Given all of these questions, you can imagine then how thrilled I was when I got the chance to talk to Dana Shell Smith, Deputy Assistant Secretary in the Bureau of Public Affairs, who oversees (among other things), State’s foreign language content on social media platforms. Smith’s experience is in the US Foreign Service, and having served in Amman, Tel Aviv, and Cairo, she is fluent in Arabic (and also speaks Chinese, Spanish, and Hebrew).

Smith explained that the idea behind jumping onto Twitter was simple: For those who have done traditional outreach, moving toward new platforms made sense. She told me that Twitter’s popularity was the reason for choosing it as the first foray into platform-based Arabic content, but that they are open to expanding to other platforms and are actively thinking about which make the most sense for their content. She said that Twitter is great because it’s a conversational platform, but that, “if someone said ‘Libyans aren’t on Twitter,’ you should use X platform,’ then we would.” Ultimately, she said her response to my question (“Why Twitter?”) is: “Twitter…and everything else.”

She then went on to say that joining platforms like Twitter isn’t just about output, and that it’s not just about being heard, but also about hearing. The @USABilAraby account follows what Smith refers to as “thought leaders.” She says: “We’re all passionate about the Middle East. So the people we follow are the people who are thought leaders. We seek out the people who think differently. We take seriously what Secretary Clinton said about listening: Twitter is a great way for us to understand diverse opinions. I think it’s equally important who we’re following as who we’re tweeting to.”

I told her that some of the complaints I’d heard from friends in the region were that the account was seemingly more oriented toward broadcasting messages–though by the time I spoke to her I noted that that had changed, and that the people behind the Twitter account had begun responding to questions and criticism. Smith explained, “We’re learning the medium, this is a cultural shift for us. The responses are from our spokespeople, people already allowed to go on the record. It’s empowering to do what we already do, but in a different medium.”

In going over my notes post-conversation, one particular quote from Smith jumped out at me: “We have to customize ourselves for the world we live in, not the other way around.” Though this particular statement no doubt sounds like words of a digital immigrant–which, for what it’s worth, Smith acknowledges she is–it’s absolutely apropos to the current state of the world. We have come to expect responses from corporations, politicians, even celebrities online; it is therefore a good thing that the Department of State–or, truly, any government entity–is willing to engage on these terms.

Post Script: I feel the need to add a couple of my own thoughts here, inspired by conversations from friends who read this after I posted it.  Approving of State moving toward open conversation is not necessarily approval of State’s policies; while I am genuinely thrilled to see them willing to engage in discussion with colleagues in the Arab world (something we know happens privately already), the question remains: does open conversation in public spaces engender openness toward policies?  If State is able to hear more clearly from the so-called “Arab Street” (or is it Arab tweet?) online, will that have any actual effect on policy?

As Mondoweiss pointed out last week, the report puts forth the (rather unsurprising) findings that Palestinian social media users are educated and primarily use Arabic online, and that the Palestinian Internet is largely uncensored.  All true, certainly.  The report also found that, generally, Palestinians have an overwhelmingly negative view of Israel, that Israel has no genuine interest in the peace process, and that the two-state solution is “on its deathbed.”  Also unsurprising.  There were, of course, more specific findings, but I’m more concerned about the policy recommendations.

The first two recommendations acknowledge that the Palestinian online environment should not be taken lightly be policymakers, and suggest that more intensive study of the environment should be undertaken to get a better feel for what Palestinians think.  Fair enough.

The third recommendation, however, is incredibly troubling when looked at in detail.  The researchers recommend that the State Department’s Digital Outreach Team become more engaged in Palestinian online discourse.  I had the pleasure of meeting one of the people involved with the team at this year’s Al Jazeera Media Forum.  I was pleased, actually, to see such an attempt to engage with them.  What the Outreach team does is engage in conversations online in Persian, Arabic, and Urdu in attempt to “correct misinformation.”  They sign all of their messages with “digitaloutreach@state.gov” and are required to be transparent in their conversations.  Though I’m personally not a fan of this approach–I can’t imagine it’s terribly effective at changing people’s minds–I also think it’s relatively harmless.

The Foundation’s researchers, however, would prefer the Outreach Team not identify themselves a la China’s 50 cent army:

FDD’s research found that, during the nine-week observation period, the State Department’s efforts to influence the online discussions were largely ineffective. This may stem from the fact that the team is small in number, and cannot possibly challenge even a plurality of the views expressed on sites where sentiments run counter to U.S. objectives. However, it also may stem from a process whereby the engagement team has the odds stacked against it. Indeed, the Digital Outreach Team identified itself in every online interaction, which nearly always drew fire from users with a pre-existing bias against the United States.
To be effective, the outreach team must not advertise its presence. More importantly, it must launch a broader campaign to limit and discredit violent messages, expose Palestinian extremists on the Internet, and thwart their ability to gain credibility. This will require a more aggressive approach than the one currently employed. It may also require additional personnel.

