‘The Kashmir Files’ hit theatres on March 11, 2022 and Hindutva-driven hate followed its wake, spreading on social media with cries of India’s Hindus to open their eyes. While it is not surprising that right-wing extremist elements would resort to such actions, what is shocking is that this time BJP ministers and government officials are going out of their way to make the movies accessible to the masses. There are no boundaries left to be crossed, it seems.

A day after the release of the movie supposedly narrating the exodus of Kashmiri Hindus during the Kashmir insurgency BJP Union Minister, state officials and other right-wing organisations set to work promoting the film from their own social media accounts.

Chief among them was Women and Child Development Minister SmritiIrani who asked people to watch the movie “history soaked in the blood of innocents may never repeat itself”.

Watch …so that this history soaked in the blood of innocents may never repeat itself #TheKashmirFiles pic.twitter.com/LWObd3kSdw

— Smriti Z Irani (@smritiirani) March 13, 2022

Then there’s Madhya Pradesh Home Minister Narottam Mishra who asked that state police personnel be allowed a holiday to go watch the movie. Mishra said that it is important that officers watch this movie especially considering a person from Bhopal plays an important role in this film.

MP Police force will be given a holiday to watch #TheKashmirFiles : Madhya Pradesh’s Home Minister Narottam Mishra pic.twitter.com/rl6BQUy9gP

— Ashish (@aashishNRP) March 14, 2022

This request came after Gujarat and Madhya Pradesh governments on March 13 allowed the movie to be tax-free. Accordingly, news reports on Sunday said Maharashtra BJP MLA NiteshRane wrote to Chief Minister Uddhav Thackeray requesting that the government also make ‘The Kashmir Files’ free of entertainment tax.

He wrote that this will allow people to see “for the first time the correct and true depiction of atrocities inflicted by Muslim terrorists on the Hindu community” in Jammu and Kashmir, said the Free Press Journal. Even Karnataka Chief Minister B.S. Bommai exempted the movie from taxation.

Kudos to @vivekagnihotri for #TheKashmirFiles, a blood-curdling, poignant & honest narrative of the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits from their home land.

To lend our support to the movie & encourage our people to watch it, we will make the movie tax-free in Karnataka.

— Basavaraj S Bommai (@BSBommai) March 13, 2022

It is interesting here that Ministers are encouraging people to watch a movie that reportedly provides a gory narrative of the incident. According to The Hindu by Anuj Kumar, ‘The Kashmir Files’ manipulates facts and half-truths and uses scenes of bloodshed and torture to induce reactions. In the movie, the media has been condemned for hiding the reality of Kashmiri Pandits while the previous government led by Congress has been squarely blamed for the sufferings. However, critics condemn the movie for either intentionally or inadvertently cherry-picking historical facts to cater to the right-wing ideology.

The result of this skewed perspective was a low rating on sites like the IMDB. Yet, instead of addressing this problem on the website in question, the IT Cell used this situation to condemn Muslims for “trying to hide” the reality of Kashmir.

The arguments even reached Wikipedia where people from both sides tried to manipulate the information of ‘The Kashmir Files’ page to address their concerns.

Media reports of people exiting the theatre showed how people were moved by the performances on the screen regardless of the facts used to tell the tale. Some people said that Indian Hindus must watch the movie that has told a truth hidden by the liberal groups.

However, the mood was more violent inside the theatre halls where goons resorted to violent language to decry Muslim. One Twitter used RohitBishnoi shared a video clip where people yelled “Deshkegaddaroko, golimaarosaalonko” (shoot down the traitors using bullets) inside the hall, reiterating the words of hate-offender and BJP leadear C.T. Ravi.

When another Twitter user retweeted this with the caption ”this is terrifying”, Bishnoi replied by saying “Gaddaronko terrify honachahiye. Aavashyakhai. (Traitors should be terrified. It is necessary)”

Public reaction in theatre after watching #TheKashmirFiles .
“Desh ke gaddaro ko goli maro salo ko”#KashmirFiles #TheKashmirFilesreview @vivekagnihotri @AnupamPKher pic.twitter.com/abEwwnwbmD

— Rohit.Bishnoi (@The_kafir_boy_2) March 11, 2022

In another instance, a man lashed out at the AAP-leader Arvind Kejriwal after watching the movie. In a fit of rage, the man claimed a man died a similar (like those portrayed in the movie) death during the North-East Delhi riots. He went on to call the movie “a message” rather than a mere film.

This movie is awakening Hindus
Thank you @vivekagnihotri #TheKashmiriFiles #TheKashmirFiles pic.twitter.com/b63DNTkdaz

— Upma Sharma (@ShekharUpma) March 14, 2022

Even those accused in the Delhi riots showered praises on the movie. One of the alleged perpetrators of the violence Kapil Mishra also shared a caricature where a person wrapped in a shawl marked “Hindu” ‘comes to life’ on seeing the movie poster. The four people carrying the body are labelled “Jihadi”, “Congress-Left”, “Lutyens media” and “Bollywood gang”.

In yet another place, people entered the theatre hall and demanded if not screamed at people not to watch ‘Shahrukh-Salman-Amir-and-Saif movies’, targeting the four Khans well-known in the film industry.

The Kashmir Files is a Nazi propaganda..

This movie was made to spread hatred and violence against Indian Muslims and Kashmiri Muslims.

See how audience in movie theater spewing venom against Muslims.#JournalismMatters

#indianmuslim #islamophobia #islamophobia_in_india pic.twitter.com/PAoKDhsYNq

— Mohd Fasiuddin (@MohdFasiuddin10) March 14, 2022

Others to spew hate under the garb of promoting the movie were BJP Telangana President Bandi Sanjay Kumar, Bengal BJP Vice-President Rathindra Bose – who claimed the Congress was supporting militant jihadis by criticising the movie – and others like Kangana Ranaut.

Another loyal right-wing supporter to support the movie was former Rajya Sabha member and ex-editor of Panchajanya, the RSS weekly, Tarun Vijay and Central Waqf Council member and Minority Affairs’ Planning and Finance Committee Chairperson Rais Pathan.

On Sunday, BhagwaKrantiSena President, VHP leader and RSS member Dr. PrachiSadhvi made a swingular statement saying that those criticisng the movie had a “jihadi mentality”. She demanded that the movie be shown tax-free and even in colleges, claiming that the movie showed the reality of Hindu Pandits.

My Statement On #TheKashmirFiles Movie .

