A Translator in the Crossfire: bassem youssef and the international emmys opening speech
“We all have misconceptions about each other. I’ll tell you a story. I’m from America. I live in New York City. 9/11 is very close to my heart, it’s a terrible tragedy. And I’m over here, and I’m in Jordan, and I meet a man, and we’re in a refugee camp, and everyone is poor, and this man brings me dates, and he’s incredibly warm, and open and hospitable, and he would like me to visit and see his family, and I’m just touched by this man. And I ask, ‘what’s your name?’ and he says, ‘Osama.’ At this moment, I thought, I need to open up.”
-Jon Stewart- al-Birnamig[i]
On November 23, 2015, renowned Egyptian satirist Bassem Youssef, dubbed “The Jon Stewart of Egypt,” hosted the 43rd International Emmy Awards ceremony in New York City. He was the first Arab to ever host the highly anticipated annual event. The choice gained even more significance perhaps in the aftermath of the Paris attacks that were claimed by ISIS only ten days earlier. The who is who of the Western entertainment and media industries were in attendance, at a time when the “War on Terror” was undergoing a full revival, reawakening a discourse uncomfortably similar to that which had taken form in the wake of the 9/11 terror attacks. In the thick of this moment, Youssef announced his statement of purpose as host of the Emmys: “I’d like to think that I being here is part of the healing process.”[ii] At this critical juncture in world relations, his task was both complicated and crucial. ‘Healing’ here required a process of translation, where he had to carry meaning across different world systems, not only to bridge cultural differences, but also to interrogate and question numerous misconceptions.
Moments of geo-political conflict are natural hotbeds for the growth and spread of numerous misconceptions about Self and Other. The global rise of radical terrorist groups is one such moment where the Arab Muslim world and the Western world have engaged in what Elliot Colla calls “mistranslation.” It is a concrete particular of the art of war, he explains, one that is crucial to its strategy and tactics. “Radical Islamic Groups,” “Islamic Terror Groups,” and “Militant Muslim Fanatics,” are some pertinent examples of mistranslation, epithets that are only too familiar to anyone following the news even today. Attached to these captions are images that further fuel these stereotypes. Faceless oppressed women crying behind the veil, men in white garbs praying in mosques, and masked men with machine guns in training camps are all images that depict Islam as sexist, undemocratic and violent. In focusing on these stereotypes, the Western world succeeds in depicting Islam as a threat to Western security where ‘the forces of good’ have no choice but to fight Islam, the ‘force of evil.’ These gross generalizations are as familiar then as they are now, and just like they justified going to war in Iraq post-9/11, they have justified going into Libya, Syria and supporting Saudi’s airstrikes on Yemen. On the other hand, Arab TV viewers are treated to the same kind of inflammatory stereotyping and profiling. Both Arab state media channels and famed talk show hosts on Arab-owned satellite channels export an image of the West as the ‘enemy’ where Western values are depicted as a threat to Arab Muslim tradition, secularism is another word for atheism, freedom of speech is synonymous to sedition, and gender equality is just an excuse for female corruption; And while these stereotypes have paved the way to an increasing isolationist attitude in the West, they have also renewed the vigor of religious fundamentalism and ethnic nationalism in the Middle East. It is from within this barrage that Bassem Youssef appears before a Western audience hoping to be part of ‘the healing process.’ As a translator in the crossfire, his task is both crucial and complicated, and as we shall see, Youssef will put on many hats and employs a range of tactics to navigate this precarious terrain.
THE LANGUAGE OF SAMENESS:
The first hat is that of the translator as a force of good and an intellectual mediator. In order to establish himself as such, he first needs to break the ice with his audience, become familiar, and establish a sense of sameness, of trust. This he achieves through both spectacle and speech. At first sight, we see Youssef take to the stage in a tuxedo, just like every man in his distinguished audience, and break into a few Western dance moves, an approach that communicates to his audience that he is ‘one of them.’ Then begins his speech, establishing himself as a fluent and articulate speaker of English and a witness on a shared world stage: “The world is in a state of trauma,” he says, “not just from Paris, but from Mali, Beirut, Nigeria, Kenya, and Sinai Egypt where I am from.” This declaration of sameness fulfills multiple objectives. While it asserts that terrorism is a global phenomenon and a shared experience, it also challenges the narrative that pits the Arab Muslim world against the West, and perpetuates the idea that it is strictly the West that is under attack. The audience is then left to deduce the kind of ethnocentricity that characterizes Western media coverage as it focuses on the victims of the Paris attacks disregarding the loss of human life elsewhere. “It is brutal, horrible and unfair,” he continues in reference to terrorism. Again here, we see Youssef use descriptions that are typical of Western discourse to establish a sense of sameness, while simultaneously challenging common Western perceptions. For an Arab Muslim to use the words “brutal, horrible and unfair” in relation to terrorism is to free one’s self from the Orientalist view that constructs the ‘East’ as savage, barbaric and violent. He then makes sure to drive the point home with the following: “When people come together to celebrate art, creativity, and the best that the human race can aspire to, we find our capacity to heal and to grow.” Indeed, by widening the scope of meaning to incorporate various Others, this last statement, once again typical of Western discourse, establishes the translator as a mediator, a force of goodwill, and most importantly “one of them.”
