Friday, February 1, 2008

Friday

i met my iraqi friend for coffee yesterday. coffee turned into lunch and four hours later we were still going. our conversation had started with an update on his documentary. i say his doco is about the irony of history. he says it is about the power of music and the simple fact that Iraqui arabs and jews (yes, there are iraqui jews) share the same musical traditions and songs. an inescapable fact. he is filming iraqui musicians (both arabs and jews) all over the world and is hoping to bring them all to melbourne for a night of music. we talk about the $100,000 he needs to really get started, although he and the two producers already have pre-sale agreements with US cable and european television networks.

he tells me the story of seeking support from an australian iraqui organisation. how he was called a zionist collaborator by fellow countrymen. we talk about the fear people have of music - because you can't talk or argue when you are singing or playing. his doco will be marvellous. Amazing. Inspirational. those last two words are about my friend. my friend who is a fine actor and creator. who knows intimately, the space on stage where he feels safe to explore, explain, resolve, his life in the hope that it resonates with others and transforms some element of them, of their lives. elemental - the act of creating. taking something base and lifting it, altering it, making it gleam in form and function. my friend and i talk about how most people do not understand what it takes to write, to perform, to confront the need to create. the everyday fear of sitting down and focusing. of taking away from your relationships, your everyday lives, the roles we all play with others. of how the only time he has never acted was under sadaam, when he was conscripted into the army.

i tell him i went on an australia day/invasion day march in support of indigenous australians - 'always was, always will be Aboriginal land - and how i became speechless with rage at those 'Socialist Left and Green Left' twats waving their magazines with headlines: 'TROOPS OUT OF IRAQ' and 'TROOPS OUT OF AFGHANISTAN'. My friend laughs and agrees, grinning. he tells me a story of when he was approached on the street by a young keen man to sign a petition to get troops out of iraq. my friend stopped and spoke with the man. 'What about 1991?' my friend asked. the young man clearly has no idea what my friend is on about. '1991 is the war crime. the US left then. they left us and then twelve years later they came back. I ask you again what about 1991?' the young man was realising that he had asked the wrong person to sign up and acquiesce to slogans. 'Why do they come back? To get rid of sadaam. Something they could have done in 1991. Instead we get sanctions. sanctions that always, the rich and powerful men can escape but the ordinary iraqui cannot. It is good that sadaam has gone. I am glad.' apparently, the young man was speechless.

my friend and i smile to each other. even if the invading forces didn't 'do it right' in terms of troop numbers or even having a re-building plan, at least they did it. and, i say, people are now talking about afghanistan as a failed state. my friend is shocked. old ethnicities are rearing their head, i say and warlords are re-arming. again, lack of troops. lack of conviction. but once there, once having spent all this energy to create peaceable societies in iraq and afghanistan we ask each other, what do these people demanding the troops to leave think will happen to the ordinary afghan, the ordinary iraqui? vacuums don't exist in nature i say. my friend agrees. something always fills the space. i say to my friend that i am planning on going back to kabul in april. he is excited for me, as he was when i went over in 2004. i shrug. depending on the security i say, but i have volunteer work lined up. i am hopeful of seeing that beautiful city again. we pause and sip our coffee. we, i say, the global community, ask an awful lot of ordinary afghans and iraquis. he nods. and, he says, i don't hear anyone demanding the australian troops out of timor. i smile. no. no. no one seems to have a problem with that.

did you see 'The Kite Runner' my friend asks. yes. i say. 'did you like it?' i ask. my friend screws up his nose. 'so hollywood,' he says. i laugh. yes we agree. a story with much possibility and it became a simple apologist narrative. not even of redemption. a false beard and a battered truck and all is right with the world. and no women, my friend says. no women in the 1960s and 1970s. no women under the russians and only one poor woman, under a burqa, stoned in the 1990s. not a depiction of real life. not addressing the taliban. or even how powerlessness breeds fundamentalism. i grin at my friend 'let's go fly a kite' i say...we have to laugh.

my friend has a calm and charisma about him, on stage and off. he tells me of his heart palpitations two years ago. stress was the verdict. the stress of learning a new language and culture. of trying to earn enough money for his family here. of trying to create. to maintain evenness in everyday life with memories and scars like his. 'so now, pip, i remain calm. in all situations. calm. no matter what is being discussed or what is being assumed. calm.' i say - good. calm is good. 'be alert but be calm.' he laughs at me.

we talk about money, neither of us, a writer and an actor, earn enough, let alone earn enough to buy a house in melbourne. my friend feels this keenly with his family. and also his cultural expectations of the man of the house. i say that i sent his email seeking financiers for his doco to the one rich person i know in melbourne. the rich man has four mortgages to pay and while he would love to invest, just can't manage it right now.

so if you know of anyone with a spare $100,000 for an investment that will garner returns - I know the project.