Stokely Carmichael responds to an uppity white liberal

at the Camden Round House during Dialectics of Liberation '67. This 30 minute documentary is a must watch for anyone on the hippy to black power spectrum

Film Trailer: Why can't I be Sushi?

Hoda Yayha Elsoudani's forthcoming saunter though the Sunni-Shii interface looks like it's going to be awesome and I hope it does really well. I think it's going to be Tawhesive (definition). Two cute little girl geniuses ask all sorts of people about the most long running bifurcation within the Muslim Ummah. It is an amazing schism really, because none of us were at Kerbala when the irreversible went down, but is solidifies at times and cloggs up the hope pipes.

Powerful centrifugal forces from within and without continue to work hard to scupper Muslim people's enheightenment, perhaps nowhere more-so than in Syraq over which we here in Londonistan have little real purchase.

The Iraq war protests were the first time that I noticed any significant political difference within UK Muslims on geopolitics at street protests and at university. Folks, moved by Saddam's victimisation of the Shii community and their political power, went quite pro-US intervention.

I imagine this often happens when your back is up against the wall and there seems like there is no escape. In the 70s Bengali Nationalists supplicated to India to deliver them from Pakistan before and after the military crackdown. In the 80s, Mojahedin e Khalq marched into Post Revolution Iran from Iraq. One man's opportunism is another man's something else, and this is common and probably systematic, ummahtic complexity problem in times of collective weakness.

Fast forward a decade, with Syria in civil war, obese petrosheikhs playing silly buggers, the Iraqi regime's victimisation of Sunnis and the fearsome ISIS storyline, and its not unusual for misunderstandings and power plays to compound and sour the mental faculties and limit the growth of relations between brothers.

As well as empathy, I think there is a lot that Sunnis can learn from the Shii experience of being in minority, especially the khums (20% gains tax), which we could use to pool resources for a more autonomy, organisational and intellectual capital. Ali Shariati is an inspiring figure too.

Syraq hosts ~55 million souls, Bangladesh ~155  million souls: Upon all be peace

I am prone to situating myself in Bangladesh, which has a cosmopolitan Muslim heritage, and a primary national culture cleavage is pitched around 1971 as Kerbala. In desh, its the secular liberal Muslims who slaughter other Muslims in the street, dehumanise them, and make money out of their despair.

Like Sabir Mustafa Head of the Bengali World Service at the BBC, and the despicable fuck, who covered up the extent, nature and depravity of Bangladesh government's massacre of unarmed civilian protesters last year, then dressed the victims up like terrorists. Reflecting on how the journalistic, political and security forces of Bangladeshi establishment have murdered,  terrorised and mentally stunted the people in Bangladesh, and of hearing of how ISIS summarily executed so many of their former tormentors in the Iraqi security forces, is quite an emotional roller coaster. As a month of nonsecular training and transformation approaches, what counter-sectarian moves might we make to remove the vital threat without becoming it?

The Sushiness of Bengal Muslim heritage is multivalent. Although Mir Jafar, the great traitor who ushered in British corporate-militant ascendancy in South Asia was Shii, so was Sirajudawla, the young ruler that he betrayed. A lot of funds went into the development of  Shii Islamic institutions in Najaf from Sunni tenant farmers via their Shii rulers in the past.  Syed Amir Ali's 'A Short History of the Saracens' and 'The Spirit of Islam' are still key texts for people with a cerebral Muslim self, more than 100 years after their writing. It is fresh too, limited by what Jamaat e Islami has to offer, and unimpressed with quietist vanilla Islams, young, brave and talented people are exploring the Shii traditions.

The resources and traditions of Islamic people are so rich, I hope that people in desh can help each other find the keys to treasury.... before the Boys of Bangladesh find and twist the fiqh they were looking for...

El Caracazo and what we hunger for

In 1989 there was a massacre in Venezuala by the government of Carlon Andres Peres, known as Caracazo. Dozens to thousands were killed. (yes I know). Recently a film was made about it, the youtube clip below has English subtitles.

