Outsiders

On the road between Amman and the old Nabataean city of Petra in Southern Jordan, there are dots of color scattered across the flatness. From antiquated depictions like the one above, I knew they were Bedouin tents without having to ask. It's hard to avoid romanticized notions about the free-roaming lifestyle of Bedouins; the simplicity, the rootlessness. But times are changing. 90% have settled permanently and switched to farming, and 10% continue to travel as nomads with flocks of goats or sheep, inhabiting woven tents. Someone asked our 18-year-old volunteer guide what the Bedouins own and how they survive. He said "They own this land, as far as you can see. It has been passed down by families for hundreds of years." I tried to imagine what it would be like to belong to a stretch of desert without ever claiming one particular plot as home.

In Israel, there is a fierce struggle between the government and indigenous Bedouins in the Negev Desert. Since the 1970s, the Israeli government has been demolishing Bedouin villages and attempting to move the residents to small recognized government townships. This campaign still continues, with 'unrecognized' settlements being bulldozed and people being forced to leave. The Bedouin population is understandably infuriated and some are refusing to go. I'm sad that this story is following the same course as so many others - the indigenous minority group fights for rights and recognition, but ends up mistreated and impoverished.

I went to the Dead Sea on the Jordanian side, where you can look across and see the banks of Israel. A new crop of luxury hotels has sprung up there and each one charges a fee for visitors to use the beach below. At the Dead Sea Spa Hotel, there was a metal detector at the entrance and a guard who checked our bags. Across from the first of two swimming pools leading down to the sea, I saw a replication of a Bedouin tent. It was made from fine materials and had an opening on the side for people to see in. There were beautiful textiles and cushions lining the walls and floor and small benches to sit on. In the midday heat beside a pool and hotel bar, it looked absurd. A chance for tourists to experience fantasies of Bedouin life without leaving the safe bubble of their luxury hotel.

However unsettling this may be, at least in Jordan there seems to be a general acknowledgment of the importance of Bedouins in the history and culture of the region. If I had to choose, I'd prefer that the Bedouin lifestyle be used as a tourist gimmick rather than being scorned or wiped out altogether.

Kitsch Matters

Danger is always exciting. In The Sheik, a 1921 silent film with Agnes Ayres and Rudolph Valentino, Algerian "Sheik Ahmed" abducts a strong, independent British lady and takes her to his camp. She resists his forceful advances until she's kidnapped by a rival sheik. When Sheik Ahmed rescues her, she decides he isn't so bad after all and they fall in love. The film was based on a popular romance novel by Edith Hull, which apparently sparked an extended trend in sheik (or sheikh) fantasies. Elvis incorporated the theme into his farcically campy film Harum Scarum about a singer who is kidnapped and trapped in an imaginary Middle East. The sheikh, the infamous 'bad boy,' still runs rampant in the world of romance novels. Bitch Magazine recently published an article about the subject (thanks to my sister for this), pointing out that the Arab men in these stories are perceived as menacing yet desirable. The website Sheikhs and Desert Love lists all the books published in this genre to date. Some of my favorites titles are Beauty and the Sheikh, Cobra and the Concubine, Bed of Sand, and Arabian Love-Child. Who knew suspected terrorists could be so sexy?

Hitting the Wall

I've wanted to see this film since it came out, but after it left the theater it was tough to get ahold of. Tonight I finally watched the much-acclaimed Head On, or "Gegen die Wand" by Turkish German director Fatih Akin. Having not known much about the premise other than that it was about a Turkish immigrant community in Germany, I was unprepared for the movie's full impact. Watching it was like standing on the sidewalk and being grabbed by someone reaching out the window of a passing bus, hanging by the wrists and watching the ground moving below, waiting to hit the pavement. The first part takes place in the dark underworld of Hamburg, where the two main characters are living grimy and tragic lives. Sibel, the rebellious daughter of a strict Muslim family, and Cahit, a washed-up alcoholic with violent tendencies, have both hit rock bottom. They meet in a mental ward after they've both attempted suicide, and are thrown together by Sibel's determination to marry a Turkish man in a last-ditch effort to appease her stubborn and abusive family. What follows is an unpredictable love story.

