In hindsight, it would be fair for a novice historian to assume that the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor — when considered alongside Germany and Italy’s military actions in Europe and North Africa – would have provided sufficient motivation for Americans to support our entrance into a global war against the Axis powers.

If so, why would have it been necessary for the government to commission the seven films that would comprise Why We Fight? Made between 1942 and 1945, the propaganda series was targeted first at American soldiers who may have questioned U.S. engagement in what they perceived to be foreign wars. After they were shown to the troops, the films were screened for the general public, much of which continued to support isolationist policies.

Flash forward 50 years, to the point when President Bush’s “victory” in Iraq clearly was beginning to unravel.  Beginning with Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11, several independently made documentaries, in effect, asked audiences to consider, “Why in the hell are we still fighting?”  Besides questioning the evidence used by the administration to justify the war, the films decried our use of torture to elicit information from detainees, profiteering by companies linked to prominent politicians and the lack of a plan to ensure the support of the Iraqi people immediately after the invasion.

Eugene Jarecki* even had the chutzpah to title his impeccably sourced polemic, Why We Fight, the influential WWII series.  Rather than rely on contemporary harbingers of doom to make his case, Jarecki opened his documentary with references to President Eisenhower’s prophetic warning about the growing influence of the military-industrial complex, circa 1961.  And, while this Why We Fight may have lacked the “Capra touch,” it made a convincing argument against taking our leaders’ rhetoric at face value.

President Obama has inherited the immense task of extricating out troops from Iraq, while simultaneously attempting not only to keep the Taliban and Al Qaeda from regaining a foothold in Afghanistan, but also preventing the collapse of Pakistan to extreme Islamic fundamentalists.  If anyone needs to be reminded of what’s at stake, there, for people who believe in democracy and freedom, it can be found in several new movies from the region, none of which were influenced by the Pentagon.

Ostensibly, the war in Afghanistan was fought to convince the Taliban that harboring Al Qaeda terrorists was a bad idea. Even if coalition forces failed to eliminate key leaders of the organizations, their continued presence encouraged the Afghan people to return to pastimes they hadn’t been allowed to enjoy in decades.  Women, especially, were given an opportunity to seek a form of normalcy they hadn’t experienced since the Russian invasion in 1979.

One unexpected benefit of the liberation of Afghanistan – however dubious – was the launch of a television show that would have been unthinkable under the Taliban.  Like Simon Cowell’s incredibly popular Pop Idol and American Idol, Tolo TV’s Afghan Star endeavored to find the embattled nation’s best and brightest entertainers, and award one with a cash prize and record deal.

Of the 2,000 people who auditioned, three were women. That might sound like a miniscule number to westerners, but, in 2005, any Afghan woman who removed her chador, put on makeup and sang a popular song on television was considered to be extremely brave, suicidal or both. When one of the three women contestants also swayed to the song’s rhythm, it caused a national scandal that threatened to darken the bright hope for Afghan Star.

In her fascinating debut film, also titled Afghan Star, Havana Marking traced the show’s evolution from beginning to end, inside and outside the Kabul studio where it was shot and broadcast. Fortunately for Marking, the completion of her feature-length documentary wasn’t contingent on the success of the women in competition, as all of the finalists had stories of their own to tell. The ability of the women to make it through several cuts, however, added a level of intensity that was far more satisfying than fiction.

Not surprisingly, perhaps, the show captured the imagination of the hugely diverse Afghan populace, all of whom were encouraged to use their cellphones to vote for their favorites. For many Afghans, it was their first experience with democracy and, initially, at least, the tallies were heavily influenced by where the contestants lived and their tribal affiliations. As the competition progressed, people in the most remote sections of the country scrambled to make sure televisions were in working order to watch the shows.

Even if Taliban-aligned clerics had largely disappeared by 2005, fundamentalist beliefs still held sway in the Islamic country, especially outside Kabul. As the popularity of Afghan Star grew into a phenomenon, adherents of Sharia law attempted to ban it. Clerics argued that the show diverted attention from Islamic teachings and encouraged public displays of exuberance and sensuality. Taliban loyalists vowed to blow up transmission towers if the competition continued.

The show’s popularity was such that any interference with Afghan Star probably would have been a public-relations disaster for hard-liners. For the first time in decades, Afghans from all walks of life were obsessed with something besides tribal rivalries, political corruption and war. The show’s charismatic host actively promoted the competition as an alternative to violence.

There was no sugar-coating the controversy that erupted when one of the women Marking was following began moving in a dance-like manner to the music, and even lowered her head scarf. Indeed, she appeared to understand the ramifications of her actions, even before the applause died. Although her stage presence would hardly raise an eyebrow on American Idol– and the contestant wasn’t attempting to score points with feminist voters — the commotion rivaled the one caused by American fundamentalists after Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” at the Super Bowl.

Even so, the competition has been repeated every year since 2005, without interruption. If the current Taliban offensive were to succeed, however, it’s very unlikely Afghan Star would be picked up for another season.

The woman whose life was threatened in Afghan Star avoided serious harm and has lived to sing, again. The victim of religious intolerance in The Stoning of Soraya M. wasn’t as fortunate.

Based on journalist Freidoune Sahebjam’s best-selling reportage, Cyrus Nowrasteh’s film describes the execution of Sharia law at its most extreme. Set in a remote Iranian village, in 1986, The Stoning of Soraya M. recalls the last days in the life of a woman wrongly accused of adultery by her philandering husband and a crooked mullah. Because the accused woman had no right to contest the charges, all they were required to do was convince a staked tribunal of her treachery.  After she was convicted, villagers, including family members, lined up to cast the first stone.

