In defence of the Jester

As eyeballs shifted their tired gazes in droves, away from the apocalyptic projections of 24-hour news channels — of which they have grown weary and sceptical — they sought refuge in the comfort of entertainment channels.

Throughout the Arab Spring, while channels like Al Jazeera and Al Arabiya got their fair share of indictment and cynicism, channels like MBC managed to maintain and grow their slice of the viewership pie. Beaten down by the doom and gloom scenarios on news networks, viewers flocked to MBC, the regional top player on the entertainment leaderboard for some colour and fun. MBC was much obliged and the Arabs stayed. Your comfort and vulnerability became MBC’s exclusive domain and prowess.

As audiences watch on and clap, entertainment is spinning a more important tale around the region’s political spectrum than most spectators realise. To evoke a soap opera archetype from your typical Egyptian drama, if news plays a nagging wife, entertainment is the voluptuous mistress in whose all-smiling demeanour the hopeless husband (the Arab spectator) seeks solace. She serves up her thoughts on a platter in a desirable display of artistry and craft — whispering in his ears words he would be grudgingly taking in had they come as his wife’s assertions.

Ladies and gentleman: Behold the power of the entertainer. Today, any given Arab viewer can warn you of the perils and trickery masterminding news networks and implicit brainwashing through news feeds. However, few will speak, let alone be aware, of the horse-whispering agency of entertainment. As Turkish novelist Mehmet Murat Ildan put it: “Kings kill; jesters don’t; and therefore the jesters of the kings are more valuable than the kings!” That right there is where entertainment holds its own, complete with all the bells and whistles.

Through drama series, quality production and an eye for global entertainment trends, MBC is setting the agenda of our time and everybody’s watching.

Through Omar, the Arab world’s biggest production, MBC irreversibly engraved an image of Islam’s second caliph in the world’s imagination. On Arabs’ Got Talent, viewers met artists, poets and random displays of dexterity they had never heard of. With the Turkish series Noor, it forever changed Turkey’s relationship with the Arab world. Recently, they choreographed Mohammad Assaf’s victory performance of Arab nationalist song Ya denya alayy esh-hadi (world bears witness to me) on screens from Djibouti to Yemen. From the open-air prison in Gaza, if momentarily, Arab Idol held high the mantle of Palestine hoisting spirits the Arab world over.

Whether we like what we see or not, reality television has an important role to play in shaping our understanding of ourselves.

For as long as there are no institutions harnessing creative genius, talent shows defamed as copies-of-copies-of-copies will play the role of custodian of Arab culture. Who would have heard the wit-infused halamantishi poetry of Amro Qatamesh? Yearned for occupied Jerusalem through the words of 11-year-old Essam Bashiti? Given a fighting chance to a Kuwaiti Parkour crew or an Emarati mime-cum-popper, a Saudi David Copperfield or an Omani sand artist? (Who all appeared on Arabs’ Got Talent).

Campaigning against such shows has become a meme; token dinner table conversation for why Arab television is rotting our brains. Discounted as trashy visual pollution wrecking intellectual havoc on Arab audiences; it has become a stand-in for failings beyond its scope.

Sure the trippy backdrops, tacky graphics and frozen expressions on Botoxed faces may be a tad overwhelming, but that noise surrounds the real work being done. Give me a cultural show that can compete with the globally proven formulas of Simon The Grandmaster Cowell enough to be licensed in 39 countries, from Brazil to Kosovo, then we will talk. It is simple: People follow those shows — and not locally produced, money-draining ones — because they work.

Take Coke Studio, Pakistan’s homegrown hit now an international franchise produced by MBC in the Arabic edition as Coke Studio Bil3arabi. Here, the Arab world can see Wadih Al Safi exchange artistic currency with Argentinian composer Fabien Bertero and watch in awestruck silence, the Egypto-Rastafari collaboration of Mohammad ‘The King’ Mounir with The Wailers. Rohail Hyatt’s masterpiece that bred infusions of classical, folk, qawwali, bhangra, hip hop and pop music will do more for Arab culture than we think.

It is easy for the highbrow, learned folk to scoff at Arab Idol judges Nancy Ajram, Ahlam and other such pop entertainers. What they fail to recognise is that the likes of Ahlam have succeeded in grabbing people’s attention and keeping it.

Yes, her year-round ode to Mardi Gras panache is heavy-handed and her Kentucky Fried Chicken plugs during Arab Idol evoke A Woman Under the Influence. Call her gaudy and crass, but she is not parading herself as a symbol of national pride or role model either. She is not posing as a philosopher or scientist. She is just doing her thing. No need to tar-and-feather characters of pop culture playing legitimate roles in our story. Edward R. Murrow, father of journalism, himself said: “we are in the same tent as the clowns and the freaks — that’s show business.” There is room for everyone. And enough with the self-flagellation already — if we are willing to accept Lady Gaga, Nicky Minaj and Madonna’s exuberance as star quality, let us afford ourselves the same liberties. Let us not forget that the same nation that gave us Deadliest Catch and Mankind: The History of All of Us also gave you Keeping Up With the Kardashians and Jersey Shore.

To those who are preaching for more cameos of “those that matter” in society, let us not forget that it is entertainment that makes them watchable, not merit alone. What is Wall Street to an average American if not for Oliver Stone? Where would engineering and forensics be if not for the pizzazz and special effects that make Natgeo and Discovery edutaining?

This one is for the star-spangled entertainers, the flamboyant and the flaming, the divas and kings, the pop and the sparkle; this one is for the clowns.

Never underestimate the court jester; he will make them laugh at you.

Butheina Hamed Kazim is a Fulbright Scholar of Media, Culture and Communication at New York University.