The topic of a cultural "homeland" pops up throughout the film. Sibel and and Cahit speak only in German to each other, and when Sibel's family comments on Cahit's poor grasp on the Turkish language, he says he "threw it away." More than anything though, the sense of being caught between cultures comes out in the claustrophobic mood of the film. Stephanie Zacharek wrote in Salon, "Head On isn't strictly a culture-clash movie, possibly because for Akin (who was born in Germany of Turkish parents), the issues of displacement for any Middle Easterner living in Europe are a given -- they're almost too basic to be the subject of a movie." Turkey isn't really in the Middle East, but I agree with the rest of this statement. Akin is telling his story from the inside-out, not the outside-in. And instead of being the focus of the plot, Sibel and Cahit's displacement is more like a cloud of doom that hangs over their self-destructive lives. But it somehow also leads them forward, and after a dramatic turn of events, Sibel finds herself in Istanbul cleaning hotel rooms.

Akin manages to communicate addiction, poverty, and the struggle for female autonomy in a bald, visceral way. I don't think I've ever watched a movie that made me writhe with the same kind of discomfort. Watching Head On forces its viewers to understand what it's like to die violently and then try to live again.

Silverlake-ification

On the fourth of July I sat on a hill overlooking Northeast Los Angeles. The air was warm and hazy with smoke from illegal fireworks, which continued to pound across the valley. The lights shot up from narrow residential streets while my boyfriend and I stared in bemusement. As fairly new residents, we wondered how this madness could ensue without someone being seriously injured or starting a fire. We were joined by a Spanish-speaking family with two young girls who were apparently unfazed by the bursts of light below. The girls sat on cinder blocks and began to squabble, and one of the women told them to keep their hands to themselves. When the youngest began to cry and complain, the family headed back up the road. The booms went late into the night, but as far as I know no major fires broke out. Most of the residue was removed by street cleaners the next day, when I was left wondering why such massive patriotic displays aren't taken as evidence of U.S. loyalty in immigrant communities.

As a young white resident of a mostly Latino neighborhood, I am participating in a gentrifying trend that I'd rather not be implicated in. The "yuppified" areas of L.A. are spreading further and further east. First it was Silverlake and Echo Park, now it's Hollywood, Downtown LA, Eagle Rock, and Highland Park. Gentrification is a delicate phenomenon; crime rates go down, but rent prices go up and long-time residents are forced to leave. Here's an LA Weekly article from last summer. Since moving to the Northeast, I've been trying to figure out how to break out of the "gentrifying white girl" mold. I started learning Spanish. I tried to interact. After seeing the film Quinceañera, I became determined not to be one of the stereotypical people who move in without appreciating what they're pushing out. But sometimes I wonder - does it matter that I care? Even if I'm more culturally sensitive than most, I still have a gay athletic-wear designing neighbor with a pair of brindle boxers that I take to the dog park everyday. Did my landlord do a service by beautifully restoring our 1910 duplex even though his hard work probably alienated the working class neighbors? These questions gnaw at the back of my mind. What I do know is that the cost of housing in Los Angeles County is dangerously high. People are moving east because the closer to the ocean you are, the more you pay.

Last month the LA Times published this story about L.A.'s "ethnic enclaves" as untapped tourist gems. The accompanying photo shows the mural on a corner near my house, and the article describes Highland Park's blossoming Latino art scene. Visitors bring in much-needed income, but as Highland Park's hip and artsy reputation spreads, I understand why some fear it will be the new Silverlake.

Freegan Economics

We've all heard of "dumpster diving" - searching through garbage for useful items - but few people know there is a growing social movement associated with this practice. Freegans (playing on 'vegan') boycott consumer goods to demonstrate the vast and unnecessary waste generated by corporate capitalism. Steven Kurutz profiles several freegans in today's NY Times. While there is fear and stigma attached to consuming things from a dumpster (especially food), freegans argue that supermarkets and restaurants regularly throw away items that are safe and should be used. A manifesto entitled "Why Freegan?" calls for the public to "tread lightly on the Earth" by not purchasing food, driving, or working meaningless jobs in order to buy useless things.

It's an extreme stance, but freegans are headed in the right direction. Look at any impoverished country or region and you'll realize that Americans take the (seemingly) endless amounts of stuff around them for granted. Take 15 seconds to think about the waste you're creating and how you can put it to better use.

