And that's the word on the Arab street.
In the run-up to the Iraq War in 2003 it was every self-proclaimed terrorism expert's favorite catchphrase. There was an idea floating about that there was a lot of pent-up resentment among people all across the Arab world, and the "Arab Street" became shorthand for all the political frustrations they harbored but were unable to voice. Along with the notion that Saddam had WMDs stashed in secret Baathist bunkers, the myth of the Arab street became one of the prime justifications for the American invasion of Iraq.
They really want us to come; they just can't say it.
And we-the pimply-faced teenagers we were back in high school-watched as embedded journalists chronicled how initial success turned into prolonged failure. We were all surprised that Iraqi goodwill quickly dissipated and how all the latent resentment on the Arab street actually turned out just to be resentment toward the United States.
It's no surprise that the phrase quickly fell out of the broadcasters' lexicon, and became-by 2005-what Christopher Hitchens of slate.com labeled a vanquished cliché.
But maybe we can resuscitate it, though not in the way it was used before.
Americans politicians love public opinion polls, but there is a comparative lack of awareness about foreign public opinion, and more specifically about foreign public opinion about the United States.
If you ask somebody living under an autocratic regime about his or her government, you'll get the party line. But if you ask them about America, you might just get an honest opinion.
That's what this column is about: my attempt to discover what people in developing countries like Egypt, think about the U.S. and why.
And what they say, as many travelers will tell you, is fascinating.
Many of those conversations, though scathing, belie the fact that the rest of the world still believes in the principles and values of the United States. If they didn't, they wouldn't claim the U.S. is being hypocritical.
People around the world expect America to be better, because-at a basic level-there is the notion that the United States is fundamentally different than other major powers like Russia and China, that we do have a certain set of ideals.
So maybe it's time we go back to the Arab street, but this time to listen. Maybe we can still save that vision of America.
For the next four months, I'll be in Cairo, Egypt-a city which in many ways is the beating heart of the Arab world. A city denser than Calcutta, India, crowded along the banks of a river that gives life to the desert.
In many ways, Egypt is to the Middle East what America is to the world. It is the regional power, an economic and cultural titan that sets the agenda for the region.
Different dialects of Arabic are sometimes mutually unintelligible from one another, but everyone-because of the popularity of Egyptian films and TV shows-can understand the Cairene dialect: A Syrian might not be able to speak to a Moroccan, but they both watch the same Egyptian satellite TV channels when they go home at night. In many ways, Egypt leads and other Arab countries follow.
The Middle East is a region that is often shrouded in misinformation for me and for a lot of other Americans. Though going to Cairo to get a sense of Egypt is a little like going to New York City and expecting to understand America, I do know hope to learn enough to debunk a few of those myths.
After all, it's time we listened to people in the Arab world, instead of just talking about them.
Yousef Abugharbieh is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Monday.
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