The Brooklyn Rail

The stage had been set for a rematch that nobody wanted: Trump versus Biden—the former patently unfit, the latter past his prime. We seemed to be lumbering in that direction for months, unable to change our path. But in a matter of weeks, the whole dynamic changed completely. Kamala Harris charged into the race, energizing and consolidating the Democrats. What had seemed an inevitable turn toward the authoritarian shifted into the possibility of common sense—reality, even—breaking through.

This kind of change occurs sporadically throughout history. Most often, convention and habit rule, as we sleepwalk into our own future. Things start to change with the realization that something being held up as sacred and central will not hold. And then, suddenly, there comes a startling reawakening: we comprehend our power to choose and move in a new direction.

A dramatic instance of that kind of spirit of change sweeping a region is the Arab Spring, the series of protests that began in the early 2010s and energized countries from Tunisia to Libya to Egypt and beyond. What began with the overthrow of the government in Tunis spread to surrounding regions. Although many of the uprisings were brutally put down, the sense of possibility it raised continues to inform life in the Arab world. In a sense, it is the furtherance of the Nahda [the Awakening], a movement that took rook in the late nineteenth century and spread through the Ottoman Empire. The Nadha came to represent hope, modernization, and cultural rebirth.

Offshoots of these movements are present in the growing self-determination of people from SWANA (Southwest Asia and North Africa), an expanded grouping of countries that have long been identified as belonging to the Middle East. One local manifestation is the Habibi Festival, built on a loose aggregation of performers with roots in the Arab world. Many are now based in the United States, and their interest in the musical forms they encounter here, from hip-hop to blues rock, expands the range of musical expression for these diaspora artists. The Habibi Festival—habibi meaning “my love” in Arabic—began four years ago, with the goal of presenting these performers and introducing their music to wider audiences. Alex Knowlton, the director of Joe’s Pub, teamed with curator/producer Meera Dugal and artist/composer/curator Yacine Boulares to identify and gather artists who were enlarging the world of Arab music and eager to connect with American and international audiences.

In July, the festival stepped onto a bigger stage, with a performance at the BRIC Celebrate Brooklyn! festival. (They return to their home stage at Joe’s Pub in October with their broadest line-up to date.) One after another, the organizers and musicians spoke of unity, of celebrating our local communities as well as our differences. As exciting as it was to see the performers, it was equally thrilling to see the audience reaction, with people cheering loudly for the bands on stage and ululating wildly. The bond between performers and audience suggested the recognition of a community that has often been neglected, and at times vilified.

Boulares led an ace ensemble that backed up several performers, including Omar Offendum, Mona Miari, and Felukah. The music often combined Arabic melodies, some played by the oud virtuoso Zafer Tawil, with large doses of hip-hop and contemporary dance music. The mix didn’t always gel, with some of the rap occasionally taking a generic turn, but it did still manage to suggest a new lived reality, with Arab voices heard in a different way.

The fullest integration came with the headliner, Bab L’Bluz, a French-Moroccan band that thrillingly combines Gnawa trance music from North Africa with a Zeppelin-adjacent, guitar-driven rock sound. The lead singer, Yousra Mansour, channeled Jimmy Page with a double-neck axe (her version features a guitar and electrified guembri, a traditional string instrument) and sparkly trousers. Her leads were interwoven with those of the band’s co-founder, Brice Bottin, also pushing the possibilities of the guembri. Gnawa is often deeply captivating music, taking the listener toward an altered state of consciousness. It is linked to healing rituals and African animism, so that diving down into it can become a transporting spiritual journey. Like the so-called “desert blues” of Ali Farka Touré and others, it provides a surprisingly natural link between cultures, reveling in the communal quest for transcendence via musical overdrive.

Between sets, a strong DJ from the collective Yalla! Party Project spun tracks that alternated between contemporary Arab performers (Moustafa Amar, DAM) and local heroes like the Notorious B.I.G. These were augmented by sometimes hilarious visuals incorporating MTV-style videos from the Arab world. The spirit of fellowship was so strong that it seemed the whole show might pass without any suggestion of the massive discord that has plagued relations between cultures across the region, in particular the intractable situation harming both Palestinians and Israelis. But that finally reared its head. When New York City Comptroller and progressive Democrat Brad Lander took the stage to praise the proceedings, identifying himself as Jewish in the process and talking about the need for a ceasefire, he was met by a small but vocal group chanting: “From the river to the sea!”

Although many of the performers spoke of tolerance, shared respect, and celebrating differences, some in the crowd weren’t having it. Those kinds of skirmishes fought in the context of cultural offerings (exhibitions, concerts) represent a missed opportunity. We are given the chance to learn more about each other and find common ground. It’s not that answers to political questions are located here, but their predecessor—the tolerance that arises from mutual understanding—is allowed to flourish. Those who build on that understanding are the ones who may begin to change the narrative. As the anthropologist Margaret Mead is often attributed as saying, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

Reawakenings are possible, not only at the personal level, but at the broader social one as well. Usually, they take tremendous effort—a true commitment to change. Leaders play a major part, helping people summon the will to adopt a new reality. The journey from private, closely held beliefs to a hard-won wider consciousness is beautifully delineated in the poem “Tired and Unhappy, You Think of Houses” by Delmore Schwartz: “It is time to shake yourself! and break this / Banal dream … / …anonymous / In the audience, well-dressed or mean, / So many surround you, ringing your fate, / Caught in an anger exact as a machine!” I’ve thought of those words often as I’ve read about protests becoming confrontations, about people rejecting even the possibility of peaceful coexistence. In those cases, it seems we are trapped in a terrible dream, unable to wake ourselves, pinned in place by anger, hatred, and a desire for retribution. Summoning that will to change, and bringing people together to do so, is an essential challenge. Initiatives like the Habibi Festival allow us not only to envision this transformation, but to accelerate into change.