A question of questions

Being chosen to be a moderator for the second annual Emirates Airline Festival of Literature is honour enough for the likes of a young poet such as me, but to have the opportunity to moderate a session with two of the most inspirational internationally acclaimed poets is a treat beyond description. Weeks before the start of the festival I was preparing my questions and discussions points. In the allocated 40 minutes of conversation and readings I had to somehow set the best environment for these great poets to tell their amazing stories.

As the festival drew closer the adrenaline flowing in my bloodstream increased from a trickle to a wild, untamed river fit for any extreme rafting competition. When I confessed this to the other more relaxed moderators they all assured me that this just boiled down to experience. I was also informed that the poets I was going to moderate were very gentle souls who would not be difficult to manage, as apparently is the case with some international writers.

As it turned out the session went surprisingly well. My questions seemed to spark enthusiastic replies and the discussions that occurred were very informative — we even got a surprise reading of a yet to be published poem by one of the guests. In the last quarter of an hour we opened the floor to questions from the audience. My inexperienced moderator's mind had prematurely dropped its guard at this point and was having a celebratory cup of deep brewed Kenyan coffee. To my sheer astonishment, the first question was not directed at any of the two poets, nor was it in fact a question at all, but a lengthy public critique of my opening statements as a moderator. After three minutes of being told what I should and shouldn't have said I was able to interrupt the person and ask if he indeed had a question to ask. To which the person mumbled a rather surface-level question more in response to my interjection than anything else.

Back in the moderators' and writers' green room (the safe haven) I shared the experience with my colleagues. They reassured me that such situations were all part of the role. But despite these words of assurance something still bothered me about the matter. It wasn't until after I attended a few other sessions at the festivals that it dawned on me. The festival, like the city of Dubai it is held in, is a very multicultural one. Writers and readers come from all over the world, each carrying with them their own cultural presumptions and expectations which differ from one to another. Take the notion of time for example. Some cultures view time as a very rigid and scarce commodity, while others view it as a plentiful and flexible one. Similarly, the very idea of a question is also open to cultural interpretation. Some see it as a tool to gain knowledge while others use it as an opportunity to voice an opinion or critique or make general suggestions. The term "a loaded question" can also be used to describe a statement that is wrapped up or disguised as a question.

The person giving me the public critique wasn't being rude, at least one would hope not, but simply using the time as he saw appropriate. In fact I might have been the one seen to be rude in the eyes of some by pressuring him to ask a question during the question time (if that makes any sense at all). For what it's worth, to me a question is a vessel that helps expand the borders of our knowledge. That is why I fully concur with the wise words of Imam Ali Ibn Abi Taleb, the Prophet Mohammad's (PBUH) cousin and son in-law, who said, "Ask in order to understand, and do not ask in order to find fault, for surely the ignorant man who wants to learn resembles a man of knowledge, and surely a man of knowledge who wants to be difficult resembles an ignorant man who wants to find fault."

Wael Al Sayegh is an Emirati cultural consultant, poet and writer.