First things first: it is hard to be a blogger without reliable internet. It's also very embarrassing not to have reliable internet in New York. How does that even make sense? Well, I'm not going to explain it here. But I will blame the delay between this 'review' and the day I saw the film in question (April 30th, at the Tribeca Film Festival) on that particular problem.
Moving on:
Let me first state the obvious: you should watch Koran by Heart. I heard it's going to be on HBO at some point - keep your eye on filmmaker Greg Barker for news there. The story pretty much makes itself - adorable, intelligent, charming children with beautiful voices, competition, long difficult journeys, language barriers, bonds between parents, etc. etc. Somewhere between my last year of high school and my first year of grad school I became the sort of person who cries at the mere mention of 'Extreme Makeover: Home Edition' even though I don't watch the show. So even as I sat there scribbling notes as fast as I could, tears were running down my face (for happy reasons! sad reasons! reasons I can't explain!). Thank God movie theaters are dark.
However, like most students in this field, I lost my ability to just shut up and let myself be entertained a long time ago. Just recently I walked into my youngest brother and sister's dance competition to see a team of primarily white suburban New Jersey girls performing a very intricate, skilled rendition of some sort of Bollywood/Bharatanatyam dance, plus requisite high kicks and triple turns...to Arabic music. In bright orange harem pants, belly shirts, and scarves. The oldest members of the team were teenagers, and they were all really, really good. Every detail perfectly executed and perfectly in sync. But ahh...the headache came immediately.
So here are my complaints about what was otherwise one of the most promising examples I've seen of a blooming genre in film, I'll call it Movies-to-Make-You-Like-Muslims- closely related to Movies-to-Explain-Islam, often with nobler intentions, though often equally misguided.
1) The three main characters in the film are ten year old children from Senegal, Tajikistan, and the Maldives. For some reason, we never see a city or town name for these places, though the footage from each child's home country is made to stand up against Cairo, an imposing cityscape that gets its own sped-up, frantic, urban-life montage. Since Nabiollah Saidov from Tajikistan travels within his country, we do get a sense of the difference between his own very rural area and the capital city where he hopes to attend boarding school. The audience never learns which particular island Rifdha Rasheed hails from in the Maldives. Since most people in the U.S. have likely not even heard of the Maldives, we can maybe offer Barker a pass for just letting American audiences know that it exists! In the Indian Ocean! - even if these audiences never learn, say, whether the Maldives is one island, two islands, or twenty six. But the footage from Djamil's home in Senegal really bugged me. It seemed somehow unfair, and too easily in line with stereotypical portrayals of Sub Saharan Africa. Senegal is represented by a village setting, and that setting alone - Egypt by its largest city, and that city alone.
2) The filmmakers also left out some rather important details. For example, though Rifdha is a very successful student who wants to be an explorer, and her mother clearly wants Rifdha to continue studying science in addition to religion, one moment of serious tension in the film comes when Rifdha's father says that his dream for his daughter is that she'll get a religious education and ultimately be a housewife. In a Q&A session after the film, one of the Associate Producers told us we should all know that Rifdha's mother works. Why wasn't that information in the film?
Secondly: While watching we learn that Nabiollah's rural, one-room school has been shut down as part of a government crackdown on "Islamic extremism" in Tajikistan. Again, in the Q&A after the film some audience members asked for clarification. Was this some sort of blanket crackdown? Did it have more to do with politics? Or was Nabiollah's teacher really promoting extremism? The answer turned out to be that the government in Tajikistan was simply shutting down all small, rural schools dependent on the instruction of only one teacher, since it is difficult for the state to supervise or control what happens in such classes.
I'm not sure why a documentary that was otherwise well-crafted, beautifully filmed, compelling, and clearly assembled by people familiar with the material needs to have these sort of slips - to me it looks like sloppiness, since I don't think it was their intention to portray Nabiollah's school as a bastion of extremism (the film actually includes a very sympathetic interview with Nabiollah's teacher after the shutdown), or to imply that Dakar looks like Djamil's village, or that Rifdha's father is certain to have the final word on her future (or that his word is uncomplicated and unchanging).
Oh, well.The children are adorable, their voices really are beautiful, and according to my latest searches, you can't watch them on YouTube. All complaints aside - I recommend it.
Just be prepared for a few awkward moments, one of which was entirely out of the filmmakers' control. Our little heroes are competing in last summer's Cairo-based annual international Qur'an reciting competition. The competition always happens during Ramadan, and the winners are always announced on Lailat al Qadr...by the President. Yes - Hosni Mubarak makes a cameo appearance. How quickly it has become strange to see him playing the role he always envisioned for himself: a benevolent father figure, watching over his children and grandchildren.
Nabiollah, the only one to recite at the awards ceremony, had this to say: "That's when I realized it was a big deal, because usually presidents don't come for small things."
