JEDDAH, 30 August 2004 — Having recently discovered Reality TV, part of the ART satellite network, I found myself drawn to a show called “Cheaters.” The aim of the program is to conduct surveillance to expose and film America’s husbands, wives, boyfriends and girlfriends in the very act of cheating on their supposedly “significant” other. The show, though quite entertaining, is considered by many to be pure trash TV.

To some, the show constitutes a gross invasion of privacy but to others, it serves sweet justice while others see it as a deterrent. The show’s very existence has sparked heated debate between conservatives and liberals with the issue being how much press freedom is too much. As much as many people would like to see a Saudi version of “Cheaters”, it is a sure bet that it will never happen here.

In many countries, if a person is in a public place, he or she is considered “fair game” for photographers. It is only when a person is behind closed doors that the invasion of privacy becomes illegal and a liability. The public place clause is what allows news photographers and paparazzi to operate. Here, in Saudi Arabia, photography of any kind in a public place will bring the immediate attention of the police. For obvious security reasons, photography of any public buildings, national monuments, palaces, ministry offices, residential compounds, consulates, embassies, as well as military installations will almost certainly result in police attention for the photographer.

The debate about camera-equipped mobile phones and the problems they may cause has received a great deal of coverage in the Saudi press — more than in any other country — an indicator that cameras tend to make people here frown instead of say “cheese”.

Most news media photographers working in the Kingdom know this and keep it in mind every time they go out on assignment. Many, including myself, have had digital cameras, memory chips and press credentials confiscated. We have spent many a sweaty minute in the back of a police car, explaining why we are there and what we are doing. The most common question we are asked is, “Do you have a permit?”

Our official press credentials issued by Arab News and Asharq Al-Awsat, if not confiscated, are often tossed aside as if they were useless pieces of plastic, better used for fanning yourself in the hot police car while dreaming of air-conditioning.

The morning of the Yanbu attacks, several photographers and journalists descended on the city. I drove there, spending several hours without any problems interviewing eyewitnesses as well as hospital and police personnel; most were willing to share their stories. As I went around Yanbu, I saw a crowd and went to see what was attracting them. What I saw was a dead terrorist with the bomb disposal unit working to defuse the bomb-belt strapped to his waist. Naturally I pulled out my camera to capture what would have been the next day’s front page photo. An undercover policeman saw me and deliberately stepped in front of me to block the shot (which I still managed to get). He then promptly summoned a uniformed policeman who immediately confiscated my camera, memory chip and press credentials.

“Do you have a permit to photograph here?” asked the policeman.

“I work for Arab News and Asharq Al-Awsat,” I replied. “You have my press pass in your hand.”

“This is not enough,” he told me. “You need a permit to take pictures here.”

Thinking it a simple matter like asking a high-ranking officer, I asked, “Whom do I get a permit from?”

“The Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of Information,” he replied.

This policeman could not see the impossibility of what he was asking me to do. I imagined myself at both ministries a few days earlier, saying, “I would like to apply for a permit to photograph a terrorist attack that will happen in Yanbu next Saturday morning. I would particularly like permission to photograph the dead terrorist with the bomb strapped to his waist as he lies in a pool of blood in front of the stolen coast guard patrol jeep.”

There was simply no logic involved. If I were to follow this policeman’s advice, I would be the laughing stock of two ministries and in jail besides.

The uniformed policeman rudely took my camera and credentials and grabbed me by the arm; he then told me I was under arrest and had to go with him. When he was asked to remove his grip on my arm in no uncertain terms, he told the undercover officer to stay with me until he came back. He then marched off, seemingly pleased with his capture. A few minutes later, a police lieutenant ordered my release without my memory chip.

That was the last I saw of that memory chip, and the dozens of images on it. As a result of this policeman’s action, the millions of people who read Arab News’ printed and Internet editions were cheated, and never got to see the scene that was played out that afternoon in Yanbu.