war

Spy Garbo (3/6/11)

brittany — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

New York, New York

Sheila Schwartz’s Spy Garbo, an innovative multi-media production, takes place in history’s limbo, the eternal resting place of three prominent twentieth century political players. The first is Generalissimo Francisco Franco Bahamonde, played by Steven Rattazzi with a perfect mix of pomp, arrogance, and affability. The fascist leader of Spain from 1939 to 1975, Franco is displeased by his now-tarnished image and presents himself as the eternal victim, a peacemaker who did everything in his power to remain neutral during the war, a misunderstood genius who should be lionized rather than condemned.

His quest for adulation brings him into contact with two additional attention seekers. The first is Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, enacted by Steven Hauck with the stiff upper lip and rigid bearing often associated with the Third Reich. At one time, Canaris served as Hitler’s Military Intelligence Chief, but his ultimate betrayal of the Fuhrer led the Gestapo to execute him in 1945.

Franco’s second competitor is Harold Adrian Russell, aka Kim Philby—played by the excellent Chad Hoeppner with brash charm that slowly dissolves as he descends into alcoholism—another double agent who ultimately defected to the former Soviet Union where he penned the 1968 bestseller, My Secret War.

Hovering over the three is the never seen but frequently referenced Spy Garbo, a real-life Spanish double agent—identified post war as Juan Pujol Garcia—whose espionage served both Britain and Germany.

There’s much to recommend Spy Garbo, not the least being the 130-foot video screen that surrounds the audience. Throughout the production, archival footage weaves images of Hitler, Franco, and 1940’s film stars into a seamless background that is simultaneously eerie and intriguing.

“Film makes history immortal,” Franco muses as he turns toward the screen and it is clear that that he longs for the adoration that seems exclusive to movie icons. As Philby and Canaris join Franco’s lament, a horrifying truth is revealed: while most of us will recall the names of film legends decades after their passing, few will recall the spies or military strategists who orchestrate our theaters of war.

And that’s the problem with Spy Garbo. Although audiences without deep knowledge of World War II can certainly understand the overall thrust of the play, those lacking a thorough grasp of the period will miss the nuances of the production and will likely find the dialogue—sequential monologues by each actor—overly diffuse. Indeed, while it is fascinating to see the three men vie for a spot on history’s top ten list, the play would have been more successful had it framed the action with hard facts about the war.

A short narration at the beginning, for example, might have offered an overview, explaining a bit about the era. In addition, a narrator might also have linked the global conflict of sixty years ago to contemporary warfare, bridging the distance between then and now.

That said, Spy Garbo is a provocative look at the male ego and a well-directed, beautifully acted, and well-staged production. And, since the historical record is typically written by the victor, Spy Garbo underscores the subjectivity of truth, reminding us that who does the telling is as important as what we’re told about the when, where, and how of life’s ongoing dramas.

Spy Garbo will run through April 11, 2011 at 3-LD Art and Technology Center, 80 Greenwich Street, New York, NY. Tickets are $30 and can be ordered by calling the box office at 212.352.3101.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, March 20th 2011

The Memory of Love

gwen — Sun, 19 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Aminatta Forna

Atlantic Monthly Press

The Memory of Love is a slow and beautiful book. I'm not the biggest fan of art that proceeds at such a deliberate pace, but this is definitely at the top of the heap for such books; the descriptions are lovely and precise, every detail picked out with absolute care. I loved the representations of African life, which felt honest and authentic. Having recently spent a year in Africa, I had lots of moments of recognition—for example, the racism of many international aid workers is often well-depicted (although it’s carefully not attributed to the “good” expatriate characters, which struck me as simplistic). The author—who is biracial and was raised in the United Kingdom and Sierra Leone—also includes some good post-colonial critique, but it rarely feels like the critique overpowers the narrative.

The book is set mainly in 2001 in Sierra Leone, with three main characters (all male): a dying university professor, a brilliant young surgeon, and a British expatriate psychiatrist. They're complex characters with intriguing perspectives—particularly the professor, who survived very un-heroically through turbulent times, and is not painted in a sympathetic manner at all. The whole story forms a vivid, touching portrait of war—its devastating, multifaceted effects on human beings; its numb aftermath.

It seems like an odd choice for a female author to tell a story primarily through male characters, however, and it's a little bit difficult to know how to review such a book as a feminist. Interestingly, The Memory of Love fails the Bechdel test (to pass, it would require "at least two women in it, who talk to each other, about something other than a man"). There are at least two women in the book, but I can't think of a scene offhand in which they talk to each other. Of course, the main characters are male, so how could there be such a scene?

Perhaps it's more relevant to discuss how the female characters are portrayed. There are definitely women in this book to equal the men; I particularly liked the psychiatrist's close female friend Ileana, a brusque psychologist and likewise European, whose narrative function is usually to call him out for his assumptions or stereotypes. He also has a female patient with a sad and stirring story. The book's two most important female characters are quite mysterious, though.

