civil war

Sleepwalking Land

gwen — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Based on the novel by Mia Couto, Sleepwalking Land showcases the bittersweet journey of an older man and a boy as they meander through the war-ravaged countryside of Mozambique. Initially, Muidinga and “Uncle” Tuahir are seeking the basics: food, shelter, and safety from traveling gangs. Tuahir had pretended to be Muidinga’s uncle when they were residing in the Xalala refugee camp. The boy was presumed dead until Tuahir noticed otherwise, and by claiming a familial bond, the man was able to take the boy under his wing. Now the two are seeking refuge from the refugee camp and are in a truly nomadic, transitory situation.

When Muidinga and Tuahir make a burned and looted bus into their temporary home, they find passengers’ belongings among the charred remains of the bodies. Muidinga finds and begins to read the diary of a young man named Kindzu to the illiterate Tuahir. This discovery transforms their day-to-day existence into a purpose-filled trip through the past and present, while helping them to develop a goal for the future.

The much-needed escape afforded by Kindzu’s stories reminds Muidinga and Tuahir that people will go to great lengths to find and create family despite the grips of a gruesome civil war. Along with the goat that Muidinga finds in the bushes, the pair decide to travel to the sea to find Kindzu’s love Farida, and complete the quest that Kindzu described in words but was unable to finish.

Along the way, Muidinga and Tuahir meet a variety of characters, both in reality and by way of Kindzu’s stories. All of these interactions help the two to create their own story, and to build their relationship to the point that Tuahir asks Muidinga to call him Father. At the beginning of the movie, Tuahir gruffly tells Muidinga that “In wartime, children are a burden.” His rough, realistic attitude is a testament to a life that has required him to harden himself to continual sadness. But the two clearly bring each other joy as well, as is apparent when Tuahir tells Muidinga to eat a piece of foraged fruit with care: “Eat slowly, so you can taste every color.” The old man gradually divulges information about Muidinga’s parents and past as their journey progresses, and it is easy to see the development of their dynamic from that of near-strangers to kin.

A few years ago, I reviewed the Cuban film, Alice in Wondertown. This film commented on the Cuban communist government through the lenses of psychological illusions and absurd humor. While Sleepwalking Land is not as explicitly political as Alice in Wondertown, both films vividly examine the mental processes of people who are coping with loss, oppression, and social alienation. They both focus in particular on how traumatized individuals create fantasies to handle desperate situations, and how these dreams begin to seamlessly weave their way into the fabric of reality.

Written by: Rachel Muzika Scheib, February 3rd 2011

Maria's Story: Twenty Years Later

admin — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 00:53:00 +0000

Interview with Monona Wali, Pamela Cohen

Earlier this month, I saw a twentieth anniversary screening of Maria's Story: A Documentary Portrait Of Love And Survival In El Salvador's Civil War at The Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts in San Francisco. Before attending, I had an abbreviated understanding El Salvadorian politics, and the subject of the documentary, Maria Serrano. Filmed in 1989 by two young American women, Maria's Story reveals the daily struggles and heartbreaking memories that lay in the wake of the political unrest that ravaged her town in El Salvador. The film chronicled a two-month journey for all involved. Ultimately, the film unfolds into a narrative about Maria’s role as a leader of a Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front (FMLN) guerrilla camp, which was about being a mother, wife, and a community member. I recently spoke with the directors of the film, longtime friends Pamela Cohen and Monona Wali.

Were there moments during the filming of Maria's Story in which you felt that there were advantages to your position as women directors?

Pamela Cohen: I don’t know if a male director would have been drawn to Maria in the same way we were. We chose to put a female face on this war; we wanted to address the Che Guevara guerrilla image, because that’s not who was on the front lines.

Monona Wali: Because we are women, we were sensitive and committed to the human side of the story. There were times when we were drawn to the bigger side of the war, but beyond knowing the statistics, the instinct to stay close to Maria and stay close to her came from being women and cementing the relationship with her, which was affectionate, playful, and serious. I don’t know that a man would have been able to get that close.