Showing posts with label Jessamy Klapper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jessamy Klapper. Show all posts
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Stories from Doha's Industrial Area
On one of our last days in Doha for the Terana Summit, we took a brief trip to the industrial area where migrant workers live. We arrived just as Friday prayers were ending and the market was beginning to fill with bodies. Men carried their prayer mats with them as they looked for ways to pass the afternoon, a rare chance to rest. The industrial area doesn't include a cinema, or really anything other than a few stores, some restaurants, and mosques. The fancy malls of commercial Doha - the Doha most visitors see - are forbidden to 'single men.' No one wants to be reminded of the workers who make that shiny fantasyland possible. I think the purpose of our own trip, arranged by our host, Georgetown Qatar, was just to let us look around a bit and see that somewhat-hidden, other side of Doha, but it so happened that there was a journalist in our midst.
Nadia Zaffar casually asked a few men about their experiences in Doha...and within minutes we were surrounded by a crowd of workers each trying to tell us his own story. Since I don't speak Urdu, and could really only catch the gist of what was being said (there was enough Arabic thrown in to know when the men were discussing a particularly awful supervisor, for example), my strongest impression was of a flood. It was a flood of complaints, of stories, of pain, even the odd joke. These men were overflowing.
Nadia captured some of what she heard in this short post. I hope you will take the time to read it.
Though most of the men we met that afternoon were from India, Pakistan, or Nepal, we did run into one Egyptian worker as we were leaving. "See you in Tahrir Square," he told us.
Nadia Zaffar casually asked a few men about their experiences in Doha...and within minutes we were surrounded by a crowd of workers each trying to tell us his own story. Since I don't speak Urdu, and could really only catch the gist of what was being said (there was enough Arabic thrown in to know when the men were discussing a particularly awful supervisor, for example), my strongest impression was of a flood. It was a flood of complaints, of stories, of pain, even the odd joke. These men were overflowing.
Nadia captured some of what she heard in this short post. I hope you will take the time to read it.
Though most of the men we met that afternoon were from India, Pakistan, or Nepal, we did run into one Egyptian worker as we were leaving. "See you in Tahrir Square," he told us.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Inside Al Jazeera
One of the highlights of the Terana Summit, which whisked me away to Doha for the past week, was our trip to Al Jazeera. After the requisite tour of Al Jazeera Arabic and Al Jazeera English, not to mention the 'museum area' featuring ancient (it's from the 90's!) Al Jazeera gear and the last effects of Al Jazeera journalists who died when American forces bombed the Baghdad bureau, we headed into a meeting room to chat with the new media team. I'll post a more detailed rundown of that conversation later.
For now, let me direct you to some videos (shot by yours truly) of the next discussion, featuring some more big-whig characters, like Satnam Matharu, the Director of International Relations and Communications, Aref Hijawi, Director of Programs at Al Jazeera Arabic and TV presenter/anchor Ghida Fakhry, who looks exactly as glamorous in person as she does on TV. She explained the relationship between Al Jazeera Arabic and Al Jazeera English, something that has confused the channel's oldest and newest fans alike. Aref Hijawi spoke, er, shouted very candidly about the Palestine Papers, which he called Al Jazeera's biggest mistake to date.
The rest of the discussion was dominated by one of the lingering questions about Al Jazeera: is their main goal to report the news, or is it to influence what happens on the ground? What does it mean to be impartial? Do Al Jazeera reporters want to be impartial?
Another strand of that discussion revolved around whether it was fair to call Al Jazeera the "Fox News" of the Arabic-speaking world. Of course, the answer from everyone at Al Jazeera was a resounding 'no.' Matharu emphasized what he saw as the difference between Fox News and Al Jazeera: one imposes an ideology from top down, the other - if it encourages action - encourages action only through the voices of ordinary people and the reality on the ground. I began to wonder how a similar discussion with Fox News representatives might go....
For now, let me direct you to some videos (shot by yours truly) of the next discussion, featuring some more big-whig characters, like Satnam Matharu, the Director of International Relations and Communications, Aref Hijawi, Director of Programs at Al Jazeera Arabic and TV presenter/anchor Ghida Fakhry, who looks exactly as glamorous in person as she does on TV. She explained the relationship between Al Jazeera Arabic and Al Jazeera English, something that has confused the channel's oldest and newest fans alike. Aref Hijawi spoke, er, shouted very candidly about the Palestine Papers, which he called Al Jazeera's biggest mistake to date.
The rest of the discussion was dominated by one of the lingering questions about Al Jazeera: is their main goal to report the news, or is it to influence what happens on the ground? What does it mean to be impartial? Do Al Jazeera reporters want to be impartial?