Those two female characters are the major love interests—and the two scenes in which we see men fall in love with them depict love at first sight. The women's personalities usually seem incidental to the passion of their lovers. In fact, I would go so far as to call both women ciphers. I never felt like I had much idea of what they were thinking. The male psychiatrist also has a wife and daughter back home, who (in the rather rare instances that they appear) are similarly opaque.

In general, I liked The Memory of Love, especially as a delicate description of a war-ravaged country. But—oddly for a book whose title implies that it's mostly about love—though I enjoyed the portrayals of the men’s emotional experiences throughout their difficult romances, I closed the book feeling somewhat dissatisfied, because I felt so little connection to the female characters.

Written by: Clarisse Thorn, December 19th 2010

Clamor

annette — Wed, 27 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Elyse Fenton

Cleveland State University Poetry Center

Elyse Fenton’s first book of poems, Clamor, features some of the finest contemporary poetry on war. She captures both the battlefield and the homefront with an unwavering realism. Her imagery is fresh and her language rich.

Fenton opens her book with a definition of the word “clamor” which is quite striking. Laid side-by-side the three definitions—a noisy shouting, insistent public expression, and silence—are not only surprising to the reader, but also instantly establish the tone of the collection. These poems are about the chaos surrounding contradiction, expression, love and silence.

“Gratitude,” the first poem in Clamor, captures the aforementioned themes with perfectly selected diction and unsettling images. “Wreckage was still smoldering on the airport road / when they delivered that soldier—beyond recognition,” and “And I love you more for holding the last good flesh/of that soldier’s cock in your hands, for startling his warm blood/back to life,” are lines that depict the mix of the macabre and the emotion that those in, or dealing with, war witness. The soldiers and their loved ones back home are forced to live in “that moment just before we think/the end will never come and then/the moment when it does.”

One of the best lines in the collection is in “Your Plane Arrives from Iraq for the Last Time.” In this piece, the speaker is hypersensitive to the ongoings of objects around him or her, which leads to some superb and original descriptions, including “caesura of rotors” and “the road toward post/needle-pricked in brake lights.” The poem ends with: “And at the end/of the longest sentence I’ve ever known/your face in the window’s fogged aperture/stranded noun. Rorschach of stars. Beautiful thing.” With the paring down of the language in the phrase “beautiful thing” we are really given a sense of the speaker’s state of mind. After describing everything so vividly, we are left with a simple phrase that truly captures the speaker’s devotion and longing for the returning soldier.

Fenton’s use of language and mastery of craft dominant the entire collection and also helped her to win the Cleveland State University Poetry Center First Book Prize, which was judged by D.A. Powell.

Anyone interested in war, particularly the invasion of Iraq, and its affect on those at home and overseas should pick up this collection. It is a testament to the passion and good that exists in this world, in spite of destruction.

Written by: Michelle Tooker, October 26th 2010

Mockingjay

admin — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 17:31:00 +0000

By Suzanne Collins

Scholastic Press

Mockingjay has finally arrived to conclude the breathtaking trilogy that began in 2006 with the conclusively-titled The Hunger Games. And this time, things have changed. In global effect, for better or worse, the main characters are bringing the furious fight to the enemy’s doorstep, in an act of rousing rebellion. But do they prevail? Well, I can’t answer that.

In Mockingjay, Collins holds her own under external pressure to show the blunted faces of the worst brought out in humanity, but also the best of what makes us human, compatible life forces willing to love, to teach, and to learn in the shadows of dark times. What was merely a sadistic game of cat-and-mouse is now a battleground, a fledgling place where heroes are born and lives are lost. Every punch is pulled, which is not to say the first and second books didn't contain conflict, but things are now broadened on the horizon. The characters realize they have entered an alien place, a wildfire atmosphere only done justice by a single word: war.

What really propels this book is its characters, particularly Katniss, who fight for what they believe in and stand alongside those they love. Each play pivotal roles in supporting each other, and adds a unique back story, just when you thought everything was already revealed. Loyalties are tested and occasional twists paint a very thin line between good and evil, relishing in the fact that, as human beings, we are collections of both.

Any age can enjoy this book; however, the content is some of the most unwaveringly brutal and violent written work on the young adult market. Accusing The Hunger Games of glorifying violence is putting a very narrow perspective on things. The violence is there because it is necessary, willing to achieve a point by demonstrating the calculating monstrosities of war, warning readers about the implications of certain decisions, and feeling powerless to stop others of a higher social status.

The inclusion of a strong female heroine give a sense of feminism to the book. At times, Katniss remained stricken, almost too conflicted, but it is a foreplay, a buildup to the explosive climax. She learns things about herself, growing as a person. It is the emotion, what we feel in our heart, not the misguided actions that make us for who we are. Everyone has a flaw, whether it be acid, spiders, or fear itself.