Outing the Introverts

Today I found an article that I should have read long ago. It's "Caring for Your Introvert" by Jonathan Rauch. It explains everything I've always felt but never put into words. Yes world, I am an introvert. I don't fear public speaking or expressing my opinions, but I despise socializing in large groups. I find small talk exhausting. I'm often labeled "the quiet girl," which is code for "the boring girl," "the snobby girl," or "the mysterious alien-like girl who seems to have nothing to offer." I'm not snobby and I'm not boring (and I believe I was born on Earth), I just don't process things by talking out loud.

To all of you extroverts out there, please be open to the idea that there is nothing "wrong" with us introverted types. We like doing the same things you do, just in smaller doses. Be patient with us, and we'll be patient with you.

Borat goes political

Last night Mr. Sacha Baron Cohen won "Best Comedic Performance" at the MTV Movie Awards (and in a characteristic move, caused a scene by making out with Will Ferrell on stage). Now that the Borat movie mania has mostly died down, I've been thinking about how complex this film actually is. Baron Cohen set out to break all the rules, so it's not surprising that there were all sorts of reactions. But what makes the character of Borat important is that he has actually managed to strike right in the center of the "culture wars" that everyone says are being waged in this country. Sacha Baron Cohen took on the hottest political debates of the moment. Some people say that the film is just blatantly un-PC, and that those who take offense to it are overly sensitive and taking comedy too seriously. I understand this position, but I also know that comedy is one way we approach the big issues we don't know how to handle. American comedy is and has always been all about racial and sexual identity. And whether or not they take it seriously, millions of people have seen Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan and each person takes his/her own ideas and impressions away from it.

Borat is a movie about American prejudice, but Borat's anti-Jewish sentiment makes me uneasy (aside: anti-Semitism is a troubled term because Arabs are also Semites). Anyway, Baron Cohen is Jewish and therefore does have license to portray anti-Semitism, at least more than a non-Jew would. But there's been a lot of discussion about anti-Semitism as it relates to Israel in recent months, and it's a touchy subject. It's too much for me to go into now, but basically some people - Abe Foxman, president of the Anti-Defamation League for one - have argued that criticism of the Israeli government amounts to anti-Semitism. And there's an often brutal dispute between professors Norman Finkelstein and Alan Dershowitz, who are both Jews but are on opposing ends of the spectrum on the issue.

So what does Borat have to do with all this? I don't know exactly. But it makes me nervous to think that aspects like the bar scene with the "Throw the Jew down the well" song could be interpreted as evidence of present large-scale anti-Semitism. If we think about the fears and biases that come up most consistently in the U.S. of late, they don't relate to Jews; the hostility is directed toward Muslims and Arabs. Part of me wonders if through Borat's bigotry, Baron Cohen was actually alluding to the widespread anti-Muslim sentiment in the West, but this is never clear. And though some have said that the Borat character himself is an insulting Muslim sterotype (about half the population of Khazakstan is Muslim), in the film Borat is asked if he's "Islamic," and he says no, he "follows the hawk." So it's ambiguous. But I can't help agreeing with some critics who've said that if Sacha Baron Cohen were actually Muslim and he dressed up as a Jew who hated Muslims, the film would never had made it into the mainstream. The scenario wouldn't have made sense because the truth is, American audiences are accustomed to sympathizing with Jews, not Muslims. My (somewhat simplistic) belief is that international relations would improve considerably if everyone: Christians, Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Taoists, Mormons, Pagans, Secularists, Atheists, Agnostics, and even Scientologists would go read a book about the history of Islam or talk to a Muslim.

Lion the Girl Says No

photo ©2006 adam pw smith - www.adampwsmith.com

If there's one word to describe Gena Olivier's voice, it's haunting. Her band Midnight Movies has a new album called Lion the Girl, which is an exploration of smooth delirium. I normally approach new bands in the indie scene with a degree of skepticism; many turn out to be more about image and less about music. Not so with Midnight Movies. I saw them perform with Autolux earlier this month at the Glass House in Pomona, and was swept up in their shadowy layers of sound. Velvet Underground comparisons are warranted, but there is something straight - almost choir girl-ish about Gena's voice that makes for a gripping dynamic. This band is very musical.