Another strand of that discussion revolved around whether it was fair to call Al Jazeera the "Fox News" of the Arabic-speaking world. Of course, the answer from everyone at Al Jazeera was a resounding 'no.' Matharu emphasized what he saw as the difference between Fox News and Al Jazeera: one imposes an ideology from top down, the other - if it encourages action - encourages action only through the voices of ordinary people and the reality on the ground. I began to wonder how a similar discussion with Fox News representatives might go....
Thursday, April 7, 2011
More on Tik...
While I wait for some videos to upload - painfully slowly - from some interesting conversations yesterday at Al Jazeera Headquarters here in Doha, I want to quickly point anyone who read my last post to some of the articles and interviews Tik has done since being released from detention in Syria on April 2nd.
Although I'm very happy that Tik is finally home, I'm not just highlighting these interviews because I know him or because he's a fellow Middlebury student or because I want to promote my former Arabic students, et cetera. His testimony is a very special opportunity for us to hear about the sort of things one sees and hears while being held in a Syrian prison. Tik is very aware of the protection his American passport afforded him, and careful to remind others of what happens to prisoners without that protection.
New links are regularly added to the Facebook page created when Tik first went missing: some in print, some audio and some video.
Although I'm very happy that Tik is finally home, I'm not just highlighting these interviews because I know him or because he's a fellow Middlebury student or because I want to promote my former Arabic students, et cetera. His testimony is a very special opportunity for us to hear about the sort of things one sees and hears while being held in a Syrian prison. Tik is very aware of the protection his American passport afforded him, and careful to remind others of what happens to prisoners without that protection.
New links are regularly added to the Facebook page created when Tik first went missing: some in print, some audio and some video.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Names in Headlines: Tik Root & others
A few weeks ago I realized that an Egyptian Youtube tribute to the international media mentioned Ahmed Abdallah, who I met in a strange and therefore memorable way when I was eighteen. I've had the idea of becoming a journalist on and off over the years – that was an on year. He gave the usual offers of help, left his card. For various reasons I won't mention here, I never used those contacts. It turns out he was among those who disappeared into the bowels of Egypt's state security system during the protests to emerge later, bruised and beaten. It would be a stretch to call Ahmed Abdallah a friend. Even so, it's unsettling, the first time a name in a headline corresponds with a name from your personal memories.
Later, friends and entirely unrelated people started posting a disturbing video of Abdallah Dawesteshy, an Alexandrian photographer who works with one of my friends. I interviewed him back in 2009 about music, change, history and social commentary. It is hard to reconcile my videos, filmed at his office in the Alexandrian library, with the dark and grainy one where he lies bleeding outside the city's state security center, a live bullet lodged somewhere in his chest. The injury kept him in the hospital for several days.
And then this headline appeared: "Middlebury student missing in Syria"
Last year, I was an Arabic teaching assistant at Middlebury College, which is also where I graduated in 2009. The group of students who were evacuated from Alexandria earlier this year were my students last year. The favorite topic of conversation, whether during our “conversation hours” or at other events, was study abroad. What was the program like? What was Alexandria like? What advice did I have for them?
The Middlebury program has changed a lot since I was there in its first year, so I didn't like to talk too much about my own experiences. But there was one piece of advice I was willing to repeat to anyone who would hear it: make your own connections with the city. Get out, escape the program if you have to. Follow your own interests; whatever clubs or activities or hobbies occupy your time at home should occupy you there as well.
I usually added that political activism is trickier, and they should be careful. But having watched many students go abroad, befriend the same dorm-mates who were hand-picked by our program administrators, and return complaining that they had missed having intellectual conversations (not due to limited vocabularies, but the limits of their conversational partners), I was concerned that too many students – even some of the brightest, most active and adventurous students – were allowing the parameters of the program to define their experiences in and impressions of Alexandria, or even Egypt as a whole.
I don't imagine my ranting had a large impact on anyone, but I was pleased when I saw that Tik and a few others, after being evacuated from Alexandria, only increased their connections with Alexandrians and (presumably) other Egyptians. I was actually hoping we could link this blog to the Mideastreports site Tik started with other returning students. For the moment, and for Tik's safety, friends have now made the site private and emptied the public Google documents that formed the basis of those reports.
I was never anyone's teacher, but I did watch Tik and other students grow over the course of a year, and I was especially proud of what I saw when they came back from Alexandria. Being a weepy sort, I even got a little teary when I saw Tik's photos and video footage from the demonstrations. I certainly applauded his decision to finish the year abroad, this time at a program in Damascus. I didn't expect him to become the first person-I-knew to go missing. No one did.
The latest news on Tik is that he is 'safe and well,' and that the Syrian authorities have located him. High-level authorities are working on Tik's case, and the story reached national media last Friday. But his parents have not been told where he is, or anything more specific about his condition. As his stepmother Andi Loyd said in a recent update, diplomacy is a slow-moving process.
