Al-Ahram Weekly On-line 7 -13 December 2000 Issue No.511
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Mahmoud Salem: Managing creativity The scenery changes, but the heart is constant Profile by Fayza Hassan

Many Egyptians who have settled successfully in the West generally display one of two attitudes: either they never come back and do their utmost to forget their roots; or they return diligently to visit family and friends -- almost, one could believe, to inflict their superior new status on them. A minority retraces their steps armed with good intentions, wishing to put their newly acquired knowledge at the service of their country. Mahmoud Salem belongs to this third category.

At present professor of global strategic management at Woodbury University (Burbank, California), Salem has traveled all over the Americas and Europe, as well as spending time in the Gulf. Through all the years he has lived abroad, his love for Egypt has remained vivid and he has taken every opportunity to keep abreast of the news here. He is slightly disappointed in his intellectual friends, however; he says they have missed many opportunities to make a difference, never moving beyond the stage of heated -- and inconsequential -- political and academic arguments, whiling away their lives in the various cafés of the capital.

When he arrived here on a recent visit, the Intifada of Al-Aqsa was just gathering momentum. Had he chosen to schedule his trip now because relations with some of his colleagues were becoming uncomfortable? The question begs to be asked. Salem denies that any acrimony exists, however; the members of the faculty are always civil with each other, although they may disagree on important issues. Of course the subject of the Intifada has come up, as well as the antagonism that keeps growing between the Arab world, America and Israel, but from the way he describes it, the dialogue with his colleagues remains dignified, although one suspects that everyone's deeper sympathies are not necessarily divulged.

Then again, why should they be, he seems to imply, from the vantage point of a person who does not think that life is about spilling the contents of one's soul to every Tom, Dick and Harry. He appreciates people who have mastered the art of conversation, expressing their point of view calmly and clearly without having to revert to slogans or slurs. He considers this aptitude a sign of intellectual sophistication. Even for someone just making his acquaintance, it is obvious that Salem prefers impersonal debates. He comes across as extremely reserved, shy maybe, and definitely not given to loud outbursts. He probably shuns inordinate eruptions of anger as much as he discourages excessive intimacy, a trait that becomes apparent as soon as the conversation veers towards his personal life. He was married once and the marriage ended: that is all he is prepared to say. He is not terribly forthcoming about his parents, siblings or school years either, probably because he is not fond of dwelling on the past, at least not in public. He mentions in passing that he has a sister who lives in Jacksonville, Florida; then follows this information with the comment that he has visited St Petersburg in that same state, but fails to mention his sister again.

An initial Ford Foundation grant launched Salem on his American career. A PhD at the University of Washington in Seattle followed a master's at UCLA. He had received his BA in business administration from Cairo University, the longed-for conclusion, as far as his father was concerned, to a scholarly primary and secondary education at Helmiya Al-Thanawiya, reputed to be among the best schools in the country -- "you have destroyed it now," he says reproachfully -- as well as a stint at a secondary school in Assiut, where his father, who was appointed to the Ministry of Education, had been posted for a while.

Salem himself did not relish business administration. His preferences, he says, were literary. He wrote poetry as a teenager, a surprising admission from someone so private. At one point, he even thought seriously of shifting the focus of his studies and going along with his inclination, rather than continuing on a path that was more realistic career-wise. Such a momentous decision frightened him, however. In the end, he settled on a compromise. He enrolled in a special PhD programme involving courses in business administration, but with an emphasis on the administration of cultural bodies such as theatres, opera houses and large galleries. The curriculum also included classes in anthropology and sociology, which captured his imagination for a while.

He wrote his dissertation on the management of opera houses. Having graduated, he realised that he was now at a crossroads, but he felt that he had not yet found himself. Should he embrace an academic career in the United States? Although he does not say so, one can easily imagine that he was rather lonely, but unwilling to admit it to himself. The mention of friends does not feature in his narrative. Should he leave, abandoning promising prospects, and return to Egypt, where he knew he could find the warmth he was craving? He had done extremely well for himself, after all, and, unlike many Egyptians of his generation, found a niche in a country in which he discovered every day a distinctiveness that he admired. Finally he made up his mind and returned to Egypt nevertheless. He confided his doubts to his father, who advised him to pay a visit to the renowned journalist, Mustafa Amin. Salem expected much from this meeting. Wasn't he well equipped to launch himself in a career in journalism? He did not mind the idea, he had always wanted to write and in this position, he would be able to do something worthwhile for his country. Amin did not even address the matter. He was more concerned with advising him to go back to the US at once, to learn more, as much as he could. Maybe one day, he would return to make a real contribution to his country. "But not just yet," he told him, dismissing him with a smile.

