The Kite Runner

“There is a way to be good again, Amir jan.“

This quote stands as beacon at the beginning of the film.  A clever hallmark to let you know that this film is going to take you somewhere.  Pick you up and move you.  Make you understand.  You have to follow Amir’s story: where his innocence was lost and the road he walked to find redemption.

When I sat down in the sold-out theatre I knew Amir’s story.  I read Khaled Hosseini’s “The Kite Runner” this summer on a plane from Athens to New York.  I read the book in one day.  I felt painfully close to the story having just spent two months in the Middle East.  Life is different there.   Sometimes it feels so much more real than life here: more raw, less certain, but better in some ways.  Standing in a world so far from home almost forces you to really know who you are.  Amir felt this too.  When he revisited the land of his childhood, Afghanistan, you could actually see the change in him.  He was afraid and resolved.  He was better because he knew who he was, what he wanted, and what he had missed since he had been gone.

The film followed the letter of the book with lovely precision.  Nothing seemed omitted.   I was particularly impressed with the films capture of Kabul in the 1970’s, during Soviet occupation, and under the Taliban.  I also loved how they managed to capture the delicate art of kite flying and running.

This review is my shortest.  I think everyone should watch this film or read the book.  Maybe both.  You won’t be disappointed.  You will cry.  The story hurts in profound ways.  Unlike most sad films, you don’t leave sorry you watched.  The Kite Runner is a journey.  Amir takes you with him.  You see his past and his future.  You see his life.  And you come to understand that, “there is a way to be good again.”  No matter where you went wrong.

Ok, Camel and the Mountain of Moses

Climbing Mt. Sinai has been one of the most amazing things I have done in my life, let alone here in Egypt. The peninsula itself bears no resemblance to any other landscape I have ever seen. Craggy brown rock mountains go on and on, as far as the eye can see, with nearly zero vegetation. I have been made fun of for this, but I find the best way to think of it is like the land of Mordor in Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings.” Minus the scary eye of Sauron and Mt. Doom of course. It takes an eight hour bus ride to get from Cairo to the town of St. Catherine’s which is home to a famous Coptic Monastery and Mt. Sinai itself.

The Monastery of St. Catherine’s has quite an amazing history. Built in 527 c.e. (common era) to enclose what was believed to be the burning bush and the well where Moses me his wife, Zipporah, it has remained largely unchanged for 1500 years. The monastery began as one of the first Christian Orthodox churches. (The proper term would be Coptic Orthodox. Coptic meaning Egyptian, coming from the Greek of Egyptos to Copt.) It’s ability to survive this long is due directly to the Prophet Mohammad himself. During the Arab Conquest of Egypt in the 800’s the Prophet recognized the church’s significance to not only the Christian and Jewish faiths, but to Islam as well. The monastery is seen as holy to Muslims, Christians, and Jews to this day.

Though the monastery itself is fascinating, it is no secret that it is on the tourist map mainly because Mt. Sinai is out its back door, so to speak. There is some debate currently as to whether or not the Mt. Sinai of today was really the Mt. Sinai of Moses’ time. Other contenders are Mt. Saint Catherine’s, which can be seen from the top of Mt. Sinai, and is the tallest peak in Egypt, or a lesser known mountain on the outskirts of the Sinai peninsula. The debate mostly focuses on where the Israelite army could have camped while Moses was atop the mountain, large valley areas etc. Which ever mountain was the real one seems trivial when you stand at the summit and watch the sun rise.

The best way to climb Mt. Sinai is starting around 2 a.m. (needing around 3 hrs. to reach the peak) in order to snag a cozy spot on a rock to watch the sun crest over the mountain range. Our group followed this typical plan. I must admit that I did not climb all of way myself, much as I wanted to do so. Like most of my travel companions here I have suffered from Pharaoh’s revenge (you know stomach distress of extreme proportions) and was not quite feeling up to par. I like to think that I got the better end of the deal, though, because I got to ride a camel most of the way up.