All the while, Collins maintains the pacing she keeps in the previous two. I was floored from the first page all to the way to the spectacular last. Small things are left unanswered, forcing the reader to come away from the experience to visualize, decoding what they think and understand.

By the time I finished, Mockingjay left me conflicted but satisfied, ruminating on the implications of what I read. Thankfully, it was a virtuoso performance I will not forget in a hurry. And not many books can do that. In a sense, young adult literature has some startlingly powerful messages to deliver, even branded for a younger generation. Older readers, and even fully-fledged adults, would find much to enjoy here.

Mockingjay delivers a stark limelight of the gratuitous impact of war on life, and examines the most powerful force on the planet through post-trauma, blood, tears, and the unbreakable substance of love. It is a masterful conclusion to an already groundbreaking series in young adult literature. If you haven’t experienced the raw potential for what The Hunger Games is all about, then I highly recommend doing so.

Excerpted from Literary Musings

Written by: Dan Goodman, August 26th 2010

Atomic Mom

admin — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by M.T. Silvia

Smartgirl Productions

I was born in 1952 and, although I don't remember public service announcements about the atom bomb like the ones M.T. Silvia includes in her feature-length documentary Atomic Mom, I do remember "bomb drills" when I was in elementary school. At least we didn't just crawl under our desks like some PSAs recommended; we went down to the sub-basement and hunkered down in the dark. I don't remember being scared, but then I don't think I had a very good idea of what the hell we were doing.

I'm not sure anyone did. One thing Atomic Mom makes clear is how little anyone really knew about the atomic bomb before and after it was dropped on Japan and effectively ended World War II. Everything associated with the bomb was top secret; there was even a United States-dictated "gag order" on the Japanese from the time the bombs were dropped until 1953. Doctors had no idea what they were dealing with, as they were not allowed to conduct research or to trade information about radiation sickness.

Even those who studied the effects of radiation didn't know exactly why they were doing it or what would be done with the information they collected. M.T. Silvia's mother, Pauline Silvia, was one of those researchers. She was assigned to the Navy Radiological Defense Laboratory in San Francisco during her stint in the Navy from 1952-53, where she conducted research on the effects of radiation on mice and thermal injury on dogs. She was also on site to witness five of the eleven detonations that took place in Nevada during Operation Upshot-Knothole in 1953.

Pauline Silvia compartmentalized her experiences and refused to associate her research with the development of the atomic bomb for forty years. When M.T. herself became involved in the anti-nuclear movement when she was older, her mother became furious and asked her to stop. They didn't talk about the issue for almost fifteen years. Atomic Mom is about Pauline Silvia's journey from denial to acceptance—and ultimately forgiveness.

Interwoven throughout Pauline Silvia's story is the story of Emiko Okada, a survivor of the atom bomb that obliterated Hiroshima. While Pauline Silvia was fifteen at the time and only thought of the bomb in terms of it ending the war, Emiko Okada was only five and lived through its horrendous effects. (Her twelve-year-old sister was never found and her mother died soon after.) Today, she is a peace activist.

M.T. Silvia was introduced to Okada when she was sent to Japan for her "day job" (Manager of Media Sytems for Pixar Animation Studios). Her interviews with Okada and her daughter add depth to the film by contrasting the experiences of the two "atomic moms."

Atomic Mom is about many things: the excesses and irrationality of war, the peace movement, and the legacies that one generation leaves another. But most of all, it is about reconciliation, not only between former enemies, but between mother and daughter. It is obvious that the film is more than an intellectual exercise; it was meant to be a way for M.T. Silvia to learn more about her mother. In the process, they became closer and the world became a little smaller.

Written by: Ellen Keim, August 12th 2010

Forgetting Children Born of War: Setting the Human Rights Agenda in Bosnia and Beyond

admin — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 16:02:00 +0000

By R. Charli Carpenter

Columbia University Press

In Forgetting Children Born of War, R. Charli Carpenter explores a perplexing question: Why has the human rights community ignored a critically vulnerable population, the children born to women who were raped during war? These children are subject to infanticide, neglect, abuse, and abandonment—both within their own families and within the societies into which they are born. Since the human rights community has a mandate to protect the most vulnerable citizens of society—which usually includes children, mothers, and pregnant women—why are they violating their own principles?

Through an exhaustive study of media, NGO reports, and interviews, Carpenter comes to understand that children born of war have been forgotten and neglected because human rights advocates focus instead on the problem of ethnic cleansing and genocide, as well as the women who have been subjected to sexual violence. Focusing on the children born of rape is understood as a conflict of interest. War rape is talked about and viewed “through lenses of nationalism, feminism, and humanitarianism rather than through a children’s rights frame.” Rape is a crime and the woman who experiences war rape is a victim; forced pregnancy and rape are weapons of ethnic cleansing. This is how the issue is dealt with in the context of the human rights agenda. Thus, the child conceived through rape is understood as a product of violence, as a “tool of genocide,” rather than as a human being in need of special protection.

