Kurdish Cinema Part III: Kurdish women in film

This is part three, in a four-part series about the history of Kurdish cinema. Part two is available here.

Part I touches on the characteristics associated with Kurdish cinema that are a cry for attention to a people’s predicament. This piece dissects the depiction of women in Kurdish cinema and the degree of their involvement and their willingness to participate in the making of films.

In regards to the social front, most Kurdish films tackle the issue one way or the other. The shortcomings of the treatment of women are portrayed as a consequence of political oppression and religious imposition,  as in “Yol” (1982), and of cultural mores and traditions as in “One Candle, Two Candles” (2014) that depicts cultural phenomena imported from or imposed by the prevailing religion of the region.

I use the terms “imported” and “imposed”, because historically, the Kurdish woman held a strong role in Kurdish life-- socially, culturally, and politically. This is best expressed by 19th century Kurdish author and philosopher Mahmudé Bazidi in his book, Habits and Customs of Kurds. Bazidi notes that the majority of marriages were monogamous and Kurdish women did not veil, and they participated in social activities such as work, dancing, and singing with men. When the tribe was attacked, women took part in war alongside men.

Today, the Kurdish female Peshmerga and the Shervans of Rojava are the living proof of Bazidi’s assertion. They are the defenders of their nation and of humanity at large whose imprints will be well placed in the annals of history.

To name a few such strong female figures of the olden days, Lady Halima of Hakkari was the ruler of Bash Kala region; a young Fatma was chief of the Ezdinan tribe in 1909 and was addressed by her people as ‘the Queen’; Lady Maryam of the famous Nehri family wielded great authority among her followers;  Lady Adela of Halabja called “the Princess of the Brave” by the British, because she was known to have saved the lives of many British army officers during World War I.  Adela was the cultured  chief of one of the biggest Kurdish tribes of the 19th Century - the Jaff of Sharazur; 17th Century Asenath Barzani is dubbed as the first female rabbi in the Jewish history; Mestureh Ardalan (1805–1848) was a Kurdish poet and writer well known for her literary works; Princess Khanzad was the ruler of the Soran region whose forte remains to stand tall on the road between Erbil and Salladin (Pirmam); and the list goes on.

In traditional Kurdish literature, both matriarchal and patriarchal tendencies are found. In the Ballads of "Las u Xezal" female tribal rulers openly compete over a lover. The Kurdish “Romeo and Juliet” equivalents are a plenty as well, such are the epics of “Mem u Zin”, “Shirin u Farhad”, “Xejé u Siabend”, “Nazo u Heso”, and “Zembil Frosh”, to name a few. Aside from a couple poor filmic renditions of these folk tales, they remain un-lensed as of this writing, nor have they been translated into modern settings.

I injected a humorous old folk anecdote in “One Candle, Two Candles” (the scene when young Viyan climbs a tree on her wedding night to escape her elderly suitor’s advances) and I was happy to see it recognized as such by New York film critic Louise Proyect in his review Kurdish and Turkish Films of Note maintaining “a thousand-year old folk tale that Kurds might have told each other around campfires long before there was the novel, movies, television or the Internet.”

All this is proof that the overtly conservative mores of recent, characterized by restrictions on the female role and honor-related violence, didn’t hold prominence in the past. While the prevailing trend of Kurdish films seems to be victimhood of an oppressed people, in many of these films women get the double whammy. That is, she is also a victim of the aforementioned society’s shortcomings. Such as the incarcerated wife in “Yol” or the honor-related murder in “Zagros” (Sahim Omar Kalifa, 2017). In these and innumerous other films women are portrayed as helpless and voiceless victims of a patriarchal society, in a time where our cameras should be turned to the female fighters, humanitarians, doctors, lawyers, poets, artists, anchorwomen, parliamentarians, and activists with a unique voice. It’s high time we turn our lenses to and pay tribute to these women and to the fore-mothers I alluded to earlier.

On the production front, the implanted mores have posed obstacles to a degree for us filmmakers, especially in South Kurdistan where actresses are scarce. Shawkat Amin Korki’s “Memories on Stone” (2014), a Fellini-esque arthouse film about filmmaking, depicts a director’s challenges in casting a female part – a story most Kurd filmmakers could relate to a decade ago. In “One Candle, Two Candles” I enlisted a German actress (Katrina Enders) for the lead role, and in “Chaplin of the Mountains” (2013) I cast a French/American (Estelle Bajou) and a German/Iranian (Taeis Farzan) due to lack of Kurdish alternatives. However, this issue has become less of a dilemma recently as more women are coming to the fore and taking part both in front and behind the camera. This has especially become the case in television where women presenters are in abundance.

Viyan (Katrin Ender) climbs a tree on her wedding night in "One Candle, Two Candles." Photo: Evini Films 

In “One Candle, Two Candles” I introduce outspoken women who stand up for their rights. One of the characters, ‘Zozan’ (Gulbahar Kevcu) for instance refers to the social deficiencies with the line ‘Our fore-mothers used to run the household. Some even ran the whole tribe. Then came the sword and cut us in half. A half-person cannot decide her fate.’ By acknowledging such reality Zozan and her friends embark on just that – to be the captains of their own ship and work to save young Viyan (Katrina Enders) from forced marriage. And when the antagonist ‘Haji Hemo’ attempts to set Viyan ablaze, really burning her alive, not only does he not succeed but ends up setting his own derrière on fire. I utilized dark humors here to emphasize the absurdity of the crime, the type Kurdish society would not tolerate. Haji Hemo lies facedown with smoke emanating from his buttocks while the women huddle together and watch in silence, perhaps musing on a deeper note to their male counterparts. That is, if you try to burn us you’re only burning yourself. These new women are closer to the reality of present-day Kurdistan as they are making headlong progress in their social status. This has been especially true in the past few years.

Again, I’m inclined to reference the Shervans. I predict Hollywood and Madison Avenue soon to bank on this new heroine in movies and interactive video games pitting the Kurdish female heroine against evil terrorists and other demons. I foresee a variety of mainstream arcade and mobile games starring the Shervan as a defender of the civilized world against terrorists. I hope Kurd filmmakers will be in the forefront of this initiative.

Jano Rosebiani is an American-Kurdish scriptwriter, director, producer, and editor associated with Kurdish New Wave cinema. This is the third part of a four-part series about the history of Kurdish cinema. The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Rudaw.

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