Painful return for Isis recruits
Film tells story of Tunisian siblings who left for Libya as teens
Olfa Hamrouni doesn’t know much about her granddaughter; not her favourite toy or food — is it the pasta the child’s mother loves, or something else?
The Tunisian grandmother doesn’t even let her mind go there. “I don’t want to know. What for but more heartache?” she said.
For now, she just fights for 8-year-old Fatma. The child has spent virtually all her life with her mother and aunt — Hamrouni’s eldest daughters — raised in detention in Libya, where the women wound up after leaving home as teenagers and joining Islamic State group extremists.
The real-life story of Hamrouni and her children is the focus of Four Daughters, an Academy Award nominee for best documentary feature film. On camera, there are many layers to Kaouther Ben Hania’s film: It’s about the radicalisation of two teenage girls; an intimate portrait of a chaotic, and often dysfunctional, family life; and reflections on generational trauma, patriarchy, motherhood and adolescence.
Off camera, it’s more than just one family’s tale.
The names change, the details vary, but the nightmare is familiar to some others in Tunisia, where at one point many left to join militant groups,
including the Islamic State, in conflict zones abroad. Militants have also struck at targets in Tunisia. Today, families like Hamrouni’s are living reminders of that complex legacy, the unresolved issues and difficult questions persisting years later.
“It’s . . . an open wound in my country,” said actor Hend Sabri, who appears in the film as Hamrouni in some scenes. “As long as we don’t talk about it, then we’re not going to heal.”
Hamrouni hopes the film’s high profile will boost her advocacy for her daughters to be repatriated from Libya, where they had been sentenced to prison, and stand trial in their home country. In Tunisia, as in other countries, some people have been suspicious and fearful of returnees for security reasons.
Hamrouni wants Fatma freed from the confines of her existence. “What fault is it of hers? She hasn’t chosen her father or mother.”
Ben Hania, who wrote and directed the film, echoed the demands. “We’re trying hard to push the Tunisian government,” she said. “A country is responsible for its citizens.”
The film experiments with format. Hamrouni and her youngest daughters, Eya and Tayssir, appear as themselves. Besides Sabri, actors play Ghofrane and Rahma, the daughters who left, as Ben Hania reconstructs the family’s past in search for clues for their radicalisation. (The film offers theories but no concrete motives, especially with the real Ghofrane and Rahma imprisoned in Libya.) In some scenes, the actors reenact key moments alongside family members; in others, they question, challenge or reflect. Ben Hania said her role as a filmmaker is to understand and analyse, not judge.
In the film and the family’s telling, the daughters grew up with little in a tumultuous home. Dad was largely absent and drank too much; mum was overburdened and harsh.
Hamrouni, in the film, is fixated on preserving her daughters’ sexual purity for marriage. She’s quick to hurl insults and accusations and to punish perceived or real infringements — a waxed leg, a diary entry about a first kiss — with severe beatings.
There was some rebellion, a gothic phase, a guy with a motorcycle. Then the changes that swept Tunisia following the Arab Spring pro-democracy movement more than a decade ago brought another transformation as different currents, including hardliners and extremists, jockeyed for influence. A preaching tent popped up in the family’s neighbourhood.
Ghofrane and Rahma, whose mother says grew up with only basic religious knowledge, were introduced to austere interpretations. Their radicalisation further deepened — in the film, Rahma is said to have whipped younger sisters for skipping or delaying prayers.
When Ghofrane left nearly a decade ago, Hamrouni, according to the film, sought police help to stop Rahma from following. She accuses the police of doing little.
The family crumbled. Hamrouni grieved the departed daughters and worried about the remaining ones. One, a child at the time, adored Rahma and had absorbed her sisters’ beliefs. The other, Eya, was unravelling.
The younger girls were placed in a government facility, which they credit with helping them rebuild their lives. But outside, the family says, life was hard and neighbours shunned them.
Mohamed Iqbel Ben Rejeb of the Rescue Association of Tunisians Trapped Abroad said some who found themselves in similar situations disowned family members who left, sometimes to protect those who remained from the fallout.
He said his organisation doesn’t defend Tunisians with blood on their hands but advocates for the rehabilitation of others and, especially, for the rescue and reintegration of children taken by parents to conflict zones or born there. But he also says that Tunisia may lack sufficient capabilities and argues that authorities often appear to be dragging their feet.
He and other activists are particularly concerned for the children’s rights and futures. Inaction, they warn, can prove perilous.
“After spending long periods in prisons and camps . . . they’ll resent society, become ticking bombs,” said Mostafa Abdelkebir, head of the Tunisian Observatory for Human Rights.
Sabri, one of the Arab world’s best-known stars, said her heart breaks for Fatma — but she finds it harder to sympathise with Ghofrane and Rahma. She also stresses the importance of accountability for Tunisians who have joined such groups.
During filming, Hamrouni saw a mirror held up to her life.
Hamrouni, who had a difficult childhood herself, said she both recognises where she went wrong as a mother, and that her mistakes don’t justify her daughters’ decisions. But she also blames the political climate and government policies at the time of their radicalisation at a young age.
When asked about Fatma, Hamrouni’s voice softens. “Her past has been bleak. Only God knows what awaits her.” —AP
As long as we don’t talk about it, then we’re not going to heal.
Actor Hend Sabri