Time moves especially slowly when you have unanswered questions: What was Tik doing when he was arrested? Why was he arrested? What did Syrian authorities make of this American student, likely speaking a a semester's worth of Egyptian colloquial Arabic, piled on a couple of years of Modern Standard Arabic? Why is the standard 'pressure from the State Department' not the magic key to an instantaneous release? Is his case at all influenced by or connected to that of Mohamed Radwan, the Egyptian-American also being detained in Syria?
Just one question is enough to slow time to a painful crawl. It's the one most likely playing over and over in his parents' minds: when will Tik come home?
Later, friends and entirely unrelated people started posting a disturbing video of Abdallah Dawesteshy, an Alexandrian photographer who works with one of my friends. I interviewed him back in 2009 about music, change, history and social commentary. It is hard to reconcile my videos, filmed at his office in the Alexandrian library, with the dark and grainy one where he lies bleeding outside the city's state security center, a live bullet lodged somewhere in his chest. The injury kept him in the hospital for several days.
And then this headline appeared: "Middlebury student missing in Syria"
Last year, I was an Arabic teaching assistant at Middlebury College, which is also where I graduated in 2009. The group of students who were evacuated from Alexandria earlier this year were my students last year. The favorite topic of conversation, whether during our “conversation hours” or at other events, was study abroad. What was the program like? What was Alexandria like? What advice did I have for them?
The Middlebury program has changed a lot since I was there in its first year, so I didn't like to talk too much about my own experiences. But there was one piece of advice I was willing to repeat to anyone who would hear it: make your own connections with the city. Get out, escape the program if you have to. Follow your own interests; whatever clubs or activities or hobbies occupy your time at home should occupy you there as well.
I usually added that political activism is trickier, and they should be careful. But having watched many students go abroad, befriend the same dorm-mates who were hand-picked by our program administrators, and return complaining that they had missed having intellectual conversations (not due to limited vocabularies, but the limits of their conversational partners), I was concerned that too many students – even some of the brightest, most active and adventurous students – were allowing the parameters of the program to define their experiences in and impressions of Alexandria, or even Egypt as a whole.
I don't imagine my ranting had a large impact on anyone, but I was pleased when I saw that Tik and a few others, after being evacuated from Alexandria, only increased their connections with Alexandrians and (presumably) other Egyptians. I was actually hoping we could link this blog to the Mideastreports site Tik started with other returning students. For the moment, and for Tik's safety, friends have now made the site private and emptied the public Google documents that formed the basis of those reports.
I was never anyone's teacher, but I did watch Tik and other students grow over the course of a year, and I was especially proud of what I saw when they came back from Alexandria. Being a weepy sort, I even got a little teary when I saw Tik's photos and video footage from the demonstrations. I certainly applauded his decision to finish the year abroad, this time at a program in Damascus. I didn't expect him to become the first person-I-knew to go missing. No one did.
The latest news on Tik is that he is 'safe and well,' and that the Syrian authorities have located him. High-level authorities are working on Tik's case, and the story reached national media last Friday. But his parents have not been told where he is, or anything more specific about his condition. As his stepmother Andi Loyd said in a recent update, diplomacy is a slow-moving process.
Time moves especially slowly when you have unanswered questions: What was Tik doing when he was arrested? Why was he arrested? What did Syrian authorities make of this American student, likely speaking a a semester's worth of Egyptian colloquial Arabic, piled on a couple of years of Modern Standard Arabic? Why is the standard 'pressure from the State Department' not the magic key to an instantaneous release? Is his case at all influenced by or connected to that of Mohamed Radwan, the Egyptian-American also being detained in Syria?
Just one question is enough to slow time to a painful crawl. It's the one most likely playing over and over in his parents' minds: when will Tik come home?
Friday, February 25, 2011
Jadaliyya, with a little comic relief:
This little interlude from the wonderful people of Jadaliyya pretty much says everything I could want to say about the aging rulers of Egyptian cinema...and those other guys who won't give up the spotlight.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Blacklists, Boycotts (and Beyoncé) Part II: Libya
Tamer Hosni's fangirls are not the only people likely to find themselves turned off by their favorite tunes these days. Yesterday, the popular CNN news anchor Anderson Cooper sent out this message on Twitter: "Why would #Beyonce and #MariahCarey sing for Gadhafi's son at a private party? How much did they get paid? #ac360 10p"
The private performances Cooper was referring to happened a while ago (2010 for Beyoncé, 2009 for Mariah), and backlash was fairly minimal. But that was back when most Americans who had heard of Gaddafi were more familiar with his eccentric fashion choices than his human rights record.
Now that we have all seen Gaddafi threatening the Libyan people with mass chaos, death and destruction on live television (or at least Youtube), the situation is a little different.