The political response was the possibility, then the reality of the late Chavez. That took ten years.

Would you like enfranchisement with that?

[Documentary] The Coconut Revolution

mashAllah

 

A 2001 documentary film focussing on the resistance of a Bougainville Revolutionary Army, faith, community, ingenuity and tenacity.

[Documentary] Regarding Ali: The memories, and thoughts of Dr. Ali Shariati

This loving film is a good introduction to a personality who challenged static vested religion and whose contributions call out to our political hungers and still speak to our times and situations.

Ali Shariati (1933-1977) was an Iranian Political, religious thinker who enlivened the religious intellectual and justice seeking natures of his people suffering under the Shah. He was assassinated in the UK before the Iranian Revolution  in 1979.

For several years he would inspire and move student audiences with lectures at a progressive religious institution called Hussainiye Ershad in Tehran. His appeal transcended sector and class, and unsurprisingly he suffered the censure of the Shah's Government and was apparently disapproved of by Khomeini.

Many of his writings are translated and available online, for example on Hajj. He also wrote on and at the Islam/Marxism interface. It would have been interesting to see what he made of the country that emerged after his martyrdom.

The documentary is in 2 parts, total running time 77 mins.

[Documentary] Final Solution, exploring Hindutva's ultraviolence in Gujarat 2002

This film was obstructed by Censors in India. It is an interview-based documentary. 150 mi ns.



The Court Judgement for the Naroda Patiya massacre, a sub atrocity for which a female MP amongst others were brought to book, though not severely enough for some.

Cinema of the Soul - The Spook who sat by the Door

A freind of mine has been stalking US-based 'Spirit of Bandung' scholar Sohail Daulatzai about London town and brings me this film adapted from a book by the same name in 1973, which I must share.

Its about a black brother who is initialy hired by American spy masters to fulfill some racial quota, but is then assigned to photocopying. In response to this, our comrade learrns all that he can and then leaves to set up an organisation to train the vanguard for the upcoming race war.

Fetih 1453

It warms the me to the core to discover films like Fetih 1453, an Ummahtic swashbuckler that brings to life the Opening of Istanbul by the 21 year old Ottoman Sultan Mehmet II. Here he is sniffing a flower (see right).

Fetih is the most costly Turkish film to date. It does the same kind of thing as Malaysia's recent Puteri Gunung Ledang, National Visual Archive Making, with  Ottoman grit and substance. The Turkish Film Festival in London always hosts fantastic work, so this isn't a plutocratic shot in the dark. I could see from the end credits just how many small companies supported this work. I hope they like the finished product.

This victorious siege was important because if it had failed, it would have been curtains for the Sultan, his army and his people. Many Muslim armies had unsuccessfully tried to capture Constantinople, inspired by a saying of the Prophet, a hadith which is references from the very  beginning. Framed with Prophesy, that's what this film is.

For Mehmet II be able to succeed was an immense honour for all involved, and of profound importance for Islamic futures that it enabled.  Beamingly pro-Islam, it includes an unforgettable scene of the Sultan leading Fajr (dawn) prayers on the battlefield, and several sky splitting Takbeeric waves. I recommend it to folks to support this film, acquire it and view it multi-generationally.

Historical-technological features abound, those with an interest are treated to the manufacturing of Urban's famous canon, The use of ostrich eggs in building material, and the drawing of the Byzantine chain across the Bosphorous. Special mention must go to the wardrobe team, I hope and pray that Musalmenn the ummah over take heed of the threads on display here and incorporate there into their wedding wardrobes. Beats Green Street Indian tat any day. Girls will like Urban's adopted daughter.

Great casting too: of the Sultan who was played by a graceful man, and of his loyal friend Hassan, not to forget the obligatory sparkly-eyed Shayk who shifts the mood at the darkest hour, with spiritual-material truths at the grave of Eyub el Ansari, the Prophet's companion buried outside the walls of the city at the time of the first attempt to take it. I remember praying Jumma at Eyup. Try to.

