Children of the Revolution: After the Arab Spring
Neil McBeath, Oman
Neil McBeath served as a uniformed education officer in the Royal Air Force of Oman from 1981 to 2005. During that time, he took two Masters degrees and was awarded the Omani Distinguished Service Medal. Refusing to renew contract, he taught at the Technical Service Institute in Saudi Arabia for two years. He has now returned to Oman and is teaching at the Sultan Qaboos University.
E-mail: neilmcbeath@yahoo.com
Menu
Introduction
The Arab Spring
The Arab Spring – The Arab Gulf
Education in Oman
Generation Y
Conclusions
References
There is an apocryphal story that the Chinese communist leader Chou En Lai was once asked for his opinion of the French Revolution, and that he replied that it was still too early to draw firm conclusions. The story is apocryphal, because although the question was asked, it was not asked with reference to the revolution of 1789, it was asked with regard to the revolution that never was – the revolution of May 1968.
This is important, because there is still dispute about the implications of May 1968. At the political level, General de Gaulle fought back and saved the Fifth Republic. He called snap elections, lied that the French communist party had attempted to seize power, and was returned with a large majority. Within a year, however, the French people realized that they had been duped. De Gaulle then threatened to resign unless an entirely sensible proposal for reform of the French Senate was passed, and the electorate took him at his word. They voted against the proposal, and De Gaulle went into retirement.
His legacy, however, remains potent in French politics, with Erlanger (2008; 3) reporting that as recently as 2007, the then French presidential candidate Nicolas Sarkozy was still blaming the leftist heirs of May 1968 for a crisis of “morality, authority, work and national identity” in France.
Sarkozy was swiftly answered by another Frenchman, a man called Alain Giesmar. In 1968 Sarkozy was only 13years old. Giesmar, at that time, was a Maoist, and also the President of the French university teachers’ union. Giesmar pointed out that, in the days of General de Gaulle, “As a divorced man, Sarkozy couldn’t have been invited to dinner at the Elysee Palace, let alone be elected President of France.” What Giesmar did not say, possibly because it was too obvious to need stating, was that in the 1960s, Sarkozy’s Hungarian immigrant father and Jewish mother would have been further handicaps to a political career.
Revolutions, therefore, need not always involve radical political change. They can be as much revolutions of consciousness – cultural revolutions - or they can be amalgams of both. In the case of the Arab Spring, all three patterns have emerged.
The Arabian Business magazine of March 2011 painted an alarmist picture of the Arab Spring. It offered a map (Pp. 38-39) entitled “Region in Crisis” and then brief analyses of the situation in Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, Bahrain, Oman and Yemen. Remarkably, the map made no reference at all to Libya.
Three months later, Noor (2011) offered a considerably more sober analysis of the situation, warning, among other things, that “We in the West have been guilty of homogenizing the whole region. We need to understand that they are all very different countries with diverse cultures, histories and needs, which until now we have not listened to, either due to ignorance or expedience.”
This is a very sensible caveat. Books like Patai’s (1976/2002) truly dreadful The Arab Mind have been only too willing to homogenize “the whole region” – a region that stretches from the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean, and from the Mediterranean to the borders of Uganda. With the benefit of a year’s hindsight, moreover, it is possible to see that the Arab Spring barely touched Morocco, Algeria, Lebanon or Jordan. Some protests were made, some concessions were granted, but the same regimes remain in power and very little has changed.
This has not been the case in Libya. In that country, the revolution was total. The Socialist Popular Libyan Arab Jamahirya is no more. The Brother Leader of the Revolution was eventually ambushed and then dragged, bleeding, from a storm drain, before being summarily shot in the head. But that was probably the easy bit. Rebuilding Libya after 40 years of Gadaffi’s particularly idiosyncratic rule will be a nightmare, although it could be accomplished if sensible use were made of Libya’s oil wealth.