Cooper was quickly echoed by a number of others accusing the stars of accepting "blood money" from the dicatator's family. Some called out Lionel Ritchie and Usher for their own Gaddafi performances. While many Twitter users harshly condemned the stars, @sumyasalem took a softer, punnier approach:
@Beyonce show the people in #Libya your "Halo" and donate money at feb17.info hospitals need medical supplies and could really use your help
@UsherRaymondIV "OMG" you performed for a sadist! make up for it and donate to the people dying in #Libya in need of med supplies feb17.info
@UsherRaymondIV <3'd your song "More" we know u make "more" than the avg american. Ppl in #Libya could use ur help. Donate at feb17.info
@mariahcarey people are dying in #Libya right now and they need your help -- donate at feb17.info or say "Bye Bye" to all your Libyan fans!
So far, none of them are scrambling for their checkbooks. The stars look particularly bad in light of another of that morning's stories. Apparently, Lady Gaga traded exclusive distribution rights for a special edition of her "Born This Way" single for a commitment from Target. Not only will Target stop contributing to groups that advocate against LGBT rights, but will instead fund groups championing those rights.
I'm not a huge Gaga fan (in fact, this is the highest concentration of American pop stars you will ever find in a post from me), and not too long ago I was joking about how, not when, Gaga would most likely cash in on the revolutions sweeping the Middle East. But I am impressed. Most pop stars who support a "cause" do so by writing forgettable music, making speeches, allowing advocacy groups to use their image, and performing at one-off benefit concerts. They don't tend to use their own music and the business it generates to pressure major corporations into more ethical policy.
Imagine if stars started making similar deals that pushed corporations to say, drop anti-union policies or operate along BDS guidelines (hey, a girl can dream)! Although Target says the shift is the result of many factors, it seems clear the "Born This Way" deal was among them. Stars like Beyoncé, Mariah, Lionel Ritchie and Usher have more power than many, and as Lady Gaga has shown, they could use that power to support real change. So what's their excuse?
Normally, I'm a firm believer in the idea that one can appreciate art independently of its creator. But some things just make me queasy. Dancing to the tune of Hannibal Gaddafi's private entertainment is one of them.
The private performances Cooper was referring to happened a while ago (2010 for Beyoncé, 2009 for Mariah), and backlash was fairly minimal. But that was back when most Americans who had heard of Gaddafi were more familiar with his eccentric fashion choices than his human rights record.
Now that we have all seen Gaddafi threatening the Libyan people with mass chaos, death and destruction on live television (or at least Youtube), the situation is a little different.
Cooper was quickly echoed by a number of others accusing the stars of accepting "blood money" from the dicatator's family. Some called out Lionel Ritchie and Usher for their own Gaddafi performances. While many Twitter users harshly condemned the stars, @sumyasalem took a softer, punnier approach:
@Beyonce show the people in #Libya your "Halo" and donate money at feb17.info hospitals need medical supplies and could really use your help
@UsherRaymondIV "OMG" you performed for a sadist! make up for it and donate to the people dying in #Libya in need of med supplies feb17.info
@UsherRaymondIV <3'd your song "More" we know u make "more" than the avg american. Ppl in #Libya could use ur help. Donate at feb17.info
@mariahcarey people are dying in #Libya right now and they need your help -- donate at feb17.info or say "Bye Bye" to all your Libyan fans!
So far, none of them are scrambling for their checkbooks. The stars look particularly bad in light of another of that morning's stories. Apparently, Lady Gaga traded exclusive distribution rights for a special edition of her "Born This Way" single for a commitment from Target. Not only will Target stop contributing to groups that advocate against LGBT rights, but will instead fund groups championing those rights.
I'm not a huge Gaga fan (in fact, this is the highest concentration of American pop stars you will ever find in a post from me), and not too long ago I was joking about how, not when, Gaga would most likely cash in on the revolutions sweeping the Middle East. But I am impressed. Most pop stars who support a "cause" do so by writing forgettable music, making speeches, allowing advocacy groups to use their image, and performing at one-off benefit concerts. They don't tend to use their own music and the business it generates to pressure major corporations into more ethical policy.
Imagine if stars started making similar deals that pushed corporations to say, drop anti-union policies or operate along BDS guidelines (hey, a girl can dream)! Although Target says the shift is the result of many factors, it seems clear the "Born This Way" deal was among them. Stars like Beyoncé, Mariah, Lionel Ritchie and Usher have more power than many, and as Lady Gaga has shown, they could use that power to support real change. So what's their excuse?
Normally, I'm a firm believer in the idea that one can appreciate art independently of its creator. But some things just make me queasy. Dancing to the tune of Hannibal Gaddafi's private entertainment is one of them.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Interlude: Literary recommendations from Libya
While I work on Part II of Blacklists & Boycotts, I wanted to share this beautiful, beautiful essay by Libyan writer Hisham Matar in The Guardian.
I particularly love his description of the women in his family as "mad scientists, whisking up egg, honey, olive oil and God-knows-what..." It reminded me of the beauty routines Moroccan writer Fatema Mernissi described in her own memoir, Dreams of Trespass.
