provide me with a plagiarism report instruction and question is attached below follow the instructions give reference 4-page minimum.

Throughout the discussion I explore some of the ways that (Sunni) Islam intersects with rap in the artists’lives, lyrics and identities, and the ways that their particular locatedness informs their position within what has been termed the‘transglobal hip hop nation’. Whilst interpreting religion has long been a contested area in Tunisia, it seems that rap here functions as a route to articulating alternative interpretations of Islam, ones which not only unite the artists but offer potential for pan-umma and transglobal connectivities. These potentialities resonate with the idea of a‘transglobal hip hop ummah’and provide the artists with arenas for personal, political, collective and spiritual expression.

KeywordsIslam.

Hip hop.

Rap.

Music.

Tunisia.

Masculinities I see my life like a desert in bad weather, son of the Saharah, Arab, Muslim, head to toe.

I take my pen, raise it up like a katana [sword].

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 DOI 10.1007/s11562-010-0134-7 D. S. Shannahan (*) Birmingham City University, BIAD, Margaret Street, Birmingham B3 3BX, UK e-mail: [email protected] Q. Hussain 19 Perry Street, Easton, Bristol, UK e-mail: [email protected] I speak Tunisian, going to Tunisians, just let me speak Tunisian. 1 (‘Just a question of time’, T Men) Introduction Rap emerged as a child of hip-hop culture in New York’s African-American and Afro-Caribbean communities in the mid-1970s. It has been described as a form of ‘black cultural expression that prioritizes black voices from the margins of urban America ... [through] a form of rhymed storytelling’(Rose1994: 2). These stories initially told of the environments in which the hip-hop movement began, and served to articulate protest against conditions on the‘street’where the artists lived. In the last 40 years US rap artists have reached dizzy commercial heights (Rose1994: 58) which have spread across the globe,‘prompting some artists and fans to proclaim the emergence of a‘global hip-hop nation”(Condry2007: 638). Now its beats vibrate through urban streets as far apart as Sydney, Palestine, Cuba City, Tokyo and Rome, and its expression in diverse contexts takes on both global and local elements, a fusion that has been termed‘glocal’(Mitchell2001: 11). As a transnational subculture, rap has proven to be a powerful vehicle for young people as‘the entire expressive culture of hip-hop ... resonate[s] not only with the anxiety of youthful social rebellion, but extant global socio-political inequalities as well’(Osumare 2005: 268). Further, studies of rap and hip-hop culture have definitely made it into the academy. 2The focus is usually upon the US context; that is where the loudest, biggest and most economically successful rap is taking place. Endeavours to explore rap outside the US (such as Mitchell2001; Kahf2007; Condry2007; Orlando2003) suggest that it takes both globalised and internationalised forms yet remains‘rooted in the local’(Mitchell2001: 10).

In this paper we discuss research findings from fieldwork conducted in Tunis in late 2008-early 2009 where the rap scene is small yet rapidly expanding. We seek to explore the ways that (Sunni) Islam influences the lives and lyrics of the rap artists that we met there, and the ways that their particular locations shape their positions within what Alim terms the‘transglobal hip-hopummah’(Alim2005: 264).

Although Allen may be correct in positing Islam as‘hip-hop’s official religion’ (Allen in Alim2005: 264), the majority of references to Islam in US hip-hop respond to the legacy of The Five Percenters and The Nation of Islam (Aidi2004:

111), an inheritance which is not necessarily intentionally reproduced by Muslim 1‘Ça fait ma vie comme un désert dans les mal temps/ fils de Sahara, Arabi wa Muslim hau a bot/ Je tire mon stylo il fouq, comme un katana. Kalami Toonsi, meshi il Toonsi, khaleni net kalem Toonsi.’All the lyrics here have been translated with the artists in the hope of reaching the most meaning-faithful English translation. Raps frequently involve code switches and mix (Tunisian) Arabic, French and English; lyrics are presented here are as they are spoken. For more information on the groups discussed here and some tracks, seehttp://www.myspace.

com/gangstarwanted(Gangstas Wanted);http://www.myspace.com/weld15(Weld 15);http://www.al-fann.

com/path/Tunisia/Rap/T_Men/(T Men); andhttp://www.myspace.com/daly_blaze216(Daly Blaze of T Men).

2This is shown not only by the variety and diversity of approaches to be found in academic works on rap, but also in the interdisciplinary reach of hip-hop studies. Alim reminds us that many US universities are now offering‘hip-hop courses in departments as diverse as linguistics, religious studies, philosophy, and African American studies’(Alim2005:p272), a variety which will inevitably increase in time.

38 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 rappers in other locations. Orthodox Muslims (taken here as Sunni and Shia) and the Five Percenters may produce lyrics which share identical terminology and symbols, yet they are imbued with starkly differing meanings, a nuance which is not always perceptible when listening to the raps of‘Muslim artists.’In other words, the Islam that is spoken of by artists who are influenced by, or are members of, more heterodox forms of Islam (such as Eric B and Rakim, Brand Nubian, Busta Rhymes, Nas, Daddy Kane and Ice Cube), can easily be understood to be Sunni Islam although the implied frames of reference differ dramatically. This distinction is not automatically understood by listeners, particularly outside of the US. In contrast, US rappers whose lyrics are inspired by, and take their religious landscape from orthodox Islam (such as Native Deen, Mos Def, Q Tip/Fareed Kamel and Ali Shaheed Muhammad, from A Tribe Called Quest), are not so widely known outside the US, or at least that is what we found in Tunisia.

In Tunisia, as in much of the regional area, rap and hip-hop culture more broadly has propagated primarily through channels which downplay these differences—or elide them all together—whilst promoting a very particular form of what rap is (such as MTV/MTV Arabia, and Hollywood films). Thus the differences between rap being produced in a Muslim—majority culture such as Tunisia and the more religiously heterodox counterparts in the US deserve attention, particularly when considering just how Islam (as an umbrella term for multiple traditions) can function to inform the music itself. A question that then arises is which (interpretations of) Islam is articulated within different raps, and how do they intersect with the artists’ identities? This difference is significant when considering the interplay of global and local that the‘glocalisation’of hip-hop embodies, and the ways that a particular form of art or cultural practice can intersect with religious identities and take on highly different meanings in diverse contexts. 3Indeed, during our stay in Tunis it seemed that the majority of the artists find rap as an extension and elaboration on their identities as Muslim men. For them, the two cannot be separated (which takes either positive/transformative forms or negative ones, as shall be discussed below), through the lens of theory, in listening to and analyzing lyrics, or on the streets where they are performed. For this reason it is vital to look at both aspects of the artists’self-definitions; as Muslims, but also as men within particular situated geographies.