Human rights advocates who initially considered the issue eventually decided to allow the local community to deal with these children, rather than offer the benefits, resources, and organizational manpower of the global human rights network. Local communities have responded in a variety of ways but none of the efforts made on behalf of these children are sufficient.

Carpenter’s book sheds light not just on the problem of children who have been conceived through rape during a time of war—tens of thousands of children across the globe—but also the equally complex problem of how human rights issues get constructed and adopted within the community, ultimately leading to how needs are addressed or ignored. Her book is a critical call for the need to re-examine our understanding of human rights and how those needs are addressed through the human rights network.

Written by: Jessica Powers, August 1st 2010

Prophecy (6/6/2010)

admin — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

East Fourth Street Theater

New York, New York

Forty years ago, Edwin Starr’s “War” was a Billboard Top 100 hit, an explicit denunciation of armed conflict. “War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing,” he trilled. Karen Malpede’s Prophecy takes this sentiment as her starting point. Her latest play, an ambitious, layered look at the damage wrought by centuries of strife on the battlefield—and in the personal relationships that ensue once military action is over—is bold and dramatic. It’s also shrill.

Numerous stories unfold simultaneously. Jeremy Thrasher (Brendan Donaldson), recently back from fighting in Iraq, is studying acting at a well-respected New York conservatory. His teacher is former Broadway actor Sarah Golden (Kathleen Chalfant). A monologue Golden instructs Thrasher to deliver—the Tiresias speech from Sophocles’ Antigone unwittingly sends him into a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder-induced rage. Golden is shocked by the violence of his in-class outburst, and in short order not only has to help him deal with the trauma he has experienced, but also has to re-examine her own past, including a volatile relationship with Lucas Brightman, a former student who fought in Vietnam and later died. Golden and Brightman had been lovers and Thrasher’s struggles bring Golden face-to-face with a host of complicated recollections and emotions from the early 1970s.

At the same time, Golden and her husband of many decades, Alan (George Bartenieff), are having difficulties. As the director of a refugee aid organization, Alan is often busy “saving the world,” making Sarah feel as if her work as a teacher is frivolous. Also distressing, many years back Alan had an affair with his assistant, Hala (Najla Said). But it was not just lust that propelled Alan into bed with Hala. A Jew whose father saved hundreds from Hitler’s ovens, Alan felt a tremendous need to propagate, to do his bit to replace those lost to the Fuhrer’s genocide. Sadly, Alan and Sarah cannot reproduce; Sarah became infertile following an illegal abortion performed years before, prior to Roe v. Wade. After taking up with Hala, Alan’s dream was realized—after one miscarriage, Hala carried to term and delivered a daughter, Mariam, who she reared in Lebanon.

Out of sight is apparently out of mind and Sarah and Alan rarely talk about either Hala or the child anymore. In fact, Alan doesn’t meet Mariam (Najla Said) until years later when, as an adult, she lands on his doorstep and threatens to blow him to smithereens with a bomb she says is hidden in her purse.

And that’s not all: Turns out Sarah’s boss, Dean Charles Muffler, [Peter Francis James] was Lucas Brightman’s commanding officer in Vietnam and his possible role in Brightman’s death lurks over the two-act production. What’s more, Thrasher’s PTSD triggers long-buried feelings in Muffler and he is once again tormented by memories of serving in the country.

These themes give Prophecy incredible, palpable intensity. Despite this, Prophecy weaves a cloth of far too many threads. The similarities between U.S. involvement in Vietnam and Iraq are noteworthy, but on top of themes including marital fidelity, the desire to reproduce, the meaning of friendship, the Holocaust, successful mentoring, how best to assist refugees, the threat of terrorism, and the lasting impact of war on both those who fight and those who are fought against, it’s too much.

Still, Prophecy delivers an urgent message. Like Edwin Starr’s “War,” it reminds us that nothing good comes from military combat. “They say we must fight to keep our freedom,” Starr sang. “But Lord knows there’s got to be a better way.”

Indeed.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, June 11th 2010

Le Papier ne Peut pas Envelopper la Braise (Paper Cannot Wrap Up Embers)

admin — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 07:54:00 +0000

Directed by Rithy Panh

[Paper Cannot Wrap up Embers] provides a numbing portrait of the everyday lives of young Cambodian women who have been forced into prostitution in the aftermath of decades of war and genocide. Their lives are characterized by drug abuse, chronic health problems, and violence and brutality experienced at the hands of their “clients.” The film opens with scenes of a girl crying and shows the women sleeping and eating lunch with their babies at their sides.