Unfortunately, that option is not open to Tunisia, Egypt or Yemen, where the armed forces ultimately refused to be deployed against the protesters. That refusal resulted in the exile of the Presidents of Tunisia and Yemen, and the trial and imprisonment of Hosni Mubarak, but for many of the citizens of these three countries life has now become more unstable, financially uncertain, and politically confusing.
Compared with the citizens of Syria, of course, they are fortunate, but that is only because Syria has slipped into a state of undeclared civil war. Bashar al Assad has chosen to use his armed forces as an instrument of repression.
Now at this point you may think I am going to segue into the use of the military in the countries of the Arab Gulf, but I am not. Remember Noor’s comment about “different countries with diverse cultures.”
The situation in Bahrain has been grossly misreported in Britain, particularly by Robert Fisk in The Independent newspaper, but also by The Daily Mail. Bahrain’s problems had little to do with the Arab Spring. The demonstrations and response by the Bahraini government, initially stem from the inherent contradictions of having a Sunni King in a country whose people are mainly Shi’a. More important, however, is the contradiction of a royal government in a country with an elected parliament, which would like to make law, but which is restricted to an advisory role. Add to that a minority, (some 15% to 20% of the population), who would like to see an Islamic Republic of Bahrain and you have reached what Gladwell (2000) describes as “the tipping point” – an impasse which makes the Bahraini situation exceptional.
Oman, too, is exceptional. In the Sultanate, the Arab Spring began with a small demonstration demanding better job opportunities in the industrialized port town of Sohar. That demonstration was countered by members of the Royal Oman Police, scuffles broke out, the ROP fired rubber bullets and one demonstrator was killed.
In the course of the next week, a vicious spiral of events occurred. Firstly, demonstrators set fire to a large hypermarket which, ironically, employed 300 Omanis – many of them women. The ROP then conducted dawn raids on the houses of many of the demonstrators, thereby violating the sanctuary of their homes and catching their female relatives when their heads were still uncovered or, in some cases, while they were still dressing. This action outraged local opinion, and the main roundabout in Sohar was occupied in protest by yet more demonstrators, effectively cutting the most direct road between Muscat and the UAE.
At this point, His Majesty the Sultan sent in units from the Royal Army of Oman; units who were received with delighted applause. The army cleared the roundabout and reopened the road. At about the same time His Majesty also declared that 50,000 new jobs would be created, and a job-seekers allowance would be instituted. A scaled cost-of-living allowance was then introduced for all employees in the government sector – Omani and expatriate. The Inspector General of the Royal Oman Police was replaced. The Minister of National Economy was dismissed, and the Ministry of National Economy was abolished. The Minister of the Royal Court was replaced, as was the General who served as Minister of the Palace Office.
Hardly surprisingly, this raft of measures had the desired effect. The protests ended, but in one way they had already signaled an important departure for the Omani government. For the very first time, the actions of the government were reactive, not proactive.
Remarkably, in Oman, new initiatives and truly original thinking have always come from the very top. The decision to establish the Sultan Qaboos University was taken in the early 1980s, long before the country had been able to establish universal primary, let alone secondary, education. At that time, university education appeared to be a luxury, but logically, it was the ultimate outcome of the Sultanate’s educational policy.
Similarly, on National Day 1990, His Majesty the Sultan announced that an advisory consultative council, the Majlis al Shurah, would be established, and that its members would be elected on an initially limited franchise, but that the franchise would be expanded over time. “There appeared to be no great public demand for this initiative” (Gause 1994; 113) but at the time of the war to liberate Kuwait, it was entirely sensible to anticipate calls for greater participation in government. So the Omanis accepted this innovative move away from absolute monarchy, and simultaneously accepted the idea that both women and men would be eligible to stand for election and to vote.
February 2011, however, established a different type of precedent in Oman. For the first time, the government was challenged by a spontaneous movement, and it acceded to that movement’s demands. This taught the people that if they shouted, the authorities would listen. It was a lesson quickly learned by the governments of Qatar, Saudi Arabia and the UAE, all of which bought off criticism by suddenly announcing massive pay increases for national workers employed in government service. It was also a lesson learnt by the Omani students.