I know I’m not an expert camel rider, but I sure do think it’s a great time. My first ride was on Christmas Eve 2005 on the coast of the Indian Ocean with my friend Emily wearing a Santa hat on a camel named Suzuki. Hard to beat, I know. This ride was completely different. Away from all of Cairo’s pollution (which has taken up permanent residence in my lungs it seems) the view of the night sky surrounded by the jagged peaks of the mountains was amazing. The first part of my camel journey was a bit rougher than the last. I got my camel from a guy who had two camels. Only one of me. The Bedouin camel guides are nothing if not savvy business men, so having only one rider when he had two camels was simply no good. This meant that he rode in front of me, on his other camel, following closely behind my two buddies, Micky and Nuri. Every time Micky fell a step behind Nuri the guide would say, “Ok, Camel. Camel now. Good camel. Ok, Camel.” This was annoying. There was one point when I actually asked Micky and Nuri if the guy was on a cell phone (it was night and I couldn’t see) because he literally did not stop talking. “Ok, camel. Good camel.” Thankfully the crazy Bedouin yelling ended when we passed another woman on our trip who thought she wanted a lift. Turns out she was wrong. Riding a camel for her was about a 25 second trip of terror. The guide then wanted my friend to pay him the full amount they agreed upon, around $20, for a ride of less than a minute. Lucky for me, another Bedouin came along (a quiet one) leading me away from the argument and the rest of the way up the mountain. “Ok, camel.”

The ascent up the mountain was peaceful (once the yelling stopped). Sitting astride my camel I had to trust the animals surefooted-ness in the dark as much of the time we were walking along steep ravines. Silence seemed to fill up the night, the only sights were millions of stars contained in craggy outlines of the Sinai mountains and the silhouettes of lumbering camels ahead of me in sharp contrast against the sky.

The director of our program mentioned to us that climbing Mt. Sinai could be a very spiritual time full of reflection and clarity. I found myself not thinking much of anything, but rather enjoying the stillness. One thing that I did come to understand on the assent: climbing Mt. Sinai must be as close as you can come on Earth to feeling like you are walking up to God. People

thousands of years ago thought this, and people today feel it too. There is something surreal about being surrounded by mountains and mountains of nothing but rock, cliff faces of solid granite, where the only water is in the bottle you brought with you. The emptiness and majesty are amazing. Religions the world over have believed that following God is not easy, the path is narrow and dangerous. Mt. Sinai is a beautiful metaphor for this belief. Climbing the mountain is not easy, there are many obstacles in the way, survival is dependent on faith (in others or yourself), and whether or not this is the place where Moses really spoke to God doesn’t matter much. The people believe it to be and so to them it is.

I said goodbye to my camel for the last leg of the trip, and began to climb the 6000 steps to the summit. The steps were built by Coptic monks in the 7th century and have survived remarkably well for 1400 years. My journey ended somewhere around 5:00 a.m. on the top of Mt. Sinai. There is not much up there besides the remains of a small mosque and a tiny church. Plenty of room, however, for the 300 or so who choose to make the pilgrimage each night. I found a seat on the edge of the rock face and waited on the sun.

Promptly at 6 a.m. the sun crested the mountain range and began to shed light on the night’s journey. I knew I had chosen a seat on the edge of the rock face, but in the light the thousand or so foot drop became amazingly clear. Fear is not something I really feel, but I was reminded of how very close to the edge we come sometimes and how very lucky we should feel to know we have not lost our footing. The sunrise brought more than light to the area, it also brought singing, praying, wailing, crying, and even people speaking in tongs. Regardless of what faith you cleave to, if any, the sight, sounds, and people where profoundly moving. It made the nights journey of stumbling in the dark, falling and slipping on the steps, pulling muscles, and near misses all worth it.

The descent was not nearly as remarkable as the climb yet did provide some time for really appreciating what had be accomplished in the dark. Most people said that if they would have seen the path during the day they never would have done it, they were all glad they went though. Just as I was.

