Instagram is a Mirror: Facing the Lebanese Revolution
Guarded by palm trees in Beirut’s pinnacle Hamra district, the Beirut Commodore Hotel stands as a symbol of Lebanon's commitment to the freedom of the press in years gone by. During the dark days of Lebanon’s fifteen-year civil war, the hotel served as a refuge for the likes of respected journalists Robert Frisk, Jonathan Dimbleby, and Terry Waite to meet, eat and unpack the evolving situation on the ground. Today, the iconic hotel stands as merely a memory of times past, as freedom of expression moves from a national expectation to a subject of debate.
One could think that in 2020, freedom of the press is still respected. In reality, being a journalist in the Cedar country can be costly. Journalists face regular death threats, the dreaded pen of the Censorship Bureau, and targeted killings. Popular TV channel MTV was closed for seven years in 2002 and Al-Jadeed was shut down in 1992 after their license was revoked by the pro-Syrian Lebanese regime in 1997 and was blacked-out by distributors in several regions of the country after criticizing the Shiite military organization Hezbollah.
Recent developments in the media landscape have also threatened the traditional journalist voice. Prior to October 2019, the media landscape was monopolized by warlord-owned TV channels and newspapers. According to Media Ownership Monitor Lebanon, the airwaves are dominated by four major companies, who collectively reach almost four out of five Lebanese viewers. Aside from the state-owned Télé Liban, seven of the privately-owned TV stations are owned or co-owned by political figures with the eighth station, Al-Manar, run by Hezbollah. This small clique of TV channels is also rife with factionalism and is subject to shifting party allegiances. This monopolization, combined with the rising tide of censorship, has made basic fact-checking and holding politicians to account far more difficult.
These twin heads of monopolization and aggressive censorship have fueled the rise of new forms of media. Since the advent of social media, many new independent and anonymous outlets have made their debut on Instagram and Facebook. Reliant on a corps of volunteer contributors, they have the same two goals: independent journalism and the democratization of the media.
Megaphone, founded in 2017, is one such organization. With an abrupt and outspoken style, boosted by over 40,000 followers on Instagram, Megaphone broadened their international appeal by posting English translations of popular Arabic posts. Even today the exact location of the organization remains a closely guarded secret, as do the identities of most of their staff. They state that this is done in order to protect their authentic, view-from-the-street coverage from the same threats that traditional broadcast and print journalists face, particularly since their efforts often fly in the face of the political elite, who control so much of the media establishment.
A similar project, Political Pen, operates in the same way; volunteers remaining anonymous and broadcasting on social media. The account received multiple threats during the 2019 uprisings and was on the receiving end of a barrage of Instagram suspensions. These threats and targeted actions had an effect; Political Pen practices a form of self-censorship when talking about certain political leaders as a means of staying in business. Unlike the more video-focused Megaphone, Political Pen provides a broader platform for opinion pieces, analysis, and open-sourced polls. They even invite their followers to contribute to the account by writing their own articles and often seek to create debates on sensitive subjects as a means of enabling their audience to communicate with each other via the comments.
Such initiatives are of tremendous importance in modern Lebanon, giving life to alternative viewpoints that wouldn’t otherwise exist in a monopolistic Lebanese media riven by sectarianism. TV channels such as OTV or Télé Liban earned the ire of Lebanese citizens globally by downplaying the protests when they first broke out; the former choosing to broadcast a cooking show during the early days of the revolution. Other media outlets such as Al-Manar were open in their hostility to the movement. Without this new media, coverage would have broken down into partisan trench-warfare in the assaults on journalists like Joyce Akiki by partisans of the President during her coverage of the protests.
Now with coronavirus engulfing the nation, coverage has shifted from the October 2019 revolution to the virus, which has opened a new battlefield for traditional media outlets. Fundraising and the provision of aid have been used to help factions win over the hearts and minds of the Lebanese people. This led to a new kind of propaganda from the likes of MTV, who even created a song ‘MTV is for you, MTV is with you’.
Emboldened by the emergence of new media outlets other organizations and individuals have decided to open their own platforms to cover the revolution via Instagram and challenge the coverage of traditional outlets. Some of them have emerged as trusted references for direct and unfiltered information. Gino Raidy (@ginoraidy) is one such example. Always on the ground, he is unapologetic and straightforward in his coverage, which has resulted in at least one trip to the police station and a series of complaints from politicians. To this day he actively participates in sharing live information on the revolution, usually from the heart of the protests. Like his compatriot Oleksandra El Zahran (@polleksandra), Gino’s coverage of the protests allowed many to experience another viewpoint. Broadcasting mostly on Instagram, Gino, and Oleksandra showcase videos provided by followers or stream live from the heart of the action. Through IGTV or their blogs, they also publish personal political analysis similar to Megaphone.
Other forms of Instagram activism focus their attention on the reasons behind the revolution. Lebanon Corruptions Facts (@lebanon.corruption.facts) and Thawra Economics (@thawraecon) both specialize in educating the readers on the real reasons why Lebanon is now suffocating from inflation and economic collapse. With daily posts in Arabic and English, both accounts showcase the economic reality in Lebanon. From diagrams mapping how corruption works in Lebanon to explanations of the processes by which Lebanese politicians have illegally enriched themselves, these accounts fill a gap in the marketplace that would otherwise go unfilled by media outlets controlled by Lebanon’s main political parties.
These efforts expose Lebanese people to unprecedented levels of analysis, facts, and coverage, leading them to question the stories they have grown up with and narratives that they have always known. This gives most ordinary Lebanese citizens, particularly the ranks of disenchanted youth, the power of choice. When presented with an alternative narrative and with facts to back it up, it is easier to make conscious choices that will affect their future voting. In Lebanon, politics is a family affair and early exposure to this political tribalism makes it hard to develop an independent political consciousness, especially considering these sectarian political leaders have traditionally been worshiped as local Gods. The main problem facing Lebanon is the maintenance of the status quo, which has led to a ground-hog day style renewal of the political landscape.
In Lebanon’s media landscape such non-partisan news coverage has historically been a rare commodity. These new forms of people-powered citizen journalism breathe life into the legend of the Beirut Commodore and guarantee its legacy. It is the hope that through this media revolution, a new Lebanese public can make better political decisions and maybe sow the seeds of a new Lebanon.