WHAT is the role of art? Do we feel that art touches our lives? Let me ask the question in a different way: Does art come near our lives here? Do we identify with an actor or a singer or a painter and feel that he/she represents us? Do their memories live long after they have departed? Questions such as these have been filling my head for past few days, triggered by the death of the remarkable Egyptian actor, Ahmad Zaki.
For those who do not know, Ahmad Zaki was simply an actor. A plain looking man from Egypt. He was so plain in his appearance that at one point in his career, he lost starring roles in important films, because he was “dark and plain”— and mundane as can be. Yet this “dark and plain” man played a wide variety of roles: From laborer to peasant to patriot to lost soul, even to such historical figures as the great literary figure, Taha Hussein, and the late Egyptian leader, Gamal Abdul Nasser. In fact, the last role he played was the long-dead but still legendary singer, Abdul Halim Hafiz, another “dark and plain” character whom Zaki had long identified with and longed to play. People now feel they have lost one of their own. But that is in Egypt. What happens here when an actor dies? How do we feel and react?
Come to think of it, how many actors and artists do we know by name in Saudi Arabia? Do we feel that we can relate to their works or identify with them and what they have done? My pondering leads me to a more important and basic question: Do we recognize the importance of art in our lives? Many of us sadly do not. To some of us, art and acting are wastes of time while to some others, they are both un-Islamic practices.
The fact that we do not have organizations and establishments to nurture talent or present it, might give a clue to how important they are to us. We treat art as an escape, prefer it to be trivial or superficial or, if it must go deeper, then keep it symbolic since we cannot face the accurate reflections of our own images. The taboos are endless when it comes to creative art: Artists are not free to express what they think and their subjects thus become so limited that they are obliged to turn to something superficial that does not touch reality and therefore fails to reach people.
This is not the case in other countries where art has a mission other than entertainment; it is a part of society’s collective experience, chronicling people’s lives and symbolizing their dreams. And only then do people identify with it and feel its importance — just as when thousands of people in Egypt gathered for the funeral of a simple actor who had touched their lives with his honest and realistic portrayals.
For the past few weeks while Zaki was hospitalized and people all over the Arab world were praying for him, we heard voices in Saudi Arabia condemning the sentiment. A friend who works as a teacher said to me that one of her students said: “This man wasted his life in nonsense; he is not going to benefit from his career and he was not a good Muslim.”
My friend was shocked that a young girl could be so judgmental, so she said to her: “How do you know who is a good Muslim? How do you know he was not? Just because he chose a career that you do not think highly of does not make him less than you.”
That student’s comment was not an isolated one. In social gatherings when his name popped up, and it did pop up because people knew him (and whether they admit it or not, they often followed his career) but still, people shook their heads and said that he wasted his life, that he was not a good Muslim and that he was not like they were.
At this point I have to ask, who decides who is a good Muslim? Who, except God, grades people? Somehow we seem to forget and overlook this simple fact. We cannot decide for each other; we are here to live our own lives and we will be judged for what we do in this life, not for grading people and distributing forgiveness certificates to them.
But seriously, when did we lose the human touch and start feeling superior? On a famous Arabic website, some postings were about Zaki and his destiny, and some thought that he should repent of his sins before he died. Some reactions were supportive of this argument; other attacking this trend of putting people on trial for their choices in life.
Last year the papers carried an item about a Saudi actor’s funeral and how it turned into a fight between his fans, friends and those at the funeral who started talking about his not so peaceful afterlife. The fight began with words and ended with fistfights beside the grave of the actor. On reading this, I found myself raging with anger at the insensitivity of some of us who think they can sentence people to hell and pardon others. A few years ago, an icon of Saudi music, Talal Maddah, who was the discoverer and supporter of many now popular singers, died on stage while performing before a live audience. He too was treated to condemnation.
Our famous sitcom, Tash Ma Tash, had to deal with the same issue. When it attempted to cross the line of triviality and easy entertainment and began digging into social issues and problems, voices were loud in condemning the actors who participated in this series. The actors received death threats because they dared to criticize a situation or a mentality that many accept unquestioningly.
The schoolgirl who decided that Zaki would go to hell got her ideas from people around her who are always ready to judge and who sentence people just because they are different or do not think the same way. We watch a movie or listen to a song and enjoy it. Then as soon as it ends, we turn our backs and condemn the actors.
So do we value art? To answer honestly, set hypocrisy aside. Our attitude illustrates our deep-rooted uneasiness with the reflections of our images in works of art. It seems that we refuse to express what is suppressed.
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Guest Workers
I was horrified to read about the case of the Indonesian maid who was so brutally abused by her employers, as reported by Arab News last week.
She was tied up for a month in a bathroom by her Saudi sponsor. Several of her fingers, toes and part of her right foot will have to be amputated because of gangrene.
Last year a source at the Indonesian Embassy estimated cases of Indonesian workers’ death were about 32, with most of them being maids. The number is alarming and the recent case of the maid who was abused is even more alarming. It does raise questions about who protects these workers in our country. The law forbids abuse but how can these non-Arabic speaking foreigners make use of the law? Is there a number they can call and complain? We’ve heard of cases of maids locked up in houses, not allowed to go out, not allowed to talk on the phone and being physically abused — not to mention not getting their salaries. There have been cases of maids jumping out of buildings to escape or running away from their employers.
Such stories are many rather than few and they happen around us all the time. Is it a question of humanity or is it a question of law enforcement? I think it’s both.
People know that they will not be punished if they abuse their domestic helpers. If, on the other hand, they knew that there would be immediate and severe punishment, that might deter them from such acts of savagery. This is just one of the numerous cases of law-breaking here; people know that they can get away with almost anything, depending on who they know — or perhaps who they are — and how many strings can be pulled to protect them.