A further impetus to exploring Tunisian rap is the aspiration to add to existing research on gender in the Middle East, which as an area of study is currently heavily weighted towards women’s studies. As Connell suggests, in‘discussions of politics, “gender”is often a code-word for women (Connell2009: 122); this is particularly true within the context of Islamic studies and Muslim cultures, where‘much of the literature ... has been written and read with Muslim men as an unmarked category’ (Ouzgane2006: 6). The Tunisian rap scene is currently small (especially when compared to neighbouring Algeria, see Bouzine2000) and the artists discussed in this paper share similarities and differences with their non-rapping counterparts. 3Whilst many of the rappers that we met in Tunis were quick to point out that Nas and Busta Rhymes are Muslims, they were less certain of the format that their Islam takes; the routes that their (heterodox) Islam provides in bringing them to, and articulating as, Islam, are surely very different to the Sunni, Maliki Islam that the Tunisian artists practice.

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 3939 However, Tunisian rap is created, produced and dispersed through locations which are predominantly male domains, and the processes which it takes encapsulates the intersections of contemporary Islam, modernity, globalisation and constructions of masculinities. To this aim, consideration of the Tunisian scene can add to contemporary studies of masculinity, and also to the place of Tunisian rap in the ‘glocalised’hip-hop nation. 4 The research The data for this discussion comes from research conducted in late 2008-early 2009, primarily in the capital of Tunisia, Tunis. 5Following initial contact through online networking toolMyspace, we used snowballing methodology in order to meet other rappers. Overall, we spoke to thirty eight men connected with the rap movement, and twelve self-identified rappers. 6The remaining twenty six were involved in the scene in various ways, either in production, music engineering, promotion, dj-ing or graf artists. We also met women during our stay, yet their place within the movement seemed less central, a point which will be discussed further later in this discussion.

The research consisted of fieldwork, or just‘hanging out’on the scene and getting to know the artists and the men they refer to in American hip-hop slang as‘homies’, and also eleven in-depth interviews. These interviews ranged from 40 min to 3 h each and were semi-structured. Whilst we would begin the interviews with just one or two artists, often other men would appear and contribute to the discussion, frequently interspersed with freestyling or playing particular raps from mobile phones or MP3 players. These took place in a variety of settings, including studios, family houses and cafes along the main street of central Tunis,‘L’Avenue Bourguiba’. Fieldwork was conducted in similar locations, and involved many informal, group discussions, predominantly about rap, religion and global politics.

We also had the opportunity to travel to Hammamet to a nightclub where one of the interviewees was performing; a large group of Tunisian artists and supporters also attendeden masse.

This paper initially focuses upon Tunisian rappers in relation to their social and geographical locations and explores the various ways that rap can serve as a forum for protest, both locally and internationally. It then looks at issues of authenticity and self-censorship when freedom of expression is delineated by the state, and the significance of staged performances for the artists’self-perceptions. The second section of this paper turns to Islam as a source of inspiration and motivation within the artists’lives and lyrics. It discusses the ways that artists’interpretations of Islam are articulated through rap and also their understandings of the place of music within 4For further information on Arab/ic hip-hop a good place to start is the forum ofHip-hop Arabia,http:// hiphoparabia.ning.com/forum. (accessed 10th of July2009) 5We were told that the hip-hop scene is primarily located in Tunis (although there are artists working in other places such as Sfax and Sousse) and summer concerts take place in diverse coastal resorts.

6This may seem a small sample group but the number of people considered rap artists with the scene is relatively small; as producer Kamel told me,‘there are maybe fourteen or fifteen artists in Tunisia.’This reflects surely his distinction between artists who are producing and recording, and‘wannabes,’a quick search onMyspacecasts doubt onto this figure, and also indicates that there are many more of the latter.

40 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 Islam. It explores how the aesthetics of hip-hop culture are negotiated in the public sphere by Tunisian artists and finally turns to the multiple ways that gender interacts with the Tunisian hip-hop scene and is expressed therein. Throughout this discussion the concept of double consciousness is relevant, as in the multiple ways the artists’ have to negotiate between distinctways of being. Gilroy explains double consciousness as a‘double vision,’one which‘allows people to be in two places at once and maintain a double perspective on reality’(Tate2001: 211). Gilroy’s definition will be used in this paper and thus the terms‘double vision’and‘double consciousness’may be read as interchangeable.

Following hip-hop to Tunis A history of the rap movement in Tunisia is beyond the scope of this paper, but a brief excursion backwards is necessary to set the stage for the following discussion.

There is a clear division between what the artists refer to as the‘old school’and the ‘younger generation’of rappers on the scene, and relationships of mentoring and mutual support are common. Our initial introduction to the scene was through an ‘old school’producer and writer, Kamel, who quickly introduced us to younger artists, commenting on their talent. 7Almost every old school artist we spoke to claimed to have started the movement—claims which obviously require caution— yet we found wide consensus that the first wave of rap in Tunis began in the early 1990s, when US rappers (Wu Tan Clan emerged as a common influence) first gained popularity amongst young Tunisians. As T Men, (a group of four 30–40 year olds) told us, the group they call their‘clan’formed on the rooftop of a member’s family home, and was propelled forward by a shared love of rap. They see their clan as distinctly located in Tunis, as Mac of T Men explained; We are old men, from the old medina, you know it? We began this so long ago, right there in the medina. Outside of Tunis it is not the same, cannot be the same. The music comes from the street, the small ones of the medina, from between the houses, on the rooftops, in the small spaces between the walls.

By linking his own lyrical inspiration to the very bricks of the old medina, Mac firmly situates his music within his own autobiography, claims authenticity is geographically located and hints at potential differences of context between what the artists broadly term the‘street’. All the artists we met display a strong sense of connectivity with their national identity (even whilst remaining critical of the actions of the state itself), and local struggles are articulated in their music through distinctly male experiences. The way that clans are named encapsulates this; T Men stands for Tunisian men, and their logo (designed by D’Ali’s wife) is of five men. There are four clan members and the fifth, as Jamal explained carefully, symbolizes the Tunisian man,‘all the other men not talking.’Not dissimilarly, the name Gangstas 7Two more commercially successful Tunisian rappers are Balti Hiroshima and Sincero. The majority of artists we spoke to were rather doubtful about their status within the holistic movement, particularly emphasising the (perceived) trajectory towards R‘n’B that Balti appears to have taken. We did travel to see Balti in concert but, due to a low turnout, it ended early, and unfortunately we were unable to interview him during our stay.

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 4141 Wanted is understood by clan member Hossam‘in the positive way. A Gangsta means being a man going out for work, for family, for his children, and being wanted by the people.’Many of the raps reiterate the situatedness of the rappers; in ‘Arabi’, for example, the central theme is Arab unity, which is presented as entwined with the land and the history of the artists.

I am Arab proud and simple, but proud of my land and the land of my ancestors and proud of my Arab brothers. 8 This shared connectivity is reflected within the wider scope of the music; in response to the question‘what do you write about?’the artists unanimously agreed that the social problems of the Tunisian people provide a main thread to their rap. Issues of poverty, unemployment, 9job insecurity, state repression (overt and covert), curfews, harsh behaviours of security forces, political hypocrisy (national and international), European imperialism and political strife are recurring themes. In this sense, Tunisian rap can‘be understood not so much as an individualist obsession with the self but rather as a dialogical engagement with community’(Pennycook2007: 103), an engagement which firmly situates itself within local geographies. It also seems that the authenticity of their raps (as measured by other artists) is directly related to their experiences as located within the nation state and social setting of Tunisia, where Arab, Muslim and male identities intersect and are consolidated collectively through music.