Emeteria and Maria, two members of the community, discussed losing their daughters in the war. Hearing the details of how young women were victims in violent attacks in El Salvadorian towns effected me greatly. What were those moments like for you as directors?

Monona: With Emeteria, we had gone first to be with her in ’88 and lived in a repopulated community named Guarjila that we were going to use as a base camp. We had equipment, and it turned out that there was a huge military offensive, and we were stuck in a village. Emeteria was taking care of us; she was our mother during that time. It was the day of remembering the dead. She had come to San Jose Las Flores to be a part of that and knew us. We asked her, “How do you feel about this day?”

For Maria, it started in the bathing scene, and it came up spontaneously. We just wanted to get a scene. Every time Jose showed up, we turned the camera on because we didn’t know when they were going to be together again.

Pamela: But then we asked about it, and we knew we had to sit down with her to talk about it—that was separate. She was out of the country when Ceci was killed in ’87. That may be why she wouldn’t let go of Mijita (her youngest daughter) and made her a personal radio operator for the rest of the war.

How did your awareness about some of the issues raised in the film affect your work?

Pamela: It was six or eight months before we started editing. We thought, “After what we’ve been through… how can people not care?” We just felt like everyone had to know and were determined to finish it.

Cross-posted at Gender Across Borders

Written by: Maria Guzman, July 29th 2010

Dr. Mary Walker: An American Radical, 1832-1919

admin — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 17:01:00 +0000

By Sharon M. Harris

Rutgers University Press

Dr. Mary Walker: An American Radical, 1832-1919 is a plethora of facts, evidence, and tightly woven themes that are well-researched by Harris, yet the book isn’t boring or dry. I found it inspirational and enraging at the same time. Women of the past made it easier for women today by tirelessly battling for women’s rights (and for men who were not white property owners). Walker was a dutiful and energetic soldier. She served in the Union army during the civil war as a commissioned medical officer although she had to fight to get that official position.

Harris’ work reveals that Walker spent every waking moment living the fight for equality and justice for all. When other physicians slammed her for treating the working class (that were considered beneath male doctors), she kept on. Men and women alike ridiculed her for even believing she had the brains to be a registered physician, but she persevered.

Being a female activist back then was quite difficult. The suffragists, including Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, were adept at bickering and jockeying for centre stage, and Walker was no exception. Gaining the right to vote in the U.S. (eighteen months after Walker’s death) has not erased these divisions among activists today. From personal experience, I can attest to being treated as invisible by many middle class activists because I’m a sole-supporting parent and working class.

As a radical, Walker could not walk down the street without being physically assaulted for not wearing feminine clothes. Bricks, food, and yells often greeted her as she carried on her way. Today, nobody throws bricks at me while walking out in public, but men still stop their cars to yell at me if they don’t like what I wear. After reading about Walker’s experiences, I took some comfort in knowing that while we have made progress since Walker’s time, we still have a long way to go before all men, women, and children are treated with the respect they are due.

Walker is an example of how we need to continue to fight to be given the same rights as the more privileged members of society. Harris presents Walker in a balanced light that made me want to keep reading until the final page. Maybe in a hundred years, women will not only be able to vote, but also get paid on par with men and walk down the street knowing they are safe.

Written by: Nicolette Westfall, March 1st 2010

The Widow of the South

admin — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Robert Hicks

Grand Central Publishing

Though it’s based in reality, Robert Hicks’ work of historical fiction The Widow of the South is an incredibly long, often meandering novel that failed to rouse me in any real way. And that’s something I’m truly sorry to report.

A few years ago, I became interested in all things Southern. My boyfriend, born and raised in Alabama, is like this treasure trove of lovely, unfamiliar things, and the area in which he was raised never fails to fascinate me, a girl who was born and raised in Los Angeles. The American South is this incredibly multi-faceted, bizarre, segmented country of its own, and I think its bloody, checkered past is greatly responsible for both its beauty and savagery. Needless to say, I was very excited to read Hicks' Deep South tale of a woman named Carrie McGavock, who had 1,500 Confederate soldiers buried in her back yard.

