power speaks lies
by
Douglas Messerli
Susan
Yannowitz (librettist), Kamala Sankaram (music) Thumbprint / presentdy by by LAOpera Off Grand and presented by Beth Morrison
Projects, at REDCAT (Roy and Edna Disney/CalArts Theater) in the
Walt Disney Concert Hall / the performance I attended was on Sunday, June 18,
2017
First
of all, the true-life story upon which it is based is centered upon the moral
courage of a young Pakistan woman, Mukhtar Mai, whose young 12-year old
brother, after swimming nude in a local river, was accused by the ruling city
Mastoi tribesmen of having an encounter with a young girl of their group.
Although the boy denies their charge—and we never do know if any actual meeting
of the two even occurred—the family members imprison him and demand an “honor”
trial. It is strange that they describe this as an issue of “honor,” when it
actually involves the greatest dishonor possible, demanding that a woman of the
offending family come to the family leader to plead for her relative’s release.
The young, fairly carefree and yet
obedient Mukhtar—who makes her living by embroidering and teaching young
students the Koran—offers to plead the family’s case. After all, they are only
a poor family, and when the wealthy Mastoi speak, as the libretto makes clear,
power can easily tell lies. “If the Mastoi say the sun is shining in the middle
of the night or that the moon is shining in noon light of the day, it is so.
There can be no question.”
It is clear that Mukhtar fears the plea
she has undertaken, and her father rightfully demands that he must accompany
her to the Mastoi home, since his daughter is a virgin and, accordingly, is not
permitted to visit areas outside their neighborhood.
In this particular 2002 incident,
however, the young Mukhtar, although at first contemplating suicide, is, seemingly,
supported by her parents, who insist that she remain, in their love, alive. As
she gradually gains an righteous anger, moroever, she develops a kind of power
which allows her to contemplate reporting the event to the police. But when the
perpetuators simply laugh at her intentions, the family members themselves
begin to doubt their support of their daughter, and her mother, father, and
even her loving sister demand that she remain within the tradition by killing
herself.
One of the haunting themes of this short
opera is how Makhtar, under such cultural pressure—as the Mastoi men mock, who
will now buy her embroidering, who will send their 
sons to her to learn the Koran?—continues to grow, moving along one of several “roads” she is forced to take as she attempts to bring her case to justice.
sons to her to learn the Koran?—continues to grow, moving along one of several “roads” she is forced to take as she attempts to bring her case to justice.
Justice in Pakistan is very much a matter
of who has the power, and, obviously, the Mastoi demand that she admit to her
dishonor by signing a document which the uneducated girl cannot even read. A
local magistrate assures her of fairness, but the document he demands she sign,
is completely empty. Besides, the girl does not even know how to sign her name.
The traditional method of signing for women, so the authorities tell her, is to
imprint her thumbprint upon the page. After a great deal of inner doubt,
Makhtar does apply her thumb to the magistrate’s empty document, and her case eventually comes to
court, with the Mastoi insisting, of course, on tradition, suggesting that if
they are found guilty half of Pakistani men will go to prison.
Since this case and the victim quickly became
an international cause célèbre,
Makhtar is awarded damages by the Ministry of Justice, also, she is surprised
to learn, a woman—money which the girl determines she will use to establish a
school to educate not only herself but other wives and daughters (actually some
from the same Mastoi family members) of their rights and, through learning the
language, how to actually sign their names.
With such a dramatic, true-life story, it
is hard to imagine how Kamala Sankaram, a composer-singer of Indian origin,
might have failed to create a riveting work. Indeed her music, representing
both Western traditional, John Adams’-like recitatives, and kitar-based rhythms
that embrace Qawwali music, along with chanting and percussive hand claps
hardly ever fails to please. The music itself seems to sweep the audience up in
the story it tells. And the orchestral performers, including Brian Shankar
Adler (drums and Indian percussion), Greg Chudzik (bass), Mila Henry (piano and
harmonium), Margaret Lancaster (flute), Andie Springer (violin), and Phillippa
Thompson (viola) perform quite magically.
Similarly, all the singers, often playing
several characters each, Steve Gokool, Manu Narayan, Phyllis Pancella, Leela
Subramaniam, and Kannan Vasudevan, are true professionals who bring to this opera
a sense of wonderment. And the composer, Sankaram, as Makhtar, singing in a
full-voice soprano who easily moves into high resgisters, certainly brings
dramatic energy to the work.
Indeed, the story of the chamber-opera
seems often more important than the music and singing. And, at many moments,
the entire work pushes into the domain of Broadway theater with what Los Angeles Times critic describes as a
tendency to belt-out passages as if they were constructs of pop-music. I have
never complained about hybrid elements in opera, and have often mentioned my
love of theater-opera composers such as Kurt Weill, George Gershwin, and others
who have combined jazz with music from numerous other cultures. The problem
here is that, in the paring down of the narrative, we sometimes seem to be
moving closer to stories of personal celebration as presented in Evita or even Gypsy than the complex pushes and pulls of a poor woman from
Pakistani culture who dared to stand up against, not only those who raped her,
but the entire traditions in which she had been raised. While we can certainly
celebrate Makhtar’s coming-into-full-being, quieter, more introspective
passages may have more effectively helped us to comprehend the questions of
many of the people around her, “how had she learned to be so very courageous?”
It might also have helped us to
understand Mukhtar Mai more fully if the opera had taken us to her current
women’s shelter, set in the same village in which she was raped and where,
daily, as she crosses the street in front of her own home—as Dawn, a Pakistani-based paper reports— she
is still daily forced to confront the very men who raped her: “When I walk
past, they taunt me and make catcalls.” The fact that these same men have now
been acquitted in another court makes clear that for such strong women as
Mukhtar the road is still a long and arduous one. Mukhtar attended the Los
Angeles performances, witnessing the opera based on her life, for the first
time, while remaining after the performance, along with the composer,
librettist, and director, to answer audience questions and hear their
responses.
Given the phenomenal musical talents of Thumbprint’s composer, we can be certain
that we will hear from her again. And I look forward to whatever she creates.
Los Angeles, June
19, 2017
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