I have to end this post with an experience I can’t claim as my own but that I bore witness to and found deeply touching. One of my fiends in the program worked extremely hard throughout the night in an attempt to reach the summit by sunrise. Despite her best efforts, she did not make it. She reached the top of the mountain about 20 minutes after the sun had risen and this normally happy woman was reduced to tears because she felt like she failed. We all tried to cheer her up, but had little success. When we began climbing down the stairs we passed a tiny Italian woman in her 80’s who was finishing her climb. My friend saw the woman almost fall and caught her. The woman was extremely grateful and began climbing again a little unsure of herself. At this point we were about 200 feet down from the summit. My friend noticed the woman’s hesitation, so she linked arms with her and they climbed the summit together. The Italian woman turned to my friend at the top kissed her hand, smiled, and walked away. When my friend returned all of her frustrations of not reaching the summit in time for sunrise were gone and she was thrilled to have been able to help someone else with the same difficulty she faced. Our outlooks are all about the perspectives we take. Maybe you did not reach the summit in time to see the sunrise, but you did cross paths with a stranger in time to stop them from falling and made their path a little easier. Reminders of what is important are nice. We should all be so lucky.

I Finally Saw the Fishbowl

Always having believed myself to be a realist more than an idealist I had my hesitations about post-structural feminism. I thought, “why not work within the system we have to defeat it from the inside?” Feminist ninja’s out defeating gender discrimination wherever it may be found. How cunning to crumble a system from within the fortifications and foundations it was built upon? Following in this vein I was allied with feminist jurist, Katherine MacKinnon. “Toward a Feminist Theory of the State” seemed like a good idea. Take a societies laws, examine them closely, and overrule them wherever discrimination is found. It all seemed great…and then I took a walk outside the fish bowl.

Today in my course on Islamic Jurisprudence we began a short, yet profound, discussion as to why the Muslim feminist movement has not been successful. The first question was where did these women go to get their legal support for expanding the role of women. They went exactly where I would have gone: to the Qua’ran and the Sunna and engaged in the process of itjihad (deducting law from the sources). This makes perfect sense. If you wanted to change the practices and perceptions of women in your religion wouldn’t God’s voice carry the most weight? Apparently not.

In Sunni Islam (which is were my scope is currently limited) there are four primary schools of law. If you are not familiar with Islam then it may be best to think of these schools as divisions in the protestant Christian faith (Methodist, Baptist, Church of Christ, etc.). They all believe in the same thing, there is only one God, Allah, and Mohammad is his prophet, but they quibble on the small things like the appropriate way to pray. These four schools are the authorities in Islamic Law. For example, if I were praying in a Shafi’i Mosque with my arms down by my sides when everyone else is praying with their arms across their chests and someone came and asked me why I was praying differently I would have two answers. First, I could do what would seem to be the best course of action…you know, quote the Qua’ran or Sunna supporting my prayer practice. My interrogator would counter by offering more Qua’ran and Sunna supporting his side, and on and on we would bicker never reaching a conclusion. Secondly, I could simply say I am a Manaki and this is how we pray. The interrogator then throws up his hands says sorry and walks away. Why this distinction? Because the Manaki School has authority, my own interpretations of the Qua’ran do not.

Apply this to Muslim feminism and you have women thinkers interpreting the Qua’ran and Sunna for an theory (or fatwa) that has no authority. In order to have legal authority (you know, the kind that brings about change) interpretation must come from one of the four schools of law. Basically, you have to work within the system that is oppressing you, and has been for centuries, to try and find ways of bringing down the system from the inside. How incredibly ridiculous does that sound? I know, I thought so too. I can not believe I ever thought this would work for women’s rights in America!

Here is where I have to bid my farewell to Kitty MacKinnon and run over to Judith Butler’s camp pleading that I could not see the forest for the trees and asking to be accepted into the fold. Judy’s right. You can not achieve gender equality working within a system that oppresses one gender. Sure, tearing down a few walls inside the fortress will upset some and gain some ground, but nothing really gets any better until you decide the fortress was flawed to begin with, tear it down, and build another (hopefully learning from your mistakes).

Sorry it took so long, Judy. I know a few professor’s back at my alma matter who will be glad to know I finally saw the fishbowl!