The opening scene of the novel takes place in 1894 and is perhaps the most telling of McGavock and what she has become; she spends her days almost obsessively walking the aisles of her personal cemetery with her former slave, wearing the same black dress she’s worn out of mourning for countless years, checking to make sure everyone is buried where they’re supposed to be. After McGavock’s home, the Carnton Plantation, was taken over by Confederate soldiers nearly thirty years prior, it’s safe to say that she was never the same again.

I’d be very interested in a novel that took the pains to describe exactly what kind of woman it would take to muster the strength and heart to dig up the bodies of these soldiers--whose original graves were going to be plowed over--and rebury them in her own backyard. There is a real sense of dignity and respect in this well-researched story, so I was disappointed—but not surprised—when a love story emerged that detailed the relationship between McGavock and a soldier named Zachariah Cashwell during the bloodiest hours of the war.

Frankly, I hate how novels, movies, and television shows of all kinds feel this overwhelming, almost obsessive need to throw a love story into any story featuring an interesting, strong, or otherwise compelling female character. Sure, love happens and the fact that McGavock and Cashwell were able to fall in love during the madness that was the Civil War is compelling in its own way, but in The Widow of the South it almost seems to cheapen McGavock’s strong character. The entire novel features lengthy passages of beautifully written prose, but sometimes it’d simply be nice to see a woman’s story stand on its own... and perhaps for a little less than 551 pages.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, January 8th 2010

The Sari Soldiers

admin — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 09:09:00 +0000

Directed by Julie Bridgham

Women Make Movies

The Sari Soldiers is a documentary that follows the lives of six Nepali women amidst the political turmoil that erupted in Nepal in 2001, after Nepal’s King and nine royal family members were massacred. The film is near perfect. It accomplishes the tenuous balance that only the best documentaries can provide: a bird’s eye view of a convoluted topic achieved through exploring the infinitely specific and intimate stories of the individuals involved.

After Nepal’s King was killed, the King’s younger brother Prince Gyanendra took the throne. Maoist opposition to the monarchy, which had already flourished in Nepal for years, multiplied. In February 2005, monarch Gyanendra Shah cited Maoist insurgency as justification for declaring a state of emergency. He disbanded parliament and established military rule. In the villages throughout Nepal, an environment of fear reigned. The Royal Nepalese Army kidnapped and killed individuals suspected of Maoism; Maoists terrorized villages with pro-government ties.

The documentary begins with the story of Devi Sunuwar, a woman who seeks justice for the disappearance of her fifteen-year-old daughter, who was kidnapped by government soldiers. Devi and her family must hide out in Kathmandu, Nepal’s largest city, because soldiers sporadically come looking for Devi in her home village. Director Julie Bridgham focuses the camera on Devi’s face as she tells her harrowing story. When the footage switches from a one-on-one interview to scenes of protest in the streets or political speeches, Bridgham does not forget to keep it personal—even when panning out on a massive crowd, the camera intermittently zooms in on a single face. The documentary offers clear descriptions of the overall political situation in Nepal, but never lets the viewer forget that politics is personal—especially when many have lost the lives of their family to the struggle.

The film looks unwaveringly at all sides of the war. We get to know Kranti, a Maoist Brigadier Commissar. From Kranti we learn that the Maoists are “guiding the Nepali people towards a beautiful future.” Yet we also learn about Krishna, an elderly woman whose village is chronically attacked by Maoists, who abduct the men of a village to either be murdered or recruited as Maoist soldiers. Just when sympathy for Krishna blossoms, the film moves on to Mandira, a human rights lawyer who represents the many victims of the military regime. The film also features interviews with Ram Kumari, an anti-government political activist, and Rajani, an officer in the Royal Nepalese Army.

