4.10.08

ABDELLAH TAΪA. ΕΝΑΣ ΜΕΛΑΓΧΟΛΙΚΟΣ ΑΡΑΒΑΣ

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Writer Abdellah Taïa: Melancholy and Protest
Abdellah Taïa is the first Moroccan writer to openly acknowledge his homosexuality. The author risked "coming out", however, only after he settled in France.
A portrait by Kersten Knipp (© Qantara.de 2008)
The Moroccan writer Abdellah Taïa is only 35 years old, but he has already had three autobiographically tinged novels published, and a fourth has just appeared. It is entitled Une mélancholie arabe (An Arab Melancholy) and is also an account of the author's early years.
There is a lot to tell, especially because he grew up at a time and in a region that made coming of age very difficult. Morocco is the home of sacrifice – at least that is how Taïa depicts it in his novels – a place of political, social, and psychological deprivation. Taïa spent his youth under the rule of Hassan II. The king suppressed the opposition with an iron hand and took particularly harsh steps against Western-style youth protests.
At the same time, he failed to support the protestors, to offer them opportunities. The young people had no prospects; planning for the future became a game of chance. In addition to political pressure, there was – and is – religious pressure. Moroccan society has only partially opened up to modern times; it has remained essentially conservative. In particular, relations between the sexes are strictly regulated. After a certain age, boys and girls are carefully separated from each other.
Homosexuality as an alternative practice
That, says Taïa, is precisely why many young men have turned to homosexuality, which they consider simply an alternative practice, however. "But it was different for me," he says during an interview. "I was serious about it. Homosexuality was not a substitute but a deeply felt need." After he admitted that to himself, life became difficult. Many tears were shed, he recalls – for years, in fact.
That did not prevent him from satisfying his longings, however. Morocco is a strict but sensuous country. He had affairs with men of his own age, but with older men as well – there was scarcely an exploit that he did not let himself in for. His books describe the relevant experiences in a graphic, not to say drastic, way. They remained affairs, however – a steady relationship and the idea of acknowledging his homosexuality were taboo.
Fragrance of culture
Culture offered both escape and support. His father, the caretaker of the public library in Rabat, introduced his son to the world of books, with their spirit and, above all, their sensuousness. "He wanted me to become familiar with the smell of books," he writes in the novel Mon Maroc, which, like all of Taïa's works, has not been translated into German yet. "It was important to him that their magical, unique fragrance go to my head, to my senses."
Later, books also provided him with more than just small escape zones. In the mid-1990s, Taïa received a grant to study in Geneva for one semester – the opportunity for him to make the leap from Morocco to Europe, more precisely, to France, Paris. In the French capital, he became a sharp critic of conditions in Morocco – or rather, the harsh morality of the country, which, officially at least, does not tolerate same-sex love. In an interview with the liberal Moroccan political magazine Tel Quel, Taïa publicly acknowledged his homosexuality. No Moroccan writer before him had dared to do that.
The interview generated great excitement as a result. The comments of the French-speaking readers of the magazine were rather reserved, but when he repeated his statements in several of the country's Arabic-language media, a storm of indignation broke out. He was accused of having defiled the reputation of the country and the religion; a man like him was not an author, but ought to be burned. He had only brought his homosexuality out into the open in order to ingratiate himself with the West.
Sensuous language
In fact, during the interview, Taïa only took up the theme that he had already written about in his books – novels about awakening homosexuality, but many other things as well. In extremely sensuous, graphic language, Taïa describes life in Morocco in the 1980s and 90s, talks particularly about the needs and yearnings of a generation for whom many dreams were forbidden. Through these narratives, his novels depict the customs and manners of a society; they reflect in microcosm what characterizes the entire country in macrocosm.
Taïa's literary role model is the Moroccan writer Mohammed Choukri (1935–2003), who came from an extremely poor background. In his autobiography, For Bread Alone, Choukri described his youth with a vividness that was unthinkable up to that time, told of a life marked by violence, sexuality, and poverty. Taïa himself was spared such circumstances. Yet he shows, not only in his fiction, but in his journalistic texts as well, how much his and following generations still have to suffer under the situation.
When a young suicide bomber blew himself up in an Internet cafe in Casablanca in March of last year, in an article published in the French newspaper Le Monde, Taïa described the living conditions of the young man and his companion – a situation which he knows from personal experience. He could imagine how the two men felt, he wrote in the article. Although he could not excuse the attack, he could understand the reasons for it. He himself was saved by books. Others were and will be victims of their circumstances, and that is also what his novels are about.