As is common for documentaries these days, the film is not narrated and consists entirely of interviews and scenes of women going about their daily lives: eating, sleeping, putting on make up, and taking “ma” (methamphetamine) in order to anesthetize themselves enough to go to work. In the absence of contextualizing narration, and lacking an understanding of the recent history of Cambodia, it was difficult for me as a viewer to feel I had more than a very superficial understanding of the socio-political situation that has prompted such poverty and misery to become part of daily life. Instead I was simply struck by the overwhelming resignation felt by most of the women.

The women understand the reason this has happened to them is because they were born poor and they don’t see any way out of it. This is the most striking and disturbing aspect of [Paper Cannot Wrap up Embers]. Even as the women describe enduring horrific situations (and there are many in this film), they tend to do so with either an air of detachment or else with raw physical pain, as in the scene when one of the women comes back from a painful abortion and can’t stop crying, saying “It feels like my uterus has been ripped to shreds.”

In one of the few mentions of the Khmer Rouge, one woman’s mother stops by the brothel and describes how much worse poverty was during that time: “You think your life is tough? You have to put up with it! If you’d been born under the Khmer Rouge, you’d have starved to death or been executed. Today you sell yourself to buy rice by the kilo. When will all this end? I feel helpless.”

This documentary is difficult to watch because it leaves the viewer feeling helpless as well. Part of me wishes they would have ended on a more hopeful note, or suggested ways for the viewer to get involved to better the lives of these women. Films like this can be overwhelming to some people and make them prefer ignorance because of the feeling of powerlessness over the situation.

On the other hand, I think the filmmaker portrayed the situation honestly and realistically, and sometimes reality is very painful to watch. I hope [Paper Cannot Wrap up Embers] inspires some viewers to learn more about life in Cambodia and about the global problems of prostitution and sex slavery. If nothing else, perhaps it offers a shred of dignity to these women by giving them a medium through which they can speak for themselves.

Written by: Liz Simmons, September 21st 2009

The Green Zone: The Environmental Costs of Militarism

admin — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 23:45:00 +0000

By Barry Sanders

AK Press

The Green Zone takes two very big issues of the moment—global warming and the wars in the Middle East—and seeks to illustrate the correlations between the two. Everyone knows something about the horribleness of both topics individually, but most people, including myself, never really put the two together, so I was excited to learn what this book had to offer.

Right off the bat, one of the weaknesses is that the book spends an awful lot of time on what seems to be exposition: there is a preface, a foreword, and finally, an introduction—all of which spell out the gist of the book—before we get to the actual content. The Green Zone presents heavy questions that (according to Sanders) even the Pentagon has no answers for, such as how many military bases America has all over the world, how many Iraqi and Afghani civilians lost their lives since America’s occupation, and how many people will continue to suffer long after America pulls out of the two countries because of the various ways their environment has been polluted since the first Gulf War.

As compelling Sander's case is, he unfortunately goes off on tangents throughout the book, which detract from the point he is attempting to make. One minute he’ll be discussing the Gulf War, then the modern day ice caps, and then off to some other topic with little to no transition between them all. This gets confusing, especially when so many numbers and new terms are introduced.

The middle of the book is the most coherent, and seems to be where Sanders has the most passion in discussing the different ways the American military pollutes and endangers Iraq, Afghanistan, and even its own people. This was a hard book to read, in terms of both subject matter and delivery; however I still consider it a must read.

Written by: Jen Klee, September 14th 2009

Promised Virgins: A Novel of Jihad

admin — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 16:28:00 +0000

Jeffrey Fleishman

Arcade Publishing

Promised Virgins echoes of stories already told; they howl and yowl in your ear as Jeffrey Fleishman whispers and intimates, ever beseeching that you withstand his narrative a moment longer. Fleishman relies on the threads of past to weave his story, devices used before by film writers and the novelists who inspired them. Perhaps that is why the spirits bellow in your ear as you read; it is all too familiar, too ready to be seen as images flitting across a screen, even more so than it is to be read.

Begun like a tale of Arabian Nights, and threaded as such throughout, this story begins on the eve of a war. It is on the eve of U.S. involvement in Bosnia, when a woman and a man meet in darkness. It is a time when fates are still unraveling, and a mysterious bearded man bearing dates on a mule can upset the inertia and create jihad.

Told by Jay and from his point of view, this is the story not of him but of relationships–of his own and of those near him. Mostly, however, like so many other books, this is a story about a girl, Alija, and about the man who loves her, Jay.

Alija is an Albanian, a girl Jay found in a refugee camp who assumed the role of his translator. As Jay and Brian traipse across the country searching for the Dateman, Alija comes along searching for her missing brother. And as the conflict begins to assume stronger shades of religious strife, Jay queries, “What is it about spirituality and the unspoiled woman?” in response to himself as he imagines Vijay, a local reporter friend, would, that “temptation and virtue move through chaos,” as does Alija.

