On the Path to What?

Stari Most ("Old Bridge"), Mostar, Bosnia-Herzegovina

I must say, thank goodness for things such as YouTube!  I am seeing films I otherwise would not have the opportunity of seeing, or would have to wait a very long time in order to see it.  So, that aside, I have seen a Bosnian film called Na Putu (On the Path, 2010; the film can be seen on YouTube, however, unfortunately it does not have subtitles for those who do not speak Bosnian language), directed by Jasmila Žbanić (a young director, whose work has been recognized in Europe, received many prestigious awards, and some of the work has even made it across the pond, into this country I presently inhabit).

Although, I plan to give a somewhat of a review (and summary of the film), my main objective in this short piece is to address some of the larger issues that concern the state of literature and its relation of the so-called “multi-cultural” project, and also issues of Bosnian-Muslim identity—post-Communism, post-war (that is, the 90s war, my war).  Of course, it should be quite obvious that I will not be able to actually resolve some of these issues in such a short essay but I think, writing this will give me an opportunity to begin an intellectual (and personal, since those two are always somehow intertwined, or at least they should be) exploration of the issues stated above.

The film involves a young Bosnian Muslim couple, Luna and Amar (perhaps my age, in their 30s), who seem to be living a decent, modern life together.  They are not married but they do live together; they both work for a Bosnian airline (he at the control tower, and she as a flight attendant).  We are also told that they have a “healthy” sex life because it seems that it all they do once Luna comes back from her trips.  The conflict begins when Amar is caught drinking at work, and receives a suspension, with a possibility of returning to work for the airline but not at the control tower (for obvious reasons). 

By sheer accident, he runs into an old friend, a man who was in the same platoon as Amar, during the war.  Memories of war bind them together.  Amar is surprised to see that his friend is now slightly different: he has a long beard and a cap, which signifies that he is part of the Wahhabist sect of Islam.  There is a woman in the car with his friend, who is completely covered, only her eyes are slightly visible. 

Somehow, Amar reconnects with his old friend, who tells him that, after the war, he saw no meaning in life, and that he pretty much wanted to kill himself.  He was invited to come into the Wahhabi community, and found peace that he did not know could possibly exist.  Slowly, Amar is persuaded to join the Wahhabi community (although I use the word community very loosely here, it is more of a “collective”), where men and women are separated, and they live a tribal form of life.  As this journey for Amar progresses, Luna feels that she is losing him to this strange form of Islam, something both of them did not grow up with.  Amar begins to dress differently; he becomes more prudent about sex; he reads a pamphlet given by the Wahhabis and wants Luna to read it as well.  “I just want to be a good man,” pleads Amar, as he’s trying to convince Luna of his choices.  But Luna is unable to look at this situation with maturity and gravity it deserves.

At a certain point, the film becomes a piece of an ideological agenda in favor of Western hedonistic “values,” as it contrasts the ideological agenda of the Wahhabis.  It goes too far: it gives us two extremes, and it is clear, which view the film director is following.  The film loses any artistic value because it becomes a piece of “rhetoric,” that is, the director participates in a persuasion, which has an element of religious fervor as the Wahhabis presented in the film.  The film culminates in a possibility of Luna getting an abortion.  And what am I supposed to think of that?  That she is a free, independent, and a Western woman?

It should be clear by now that I did not like the film.  It has raised many questions for me, and for that, I am grateful.  Sometimes, it takes something, which is the opposite of truth to lead us onto the right path (and no pun intended here).

Issue 1: Art and Ideology

What I have noticed about recent art output by new and fresh Bosnian artists (whether novelists or filmmakers) is every time they create something, they have one audience in mind: the Westerners (whether Western Europe or the United States).  The Bosnian artist (and I mean, generally, of course; there are still those of older generation who engage with their art in a more fruitful manner) wants to desperately to prove to the West that yes, indeed, we are normal, we are just like you, and most certainly not at all like those Wahhbist Muslims.  Now, granted I do not have anything against separating ourselves from the Wahhabis since we are culturally and in the approach to religion quite different.  But I do object to an almost apologetic attitude for our Bosnian-ness. 

