This rose has thorns

By Amira Howeidy
Prime time TV has a daily message to convey to its millions of viewers. It is, perhaps, a simple message, though no less legitimate or rational for that: Muslims and Copts, the soap operas seem intent on ramming home, should respect each other.
At least two series, Awan Al-Ward (Flowers Bloom) and Khayal Al-Zill (Shadowplay) feature Coptic characters in leading roles. But while the Coptic element in Khayal Al-Zill is confined to the character of Ramzi, whose religion is hardly crucial to the plot, it remains the primary focus of events in Awan El-Ward. Indeed, so pronounced is the "national unity" theme in Awan Al-Ward that it has included scenes of Muslims and Copts praying side by side in mosques and churches.
According to official figures Copts make up six per cent of Egypt's 66.9-million population and their propulsion into the Ramadan TV limelight is seen by many as a result of events in the past decade which witnessed the rise of extremist Islamist groups.
Although politically sensitive issues -- including terrorism -- have been touched upon in movies and TV dramas before, including Al-Irhabi (The Terrorist) and Al-A'ila (The Family), the relationship between Egypt's Coptic and Muslim communities has, until now, remained taboo. No longer though: the state, it would seem, has given the green light for that relationship to be discussed, analysed and depicted, and in the most public of arenas to boot, the Ramadan TV screen.
Awan Al-Ward is about a beautiful young woman, Amal, born to a Coptic mother and Muslim father, who falls in love with, and marries, a police officer. A day after she gives birth to a son he is kidnapped and a long search begins. The police, lacking clues, investigate the possible reasons behind the abduction, chief among which are possible objections to the marriage on religious grounds. As the interrogations continue the national unity rhetoric comes fast and furious. Other "side issues," such as extremism "on both sides," are addressed, providing opportunities to criticise the niqab and include a little actualité, so that events like last year's sectarian clashes in the village of Al-Kosheh are dragged into the drama.
"The issue of national unity has been a taboo. The censor would simply not allow it to appear on TV," says Wahid Hamid, Awan Al-Ward's scriptwriter. But this year he was actually asked to produce a script about national unity by no less a personage than Information Minister Safwat El-Sherif himself.
"Terrorist thinking had invaded the minds of Egyptians for 10 years, causing a rift in relations between Muslims and Copts. It has become necessary, therefore, to promote an older harmony," Hamid told Al-Ahram Weekly.
Nostalgia clearly dominates the opening and closing credits of Awan Al-Ward which are set against scenes from the most popular and romantic black-and-white movies of the 1940s, '50's and '60s. Blooming pink roses occasionally come into view, adding to the effect. Nor do the credit sequences forego the opportunity for didacticism: they include pictures of the late president Gamal Abdel-Nasser, writer Youssef El-Sebai (assassinated after visiting Israel in 1979), the feminist Doreya Shafiq, the theatrical and journalistic pioneer Fatma El-Youssef and her son the doyen of the romantic novel, Ihsan Abdel-Qodous. Hamid himself insists that the name of the series, Awan Al-Ward, was chosen as "an invitation to return to the age of beauty."
Yet despite its unquestioned popularity, the series has come in for a share of criticism. These roses, it appears, are not without thorns, and besides Coptic-Muslim relations, the series has addressed even more sensitive issues, including pre-marital sex and virginity.
Last Monday's independent Al-Osbou newspaper, for example, devoted an entire page to slam the series under the headlines "Meaningless licentiousness" and "Awan Al-Ward unleashes storms of anger and controversy."
And clearly intended to do Copts justice, Awan Al-Ward has nonetheless upset many. "What are they trying to say?" asks a widely circulated e-mail message. "That it's okay for a Coptic girl to marry a Muslim? This is bad TV drama. Beware and stop watching it."
Says Gamal Asaad, a Coptic intellectual: "If what we see on TV becomes a reality, will there be any Copts left in the country?"
Hamid is aware that he may have opened a Pandora's box. "But the criticisms," he shrugs, "don't matter. They should have only waited [for the finale] before attacking me," he says.
As it turns out, the Coptic mother, Rose, reaches the conclusion that her marriage to a Muslim was indeed a mistake, leaving viewers with an unambiguous piece of moralising: religion is more important than love.
Love it or hate it, resent the crude moralising or think it necessary, Awan Al-Ward has become of the most watched Ramadan TV drama of all times. And no one is switching off.
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Everyone's a critic
Al-Kosheh rioters released
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