Pride and prejudice

This year's Ramadan hit portrayed some twisted role models. Amina Elbendary glares at the screen
There must be a few gender-related topics on which a twenty- something Egyptian woman and her seventy-something father can agree. And thanks to Hagg Metwalli, the search is over.
There is nothing particularly special about Metwalli, the protagonist of the latest Ramadan television hit 'Ailat Al-Hagg Metwalli ("Hagg Metwalli's Family") -- and yet he has become the subject of heated debate all over the Arab world. Over dinner, at the water cooler and photocopier; on talk shows from Doha to Casablanca and on the pages of newspapers and magazines, Metwalli has become a household name. If you were among the (select) minority who abhorred Al-Sayyid Ahmed Abdel-Gawwad's model of manhood in Naguib Mahfouz's Cairo trilogy, just wait till you are introduced to Metwalli. Sil-Sayyid is a modern-day saint in comparison: after all, he never took another wife after his Amina -- he only had mistresses.
Metwalli starts out as a hard-working young man who sells fabric at Hagg Salama's store. He rises up in the world, through his hard work and honesty, and marries Salama's widow. He embarks on a money-making career, eventually becoming a leading textile merchant. The series, written by Mustafa Muharram, directed by Mohamed El-Noqalli and starring Nur El-Sherief as the Metwalli, is not so much about his rags- to-riches story, or how he became a successful businessman, but about how he acquired the most prized status symbol of all. No, not an elegant car (although he has the latest models of course), not a college degree or a six-figure bank account, not a seat in parliament or a villa in the south of France. Metwalli gets himself a family. And that is perfectly understandable in a society and culture where one's family name is important. After all, in many parts of the Arab world, people still ask "whose home" you come from. But Metwalli goes about it differently. He gets himself a wife. And another. And a third. And a fourth. Metwalli gets himself four wives.
There is no denying that polygamy is one form of the discredited institution of marriage, even in contemporary Egypt. What's new in this series is that the phenomenon of acquiring multiple wives has been raised here to the level of the ideal -- nothing to be embarrassed about, in fact, something to aspire to. Metwalli gets himself one big happy family. It's all a bit too lovey-dovey, frankly; co-wives just adore one another, and "can't imagine home" without each other. The first three wives -- Amina, Ne'matallah and Madiha -- form a funny trio, especially when they conspire to get rid of the fourth (at which point they decide their husband's marrying streak has become a bit too much: three is enough; four, they declare, quite subversively, is haram).
The poor things can't imagine being Metwalli's only wife; they love to share. The series is in many respects a comedy, with the inevitable harmless squabbles over which wife will get the hagg to spend the night with her and so on and so on and so on, ad nauseam. These women's mission in life is to fight over a husband. Unfortunately, the series wasn't meant to be a comedy of manners.
State-controlled television is exactly that: "state- controlled." It is designed to indoctrinate the masses. It is by default an instrument of propaganda. Call it popular culture as much as you like, call it popular art if you must, but please remember that all discourse is political. And the idea that Metwalli is promoted as an ideal by the official discourse is simply shocking. What is farcical is that the airing of the series was interspersed with commercial breaks in which the National Council for Women (NCW) promoted the notion of gender equality: a girl is as good as a boy. It seems the inherent contradiction was lost on media authorities.
Which message, exactly, is being promoted? It is not hard to imagine which is more easily swallowed: drama or direct preaching. In fact the NCW has held numerous symposia to discuss the elusive "image of women in the media" -- they will, incidentally, hold a special symposium to discuss this particular series as well.
The makers of the series have been on every listed television and radio show and on the pages of every publication singing the praises of Metwalli's character. Metwalli's main achievement relates to him being a rich man who is equally generous with his three wives and buys all his children and step-children expensive cars. This rich man is not shown to be a philanthropist, for example, or a striving industrialist. All his praise-winning behaviour is narrowly self-centred. Furthermore, this contemporary money-making hero, himself having withdrawn from school at a young age because of difficult family circumstances, refuses to let his eldest son enter college. The boy has to hide from his father the simple honourable fact of seeking a higher education for four years. Education, it seems, is no longer a key to social mobility.
At one point the series' hero-makers were arguing -- live -- that the number of single Egyptian women exceeds the number of single Egyptian men by nine million, so polygamy is actually going to become a national duty for young men of means, perhaps a bit like conscription? These figures, however, "have not been independently confirmed."