The documentary was shot over a three year period, so the viewer is able to literally watch as the political situation unfolds into the country-wide protests that force the King to step down, all the way to April 2008, when free elections are held in Nepal, and the Maoists gain thirty-eight percent of the seats in the new parliament. We also see the stories of the six women unfold. When the monarchy disbands, Devi finally learns where her daughter’s body has been buried. Within the short film running of ninety minutes, the filmmakers somehow succeed in giving a comprehensive account of the Nepali Civil War, while also telling six separate and deeply moving narratives. This is the best documentary I have ever seen, and it reminded me how powerful a tool the documentary form can really be.

Written by: Katherine Don, June 10th 2009

Utopia and Epitaph

admin — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 09:54:00 +0000

Directed by Moslem Mansouri

Underground Cinema

Utopia and Epitaph aren’t quite what documentaries are supposed to be, but, surprisingly, that’s a very good thing. In most documentaries, there’s narration and context, exposition and editorializing. The filmmaker boxes the viewer in with a comfy explanation of why “this” matters, and guides him or her on the sort of journey of other people’s lives that allows the interested, yet uninvolved, tourist’s view of the world. In the end, the way documentaries are “supposed” to be offers us an opportunity to improve ourselves, enrich ourselves, or do some other wonderfully important thing for, to, or about ourselves. In Utopia and _Epitaph, _Moslem Mansouri makes that all-important distance impossible and we and our “selves” are lost. There is only the subject—the people for whom these films are supposed to speak.

In Utopia, we meet Iran’s internal refugees who fled their homes due to what is simply referred to as “this war,”—the war between Iran and Iraq—and took up residence in the abandoned homes of those who had fled the country altogether. We know this small bit of context, the identity of the war to which the film refers and the source of the suffering we are to witness, only through a brief snippet of white words on a black screen at the beginning of the film. The same sort of opening introduces Epitaph, which examines the world of prostitution in a country where a woman can be stoned to death for sexual offenses, but self-declared holy men have no compunction against making use of their services.

From the first human face on screen to the last, both films are comprised solely of the voices of the desperate, their words often horrific and at times, astoundingly poetic. The same refrains echo through both films, despite the very different experiences of the two groups. Whether prostitute or refugee, adult or child, each person reveals the monster created by the twisted nightmare imposed by the Ayatollah and his henchman.

Over and over again, they speak of the crimes and offenses they have committed, or would commit, or imagine they must commit just to survive. They pray for death, or simply for never having existed in the first place. They mourn the potential within them that has been stripped away by law and circumstance, even if that circumstance is just being female in a world where children get married and educated women turn to prostitution rather than be some cleric’s cheap mistress. They curse their country’s political and “moral” leaders and the oppressive rules about gender and sex that diminish men, women and life itself. They dare to proclaim what they wish they could say to them, or what they have, in a few cases, had the courage to say to them about the failures, the hypocrisy and the lies. “If this is religion they are practicing,” they say, one after another. If this is religion, we want no part in it.

Neither film offers the viewer an out. There is no phone number to call, no foundation to contact, no address for donations. There is nothing to help us feel better for having done something, just the knowledge of suffering a world away. Watch them anyway.

Written by: Melinda Barton, June 9th 2009

The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire

admin — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 09:01:00 +0000

By C. M. Mayo

Unbridled Books

The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire is the type of book that serves as a virtual passport allowing the reader to travel from one reality into another. The story is set in Washington, D.C. and Mexico City at a time when America was in the throes of civil war and Mexico was struggling to find its own place in the world under the reign of Archduke Maximilian von Habsburg. It is at this critical place in time that we meet the main character, Alice (later known as Alicia). She is a wistful, optimistic, and adventurous young lady who unwittingly finds herself falling in love with the much older son of a dignitary, Angel, who is known as Angelo. From there, the story becomes more complicated, with twists and turns and philosophies and Mexicanismos and Americanisms.

Mayo’s ability to make language malleable and without borders gives the reader a sense of what it meant to be 'important' in those days when slavery, sexism, racism, and generalized oppression were sanctioned by both church and state. Furthermore, the novel helps us to recognize how much we, as a people, have yet to accomplish concerning these issues.