One of the things we - as an international community - must take ourselves to task for is allowing ourselves to buy into the idea that Gaddafi is Libya. As hard as it is to get accurate information out of Libya right now, it's even harder for outside observers to see Libya or Libyans as anything other than Gaddafi's victims. What exactly is this country that so many are now dying to see free of its addled but ruthless dictator? It's frankly hard for us to imagine.
Literature is one of the best correctives for that sort of mental gap, if not the best, and it so happens that Arabic Literature (in English) has [in honor of Banipal's highly prescient issue on Libyan Fiction] an excellent rundown of Libyan authors and where you can find their work.
I particularly love his description of the women in his family as "mad scientists, whisking up egg, honey, olive oil and God-knows-what..." It reminded me of the beauty routines Moroccan writer Fatema Mernissi described in her own memoir, Dreams of Trespass.
One of the things we - as an international community - must take ourselves to task for is allowing ourselves to buy into the idea that Gaddafi is Libya. As hard as it is to get accurate information out of Libya right now, it's even harder for outside observers to see Libya or Libyans as anything other than Gaddafi's victims. What exactly is this country that so many are now dying to see free of its addled but ruthless dictator? It's frankly hard for us to imagine.
Literature is one of the best correctives for that sort of mental gap, if not the best, and it so happens that Arabic Literature (in English) has [in honor of Banipal's highly prescient issue on Libyan Fiction] an excellent rundown of Libyan authors and where you can find their work.
Blacklists & Boycotts Part I: Egypt
One of the less urgent stories out of Tahrir over the past month was that of Egyptian pop star and heartthrob Tamer Hosny. The hapless singer, already saddled with one-half of an aging autocrat's name, made a big mistake when he called in to an Egyptian talk show during the early days of the protests. Poor Tamer not only defended Mubarak, calling on protesters to return home, but sobbed audibly. Although I cannot confirm this - the audio quality on those youtube recordings is just poor enough to confuse me - many say he even referred to Mubarak as "Papa." Perhaps Tamer internalized the paternalistic rhetoric of Mubarak's regime.
When Tamer later attempted to apologize and speak to the crowd in Tahrir Square about his confusion and change of heart, the crowd not only booed him off the stage but kicked him out of the square entirely. Soon, another teary Tamer video appeared on the web.
Tamer's reception in Tahrir - and a flood of anti-Tamer tweets - prompted Khaled Said admin Wael Ghonim to remind the protesters that they should be understanding and forgiving to those who have had a change of heart. It was a noble statement from Ghonim, but probably did little to convince those who saw all of Tamer's tears - for or against Mubarak - as cynical PR moves.
In the meantime, websites and Facebook groups appeared to document which celebrities either maintained close relations with the Mubarak family or actively supported them during the "January 25 Revolution," as some are calling it. Other big names appear on those lists, such as the ubiquitous film actor Adel Imam, who has appeared in a number of controversial and critical movies over the years. It is hard to imagine an Egypt that truly turns its back on Adel Imam. One wonders if a revolutionary hard-liner would have any movies left to watch, particularly since a number of the names on these blacklists-in-progress belong to other prominent actors.
For now, the blacklists are not attached to any comprehensive calls to action. It is up to the individual to decide whether or not she can now stomach the crooning of a man who cried for Mubarak on national television.
When Tamer later attempted to apologize and speak to the crowd in Tahrir Square about his confusion and change of heart, the crowd not only booed him off the stage but kicked him out of the square entirely. Soon, another teary Tamer video appeared on the web.
Tamer's reception in Tahrir - and a flood of anti-Tamer tweets - prompted Khaled Said admin Wael Ghonim to remind the protesters that they should be understanding and forgiving to those who have had a change of heart. It was a noble statement from Ghonim, but probably did little to convince those who saw all of Tamer's tears - for or against Mubarak - as cynical PR moves.
In the meantime, websites and Facebook groups appeared to document which celebrities either maintained close relations with the Mubarak family or actively supported them during the "January 25 Revolution," as some are calling it. Other big names appear on those lists, such as the ubiquitous film actor Adel Imam, who has appeared in a number of controversial and critical movies over the years. It is hard to imagine an Egypt that truly turns its back on Adel Imam. One wonders if a revolutionary hard-liner would have any movies left to watch, particularly since a number of the names on these blacklists-in-progress belong to other prominent actors.
For now, the blacklists are not attached to any comprehensive calls to action. It is up to the individual to decide whether or not she can now stomach the crooning of a man who cried for Mubarak on national television.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Happy Valentine's Day from Nizar Qabbani
I am not, normally, a huge Qabbani fan. During a semester-long tutorial under a professor who had written his thesis on Qabbani's use of color (I think- maybe it was just the color green), I remembered thinking many times Haven't we read that poem already? The man was certainly capable of turning out memorable and evocative work, but also prolific and forgetful enough to reproduce some of it in whole or in part.
