The Mufti and Me
By: Paul Kalina
Should we give SBS the benefit of the doubt, that a documentary in which putative Aussie bloke, Dave Zwolenski, spends a week with the controversial former Mufti of Australia, Sheik Taj al-Din al-Hilaly, was a good concept on paper?
The 26-year-old Brisbane lad is the latest self-styled gonzo journalist. He admits he would rather drink and meet girls than investigate religion, which he says has no part in his life.
He is one part John Safran (John Safran vs. God, Music Jamboree) and one part Morgan Spurlock (Super Size Me, Where in the World is Osama Bin Laden?) - the wide-eyed innocent prepared to put himself in danger to get to the bottom of an issue.
And so, here is Zwolenski "embedded", with all its wartime connotations, in the house of the headline-making cleric.
Sheik Hilaly is less like a deer in the headlights or a besieged combatant, than a man prepared to endure anything for a public-image makeover. He's a funny guy, who Zwolenski calls "Taj", the documentary invites us to think. The 66-year-old mufti has a Harry Potter bedspread in the spare room, his own special blend of "man tea" and fancies himself as a lady's man. Hilarious!
But Zwolenski has some serious matters on his mind. After nearly getting mugged for filming the cafe crowd on the streets of Lakemba (frankly, I don't blame them for being wary of camera-toting TV-niks), he sets out to learn from Sheik Hilaly and his followers about Islam, its practice, how it fits with secular Australia and those unerasable comments. But it's not before a sniggering rundown on hygiene and how Muslim men, house guest included, are expected to deal with their daily ablutions.
He attends a traditional wedding and observes that it's less about the joyous union of a man and a woman than it is about the groom buddying-up to his father-in-law. Zwolenski questions the young newly-weds about whether the wife will wear the hijab. He tries to convince them of the benefits of the Australian relationship practice of "try before you buy". They are unconvinced.
From the inarticulate boxer Anthony Mundine he tries and fails to understand why he converted to Islam. Zwolenski flirts with a young Muslim woman who pleads with him to keep his distance. He insists on her explaining why someone so "cute" won't be friends.
He crosses the tracks from Lakemba to Camden, where activist Katie McCullough explains why she opposes a new Muslim school in the area and why, in her view, Muslims and Australians, whatever that term means, are as incompatible as oil and water. But it plays out like shooting fish in a barrel with stereotypes culled mostly from conservative Muslims.
Rounding up those who can be relied on to deliver a sensationalised, 10-second sound bite is what Today Tonight and A Current Affair have perfected down the years.
But just how representative of their communities are the mufti, McCullough and the others here? (In the case of Sheik Hilaly, not very according to comments at Muslim websites.) And is it responsible to air dubious statements, even in contexts such as this, without qualification?
Such considerations were overlooked in the rush to give a topic usually treated with pointy-headed reverence an entertaining spin.
As hard as Zwolenski engages with the participants, the investigation doesn't progress beyond the standard of a high-school essay. And we're no wiser about the misogynist/racist/eccentric/comedian cleric or the differences between the Islamic and non-Islamic community than when we started.
Finally, Zwolenski has the courage to raise with Sheik Hilaly those remarks. His attempts to clarify what he meant and insistence that his remarks were misinterpreted are excruciating.
(For the record, here's what he said in that sermon: "If one puts uncovered meat out in the street ... then the cats come and eat it, is it the fault of the cat or the uncovered meat? The uncovered meat is the problem".)
"If explaining himself is that difficult, what hope does an average Australian have in understanding where Muslims like Taj are coming from?" Zwolenski concludes. Despite his ingenious though unconvincing ploy of sidling up to the cleric and leading us to think that he really likes him, this is an exercise in giving people enough rope and hanging them out to dry.
Its intentions backfire. Search the web on the show's title and you will find an anti-Muslim website where it is exhibit No. 1 for what's allegedly wrong with the integration of Muslims in society.
In its own pithy and irreverent way, this culture-clash documentary winds up entrenching prejudices and ignorance, rather than furthering our understanding of an important topic.
What was SBS thinking?
The mufti and me - TV & Radio - Entertainment - theage.com.au
