We’re in modern day Iran. The story unfolding onstage is one of the most important in the country’s history: the martydrom of Imam Hussein (grandson of the Prophet Muhammad). For those in Iran, where 98 percent of the population are Shiite Muslims, it’s like watching a recreation of Jesus’ crucifixion.
The play–or plays, really, as there are 200 parts to the epic–are known as “Ta’ziyeh,” or “mourning.” They tell the story of the battle between Caliph Yazid and Hussein and the founding of the Shiite branch of Islam. Ta’ziyeh, the only form of indigenous musical drama in the Islamic world, is rarely seen outside Iran.
But this week, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, wide-eyed audiences sat quietly, watching this very show. One man sheepishly tapped his hand on his heart and a group of veiled women in the crowd cried softly. But most of the American spectators came to simply watch and learn. Ta’ziyeh is making an unusual U.S. debut at this year’s Lincoln Center Festival, where three separate plays are featured through July 21.
How exactly did Ta’ziyeh get to New York City in 2002, just 10 months after the events of September 11? Back in 1992, a group of Ta’ziyeh performers first traveled outside of Iran to perform at the Festival d’Avignone in France. Eight years later, it was staged again at the 2000 Parma Festival in Italy and at the Festival d’Automne in Paris. It was there that Nigel Redden, director of the Lincoln Center Festival, saw the plays and decided to bring them to the United States.
The U.S. performances were directed by Mohammad Ghaffari, who grew up in Iran but has lived in New York for 24 years. In preparation for the plays, he returned to Iran three times to search for the best Ta’ziyeh performers.
In April of this year, the 28 Iranian actors he’d hired applied for visas at the U.S. Consulate in Dubai. Ten of them were refused. Officials have said the performers were denied visas because they were not professionals-some were auto mechanics, tailors, air-conditioner repairmen-and they might not leave the U.S. when their visas expired.
But the fact that the denials occurred after September 11 leaves some skeptical about the reasons. Some of the actors who were approved are mechanics, taxi drivers and contractors. “The reasons given were utterly inconsistent,” says William O. Beeman, a professor of anthropology at Brown University.
While it bears the post-September 11 burden of being Islamic and having “axis of evil” origins, Ta’ziyeh’s U.S. appearance opens the opportunity to share a cultural exchange outside the context of terrorism. The performances detail the ultimate split between Sunnis and Shiites. After the death of Muhammad in 632 A.D., there were those who advocated succession by election (Sunnis), and those who advocated succession by inheritance (Shiites). Ali, cousin and son-in-law of Muhammad, was assassinated and his son, Hassan, poisoned. Ali’s second son, Hussein, was the last to be martyred.
For Iranians, the martyrdom of Hussein is symbolic of any injustice. The staged show has often been called a “theater of protest” because of its ability to mobilize people. During the 1978-79 revolutionary upheaval, which led to the establishment of an Islamic republic, the chants in Ta’ziyeh would easily shift from “O Hussein” to “Down with the shah!”
There has been skepticism over how a Western audience would react to Ta’ziyeh. “A concocted, artificial beating of the chest would be silly,” says Hamid Dabashi, chair of the Middle Eastern and Asian languages and cultures department at Columbia University. Dabashi, who watched Ta’ziyeh plays in Iran since he was a child, is concerned that, for its U.S. debut, it has been “dramatically theaterized, stylized, orientalized, anthropologized and ultimately museumized.” He worries that without its proper context, the play simply looks like an exotic art form and has lost its power.
For Americans, Ta’ziyeh may even reverberate negatively. The women’s roles are played by men, usually completely veiled and dressed in black. The plays feature many chracters who die violently as martyrs-a notion that’s taken on sinister connotations in the West since September 11.
Still, the audience can appreciate the performance on an aesthetic level. Though the dialogue and singing are in Persian, audience members are provided with a brief outline and an explanation of the symbolism (for example, hay thrown over the head signifies mourning). Song and symbols break the barrier of language. The villains often wear red, while the heroes wear colors. The villains speak; the heroes sing.
“People come for different reasons-for the music, the poetry,” said actor Alaeaddin Ghassemi, 48, through a translator. And after at least one performance, Americans stood, whistled and clapped loudly at the end. There were even a few watery eyes.
