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Abjad Howse — In Montreal, this collective is known for its game nights, stand-up comedy nights and events in Arabic. Behind this puzzle name is a community of Arabic-speaking artists, but also friends united by their love of human beings.
Among them is the clown, dramatherapist, artist and comedian Sandy El Bitar. We take advantage of the fact that she is currently visiting Lebanon to meet her in her hometown, Beirut. Here is the portrait of a committed artist who, every day, campaigns for equity.
It was 5.30 p.m., night fell as fast as rain on the Lebanese capital. Sandy is waiting for us in the basement of an upscale bar-café in Mar Mikhael, a neighborhood in Beirut that was disfigured by the explosion on August 4, 2020. The subdued atmosphere, the colorful walls, the sofas and the piano perfectly match the nature of this versatile, curious, altruistic artist. “I like to present myself as a good playing partner,” she says in a teasing tone. On the verge of completing her master's degree in drama therapy, she twirls between projects and creations. “I have too many passions,” she says, smiling and her eyes curious.
Many of these passions were born here, in Lebanon, where she studied theater. Sandy was barely 18 when she became one of the country's six clown doctors (therapeutic clowns) to work in hospitals in Beirut in 2008. “It shaped me and greatly influenced my decisions afterwards,” she explains. “I wasn't there just to give a performance, but also to help. Yes, they are sick, but they are still human and they can play! ” adds Sandy, who has brightened up the daily lives of many hospitalized people.
A story of immigration
A year later, in 2010, Sandy arrived in Canada with her family, who were fleeing the socio-political context of Lebanon. “I know it's worse now, but at the time, we felt that we couldn't have financial security. I was 12 when I started hearing my parents talk about immigration. We got there after I was 19,” continues the artist. Her father having died before leaving, she leaves with her mother, her two sisters and her brother to join her maternal family. “I think my mother especially wanted to give us better chances in this world,” she confides.How did she experience her integration in Quebec? Sandy laughs, hiding her face behind her hands to show how hard it was. “The first two years, a part of me died,” says the therapist.
In addition to the loss of identity, the difficulty of making friends, the language barrier and the values of a family that urges her to continue her studies, she learns that her “experiences in Lebanon are worthless”, among other things because professional equivalences are not recognized. For the woman who was so proud of her work at the hospital, the shock was immense. “I am a Lebanese woman from a religious minority and I work in humor,” she summarizes to explain her difficulties. As she lost her bearings, Sandy went so far as to erase her Lebanese accent in English. “I spoke like the people in Ottawa! But later, when I arrived in Montreal, I told myself that I would speak with my accent and my Arabic words,” she recalls with pride.
Jack of all trades
Thus, at the dawn of her 20s, Sandy moved to Aylmer, a sector of the city of Gatineau. After an initial employment experience on Canadian soil at the local Tim Hortons, she continued working and pursuing hobbies. “I did jewelry repair, woodworking, hairstyling, painting on canvas and clothing, etc.” lists this jack-of-all-trades. Anything to put her hands, her body and her creativity to work. Nostalgic for her work in hospitals, she joined a long-term care facility and a residence for the elderly. By taking care of the residents, many of whom are in palliative care, she discovers a raw, uninhibited universe. “I loved showing these people that, even if they are close to death, they can have a good time,” she reports from this experience, which inspired her to write a stand-up number on the end of life. She then became involved with L'Abri d'Espoir, a shelter for itinerant women in Montreal, until 2019.
In addition to her current jobs, Sandy began a recreational service techniques program at Algonquin College in Ottawa and then studied psychology at the University of Ottawa. Today, the artist is very dedicated to the community. She is a member of Abjad Howse, with whom she hosts parties and presents stand-up acts, as well as doing content creation and graphic design. The collective was born three years ago, in 2019. “We were alone, without our families near us. We needed a moment, a space to express ourselves and practice our art. We met once a week, and the ideas came up,” she recalls. Quite simply, as if the collective had always existed.
Therapy everywhere
Now, all he has to do is hand in his research work to complete his master's degree in drama therapy at Concordia University. In spring 2022, she will return from Lebanon, where she spent several months. She plans to continue her activities with the community in a small space in the old port of Montreal. “I also plan to practice therapy there. There will be plenty to explore different mediums: paper, objects, moving, creating,” continues the artist.
Specializing in drama therapy, Sandy uses theater, body and play to heal the mind: “Thanks to play, defense mechanisms slide and disappear. You can go further without causing trauma.” Beyond her practice, she devoted her thesis to humor in therapy: “I think that humor has the power to promote resilience and to make you more creative.” An approach that she also applies to herself in her stand-up issues. This journey has not been without pitfalls. “I am traumatized! ” she asserts bluntly. Coming from a “very conservative” family, Sandy had to grow up in an environment where she was muzzled. It was therapy and humor that allowed him to recover. But she has no choice but to hide this part of herself from her family: “She would disown me if she discovered certain aspects of me. It's being myself or losing my family,” explains the artist. “When are you going to stop being a clown and start your real life? ”, we ask him constantly.
A long fight
This stay in Lebanon is an opportunity to reconnect with your loved ones and your country of origin, after a decade of absence, but also to put your experiences into perspective. The artist continues to navigate in unequal environments, starting with that of humor. She describes in detail the persistent prejudice that “the woman is not funny.” While there are more women in the comedy scene in Quebec, Sandy estimates that there are less than a dozen women in Lebanon. During his studies there, the inappropriate remarks were numerous.
Beyond humor, she describes several aspects of her life as wrestling. “I don't want to say that I fight every day, but it's true that I have to speak louder to succeed. It's a long fight,” says Sandy, referring to the adversity that is linked to her experience as a woman, here and elsewhere: university touching, sexualization, intermittent male speaking and the under-representation of women in the media. Avoiding to compare what is not comparable, she nevertheless believes that in Lebanon, society is more unequal for women. “Being a woman, accepting your body. and her sexuality is difficult. There is a lot of fear, harassment, and little support offered to victims of these behaviors,” regrets the artist. “In Montreal, being a woman does not force me to fight as much. But inequalities, sexist stereotypes, and microaggressions remain. When I react intensely to something, I am told that it is the hormones,” she gives as an example, with a lot of nuance, however, because the systems are very different. She believes that this is a social problem. “A lot of space is given to them,” she says of the men. “What women do is poorly represented, and we just talk about their appearance, their diet, or their looks, or their looks, when there is so much to say! ” She wants us to be able to show more what women do, but also to offer them more support. “We should create more equity before talking about equality,” she says.
The irony of life
As the conversation continues in this small café, Sandy's words magically come to life. Within a few minutes of each other, two men allowed themselves to invade our conversation, each interrupting the discussion politely to “add something.” They continue their monologue and go back to their occupations without grasping the content of our exchange.
A few days later, Sandy shared her impressions with me by voice message: “The irony of life. Y3ani [I mean], we had a concrete example of the place that men take. They didn't know what we were talking about, but they believed they had the right to share their experiences. One of them, claiming to support the cause, did so in a way that takes up space. I thought it was so funny! ” That evening, these interventions seemed straight out of a skit that Sandy could have written about her life and the reality of women.