Minting Images

by

Hala Auji

 

          Placed along the reflective coastline Manama, it might be a palace like any other. Encased in marble, dipped in something that shines like gold, it is equipped with an abundant stretch of the man-made: pools, trees, hills, lakes and a golf course. Some people might refer to it as Neverland 2, this place that is Michael Jackson’s royal residence in the land of eternal summers. Here the summer's sun never ceases to keep things aglow. It’s a sun that never fades, never falters.

          Not long ago this was a land of mysteries. Its villages, its Bedouins, its black gold reserves lay dormant, just below the surface. Summers that give the land a “Haiti of the Persian Gulf” label today, were once what made palm trees the only shade, and where dates and camel milk at one time, were the only sources of nourishment. The summers that now bathe these palaces in a dazzling luminescence, once scorched the backs of their limber inhabitants as they dove below the warm currents seeking the pearl-white currency of the sea. They were summers of limitations, of physical impossibilities. The discovery of the land’s hidden value turned those intolerable summers into gold.

          Not long ago, the West showed no interest in this land. Now it is a land that will always depend on keeping the West interested. It will remain a land that strives ceaselessly to maintain the stream of media buzz. This land will continue to create its own treasures –- palm-shaped islands, circular tennis courts suspended in mid-air, indoor winter resorts, a running tally of Guinness World Records –- knowing that those tantalizing rivers of black don’t run deep.

          In an effort to cover itself with a veil of modernity, this land turns to visions of foreign contexts. Hoping to replace the fruitless desert of former summers, they fabricated a new desert, branded with images of the West. Celebrities, who had known nothing about those dark pearl divers of the past, now frequent the bustling region. Stars like Michael Jackson have been able to find an unlikely new home in this “Singapore of the Near East”. The region welcomes them as cultural idols. But they’re not here to throw gigs or entertain. For the most part they don’t do much, besides making shady requests that are granted just as dubiously.  Their wallets stay at home. Their camera-friendly smiles are tucked away, pulled out and polished up for specified fund-raising occasions.    

          They replace their sponsored noble causes – environmental and ethical – with that of the personal. They come to these lands seeking the refuge of its blazing sun that bleaches out the stains of images they would like to change or leave behind. When in town, their pictures make it all over the local media, controlled and directed like stills from a feature film. No telephoto tabloid lenses here. Like a high-end product launch (the kind with a risky amount of financial backing) their faces take on the changing formats from screens to print. The black and white pixels of their images found on pages between war headlines and royal weddings, look somewhat lackluster, washed up.

          Popular icons are the new liquid currency sliding and bubbling below the surface of society. They remain unseen, guarded in the manner of prized acquisitions, or surreptitiously purchased gems. They move from royal motorcades to helicopter pads and clandestine, underground hangouts. Like the rulers of these nations, the stars’ faces emerge only to endorse, promote and persuade. The effect of their presence can only be felt after the event, like an invisible rumbling below the ground that shifts the objects above it. In exchange for their celebrity, their ephemeral image, they are promised palaces, islands, financial exemptions and an undisputed carte blanche. Very little remains beyond their reach in a place where the laws practiced by other lands hold no sway.

          Michael Jackson’s persona now endorses a nation; one that has its own laws; laws that inhibit viewing or distributing certain sounds, images and ideas coming from the very world this idol belongs to. Restrictions that forbid, rules that dictate, and commands that may never be questioned seem to waver in the presence of stardom. The events of Jackson’s recent popularity in his homeland are overlooked, perhaps even excused as private episodes, belonging to a world that is culturally and physically separated from their own. The potency of his celebrity (past or present) is all that will be considered here. Those rays of fame – no matter how faded – come with marketing values that far outweigh their cost. At whatever price, culture shifts to accommodate them.