Amira El-Nakeeb explores the first Middle East festival in Denmark Weeks before the opening of "Images of the Middle East" (12 August-20 September) posters and billboards were scattered all across the streets of Denmark, inviting people to this, the first festival of its kind in the country. By 12 August, some 450 artists, dancers, musicians and authors from all over the Middle East were gathered for the occasion at the new beach, Amager Strandpark. There is a profound idea behind holding the event on a beach: both Dubai and Denmark have a consuming interest in sand, but each sees it from a different perspective. Denmark has invested millions in creating sandy playgrounds, while Dubai spends comparable amounts on reclaiming natural sand as urban space. Besides which sand -- essential to the desert -- is an all-pervasive aspect of the region's collective and individual memories, nature's foremost emblem. The festival offers a rich programme of screenings, performances, exhibits, and a range of workshops and seminars. "The Middle East represents so many things with so many cultures within the region," according to festival director Michael Irving Jensen, professor of Middle East history and politics at Copenhagen University. "We try to present all these facets of cultural expression, for instance in the programme we have classical music from Iran and Morocco, as well as hip hop and death metal from Lebanon." The aim? To further understand another culture, registering the extent of its diversity, outside the Western framework: "I hope that many Danish people will attend these cultural activities not only in Copenhagen but around the country. I want them to open their eyes and see that there is much more to the Middle East than what they are used to watching on TV or reading in the newspapers, that there is a vivid cultural life, a living culture." Likewise Hans Kongelige Hojhed Prince Joachim, festival patron, in his opening speech: "Through my visits to the Middle East, I have experienced much cultural diversity and have also realised the importance of dialogue, but in order to have a dialogue, we have to know each other first." Dialogue, particularly in the context of bridging cultural gaps, would indeed seem to be a key word in this festival; tolerance, in Development Cooperation Minister Ulla Tornes's phrase "a noble trait", was another. The war in Lebanon formed a disturbing backdrop to the programme, but the event's powerful message acted to balance it out. "Sometimes it's hard to maintain the cultural dimension when war is going on," Grethe Rostboll, former culture minister and current chair of the Danish Centre for Culture and Development (DCCD) -- a main organiser of the festival -- said. "What we always try to do is leave some room for dialogue." Besides DCCD, according to Irving, many Danish civil institutions and the Copenhagen International Theatre contributed to the event: "We gave our partners the guidelines of our focus, which is the contemporary Middle East with a view to showing the variety and the novelty of cultural expressions from the whole region, in addition to 'identity in the process of change', which is our theme." A frequently discussed issue -- what does it mean to be a Dane in a globalised world? -- that theme has been current in Denmark for at least a decade. "I think everybody asks the question who am I," Irving said, "vis-à-vis the other, who could represent the West or any segment society?" Identity is in constant flux, he said, a process with no direct connection to the Middle East, "but we still try to see how it is reflected there". It was the powerful voice of the Syrian Sheikh Hamza Chakour and Al-Kindi ensemble that provided the first introduction to the Middle East, together with the graceful, harmonious movements of the dervishes and the dramatic setting: audience in circles on the floor, large candles surrounding them. Later, combined with Western music, the Persian poetry provided by Susan Deyhim, one of the world's leading avant-garde artists, further enhanced the mystique. A powerful start was necessary for living up to the success of previous "image" festivals. The image concept is an old idea, the early 1990s brainchild of Copenhagen International Theatre head Trevor Davis. This is the sixth in a line of similar events initially focussed on Africa, on Asia in 2003, and huge efforts went into shifting its focus to this arguably more vexed region -- drawing in the media and ensuring effective organisation. Media presence was intensive indeed, with Denmark Radio and Television and Syrian TV, as well as Al-Jazeera satellite channel. Diplomats were present too: Egyptian Ambassador to Denmark Afaf El-Mazariky and her Palestinian counterpart Mai Al-Sayagh as well as UNESCO General Conference President Musa Bin Jaafar Bin Hassan. According to media coordinator Osama Al-Habahbah, a Jordanian journalist, who has lived and worked in Denmark for 30 years, "it took approximately two years to complete preparations for the first occasion on which the images concept was turned on the Middle East." The festival reached out to all the segments of Danish society: intellectuals, dance and music enthusiasts, even children. Still, there were obstacles on its way. "The cartoon crisis last year was one such," Al-Habahbah testified. "It caused a misunderstanding of the idea of the festival, in the sense that Denmark, now looked on as a country that doesn't respect or hold sacred our religious symbols, was at the same time organising a festival to promote to Arab culture. People thought there was a contradiction there. Although the war in Lebanon was one of the obstacles we faced in promoting this festival, many artists -- especially from Lebanon -- were keen on coming, if only to show that the Middle East is not all war. The artists found in the festival an opportunity to demonstrate their stand against the war, too." Bin