Politics creep into beloved Ramadan soap operas

Cairo: Rushing out of the Cairo subway, homemaker Samia Abdul Karem was eager to get home to her family and retreat from the tensions of the street: bloodshed, religious divisions, political power struggles and sexual violence.

After breaking the Ramadan fast with her family, Karem settled in front of the television and escaped from all that and into a make-believe world of bloodshed, religious divisions, political power struggles and sexual violence.

It’s Ramadan in Egypt, and for millions here that means one thing: nighttime soap operas.

For many, these gripping, sappy 30-part melodramas are among the most anticipated traditions of Ramadan, a Muslim holiday marked by dawn-to-dusk fasting, followed by family feasts and all-night celebrations.

Each year, TV producers in Egypt and Syria (where production has fallen due to unrest) release about 50 serials for Ramadan, usually starring the Arab world’s most-recognised actors and actresses. At a combined cost of up to $100 million (Dh367 million), the commercial-laden shows draw the biggest TV audiences of the year and command top advertising rates.

With Egypt in turmoil since Islamist President Mohammad Mursi’s July 3 ouster by the military, Karem, 53, said the allure of the soaps this year, and the temporary respite they offer, is stronger than ever.

“Before Ramadan we were watching the news nonstop for weeks,” she said. “It’s nice to get away from politics.”

Others said they were watching less TV this year because the real-life drama was too compelling or because they felt uncomfortable indulging in guilty pleasures when violent clashes are still erupting.

“When people are dying on the streets, I don’t really feel like watching TV,” said Maryhan Sami, 25, a Cairo homemaker. “There are times when you want to escape and there are times when you need to stay focused on reality.”

Egyptians hoping for complete escape in the soaps may be disappointed. Most of the plots this year reflect the country’s widening political and religious divide.

An early breakout is The Preacher, about a powerful, corrupt religious figure who abuses his authority. It’s widely seen as not-so-veiled criticism of the Muslim Brotherhood, which rose to power in 2012 after the fall of President Hosni Mubarak the previous year.

Other shows, such as Without Mentioning Names and The Guava Theory, also expose the corruption of Egyptian leaders who followed Mubarak. The Fortune Teller is the story of a con man who stumbles into the presidency; some see the character as modelled on Mursi.

At the other side of the political spectrum is Coffee Shop, meant to cater to religious conservatives and Muslim Brotherhood supporters who take offense at the sex, crime and scantily clad women offered on other shows.

It is the first mini-series to feature an all-male cast, with each episode centring on men debating a moral question that usually validates the values of Islam and mocks the foibles of secularists.

For now, however, viewers will have to wait because the military shut down the Muslim Brotherhood-affiliated television station that was set to air it.

Sayed Said, the creator and scriptwriter of Coffee House, called the military’s closure a “hostile act against Muslims”. He said airing only shows that attack the Brotherhood will deepen the country’s divisions.

“You are not helping unity when you close some stations and leave others open,” he said.

“Everyone should have the right to express their views. The religious stations express the views of the Muslim stream and their followers. What is the harm in that?”

For some, the creeping politicisation of Ramadan soaps is sapping the fun out of them.

Under Mubarak, the shows were cheesy and heavily censored, but widely beloved. Criticism of the government or religion was never handled overtly. Instead dramas focused on historical figures such as King Farouk, retellings of Arab military victories and a regular supply of anti-Israel story lines, such as an “Ocean’s Eleven” take-off in which a gang robs an Israeli bank and distributes the money to victims of the occupation.

After Mubarak’s fall, unshackled television producers relished their new freedom. Last year’s Ramadan soaps centred almost entirely on the former dictator’s brutal rule and the popular revolution that helped unseat him.

The Thug focused on the abuses of Mubarak’s security forces, while Adam celebrated the fight of a Tahrir Square demonstrator.

Not everyone is a fan of the new-style soaps. Mohammad Nader, 18, heads the student union at his high school and participated in the anti-Mursi demonstrations. Though politically active, he said that’s not what he wants when he sits down in front of the TV.

“I miss the days when they used to beat around the bush to deliver a hidden message because they wouldn’t dare mention Mubarak,” he said. “Now everything is in your face and they hit you over the head with their political message.”

Television critics praise the improved quality of the new crop of shows, crediting writers and producers with exploring sensitive topics that were once banned. But at the same time, they suspect the influence of the shows is waning as Egyptians become more politicised and polarised.

“Before 2011, when the majority of Egyptians did not even read the newspapers, the television dramas were their only source of information about the world,” said Mohammad Saled, editor of Filfan.com, an arts and entertainment website. “Now the media and the political talk shows have taken over that role. People are obsessed with following the news. So they have already formed their opinions before watching these shows.”

Seated in front of the TV in her Cairo home, Ibtisam Omran Jamal, 75, said she’s been a die-hard Ramadan soap fan for 15 years, sometimes spending as much as six hours a day tracking her shows.

She reminisced fondly about the days when the shows stuck to familiar topics such as adultery, polygamy or paternity scandals, when the boy always got the girl, the hero never died and endings were always happy.

“If I wanted politics, I’d watch the news,” the tiny woman said, waving a finger. “It’s supposed to be entertainment. I want to be refreshed.”