In the darkest of times when hope seems a commodity in shortest supply, when the true consequence of what is truly happening seems unconquerable, and when the depth of horror is almost unfathomable, the ability to laugh is the perfect tonic.
Humour is a quality that rarely deserts us, irony is a quality that makes us unique, and a smile relieves tensions as they become too unbearable.
Niño Jose Heredia/©Gulf News |
Abdul Hussain Abdul Redha had humour and satire by the bucketful.
Now unless you are of a certain generation and like a specific genre of Arabic theatre, chances are you don’t know who Abdul Redha is. If you are a Kuwaiti, or a Khaleeji, and you remember a time when watching a play meant going to a theatre — long before downloads and in the time even before videos had to be rewound after watching — then you will be feeling a little hole in your heart, left by the passing of Abdul Redha.
The Kuwaiti actor died last Friday in London at the age of 78, days after he reportedly slipped into a coma and was in intensive care for a couple of days. He hadn’t been in good health, and had a major heart operation in 2015.
As news of his illness hit home across the Gulf, where he was a household star, his family was inundated with messages of best wishes and support. For non-Khaleejis of a certain generation, think Bob Hope or Ronnie Barker, Eric Morecombe or Jack Benny — personalities who are charming, can bring a smile, but make us see the truth of a situation with a look, a gesture, a smile, a perfectly timed comic moment, this is timeless.
In modern terms, we have all seen and shared the Saturday Night impressions by Alec Baldwin of United States President Donald Trump. Priceless. Imagine then the darkest days and foulest deeds of Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussain. He drove his tanks and occupied Abdul Redha’s nation, held human hostages, and threatened chaos across this region. And yes, history tells us that that did indeed happen, and we are still living the consequences of those times a quarter of a century ago.
Humour is the best medicine, and 25 years ago, Abdul Redha had dished it out in doses that made the entire Arab world laugh, with impressions of Saddam that remain classics to this day. He was the equivalent of Charlie Chaplin in the Dictator, defusing the fanaticism and fascism of Adolf Hitler.
Kuna, the Kuwaiti News Agency, reports that Abdul Redha was the seventh of 14 children and rose to stardom through his satirical television and theatre work that was largely critical of Arab and global politics. In my opinion, he deserves full credit, for that is a path that is not easy to follow and few have tread there — but tread Abdul Redha did.
It’s also reported that he had launched his career in the 1960s and it stretched to May of this year. Kuna reports that he tackled issues including mass Arab emigration, the rise of political Islam and the plight of stateless people in the region.
When I read between those lines, I see a man with a courage and tenacity that deserves all of our admiration — one who likely looked and saw the unfolding of events and realised that satire and solace were indeed in short supply.
Sure enough, according to his obituary on Associated Press, Abdul Redha trod too heavily in places — and in 1987, a number of religious politicians filed a defamation lawsuit against him, resulting in the cancellation of one of his plays. He received a sentence of three years, but was able to leave on bail. I cannot fill in any more details on this as they are hard to come by, but it is clear he walked a very fine line. He knew full well where that line lay, and he was last seen on Khaleeji television screens in May on Selfie — a well-received Arab comedy that was aired during Ramadan.
In one brilliant theatrical piece, he skewered Arabs living in London, their excesses, their expenses — and skewered too the reaction of London society to the cadre of Khaleejis. He penned and sang the tune Mister Bush in the early 1990s, dedicated to former United States president George H.W. Bush after the Gulf War was triggered by the invasion of his native Kuwait. I could find no mention if he wrote a follow-up hit for the actions of Bush junior in invading Iraq later on.
When Abdul Redha died last week, there was an outpouring of sympathy on social media. “Rough morning. Emotions running low. A mourning nation. Abdul Hussain Abdul Redha is no longer here with us,” read one tweet from Kuwait. “May he rest in peace. Today we lost a piece of Kuwait,” an Instagram user posted alongside a picture of the national obituary for the maestro.
While living in London, he was a proud supporter of the Palestinian cause, attending rallies and waving the Palestinian flag for a people too long deprived of justice and their home. If anyone could see a reason to smile, considering the injustices endured by Palestinians, it was Abdul Redha, with an uncanny ability to turn a situation around with a raised eyebrow or a comic pause that filled the decades since the Naqba.
For the countless fans, there may now be a hole in their hearts, for Abdul Redha. Their jovial showman has left the scene.