Thank You @vivekagnihotri Ji @AnupamPKher Ji For This Movie

It’s Not A Movie , It’s Reality What Happened In Kashmir pic.twitter.com/jT7R7larD5

— Dr. Prachi Sadhvi (@Sadhvi_prachi) March 13, 2022

While the tussle between the two ideologies continue, the movie benefits with more exposure on both sides.

Related:

Not a single meat shop should be visible in Loni: MLA to officials
UP Assembly Elections: BJP’s ad appears on front-page of popular daily newspaper on polling day, CJP moves ECI
Madhya Pradesh: 50-year-old Muslim dargah vandalised, painted saffron!
Krishna Janmabhoomi: Allahabad High Court orders fresh hearings

The post Hate floods in the wake of ‘The Kashmir Files’ appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Movie Poster

The film, set in Uttar Pradesh is supposedly based on the Badaun gang-rape and murder. Aesthetics is how the film lures its viewers: A pretty, light-skinned Brahmin boy, so earnest, so bewildered by caste hierarchy who is as clueless as the research team for the movie is the hero and saviour. Khurrana’s character, Ayan is after all an IPS officer. I wonder how he even passed his UPSC exam without hearing about the caste phenomena that befuddles him for most of the film? But this pales in comparison to the other missteps in the film.

As I watched the film amongst an audience who hooted, clapped and cheered, all I could feel was horror and disbelief. How could this pass muster with the audience? How could a sick exhibition of violence and brutality get mistaken for awareness? How can a movie on caste discrimination in which dalit bodies exist only as props to be raped, murdered, lynched, beaten and shredded with bullets be okay? Dalit characters bow and scrap. They clasp their hands in servile supplication, either begging for mercy or in gratitude. As if fetishised oppression is the only way to convince the savarna viewer about social justice, they are denied agency and assertion, they are denied their humanity. They are even mostly denied dialogues unless they are meek wide-eyed beseeching to the powerful.

The portrayal of dalit culture: protest songs, rallies and “Jai Bhims” betray the writer who has never heard and seen any of those. It dehumanises and humiliates the very people in whose favour the film has supposedly been made. Clothed as gritty cinema, it denies dignity. It is inebriated by its own righteousness. The sheer breadth of its ignorance, matched only by caste-blind entitlement, is stupefying.

How does this industry create the impression that it has dared to go into murky places that no one else has? How does Bollywood and its viewers exist even today, not knowing the fearlessness of many in “regional” cinema? Pa Ranjith, Leena Manimekalai, Amshan Kumar, Mari Selveraj – these are directors from just the Tamil film industry who deal with caste issues sensitively and powerfully. There are others in other Indian languages. How does Bollywood crudely play catch-up and yet convince a certain audience that it is leading from the front?

Article 15 is trapped between a rape and murder cop mystery and giving ham-fisted lessons in casteism. It chooses a macabre Nordic drama aesthetic with matching music and lightening, further distancing the atrocities from reality. The framing of the scene where two minor girls are found hanging by their necks from a tree as a restless fog swirls around them, while the music is adequately chilling, says that their deaths mean nothing without the cinematographic drama. It says simply that these deaths are worth less in their ability to move the viewer in comparison to what some good computer work could accomplish. Anubhav Sinha himself acknowledges this cinematographic style, reminiscent of the HBO series True Detective, but fails to recognise that as a problem. This, when the 2014 Badaun case led to immense trauma for the family and the CBI stalled the investigation. When the photograph of the two girls hanging from a mango tree was already hungrily consumed by media and viewers alike. Even without the cinematic drama, the photograph is shattering. It should never have been made public.

Characterisation too continues to be problematic throughout the film. The dalit constable in the station is the source of comedy, portrayed as dim-witted and ignorant but an essentially good soul. It recalled, forcefully, the racist “humour” of 30s American cinema that routinely used black-face or included black characters only for the jokes or as simpletons. The corrupt brahmin police officer played by Manoj Pahwa for all his casteism is so reduced by the villainy of his role, that he’s just a grunting, barely coherent creature filled with malice, stomping about as he rages at subordinate officers. It’s hardly surprising that the audience clapped in unison when he is slapped dramatically by the constable. One wonders if the same people would be equally thrilled about a brahmin being slapped by a dalit man in real life. Not all caste oppressors look and act like cine-villains.

The dalit constable in the film was apparently played by a brahmin actor. The caricature version of someone modelled on who appears to be Bhim Army chief Chandrashekhar Azad was allegedly played by a baniya actor. But the role of a sanitation worker rising out of a septic tank, covered in black sewerage was reserved for a real life worker. The director has defended the scene saying the set had been created by the production designer and that the sewage was artificial.

In the scene, the man rises out of the sludge, black liquid waste clinging to him, and wipes his eyes. The music soars. Everyone is supposed to be obligingly moved. I just felt sick. Do we really need a suitable background score and a towering theatre screen to see the inhumanity in the jobs of sanitation workers? Are the deaths and the actual news not enough? Is the fact that it continues to exist not enough? If the movie is about oppression, what is the director saying if not that a flesh and blood dalit’s sole role in a film about his community is to clean fake sewers for an audience? Is that his “aukaat” — a word the movie throws around relentlessly? This is when I also have to point out that the film in setting the events in a village in UP, reitetrates the urban myth that caste is only a problem in rural India. 

Of course, the legally aware viewer is wondering why the filmmaker has only just discovered Article 15 of the Constitution. Article 15 promises equality, but Article 17 of the same constitution specifically abolishes “untouchability”. Yet, these were not enough. The 1955 Untouchability Offences Act was amended in 1976 as the Protection of Civil Rights (PCR) Act. This act continues to exist. That too was not enough. That is why we have the Prevention of Atrocities against SCs and STs Act (PoA), 1989, that was amended in 2018. An act that has been in the news only in the last couple of years for the several changes it went through. An act under which such a case as depicted in the movie would be registered, if only the savarna hero knew his pretend job.
 
Courtesy: Indian Cultural Forum
 

The post Article 15: A Spectacle of Dalit Oppression appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Based in the holy city of Varanasi, Nakkash tells the story of a gifted Muslim craftsman, Allah Rakkha, who constructs Hindu temples. It is a symbol of communal harmony.  Despite being boycotted by his own community for making Hindu gods and despite facing immense oppression, Allah Rakkah continues to commit himself to his craft, which is said to be his ancestral profession.

The most heart-touching moment in the official trailer is when his son, Mohammad, after visiting a Hindu temple, asks his father who is ‘Bhagwan’ (Hindu god) and Allah Rakkha replies that ‘Bhagwan is the brother of Allah (Muslim God)’.
Strikingly, this movie is based in the city of Varanasi, the 2019 election constituency of Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

The writer and director of the movie, Zaigham, says, “Today! When the controversy arises on the right to speak, the film Nakkash shows the real scenario of human values and the brotherhood in the country. Being a Muslim, I want to say on this forum that this country is mine as much as it’s of a person, who belongs to any other religion and I have never experienced any religious discrimination in my entire life.”