"I have not wished to grow roots anywhere... if I wanted roots I would have stayed in Egypt"

Salem considered that during his years in the US he had learned all the English he needed and the idea of more of the same did not excite him. He set out to learn Spanish and traveled to Porto Rico instead, where he was employed as a teacher. Still, he was not entirely happy and felt isolated from the important events that were shaping the world in the late 1970s. The Middle East was in effervescence and he could not imagine himself staying away. This, he decided, was where he really ought to be. At the first opportunity he packed his bags and went to Saudi Arabia; but two years in Jeddah cured him for a while of his desire to live in the Arab countries. Back to Porto Rico and then to the US, he explored the many facets of American academia, moving restlessly to various states and exploring different universities where he would stay a year or two, until he eventually was introduced to a group wanting to set up an institution of higher education in Oman.

He was lured to Oman by the description supplied by a member of the group, according to whom it was the Singapore of the Middle East. "In fact, it wasn't," comments Salem. "This person lied to me because he had learned of my bad experience in Saudi Arabia and assumed that I would refuse to go, unless he made it attractive in some special way. I fell in love with Oman for other reasons though, and in my mind I now refer to it as the Magic Kingdom," comments Salem, who not only stayed with the delegation but returned the following year. "It is a beautiful country," he adds enthusiastically, "and the Omanis are a different breed." He remained a long time in Oman, almost six years, but then he began to feel that the dreaded mental and emotional dryness he had experienced so often was plaguing him again. It was time, once more, to move on. He had loved the place for its order and harmony and the people for their immense kindness, but neither provided the intellectual nourishment that he craved.

During the whole conversation, whenever Salem mentions a change of venue and a new appointment, he uses the formula "I spoke to people" or "people spoke to me" in referring to the negotiations leading to his seeking or accepting a new position. There is not the slightest hint at whom these people might be or how he managed to be posted to the universities of his choice. Pressed, he shrugs. "Just people," he says impatiently, waving the question away. "I have always been interested in globalisation on the one hand and art management on the other, and when the chance came to be involved in teaching both, I grabbed it." This is how he began his stint at Woodbury University.

Burbank, where the university is situated, is ten miles away from Hollywood and he teaches courses in management of the movie industry. This is what he wanted to do all along, but the field was practically inexistent until recently: few universities offered a complete programme in the subject. Now, at least professionally, he is satisfied. "Woodbury University is rather small and not known in Egypt, where you are only acquainted with the names of Ivy League colleges. People are only impressed by names like Harvard, MIT, UCLA, Princeton and so on. For me, however, because I see things from the inside, the size or international reputation of a university does not matter. What matters is what I am doing." Salem is not worried that this university, like the numerous other ones at which he has taught, does not offer tenure or any form of permanence. Permanence, as a matter of fact, is what he dislikes most. "I have not wished to grow roots anywhere," he says, "if I wanted roots, I would have stayed in Egypt. At one point I was offered a job as a television anchor. I have a good voice and an excellent command of the Arabic language, but what stopped me was the fact that in the end it would be a sedentary kind of life. I wanted to travel constantly to new horizons. Don't I like travelling, Gomaa?" he asks the famous cartoonist, an old friend. Gomaa confirms that Salem has a passion for travelling, "although," he adds, "rarely have I seen someone so attached to his country; but he has itchy feet and cannot stay in one place for long." At this point Salem interjects that although he has lived many years in the US, he is still an authentic Egyptian and will always remain so. Actually, teased about his American passport, he becomes defensive at once and the subject is hastily dropped.

Salem left Egypt on 22 July 1966. The following day, a ban on travel for Egyptians was instated. Had he waited a day longer, his fate might have been entirely different. It would have been a tragedy for him, he insists. His favourite books had been Jules Verne's Around the World in 80 Days and all the travellers' tales he could lay his hands on. He had devoured them, dreaming about becoming an explorer or a foreign correspondent, moving from one area to the other, as a keen observer of historic events. Meanwhile, he had been very active in producing his school's megallet heit, (literally, wall magazine: the name given to the very popular practice in schools and universities of pasting articles written by the students on a wall reserved for this purpose.) Salem remembers with a wry smile one of the boys he had prevented from contributing to the magazine because he had judged the articles unworthy; the thwarted schoolmate is now a famous journalist. Gomaa joins him in his mirth, reminding him of how abrupt he had been on that occasion.

This was child's play, however, a way to pass time until real life beckoned. He never had any doubt that he would manage to travel extensively and worked hard at making it happen. He was infinitely curious about the world and its inhabitants, the one obsession that never waned with time. Maybe this is why he is so passionate now about globalisation. It is his way of being everywhere at the same time. And where to, now? He intends to stay at Woodbury University, where he feels enriched by his work, but of course there is the prospect of traveling during the summer holidays. "I think I'll visit Ghana this time," he says nodding. "I have not seen much of Africa yet."

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