Engagement: Coptic Christian Revival and the Performative Politics of Song
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THE POLITICS OF (DIS)ENGAGEMENT: COPTIC CHRISTIAN REVIVAL AND THE PERFORMATIVE POLITICS OF SONG by CAROLYN M. RAMZY A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Graduate Department of Music University of Toronto © Copyright by Carolyn Ramzy (2014) Abstract The Performative Politics of (Dis)Engagment: Coptic Christian Revival and the Performative Politics of Song Carolyn M. Ramzy A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Faculty of Music, University of Toronto 2014 This dissertation explores Coptic Orthodox political (dis)engagement through song, particularly as it is expressed through the colloquial Arabic genre of taratil. Through ethnographic and archival research, I assess the genre's recurring tropes of martyrdom, sacrifice, willful withdrawal, and death as emerging markers of community legitimacy and agency in Egypt's political landscape before and following the January 25th uprising in 2011. Specifically, I explore how Copts actively perform as well as sing a pious and modern citizenry through negations of death and a heavenly afterlife. How do they navigate the convergences and contradictions of belonging to a nation as minority Christian citizens among a Muslim majority while feeling that they have little real civic agency? Through a number of case studies, I trace the discursive logics of “modernizing” religion into easily tangible practices of belonging to possess a heavenly as well as an earthly nation. I begin with Sunday Schools in the predominately Christian and middle-class neighborhood of Shubra where educators made the poetry of the late Coptic Patriarch, Pope Shenouda III, into taratil and drew on their potentials of death and withdrawal to reform a Christian moral interiority and to teach a modern and pious Coptic citizenry. I also outline how one affluent choir from the comfortable neighborhood of Heliopolis, The Holy Family Choir, undertook yearly taratil service trips to the peripheries of popular religious festivals to ii make the interiority of their Christian citizenry more audible through public processions of taratil. Finally, I explore the ministry of one charismatic Orthodox singer, Maher Fayez, as part of a larger evangelical trend that advocates that a heavenly citizenship can be achieved right here on earth. Maher Fayez's revival contradicted Pope Shenouda's ascetic meditations and use of martyr motifs through counter-narratives of spiritual happiness, interdenominational worship, and the use of mediated taratil to effect visceral encounters with God. In the case studies presented throughout this study, I argue that Coptic (dis)engagement is not a form of passive political engagement but rather, is a public negotiation of faith and Egyptian civic identity in forms of spiritual service, song, and audible practices of piety. iii Acknowledgments I remember my mother's first reaction to my research ambitions in Cairo: "We immigrated from Egypt so that you would go back?" she chided me pointedly. When she realized I was serious I watched with awe as she maneuvered between family and friends, informing them of my research trips. At the mention of her eldest heading to Cairo, advice and best kept secrets spilled into the room and directly into my notebook. Firstly, I must thank my mother. And I must thank all of these friends and family who became my first interlocutors. Secondly, I have to thank the countless others who helped me in Egypt and beyond. Like many who did not initially understand what I was searching for they nonetheless wanted to help, all the while scratching their heads. They dug out old names, phone numbers, and long forgotten favors to draw up an essential map of maʻarif, connections in and outside of Cairo. Without the generosity of their time, support, and extensive networks, this project would not have been possible. Undoubtedly, I will miss some of their names here, and for this I apologize. I begin with my dissertation committee at the University of Toronto who helped me draft a different kind of maʻarif, a theoretical map that nuanced my ideas along the way. My advisor, James Kippen, always challenged me to look beyond the surface, and what initially began as a study of unaccompanied taratil performed as prayer transformed into a full- fledged encounter with one of the most popular and critical soundscapes to the January 25th uprising for Egypt's Christian citizens. Amira Mittermaier's handwritten notes on chapters iv drafts were also hidden routes that led me to uncover more theoretical treasures, and inspired me to listen more carefully to the conversations around the songs. More importantly, she helped me to listen more deeply to my own voice in this story. Joshua Pilzer's thoughtful pauses during our meetings segued almost perfectly