Keeping it real A recurring theme in hip-hop culture and its observers is the importance of keeping it real, of authenticity, of artistic integrity (Basu1998). The intersections between integrity as an artist and authenticity as a lyricist have been cited as key aspects of being successful in hip-hop, and reflecting upon rap beyond the US, Pennycook (2007: 103) asks‘the question, then, is what is real talk on the global stage?’In Tunis, it seems, real talk has to resonate with contemporary social realities. Solo artist Ahmed commented on how the general population of Tunis is slowly changing their attitudes towards the music, as the lyrics increasingly respond to local realities; when non-rappers listen, he explains,‘they hear their problems in this music, you understand? It is their lives in our tongues.’The long-term outcome of such recogni- tion obviously remains to be seen, yet the artists that we met seem confident that rap is a more effective vessel for articulating these realities than other, more traditional forms of music. Similarly, Kahf argues that for Palestinian rappers, the elevation of the ‘uniqueness of hip-hop as a form of expression and resistance’is a crucial part of validating their authenticity as Muslim, Palestinian rappers (2007:362).Writer/ producer Kamel explained how‘popular music here istaboukah ...and some R‘n’B.

Traditional music is all tak tak,habibi, habibi, but life is not allhabibi habibi[my love, my love]!’This comment is met with much laughter, nods and agreement. 8‘Ena Arabe fakhour baseet, la khin fakhour bi ardi ow ardh ajdaadi bil Arab ikhwaani’.92008 figures put the official unemployment figure at 14.1%, though unofficial figures place it much higher. Due to the seasonal nature of much of the work in Tunisia, (most notably tourism and agriculture) figures are estimates at best.

42 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 Approaching rap as resistance begs the question, what is being resisted and how?

It seems that the resistive-elements of Tunisian rap take two broad forms, with starkly different political consequences. First, resistance to local and national conditions is a highly controversial trope and, whilst a recurring one, is potentially dangerous for artists. Envisioning rap as a sophisticated form of social critique demands a correspondence between local context and the speakability of it, which finds a particular intersection in Tunisia, where the realities that inspire the lyrics cannot simply be challenged or critiqued. It is necessary to mention at this stage the limits placed upon rap artists in Tunisia by strict regulations on freedom of speech, association and expression. 10 Government enforced restrictions on internet access, state actions against journalists and violent security responses to incidents of social unrest and protest are common, adding to an environment of insecurity and social frustration. A recent Amnesty International report stated that authorities continue to use their“security and counter-terrorism”concerns to justify arrests and other repression of Islamists, and political dissent in general —including the rights to freedom of expression, association and assembly— and arrests and harassment of alleged Islamist youth are common (2009: 6).

Limits on freedom of speech are subtle yet ever present, and the artists that we spoke to displayed a deep awareness of how their music is created within and against this backdrop. Whilst we were told that things have improved (the clampdowns on public concerts and seemingly random closure of rap events which were common in 2004/5 are less frequent at the time of writing, 2009) a culture of self-censorship is evident within lyrics and everyday discussions of anything that could have political undertones. Gangstas Wanted‘One-by-One’evinces such indirect self-censorship and simultaneously provides a critique of everyday conditions through metaphor; On the street I say oh my people jump in the palaces of the inferior, they turned you into plastic people/ It is the underground revolution!Magically I talk about what’s happening in my town, using my music. 11 A kind of utopian justice is promoted here; for‘the people’who are described as ‘plastic’(stripped of dignity, self-worth and individual power)‘jumping in the palaces’is presented as a metaphorical move to claim back power from the wealthy, and hip-hop is placed at the‘underground’centre of this move. Raps such as this one mention‘bad conditions’yet do not go into specific details about them, instead using metaphor and allegory (which are commonly understood by Tunisian listeners) to avoid potential critique, yet there is a sense that much is held back. When we asked an older artist‘what would you say about if you could rap about anything at all?’he laughingly responded;‘all the things I cannot say to you now, I would say it then.’In practical terms the lengthy bureaucratic processes and need for official permission to act in the public spaces renders production, performance and distribution precariously challenging. To make a music video, for example, it is necessary to be granted permission to record anything in public spaces, and as a film student 11‘Fi sharah akhi ah sha’bi nukuz fil abrage mteera ithul/ khalowkum people plastic/ underground tra revolution!/ Bi saher mnit kelim aley sigher fi hum bil musica mtayeh.’ 10For more information, see Amnesty International2009and Ben Mhenni2009.

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 4343 explained, subject areas that can be explored in film are severely limited. Returning to the question of authenticity, it is tempting to ask just how relevant it remains when exploring contexts where real talk is restrained before the lyricist’s pen is even picked up.

Artists are also keen to point out the‘bad conditions’around the world. This second form of resistance, the critique of bad conditions beyond Tunisia, is less likely to put the artists at risk and in some cases, (especially pro-Palestinian raps) is actively encouraged by the state. Our second visit to Tunis coincided with the Israeli offensive in Gaza, an event that shadowed our visit and was at the forefront of the artists’discussions, emotions, and lyrics. There was a tangible sense of frustration amongst the men, which is not simply a reaction to gross political and military injustices, but also a frustration at their inability to help change the situation in Palestine in direct ways. Hossam expressed his frustration in painfully eloquent terms, displaying unshakable links between the Palestinian struggle, shared membership of theummah, and gendered roles.

Their children are our children, their sisters are our sisters; 1,000 dead in 1 day, did you see it? Did you? ... But they don’t do anything. No one does anything ... I cry, you cry, he cries ... and will all our tears rain into Israel and flood [them]?

Palestine is repeatedly evoked as a symbol of continuing injustice in the world, one which has particular poignancy for Muslims everywhere and reverberates through Tunisian rap. Swedenburg makes a similar point in discussing the significance of the Palestinian struggle in the lyrics of UK group Fun-Da-Mental (2001: 60). Also, links between oil, wealth and international politics were raised on multiple occasions, with the current international power balance cited as an obstacle to Arab unity and economic progress. The artists expressed skeptical views of the ‘wars’in Afghanistan and Iraq, which accord with Zoubir and Aït-hamadouche’s observation that the overwhelming majority of the populations in MENA believe that the main objective of the Anglo-American operation was to control Iraqi oil wealth, consolidate Israel’s security and guarantee oil supplies to Israel (Zoubir and Aït-hamadouche2006: 44).