Alija, the central character, is not a promised virgin. She is spoiled, yet the narrative elevates her to the position of the only pristine character and a ready contrast is provided to the only other female character in the novel, Megan. Jay, sleeps with both; however, he only sleeps with Megan in the metaphoric sense. Megan is giving, a doctor who follows conflict and encounters its hardships in the worst ways while she is never a participant or a victim. First encountering her in this incarnation, Jay’s first remembers how she would cry during sex. While the others give of themselves willingly, Alija is taken. Alija, however, rarely cries.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, August 6th 2009

Lumo: One Young Woman's Struggle to Heal in a Nation Beset By War

admin — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 17:14:00 +0000

Directed by Bent-Jorgen Perlmutt, Nelson Walker III

Goma Film Project

Lumo is a documentary, named after its central character, of an African woman healing from a rape endured by military men that left her with a medical condition called fistula, a tear in the wall between the vagina and bladder caused by violent rape. It left her incontinent and uncertain of her chances to birth children. Like so many women who bear the heaviest and agonizing brutality in war-torn countries, rape is the most barbaric and common war crime committed against African women. While others think of terror in the form of bombs, missiles, and heavy artillery, Lumo recognizes rape as the most treacherous act of war, which claims the lives of so many women and leaves them in unspeakable suffering.

The film follows Lumo as she travels from her village, where she has been rejected by her fiancé, neglected by her family, and ostracized by her community, to Goma, a region in the Democratic Republic of Congo where she will receive treatment from HEAL Africa, an internationally sponsored hospital that provides services for rape survivors. Lumo will stay at the hospital for an unknown period of time until she physically and psychologically recovers from her trauma.

Although the tempo is slow, the documentary absorbs every painful detail of Lumo’s healing process. As if reflecting the pace of healing itself, the arduous and tedious speed of the film unnerves the viewer as the agony of the fistula is unmasked. Leaking urine, one of the symptoms of the fistula, cast Lumo and these other survivors into a world where they are further violated and isolated because of their condition. The cinematography is gripping. The facial portraits of the women are burned into the viewer's memory.

Lumo also moves between disparity and the power of faith. It largely focuses on Christianity as a source of strength and hangs the hope of medical miracles on Jesus and images of God as the savior. The survivors are repeatedly told to pray for their healing and ask God for complete recovery.

Central to Lumo’s message is the unflinching commentary on the lives of the women who will return to their homes after months, or sometimes years, of treatment. They will return to the world of rejection and rebel-occupied villages where they will live in danger of being raped again.

The film interacts with other components of gender domination and oppression–state violence and government officials who use victim-blaming language–to expose all facets of the cycle which perpetuate the cycle of violence against and degradation of women. In every society, in every part of the world, sexual violence is a crime against humanity. It will transform its face based on language, environment, and culture, but Lumo points out that violence against women remains the greatest commonality among all social sins, and no nation has taken steps toward absolution.

After witnessing the journey of one woman, viewers will be compelled to search for Lumo in their own community, city, town, or village. Lumo can and is everywhere. She is anywhere and everywhere violence against women persists.

Written by: Lisa Factora-Borchers, July 28th 2009

Women Build the Welfare State: Performing Charity and Creating Rights in Argentina, 1880-1955

admin — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 09:08:00 +0000

By Donna J. Guy

Duke University Press

Donna J. Guy is a distinguished Argentinean historian, and her book on women’s role in the welfare state (1880-1955) could not be timelier. In the past decades, human rights have often been thwarted in Argentina, producing the need for a reevaluation of women’s rights in South America. Women Build the Welfare State offers some tools to understand the movements that developed in contemporary Argentina by explaining the context and traditions that existed there.

In recent Argentine history, women played key roles in the demand for rights. Startling cases of systemic abuse are prevalent in the country; for example, the country’s “disappeared” and the adoption scandals stemming from the 1976 military coup and ensuing Dirty War Period. In the former, around 30,000 citizens were “disappeared” as suspected political activists in one of the deadliest sweeps in the Argentinean history of bloody dictatorships. In the latter—and as a consequence of the former—pro-government couples adopted around 500 infants born of imprisoned activist women. The Official Story, a film fictionalizing one woman’s discovery of one such adoption, won an Oscar for Best Foreign Film in 1985.

Among key groups of demonstrators against the country’s egregious crimes were famous women’s groups including Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo and the Grandmothers, some of the same mothers of these desaparecidos who began to search for their illegally adopted grandchildren. Eighty-eight children, now in their thirties, have been identified thus far. The development of these women’s movements is extensively studied; however, the context for the emergence of the activities is not.