This movie was chosen by the Information and Broadcasting Ministry to represent India’s spirit of communal harmony at the 71st Cannes Film Festival.

The movie will be released on May 31.
 

The post Movie ‘Nakkash’ Breaks Prejudices and is Beyond All Religious Boundaries appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Over the past many years, whenever a Rajinikanth movie is released, there are certain reviews which are discussed in the English media and also in the non-Tamil regions of the country. For many of them, who do not understand the complexities of the multilayered cine-politics of the South, the usual conclusion is that while the movie is a treat for Rajinikanth fans, it falls short of standards set by critics. Such reviews include celebrity critics like Rajeev Masand, Raja Sen and many more.
 
In an unexpected turn in the Tamil industry, the superstar joined hands with a young filmmaker, Pa Ranjith. Ever since their first movie Kabali was announced, the liberal intelligentsia has been in a quandary. The major problem here is not that there are multiple views on a film, or the lack of understanding of cine-politics in the South, but rather, the ‘savarna gaze’ within which these reviews are caught. Kaala also met with a similar set of reviews.
 
Pa Ranjith is widely known since his 2014 movie, Madras. The movie is much lauded for its realistic depiction of the Chennai slums and the symbolism used. To many critics, the film came as a treat in cinematic excellence. However, since the release of Kabali, the worry is about Rajinikanth’s stardom which the critics believe will intimidate the brilliant filmmaker in Pa Ranjith. The national award-winning film critic Baradwaj Rangan was among those who expressed this. Jayaraj, a multiple national award-winning Malayalam film director is known for the wide range of film genres he handles and for which he has received much critical acclaim. But Pa Ranjtih does not receive this applause for the switch from Madras to movies like Kabali and Kaala. There is a larger issue here.
 
The film festival going community looks down upon popular cinema, whereas the masses have (mostly) turned their thumbs down to art and parallel cinema. So, to lament that Pa Ranjith can successfully make a cinematically appealing movie but not a mass movie on caste politics is deeply troublesome. For instance, if Ranjith makes a movie more realistic and cinematically appealing for film lovers which still focused on caste realities, then who would the audience be? Are we saying that the masses should not watch movies which talk about such critical issues? Are such movies, then, only for discussions among academics and festival going crowds?
 
With just these two films, Ranjith has single-handedly shaken the collective consciousness around popular cinema not just in Tamil Nadu but across the country. In both content, and also in form. During the audio launch of Kaala, Pa Ranjith was on record saying, “I don’t dislike making a film in a cinematically appealing way. But in a society where cinema remains a mass medium for its people, making a mass film around this politics would serve the purpose of communicating the issue better.” Ranjith also confesses of the power behind Rajinikanth’s appeal and image, which again goes a great way in endorsing the issue. If this is the vision of the director, can he be spared the patronizing remarks of critics?
 
The biggest criticism over Pa Ranjith’s last two movies is the explicit manner in which the movies deal with caste. The question of whether caste is implicit or explicit in Kabali and Kaala can be rephrased into the question of whether caste itself is explicit or implicit in our everyday life. This question begs discussion among the ‘liberal’ understanding of caste. To this section of the population, caste exists only when an atrocity occurs. They fail to see the casteism that pervades our everyday life. They do not question the caste of the person who sat next to them in college, the food preferences they have, the caste of the people who live in the slums, etc.

Celebrity film critic Anupama Chopra’s review of Kabali revealed scant knowledge of Tamil cinema. She jokes about the suit Rajinikanth wears for most of the time in the movie. Wait! Did she get the point? She appears to have missed the entire point of the film. Among the many things the film communicated, one major aspect was the politics of clothing. Rajinikanth says in the movie, “there are many reasons why Gandhi discarded shirts and why Ambedkar wore a suit.” This was just one among the many reviews which missed the overall point of the film because of the sheer lack of context and understanding of caste.
 
To put it this in the simplest of terms, for someone like Gandhi, it was a revolutionary act to leave his home and shun his clothes. But for the Dalits revolution comes when they wear the best suits, live in a multi-storied building and even rise to become a don in Malaysia. With this single movie, Ranjith could subvert the entire stigma around the caste name ‘Kabali.’
 
Caste is all around you. Even in the air you breathe. So, the depiction of caste on a big screen can be done in many ways. It need not look like a Fandry always. So, by the implicit/explicit debate, the director has to show an atrocity or something as stark as untouchability to convince the spectators that the movie is engaging with caste. With his definite understanding of caste, Pa Ranjith does not need to do the same nor does he wish showcase just the pain of Dalits in a two-hour long art film.
 
As critics have also pointed out, to the majority caste is simply reflected through the gaze of class. Aren’t we naturalized in seeing only class and not caste on the silver screen? Hrithik Roshan cannot date Amisha Patel in Kaho Na Pyar Hai because he is poor. No filmmaker to this point cared enough to clearly distinct if it was only class or caste too that kept the couples apart. (Nagraj in Sairat apart) But in real life, we do understand that caste comes even before class.
 
Let’s be clear about where this debate emerges from. Caste has become the burden of the lower castes alone. Hence it is the responsibility of a Dalit director to educate the masses whereas a Shankar or Rajkumar Hirani does not have such a political responsibility. They are free to float in their castelessness and still tell stories about the poor and good Brahmins.
 
Almost all films produced in the different industries in India are filled with savarna symbols and their gods. The audience and critics do not dissect those brahminical symbols and acts as something which represents their politics. We are tamed in viewing these stories and symbols.
 
A vast majority would not have understood the relevance of the colours in the climax scene of Kaala. So is the case with many symbols, acts and references in Kabali. How can we criticise the director when everyone may not understand these symbols? Your social upbringing is designed so well that you understand nothing other than the privileged atmosphere around you. Are the Dalit supposed to carry the blame for your ignorance too?
 
As far as those critics and audience who do not understand the politics of the movie but feel that it is yet another Rajinikanth show, give yourself some more time. This is the first time you are watching something like this. Maybe another five years with the films of Pa Ranjith, Nagraj Manjule and hopefully many more, you would understand what blue or the busts of Ambedkar, Periyar and Buddha mean to the Dalits.
 