In this sense, rap can provide a forum for protest; against national, international and transnational political events and trends, yet as a form of resistance it remains within the limits set by the nation state. Gross et al. observe how World Beat discourses about Raï‘are essentially based on a projection of a white, Eurocentric model of the culture wars onto Algeria,’a projection which elevates the whole genre as a resistance movement whilst glossing over issues such as complicated relationships to the nation state (Gross et al.2002: 203). Thus it is clearly necessary to avoid romanticising all rap as resistance (which in itself ignores the diversity and locatedness of different artists and productions), yet within Tunisian rap, there are notable elements of political resistance taking place. These are nuanced and multifaceted; rap may be used as a vehicle for expressing frustrations against political climates, yet simultaneously it may display sophisticated use of metaphor as self-censorship, in order to protect the same artists from political ramifications.

44 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 Staged selves Nowhere is the potential for rap as action in itself more visible than in the artists’ relationship(s) to their stage performances, and their stage selves. 12 Significantly, the artists who are usually modest about their music and talent often describe their live performances in boastful terms, urge us to return in the summer to see them on stage, and on many occasions, show us DVDs of their past concerts, animatedly pointing out themselves, their clothes and their crews. The divergence in autobiographical attitudes and self-expressions that these stage performances evoke is striking; in such recollections, reference to their (own and others’) stage names is common, and the English term AKA (‘also known as’) is widely used. Yet in everyday social situations, they use their first names. Is it possible to read such performative elements of the artists’dual identities as expressions and affirmations of double consciousnesses? When asked the question‘who are you?’on stage, Hossam answered,‘me, I am me, and I am Achille. A different me!’This‘different’or ‘other’self appears closer to Hossam’s ideal(ised) hip-hop identity, where enactment and embodiment of the perceived roles of a hip-hop artist (such as aesthetics, body language, use of language and attitude) frees him to engage in a performativity that reflects a (self-perceived) truer self. This different self is there already, before the stage, even partially, propelling the artist onto the stage itself, yet depends on the public space within, and yet outside of the constraints of, the regulated public sphere. The performative aspects of double consciousness which emerges on stage/in staged spaces (arguably extendable also to coffee shops and the imagined listeners of all lyrical productions) are at once personal, individual and self-affirming and simultaneously, public, shared, collective and identity binding. The effectiveness of the performance rests upon the shared awareness of the framework of public performance—of the rap artist and persona—in contrast to the restrictions and shared reality of everyday, off-stage life. Ibrahim’s description of being on stage is typical; ‘I want to show myself to the world; I play by my feelings.’Such reported experiences include personal, collective, and public elements, which blend together into a particular freedom of being, and indicate the power of rap‘to call into being through performance new identities and subject positions’(Rose1994:21–22).

The artists’relationships with their staged selves and their everyday selves is thus negotiated in a performativity that takes a deeper resonance when on stage, and infuses the same lyrics with a stronger political, transformative potential than when they are free-styled in coffee shops. Hythem recounts how on stage There I am free. People are interested in me, in myself. It is like being president, my ideas matter, they care, everybody listens. I hope, one day, if we keep speaking, others will want to speak to.

The power that comes with performing on stage and having the chance to use a voice that is rarely heard outside close circles of friends is infused with political 12The artists perform in public at least twice a year in a variety of venues, such as summer festivals, nightclubs and self-organised concerts. Balti (who is more commercially successful) was said to perform a few times a month.

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 4545 power, with the aspiration of location, national and international transformation, with hip-hop providing the vehicle towards desired change. Small venues‘dramatically enable performances that question authority and challenge audience members to act for social change, even as they entertain’(Dowdy2007: 77). Through being on stage, the transformative potential of hip-hop’s performativity is transferred from the artists’lyrics to the audience which is where, as Hythem’s account above indicates, the possibility of real change lies. This possibility is rendered more precarious and precious because of the particular environment of rap concerts in Tunisia, where freedom of speech and expression are not necessarily guaranteed, and where the concerts themselves have frequently been closed down by local authorities.

Interpretations of Islam Tunisia is often described as the most liberal of Maghrebi countries, especially in terms of family law (Brand1998: 201). Like its regional neighbours it has struggled to achieve a balancing act between diverse, and often conflicting, trends within its society, a balancing act which has been contained, or some may argue, resolved, by carefully propagating a particular interpretation of Islam. As Lee explains,‘the Tunisian government now sees Islamism as its principal opposition and takes pains, as do so many Muslim governments, to clothe itself in an official, conventional Islam’(Lee2008: 159). The dramatic reinterpretation project begun by Bourguiba in 1956 was presented as a modern reading of Islam, which aimed to undermine any independent base of Islamist or traditionalist opposition ... not eliminating, but rather bringing under state control, all forms of civil society organization (Brand1998: 178–179).

Whilst Ben Ali’s government has elaborated upon Bourguiba’s reinterpretations of theology and at times engaged in an‘Islamization of official discourse’(Brand 1998: 192), the shift towards political and economic liberalization that Bourguiba’s reign effected remain in place (Charrad2001: 214). It is this reinterpretation which has facilitated the enactment of theology-inflected legislations, such as the dismantling ofshariahcourts and centres of Islamic studies and the prohibition of polygamy. Further, it has effectively recast public displays of religiosity as incompatible with the trajectory towards liberalism. If‘for Bourguiba, Islam represented the past, the West is Tunisia’s only hope for a modern future’(Esposito and Voll2001: 92), Islamic practice in the public sphere as a route to Tunisian modernity is rendered potentially precarious.

In this context the way that rap (a distinctly modern form of music and art) is used as a vehicle for interpreting and expressing religion offers an alternative route to locating religion in the public sphere. Interpretations of Islam are not something separate from the Tunisian rap scene; rather they are an integral part of the scene’s identity. Religion holds a central, relevant and vital part of the movement’s core in Tunis and by showing that religion remains relevant to their music and to their very existences, artists could be seen as adding to existing interpretative discourses on the meaning and place of Islam in the public sphere. Though all the artists we met subscribed to Sunni Islam, theological differences were notably downplayed; for 46 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 example in‘One-by-One’, Gangstas Wanted rap‘God willing I will end with the people of heaven/ with your hand on white Shi’ah or Sunni,’with white being used as a symbol of spiritual purity. 13 Mac, who describes himself lyrically in‘Just a Question of Time’as a‘son of the Sahara, Arab, Muslim, head to toe,’positions Islam at the‘beginning and the end’of his relationship to music. When we asked him how Islam affects his rap, he explained that Islam is my roots; I cannot move [away from] my roots. We do not talk about Islam exactly it is just there in every verse and ... you know, we are Muslims and we are artists.

Although Mac says that they do not talk about Islam explicitly, the omnipresence of Islam is central to their lyrical frame of reference; it is found in between verses dealing with all sorts of other subjects. Gangstas Wanted rap‘Arabi’became almost like a theme tune to our stay in Tunisia because it was played, freestyled and hummed so often by various artists. Amongst content rejoicing in (an almost utopian) Arab unity and Muslim brotherhood, we find the verse; I’m happy I am Muslim walking on the (straight) path, the finger of testimony always up; There is no god but Allah.

The word Muslim unites us all ...

This is what the Prophet said; The Qur’an is the source, its the law, its the distinction between good and bad, between oppressor and oppressed.