Guy's study thus fills this vacuum by returning to the last century and the history of orphans and mothers. Although her title limits the study to 1880, Guy brings readers back to Argentina’s 1816 independence in order to construct the different movements and women’s involvement in these. She successfully synthesizes the historic, popular, and academic debates surrounding charity, welfare, women, social class, and children’s rights in Argentina. Guy claims to be taking a “child-centered gendered approach,” but the study can only be one of women’s history of rights since, as she demonstrates, women were the primary actors in the establishment of the philanthropic movement of that epoch.

Perhaps because of my academic background in women’s studies, Guy’s use of the original expression “performance of charity” was a bit disconcerting. The term “performance” at its most basic is something “acted” and not necessarily lived. Its most complex connotation is that of Judith Butler’s theory of socially constructed gender roles. Both definitions could seem to weaken Guy’s argument about the stake that women had in the charitable work and could imply, following a Butlerian analysis, that women only had this vocation because it was considered a “feminine” endeavor. My confusion about her use of this term came to its zenith when Guy analyzed Evita Peron’s “performance of charity” since Guy seems to stress the pictorial nature of her philanthropy. Was Evita doing “good” for political advancement or was her social engagement founded in true charitable values? This has been a long-standing historical debate of Perón’s ambiguous role in her (husband’s) political success.

Sidestepping these important questions, Guy defines her expression as one of women’s empowerment because of women’s “accrual of social status and community recognition, along with an opportunity to perform good works outside the home.” While reading, I had to constantly remind myself of Guy’s definition. More shocking to me was the use of the term “retarded” by the author, one I (mistakenly) thought had been banned forevermore from scholarly writing.

Nevertheless, one can only admire the amount of research that went into synthesizing the enormous quantity of data and testimonials that Guy includes in her excellent historical study. She incorporates an analysis of both religious and secular charitable organizations, including notable Jewish and Catholic associations. Although her study centers on Buenos Aires (where most of the organizations were based), she makes every effort to include data from the provinces. Guy’s study is a noteworthy contribution to the field of women’s studies and history in Latin America.

Written by: Sophie M. Lavoie, July 6th 2009

Dreamer

admin — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 23:20:00 +0000

Directed by Phillip Forsyth

Shut the Door Productions

From the beginning, Dreamer appears to be a film about a man traveling backwards in time. Daniel, the main character, is a 30-year-old white man living in Chicago. As he struggles to make sense of this reverse sequence of events, Daniel’s awareness and motivation falter. He is unable to follow-up with a needed job opportunity. He wakes up beside a woman he does not recognize. Another morning, he finds himself bleeding profusely from a wound on his side without apparent cause. At the end of the film, we learn that Daniel is a war veteran who served for three years, and is presumably suffering from PTSD.

In terms of technical highs and lows, the strength of Dreamer is the film’s visual landscape. The shots of Chicago’s cityscape—as Daniel stands on a bridge over the Chicago River, or walks past an outdoor sculpture—are beautiful and eerie in the evening darkness. The camera work was well done and a cut above most other aspects of the film. On the flip side, the primary technical issue that interfered with my viewing was the audio content. Due to the high level of background noise, many of the scenes were inaudible to me.

From a feminist perspective, I was disappointed that Dreamer does not subvert or challenge gender norms. This portrayal of a modern-day war veteran did not deepen my empathy for Daniel and was, in fact, quite problematic. The main character is a portrait of normative masculinity throughout the film, without sufficient character development. When Daniel catches up with an old friend, small talk turns to the subject of “pussy.” When he stumbles upon a dodgy character, the stranger and Daniel get into a fistfight in an alley. Perhaps most disappointing is that the movie ends with Daniel making a rapid escape following the second night spent with a woman who has already given him a second chance.

After this closing scene, there is a dedication to American veterans who served in the armed forces. However, by the end of the film, I felt less compassion for the veteran than the woman he has disrespected yet again. Furthermore, was this closing to suggest that if Daniel had not been traumatized by the war, he would have behaved otherwise? I am not entirely convinced. Instead I wondered: how has the war actually shaped who Daniel is? How did this affect his expression of masculinity? What potential has Daniel been unable to realize since the war left him with a debilitating mental illness? Portraying the main character in a one-dimensional manner makes it difficult to answer these questions. Dreamer is a film that normalizes oppressive constructs of masculinity, albeit in a society that fails to provide adequate support to war veterans.

Written by: Kathryn Berg, June 22nd 2009

Yi As Akh Padshah Bai (There Was a Queen)

admin — Fri, 29 May 2009 17:09:00 +0000

Directed by Kavita Pai, Hansa Thapliyal

Other Media Communications

Yi As Akh Padshah Bai (There Was a Queen) is a documentary that tells the story of women in Kashmir, the northwestern region of the India currently controlled by Pakistan, India, and China. The directors dub it "the world's most picturesque conflict zone". India and Pakistan have fought three wars over Kashmir, and conflict has been a constant in the region since the 1990's when Kashmiri separatists began clashing with both Pakistani and Indian forces. Shot between 2005 and 2007 by an all-female crew, the film opens with two people telling stories of their children going missing without warning. Grief and missing children are themes that recur throughout the film.