For instance, in the Malayalam industry, the 1980s and 90s witnessed the pouring in of Nair feudal stories. When Mohanlal acts as a Feudal lord in yet another movie, the audience went to watch the movie not because they necessarily associate with the Nair mythos of the film but to watch their star. But over many decades, these symbols have become naturalized. Every Malayali would understand what a naalukettu is even though they might not have ever seen one in their real life.
 
When Kaala teaser was released some felt that it is the repetition of the celebration of ‘blackness’ in Tamil cinema. But Tamil is, in fact, the only industry where a black complexioned hero can portray his role without being apologetic about his colour. Malayalam industry up to this point has remained apologetic and spends at least 10 mins of the movie to ‘humanize’ the black complexion of the hero. It is never repetitive to celebrate your ‘blackness’ in a society which considers fair complexion superior. Likewise, in the same society which considers the upper castes superior by the virtue of their birth, one has to celebrate his/her ‘Dalitness.’ Especially by the superstar himself in this case.
 
There is a historically rooted reason of caste reality on why this country never had any prominent Dalit director or Dalit subjectivity in films. And now that we are witnessing a new cinema experience through filmmakers like Pa Ranjith and Nagraj Manjule, the discourse on caste is entering mainstream spaces of media. These films, therefore, are being debated and reviewed through different lenses. But one finds that the mainstream film reviews are incapable of understanding the nuances of these films. It is not about whether a spectator or a critic likes the movie which talks about caste, but a caution that your reasons might be engraved in the lack of nuances in understanding caste and its various forms of discrimination.
 

The post How not to write a review for Pa Ranjith-Rajinikanth movies appeared first on SabrangIndia.

If there is one artist in the history of art world who has left the longest and most cherished mark on the subsequent many generations of artists and humankind, undoubtedly it is none other than Vincent Van Gogh. In a tribute befitting to the spirit of Van Gogh himself, Loving Vincent brings alive parts of Gogh’s life on the silver screen through multitude of oil paintings, all animated in perfect sync with one-another. Loving Vincent is the world’s first fully painted film.

Loving Vincent starts with a scene from Starry Night coming down to the Café Terrace, also a painting that he painted in Arles in 1888 in a soft, dewy manner with its characters having the perfect expressions and changing colours in order to provide depth.

The very idea of having a film, frame by frame in oil paintings, and those paintings being painted, one brush stroke at a time on the screen, can be baffling for most of the creative workers, both painters and artists working to create magic. But the end result is breath-taking to say the least. As per the cinematographer, Tristan Oliver, in this guardian piece, the entire script was shot in live action in 14 days, on partial sets and in front of green screens at 3 Mills Studios in London. The footage was then given to a team of over 50 painters in Gdansk, who meticulously turned each frame into individual painting. By the end, the team had produced 65,000 frames in oil paint covering more than 850 canvasses.

Preview

This is an act of true love for someone as remarkable and endearing as Van Gogh, someone who longed for artistic recognition all his life. And even in the grave absence of it, kept painting day in and day out. In modern day art, when brush strokes have taken the place of multiple clicks on computer screens, this is a landmark attempt in the very way we are going to watch cinema.

Loving Vincent takes a simple errand of delivering Van Gogh’s last letter to his brother Theo and turns it into a plot where the postman’s son, Armand Roulin follows a memorial and investigative journey into the circumstances of his death. In an attempt to find out about his death, Armand becomes truly inquisitive about the personhood of Gogh. He takes us to the incident when Van Gogh feels delighted at the mere sight of the crow. In a world that is essentially trying to fit human beings in boxes, the loneliness of an artist is not overrated to say the least. However, through its own making, the film is asking the viewers to think and feel differently. The book, “Lust for Life”, a biographical novel written by Irving Stone on Gogh’s life takes this feeling to its depth and provides an insight into his life. Following passage describes it,

“First, we think all truth is beautiful, no matter how hideous its face may seem. We accept all of nature, without any repudiation. We believe there is more beauty in a harsh truth than in a pretty lie, more poetry in earthiness than in all the salons of Paris. We think pain is good because it is the most profound of all human feelings. We think sex is beautiful even when portrayed by a harlot and a pimp. We put character above ugliness, pain above prettiness and hard, crude reality above all the wealth in France. We accept life in its entirety without making moral judgments. We think the prostitute is as good as the countess, the concierge as good as the general, the peasant as good as the cabinet minister, for they all fit into the pattern of nature and are woven into the design of life!” 
― Irving Stone, Lust for Life

The film, introduces this side of Van Gogh through his lesser known paintings and sketches. In a truly visually delightful journey, with the stars twinkling brighter than can be ever captured through camera and reflections appearing clearer in water than photographs, the film asks the viewers to explore that, that can’t be worded, only imagined and painted. It compels the viewers to feel a degree of compassion that is otherwise missing in today’s societies, by simple and yet grand gestures, like Gogh killing himself as he comes to know about the misery of Theo through Doctor Gachet.

A lot has been said since about Van Gogh’s life. But the film makes the audience grieve for the true loss that artists still feel by Van Gogh’s premature death, only if it can be called such!

However, in asking the question, “You want to know so much about his death, but what do you know about his life?” the film contradicts itself. Though it captures the philosophical essence of his death, it could have shed more light on the life that Van Gogh was, haunted by the demons of a ‘regular life’ and yet compassionately and continuously painting the sufferings of the working people, the regular ones, the ordinary ones. That being said, the film demands to be watched, may be multiple times over to grasp its full essence.

Loving Vincent is a riot of colours!
 

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कंधमाल मेरे लिए कोई नया विषय नहीं है। काउंटरकरेंट्स डॉट ऑर्ग ने दो नवंबर 2003 को अंगना चटर्जी का लिखा एक लेख प्रकाशित किया था- 'ओड़िशाः अ गुजरात इन द मेकिंग।' यह लेख 2008 में कंधमाल में हुए आधुनिक भारत में ईसाइयों के खिलाफ सबसे बर्बर दंगों के पांच साल पहले छपा था, जिस दंगे में तिरानबे लोग मारे गए, आदिवासी ईसाइयों और दलित ईसाइयों के साढ़े तीन सौ से ज्यादा पूजा-स्थलों को नष्ट कर दिया गया, लगभग साढ़े छह हजार घरों को जला या ढाह दिया गया, चालीस से ज्यादा महिलाओं का बलात्कार किया गया, यौन हिंसा, बेईज्जती की गई और अनेक शैक्षिक संस्थानों, सामाजिक सेवाओं और स्वास्थ्य संस्थानों को तोड़-फोड़ दिया गया या लूट लिया गया। छप्पन हजार से ज्यादा लोगों को अपनी जमीन छोड़ कर भागना पड़ा। इस त्रासद और खौफनाक घटना के बाद काउंटर करेंट्स ने तथ्यों का अध्ययन, विश्लेषण, विचार और जमीनी रिपोर्ट सहित दर्जनों लेख छापे थे।

