In
Iran, the more things change cosmetically, the more they stay the same—or get
worse. Since the 1979 revolution, women have been prohibited from publicly
performing as vocal soloists. Nevertheless, composer Sara Najafi was determined
to stage a concert celebrating women’s voices. Her filmmaker brother Ayat secretly
documented the process, capturing her Kafkaesque encounters with the state bureaucracy
and religious authorities in No Man’s
Land (clip
here),
which screens during the 2015 Human Rights Watch Film Festival in New York.
The
prevailing orthodoxy had accepted women as background singers but not soloists
for reasons so strained and misogynistic, it is impossible to coherently summarize
them. Seriously, it somehow involves Adam’s Rib. This is what Najafi is facing.
Her concept for a cross-cultural concert exchange with French musicians is
especially unnerving to the apparatchiks with the 2013 election looming.
Memories of the Green Movement and the crackdown during the stolen election of
2009 still loomed large. In fact, Najafi conceived the program partly as a
tribute to the Green protestors, but she was shrewdly cagey on those details
when dealing with the various ministries.
Time
and again, we hear bureaucrats dissembling and buck-passing. Clearly, nobody
wanted to sign off on Najafi’s program, for fear of reprisals, but they were
also reluctant to own up to their decisions. Of course, we can only hear these
exchanges, because cameras were strictly prohibited in government offices, but
those regime mandated hijabs certainly make it easy to conceal a audio recording
device.
Essentially,
there are two components to NLS, the
expose of Iran’s Orwellian ruling apparatus and the musical performances, which
eventually do come to fruition, through an improbably fortuitous chain of
events. Frankly, they are equally compelling and speak to each other in many
ways. Presumably for the sake of their supporters and his sister’s fellow
musicians, Najafi is rather circumspect and diplomatic when presenting the
backstage events surrounding the concert. Based on his interview with The Guardian, it sounds like it was a
much tenser atmosphere than the film suggests.
Regardless,
the music was worth the trouble and frustration. Najafi made the most of the
opportunity with an awe-inspiringly bold set list. For instance, the lyrics of
Emel Mathlouthi’s Tunisian protest song “Kelmti Horra,” performed by the
songwriter, do not require listeners to read much into them. The rebellious,
free-thinking spirit of Najafi’s program is admirable, but the music is also
quite beautiful, often in an almost hypnotic way. Frankly, the short term future
of women vocalists in Iran is grimly uncertain. No Land’s Song may not materially advance their cause to any
appreciable extent, but Najafi put together a dynamite night of music, which is
a worthy accomplishment in itself.
