KEY POINTS:
The people of Afghanistan came together in a moment of cultural unity. The vast majority of them watched - some nervously in secret, others openly, gathered outside cafes - as the grand final of the television talent contest Afghan Star was broadcast.
The weekly show had become a national phenomenon, penetrating into strictly religious areas, bridging the gender divide and challenging fundamentalist attitudes.
When the judges announced that Rafi Naabzada had won the popular text vote and was to be crowned Afghan Star, his supporters across the country and in his home town, Mazar-e Sharif, went wild. But even as the programme united viewers, it also reflected tribal and religious differences. While the winner was a Tajik/Uzbek, his disappointed rival for the title, Hameed Sakhizada, was a Hazara who could not pull in as much ethnic support.
Young British documentary-maker Havana Marking has been at the eye of this storm since December, having travelled to Kabul for the production company Roast Beef Films. The trip was partly funded by BritDoc, a foundation set up to promote British documentaries and by More4 and Channel 4 International. The deal was that while Marking, her cameraman and an editor trained the fledgling production team making the show - many of whom had never seen a TV talent contest, much less filmed one - she would also put together her own feature-length documentary.
For Marking, the point was to present a different picture of the country: "I was frustrated that you never see or hear about civilians or young people here. This is a country with 60 per cent of the population under 20. They are largely ignored, but clearly they are the future."
On filming days, the makeshift TV studios in the back of an old Kabul cinema were surrounded by armed guards and razor wire. Threats to staff at broadcaster Tolo TV increased after the Afghan Council of Scholars called the show "immoral and un-Islamic" this year.
In spite of this, Marking has found few Afghans prepared to condemn the programme. "I found a council of village elders in Balkh who looked [like something] straight out of a National Geographic cover and I was sure they wouldn't like it, yet within five minutes they were arguing over who they would vote for."
She points out that the heavy security is just as much to protect those inside the studios from the angry crowds that gathered when a favoured contestant was thrown off as from religious extremists. "The judges on the show genuinely had to watch their safety if they eliminated someone popular," she says.
Each finalist had ardent fans. One man drove for 14 hours to pick up posters promoting one contestant, while another sold his car to raise campaign funds.
All filming outside the studio was done without notice, to lessen the risk of kidnap. "There's been a heightened security risk since the Serena Hotel bombing in Kabul in January, so you had to be careful about where you filmed, making sure there were escape routes, and you didn't get caught in the craziness that Afghan Star has created.
"Being with contestants is like being with the Beatles - they are mobbed," Marking says.
Producers at Tolo TV were keen to create a star who could represent the whole country and every show started with patriotic songs.
Marking says ethnic differences were ignored during the filming. "It is ironic the last contestants were from different tribes. However, everyone loves the fact they were competing by SMS and not with AK-47s."
She defends the apparent triviality of the show, arguing it is about the dreams of real people: "They don't have the money or confidence to go to art school and hang out in bands. And you don't need an education to have a good voice. It's the same all over the world. In Afghanistan it's just a million times more raw and powerful. There really is little else for people - both to be entertained by, and to take part in."
While there were dangers for the production crew, she says they paled into insignificance beside the courage of the contestants. "The women who come forward to take part are taking a huge risk. When you think that just 10 years ago women weren't allowed out without a male relative, then singing on stage is amazing. The risk of being ostracised, dismissed or even worse is huge."
One of the semi-finalists was a Pashtun woman from Kandahar, Lima Sahar, who had learnt to sing in secret and who still wore a burqa in her conservative home town. She faced hate mail from those who regarded her participation as blasphemy, although her bravery won her a broad fan base too.
The television industry in Kabul is only five years old and staffed by young people who have never before worked in the media. Little remains of the thriving pre-war film industry in the city.
"What has moved me most is that, despite all this, there is such kindness and strength," says Marking. "Of course, I am only meeting certain people but the youth have such optimism and hope. They are desperate for the old culture that they hear their parents, or even grandparents, talk about - a liberal, cultured time, with strong universities and flourishing arts. You realise what a luxury it is to have a `normal' peaceful life, where you can discuss TV shows and not how many people in your family are dead."
Marking recognises that Afghan Star is not going to change the country on its own and that engineers and doctors are needed before singers. But she believes Afghans need psychological help too: "It is a country in trauma, and music can help people forget things for a time. There is huge unemployment and gossip is a serious problem too. Perhaps if people can talk about this, then they might not talk about the woman who has to go out to work, or other such `scandals'."
- OBSERVER