Hassan's speech, in which he referred to the Middle East being "in crisis", was typical. With dialogue at the back of their minds, participants broached the war. One apparent glitch was the advertising, which seemed to go against the grain of the drive to connect cultures. A big poster -- the work of Moroccan photographer Larisa Sansour -- featured a Middle East girl lying on the beach in a bikini, with the Palestinian headscarf on the her head, reading Harry Potter. According to a 24- year-old Danish student of Arabic at Copenhagen University, "I think the posters were meant to provoke the Danish people, to make them wonder. Unfortunately it ended up provoking the Arabs." She herself didn't understand the point of all of them. "In fact the average Dane wouldn't recognise the irony of juxtaposing the three elements." Al-Hababah agreed that some posters gave the wrong impression, pointing out that they nonetheless drew the attention of the public: "these pictures weren't made by Danish photographers; they are the work of Arab artists, and done mostly on their own recommendation." The largest poster -- plastered on Vega, the hippest club in Copenhagen -- shows a man dressed in black, his face covered with a Palestinian scarf, walking to plane. "Well, as soon as we saw this picture, of course we thought of terrorism. But actually in a way we felt this poster is trying to say that this is not what the Middle East is all about." Such was the response of Michel and Anna, who stood before the club. The posters did attract others, like Claudia who was contemplating one in the Nytorv Square: she wouldn't have developed an interest in the festival if not for being intrigued by the posters. Gro Hallund and Mette Ellek Jaerare -- both Danish teachers -- while munching on the stairs in the Nytorv Square on a sunny Saturday afternoon, said they really liked the posters: "they mess with our heads." Their favourite, displayed in Nyhavn (New Haven) the main Copenhagen street by the port, features a blond girl wearing red lipstick and a headscarf: "It shows a mix of things, and gives an idea of modern Islam." Regarding both publicity and attendance, opinion differed. Though he noticed them Bayram, a Danish-Greek taxi driver, could not tell what the posters were all about. A young conservative with reservations about the minorities in Denmark, Ib Frederik did not know about the festival, but surprisingly he thought it was a good idea: "It's nice because it gives us a chance to set aside our differences and meet at a cultural level." Stig Anderson, 70, had been similarly clueless: "If I had the chance I would go, though. It is nice to see something other than what the Danish media wants us to see." Uol Culden, 25, a vocational college student and hotel receptionist, would not have found out about the festival if not for his job; he did not believe many people were aware of it. His interest in the Middle East, he says, derives from there being "many things I don't understand". After the cartoon crisis, "I think a big gap emerged between the two cultures but it's basically the result of media bias, for example by showing people burning flags -- you don't get to see it from the other's perspective." Still, he said, the festival is good insofar as it balances out negative images of the Middle East. For his part Casper Lawsn, 24, who enjoyed the Fathi Salama concert, described the festival as a good communication initiative. "But it would take more than one event to change minds and images of Muslims." Others, like the daily Berlingske Tideende Jacob Jensen, thought the festival could only attract an open-minded audience: "The problem is that it is for the intellectual, not the average Dane, who might be interested but needs to be convinced and tempted to take time out from their daily activities." Yet Lars Roegilds and his wife Grethe Damon -- an international coordinator and teacher, respectively -- drove all the way from Roskilde to Ringsted to attend the opening night. They were excited about the music and the food, and thought Danes needed such an event especially in the wake of the cartoon crisis: "A great idea, since we are already interested in the heritage of the Middle East, but I was very disappointed not to see as many Danes as I expected." In the small town of Ringsted, 45 minutes away from Copenhagen by train, reactions were rather different. Fifty-year-old Henrik Stausholm and his 16-year-old Julie were very excited: "we read about it a week ago, and were very keen on attending," father said, while daughter added, with a smile, "I would love to go to the Middle East, to experience how the Arabs live in their own culture." Arab presence was surprisingly weak. Fatan and Dallal -- middle-aged women originally from Lebanon -- have been living in Denmark for 15 years, but they had not heard of the festival when, coming on the Egyptian singer Fatma Zidan in the main square in Ringsted, they found out about it. Hassenein, a 29-year-old Iraqi who has been living in Denmark for six years, too, had not found out, and when he did was not so eager to attend: "I feel so lonely here. I don't think I'd enjoy this kind of activity without any friends." Another Iraqi, a grocer speaking on condition of anonymity, was deeply suspicious of the whole event: "I don't think the Danes will ever want to have a dialogue. Since it is a festival about the Middle East, the least they could do was print a programme in Arabic, so we could have known about it." Sherihan Diab 18-year-old Danish- Palestinian student, agreed: "I think it is a good idea that they are interested in our culture, but the timing is really bad. I cannot go to a festival while people are being killed in Palestine and Lebanon every second." Um Ahmed, a Moroccan who has been living in Denmark for 20 years, saw the posters but didn't know what they were about: "I think my children might be more interested -- not me."