THE LANGUAGE OF IN-BETWEEN:
Now that trust and goodwill are established, the audience is ready to lend their ears. Youssef takes advantage of their receptivity to engage in a language of in-between. Like a skilled puppeteer in full command of his ropes, he begins to alternate between a complete domestication, an “at home-ness,” all the way to permanent strangeness and marginality, pulling them in only to make his point and leave them out. “My name is Bassem Youssef (dramatic pause) and I am an Arab,” he announces. This dramatic declaration of identity signals his aim to inject the political into what is essentially expected to be an entertaining and uniting speech. Then he swiftly resumes with the familiar: “I sound like I am in a 12-step program.” The reference here is to the first statement an addict is required to make in a 12-step program in the journey towards recovery. In other words, towards ‘healing.’ “The Academy chose me to host the event,” he elaborates, “maybe out of confidence in my ability,” to which the audience applauds. Now that they’ve cheered him on, he again reverts to the unfamiliar. “I was supposed to start with a joke that makes me win the crowd over tonight, or suck so bad at it and lose you altogether, but what happened was that that plan changed last week.” The change of plan of course is a result of the Paris attacks, which killed 130 people ten days earlier. His intention thus to appropriate the narrative, the standard, pre-packaged, script he is expected to reproduce on this occasion, becomes immediately evident here. That said, he quickly puts them at ease again: “But we’ll have fun, because when we laugh (and he points to himself) they lose. When we laugh and do what we do here tonight those bastards lose,” to which the room bursts with even louder applause.
THE LANGUAGE OF DIFFERENCE:
“The Academy chose me to host the event,” remarks Youssef. Indeed, to understand why the choice fell on Youssef to host the International Emmy Awards ceremony would clarify the tactics he will employ from now on in his speech.
Youssef’s groundbreaking political satire, al-birnamig[iii] is widely recognized as a translation of Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show. Like The Daily Show, al-birnamig drew its material from news stories, political figures and media spiel. Both shows typically opened with a monologue relating to recent headlines and frequently featured exchanges with correspondents, who adopted humorous takes on current events. The final segment was devoted to a celebrity interview, with guests ranging from actors and musicians, to nonfiction authors and political figures. However, this is where similarities end. As a translation, al-birnamig took on a life of its own in light of Youssef’s face-off with the Egyptian regime. When Jon Stewart appeared on al-birnamig, Youssef asked him, “Does your job get you into trouble?”[iv] To which Stewart responded, “Nowhere near the trouble you face. I do Bassem’s job in a country that is carved out already, where satire is settled law.” It is in risking persecution and in showing courage before two totalitarian regimes that al-birnamig became more than a translation of The Daily Show, it became what philosopher and cultural critic, Walter Benjamin calls ‘an afterlife.’
It is through his work on al-Birnamig that Youssef became widely viewed as a renegade. Indeed, he is known to have criticized the Muslim Brotherhood during Mohamed Morsi’s presidency, and after the Armed Forces seized power in Egypt, he also questioned and ridiculed the staunch supporters of President Abdel Fatah al-Sissi’s regime, and branded what Egyptian state media called the “June 30 revolution” as essentially a “coup d’etat.” This resulted in numerous court cases against him. He was branded ‘a traitor,’ ‘a Zionist,’ ‘an enemy of Islam,’ and ‘an enemy of the Armed Forces,’ thereby a threat to Egypt’s security and stability. As a result, his loyalties were questioned and he became viewed by both Islamic and military regimes as “a renegade;” A highly suspect translator in the Egyptian political scene. The fact that he was named one of the ‘100 Most Influential People in the World’ by TIME magazine, one of Foreign Policy magazine’s 100 Leading Global Thinkers, and was awarded the International Press Freedom Award by the Committee to Protect Journalists did not help his case back home either. However, it carved a place for him on the international scene. This series of events placed him on the fence, a position ideal for a translator whose mission is to speak up against the overarching official narrative as he boldly interprets a moment of conflict between two cultures. To announce his intention to go off script, to seize meaning, to acquire power, and to strive for self-definition, should therefore come as no surprise.