Even before the Arab Spring, education in Oman was facing difficulties. In 1970, the Omani education system consisted of three schools, in which 900 boys were learning the Holy Qur’an by rote, along with some very basic literacy and numeracy skills. That was it.
Following His Majesty the Sultan’s accession to power in 1970, the importance of education was recognized, and was recognized at the very highest level.
“From the moment we assumed our responsibilities in
this land, education was one of our constant pre-
occupations, in fact, one could say it was our main
concern. As we said at the time, we will educate our
young people even if it has to be done under the shade
of trees. Many of you will not remember that period
when many of the schools were temporary structures
or tents.” (Qaboos bin Said 2000; 3).
There are two points that must be emphasized here. Firstly, His Majesty is not exaggerating. Some of the earliest schools really were established under the shade of trees and for those schools, the move into tents equipped with a blackboard and chalk, was actually regarded as a major step forward.
Secondly, this quotation comes from a speech delivered at Sultan Qaboos University in 2000. If there were people in that audience who could not remember the early days, 30 years into the Renaissance of Oman, then for our current students, another decade on, the early days are distant history.
When I first started teaching in Oman, in 1981, my students were generally the first generation literates in their families. Now, at the Sultan Qaboos University, we are beginning to see the arrival of the children of the first generation graduates. Like so much of the Arab Gulf, Oman has come so far, so fast, that it is difficult to comprehend the changes.
One, now fabulously wealthy Emirati businessman has put this transformation rather neatly. Born in 1947, he says “Life in Abu Dhabi at the time of my birth was the same as it had been in 1800.” (Al Fahim 2011; 32). Yet he himself is an example of what Zaki Nusseibeh, the advisor to the late Sheikh Zayed of Abu Dhabi, refers to as “the power of accommodation” (Raban 1979; 154). Nussiebeh, who is Palestinian and who “has a formidable knowledge of the idiom and mentality of the ruling family and the nationals for the Emirates” (McCloughlin 2010; 159) was commenting on the remarkable ability of Gulf Arabs to adapt to change; to meet new ideas and to cope with them by filtering them through their own culture. In education, however, reliance on expatriates – and in this I would include expatriate Arabs – can lead to tension.
Having had personal experience of the devastatingly contemptuous attitudes displayed by some expatriate teachers (like the American who informed me that “All you can do is teach them how to make a cup of tea, how to change a car wheel, and how to pick their noses”, or the candidate for a position at SQU who asked “Well, how difficult can it be? You’re only teaching bedu kids”), my sympathies are inevitably with the students.
My first classes, back in the 1980s, were filled with Omanis for whom life was getting better on an almost daily basis. Electricity, radio and television were all introduced. New roads were linking areas that had hitherto only been accessible by donkey. Health clinics were being established across the country. Immunization campaigns affected their younger siblings, and later, their children. Schools were being built in every town. At first these operated on a shift system – boys in the morning, girls in the afternoon – but then separate schools were built for girls and boys, and that was another advance.
That frenetic pace of development has now slowed. Certain capital projects are still introduced, like a major by-pass road for the Muscat area, and a huge bridge in an area notorious for flooding after heavy rains, but even these projects are regarded with some indifference. Omanis now expect the state to provide improvements, and the current generation of students, the third generation since the Renaissance, has no memory of the Sultanate’s former isolation and poverty.
Even so, Smith (2011) paints a rather disturbing picture of childishness and ill-discipline among some, mainly male, students at the Muscat College of Technology. My own experience has been different. I had no problems of either nature when teaching in the Sultan’s Armed Forces, and I have had none on the Foundation Programme at SQU.
One passage in particular, however, stands out in Smith’s complaint, and that passage reads as follows:-
“Another clear feature of the situation was that the
students imagined themselves still to be at a school,
rather than at a college. The kind of school, moreover,
in which the teacher is one’s enemy.” (Smith 2011; 54).