But now that Valentine's Day is upon us, or as in Arabic, "The Holiday of Love," it's time for unqualified Qabbani detractors like myself, and perhaps even qualified detractors, to sit back and appreciate the work that has made him so irritatingly popular.
The wonderful M. Lynx Qualey over at Arabic Literature (In English) has taken a break from writing recommendations of revolutionary literature to put together a veritable V-Day celebration of Qabbani for all to enjoy, in both English and Arabic.
Whether my ex-professor's taste or my own inattention is to blame, I don't think I have read these poems before.
But now that Valentine's Day is upon us, or as in Arabic, "The Holiday of Love," it's time for unqualified Qabbani detractors like myself, and perhaps even qualified detractors, to sit back and appreciate the work that has made him so irritatingly popular.
The wonderful M. Lynx Qualey over at Arabic Literature (In English) has taken a break from writing recommendations of revolutionary literature to put together a veritable V-Day celebration of Qabbani for all to enjoy, in both English and Arabic.
Whether my ex-professor's taste or my own inattention is to blame, I don't think I have read these poems before.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Egypt's uprising & jokes heard 'round the world
TV commentators, bloggers, and ordinary print journalists have all remarked on the "carnival-like" atmosphere in Tahrir even before Omar Suleiman delivered the briefest official announcement the Egyptian government had yet offered: Mubarak is gone.
Instead of a mass exodus from Tahrir Square, broadcasts showed throngs of people heading to Tahrir to join celebrations which, like the later days of protests, involved a great deal of song, dance, and comedy. Some protesters even held up a banner reading: "You can come back now, Mr. President...we were kidding!"
As in Egypt, New York's celebrations have been as irreverent as they are sincere.
Here's a scene from Dag Hammerskjold Plaza, today: After speakers on the stage were drowned out several times by cheering and loud renditions of "Biladi, Biladi," another man took the microphone to announce "Today, we don't need a lot of talking. Today is for singing and dancing!" Baladi music immediately and obligingly blasted from the speakers as another round of zaghrouts went up from the women. Live drumming accompanied the recorded music from several different directions.
Yasser Darwish, a frequent figure at events organized by area Arab American organizations, danced in full Saidi costume. A ring of dancers formed around him and other stray members of the crowd, now performers. Someone threw candy into the air, and one man joined the dance with his own prop: a cake.
I left before anyone tried to divide the cake, but had the feeling it was mostly symbolic. It seemed like a birthday cake, though I was never close enough to read the frosting.
Amid all the ecstatic celebration - whether here in New York or in the streets of Cairo and Alexandria - is a very real awareness that this is the beginning, not the end. Like the demonstrators in Tahrir, celebrants in New York repeated the popular slogan: Shiddi heelak, ya balad. Al hurriya btitwalad! Here's an irreverent translation, with help from my friend Nabeel: "Man up, country. That's freedom being born!"
Please ignore the ridiculous title of the YouTube video...lesson learned!
Instead of a mass exodus from Tahrir Square, broadcasts showed throngs of people heading to Tahrir to join celebrations which, like the later days of protests, involved a great deal of song, dance, and comedy. Some protesters even held up a banner reading: "You can come back now, Mr. President...we were kidding!"
As in Egypt, New York's celebrations have been as irreverent as they are sincere.
Here's a scene from Dag Hammerskjold Plaza, today: After speakers on the stage were drowned out several times by cheering and loud renditions of "Biladi, Biladi," another man took the microphone to announce "Today, we don't need a lot of talking. Today is for singing and dancing!" Baladi music immediately and obligingly blasted from the speakers as another round of zaghrouts went up from the women. Live drumming accompanied the recorded music from several different directions.
Yasser Darwish, a frequent figure at events organized by area Arab American organizations, danced in full Saidi costume. A ring of dancers formed around him and other stray members of the crowd, now performers. Someone threw candy into the air, and one man joined the dance with his own prop: a cake.
I left before anyone tried to divide the cake, but had the feeling it was mostly symbolic. It seemed like a birthday cake, though I was never close enough to read the frosting.
Amid all the ecstatic celebration - whether here in New York or in the streets of Cairo and Alexandria - is a very real awareness that this is the beginning, not the end. Like the demonstrators in Tahrir, celebrants in New York repeated the popular slogan: Shiddi heelak, ya balad. Al hurriya btitwalad! Here's an irreverent translation, with help from my friend Nabeel: "Man up, country. That's freedom being born!"
Please ignore the ridiculous title of the YouTube video...lesson learned!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Egypt's uprising & the view from Facebook
I am watching my friends become revolutionaries.