There were times during the 160 minutes when I felt I was watching Xena Warrior Princess, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, or Maid Marian and her Merry Men. There's even a a bit of Su-Fi and a Golum at Mount Doom moment. 

I did have a few issues with this marvelous piece of Cultural Jihad.  It could have done a little more booby coverage folks,  the colouring seemed oversaturated / supernatural at times, and the English subtitles of Turkish dialogue took a little getting used to.

Faruk Aksoy and team, thank you, senu seviorum.

Reviewing Meherjaan

I had the chance to watch Meherjaan today, a Bangladeshi-directed film set within a rural 1971 warscape that does a few things well, despite causing a few cringes (whenever the modern day was portrayed) and descending to Bollywood on occasion.

It was screened in London as part of the Tongues of Fire 'Asian' film festival that runs until the end of the week. The film was bouncing around Bangladesh last year, somewhat controversially as there was a little hullabaloo about the tastefulness of the Bengali Muslim girl falling in love with a Pakistani soldier, which runs against the rape-power differential.

I hear that it was cut several times by Bangladeshi censors, and would be interested to know where exactly. I am not one of those for whom controversy necessarily translates to interest and worth, 1971 interventions, whether documentary or fictive tend to leverage too much controversy-as-publicity, so much so that its becoming a tired cliche. Too much policing of singular national narratives from all concerned.

These folks from Chittagong (below) wanted it banned last year, it hurts them and this ecology of hurt should be explored further.

Theres a lot going on, needless to say a lot of thought, research and content that's usually silenced in war stories. My framing of this is not as a pukey love story, but as a depiction an extended family seek refuge in the house of the grandfather Khwaja Saheb'who the Pakistanis, it is hoped, would never dare to defy. You could watch this as a family as certain cuts will appeal to the Bollywoodised, the habitual melodramatic soap watcher, the artist, the airhead, the joker and the wannabe mystic. Elder murrabis who aren't particularly enamored by #Mukticrap might enjoy it if you can distract them during the more purile love sequences.

Significantly, and in a welcome nonsecular turn, Quranic ethics get frontlined on several occasions. Khwaja Saheb's socio-ecological akhlaq is shown as sculpted by that repeated refrain in Surah Rahman "Which of the bounties of your Lord will you deny?"

Contrast this with Meher's unsuccessful suitor, a plump mollycoddled middleclass Dhaka boy who doubles up as a part time Mukti fighter and roams around the village with a very different comportment.

I found some of the gender relations unbelievable, we don't do open touchy things between unmarried people, was this just Bollywoodification or am I missing something?

Coming from a family with very heterogeneous experiences of 1971-times, I appreciate the durable and variegated moving image the film tries to portray, even as I dislike the stupid annoying women that generally feature. It is an image that seldom finds a cultural platform in Bangladesh. Like a rape victim tooling up and going to war, not waiting to be commodified.

Meherjaan established layers of meaning where a film like Matir Moyna (The Clay Bird) by late Tareque Masud) did not and would not tread. I suggest that this has to do with the class composition and epistemystique (politics of learning) of the film-makers and characters. We were shown bloodymindedness, fleeting glimpses of pre-Bangla Movement politics (God Forbid!), Lalon Shah,  Faiz Ahmed Faiz (that song about the intimate familiarity) and a sympathetic characterisation of an ageing Aligharian land owner. The Clay Bird was more coherent and magnificently made, but simplistic.

Emanating from director Rubayiyat Hossain's Master's research and humanrightsism, its an early film from a young female film maker. It did a good job of humanising the elements of the experience that misguided nationalisms have reduced to '200 000 of our women were raped by Pakistanis, now lets hang the Razakars'.

This line of dialogue did significant work for me.