14 Appealing to Muslim unity, the transcendental character of religion and the traditions that form the roots of all other interpretations of Islam, the track returns its listeners to the key sources of Islam. Whilst the religious phrases chosen are not uncommon in everyday speech and interactions in Tunisia, the centrality of the sources to the rap is striking. As an interpretation of religion and its place in contemporary lives, it is one that effectively bypasses political debate over who can interpret Islam in Tunisia, and how. Considering how official interpretations may appear to refute the authority of thesunnahin certain areas (such as the prohibition of beards),‘Arabi’is a striking testimony to the prevailing importance and centrality of thesunnahandsirahin the rappers’lives, consciousnesses, identities and frames of reference. Religion is the force that unites the rappers here, and the Qur’an is the primary framework for social and ethical behaviour. Again, by appealing to the Qur’an as the highest authority, they are effectively returning to age old definitions of what Islam means, and doing so through undeniably modern routes.

Islam also functions in the rap scene as a connecting force.‘Arabi’draws heavily on themes of pan-Arab unity, and this rap elevates the potential of Muslim identity to 13‘Insh’allah wil khatma min ahl Jehnah/ min yiddek alla ubayid Shi’a wala Sunni.’14‘Muslim farhan nimshey ala as sirat/ subah shahada deyma il fouq; la illaha illah allah/ tajmana kilmit Muslimeen ... hadah she wasa Rasul, kitab il Qur’an whoah il mem bah, whoah el kahnoon, whoa iley ey faruk bayn il haqh wil batil, nayn addalim wa al mathloom.’ Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 4747 transcend all other identity positions and affinities. Although later in the track Hossam raps;‘there is no black and white, no difference between origins, in Islam,’ race is notably not discussed as a significant factor in this interepretation. The chorus states, in French, English and Arabic, a vivid aspiration of pan-Arabism and a celebration of the locatedness of Tunisian rap; Brother I’m so happy I’m an Arab.

We speak together, one language Arabic.

We pray together, we fight together.

Forever ever, I’m still Arab. 15 If the rap movement expresses pan-Arabism and international Muslim solidarity (particularly evinced in their unified concern for the Palestinian struggle) it is most vitally a vessel for brotherhood amongst Tunisian artists. The spaces where rap is written, produced, distributed, exchanged and listened to facilitate relationships centred around the music itself. Membership in a clan creates different modes of relating and identifying, modes which may, or may not, elaborate upon more traditional forms of belonging. Rap can thus serve to work out and consolidate individual and collective identities, whilst offering escape from the struggles of everyday life. Mac writes in‘Just a Question of Time,’ Satisfaction with my crew and with my section [area].

Despite the bad mentality and the bad conditions, Brother Mac gets called the scorpion. 16 In this rap it is precisely the‘bad conditions’that strengthen the locatedness and sense of belonging to a‘crew’, and it is the potential for being named that inspires the satisfaction within the section (geographical area), that is the focus of this rap.

Although clan membership in itself does not overtly challenge the political system or nation state,‘these musical forms fracture unity and promote a new model of heterological subjectivity that is not rooted in the political status quo’(Orlando 2003: 402). Significantly, it is individual talent that allows entry to clans, and in this sense at least, Tunisian rap provides artists with a space for community within the wider community. Like Raï, Potter suggests, hip-hop culture can function to create a ‘new vernacular’of‘insurrectionary knowledges’that are juxtaposed with traditional ‘historical societal forces’(Potter in Orlando2003: 402).

Halalvs.Haraam?

Many artists spoke of the negative images attributed to hip-hop in Tunisian society, blaming both the national media and American films which glorify‘gangsta’ violence. Considering the relationship of Islam to rap, it is worth remembering that ‘the issue of music and singing has always been surrounded by controversy’(Dien 2004: 138) in Islam, and the 1994 assassination of the Algerian Raï artist Cheb 15‘Arabe, fière de l’ètre frero I’m Arab/ We speak together, one language Arabi/We pray together, we fight together/ Forever ever, I’m still Arab.’ 16‘Satisfaction with my crew and with my section/ malgré la mentalité mauvaise/ and the bad conditions/ MAK frère nomé le scorpion.’ 48 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 Hasni evinces the contemporaneousness of the issue. 17 We were interested in how artists in Tunis, as Muslims, interpreted and articulated this relationship. When the issue was raised in discussion, the artists were divided; either they emphasized the potential to spread Islamic values through music, or they were adamant that rap is haraam, and that their involvement as artists is incompatible with their Muslim identities.

The first perspective focused on what may be termed the transformative potential of music; the artists’answers were cautious, yet generally well thought through. At a table with five artists, the eldest stated unambiguously‘it is not for you or for me to say it isharaam, only Allah can know,’and proceeded to cite a beautifulhadith;‘the distance between you and a decision is the distance between you and the [hell] fire’.

The other men nodded in agreement, and talked animatedly for a while, before the one seemingly acting as spokesman for the clan cites the elements of American hip- hop which strike him as evidentlyharaam, such as the use of female sexuality and bodies, the consumerism and the violence of the culture.

18 He concludes carefully; It is like a knife, for me, music. You can use it to kill someone or to cut meat to eat. For me it is like this. Look at D’Ali ... he is a discotheque manager and he just been to make hisjummah[prayers].

Other interviews echoed this sense of context, the importance ofniyat(intention), and the way that music can actually bring listeners and artists closer to Allah.

Hythem, a well-read and articulate 25 year old, talked about global (mis)perceptions of Muslims, and laughed dismissively over how‘they think Muslim equals terrorist; its not true!’He continued to stress that music can be a form ofda’wa(spreading Islam), in that it can bring knowledge to non-Muslims about what Islam really is, taking the form of a revolutionary message, hearkening back to what he termed‘the original heart’of Islam.‘In the music we will change the condition. We can use it to tell people about Islam - how it is here, and how it can be.’From this perspective, the transformative potential of rap can bring about positive change and is inherently tied up with the artists’own intentions and aspirations.

In contrast, a slightly older artist, Ibrahim, cast rap as a more negative force in his understanding of Islam and social conditions. He started rapping 12 years ago, is relatively successful and co-owns a recording studio. Ibrahim welcomed us to the studio in a suburb of Tunis, apologizing for the club-style display of alcohol. With all the trappings of a fully functional studio, the walls are painted graffiti style with prayer beads hanging over the multiple computers. He often chooses to stay overnight at the studio to work (rather than returning to his family home), and rents out the equipment to other musicians of all kinds. Unlike the younger artists, Ibrahim is cynical about the potential of rap to change anything in Tunisia, saying he‘can’t do a revolution by rap’and is now focusing on diverse musical genres. He played us his current project of classical style piano, he is involved in a soft rock band, and 17For an in-depth discussion of Raï in Algeria and France see Gross et al.2002.18This perspective is similar to that presented by the popular siteMuslim hip-hop, where music from, and information on, Muslim artists is offered online, supporting the argument that some music, if the focus is halal, can bring listeners closer to Islam, rather than further away. See for example‘Music in Islam,’Muslim hip-hop (MHH),http://www.Muslimhiphop.com. (accessed 10th of July 2009) Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 4949 self-describes as a musician, not a rapper. Although Ibrahim is one of the most successful artists in Tunis (a position confirmed by others’admiration for his work, and desire to‘make it’like he has) he presents a very different understanding of the relationship between Islam and rap.

