17 – 23; data and variables 16, 16 – 17; introduction to 3, 13 – 14; language ideologies 19 – 20, 20; lexical variables 16, 18 – 19; methodology 17; morpho-phonological variables 16, 18 – 19, 19; phonological variables 16, 17 – 18, 18; quantitative analysis 20 – 23, 21, 22, 23; sociolinguistic background 14 – 15; summary of 23 – 24; syntactic variables 19; theoretical framework 15 Qur’an 66 – 67, 112, 163, 207, 233, 235

277

Index Tunisian Arabic see language ideology and identity in modern Tunisia Tunisian Berber (Amazigh) 109, 117 Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo (Italy): Arabic and identity 266 – 269, 267, 268; identity and heritage 261 – 263; introduction to 3, 259; linguistic repertoire of 265 – 266; main linguistic trends 259 – 261; sociolinguistic background 263 – 265; summary of 269 – 270

sociolinguistic identities: citizen sociolinguistics 94 – 95; diasporic Arabic(s) 245 – 246; ruralurban identities in Arabic 69 – 72, 71; Tunisian community of Mazara del Vallo 263 – 265; see also Qatari language identity study; shared identity in Levantine Arabic southwestern dialect in Saudi Arabia 30 – 31 spoken Arabic see multilingual nature of spoken Arabic Sri Lankan speakers 263 Stage Model of optional you 88, 88 – 90 stancetaking 79 – 80, 131 Stancetaking Stage Model 88, 88 – 90, 89, 90 Standard Arabic (SA): accessibility of 13; Al Jazeera data 60 – 61; attitudes toward 187 – 189; complex attitudes toward 125 – 126; in education 183 – 185; history of attitudes toward 122 – 126; negation particle use 15; in political speeches 182 – 183; role of in Jordan 176 Standard English 9 Standardized Arabic 8 State of Israel see Arabic language and identity in Israel subjective vitality (SV) 261 – 262, 268 supralocal dialects 96 supra-national entities 9 surrogacy metaphor 5 symbolic capital 70, 137 syntactic variables 14, 17, 19, 20, 24 Syria 69, 129 Syrian Aramaic language 195 Syro-Lebanese Migration (1880-Present) 248

ummah, defined 207 United Arab Emirates (UAE) language identity: disconnect between 238 – 239; global English 234 – 236; globalization and 234, 238 – 239; identity and 236 – 237; introduction to 3, 69, 233; overview of 237 – 238; studies regarding 239 – 240; summary of 240 – 241 United Nations (UN) 176 Urban Hijazi dialect in Saudi Arabia 28 – 31 urban identities in Arabic see rural-urban identities in Arabic urbanization: Berber and 133; introduction to 14 – 15, 70; social differentiation and 65, 67 – 68; socioeconomic changes during 26, 29 – 32, 45 – 46; sociolinguistics and 69 – 73, 76 utilitarianism 268 – 269 utterances as perspectivized thought 79 – 80 verbal stancetaking 79 – 80 Wahhabi teachings 28 westernized-Egyptian identity 139 Western-trained linguists 4 West India immigrants 53 What’s Your Pronoun: Beyond He & She (Baron) 5 white dialect 40 – 41, 43 – 45, 101

Tabouret-Keller, Andree 5 tactics of intersubjectivity 165 terrorism 162 – 164, 169 – 172 Theory of Stance 88 – 89, 89 Third Saudi State 26 – 27 Toledano, Shmuel 224 Transjordanians 206 – 208 tribal identity 46, 100, 206, 208, 210 – 215

Yadlin, Aharon 224 Zionism 151, 156, 196

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