In true renegade fashion, Youssef starts his disquieting act by poking fun at his own task as a cultural mediator. “I am from the Middle East, (pause) like Jesus,” he says. The irony of this statement is not lost on his audience, who indeed respond with laughter. What is at work here is what philosopher and literary George Steiner describes as the translator taking a gamble “on the coherence, on the symbolic plentitude of the world.”[v] The laughing matter here is that there is absolutely no sameness between these two systems. There is no coherence. It is a deliberately futile statement designed to deprecate the task of the translator as he strives to mediate between two world systems. “If only Jews and Muslims can get along in a Christian manner,” he resumes. Again here, the joke is on the translator himself as he proceeds to ‘heal’ so to speak and to arbitrate between essentially monolithic and isolationist world orders.
The idea that the process of translation often highlights issues of untranslatability becomes even more evident in Youssef’s following lines. As he greets famous personalities from among the audience, as customary in these award ceremonies, he singles out Julian Fellowes. “Julian and I are like this,” he says, crossing his index and middle fingers, a gesture that indicates intimacy and camaraderie. The sarcasm here is again evident. Fellowes, an award-winning British screenwriter and director, may have been born in Cairo, just like Youssef, but this is where similarities end. He proceeds to address Fellowes in Arabic. (باشا, عامل إيه حبيبي؟) he says. The fact that Fellowes does not understand what he is saying further affirms the point that there is no ‘sameness,’ that a translation between two rigid world systems is indeed unlikely.
One of the perks of being a ‘renegade,’ is that the translator is not bound by anyone else’s text. Youssef takes advantage of this position to become the sole beneficiary of the meanings he seizes. “I don’t have the same profanity privileges that John Oliver has on HBO,” he remarks, “however, I can curse in Arabic.” From which he proceeds to hurl at ISIS the most vulgar and ‘unsuitable for television’ Arabic curse words. Indeed, as he correctly notes, MBC, the Saudi-owned channel that hosted al-birnamig in 2014 is no longer keeping vigil on his every word, and as he correctly points out as well, The Federal Communications Commission, the FCC, “cannot beep this one out” either, since meaning is lost on them as well. This act of untranslatability produces multiple effects. First, by making out of terrorism a personal issue, and carving out a place for his unique expression, the translator attains unprecedented visibility. Second, by making out of terrorism a personal issue, he absolves Islam from the acts of terror performed by those speaking in the name of Islam, thereby liberating the narrative from the stronghold of the Other. Third, by placing the audience/reader on the threshold of untranslatabilty, he challenges the worrying isolationist attitude towards other cultures, leaving them stranded far from their comfort zone, with no option but to try and translate. In other words, rather than entertain the thought of totally belonging to a Western model, the translator here uses his bilingualism as an effective means with which to contest to all forms of domination. And just in case, all the above is lost on his audience, he explains himself in plain English: ‘Arabic is a beautiful cursing language. You should learn it.”
Having proved that the seamless transfer of meaning is often a futile exercise, Youssef proceeds to do what he does best: Apply his brand of political satire to transfer meaning violently. His comments on the American presidential debates provide an entry point into this process. “Donald Trump, ha!” he laughs, “even Fox News does not know how to get the lid back on that kind of crazy…But who am I to judge? I mean here you call Donald Trump a crazy, stupid bigot with no vision. Back in the Middle East, we call that Tuesday.” What is at work here is a process of cultural layering, which allows the renegade translator to produce a discourse that is critical of both his own culture and the culture of the Other. By saying, “even Fox News does not know how to put the lid back on that kind of crazy,” he is assimilating meanings in order to make a commentary on the official media discourse. The added meaning here is, Fox News too are “crazy, stupid, bigots.”
Moving on to other fertile grounds for the satirist, Youssef addresses the status of the Arab in the West. “I have to admit that in the past, I’ve had my share of being pulled out ‘at random’ from security lines,” he says, “I have had so many cavity searches, I can tell you that my prostate is in tiptop condition. Thanks ObamaCare. If you are an Arab and you travel a lot, ObamaCare takes a whole new meaning (gestures a hole with his finger)” The reference here is to American airport security checks where ‘suspect’ travelers could allegedly be subjected to physically invasive strip search practices. This however is not a mere reiteration of an airport experience. Youssef takes this violence out of its contained space and places it in a televised speech before both viewers and audience. In other words, he transfers this violence onto the Other, transgressing on their tastes and sense of propriety. In ‘speaking up,’ the translator produces his own version of the ‘war on terror’ narrative, achieving high visibility in the process. This throws the audience off-guard and creates an imbalance. In other words, their perception of their official narrative has been shaken, altered with ambiguous consequence.