The art becomes an exercise in cultural surface: the use of language, people’s mannerisms, food they eat, music they listen to or play, and similar.  I may use my hands when I am trying to make a point, in the most Bosnian way, but there is more to me than only the exteriority of my culture (which I do not deny and find quite beautiful).  I also have interiority, and a spiritual life, which asks questions of my own existence, mission in this life, and of identity. 

The Bosnian artist participates in the global multi-cultural project and a novel or a film becomes a mere particularism (and not even an interior particularism, unique to each human being) without any desire to address the universal question of, for example, the meaning of war, the meaning of suffering, evil, justice, or even a possibility of reconciliation.  My generation of Bosnian young people and artists wants to forget about the war, forget those memories, which are wounds on our souls, and opts for a life of pleasures. 

Issue 2: Religion and Identity

The question tied to the notion of Bosnian art is also a question of Bosnian Muslim identity.  But this is really never tackled in the film.  In fact, the film was quite anti-religious.  I did not see anything wrong with Amar indeed wanting to be a better man, wanting to have peace, and wanting to have some kind of union with God.  The question that arises is why should he choose such a sect of Islam, which has no ties to a Bosnian sense of identity, which is a mere ideology, which keeps women caged?  Why did not director make a different choice: a true exploration of philosophical and theological questions in the context of genocide in Bosnia?  Yes, it was a theology which was missing, and which Islam has plenty of!  I thought to myself: volumes upon volumes of clear philosophical and theological Islamic thought (on the nature of God, on free will, on theodicy, etc.), and what the Bosnian artist does is minimize the importance of religion in human life.

Again, this notion of apologizing to the West for being a Bosnian and Muslim, for which I do not intend to apologize, and whose premise (since it is faulty) I simply do not accept.  I do not find the West superior to me, a small “Eastern European Muslim Slav.”  I am proud of my Bosnian-ness, and I refuse to submit to any culture.  The only reality I am willing to submit to is God.  The only reality I am willing to be a servant of is truth.  Alliances with one’s culture are significant; we love our countries, we are patriotic, but we also have to be willing to criticize when we see things become “sour.”  (Think of the famous 1978 Harvard commencement speech by Solzhenitsyn).  I do not see why a woman should be veiled from head to toe just as I do not see why a woman should have an abortion.

What path should we choose?

Questions of any identity (and in this case Bosnian Muslim identity) are always connected to the metaphysics of identity.  Literature or great art cannot become what it ought to become, cannot reach a pinnacle of its ontology without an excursion into philosophy, and by implication, into theology.  But this requires an effort and patience, and perhaps the current Bosnian artist does not have those two qualities, and he (or in the case of the film, she) would rather be caught up, full force, in the hedonistic vortex of Zeitgeist than “roll up the sleeves” and get to work.

So, what is then a Bosnian Muslim?  As a Bosnian-American, a traveler between at least two cultures, I am confronted with this question.  I do not have the answer yet, but I do know that we are not the Wahhabists, I do know that we do not practice any form of fundamentalism, I do know that we are not part of Islamist ideology.  Bosnia is one of those places, which is hard to define: a mysterious land of Jews, Christians and Muslims, whose path has always been somehow between East and West, whose soil conceals more things than illuminates, and whose destiny has always been accompanied with quiet rumbling and uncertainty. 

But even having said that, why should I not attempt to answer this question of Bosnian identity, or at least, address it, as I see it, through my own eyes and mind?  One voice does matter, even if it’s a voice of minority or opposition.  The more I think about the Bosnian identity, or perhaps any identity, I am convinced that somehow it is all tied to the Levinasian concept of the Other, to the notion of human exteriority and interiority, and to our face-to-face relations.  But the exploration of Levinasian Other and otherness as it relates to above discussed Bosnian identity will have to be addressed later, in a larger format, and it is a far bigger question than what I have discussed in this short essay.