I believe it isharaam. Allah did not put two hearts in one human. 19 I cannot love music and Islam. It is shame on me. I lost three prayers yesterday, and my prayers are so late. Always. Yes, it isharaam.

The tension within Ibrahim’s account cannot simply be understood as conflicting identities, although his perception of Muslim identity creates a debt-of-meaning which informs his artistic choices. Perhaps it is better seen as the way that the particular pulls towards action(s) and lifestyle choices play out in his self- consciousness, affecting his own self-perception as a precarious subject. Instead of positing rap as a transformative and positive sphere of expression, he views it as touching a weak point within himself, one inherently implicating his own spiritual struggles between right and wrong actions as a Muslim man. Although respectful of different opinions, Ibrahim is adamant that the music that he loves is keeping him away from his practice, that he‘loses’his focus when he is producing and that his inability to stop when he hears theadhan(call to prayer) is the work ofshaitan(the devil). 20 DuBois’s concept of double consciousness may be relevant at this point. In DuBois’s account the focus is on skin colour, yet the concept can usefully be applied to other experiences of a nuanced multiplicity of identities. Pattillo explains how DuBois’s double consciousness is not half of this plus half of that, but a full part of each; not this or that, but both. There is no middle in this formulation—no transitional point in a journey of migration, hybridization, and later-generation assimilation; no central actor linking organizational nodes (Pattillo2007: 115).

Within Ibrahim’s account of himself as a Muslim who is also a musician (within the hip-hop scene), the struggle for self-identity is very much entwined with the locatedness of both sides of his consciousness. He describes rap as‘like addiction, but I don’t smoke [grass] or drink,alhamdulillah[all praise belong to God].’He admits that many artists who come to his studio do drink, immediately locating the context of rap as part of the perceived problem, and cites the tendency towards un- Islamic lifestyles as one of the problems of the genre. Pattillo (2007: 115) renders double consciousness as not a‘split’between two parts of an individual identity, it is not about‘liminality, but simultaneity.’In Ibrahim’s case, the simultaneity of the environments that his double consciousness evokes is the difficult point; for him, the environment that rap exists within is a key obstacle to fuller realisation of Muslim consciousness. As a very talented musician who seems tormented by his love of hip-hop 19This is a reference to the Qur’an; 33:4.20Discussing raï artists in Algeria Schade-Poulsen noted as similar tension; whilst artists reported spiritual elements within the musical process, some also felt it kept them from complete religious observance (1999: 140).

50 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 and his interpretation of Islamic practice, Ibrahim states,‘I am fighting with myself, over music.’Such negotiations of consciousness require a never-ending chain of choices and modes of affiliation, modes which are at once responsive and self-determined. As Clifford writes on the pressures of maintaining a double vision within ones self- perception, this hooking-up and unhooking, remembering and forgetting, gathering and excluding of cultural elements—processes crucial to the maintenance of an ‘identity’—must be seen as both materially constrained and inventive. Of course it is difficult, analytically and politically, to sustain this double vision’ (Clifford2000: 97).

Aside from Ibrahim, three interviewees insisted that music in general and rap in particular isharaam,or at leastmukrouh(reprehensible), and indicated challenging dual affinities towards their talent and their interpretation of their faith. The new generation artists gave brief answers such as‘yes, it isharaam,onlydaff[a kind of drum] is really allowed,’and two further suggested that women’s voices are com- pletelyawra(not to be exposed in public), a view that proves particularly problematic for artists when production entails sampling female vocals, or having them in their videos. Aladdin, who we spoke to on many occasions, had his twenty-fourth birthday whilst we were there, and announced how he intends to‘start mydeen[religion] now,’ seeing it as a pivotal age. He takes his religion very seriously, echoes Ibrahim’sviews about the incompatibility of hip-hop with his interpretation of Islam, yet appears to currently have less trouble maintaining this double consciousness within himself.

Disciplined aesthetics vs. streetwear Aesthetics are central to hip-hop culture across the world, most visibly in streetwear, which plays a central role in hop-hop culture and is often‘virulently masculine’ (Fleetwood2005: 332). As Fleetwood writes, if‘the relationship between hip-hop music, specifically its lyrics, and fashion is mimetic ... clothing acts as the visual identifier of the sound’(Fleetwood2005: 329). The artists in Tunis reported that the aesthetics of rap are met with widespread negativity from Tunisian officials and wider society because of the image propagated by (American) films and perceived links between the music and gangster and/or Mafioso aggression. To dress as they perceive rappers should, could prove to be a barrier to employment, not dissimilarly to overtly Islamic apparel.

Tunisia’s 1990 official ban onhijabin civil buildings is enforced to varying degrees in different areas, 21 and it seemingly functions to remove particular forms of religious observance from public domains. Restrictions on male aesthetics are less 21During a visit to a large university in the suburbs of Tunis, a senior Professor estimated that one third of university students wearhijabon campus, despite the official ban. Ashijabis, we didn’t encounter any problems. However, many women confided to us of frequent, unpredictable harassment and refused entry by security forces at the gates to campus, the most extreme case being the actual pulling off of a woman’s scarf. They were keen to stress that enforcement is as much the whims of the particular officers as it was higher directives. (Interestingly, in towns in southern Tunisia the ban was more strictly enforced, with many women choosing between the scarf or employment in civic offices and universities).

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 5151 often commented upon. The government frowns upon male expressions of reli- giosity in the public sphere and wearing a beard and religious adornments can be a barrier to employment. The rules of public aesthetics may be understood as a disciplining of the visual, which takes a particular form for religiously observant members of the rap scene. One young artist exclaimed;‘Hijabandbarbis in the sunnah, but here, everything is forbidden [‘ala ici, tout interdemit’]. Where are we, Beirut or something?’The intentionally flippant rendering of the situation is enjoined with frustration at the divergences between official interpretations of Islam (and the selectivity of their applications), the Islam of traditional sources (such as the Prophet’ssirahandahadithcollections), and their own quests for individual and collective identity as Muslim men.

Hythem, who works as an administrator for a university, explained how he once, when he was‘more religious,’had a beard, but was pressured to remove it when looking for work, a pressure he once again met when he started wearing street wear.

As he explained,‘I like to look as is not okay now, no. If I wear like this [motions to baggies] I cannot work.’For Hythem, the need to belong is inherently entwined with appearances, or external regulation of aesthetics; the aspects of his identity expressed through how he dresses, walks, or wears his beard demand constant negotiation.

This is not a unique account. In interviews at the end of the artists’working day, for example, it was not unusual for them to turn up at the cafe in formal workwear, and before sitting down, pull on a t-shirt over their day clothes, add shades and lower a cap over their eyes. Further, at discotheques the artists wore American style baggies, caps and t-shirts, visibly and aesthetically embodying the music that they play and dance to (perhaps testifying to the globalising aesthetics of hip-hop culture).