That a young man in his twenties and a man in his seventies would both make the identical remark: "What is this nonsense? As if women have no pride ..." is perhaps telling. Hagg Metwalli is not a generational throw-back. And many viewers, aside from the Westernised and the elite, have been dismayed. Feminists and intellectuals from across the political spectrum, literary critics, drama critics and novelists -- supposed representatives of official discourse -- have also voiced their concerns and criticism of the series. The uproar has been so significant that when in the last episode Metwalli tells his son that his multiple marriages were a mistake after all, viewers were convinced that this was added due to popular pressure to balance the series. In the final episode, Metwalli apologises for opposing his son's college education and advises him to remain faithful and loyal to his wife and family. "It obviously doesn't fit with the first 33 episodes," has been the common reaction.
To think that popular opinion in the Arab world has weight enough to change the dramatic events of a television series is sourly cheering. That the issue of polygamy in a television drama would become so important to public opinion, overtaking frustration with the recession, concern over the near empty state coffers and anger over the massacres carried out next door, is perhaps alarming.
But dismay has not been the only reaction, mainly because the characters (and actors) are so likeable. One can't simply hate Metwalli, or look down on Amina, Ne'ma and Madiha. Indeed, one is not supposed to.
Even if one were to play devil's advocate and try and play along with the makers of the series, their case would be a weak one. They do not try to present any convincing argument in favour of polygamy -- perhaps because there isn't one. No serious attempt is made to explain or excuse Metwalli's multiple marriages. Even the traditional excuse often presented in common discussions, that of a barren wife, is not valid, since Metwalli's first wife passes away leaving behind their son. That is why he marries Amina; to raise the orphaned son. Amina does not bear him any more children and he takes another wife who does. So why the third? And why the fourth? In fact, Metwalli is shown to have an ulterior material motive behind every marriage, be it connections with powerful officials, tempting inheritance or even a hand in the tax bureau. No attempt is even made to discuss the limitations and frustrations of monogamy, for example (and God knows there are a few). And, of course, there is no attempt to give the women any comparable liberty. This is not about thinking out of the box (whatever that means).
In fact, the wives are not allowed to present any convincing opposition to his repeated marriages although any grade-school kid could think of some. Instead, they are portrayed as passive and submissive. In fact Amina, the "old wife", has a trademark response to her husband's orders and admonitions that has already made its way to the contemporary Egyptian lexicon: "D'accord, ya hagg" (Amina has been to language schools, you know). When her upper-middle class aunts and uncles are shown to complain about her demeaning situation, Amina stands by her husband and insists on staying married to him.
The second wife, Ne'matallah, is introduced as the widow of another rich textile merchant who manages her husband's business quite efficiently after his death. She is soon relegated to the role of submissive housewife when, after their marriage, Metwalli asks her to stay home and look after the kids. Even the third wife, the tax accountant, is more often portrayed in the house in colourful nightgowns than as a modern working woman. By the end of the series she, too, is urged to stay at home and her accounting office is closed. It is perhaps to the credit of the makers of the series that they do not even attempt to sugar-coat the blatant patriarchal bias of their story-line. Metwalli repeatedly tells his wives and children in no uncertain terms that he is the man of the house, that he has the final word on anything and everything and if you don't like it ...
"Is this the image of Arabs and Islam that we are trying to promote now?" This is the rhetorical question being heard among troubled TV viewers. Is this really "us"?
Television anchors (made-up to resemble circus clowns) have been raiding the streets from Alexandria to Aswan asking the archetypal passer-by: "Excuse me, good afternoon, have you watched Nur El-Sherief's series? What do you think of Metwalli and polygamy?" And the ultimate reply is that not everybody can be a Metwalli, not everybody can afford to be equally fair to more than one wife; for after all, Metwalli is a man of significant means. And one more time, the Qur'anic verse relating to polygamy and justice is read through one, patriarchal reading. As if justice were simply about money. Characteristically, women have reacted against the idea, conceding under pressure that polygamy could be excused only if circumstances necessitated it and as long as the man is fair to all wives.
The generic man-on-the-street, however, seemed to lament his lot (not hard to understand), implying that if he could be a Metwalli, he would be. But one can hardly manage one wife, one household. Four? That would be insane.
Theories have sprung forth since the seventies about the changing Egyptian social scene. As social mobility gives rise to new norms and values, does Metwalli announce the establishment of an urban lower-middle class morality as the new national ideal? Or are there enough twenty-something Egyptian men who believe women deserve equal pride and place in society; and if so, are they self-confident enough to overcome their prejudices?
Recommend this page
© Copyright Al-Ahram Weekly. All rights reserved
weeklyweb@ahram.org.eg