The choice to conclude the speech by making a point about ‘speaking up’ against the official narrative is no random one. “I live in Dubai,” he says, “it has the world’s highest TV transmitter over Burj Khalifa. Now if you jump off the top of Burj Khalifa, you hit the ground in 30 seconds. 30 seconds is the amount of time the Academy gives winners to accept their award and say ‘thank you.’ Now this might be enough time for a Scandinavian.. but for someone from the Middle East, it is barely enough time to get your third wife.” Indeed, in the struggle for power, the Middle Eastern narrative has always lost to the West, leaving so much to be said, so much to contest, and so much to contend with. For someone from the Middle East, 30 seconds is veritably, ‘barely enough time.’
LANGUAGE AS PERFORMANCE:
Finally, for the most part this analysis has focused on the linguistic component of the speech as it relates to the reader. However, there is more to be said about the speech as a drama before a live audience if one were to gage Youssef’s success or lack of. As such, a central consideration here should be the performance aspect of the speech and its impact on a live audience. Observing the audience’s reaction, one could say that it has indeed been of ‘ambiguous consequence.’ As much as there were laughs, there were also plenty of uncomfortable laughs, all the way to downright discomfort. Given the nature of the speech, this is of course is as intentional as it is expected. As we have seen, Youssef treads on the thin line between the entertaining and the political. This is tricky terrain, for while entertainment generally brings people together, politics polarizes and divides. This ambiguity however, is not derivative. It is integral to his intents and purposes. By moving the speech towards his audience, by domesticating it, Youssef succeeds in making them feel comfortable, only to take aim at them when they are most receptive. It is in these moments of vulnerability, in the in-between moments, that Youssef foreignizes the text to resist the official narrative and speaks up against it.
EPILOGUE:
In the months that followed Youssef’s speech, US President Donald called for ‘a total and complete shut down of borders to Muslims.’ The reaction of Western media to that statement was frantic. As they scrambled to take ‘corrective actions’ against this discourse, voices in the press came forward defending Islam as an internally diverse religion and calling for a distinction between Islam, Islamism and Jihadism. British activist, Maajid Nawaz explains: “Islam is a religion, and like other faiths, it is internally diverse. Islamism, by contrast, is the desire to impose a single version of Islam on an entire society. Islamism is not Islam, but it is an offshoot of Islam. It is Muslim theocracy…Jihadism, however, is something else entirely: It is the doctrine of using force to spread Islamism.”[vi] Other presidential candidates at the time also went on record, saying that Trump’s comments are dangerous to US security since they only increase religious polarization and mistrust.
On other fronts, Egypt was elected around the same time to head the Counter-Terrorism Committee in the UN Security Council by unanimous vote. Now that might have all seemed like headway in the right direction, but in actual fact it was not. That by no means was an indication that the official narrative was actually changing. With discrimination against Muslims on the rise in the West, the discourse is being shrouded in more and more opaqueness, blurring the lines even further between ‘victims’ and ‘perpetrators.’ In this uncertain climate, the intervention of the translator, and the satirist, is not only crucial, but also vital for survival. The ‘War on Terror’ narrative might have been given an afterlife in Bassem Youssef’s Emmy speech. However, in light of ongoing events, it is clear that it is fertile grounds for many more afterlives to come.
[i] Bassem Youssef. “Jon Stewart with Bassem Youssef in Egypt,” YouTube Video, 13:33, June 21, 2013, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEO2Rd3sJbA.
[ii] Bassem Youssef. “Bassem Youssef in the Emmy Award Ceremony (With Arabic Subtitles),” YouTube Video, 1:11, Nov 28, 2015, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCgqm9mhe-A&t=3s. All Bassem Youssef citations are from this speech.
[iii] Inspired by Egypt’s 2011 uprising, Youssef created The B+ Show, a predecessor to al-birnamig that was uploaded to his YouTube channel. The B+ Show was shot in Youssef’s laundry room with just a table, a chair, one camera, and a mural of Tahrir Square. It is in this amateur set-up that Youssef first showcased his talent as an actor, who mimicked some of the most high profile players on the political scene. As The B+ Show gained more and more views, it moved from YouTube to television. This move enabled Youssef to refine his craft through the facilities of a highly sophisticated stage, complete with props, lighting and sound. In other words: The whole spectacle for a major-league performance.
[iv] Youssef. “Jon Stewart with Bassem Youssef in Egypt,” YouTube Video.
[v] George Steiner. After Babel: Aspects of language and translation (Oxford Paperbacks, 1998), 187.
[vi] Maajid Nawaz. “How to Beat Islamic State.” The Wall Street Journal, December 11, 2015, https://www.wsj.com/articles/how-to-beat-islamic-state-1449850833