Chapter 1: What challenges did comedians face under Assad's regime?
A quick warning, there are curse words that are unbeaped in today's episode of the show. If you prefer a beeped version, you can find that at our website, thisamericanlife.org. Sharif Homsi is a stand-up comic in a place that's not really known for its comedy scene, Damascus, Syria. As maybe you've heard, the place was run by a dictator for a long time, Bashar al-Assad.
Back then, there were a lot of jokes that Sharif was not able to tell on stage. Definitely nothing about Assad or Assad's family. Nothing about politics at all. Those kind of jokes could get you killed or disappeared into one of Assad's infamous prisons. So during those years, Sharif kept jokes like that in a folder on his computer labeled Lebanon.
because he pretty much only felt safe telling them when he would take trips abroad.
There is one joke, I want to bring it back. There is one joke I used to say when I go to Lebanon, like, listen, we have a lot of problem, but you don't have a president. And our problem is that we have one. So maybe if you take him and you can rent him for a bit, and if you like him, you can keep him, you know. You cannot say anything like this, man.
Chapter 2: How did the comedians navigate their newfound freedom in post-Assad Syria?
That joke, if I say it over here, we will get killed. There is no joke with that.
Bashar al-Assad's family ruled Syria for 53 years, the last 13 of which were a brutal civil war. Over 300,000 Syrian civilians died. Then, a year ago, to everybody's surprise, a bunch of rebel groups overthrew the regime in just 12 days. Assad, his wife Asma, and their family flew to Russia. The rebels were led by an Islamist group called Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, HTS for short.
And then the new people in power surprised everybody again by not immediately becoming another repressive regime. HTS leader Ahmad al-Sharah says he's acting as interim president and has promised to hold elections in the next few years. And Syrians have been experiencing a freedom that they have not experienced before.
I had dinner a couple weeks ago with somebody who was just there, and they were talking about how kind of inspiring it is to be there right now. She met lots of people who were moving back, ready and excited to rebuild their country. But at the same time, parts of Syria are still violent. There was fighting this month in and around Aleppo. Over 150,000 people were displaced.
Chapter 3: What happened during the comedians' tour in conservative cities?
In July, Sharif had to cancel a show in a city called Soweta because of a massacre there. 800 people were killed. And then in October, In the middle of this chaos and hope, Sharif and the other comedians in his comedy group, the group is called Styria, decided to go on tour.
They planned 16 cities in 21 days all over Syria, in conservative regions, in liberal areas like Damascus, areas under Kurdish control, and areas that were once under ISIS control. And they really weren't sure how this was going to go. Nobody had ever done this. And this is the tricky part. Under the dictator, it was clear what they could not say on stage.
But now there seemed to be no rule book at all. If anything, the new government was saying, go ahead. You can make jokes about us. We're different from the old regime. But the comedians didn't know if they could trust that. And then beyond that, there are lots of just very conservative, very religious people around Syria.
Chapter 4: How did local officials react to the comedians' performances?
Some of them are figures of authority in towns and provinces. The comedians wondered how they would react to things that they heard on stage. They worried about random hotheads hearing about them and things they said, deciding to show up with a gun. Even before they left, they got death threats in their DMs.
Stuff like... If you ever talk about the revolution, we're going to come kill you one by one and blah, blah, blah, blah.
These messages freaked Sharif out, but he got where they were coming from. The country's been through 13 years of war. He and most of the other comedians are from Damascus, a city that saw the least of the fighting because it was controlled by the regime. By Syrian standards, they're the soft liberals.
I understand because some people, man, they see what we do as a luxury. My house was destroyed, and my brother was dead, my mother was dead. And you here in Damascus were having fun. You didn't have anything wrong. And you were going to make people laugh. This is like luxury, you know?
Chapter 5: What strategies did the comedians use to keep their shows going?
So they cannot take the joke. And I understand. They have the right to be sad.
Any comedy show in Syria right now, for everybody, comedians, the audience, they're all figuring out what's okay to say out loud. Eamon Ogana, a reporter based in Damascus, heard about all this, and he also was very curious to see what the comedians could get away with, and whether they would even get all the way through the tour.
He hung out with them on tour for two weeks, on long van rides across Syria, backstage at their shows. Lots of stuff ended up happening. Stuff, I think it's safe to say, they did not see coming. From WBEZ Chicago, Since American Life, I'm Ira Glass. We hit the road with these comedians today. And with that introduction, here's Eamon with Act One. An Actual Calling. Too soon?