मैं 2015 में कंधमाल के दौरे पर गया था और कंधमाल के जमीनी हालात पर विस्तार से रिपोर्ट लिख सका। मैंने कंधमाल हिंसा में अपने पति को गंवा चुकी दर्जनों ऐसी महिलाओं से बातचीत की। जब मैं उनका इंटरव्यू ले रहा था तो उन लोगों ने मेरी तरफ कुछ ऐसे देखा था जैसे कोई उनकी बेहद दयनीय हालत और परेशानी में थोड़ी राहत पहुंचाएगा। वे तमाम लोग हिंदुत्ववादी ताकतों की ओर से धमकी का सामना कर रहे थे और अपने गांव में नहीं लौट सकते थे। उनमें से ज्यादातर देश के अलग-अलग हिस्सों में घरेलू नौकरों, टेलर और इसी तरह के दूसरे बहुत छोटे-मोटे काम करके अपने तबाह हो चुके परिवारों को जिंदा रखने की कोशिश में लगे हुए थे। वे शायद ही जानते रहे हों कि मेरी तरह का कोई बेहद मामूली पत्रकार उनके लिए कुछ भी खास नहीं कर सकता था। उनकी आंखों में बसी उम्मीद से मैं सचमुच स्तब्ध था।

यह सब देख कर भी मैंने खुद को शांत बनाए रखा था और अपनी 'ड्यूटी' पूरी कर रहा था। मैं तबाह हो चुके घरों के अलावा एक ऐसे घर में भी गया जिसमें एक बुजुर्ग महिला को जिंदा जला दिया गया था। एक चर्च, जिसे गौशाले में तब्दील कर दिया गया था। मैं रैकिया में हजारों पीड़ितों के जुलूस में साथ था। रैकिया कंधमाल में आरएसएस-संघ परिवार की हिंसक गतिविधियों का केंद्रीय स्थल था। मैंने तमाम मुसीबतों और सरकार की उदासीनता के बावजूद उन पीड़ितों की ओर से पेश की गई सामूहिक चुनौती और उनका हौसला देखा, जिन्होंने सांप्रदायिक सद्भाव के लिए साथ आकर एक आंदोलन खड़ा कर दिया। लोगों के साथ जुलूसों में साथ चलते हुए मैं इस बात को लेकर आश्वस्त था कि आरएसएस-संघ परिवार के लोग अब कंधमाल में 2008 को कभी नहीं दोहरा सकेंगे।

इसी महीने की उन्नीस तारीख को मैं कालीकट में केपी केशव मेनन हॉल में उन दर्शकों के बीच था, जो केपी शशि की डॉक्यूमेंटरी फिल्म 'वॉयसेज फ्रॉम द रुइन्सः कंधमाल इन सर्च ऑफ जस्टिस' देख रहे थे। शशि मेरे अच्छे दोस्त रहे हैं और मैंने उनसे भी कंधमाल की उन घटनाओं के बारे में काफी सुना। मैंने इस फिल्म के शुरुआती संपादित रूप भी देखे। मैं जानता था कि इस फिल्म को बनाते हुए उन्हें किस दर्द और मुसीबतों से गुजरना पड़ा होगा। जब मैं अंधेरे में बैठा स्क्रीन पर चल रही इस फिल्म के दृश्यों से गुजर रहा था, तब असल में मैं एक बार फिर से कंधमाल की हिंसा को जिंदा होते देख रहा था। हिंसा की नंगी और खौफनाक कहानियां, पीड़ितों की लाचारगी, उन हिंदुओं की हिम्मत, जिन्होंने अपनी जान पर खेल कर बहुत सारे ईसाइयों को बचाया, इंसाफ तय करने में सरकारी और न्यायिक उदासीनता और आखिरकार एक ऐसे उदार भारत के निर्माण की उम्मीद, जो मजहबी भाईचारे के जरिए सांप्रदायिक ताकतों की धूर्त और बेईमान मंशा को खारिज करेगी, हराएगी। समूची फिल्म और खासतौर पर आखिरी दृश्य ने मेरे जज्बातों को बेचैन कर दिया और मैं रो पड़ा।

इस फिल्म को देखने के तुरंत बाद मुझे इस पर अपनी राय जाहिर करने के लिए मंच पर बुलाया गया। मैंने अपने आंसू पोंछे और मंच पर गया। अब भी मैं अपने आंसू नहीं रोक पा रहा था। मैं भीतर से बेहद परेशान और शर्मिंदा था। मैंने दर्शकों को कहा कि यह फिल्म दरअसल भावनाओं के जरिए एक क्रांतिकारी कार्रवाई पैदा करती है। शशि की फिल्म हजारों किलोमीटर दूर हुई एक घटना के बारे में लोगों के जज्बात को झकझोरने में सक्षम है और अब यह तय करना हमारी जिम्मेदारी है कि पीड़ितों को इंसाफ मिल सके।

हालांकि मैं शशि की फिल्म को देखते हुए अपनी भावनाओं पर काबू पाने की कोशिश कर रहा था, लेकिन यह केवल रुलाने वाली फिल्म भर नहीं है। यह कंधमाल की हिंसा का एक बेहद शांत मन से किया गया अध्ययन है। यह फिल्म अतीत में जाकर उन चीजों के बारे में गहराई और विस्तार से बताती है कि आरएसएस-संघ परिवार के लोग कैसे लगातार नफरत के अभियान चला कर धीरे-धीरे कंधमाल की नसों में घुस गए। माओवादियों द्वारा स्वामी लक्ष्मणानंद की हत्या को कैसे सांप्रदायिक ताकतों ने आदिवासी और दलित ईसाइयों के कत्लेआम के लिए इस्तेमाल किया। यह फिल्म दिखाती है कि वह कत्लेआम उस स्वामी की हत्या की कोई तात्कालिक प्रतिक्रिया भर नहीं था, बल्कि अल्पसंख्यकों पर एक सुनियोजित हमला था। इसके बाद यह फिल्म न्याय देने की प्रक्रिया का भी विश्लेषण करते हुए बताती है कि कैसे यह पीड़ितों को इंसाफ देने में नाकाम रही। आखिर में यह फिल्म वहां के पीड़ितों की ओर से अपने पैमाने पर खड़ा किए गए एक ठोस प्रतिरोध आंदोलन और तमाम राजनीतिक खेमेबंदियों को तोड़ कर साथ आए पीड़ितों के समर्थन को दिखाते हुए एक उम्मीद के साथ खत्म होती है।