The Digital Outreach Team should also be viewed as an important source of intelligence. Indeed, they regularly assess sentiments expressed online in the same way that Foreign Service Officers assess political sentiments on the ground. As such, they can add an additional window of understanding into the Palestinian political landscape. To this end, they could participate more actively in conversation threads and pose specific questions on a range of topics. This will allow them to assess opinions on a range of issues with a higher degree of focus, nuance, and specificity more commonly gauged by polling.
State Department decision-makers can benefit from these findings. For example, if anti-peace sentiment is running high online, an understanding of these sentiments could inform the decisions of State Department officials responsible for advising the White House and briefing Congress on peace talks or other diplomatic initiatives.

Let’s ignore for the moment the disingenuous definition of “anti-peace sentiment” and focus solely on the recommendation at hand.  What we have here is a lobby group that purports to promote democracy suggesting that the United States government manipulate Palestinian conversations in an attempt to “win the hearts and minds” of the Palestinian people…secretly.

The fear, of course, is that the State Department might take this seriously; after all, FDD credits itself with pushing them to shut down Al-Manar broadcasts.  Were the State Department to implement such practices, they would follow in the footsteps of Israel and China.  Incidentally, there is already plenty of suspicion in the Arab blogosphere that the U.S. does pay commenters to surreptitiously engage in discussion, so were it to actually be implemented, it’s possible that Palestinian netizens would be wary enough not to fall for it.

I don’t see how this is in the spirit of democracy.  It seems to be that an institution that claims to defend democracy would consider it wise to honor Palestinian agency, but hey, what do I know?

Frankfurt, or at least Frankfurt’s airport, feels strikingly similar to the last time I was in Germany, in Munich.  That time, I was also alone, though with more of a breaking heart than imploding insides.  And it was cold, freezing actually, as I made my way from the airport to my hostel.  As I wait for the bus to my hotel, I watch a young Moroccan with a large suitcase from the corner of my eye.  It’s clear that he’s new here.  I feel I have more in common with him than everyone else, for more reasons than one.

This time I’m a little older, a little wiser, but still can’t read German and find the simplest things–like trying to buy a U-Bahn ticket–difficult.  Germany in general has always struck me as kind of odd, at least to an American: lots of things look, and are, very similar, but then you’ll find something totally out of the ordinary, like a cigarette machine or on-time trains, or the fact that though nearly everyone speaks some English, all of the signage is in German, and you’re confounded.

This time I’m in Bonn, for just two days, to accept an award at the Deutsche Welle Forum for Talk Morocco, a project I co-founded last summer with my friend Hisham.  We never expected to win, so this was a lovely surprise, made even more lovely by the fact that Hisham (who lives in Rouen, France) was able to get here easily as well.  We’re joined by one of our contributors as well, Mahdi, who lives in Berlin.

Bonn has a strangely gothic feel to it; perhaps it’s the chill in the midnight air, or the leaves strewn about fallen from trees, but the city feels perpetually autumnal.  I took the afternoon to myself to wander the city on foot and clear my head, deciding for myself that it’s a form of recovery.  The afternoon sun (which I was forced to protect myself from with 100 SPF thanks to the medications I’m taking) felt just right on my face as I strolled through Bonn’s many pedestrian streets, savoring the various aromas.  I stopped for awhile to sniff spices in an open-air market, and noticed the seller staring at what I thought was my breasts.  I looked up at him, then down, only to realize he was trying to decipher my necklace. Finally, he asked, “do you know what your necklace says?”

“Of course I do,” I replied.  “It’s my name in Arabic.”

“Ahh,” he said.  “I was struggling to read it.  Are you Arab?”

“No, but I had this made in Damascus when I was there last year.”

“Damascus?!  I’m from Damascus!  Marhaba!”

How small the world eventually becomes, eh?

* I had a minor but emergency surgical procedure last Friday and was warned against travel (though the doctors do know that I ended up going).  I’m actually feeling quite well, but nevertheless should be resting, not lugging a suitcase all over Europe.