A few of my friends from Alexandria, where I lived throughout most of 2008, were fairly predictable. An older artist friend, already a sort of activist, was in the very first protest on January 25th and has been in every demonstration since then. When the police were called off the streets, she joined the human chain protecting a synagogue in Alexandria's Menshia neighborhood. Every time I speak to her she reminds me that the people are determined, that they will not give up until they see real change. She always asks me to spread the word.
One friend told me on the 24th that he was not allowing himself to think about the future. This same friend warned me at the end of last Ramadan not to wish him "Eid Mubarak," as he'd had quite enough Mubarak, Eid or no Eid. When he realized something really was happening, he chased the demonstrators all over Alexandria without finding them, in a sequence I imagine starring Charlie Chaplin.
He was finally able to join the demonstrations on the 28th, or "Friday of Outrage." Like many others he was tear-gassed, hit in the head, and otherwise exposed to police brutality. He was in such a black mood afterward that I couldn't reach him until several days after mobile service was restored. He had silenced his phone and shut it in a drawer. But he, like my artist friend, is optimistic. He wants to be part of the new Egypt so many have begun to envision.
Meanwhile, I've seen some nasty fights break out on Facebook between people who, if not friends, were at least friendly before the 25th. When the internet finally returned to Egypt, it revealed how much people had changed since they were last online.
People accused one another of being brainwashed, whether by state TV channels or Al Jazeera. I received a few Facebook invitations to groups with titles like "No to demonstrations on Friday," and found my own opinion of the person who sent them suddenly drop several levels. Quickly I rebuked myself - who was I to judge? But the invitations came mostly from people I knew to live very comfortable lives, people from families with helpful connections. More confusing were the messages from people I genuinely liked, saying "Everything on Al Jazeera is a lie."
Through Facebook, I was seeing how a movement like this can suddenly drive people apart.
But there were also efforts to repair those schisms. Several people who had accused their friends of being brainwashed, betraying their country, and being cowards later posted messages reminding themselves and everyone else that democracy meant they were free to disagree. However, they usually continued to post articles and essays meant to show the error in believing Mubarak's speeches or the conspiracy theories promoted on state TV channels. A friend who 'just wanted her life back' a week ago now fills her wall with these posts.
And some people do change their minds. After the Wael Ghonim interview yesterday, I noticed an update from a friend who condemned the protesters for 'causing chaos' during the first week of the uprising.
He had joined the Arabic page for "We Are All Khaled Said."
A few of my friends from Alexandria, where I lived throughout most of 2008, were fairly predictable. An older artist friend, already a sort of activist, was in the very first protest on January 25th and has been in every demonstration since then. When the police were called off the streets, she joined the human chain protecting a synagogue in Alexandria's Menshia neighborhood. Every time I speak to her she reminds me that the people are determined, that they will not give up until they see real change. She always asks me to spread the word.
One friend told me on the 24th that he was not allowing himself to think about the future. This same friend warned me at the end of last Ramadan not to wish him "Eid Mubarak," as he'd had quite enough Mubarak, Eid or no Eid. When he realized something really was happening, he chased the demonstrators all over Alexandria without finding them, in a sequence I imagine starring Charlie Chaplin.
He was finally able to join the demonstrations on the 28th, or "Friday of Outrage." Like many others he was tear-gassed, hit in the head, and otherwise exposed to police brutality. He was in such a black mood afterward that I couldn't reach him until several days after mobile service was restored. He had silenced his phone and shut it in a drawer. But he, like my artist friend, is optimistic. He wants to be part of the new Egypt so many have begun to envision.
Meanwhile, I've seen some nasty fights break out on Facebook between people who, if not friends, were at least friendly before the 25th. When the internet finally returned to Egypt, it revealed how much people had changed since they were last online.
People accused one another of being brainwashed, whether by state TV channels or Al Jazeera. I received a few Facebook invitations to groups with titles like "No to demonstrations on Friday," and found my own opinion of the person who sent them suddenly drop several levels. Quickly I rebuked myself - who was I to judge? But the invitations came mostly from people I knew to live very comfortable lives, people from families with helpful connections. More confusing were the messages from people I genuinely liked, saying "Everything on Al Jazeera is a lie."
Through Facebook, I was seeing how a movement like this can suddenly drive people apart.
But there were also efforts to repair those schisms. Several people who had accused their friends of being brainwashed, betraying their country, and being cowards later posted messages reminding themselves and everyone else that democracy meant they were free to disagree. However, they usually continued to post articles and essays meant to show the error in believing Mubarak's speeches or the conspiracy theories promoted on state TV channels. A friend who 'just wanted her life back' a week ago now fills her wall with these posts.
And some people do change their minds. After the Wael Ghonim interview yesterday, I noticed an update from a friend who condemned the protesters for 'causing chaos' during the first week of the uprising.
He had joined the Arabic page for "We Are All Khaled Said."
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