The documentarians travel between cities and villages, and speak to Kashmiri women about their experience with the conflict. They ask the women what they think will bring about peace. Despite differences in geography and age, the women's experiences are remarkably consistent. Many tell stories about husbands, brothers, and sons being taken from them by armed men in the middle of the day, or being arrested under false pretenses and tortured until they confess to being a separatist. After false confessions have been extracted, the men are released, only to be picked up months later and interrogated again.

Other times, men vanish from their homes, leaving in the middle of the night to join one of the fighting factions. All the women are subjected to violence, either beatings from police or the gunfire and bombings that explode throughout the day. Most of the women can't imagine what would need to be done to bring about peace, and Hajra, a woman with four missing children, remarks, "Anyway, if your heart is rotted, what does it matter if peace will come?" For Hajra, and for many mothers like her, a ceasefire won't bring an end to her mourning.

While Yi As Akh Padshah Bai is concerned with the survivors of the conflict, it also deals with those who are missing and the gaps and silences. People and stories vanish without an explanation, and there is no clear narrative. The difficulty for someone unfamiliar with the Kashmiri conflict or the region is in trying to make sense of what's unspoken. Because Kashmir has a blend of cultures and languages, even the directors—who are themselves Indian, though not entirely fluent in all the local languages—miss pieces of the women's narratives.

Despite the difficulties in translating culture and language, what shines plainly through the film are the Kashmiri women's rage and grief at their powerlessness. The women have no legal recourse to seek restitution for their missing sons and husbands, who are the primary breadwinners for their families. Yi As Akh Padshah Bai is a film that is shocking, heartbreaking, and more than a little confusing.

Written by: Catherine Nicotera, May 29th 2009

What Kind of Liberation?: Women and the Occupation of Iraq

admin — Fri, 15 May 2009 17:29:00 +0000

By Nadje Al-Ali, Nicola Pratt

University of California Press

March 20, 2009 marked the six-year anniversary of the invasion of Iraq. Although the half a dozen years of occupation must seem like an extended nightmare from which Iraqis are anxious to awake, for many young Americans an occupied Iraq is the only Iraq they have ever known. This is precisely why Nadje Al-Ali and Nicola Pratt’s research could not have come at a better time. What Kind of Liberation? offers a revolutionary perspective on the war that has come to define a generation, using a gendered analysis that factors in women’s historical participation in Iraqi society, attempting to separate it from the one-dimensional warzone it is known as to many Americans today.

In the tradition of colonialism, the U.S. initially engaged in the war under the guise of freedom, campaigning specifically for women’s liberation. Tragically the manipulation of women’s interests as a strategic element of the occupation transformed women’s bodies into the location of a cultural war between the growing number of Iraqi insurgents, politicians and citizens opposed to the war, and an American administration that pushed women’s liberation as a Western cause.

Al-Ali and Pratt largely based their research on women in the Iraqi diaspora who had lived through, or who had family that lived through Saddam Hussein’s rule and the subsequent occupation of Iraq by the U.S. military. Their interviews reveal that despite the violence and tyranny implemented under Hussein, many of the interviewees imagined pre-invasion Iraq as a safer space for women. Although they do not attempt to sympathize with Hussein’s regime, they show that it was not until after the invasion, and after the U.S. spearheaded the campaign of the “liberation” of Iraqi women that women became the site for the rejection of Western values, and a return to conservative values was made on a nation-wide level.

What Kind of Liberation? presents us with a messy, complicated and living Iraq, a society with a rich history that is not streamlined. Iraqi women speak about their histories in their own words, offering a snapshot that largely contradicts what we see unfolding in the American media. Despite the U.S.’s promises for the future of Iraqi women, no investment was made in women’s interests when creating the new Iraqi government. Their voices were largely excluded. But these broken promises have not stopped female activists and politicians from braving threats and harassment and the backlash of a war in which they were used as part of a fictitious cause.

In the foreword Cynthia Enloe explains why Al-Ali and Pratt’s book is so necessary, “It’s happening. The country, the complex, dynamic society that is Iraq, is becoming ‘Iraq,’ just as the complex, dynamic society that is Vietnam has become merely ‘Vietnam.’” Nadje Al-Ali and Nicola Pratt’s gendered analysis of the war and historical documentation of women’s activism will contribute to the growing pool of knowledge that separates the orientalist notions of “Iraq” from the diverse and complicated country that has room for a future for men and women alike.

Written by: Lizzy Shramko, May 15th 2009