Here the concept of double-vision resonates with the artists’attitudes to the aesthetics of streetwear which they juggle in the Tunisian public sphere. We observed a clear discrepancy between the artists’aesthetic image—what they feel they should/would/could wear to be rappers—andthewaytheydressedona daily basis. Returning to the lens of double vision, the artists’management of their dual identities appears to be heavily entwined with aesthetics through a sophisticated juggling of appearances and performances. Tate suggests that conceptualisations of double vision need to‘include the possibility for agency in the construction of identities in talk’(Tate2001: 211); what emerges here is the centrality of aesthetics for constructing and confirming identities which contain elements of double vision. If the artists display double perspectives of their selves, these positions yield nuanced relationships between external actions, choices of appearance and aesthetics, and expressions of agency, and its control, in the public sphere. The aesthetic changes that they embody, and undergo on a daily basis, hint at the performativity of aesthetics and the disciplining of appearances in public spaces. In Tunisia this aesthetic performativity could be interpreted as being similar to the guidelines for Islamic apparel; either can prove to hinder the individuals’employability and general acceptance in wider social spheres, yet both make demands on the artists’identity constructions. It seems that the very real need to be accepted in the public sphere requires the artists’understanding of hip-hop culture, rapper identity and Islam to be negotiated along already set lines.

52 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 Located masculinities Hip-hop cultural sites in Tunis are predominantly male. The scene is located in mixed venues, such as coffee shops and discotheques, yet the women who are involved in production seem to be either girlfriends or transient members, but not individual rappers or relatives of male artists (during our experiences at least). We were told that there are a few,‘maybe two or three,’female rappers on the scene, but were frustratingly unable to obtain any reliable information about them. 22 Whilst the younger artists expressed frustration about the expenses involved in marriage, they also displayed surprisingly conservative views on gender roles for married couples. (Surprising because such views stand in contrast to the attitudes shown in everyday mixed interactions). 23 One artist, who’d been married for a year, laughed that he tells his wife he’s going to listen to rap and drink coffee‘for my head.’When we asked his clan members about this, we were told that his wife‘stays at home, he doesn’t like her to come here or there, she doesn’t go for coffee and he stays home more now [that he’smarried].’Although perhaps an unusually conservative example, Ibrahim explained that his dream is to take his (future) wife and mother to live in Saudi, and practice what he called‘real Islam.’ Women are also conspicuously absent in their lyrics, which stands in sharp contrast to US rap where‘the representation of women as sexual objects for men’s use is a common trope’(Crossley2005: 506). When we asked a large group of artists how their music differs from their American counterparts, the lyrical placing of women was immediately raised. Following much animated discussion, Jamel explained, it is not the same image, women here is different, she is the inspiration beside you in struggle, she is ... she is not the subject, we don’t treat them like subject of music ... we don’t need to talk about them too much.

Such responses emerged as common and are certainly refreshing to hear against the oft-objectifying backdrop of mainstream US rap. In this regard the artists appear to differentiate between a conscious and commodifying depiction of women, and interpretations of gender-roles in Islam play a central role in this differentiation.

Arguably this differentiation is in line with the artists’overall critical approach to the dominant values of mainstream US rap, and is less about feminism in any form; more, it reflects contextually-specific conceptions of gender difference articulated against those purported by American artists. Whilst the quote above shows that women are not‘the subject’of raps, it also shows that gender is not an overt theme in the overwhelmingly male domain of Tunisian hip-hop.

Kamel explained that‘our sisters come to the concerts, our mothers, [so] we’re not permitted to swear or say bad words about women,’yet many of the tracks that we were played did contain words and terminology closer to misogyny than respect. 22This stands in contrast to raï’s gendered spaces and roles, wheresheikhat(female artists) have been fundamental to the history and development of the genre. Virolle suggests that in Algeria female performers open up spaces‘whereby masculine and feminine signs are superimposed, inverted, corresponding, and mutually nullifying’(Virolle2003: 226).

23For example, as the research progressed we faced the experience of being offered‘hugs’by some of the artists, something completely novel to us within a mixed Muslim context.

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 5353 Inclusion of female-derogatory terminology and slang in Tunisian rap could arguably be seen as less about mainstream hip-hop values, and more as reflective of traditional Tunisian patriarchal Arab attitudes towards women, and male unease with the speed at which gender roles are changing in Tunisia. This unease also emerged in discussions of female involvement in hip-hop production; the younger generation of artists were completely comfortable discussing rap with female friends and dancing together in nightclubs yet simultaneously displayed unease around the use of female voices, samples and bodies in music videos.

Such answers placed us (as consumers of rap, as feminists and as Muslim women), in an interpretative dilemma; it would be impossible to gauge just how much of the artists’responses were affected by our gendered presence, and by the multiple different ways of relating which our locations as researchers produced. It is clear, however, that the ways in which attitudes towards gender intersect with the Tunisian hip-hop scene are nuanced and multifaceted. The artists’hopes for their own futures contrast with their unmarried behaviour in mixed settings, for example, and whilsttheyinsistthattheirmusicismore respectful to women than that of their US counterparts, the inclusion of some female-derogatory terms curiously contradicts that. Is this an example of how double consciousnesses can play out against social and cultural backdrops? If the self-perception of rap artists requires acertain kind of embodiment of action and attitude, do the misogynistic frameworks of reference so embedded within mainstream hip-hop culture cast a particular light upon the gendered sides of rappers’double consciousnesses? At the veryleast the gendered attitudes of the artists contain a selective adoption and creative criticism of US rap which is continued into their music. In conversation they would frequently speak scathingly of the egotism and materialistic lifestyles promoted therein, and we were intrigued by how the artists’own lyrical content is negotiated alongside the hip-hop culture broadcast by MTV Arabia and similar medias.

I am sorry to say this to you but most of it is bullshit. Everything bling bling, women, cars, money, clothes; this is what they do. If you look at any of them ... [like] 50 Cent ... this is their life. They think this is life?

Whilst Kamel states he has a lot of respect for the production industry and musical talent of many American artists, he takes a selective approaches to what is included in his own music. The raps discussed here use diverse music samples. For example, in‘One-by-One’the sound is incredibly Arabic; synthesised samples of Arabic flute and oud-like string instruments are interspersed with a standard rap beat. However, there is also a continuous return to reggae chants in the background, and a heavily patois accent is used throughout the chorus. In contrast,‘Arabi’is much closer in style to a West coast/LA sound and contains no Arabic style samples. Instead it is a composition of different melodies with a distinctively (Western) classical tone, clustered around orchestral strings and piano-orientated crescendos. Amongst the artists who identify as‘new generation’there is a distinctive reggae influence on the composition, words and samples used; for example, young solo artist Weld 15 raps about Islam in a track entitled‘Soldiers of Jah’sarmy.’Such attitudes of critical consumption and sample selections indicate that the 54 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 rhizomic globalization of rap is not a simple instance of the appropriation of a U.S./African-American cultural form; rather, it is a linguistically, socially, and politically dynamic process which results in complex modes of indigenization and syncreticism (Pennycook2007: 107).