कंधमाल के मसले पर इतना भावुक हो जाने वाला मैं अकेला नहीं था। 2015 में मैंने देखा था कि स्वामी लक्ष्मणानंद की हत्या के आरोप में फूलबनी जेल में बंद सात निर्दोष दलित-आदिवासी ईसाइयों से मिलने के बाद भारतीय कम्युनिस्ट पार्टी (मार्क्सवादी) की पोलित ब्यूरो सदस्य बृंदा करात अपने आंसू पोंछ रही थीं। विचित्र है कि उस सांप्रदायिक हिंसा से संबंधित किसी भी मामले में सिर्फ यही लोग दोषी ठहराए गए और अब तक जेल में बंद हैं। हां, भारत कंधमाल में इन गरीब आदिवासियों-दलितों को इंसाफ देने में नाकाम रहा। शशि अपनी फिल्म में इस हकीकत को पूरी ताकत से सामने लाते हैं। यही वजह हो सकती है कि मैं इस फिल्म को देखते हुए रो पड़ा।
 

The post कंधमाल के खंडहरों की चीखें और एक फिल्म देखते हुए मेरा रोना appeared first on SabrangIndia.

After the dreaded thing happened Countercurrents.org had published dozens of articles including fact finding reports, analyses, opinions and on the ground reports.

I had visited Kandhamal in 2015 and extensively reported about the current situation in Kandhamal. I interviewed a dozen widows of Kandhamal violence. While interviewing them they looked upon me as someone who could bring them some succour to the pathetic situation they are in. Many of them are facing intimidation from Hindutva forces and can’t return to their villages. Most of them were living in different parts of India as house maids, tailors and doing other odd jobs to sustain their ruined families. Little did they know that an insignificant journalist like me could do very little for them. The hope in their eyes really shook me. Still I kept my calm and kept on doing my ‘job’. I visited ruined houses, visited a house where an old woman was burnt alive, visited a church that became a cow shed. I marched with thousands of victims in Raikia, the nerve centre of violence and heartland of RSS/Sangh Parivar in Kandhamal. I saw the collective defiance and courage of the victims who in spite of all the hardships and government apathy, came together and formed a movement for communal harmony. Marching with the masses I was convinced that the RSS/Sangh Parivar elements will never be able to repeat a 2008 again in Kandhamal.

On 19^th of this month I was among the audience at K.P. Kesava Menon hall in Calicut, watching K.P Sasi’s documentary “Voices From The Ruins: Kandhamal in Search of Justice”. Sasi being a good friend of mine I had heard stories about Kandhamal from him too. I had seen the rushes of the film, a roughly edited version too. I also knew the pain and hardships that he went through in making this film. While I sat in the dark and went through the visuals that played before me on the screen I was re-living the Kandhamal violence once again. As the tales of the naked horrors of the violence, the helplessness of the victims, the courage of many Hindus who saved many Christian lives risking their own lives, the government and judicial apathy in delivering justice and finally the hope of building a resilient India that will defeat the nefarious designs of the communal forces through religious harmony overwhelmed me with emotions and I cried.

Soon after the screening I was called upon to the stage to give my reactions about the film. I wiped my tears off and went on to the stage. Still I could not stop my tears. I was embarrassed. Through my tears I told the audience it is through emotions that revolutionary actions are born. Sasi’s film was able to evoke emotion about an incident that happened thousands of kilometers away and now it is our duty to make sure that the victims get justice.

Although I was overcome with emotion while watching Sasi’s film, it is not a tear jerker. It is a calm and composed study of the Kandhamal violence. It delves into history to show how the hate campaign by RSS/Sangh Parivar elements slowly seeped through the veins of Kandhamal. How the killing of Swami Lakshmananda by the Maoists was used by the communal forces to unleash a pogrom on Adivasi and Dalit Christians. The film shows that the violence was not a spontaneous reaction to the killing of the Swami, but a well planned orchestrated attack on the minorities. The film then analyses the justice delivery system and how it failed to deliver justice to the victims. The film ends in a note of hope by showing the robust resistance movement the victims themselves built and solidarity and support coming to the victims cutting across political spectrum.

I am not alone to overcome with emotion in Kandhamal. In 2015, I saw Brinda Karat, Polit Bureau member of Communist Party of India (Marxist) wiping her tears off after visiting seven innocent Dalit/Adivasi Christians who are lodged in Phulbani jail allegedly for killing Swami Lakshmananda. Incidentally they are the only people who are convicted and still lodged in jail in any case related to this horrific communal violence.  Yes, India failed in delivering justice to these poor Adivasi/Dalits in Kandhamal. Sasi brings out this truth forcefully through his film. That may be the reason I cried after watching this film.

This article originally appeared on www.countercurrents.org

Binu Mathew is the editor of www.countercurrents.org. He can be reached at editor@countercurrents.org
 

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Maleh was born in 1936, the son of a high ranking army physician, and eldest of four siblings in an elite Damascene family. He studied law at Damascus University but harbored an interest in science and a passion for writing and painting. By chance he met the Czech cultural attaché, who encouraged him to follow his dream of studying physics in Prague. With no funding available, the seventeen-year-old sold one of his paintings to UNWRA, earning enough for his first few months in Czechoslovakia. An odd job as a film extra proved an epiphany; Maleh transferred from nuclear physics to the Prague Film School, joining a cohort that included Jiri Menzel and Milos Forman. While still in Czechoslovakia, his criticism of the Nasser regime controlling Syria under the United Arab Republic attracted attention from the Syrian intelligence services and earned him a reputation as a dissident that has remained a source of hardship and inspiration.

Returning to Syria upon graduation in 1964 as the country's first European film school graduate, Maleh made experimental shorts and continued to paint, holding his first art exhibitions. He also wrote a screenplay based on Syrian author Haydar Haydar's novel The Leopard (al-Fahd), a fictional depiction of Abu ‘Ali al-Shahin, legendary rebel of the 1940s. A week before shooting was scheduled to begin, the Ministry of Interior revoked permission, arguing that the film glorified a thug. In 1971 The Leopard was given official clearance, and this evocation of rural resistance became the NFO's first Syrian feature-length film.