It didn’t matter that Soraya’s husband was incensed by her refusal to grant him a divorce, so he could marry his 14-year-old girlfriend, or that he was blackmailing the mullah with information about his own shortcomings.  In return for her permission to divorce, Soraya had insisted he give her enough money to raise their children in a respectable home.  The husband considered this to be too much of a sacrifice to make for a marital trade-in and conspired with the mullah, who, in the new Iran, had more power than the village’s police, to grease the verdict.

Nowrasteh’s motivation in making the movie not only was to point out that stoning was a particularly cruel means of execution, but also that it continued to be practiced. Most Americans probably have read about penalties, ranging from unusual to stone-cold barbaric, imposed on westerners who dared flaunt Sharia law in Islamic countries. His movie would force a decidedly more visceral response from audiences.

“Most Arab countries had abolished the practice,” he said, “but it started to come back after the ayatollahs came to power in Iran.  I felt it was our duty to portray the stoning in as uncompromising and honest a way as possible.

“Most people don’t even know how it’s done. Soroya was buried hip deep, with her hands tied, and everyone in the village lined up to thrown a stone, including her father, husband and sons.”

If that description sounds unappetizing, potential ticket-buyers should know that the on-screen depiction goes on for a period of time that approximates infinity. It’s agonizing to watch, even knowing that no actors were hurt in the making of the picture. The genuineness of the experience is accentuated by the responses – glee and horror, in somewhat equal measure – of the mostly Moslem cast of actors and extras, some of whom were old enough to have witnessed such executions, themselves.

Nowrasteh was able to film in a village that must have looked very much like the one described in Sahebjam’s book. He wouldn’t reveal in which Arab country it was shot – “Iran has a lot of clout in that area” – but he was able assemble a cast of actors who spoke Farsi, including Oscar nominee Shohreh Aghdashloo and Mozhan Marno.

“Everything had to be authentic … even the Iranian car and license plates,” Nowrasteh emphasized. “We needed to take viewers into that village, in those mountains. Most of the speaking parts went to people who’d never acted or even seen a movie.”

The stoning segment will make Soraya M. a hard sell among mainstream audiences, so, to build interest in it, the Madison native has been screening it for women’s groups, Amnesty International and people of Iranian and Moslem descent. According to recent studies, provided by the filmmakers, more than 1,000 women have been stoned to death in the last 15 years, not only in Iran, but also Nigeria, Sudan, Somalia, Iraq, the UAE, Afghanistan and Pakistan. United Nations sources also say that so-called “honor killings” annually claim the lives of 5,000 women, including some in America.

The response to The Stoning of Soraya M. at the special screenings, the director says, “has been heart-warming.”

More hopeful is Captain Abu Raed, Jordan’s nominee for the 2009 Best Foreign Language Oscar. In one of the first Jordanian-made films to reach an international audience, Nadim Sawalha plays the elderly title character, a janitor at the Amman airport with a gift for telling stories to the children in a working-class neighborhood in the ancient city. They assume he’s a pilot, because he works at the airport and wears a hat discarded by a pilot. When the kids discover his true profession, Raed’s embarrassment demands he prove himself in other ways.

Contrasting examples of what it means to be a woman in Jordan are provided by a gorgeous pilot, whose willingness to remain single in her 30s mortifies her more traditional parents. She meets the old man on an airport shuttle and is impressed by his love of books. The other woman is the pitiable mother of one of Raed’s young admirers and wife of a man who loudly beats them upon his return from work each night. Until Raed’s couragous intervention, it’s impossible for her to believe she’ll find salvation from this drunken brute.

Olga Sapozhnikova’s short documentary, Hidden Beauty**, takes an entirely different tack in their depiction of Arabic women. The Moscow-born, Dubai-based filmmaker’s premise is that, even within the constraints of law and tradition, women in the United Arab Emirates, at least, are being recognized for their achievements in male-dominated Arab society.

“This film was my idea and my passion,” said Sapozhnikova, when asked if her almost contrarian approach to the controversial subject matter had been suggested by image-conscious travel officials in the UAE. “I wanted to demonstrate to audiences in the west that the ‘heroes’ of my movie achieved success, even given the restrictions women faced. The women are outwardly beautiful, but the inner beauty I describe here has nothing to do with religion or morality.”

Those profiled include the only woman ambulance driver, among 400 males, in the UAE. Credited with saving many lives, Jamilya also is the single mother of five children. Rym is a journalist, whose assignments have taken to most of the hotspots in the Mideast.

Born into a wealthy Saudi Arabian family, Ahlam was required to leave home to find success in the business world. She became a multi-millionaire on her own terms, even after being jilted by her husband and left to raise three children on her own. All the while, though, she says she aspired to returning home to the Mideast.  Joanna left Finland, for the Gulf states, to find an Arab husband and adopt the native culture.

As could be expected, much of the discussion in Hidden Beauty** centers around the restrictions put on Arab women by men, especially in the clothes they’re required to wear outside the home.  Her defense of the veil and abayah probably would be a hard sale for most western women, but Sapozhnikova says she wouldn’t mind exploring the subject with audience members, if the 30-minute film could find a distributor here.

“I was born in Moscow and am a Christian … I also was a diplomat in Japan,” she allows. “I see myself as a bridge between east and west. I’d love to see more women succeed in areas usually reserved for men, but, for most Arab women, the most important thing continues to be the family and the warmth that comes from it, and usually this means supporting the husband.

“We must strive to understand each other. If we don’t, we could be left with hundreds of Bin Ladens.”

And that, presumably, was why we began fighting, in the first place.

– Gary Dretzka
July 3, 2009

*Editor’s Note: Edited to correct the name of the filmmaker from Andrew Jarecki to Eugene Jarecki, 7/6/09

**Editor’s Note: Edited to correct the name of the film to Hidden Beauty, 7/7/09 .

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