Timbuktu- A Story About Us
Timbuktu, by the Mauritanian director Abderrahmane Sissako, explores life under fundamentalist Islamic rules with disturbing accuracy. It depicts a population held hostage by a group of Ansar Al-Dine (‘supporters of the faith’) militants, whose violent and authoritarian behaviour trample the long tradition of tolerance in Timbuktu, Mali.
Sissako’s movie examines how militant interpretations of Islam have disrupted the lives and peaceful coexistence of communities in Northern Mali. When Islam emerged in the 7th century, the first believers called for justice, equality and empowerment of the poor with the hope of improving the life of the inhabitants of the Arab Peninsula.
Those same values made Northern Mali an intellectual haven for Islamic scholars. For centuries, Timbuktu played a significant role in the spread of Islamic knowledge in Africa through well-established institutions of learning, such as the prestigious Qur’anic University of Sankore. The great mosques of Djingareyber, Sankore and Sidi Yahia still recall the golden age of the city. Throughout its history, the city of Timbuktu has acted as a middle ground and negotiating space between the Arabised Islamic traditions and the African culture, establishing itself as an African Islamic centre with its own spiritual position. Despite this profound heritage, the region has not been immune to the strong influence of militant groups, such as Ansar Al-Dine, who have consistently worked towards increasing their control over the population – and more particularly the youth – by using intimidation and inventing rules that undermine the cultural and social interactions of local inhabitants.
When watching Timbuktu with my 18-year-old daughter, we both felt for the people of Northern Mali. We could relate to their suffering and confusion in the face of the disruptive occupation of their region by Ansar Al-Dine. Having lived for years in a similar environment in Sudan, we knew what it meant when personal freedoms are confiscated and the criminalisation of civilians becomes a daily reality.
Moral policing is always key to the ideological practice of militant Islamists. As depicted in the movie, it is very common in places under the control of militant groups to see these skinny and tense young men with guns roaming around in search of potential victims such as men and women laughing together, or persons whose only crime may be listening to music. I have always observed with horror the incredible capacity of political Islamic dogma to systematically deprive people of any social interactions, making dancing, singing, playing, or just having a cup of coffee off-limits. That dogma, by regulating each and every aspect of everyday life, comes to dictate how people should experience happiness.
The scene in the film Timbuktu of the woman selling fish at the local market is also telling. Forced to wear gloves, she points out the absurdity of the situation. “How am I supposed to clean fish with gloves on my hands?” she says. Until today, women are forced to wear socks in many localities in Sudan. In Somalia, women who live in Al-Shabaab controlled areas are ordered to wear red socks during their menstrual period days and are banned from wearing bras. In both countries, where dance was once a common cultural tradition, women are now banned from dancing, or have to cover themselves or wear “Islamic costumes” when they are given permission to do so.
The film also reflects, in an artistic but genuine way, how people cope with the brutality imposed by the dogmatic regime. Their only escape often seems to be either death or madness. As dramatic as it is, religious militancy does not arise from nothing. It capitalises on the weaknesses of our societies, which have failed to include the most vulnerable or provide youth with hope for a better future. Militant groups systematically exploit existing feelings of marginalisation, historical grievances, and traditional religious beliefs to advance their interests and expand their roots.
In Mali, the nomadic Tuareg ethnic group, whose territory spans parts of neighbouring countries, including Niger and Algeria, have long complained of the neglect and misrule of the central government. The National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad, a secular rebel group calling for an independent Tuareg state in Northern Mali, eventually entered into an alliance with Ansar Al-Dine and its jihadist allies in West Africa. What initially appeared to be a quest for a homeland, soon turned into something much more perilous for Mali and beyond.
Timbuktu tells the story of those men who managed to take over Northern Mali for a short period in 2012. It captures daily life under their rule and their failure to live up to the rigid principles they themselves established. Abdelkrim, one of the Ansar Al-Dine leaders portrayed in the movie, sneaks off to smoke, an activity he has himself forbidden. My daughter and I laughed remembering how, with similar hypocrisy, Islamists in Sudan forced traditional sharia teaching on school children, but sent their own kids to international schools and foreign countries where they had minimal or no exposure to religious education.
In the end, the movie leaves us with more questions than answers. How can we possibly understand these men? What crosses their minds? What do they think when embracing such disguised ideology? What makes them wish to dictate other people’s happiness? Perhaps the anger and alienation, the quest for self-realisation and the illusion of unlimited power and control all contribute to turning these men into fanatics. Abderrahmane Sissako’s film tells about their confusion, arrogance and hypocrisy. Regardless of their origins – whether Malian, Libyan, Sudanese or Nigerian – they are the real-life portrayal of the many things that have gone wrong with the Islamic paradigm and world politics.