Perhaps you’ve wondered about my bit of a blogging hiatus: I spent December 7-13 in Beirut for the second annual Arab Bloggers Workshop. The workshop, sponsored by The Heinrich Böll Foundation and Global Voices Online, with support from HIVOS and the Open Society Institute, brought together about 80 of the most amazing bloggers from around the Arab world, from Morocco to Saudi Arabia, for a week of workshops, discussion, trainings, and camaraderie.  I was there as part of Global Voices’ Middle East and North Africa team, also known as the MENAce, and presented on both Herdict Web and my latest side project, Talk Morocco, which I founded with Hisham Khribchi (who was also in attendance).

Blogging about what I took away from the workshop is tough; there were a lot of personal takeaways, certainly, little things I learned about SEO and online campaigning.  And then there were those things that can enhance my work: the importance of translation into Arabic, for example, in Talk Morocco (which Hisham and I intend to implement ASAP) to bridge gaps between the Maghreb and the Middle East, as well as an excellent review of the usability of Herdict (hat tip to Slim Amamou and Suad Al Khawaja, both of whom sat down with me for over an hour to discuss use cases).

Another important takeaway, as someone who works at an incredible Internet research center in the U.S. that has barely tapped into the Arab region, is gaining perspective on what works and what doesn’t, what’s important and what isn’t, in terms of conducting research in the region and on its blogospheres and entrepreneurial initiatives.  It’s important for us to hear, with completely open ears, what we’re doing right…and what we’re doing wrong.

But the real takeaways go beyond the little things you pick up.  They are the faces put to names, the networks built, the new projects formed.  More than that, they are the friendships made and the lasting impact of feeling a part of something so big.

I can say this: I was one of only six or so  non-native Arabic speakers at the workshop.  My Arabic turned out to be not as good as I thought it was, and I was thus ashamed to even try to speak sometimes.  But it didn’t matter – everyone else, so much more multi-lingual than I – made sure that I felt included in conversation, and made sure that I understood what was going on at all times (NB: I actually understood much better than I spoke, thankfully).

At the end of the workshop, we went around the room and each shared a few thoughts on our time in Beirut.  When it was my turn, near the end, the floodgates opened and, like the sensitive ninny I am, burst into tears.  It took me a moment or two to regain my composure, but when I finally did, all I could manage to eak out was how grateful I was for being included in such an amazing group, and how truly included I felt.  Sometimes the fewer words, the better, I suppose.

And there are plenty of amazing things to come: Hisham and I will be working hard to translate essays on Morocco into Arabic for one, I’m going to help Sa’ed Karzoun get his writing on Palestine translated into English, and I’ve found interesting projects all across the board to share and get involved with.

I always feel sad when I leave such amazing people, but I’ve learned to realize that it isn’t the end…it’s only the beginning.

The Moroccan civil registry recently rejected 13 Berber names after receiving a list from the Ministry of Interior with specific Berber names considered in violation of law 99-37 that determines names fit for males and females.

Now, realistically, it’s a much smaller percentage of Moroccans who would choose to do so, but the fact of the matter is, Amazigh people are the true Moroccan natives. They are spread throughout the country and beyond. They are urban and rural. And the Moroccan government is trying to tell them that, by naming their child an Amazigh name, they are giving them a name which is “contrary to Moroccan identity.”

What exactly, then, is Moroccan identity? Is it Arab identity? The official language of Morocco certainly is Arabic (although it could be argued that what is actually spoken on the streets is only a distant cousin). Still, it is estimated that 23 of Morocco’s 30+ million people speak one of three Amazigh dialects. And according to sociologist and writer Mohammed Chafik, up to 80% of Moroccans are of Amazigh ethnicity.

The flag of the Amazigh people

In neighboring Algeria, where the number of people speaking a Berber dialect is significantly lower (at about 29%), Berber is actually considered a “national language” (though not an official one). Now, I’m not 100% sure, but it seems that in Algeria, there is more naming freedom; either Amazigh names are on the “approved” list, or the law has been done away with entirely. In Morocco, however, you must select a name from a list of (entirely Muslim) names which reflect “Moroccan identity.”

Oddly enough, in the past few years, trendy new names have been cropping up in Morocco; names popular in the Levant, such as “Rime,” or popular in Iran, such as “Nasreen,” have made their way into the Moroccan identity. But try to name your daughter Numidia, and all hell breaks loose.

When will Morocco realize that Amazigh are part of their national identity? Once the languages have died off (another contentious issue is the teaching of Tashelheit, Tamazight, and Tarifit)? Once there are no more Tanasts, Shadens, or Numidias? Once all Amazigh political parties have been banned for good? Or will the history of the Amazigh simply be erased?