Released in 1972, The Leopard captivated Arab audiences and introduced Syrian cinema to the global stage. The film is set in 1946, as the French Mandate forces scaled back their presence, and local feudal landlords, aghas, took their place as oppressors. The Leopard opens with, and periodically returns to, a close-up of the protagonist's scowling face set against a raging sea, as a haunting voice-over draws on Syrian folk ballads. In the second scene, shot in silhouette, Abu ‘Ali's wife, Shafiqa, asks why he has acquired a gun, now that the French have gone. Abu ‘Ali avoids the question, but the answer quickly emerges: Syrian landlords, backed by soldiers, demand more tribute than the peasants can afford after a bad harvest. The hero resists, is arrested and beaten, but escapes to the hills, staging guerilla attacks against the new forces of tyranny. Comrades from his days fighting the French try to join him, but Abu ‘Ali turns them away. This is his fight alone.

The soldiers attempt to coerce the rebel's surrender by harassing the villagers and stealing their food. After a gruesome military raid kills Abu ‘Ali's nephew, the hero's sister cries for her brother's blood. His rebellion has led to this fierce retaliation. Shafiqa visits Abu ‘Ali in hiding, and assures him of the villagers' support, despite the agha's brutality. Their passionate reunion against a craggy backdrop marks Arab cinema's first partial nude scene, as the camera caresses the length of unclothed actress Ighra’ ("Seduction," née Nihad ‘Ala al-Din) underneath the amorous rebel. Shafiqa later joins her husband in defending his position against a well-armed platoon. As Cécile Boëx notes, this depiction of female resistance subverts commercial cinema conventions, as Shafiqa is no longer merely an object of male desire, but a rifle-bearing rebel for a collective cause (2011, 135).

The peasants' conditions worsen, and ‘Abd al-Rahim "the One-Armed" is murdered for feeding his fugitive friend. Outraged, a group of village men join Abu ‘Ali in a raid on a group of soldiers dining on the agha's meat, steal their weapons, and set fire to the warlord's warehouse. Shafiqa and her son ‘Ali are arrested in an attempt to lure the rebel out of hiding, but he surprises the guards and stages a rescue. He returns to his posse and tries to move them to safety, but they have grown battle-worn; Abu ‘Ali is again alone. He takes brief refuge with a village elder, who questions the violent tactics have created a bloody cycle of vengeance. "I couldn't keep quiet," Abu ‘Ali argues. "But your gun didn't speak well for you," the sage counters, noting that the soldiers, poor men trying to feed their families, are themselves oppressed. 

The peasants accuse Abu ‘Ali of fighting an unwinnable battle—and bringing the village to ruin—yet evade the authorities' demands for the hero's whereabouts. In the end, a weary Abu ‘Ali is betrayed by his uncle, whom the rebel strangles before the arresting soldiers can pull him away. The hero is tied up and dragged through the village, then shackled in a web of chains and beaten. The seaside refrain shot widens to reveal ‘Abu ‘Ali’s manacle-bound figure walking along the shore to the gallows, where the villagers, along with the agha and his henchmen, wait in glum silence. As Abu ‘Ali hangs, an aerial shot scans the countryside, and a hazy silhouette of revolting peasants emerges on the horizon.

The Leopard represents his first sustained effort to explore, through narrative example, what has gone wrong in, and continues to plague, Syrians' revolutionary endeavors. Politics enhances rather than overwhelms film's form.  Maleh identifies with his protagonist, a lone and often lonely rebel fighting for true independence, "motivated by dignity, self-esteem and the will to go to the limit, carrying his own cross with no regret." In telling Abu ‘Ali's story, as in his other efforts, Maleh strives for a new cinematic language, and claims no affiliation to schools of cinematic style:

I've never felt that there is a school that I can follow, but rather try to find my own methods. Sometimes I'm successful; but an unfolding of what we don't know about ourselves seems to me more important than following a cinematic movement . . . there are no forms to be resurrected, only forms to be created and discovered. I avoided pre-established schools and tendencies.

Yet The Leopard employs techniques of neorealism, including themes of poverty and oppression, the use of non-professional actors, and location filming in black-and-white. The film arguably set the stylistic tone for the following decades of Syrian fictional media production. The Leopard reflects a dark aesthetic that has become the hallmark of Syrian visual style; the current uprising's dissident cultural producers draw, wittingly or not, on a gloomy aesthetic introduced in The Leopard (Salamandra 2012; 2015).

Lovingly framed shots of the countryside and its traditional stone houses reflect careful attention to authenticity of décor and clothing. Maleh sees the film as part cultural documentation, a form of salvage anthropology, tracing what remained of "the real environment of the countryside." Scenes of rural harvest show everyday practice under the soldiers' threatening watch. Maleh describes the motivation behind his realist techniques:

The harsh environment demanded harsh solutions. I hated and still hate pretension. Color, for me at that time, felt like a false bleeding over the originality of things, characters and emotions. With The Leopard, I scouted for locations and people. The authenticity of both [in Syria's coastal region] amazed me and corresponded exactly to my conception of the film. I even rejected makeup. I told everyone that the sunrays were the best makeup artist. Working with people from those villages who had never been to a cinema brought me an ecstatic joy.

The film's rich local authenticity stops at language; dialogue is delivered in generic Syrian idiom. This, Maleh argues, reflects the political ethos of its era; films of the 1980s and television dramas of the 1990s onward employ local dialects—with their attendant sectarian and regional associations–often to controversial effect (Salamandra 2004). Yet the late 1970s still carried the hope of Arab unity: "I didn't give particular attention to the dialect, because for me The Leopard was a pan-Syrian or even a pan-Arab symbol. At that time, the dialect of the Syrian coast didn't have the same political or social connotations that it does today. I didn't predict the apparent transition from a dialect to a position."[ii]

The Leopard was awarded the Locarno International Film Festival's Special Leopard Prize in 1972, a level of European recognition that few Arab filmmakers have achieved. The film also enjoyed unusual local success. In the paradox-ridden Syrian film industry, most productions financed by the NFO are either banned from or simply fail to achieve distribution within country (Salti 2006). The Leopard screened in cinemas throughout Syria despite its implicit message: foreign colonialism is dead, but oppression lives on. The film and its maker occupy a privileged place in the Syrian artistic community’s collective memory, inspiring generations of media makers. Cherif Kiwan, a member of the Abu Naddara collective of dissident filmmakers, cites Ighra'’s love scene as formative: "Seeing the body of a woman on film was my first feeling of freedom, of having crossed boundaries. It influenced me more than anything directly political."[iii]

The film is remembered beyond the Middle East: South Korea's Pusan International Film Festival of 2005 chose The Leopard as one of the "immortal masterpieces of Asian cinema."