"Some of you speak of Communism, others Socialism and Secularism, don't you realise that these are all ideas you have borrowed from the west? Have any of you actually asked the people (here) what they want?"

Hossain leaves the audience with a cliffhanger that fascinates me but must annoy the hell out of Liberation Capitalists. Whodunnit? The Mukti, or the Pak army?

Dear Land of my forefathers and cousins, more like this please, so much to explore and make sense of.
But please next time teach the Hindu actors how to pray properly and try to get less lame actresses to man the Dhaka flashing back device.



This Sunday the Brick Lane Circle host Yasmin Saikia at the Davenent Centre, she will be reflecting on her field research amongst the multiculture of rape victims, rapists and witnesses.

I would recommend going to see Abu, Son of Adam also, a Malayalam language film demonstrating a fine Islamic principle, one that should condition our selves to be developmentia-proof.

Review: Fauzia Khan film | Bangla Season of Drama

Last night [9/11/11] in the nowhere lab, an art studio and venue on Bethnal Green Road, we were treated to the Bangla Season of Drama’s film night. Managed by the good people of The Brady Centre and supported by farsighted community organisation the season is something worthwhile supporting, for all sorts of reasons.


The film night was centred on an autobiographical account of theatrical director and veteran Fauzia Khan I do deform to be deformed, and followed by shorter feature from curator Hamja Ahsan and Drik Gallery’s Chobi Mela. The evening provided a window into a cultural conversations that we see or hear little of on these shores. We have to squint and listen hard for the little that we can witness here, something which should change.

The main feature followed Begum Fauzia over her career of participation in the Bangladesh theatre scene since national formation. Glancing themes of rebellion, roots, collective creative labour and artistic method, the piece depicts the artist’s eye view of her creative processes and self-image. Being this viewer’s first contact with her work, it was difficult to fully grasp at times. I guess a great deal is lost in translational steps. For example, I found the subtitler’s conflation of the Catholic concept of confession and the Islamic concept of tawba a bit silly. Fauzia Khan sure has an awesome singing voice and is someone I will be paying attention to. It was the clear vocal training and lyricism that appealed to me, if not the roles and scenarios played out on stage.

Next, as a here-and-now interlude, a collection of short films from OtherAsias  Hamja Ahsan were shown. The first places a Brick Lane restaurant tout in St Martin’s Art College, much to that institution’s bemusement. The second and third ran two Bangladeshi narratives on Morrisey’s warped worldview down Brick Lane.

In both directions, from the deeply insulted post colonial man in a lunghi and futwa brandishing a sugar cane travelling from banglatown to dickhead town, a Bengali on a platform, to the third generation Asian uberfans heading the other way with no coherent narrative other than badly expressed adulation.

To round up, a video presentation of Drik Gallery’s fifth Chobi Mela in 2010 rammed the point home that there is very good news from Bangladesh, even if it is a little too donor sponsored. Shahidul Alam, the founder of Drik is an activist and photographer of international reknown. The Chobi Mela is a unique expressive event that moves both the socially-engaged international photography community and the national community. The feature again took the position of fly-on-the-rather-interesting-wall and explored the personalities, intentions and social interactions of the festival as it unfolded in the streets, galleries and community centres of Dhaka.

Bangladesh has a great deal of creativity circulating around, and the theatre season is a good initiative to connect those of us formed in the UK to cultural production in our ancestral lands. Yes there are different ideologies and often problematic donor and national politics running through it, but I am sure we can all appreciate the confidence, beauty and inspiration value of it and learn.

This was the second in a string of theatre-based events that will take place over the next month. It is important if we are to collectively move beyond chicken shop and hip hop, with both local and Bangladeshi playwrights and actors featured.

For a the programme of events see the Tower Hamlets Arts page 

The Battle of Algiers

Is definitely one to watch, pay attention to and read about. Kindles the political imagination. It, the Algerian War of Liberation it represents and Franz Fanon mark the beginning of something potent and post colonial.