Mayo’s novel evokes feelings of sadness and concern for the present day reality that has unfolded between the nations of Mexico and America—a sadness, for the loss of generations of writers whose voices were silenced and a concern that the echo of their lives is yet to be discovered. Mayo stands tall, a leader in the world of literature. My hope is that, through her writing, she is providing the spark that will propel new voices to be recognized and applauded. The Last Prince of the Mexican Empire is a verdant, thoughtful, and intellectual while also being savage, carnal, and raw. The thoughtful reader who appreciates a well written tome will enjoy this book again and again.

Written by: Susan G. Reyes Vasquez, June 6th 2009

First Lady of the Confederacy: Varina Davis's Civil War

admin — Tue, 26 May 2009 23:57:00 +0000

By Joan E. Cashin

Belknap Press

Before reading First Lady of the Confederacy: Varina Davis's Civil War, I didn’t even know to whom Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederate States of America from 1861-1865, was married. The book is certainly educational, and was interesting to read about the war from a Southern perspective rather than the Union point of view I received in my U.S. history courses.

Most readers of this lengthy biography on Varina Howell Davis will come away with the impression that her husband was a jerk, although she seems to have loved him nonetheless. He was quick-tempered and held too many grudges, and sadly these same faults were apparent in his second marriage. His first wife, Sarah Knox Taylor, the daughter of President Zachary Taylor, died from malaria shortly after marrying Jefferson. He and Varina wed ten years later, in 1845. In some ways Varina Davis was ahead of her time: she was better-educated and better-read than most women in the American South. Combined with her lukewarm support of secession from the United States and of the Confederacy as a nation, her educated demeanor did not endear her to many Southerners. Although Davis was against the war, she supported the institution of slavery. Cashin substantiates this claim with extensive documentation from Davis' private letters, which she compares Davis’ somewhat more confident public statements in support of the 'new nation'.

Cashin does an excellent job of showing Davis had considerable ties to the Northern states. She had many relatives and friends there that she made during her time at a finishing school in Philadelphia and when her husband served in the U.S. Senate and they lived in Washington, DC. Whatever her reasons, she never fully supported the Confederate cause, and continued correspondence with friends in the Union states during the war, which was illegal under Confederate law.

The most interesting aspect of the book is its description of Varina’s life after her husband’s death in 1889. Finally free to do as she pleased, she moved to New York City, where she remained for the rest of her life (she died in 1906), despite the protestations of groups, such as the Daughters of the Confederacy, and Southerners in general. She supported herself through occasional columns for newspapers and formed an unexpected friendship with Julia Grant, the widow of Ulysses S. Grant, who headed the Union army to which the Confederate army surrendered at the war’s end.

The book’s main drawback is its dry, academic tone and repetition of key facts, particularly Davis’s wavering support of the Confederacy and the fact that Jefferson’s professed love for her became more word than deed during the post-war years of their relationship. The book weighs in at 416 pages, with over 311 pages of biography and 105 of meticulous notes. Recommend primarily to hard-core Civil War junkies, the book demonstrates that Varina Howell Davis’ life was constricted not only by her spouse’s politics, but also by the mores of the time.

Written by: Karen Duda, May 26th 2009

Mrs. Lincoln: A Life

admin — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 16:53:00 +0000

By Catherine Clinton

Harper Collins

Mrs. Lincoln: A Life by Catherine Clinton, is a fascinating account of this very complicated and very misunderstood woman. I knew little about Mary Todd prior to reading this book and what I did know was mostly based on my own mythical ideas about Honest Abe and his wife Mary. Catherine Clinton’s work had me shaking my head many times; it was quite astonishing to see what this woman endured as the wife of the man who was probably our most beloved president.

The book opens dramatically with Abraham Lincoln lying on his deathbed, while close by, his wife sobs uncontrollably. She is eventually taken from the room, never to be summoned again before Lincoln passes away. And from this you are forewarned of the difficult life of Mary Todd because she lost both her husband and the position of first lady.

