In the world after 9/11,
perceptions of Middle Eastern countries have not been particularly positive in
the USA. Places like Iraq, Afghanistan,
and Iran have, in the popular American mind, an aura of menace about them. These places, we are meant to believe, are
hostile, fundamentalist, anti-American breeding grounds of terrorists. Indeed, not long ago, president George W.
Bush listed Iran, along with Iraq and North Korea, on his infamous “Axis of
Evil.” As Americans, we are supposed to
be afraid of places like Iran, and suspicious of Iranians.
For the past month at
Hibbleton Gallery, we have been screening films made by directors from Iran, one
of our supposed “enemies.” These films
have presented me with a very different picture than the popular American
stereotypes. They present a portrait of
a country, not filled with abstract menace, but filled with human beings with
loves, families and sensibilities that are anything but “foreign” or “scary.” In the sensitive, artistic films of Moshen
Makhmalbaf, Abbas Kiarostami, and Bahman Ghobadi, I’ve actually found kindred
spirits who share some of the same concerns and sensibilities I do—a passion
for social justice, an awareness of the beauty of ordinary life, an outrage at
oppression and war. Ironically, I’ve
found myself connecting more deeply and meaningfully with these Iranian films
than I typically do with American films—which are so full of special effects
and phony depictions of life. By
contrast, the films of Iran, often with a tiny budget, manage to capture the
essence of human life with more truthfulness and grace than any Hollywood
blockbuster.
My new friend Farshid, who
learned about our film series from a Persian American web site, has proved to
be an invaluable resource for helping me understand Persian culture, and what
things are like in Iran today. Farshid
once told me that there is a vast gulf between the ideology of the Iranian
government and the ideology of most ordinary Iranians. Farshid is not a fanatical religious
zealot. He’s actually an atheist, with a
deep love for his culture, mixed with deep sadness over the restrictions
imposed by his government. Even as an
American, I could relate to Farshid’s concerns.
I love people. But I’m often deeply suspicious of my own country’s
policies.
What I’m learning from
Iranian cinema is that art is one of the best ways to transcend political,
national, or ideological barriers.
Through film, just like poetry or music or painting, we can step for a
moment into the shoes of the supposed “other” and see that we are not so very
different after all—that what we thought divided us was actually artificial and
phony. I’m reminded of a quote from
Moshen Makhmalbaf’s beautiful film Kandahar,
The Sun Behind the Moon: “If the walls are high, the sky is higher still.” Our shared love of beauty, of art, of human
expression can let us rise above even the most daunting of walls, and peek over
at each other, and shake hands, and say, “Salaam.” (Persian for “hello” and “peace”)
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| Still frame from Moshen Makhmalbaf's latest film "The Gardener" (2014) |