into the right questions to push me over new thresholds of thinking about the power of woundedness and the potential healing embedded in sound. Finally, I want to thank Jeff Packman at the Faculty of Music. While not officially on my committee, he always found the time to share and recommend the most fitting literature, lighting the way during seemingly dark passages of this process. I am also grateful for other mentors outside of the University of Toronto: Benjamin Koen, Ellen Koskoff, and Nelly Van-Doorn. Ben Koen and his family have accompanied the journey of this project from its beginnings as I grappled with questions of belonging during my Master's study of Coptic immigrants in Canada. Ellen Koskoff inspired me to dabble with ethnomusicology with the prophetic warning, “ethnomusicology will change you.” How so very right she was, in the most splendid kind of way, and how grateful I am to share my transformational milestones with her. Nelly Van-Doorn always extended a hand to encourage my professional growth, and set an inspiring example of how to balance life and research. I also owe a special thanks to Helene Moussa whose encouragement fortified me over the most delectable teas and lunches, from my very first day in Toronto to that final day as I packed my bags. Her patient conversations helped to smooth what, at times, was a jarring transition into fieldwork and then back to life as an graduate student. In Egypt, Dr Omran emerged as another mentor whose musings and home became a refuge to think and grow out loud. Countless friends and colleagues greatly enriched me both as a person and as a v scholar: Anthony Shenoda, Febe Armanios, Paul Sedra, Sinem Adar, Hakem Rustom, Joey Youssef, and Daniel Gilman, whose encounters at conferences and during my time in Egypt sweetened the journey. At the University of Toronto Faculty of Music, I will not forget the comradery of Meghan Forsyth, Stephanie Conn, Francesca Inglese, Christina Hough, Gloria Lipski, Lauren Sweetman, Graham Freeman, Jeremy Strachan, Charlies Hong, Vanessa Thacker, Andy Hillhouse, and Chris Wilson as we huddled together over steaming bowls of pho. In Cairo and Shubra, I repeated this huddle over spicy bowls of khushari (noodles, rice, and lentils) and ful (fava bean dish), this time with Huda Blum Bakur, Denise Dias Barros, Gaëtan Du Roy and his wife Natalia Duque. Reham, Nourhan, Mona, Alia, Minas, Salma, Noriko, and Summar at the Higher Academy of Folk studies brought a particular joy to my time in Egypt and showed me the truest meanings of friendship. During my research trip, as I nervously maneuvered a new cultural terrain and a shaky second language, my family emerged as my immediate and closest interlocutors. It was my uncle Fayek El-Rezeiky who became my first interlocutor-partner. He kindly drove me from Luxor to various small villages in Upper Egypt to visit singers whom I otherwise would have never met. He and his wife, Amal, generously invited me into their home and gave me a place to stay during my research. Lorees and Alber Ibrahim's home also became a critical refuge in Cairo, and I spent countless evenings singing with my grand-aunt Lorees while snapping green beans, picking leaves to make Jews Mallows soup, or watching over her grandchildren. One of seven sisters, she was the only one to get a college education and went on to manage Banks in Kuwait and Egypt. It was her example that promoted me to break with traditional expectations and to fight for a sense of independent mobility vi throughout Egypt. It comes as no surprise that her son Ashraf and his wife Christine also challenged me to think beyond cultural expectations. They always asked provocative research questions that inspired me to go after the answers in the unlikeliest places. My uncles Fakher, Frank, and Vico, and their respective wives, Fayza, Bousy, and Magy, all assisted in one way or another, offering a kind hospitality that made my stay in Cairo a comfortable one. Finally, I need to thank my parents-in-law, Cecile and Michel who welcomed me into their lives and openly shared their histories of growing up and participating in the Sunday School Movement. I will not forget the seemingly endless nights spent indoors because of the revolution curfew, rotating our time between television coverage, sharing old photos, singing songs, and listening to homemade taratil cassettes. Throughout my research, other interlocutors also shared their lives and time in a way that always humbled me: the Sunday School teachers at St. Anthony's Coptic Orthodox Church in Shubra on El-Kargi Street. These khuddam (servants) graciously welcomed me into their classrooms, gifted me with recordings at their own expense, and tirelessly answered my questions. I am especially indebted to Sherry and Marian Maged who took me into their classrooms as well as Mary Faisal who took me to her service at St. Athanasius and St.