Both Mary and Abraham were born and raised in Kentucky, but their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. Lincoln is famous for his poor, humble beginnings in a log cabin, whereas Mary Todd grew up in a family that was well-connected both politically and socially. As a result of these familial associations, she received a good education. Mary Todd craved recognition and prestige; she was also headstrong, and these traits would often have extremely negative effects during her stay in the White House.

The one thing that surprised me was that even in 1860, politics were politics and the public press was ruthless in their reporting of the first couple. These “Westerners” were not well received and not well liked among the Washington high society and political community. Mrs. Lincoln was shunned by many women in the prominent social circles, which was a severe blow. She craved the respect that should have gone along with being the first lady.

Because of the Lincolns' position in favor of abolition, the president received death threats during the Civil War, creating severe stress for Mary. She also experienced the loss of many close relatives during her time at the White House, which contributed to the incredible obstacles that she faced on a daily basis.

However, in presenting these facts, Clinton is not trying to garner sympathy for Mary. She shows the reader a complicated woman who gives her political advice to Lincoln’s cabinet. She could be unpleasant in public situations, but she also had the compassion to visit wounded soldiers in the local hospitals, and fought for abolition.

The friendships that Mary developed with other women were an essential part of how she coped with her day to day living. They were an integral part of her life until her later years. There is still controversy over the mental state of Mary Todd. In 1863, on her way back to the White House, she was thrown from a carriage causing her to hit her head on a rock which might have contributed to her mental state. She was also prone to depression, and Lincoln scholars continue to debate on her mental health.

When the last page of Clinton’s Mrs. Lincoln: A Life is read and the book is closed, the reader cannot help but sympathize with this underappreciated woman.

Written by: Su Lin Mangan, April 29th 2009

Pray The Devil Back To Hell

admin — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 17:15:00 +0000

Directed by Gini Reticker

Fork Films

Imagine all the worst atrocities that can be committed against women. Think of all of the greatest evils that stain a country with corruption and greed. Then, in the direst of situations, imagine how a group of women could change the face of blood and hopelessness. This is the story of Pray the Devil Back to Hell.

Not the devil with a pitchfork, the devil referenced in this film is the evil that we all fear—women and men alike. The darkest of all oppression are the sins committed against innocent children: turning sons into drug addicted child soldiers, the rape of young daughters, and the burning injustice of war. This is the story of Liberia, a country founded by freed slaves in 1847 that erupted into civil war in 1989.

This film focuses primarily on the story told by Leymah Gbowee, a social worker and organizer of the Christian Women’s Initiative, which joined with Muslim women to fight for peace in Liberia after years of hunger, death, and silence. Gbowee explains the misery of an oppressive government led by president Charles Taylor and the unrestrained rebels, the Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy (LURD), who only knew violent tactics to overthrow Taylor.

Pray the Devil Back to Hell is like an elevator ride that first descends into the depths of hell itself with footage from the mangled streets and haunting images of young, smiling boys with guns. The accounts of rape and the killing sprees are graphic, sharply and painfully illustrating an almost surreal world of unimaginable terror.

Then the elevator ascends, jaggedly and slowly into the unfolding vision by women—both Christian and Muslim—who first plead, then appeal, and then demand peace. The strength and vibrant spirit of community unify the Liberian women in their praying, organizing, protesting, fasting, marching, and sit-ins. The film points the viewer to all the stages where women’s presence is necessary, from the spreading violence of warlords to the United Nations peacekeeping "experts" who organized the near disastrous disarmament, to the electing of the first women president in Africa.

This film is a succinct seventy-four minute lesson and testament to the fear and power of grassroots organizing and the legacy of a women’s movement birthed in a harrowing era of Liberian history. It is stripped of lofty academic jargon and nothing short of mesmerizing, horrific, and jolting. Pray the Devil Back to Hell is the living conflict of prayer, action, and justice-seeking love of country and brethren.

The importance of this film cannot be overstated. It is a model of what is possible and what should be strived for in times of naked tyranny and oppression. It is the inspiring and empowering story of what can be overcome when women are gathered for common purpose and love.

Written by: Lisa Factora-Borchers, April 7th 2009