That was familiar. It took me back to teaching in British Further Education in the early 1970s, when 15 year old school leavers arrived at “college” filled with a resentment of education that had been bred in their Secondary Modern schools, and unable to appreciate that they had entered a different environment. If the behaviour that Smith reports is common to a number of tertiary institution in Oman, then the Sultanate has a problem. On the other hand, if what he reports is anecdotal and impressionistic, then there might well be a less sinister explanation.
In a recent paper entitled “Understanding and Teaching Generation Y’, Reilly (2012) attempts to define our current cohort of students, by outlining some of their principal characteristics. He argues that Generation Y are the students who “came into being during the last two decades of the 20th Century. Its members are identified as confident and technologically advanced, and they come with a sense of entitlement” (Reilly 2012; 3).
He suggests that these students, born between 1981 and 1999, have grown up with technology, and that they therefore prefer “to work smarter rather than harder” (Reilly 2012; 4). They read less, and less well, than preceding cohorts. They favour kinaesthetic and visual learning; they are feedback-dependent, and they can be viewed as lacking respect. This last factor, however, is open to different interpretations. Wallis (2009; 63) suggests that Generation Y “are just more forthright and believe that everyone, including the boss, has to earn respect.”
In this regard, therefore, Generation Y can be seen as the direct heirs of France in May 68. In those days the buzz-word was “contestation” a noun that carries simultaneous connotations of questioning and challenging; of asking not only “why?” but of immediately suggesting that the answer had better be logical.
Reilly’s concept, let us remember, is designed to be universal, and it certainly offers a picture that is recognizable. The technologically savvy child, who can unlock the mysteries of the computer, is now almost a cliché. Such children even feature in undemanding literature like Binchy’s (2002) feel-good novel Quentins. Simultaneously, dress codes for schools are increasingly under attack in Britain. Following the concession that Muslim girls could wear trousers, there have also been demands that boys be allowed to wear shorts in hot weather, and that, in Scotland, boys be permitted to wear kilts.
In Oman, moreover, it is interesting to notice that the criteria established by the Oman Academic Accreditation Authority play to the supposed strengths of Generation Y. Here is another instance of Nussiebeh’s “power of accommodation.” Despite, or possibly because of, the paucity of ICT instruction in Omani secondary schools, all students entering tertiary education must now successfully complete Foundation Programmes that include English, ICT and mathematics. This builds on students’ existing, albeit frequently self-taught, technological competence, but it also reinforces kinaesthetic and visual learning, and frequently provides instant positive feedback.
It also encourages English programmes to make more use of ICT; using Moodle quizzes and e-portfolios, or by conducting research online rather than in the reference section of the university library. This, however, carries with it the unintended danger of actually encouraging students to read less, and less well, simply because they have less need to consult traditional print sources.
Clearly, the approach encouraged by the OAAA contrasts with the traditional Arab approach to education, which is heavy on memorization and light on critical analysis. This is a factor that has been remarked on in many Muslim countries (Osterloh 1986). It is characterised by critical pedagogues like Freire (1974) as the “banking” concept of education, where the students are regarded as empty vessels into which knowledge is deposited. Al Issa (2009) has been particularly scathing about this aspect of education in Oman, suggesting that the school system encourages rote-learning and pacifies the students by handing them absurdly inflated totals of marks. These, in turn, give the students an exaggerated idea of their own abilities.
The result of this is that secondary school students enter tertiary education when they are ready – by virtue of having matriculated – but before they are prepared. They have no concept of study skills, and they are teacher dependent. In their first semester in tertiary education they have to be introduced to the concepts of autonomous learning, of planning and of taking responsibility for their own learning. At the same time, many of the overachievers, particularly the female students, need to be actively discouraged from trying to learn “the book”. This is particularly difficult, because their previous experience of education has taught them that learning “the book” is effective and they are unwilling to be coaxed out of their comfort zones (Skehan 1998).
On the Foundation Programme at the Language Centre at the Sultan Qaboos University, it must be said that we appear to be successful in changing study habits. His Excellency Dr. Ali al Bemani, the Vice-Chancellor of the Sultan Qaboos University, has paid open tribute to the current cohort of students “the students here in SQU are more innovative, they are thinker, they like to compete and participate.” (Bemani 2011).