2 σχόλια:

  1. MARRUECOS
    "Mi país vive en la negación de la homosexualidad"
    ENTREVISTA A ABDELLAH TAÏA. Este escritor marroquí se autodefine con ironía como un «héroe», pues fue el primer intelectual de su país en tomar la difícil decisión de salir del armario con nombre y apellidos

    TRINIDAD DEIROS - MADRID - publico.es, 28/09/2008


    Tiene 35 años pero la juventud se resiste a abandonarle. Como tantos marroquíes de origen humilde, Abdellah Taïa (Salé, 1973) es una persona de ademanes dulces pero llenos de melancolía. La misma que impregna su obra, en la que narra su vida de joven homosexual, primero en su país y, después, en un exilio largo tiempo soñado en París, la ciudad donde quería estudiar cine y donde vive desde 1999.

    En enero de 2006, exponiéndose al escarnio de la sociedad musulmana en la que nació, reconoció públicamente su condición de homosexual en el semanario independiente marroquí 'Tel Quel'. En junio de 2007, esta revista le dedicó su portada: sobre su fotografía, se podía leer 'Homosexual'. Fue el primer intelectual de su país en salir del armario: ahora es un símbolo.

    El jueves pasado, este escritor estuvo en Madrid para participar en el primer congreso sobre Derechos Humanos, Sociedad Civil y Homosexualidad en los países de mayoría musulmana, organizado por la Confederación Española de Asociaciones de Lesbianas, Gays, Bisexuales y Transexuales (Colegas). Esta confederación quiere llamar la atención sobre la situación en la que viven los homosexuales en los países islámicos.

    En 26 estados de mayoría musulmana, esta opción sexual es delito. En algunos, como Irán o Arabia Saudí, se castiga con la muerte. En Marruecos no se llega a tanto, pero el artículo 489 del Código Penal prevé penas de seis meses a tres años de cárcel para los homosexuales. Su vida sigue dominada por el peso de la H'chouma: la vergüenza.

    Usted describe irónicamente su salida del armario como su conversión en héroe

    Fue durante la presentación de mi libro Le Rouge du Tarbouche (El rojo del fez). Una periodista del 'Tel Quel' quería dedicar su artículo a la homosexualidad. Nunca pensé que haría algo parecido, pero entonces me di cuenta de que tenía que ser valiente, una especie de héroe. Esta periodista me dio la oportunidad de asumir del todo mi verdad íntima y literaria; porque mi reivindicación no era sólo sexual, sino identitaria.

    ¿Lo sintió como un deber?

    Por supuesto. Es la literatura la que me da visibilidad y el derecho de hablar. Hay un deber de decir la verdad, de tomar la palabra.

    ¿Qué siguió a su anuncio?

    Me esperaba una reacción violenta, pero hubo de todo. Algunos medios (se refiere, por ejemplo, al popularísimo diario Al Massae) me insultaron. No digo que esto sea normal, pero sí es sintomático de las contradicciones de la sociedad marroquí, en la que la homosexualidad se ha convertido en una obsesión. Lo bueno es que ahora con el asunto de la supuesta boda gay en Alcazarquivir (seis homosexuales fueron a la cárcel por ello), se ha abierto un debate sobre este asunto.

    ¿Y su familia?

    Su reacción fue de gran dolor. Mi hermano pequeño no podía ni salir a la calle. Estaban en su derecho de sentir dolor: yo acababa de anunciarles que era diferente y además temían por mí. Pensaban que yo no podía ser un buen musulmán, pero no me rechazaron. Mi sufrimiento no es nada comparado con los gays que han estado en la cárcel o, por ejemplo, el de ese estudiante de Fez al que los islamistas hicieron un juicio hace dos años por ser homosexual.

    ¿Ha vuelto a su casa familiar?

    Sí, en junio, pero en casa no hablamos de mi homosexualidad. Eso no quiere decir que mi familia la acepte. Cuando volví a casa, mi madre cocinó mucho para mí. Fue muy tierno, pero sé que era una forma de no hablar sobre ello. En Marruecos, aún estamos en la negación de la homosexualidad, no queremos nombrarla porque eso representaría reconocer su existencia.

    ¿Se trata sólo de libertad sexual?

    La auténtica cuestión no es la sexualidad, incluso si el sexo es un derecho humano, sino la individualidad. En Marruecos, el peso de la sociedad y la familia es agobiante, pero es que venimos de generaciones de adoctrinamiento.

    Usted dice que el árabe es la lengua del silencio.