Clearly, far from a neat admiration of all things western, artists such as Kamel are responding critically to the superficiality and ethical framework which mainstream American rap can reproduce. D’Ali elucidates on his own relationship to US rap as ‘we are not obligated to take all parts, we don’t imitate. I like the clean rappers, not the dirty parts of it, like Common.’In this sense, mainstream rap is like much of American culture which‘is imitated and admired ... yet at the same time it is contested’across the world (Zoubir and Aït-hamadouche2006: 51).

Between the ink and the feather: conclusion This paper has discussed rap in Tunisia from a variety of angles, including gender, aesthetics, authenticity and censorship, social conditions, external restraints and interpretations of Islam. The concept of double consciousness has been a useful lens through which to view some of the apparent contradictions within the artists’ identities and we have suggested that a degree of‘double vision’is forced, to a certain extent, by restraints on agency in the public sphere. Social and structural constraints render the current hip-hop scene in Tunis challenging and frustrating; to be an artist is not to expect financial or even public rewards, and, as we heard in numerous variations, rap‘is not a life’in Tunisia. However, there are some exceedingly talented artists whose devotion to the genre is enabling the scene to grow, if slowly. Opportunities provided by cyber networking resources and advances in production technologies 24 are increasingly rendering auto-production a more feasible option, which will surely diversify the future of the scene. In terms of religion, the Tunisian rap scene testifies to the power of‘Islamic hip-hop ... [which] has emerged as a powerful internationalist subculture for disaffected youth around the world (Aidi2004: 124). The interpretations of Islam found within the artists’ lyrics are absolutely situated within the Tunisian context, and the employment of a framework informed by Sunni Islam is strikingly different to the ones used by the Muslim artists that they admire in the American context. This fidelity to Muslim identity intersects, as we have seen, with rappers identity construction in diverse ways in Tunisia. The majority of artists interviewed cite the transformative, positive potential of rap to bring listeners closer to Islam. However, the synthesis of identity affiliations is far from simple. Attitudes towards women, for example, and Ibrahim’s summary‘I am fighting with myself’testify to the dual-vision which artists may express in synthesising these different aspects of being Tunisian, Muslim rappers.

Tunisian rap emerges as a powerful vehicle for self-expression, one which is firmly situated within the artists’geographies and biographies, whilst simultaneously looking beyond national boundaries. By focusing on Palestine as a site of gross 24Programmes such asCubaseandFruity Loopsare dramatically changing the landscapes of production, enabling artists to create and auto-produce their raps at home. Copies of such programmes are widely available in Tunis’s markets for as little as 1 Dinar, (50 pence) at the time of writing.

Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 5555 injustice the artists also strengthen transnational connectivities as Muslim men and as Arabs, and offer support for a cause that unites and mobilises emotional responses. Rap is posited by the artists as a form of resistance; by articulating what they see as the‘bad conditions’that surround them (both locally and globally), the artists at once draw attention to their own streets and the multiple politics embedded therein. In the track‘Just a Question of Time,’T Men say‘lyrics are like bullets; hip- hop is the foundation of the revolution.’ 25 Here the pen is adorned with the power to resist, as a weapon to be employed in the defence of Tunisians, 26 and in depicting himself as an Arab Tunisian warrior, 27 Mac’s lyrics point towards the potential for change that rap as a genre can predict, articulate, and even help effect.

I take my pen, raise it up like a katana [sword].

I speak Tunisian, going to Tunisians, just let me speak Tunisian. 28 It must be noted, however, that for all the revolutionary potential hinted at within the lyrics, the artists are less clear about the transition from rap as performative resistance to solid political change. We have suggested that the stage allows the artists to perform their other selves, embody their ideal/ised understandings of rapper masculinity and aesthetics, and move towards desired social change. Remembering Hythem’s statement about being on stage,‘I hope, one day, if we keep speaking, others will want to speak too,’indicates the potentiality within rap as a form of communication and political mobilisation. Yet as the lyrics above suggest, the desire to be allowed to speak freely is omnipresent; even on stage the constraints on freedom of speech limit just how far‘keeping it real’can take this mobilisation.

Whilst it is necessary to avoid romanticising rap as resistance, it is clear that Tunisian rap does contain political potentialities; simultaneously, it may also function to reinforce dominant notions of the nation state and interpretations of religion. Further, the way that gender roles and performativity interact with the rappers’self-identities is far from a neat genealogy. Though artists display critical attitudes to the materialism promoted by mainstream American rap and claim that women have a different place within their culture and thus their music, their lyrics were not completely clean. Rather, they do include female-derogatory phrases and terminology, which could be seen as a reflection of the rappers’propagation of situated patriarchal attitudes. This is also suggested by the duality that the men display in terms of everyday gender relations; whilst they are comfortable in mixed social settings, conservative views of gender roles emerge when the issue of marriage is raised, and this is as significant for considering gender in their music as the place of women in mainstream American rap. In this sense rap can be seen as perpetuating dominant attitudes and social frameworks as much as it provides spaces for their 25‘Lyrics comme les balles, revolution hip-hop sas.’26Lyrically linking the potential of the pen with weaponry is of course nothing new in rap, hearkening back to Tupac’s words‘so I fight with my pen’(To Live & Die in L.A.,1996).

27‘Harbi Toonsi Arbi.’28‘Je tire mon stylo il fouq comme un katana. Kalami Toonsi, meshi il Toonsi, khaleni net kalem Toonsi.’ 56 Cont Islam (2011) 5:37–58 contestation. As female rappers carve out their own place within the Tunisian hip-hop scene this will invariably change. The self-censorship that the Tunisian context de- mands is another area that is at once (arguably necessarily) perpetuated and contested.

Overall, the scene facilitates relationships and a sense of belonging where identities can be worked out and consolidated. In this sense, Tunisian rap can be seen as‘serving to establish and contribute towards the formation of ethnic and geographic identities, while carving out‘spaces of freedom”(Whiteley2005: 8). Tunisian rap is firmly located in the streets that inspire it, yet it also turns beyond Tunisia; within such spaces of freedom, there is much potential. The artists’lyrics indicate that desire for social change is widespread; yet rap is also, for these artists, an intensely personal and spiritual endeavour, one where conflicts of religious interpretation, globalisation, masculinity, nationality and belonging can be worked out. As Arab Muslim Tunisian men, rap is a central aspect of the artists’identities and is further a route to discovering identity; as Mac freestyles in a busy street cafe,‘Ifindmyselfbetweentheinkandthe feather, and on one piece of paper I started to express myself.’ 29 AcknowledgementsWe are grateful to the anonymous reviewers and editor atContemporary Islamfor their support and suggestions, and to Sahar Alnaas and Steve Presence for their parts in greatly improving the final version. We also owe a massivemerci alikto Madame Hyat and all the Tunisian brothers who made this research possible.

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