I meet up with the comedians in Safita, a city about three hours' drive north of Damascus. They're in a shared apartment that doubles as a green room.
Chapter 6: Why was the show in Hama at risk of cancellation?
The venue owner let them all crash for free. There are several mattresses to a room, suitcases under the beds, and the comics are walking in and out of rooms, getting ready, and telling jokes to warm up.
Hello. I need to get naked.
Maliki is Maliki Mardinalli, one of the founders of the group, along with Sharif. Maliki, while you're dressing, I'm going to ask you the same question I just asked Sharif. Is there a joke you're thinking of saying tonight that you're not sure if you want to say it, that might be a bit dangerous?
actually there was a few but a few minutes ago we were speaking about it here the audience is new to this kind of art you know so i don't want any joke to be uncomfortable for them you know so I'm going safe side this time I feel if I say something on the government it would be a little bit dangerous they will not feel comfortable you know something like this for the sensitivity of this place
Not because we can't say it, you know. But here I don't know how they will react to it. And what is the joke you're not sure about telling? Maybe something about how the Ministry of Defense dress. They don't wear shoes. They only wear flip-flops, you know, flip-flops.
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Chapter 7: What lessons did the comedians learn about freedom of expression?
That's how they fight. I feel something like this. It's a lot dangerous to see someone's feet in a war, you know?
This is actually a joke about the current government, that they were such a ragtag army that they came to power in flip-flops. Comedy and poetry are probably the hardest things to translate from any language.
I swear to God, in Arabic it's very funny. Just anyone is hearing us right now, it is funny in Arabic. You should learn Arabic and come and watch the show.
Malachy plays it safe that night in Sofita. He skips the flip-flop joke. Styria is a small crew, around 20 comics. Two of them are women. Some still keep their day jobs. There's a dentist, a university lecturer, an engineer, students. They are mostly in their 20s and 30s.
Chapter 8: How did social media impact the comedians' ability to perform?
The group's name, Styria, is a combination of Syria plus hysteria, because that's what it felt like to laugh in Syria when the group got together three years ago. A manic release. Sharif and Maliki do this full time. Sharif is the group's spiritual leader, the one who used to have a folder labelled Lebanon. He's got a laid-back stoner vibe, covered in tattoos, light beard, 33 years old.
Maliki is the one running the tour. He's 29 years old, with dark hair and a cheeky grin. He's the Paul McCartney to Sharif's John Lennon, more tightly wound. He's the fixer, lining up venues, negotiating with government officials, driving the van, keeping track of permits, schedules, and constantly updating the list of things that could go wrong.
He worries out loud, cracks jokes as he does it, a kind of nervous humour that makes it clear he's holding the whole operation together. He actually thinks they're going to be fine on this tour.
I don't think... something bad will happen to us. Because nobody cares about it. Let's state the obvious. Nobody cares about us. Who the fuck we are? I'm not like a superstar, you know? I'm not George Clooney on the tour. I'm Melky, he's Sharif, that's Khaled, that's Aziz. Nobody cares about us. Nothing bad will happen to us. A few people telling some jokes, let them.
But there are two stops on the tour he's worried about.
I'm most scared of Aleppo and Hama. Aleppo and Hama, those two cities are very dangerous. Very dangerous. Oof, man. Oof. So we have to be careful dealing with... I don't know what the... I don't know what it's the term. Mind field. Mind field, yes, yes, yes. So it's a mind field in Hama.
Hama is a conservative city, stop seven on the tour. Aleppo is stop nine, a city divided by different factions. Before they could go on the tour, Maliki had to sign what he translates as an obligation with the Ministry of Tourism, a pledge to avoid certain jokes. Unlike during the old Assad regime, they're allowed to make fun of the current leaders.
The pledge is a promise not to use hate speech and to avoid jokes that could rile people up and cause civil unrest, like jokes about religion. It's a written commitment tied to the permit. If they breach it, the Ministry of Tourism can cancel the show or penalise the group. The first four shows go pretty smoothly, playing in mostly liberal towns where they didn't expect problems.
One gets oversold because the app they use to sell tickets malfunctions, which is a huge pain in the arse. But mostly, it's sold-out rooms. So far, so good. Stop 5 on the tour, Latakia. A sunny port city with a beachfront and blue Mediterranean waters. Fish restaurants and clubs line the shore. It's been called the Miami of Syria.
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