Among the Jasmine Trees. Jonathan Holt Shannon

and political dimensions of aesthetic sensibilities are especially relevant in discussions of authenticity in Syria. Syrian officials seek to cultivate a sense of a national culture that they project not only as ethically, politically, and culturally authentic, but also beautiful, that is, aesthetically pleasing—even if only to the state. Since the 1960s, the Arab Socialist Reawakening (Bath) party—at the time of my research under the leadership of the late President Ḥāfiẓ al-Asad and now under the leadership of his son, President Bashār al-Asad—has played a dominant role in national and local political and cultural life.¹³ It is not uncommon, for example, for an artist to invite local party bosses to an exhibition or recital. Moreover, most major artistic productions are sponsored or patronized by the local branch of the Bath party or by the Ministries of Culture or Information, usually led by Bathist ministers. Through these avenues of official patronage (as well as via the darker alleyways of censorship), the Syrian state aims both to promote certain visions of Syrian and Arab society and culture and to frame or limit allowable discourse on culture and society. What gets promoted as “beautiful” is often what certain cultural and political authorities consider to be “authentic.” As a result, in a heavily politicized cycle of authentication and legitimization, the “authentic” then becomes construed as the “beautiful” and vice versa.¹⁴

      A study of the aesthetics of authenticity in Syria thus necessarily seeks to uncover aspects of these relations of power and authority and the ideologies of authenticity that frame the very conception of artistic beauty as well as the production and consumption of art and forms of cultural practice. I address such issues as they arise in specific ethnographic contexts—arguments about the origins of Arab music, forms of patronage of musical concerts, and so on—and argue that the aesthetics of authenticity is, on the one hand, a discourse of culture and tradition, and, on the other, a discourse of power and privilege.

      My research explores the question of how musical heritage promotes modern subjectivities, and how it helps Syrians navigate heavily politicized and policed terrains of the self and nation. But I do not do so by focusing entirely or even primarily on politics. This may come as a surprise (or relief) to those familiar with research on modern Syria, most of which has favored political and economic over cultural analysis. While being sensitive to the placement of my study in the wider context of American and European scholarship on the Arab world, in writing this study my aim has been to portray the human dimensions of contemporary Syria, what the majority of scholarship has neglected. Of the works written on contemporary Syria, most deal with politics, political history, the French Mandate period, Syrian authoritarianism, the Arab-Israeli conflict, and similar topics.¹⁵ While these issues are important, they certainly are not the only things that can be studied within Syria, and, as I suggest above, they also can be explored productively through analysis of aesthetic practices such as music making. In fact, I believe that focusing primarily on politics leaves us blind (and deaf) to the richness of Syrian culture in its many forms. It may also make it even easier to demonize a country and its people when we do not recognize that it is home to wonderfully creative artists, a centuries-old poetic and musical tradition, and ordinary people who strive to bring order and meaning to their lives in ways that are often far from the so-called “political realities” of the day, which are often more relevant to Western analysts than to “natives.”

      Some readers may argue that by focusing on musical aesthetics I ignore authoritarianism and oppression in Syria, that I have not attended closely enough to forms of institutional power, or that I have been blind to the very real suffering of the Syrian people. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My Syrian friends and colleagues include many who have borne and continue to bear the weight of an oppressive regime. Yet, despite all of this, Syrians in a wide range of lifestyles continue to raise children, work, seek pleasure, solace, and meaning in their daily lives . . . and to listen to music. And they often do so with grace, humor, and charm to boot.

      Acknowledgments

      This work would not have seen the light of day without the support and encouragement of numerous individuals and institutions. The research on which this work is based was funded through the generosity of fellowships from the Near and Middle East Research and Training Program of the Social Science Research Council (1994, 1996) and the Fulbright-Hays Dissertation Research Abroad Program (1996–1998) and Middle East, North Africa, and South Asia Regional Research Program (2004). At the City University of New York Graduate Center, I benefited greatly from the guidance and comments of Vincent Crapanzano, Talal Asad, Jane Schneider, Stephen Blum, and Louise Lennihan. Julia Butter-field, Alcira Forero-Peña, Alfredo Gonzales, Murphy Halliburton, F. Trenholme Junghans, and Carmen Medeiros helped get the project on solid footing. Martin Stokes of the University of Chicago provided encouragement on the project and helpful comments on an early draft of the work. Ali Jihad Racy’s generous and insightful comments made the final text stronger and clearer. Suzanna Tamminen and the editorial staff at Wesleyan University Press and University Press of New England made the birthing of this project enjoyable through their efficiency, patience, and good cheer.

      I extend my deep appreciation to Ibrāhīm Ḥamad of Cairo, Egypt, my first oud teacher, and to his family for introducing me to the art of listening to and performing Arab music. Mustafa al-Kurd of Jerusalem, Palestine, offered important lessons on the oud and Arab musical aesthetics and politics. In New York City, Najib “The Oud Man” Shaheen and Simon Shaheen helped keep me close to the music when I was away from Syria through their good friendship and inspiring performances. Alexandre Tannous and A. P. Joseph always had good questions and abundant enthusiasm for the music and my research.

      In Syria, I thank the many friends, acquaintances, teachers, and officials who made my research possible. I acknowledge the Syrian Ministry of Culture for permission to undertake my project and the staff at the Asad National Library for their generous assistance in finding materials. The staff at the American Cultural Center in Damascus, and especially Abd al-Raouf Adwān, facilitated my work in every way. Husain Nāzik first welcomed me to Syrian music, and Adnān Abū al-Shāmāt was a generous teacher in Arab music history and theory. Hussein Sabsaby has been a close friend and inspiring performer, and Ali Sabsaby provided me with excellent ouds, fine repair work, and friendship. Ādil al-Zakī and his son Ayman of the Shām Dān music store in Damascus provided friendship and hundreds of quality recordings of Syrian and Arab artists, which allowed me to form an essential sound archive and begin to learn the secrets of ṭarab.

      Special thanks are due to Muḥammad Qadrī Dalāl, my friend and teacher, and to his family in Aleppo. Without Mr. Dalāl’s encyclopedic knowledge of Arab music and culture and his warm guidance and friendship, this project would have suffered greatly. I thank Sabri Moudallal for his inspiring voice and warmth, and Muḥammad Hamādiyeh, director of the al-Turath Ensemble, for his great friendship and assistance in my research. I also wish to extend thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Wasil al-Faisal and family of Homs and Damascus, Syria, and to Hala al-Faisal, for assisting in much of the research on which this work is based. The late Fateh Moudarres was an inspiration and provocateur throughout the period of my research, and I fondly remember the hours spent in his Damascus studio listening to music and talking about aesthetics.

      Last but not least, I wish to thank my family, without whose support I never would have finished this work. Linda Shannon-Rugel and Herman Rugel offered unconditional love, respect, and support. To my brother, Chris, and sister, Pam, I offer thanks and gratitude for always asking how things were going. Extra special thanks are due to Deborah Kapchan for her patient encouragement, intellectual stimulation, and untiring love and support. May our son, Nathaniel “Nadim”