I'm always intrigued by female drummers, and Midnight Movies has two. Gena was originally vocalist/drummer, until Sandra Vu became a member of the band. Sandra is a highly trained musician - she studied piano and flute, and must have had a later love affair with drums. While playing, she generates power in a way that I've seen women Taiko drummers do. She's precise and fluid, yet commanding. And there's something immensely satisfying about seeing a petite Vietnamese woman pounding her heart out on a drum set. Not something I'm used to seeing in a rock band. Later on, Sandra switched places with Gena to play a seamless flute solo. Her tone was deep and raw.

The most important thing about Midnight Movies is their emotional depth. Their dark synth and reverb contribute to an overall languid, pensive mood. The term "psychedelic pop" suddenly makes a lot of sense.

Metal War

I'm beginning to think that the most important type of music in the U.S. right now is Christian metal. Those who disagree should watch the film Jesus Camp to see what I'm talking about. This genre has become a real phenomenon; doing for Christian youth what hip hop has done for so many other young demographics. Coming out of suburban America, bands like Demon Hunter, As I Lay Dying, and War of Ages have become wildly popular. The music is ferociously loud-mouthed and abrasively masculine, and it preaches (or sends messages about) the word of God. War of Ages is from Erie, Pennsylvania, and they look like a fairly run-of-the-mill rock band. And at first listen, they sound like your average screaming metal band. But then there are the lyrics: "We clench our fists and bare our arms/Only to cry out in Your presence/oh God to all who try to end my life/I stand firm and now I've been set free saved by Him/Whom I call king." The warlike cover art for the album "Pride of the Wicked" and band's name are apparently drawn from the idea that humans must fight their own weaknesses such as pride and greed to be closer to God.

But references to militancy appear in much of the Christian metal I've heard, and I have to wonder how much of this is sentiment is aimed at the "Islamic enemy." The term jihad does not refer to "holy war," as so many have said, but for most Muslims it means to struggle to improve oneself in the eyes of God. So - maybe there are more parallels between the two religions than we've been led to think. Anyway, for me there's still something disconcerting about the metaphor of war that is used so often in Christian metal bands' lyrics. Demon Hunter's latest album The Triptych includes a track called "Soldier's Song," which says, "Turn over the tables and watch them run/You’ll be the weapon they can’t outgun" (referring to Jesus, I assume). As Jesus Camp points out, most Evangelical Cristians believe that Jesus will soon return to judge all of humanity, and those who are not saved will burn in hell. I guess the violence of the impending apocalypse is impossible to avoid.

The inverse of beauty

Last night I finished Zadie Smith's third novel, On Beauty. My reaction is that she brilliantly explored a million different topics but never quite grabbed hold of any of them. But maybe that's the point. The book tells the story of the Belseys, a biracial middle class family living in a college town in Massachusetts, and their conservative British counterparts, the Kippses. Howard Belsey (who is white and originally from London) is an art history professor struggling with a mid-life crisis and a failing marriage to Kiki, his African American wife. Zadie Smith paints a dreary portrait of academia, middle-class life, and marriage - and she eloquently explains her thoughts about these topics in this interview. In a Salon review, Laura Miller said that On Beauty is "full of love." I can't quite see it this way; I know that it's a comic novel and was modeled after E.M. Forster's Howard's End, but the themes are too close to home to make me laugh. Though Zadie certainly shows empathy in her descriptions, her satirical jabs are dead-on.

Howard talks about art with murky language to obscure the fact that he has no tangible grasp on what he's discussing. Academia comes across as incestuous and miserably pretentious. And it is. As a former graduate student and aspiring scholar, I wish I could say this weren't true. Zadie is right to point out the bitter unfairness of the university system, as well as the often lopsided sexual dynamics between male professors and female students (Howard sleeps with a student who is 40 years younger). She also touches on the painful distance that can creep into a marriage and expand until there is nothing left. Zadie's depiction of Howard and Kiki's dying marriage reflects the fear of divorce many of us seem to have these days. On Beauty is impressive and confusing. Zadie Smith generates importantly unsettling feelings about race, class, and politics in academia. She doesn't answer the questions she poses because they are unanswerable.