Internet activists, documenting living conditions and expressing their sense of injustice, were important to the Arab Spring. Most were 20-30 year olds from the urban middle class with little experience of activism, who insisted that what they did was apolitical. Repression united them: “When Ben Ali was in power, there were a couple of hundred cyber dissidents. It was us against everyone else,” says Tunisian blogger Hamadi Kaloutcha (1). “The internet police tried their best to undermine our credibility. In the end this helped us, because it forced us to show we were serious.”

They have much in common, but their character is strongly affected by their country: in Morocco the best-known are engineers and journalists, in Tunisia they tend to be in culture and the arts.

The media celebration of Tunisia’s “Facebook revolution” does not help us understand why the enthusiasm of the bloggers has turned to disillusion. One blogger, Manichaeus (2), wrote: “They are in mourning.” The internet had made them aware they hated the regime and could publicly criticise it. Everyone we spoke to mentioned the pioneering role of Tunezine, an opposition website launched in 2001 by the economist Zouhair Yahyaoui, the “cyber martyr” (3). Using the web allowed them to distance themselves from the regime and Tunisian society. Some bloggers pursued literary ambitions by chronicling daily life and the worries of real people. They were criticised, intimidated by police, and Fatma Arabicca was arrested in 2009, although later released after a national and international campaign (4).

Cacophony among the networks

In turn the bloggers targeted and taunted “Amar 404” — an imaginary character who flashes up “Error 404”, telling users that a particular web page is “not found”. In 2010, the authorities censored Facebook. An online petition gathered more than 10,000 signatures, and in an unprecedented move, some officially requested permission to hold a protest against censorship on 22 May 2010. They gave up the idea after being questioned by the police, but invited everyone to gather on the main street in Tunis wearing a white T-shirt. Yassine Ayari (5), an instigator of the action, said it was a turning point.

That December, they received and posted images of the police shooting at young demonstrators. They felt an extraordinary surge of national solidarity, which drove them on to the streets and kept them up all night at their computers, posting images of protests and police brutality.

With hindsight, this was the moment when a community united, and then crumbled. Ben Ali’s departure was celebrated in a surge of national unity but it also marked the return of divisions. Without their common enemy, the bloggers became political rivals. Relations were undermined by infighting, suspicion and defamation: “We don’t know who is our enemy anymore,” said A Tunisian Girl (6), who has a big media profile in the West. “We are divided now. Some bloggers stand by each other, others don’t.” Hamadi Kaloutcha is also disillusioned: “Since 14 January 2011, there is such a hubbub on the internet that we can’t think clearly any more. It is difficult to make ourselves heard for infighting.” Social networks have had a huge influx of new members, including many who spread false information and tamper with videos and photographs. The result is cacophony.

Enthusiasm among media commentators for the role of social media in the Tunisian revolution has overshadowed the experience of the activists. Their helplessness and confusion should be heeded, even though it contradicts what the world has come to believe. Western governments, media and researchers who consider the bloggers to be the legitimate voices of the Tunisian people may not have helped the unity of progressive forces.  

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