The success at SQU, however, has most definitely not been repeated elsewhere. In the summer of 2011, at the end of the initial year of the Foundation Programme at the Princess Nourah bint Abdulrahman University for women in Saudi Arabia, there were unprecedented demonstrations to protest about the high failure rate. The details are sketchy, but I would suggest that this high failure rate was almost certainly caused by a mismatch between the students’ traditional concept of “studying” and the definition endorsed by their newly hired, western orientated instructors. Certainly Asadi (2012) suggests that some teachers in Saudi Arabia still “lack sympathy for …/their students/ … beliefs and aspirations.” (Ozog 1993; 162).
Like Chou En Lai, I am inclined to believe that it is, as yet, too soon to draw firm conclusions about the impact of the Arab Spring. This is true politically in Egypt, socially in Tunisia, and both politically and socially in Libya and Syria.
So far as Oman is concerned, 35000 young men have now been absorbed into the Sultan’s Armed Forces, the Royal Oman Police, the Palace Office and the civil service. The immediate, and unintended, effect of this has been that the price of second hand cars has gone through the roof, and the Omani road system is choked with vehicles four times a day.
In education, the first months of 2012 saw two secondary school fires, but it is as yet unclear whether these incidents were accidents or arson attacks. If it is the latter, then clearly this is a disturbing new development.
At the Sultan Qaboos University there has certainly been a slight change of attitude among some of the students. The younger men, and particularly those from the Dhofar region in southern Oman, have taken to wearing their hair far longer than is permitted by university regulations. The Dhofaris could argue, however, that in doing this they are simply reverting to traditional Dhofari practice, and the photographs in Thesiger’s (1959) Arabian Sands would confirm this. Similarly, not all the male students on campus now wear white dishdashas, but the extent to which this is designed to flout regulations, as opposed to a laundry problem, is open to question. Neither of these infringements, hair or clothes, is thought to be an appropriate area for expatriate teachers’ involvement, and so it is likely that these phenomena will go unchallenged.
At the Language Centre, however, it is a matter of far greater concern that absenteeism is increasing. The students are permitted to absent themselves from 28 hours of class per semester, and this figure can be increased if there are compelling reasons for absence, such as hospitalization or bereavement. Once students have exceeded their permitted time allowance they are, in theory, barred from taking end-of-semester examinations. In the academic year 2011 to 2012, however, there were numerous instances of students missing classes and presenting the flimsiest of excuses – almost as if they were challenging the Language Centre to impose the regulations, and then explain to the University Administration why so many students had been barred.
A second cause for concern has been that many of the students who entered the Language Centre at the lower levels performed poorly on their end-of-semester examinations. In this case, however, it appears unlikely that the students are entirely to blame. Their poor performance may be partly the result of the disruptions that they endured during their last year at secondary school. Their first semester was interrupted by the run-up to the 40th National Day celebrations in November 2010, and their second semester coincided with the Arab Spring. Add to that the triple demands of the OAAA Foundation Programme – English, IT and mathematics – and a change of assessment procedures within the Language Centre itself, and so many different variables have been introduced that it is futile to look for further explanations.
The question is, of course, the extent to which any of the developments should be regarded as the result of the Arab Spring, or whether they are simply manifestations of the attitude of Generation Y which would have occurred anyway. Change is inevitable. Only the truly reactionary believe that change is inevitably bad, and in the last 40 years Oman has seen more changes than most countries experience in two centuries. My personal belief is that the Omanis’ power of accommodation is such that they will absorb the latest changes, whether generational or otherwise, with their famous understated grace and tolerance.
I only hope that other countries in the Arab World have as fortunate an outcome.
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Reilly, P. (2012) Understanding and Teaching Generation Y. English Teaching Forum 50/1. 2-11.
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Wallis, J. (2009) Born to be different. Nursing Standard 23/33. 62-63.
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