    Sí, es una lengua que se usa para callar.

    ¿Por eso escribe en francés?

    No, el francés en Marruecos es la lengua de los ricos y, siendo yo de familia pobre, era un reto dominarla. Pero me gusta y no me gusta a la vez. Empecé a escribir en ella porque tenía un diario personal para mejorar mi francés que fue luego el germen de mis libros.

    La homosexualidad está muy presente en la cultura popular marroquí.

    Sí, esos hombres que se disfrazan de mujer en la plaza Jmaa el Fna sin que ocurra nada o las romerías donde tradicionalmente ha habido una gran tolerancia sexual. Pero es que los marroquíes, en privado, son una gente muy libre. El problema es el control de la sociedad. Yo no quiero renunciar a esa cultura popular.

    ¿Hay mucha hipocresía?

    Sí, en Marruecos hay una tensión homosexual evidente que quizás viene de ese deseo de controlar a la gente. Incluso los del partido islamista te dicen: "Tú puedes ser homosexual pero que no se vea". No hay problema si lo haces a escondidas; sin embargo, llega un momento en el que la sociedad te atrapa e intentan obligarte a que te cases.


    ¿Es usted optimista sobre el futuro de Marruecos?

    Vivo una lucha interior. Hay veces que soy optimista: mire cómo ahora los periódicos critican al rey, pero, en el aspecto económico, todo está estancado. La cotidianeidad de muchos marroquíes es luchar para comer cada día; así es imposible hablar de libertad sexual. La precariedad económica impide el cambio de las mentalidades. Aun así, hay una evolución innegable, pero el deseo de modernidad debe luchar en Marruecos contra las fuerzas del oscurantismo, que pretenden imponer su visión.

    ¿Se considera usted musulmán?

    Culturalmente me siento musulmán, pero lo soy a mi manera, no como se me quiere imponer.

    **********

    Kif Kif, la asociación pionera en Marruecos
    Kif kif (iguales) es el nombre elegido por la primera asociación marroquí de gays y lesbianas. Su presidente, Samir Bargachi, estuvo el jueves en el congreso de Madrid y contó cómo han intentado legalizarse en vano.

    Pero su mera existencia es un gran logro. Porque como dijo Bargachi, ser homosexual en Marruecos no es muy difícil; lo que es imposible es declararlo. “Nos tratan como anormales”, deploró.

    Las lesbianas viven una situación aun peor que la de los homosexuales varones. Su discriminación es doble; por ser mujer y por ser lesbianas.

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  2. Morocco may give gays some rights 'within fifty years'

    pinknews.co.uk, 29/9/2008

    An international congress on gay rights in Muslim countries has been told that the north African nation of Morocco may grant rights to homosexuals "within fifty years."

    A representative of a gay group in the country, Kif-Kif, said that although homosexual acts are still illegal, they have unofficial contacts with the Moroccan Socialist Party, reports DPA.

    The group has 3,000 members in Spain, France, Canada and Morocco.

    Article 489 of the country's criminal code provides prison terms for people who commit "lewd or unnatural acts with an individual of the same sex."

    In January a leading human rights organisation called on the authorities in Morocco to release six men jailed under that law.

    They were arrested by police between November 23rd and 25th 2007, after a video circulated online, including on YouTube, purporting to show a private party, allegedly including the men, taking place in Ksar el-Kbir on November 18th.

    Press reports claimed the party was a "gay marriage."

    At an appeal the men's sentences were reduced but their convictions upheld.

    The six men range in age from 20 to 61 years old.

    A leading human rights organisation has called on the authorities in Morocco to release six men jailed for "lewd and unnatural acts."

    They were arrested by police between November 23rd and 25th 2007, after a video circulated online, including on YouTube, purporting to show a private party, allegedly including the men, taking place in Ksar el-Kbir on November 18th.

    Press reports claimed the party was a "gay marriage."

    At an appeal yesterday the men's sentences were reduced but their convictions upheld.

    The six men range in age from 20 to 61 years old.

    Amnesty International issued a fresh call for their release.

    According to lawyers for the defendants, the prosecution failed to present any evidence that the men actually had engaged in the prohibited conduct in the first place.

    At the trial, all six men maintained their innocence of the charges.

    All denied that they had engaged in same-sex sexual relations during the party.

    The Youtube video was broadcast at the trial but did not present any evidence of "lewd or unnatural acts with an individual of the same sex."

    Despite the lack of evidence, the men were found guilty and sentenced to prison terms and fines.

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