Finding Common Ground in an Uncommon Nation

By: Ed O'Connell and Cheryl Bernard | March 19, 2008 | Travel

Ed O’Connell

Here we have our first complicated matter to think about. It is known that Syria supports violent extremist organizations. Yet terrorist acts also have created a sense of revulsion toward terrorism. The scene in the television serial, for example, was based on the actual event in which a small child was scheduled to blow up the Syrian Palace of Justice in Damascus with potentially enormous loss of life. It was averted only because the mother mustered enough courage to defy a radical cleric and inform the authorities.

Machnok walks us out onto the roof of the Art House, opening up an amazing landscape of riches in all directions, the golden dome of a mosque on one side, the sparkling heights of the city of Damascus on the other, and in the middle, this oasis of calm surrounded by old trees and enlivened by the stream that formerly fed the ancient mill.

Next, we walk downstairs and enter a vast hall with a beautiful buffet spread out on one end and an exhibition of modern Syrian art displayed at the other. It is here we finally encounter Anzour himself. Ever since we landed, Ed has been preoccupied with a somewhat peripheral worry – not his for safety (nor any possible anti-Americanism); what had been worrying him is his hair, or rather, whether its length would be out of place here. The conventional American thinking is that Arabs don’t respect professionals with long hair – just one of the deep insights from the new wave of U.S. cultural and “human terrain” experts who have cropped up to “explain” the Middle East these days. 

In reality, the basement we walk into could be anywhere – London, Paris, Tokyo — and Anzour himself wears his grey hair to the shoulders. His companions – artists and actors – sported similar styles. Sitting next to him is the improbably named Honey Al-Sayed, with her infectious throaty laugh that has helped make her Syria’s top radio personality. It’s her real name, she hastens to tell us in her impeccable English; her parents chose it in honor of a popular fashion model of their day.

The mood in the Art House cellar is exhilarating. Poets, painters and actors drift in and out, stopping for a few minutes to joke with one another and to inquire earnestly and respectfully after each others’ work, taking time to praise it for the benefit of us, the newcomers.

Ed O’Connell

After these casual introductions, we all sat down to eat at an oak table in the depths of the Art House basement. We are introduced next to Ahmad Moualla and his wife. Moualla is Syria’s top artist famous for his paintings While Waiting, Wing Tomb and Damascus.  As if to reaffirm the realization that we are meeting some of the Middle East’s best and brightest on our first night, we are casually introduced to “the man who created the now-successful TV station Al-Jazeera based in Qatar,” Mohammed Jassim Al-Ali, who walks over to join us briefly.

The next morning we are taken to Anzour’s workshop. According to his biography, his family is from Circassian stock, from the southwest corner of Russia. In 1931, his father made Syria’s first silent film, Under A Damascus Sky. In his chaotic “studio” – really more like an apartment that just happens to have lots of electronic equipment — Anzour is the picture of an artist at work: chain smoking, scripts in hand, manipulating the buttons of his rather rudimentary film-editing equipment, again wearing his trademark long-sleeved black turtleneck. A few of his assistants mill about, bringing Turkish coffee and biscuits – some of them, he tells us, have been with him for more than 20 years and are “absolutely loyal,” an assurance more common in the police-state days of the country’s former President Hafez al-Assad.

Sitting down at the controls, sleeves rolled up, Anzour shows us some of this recent works. Al-Hur al-Ayn (The Virgins of Paradise) was a Ramadan serial, or soap opera, which had set the Muslim world abuzz in 2004. This particular episode shows a cleric treating a boy with epilepsy by exorcising his demons. In the end, the cleric wins the gratitude of the epileptic’s healthy brother, who the cleric then plots to recruit as a suicide bomber. The serial is narrated by a fictional character, an older woman, who has lived through the bombing of a neighborhood compound “somewhere in the Middle East.”

Another one is called Al Mariqoun (The Renegades). It catalogues the social ills confronting many families in the Middle East, including such taboos as spousal abuse and pedophilia. One film clip shows a father confronting his two daughters, both of whom have been out on the town until the early morning hours. One of them has come home heavily made up and drunk, while moments later her sister appears in full hijab (the traditional female headscarf), having joined a women’s secret extremist religious cult. His work and his message, Anzour tells us, are all aimed at “the middle” – the large majority of average Arabs and Muslims who are repulsed by both extremes: liberalism gone amok and religious fanaticism.

Interspersing his explanations with the occasional gleeful, “This caused a lot of controversy,” and “This was very shocking,” Anzour walks us through his fascinating oeuvre.  He expects his current project will generate even more excitement. Titled Al Kawareer, it is composed of 20, 70-minute-long episodes, each by a female screenwriter, each addressing a problem faced by women in Muslim society. His press release for Al Kawareer states:

“The series is a reflection of what Third World women have to go through from worries, suffering and degradation, and so we hope when placing the spotlight on such issues, it will help bring back women’s natural rights . . . rights that have been taken by a society governed solely by males . . . socially, economically and even emotionally!”

The next day we visit Pakistan Street – not far from American Street – the home of Syria’s first private radio station, Medina FM, and its famous DJ/morning talk show host Honey Al-Sayed. Once inside, we discover a very modern studio where hip young DJs abound. Honey is in the middle of her very popular morning radio call-in and music show, Good Morning Syria. The sound engineer, Abdullah, sits on the other side of the soundproof glass from Honey, and both seem to feed off of the other’s energy. Bopping to the mostly pop music being played, Abdullah at times cannot contain himself, but must leap to his feet for a bit of Arabic dancing.

Ed O’Connell

In many ways, Honey is a reflection of the national consciousness: She is probably in touch with more Syrians from all walks of life than any other figure in the country. She receives hundreds of calls and text messages every morning from not only Syria, but from parts of Iraq, the greater Middle East, and even the United States! Her signature laugh — a sort of half-chuckle, half-giggle — is said to be the most recognizable in Syria. When she started a few years ago, Honey tells us, it was unheard of to laugh on the radio at all. Radio was a serious, solemn affair, with news and commentaries read in great earnest and in classical Arabic. Honey single-handedly revolutionized the airwaves, speaking in the colloquial, chatting with her listeners, joking and teasing. Bit by bit, she brought further innovations. The national college entrance exams, a time of great stress for students, causing more than a few suicides, inspired her to bring psychologists and motivational speakers to her show, and what at first was unfamiliar became the new standard. 

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