Maleh embodies the Syrian cinema paradox: despite receiving NFO financing, the filmmaker is often treated as a dissident, a distinction he bears with honor. State funding has enabled him to forego foreign sources, permitting, he believes, a greater local authenticity. Unusually for an Arab film, The Leopard, like Maleh's other major work The Extras, is both internationally acclaimed and locally popular. Screened in more than twenty Syrian theaters for over three months, the work established its creator's formidable reputation in the Arab world and beyond.

Despite sporadic interference from the state representatives who, as Maleh puts it "acted more like mukhabarat (intelligence) agents than owners and administrators of cultural projects," the 1970s proved fruitful for a nascent Syrian industry. In 1972, Damascus held its first annual international film festival, promoting an alternative Arab cinema. During this time Maleh produced numerous experimental shorts, including the ninety-second Napalm, linking the Vietnam War to the Israeli Occupation inspired by wars in Palestine and Vietnam, and winning first prize at the Toulon Film Festival, and Rocks (Sakhr) exposing the perilous labor conditions of Syrian quarry workers.

He also directed Labor (al-Makhad) the first third of Men under the Sun, a triptych exploring the Palestinian situation released in 1970. His privately financed spoof, Ghawar James Bond, brought Durayd Lahham's comical television character to the big screen in 1974. Mr. Progressive (al-Sayyid al-Taqaddumi) of 1975 follows an investigative journalist's attempts to expose middle-class corruption. For its negative portrayal of a regime figure the film was banned in Syria.

By the end of the 1970s, Syria faced rising tensions, with militant challenges from Islamists, culminating in the brutal suppression of the Hama uprising in 1982. The Ba‘thist state consolidated its control of creative expression. Maleh "collided with a cultural environment ossified in false slogans of progress,” but continued working. The year 1979 saw the release of his second masterpiece, Fragments (Baqaya Suwar), a realist treatment of the autobiographical novel by Hanna Mina, acclaimed chronicler of social life in rural Syria.[iv] Maleh was attracted to Mina's richly drawn characters and feel for his rural environment, one evoking a "fragile human existence and search for life with dignity." Shot in color and set at the end of the 1920s, the film recounts the hard-drinking Abu Salim's struggle to reclaim his wife's land—usurped by a Turk—and his foiled efforts to sustain his impoverished family. A grounded sailor reduced to odd jobs in a coastal village, Abu Salim regales his neighbors with tales of seafaring exploits—"Oh Egypt, the women!"—and botches the menial work he is offered. Life on land suits him poorly; he turns to smuggling but is hijacked. His wife, Umm Salim (actress and theater director Naila al-Atrash), forages for food and begs from neighbors, including the beautiful widow (Samar Sami) with whom her husband is having an affair. Hunger sets in; the couple's three children are forbidden to eat until the afternoon shade hits a certain rock.

The family moves to the mountains, where Umm Salim's Uncle Barhum finds Abu Salim work with a village leader (mukhtar), a pernickety miser who washes his own clothes. But the seaman quickly tires of working the land and peddling proves equality disastrous. The couple's eldest daughter, barely a teen, is forced to join the mukhtar's household as a servant to help support her family. Sericulture promises salvation; joyous scenes show villagers coddling silkworms on mulberry leaves. But India floods the international textile market with cheaper synthetics. The family's debt to the mukhtar, who controls the village food supply, grows, and a younger daughter is sent to work in the house of an agha in the plains near the Turkish border. The family joins her after Uncle Barhum has the eldest daughter released from the mukhtar's service.

The village is in turmoil, as the ahga's warehouse has been robbed. No one seems to know, or care, about Abu Salim's promised job and housing. The family witnesses a confrontation between the lord's men and the cowering villagers. The fearless Zanuba (a triumphant Muna Wassif), named for Syria's ancient warrior queen, strides in with a bitter laugh, accusing the village mukhtar of stealing the grain on the agha's behalf. "You're a dog," she taunts, "wag your tail for the agha and he'll give you a bone." Abu Salim approaches the lord but is rebuffed. ‘Abdu, a soldier supporting the agha, recognizes his cousin Abu Salim and finds the seaman a job guarding the lord's warehouse. He is given a rifle, earning the suspicion of his new neighbors, except for the marginal Zanuba, who befriends the family. She takes the hungry son Salim on lengthy journeys to the local version of a soup kitchen, and bathes the little boy's infected eyes in the sea.

‘Abdu tries to attack Zanuba, but Abu Salim protects her. Tensions between the two men emerge over the over the soldier's attitude toward the peasants, who, he argues, "don't come out to work unless threatened with a rifle." They escalate after the hungry farmers are accused of stealing food from the agha, and the cousins find themselves on opposing sides of a battle between villagers and soldiers. The sharecroppers gather to storm the warehouse to "take what's rightfully ours," the soldiers try to stop them, and an exchange of gunfire ensues. The outraged sailor kills his cousin. Zanuba, laughing wildly, sets fire to the lord's warehouse, and is shot off the roof. A wounded Abu Salim delivers the film's final line, in earshot of his terrified son: "A wasted life."

The film plays on shifts of weakness and power. Though a secondary character, it is the tall, strong, justice-seeking Barhum, rather than Abu Salim, who embodies the heroic masculine ideal. Zanuba emasculates villagers and soldiers alike with her aggression. The film widens the novel's intimate domestic landscape to emphasize themes of domination and oppression. Maleh transforms Mina's Abu Salim—a dissolute, womanizing drunkard—into a thwarted but dignified romantic: "Honestly, I didn't like the idea of an alcoholic. Abu Salim had something noble and honest about him, and sought dignified existence. I could not let that go. I didn't like the experience of the author, so I opted for what I love in people: that hardship and poverty create nobility."

[This article is a condensed version of “Nabil Maleh: Syria’s Leopard,” in Ten Arab Directors, edited by Josef Gugler (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2015).]
This article originally appeared on jadaliyya.com

[i] Unless otherwise noted, biographical details of and quotations from Nabil Maleh are drawn from personal correspondence with the author, 22 June and 7 September 2011.
[ii] Maleh here refers to the association of costal dialects with the ‘Alawi dominated regime, and a growing sectarianism and regionalism in Syria more generally. Syria’s Arab nationalists long held the use of dialect in literature, and the teaching of the colloquial to foreigners, as divisive practices. See Salamandra 2004 on the intersection of social, political, and religious distinctions in Syria.
[iii] Interview with the author, 13 February 2012.
[iv] Translated into English as Fragments of Memory: The Story of a Syrian Family (2004), the story draws on Mina’s impoverished childhood. American readers will note the novel’s striking similarity to Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes (1996).
 
 
 

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