genocide

Coexist

tina — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Coexist is a documentary that seeks to provide insight into the reconciliation process in Rwanda after the 1994 genocide. The sheer scale and complex nature of the conflict provides a unique glimpse into how individuals and their communities recover from horrific experiences and the documentary questions whether reconciliation is even possible under such traumatic conditions. Recently, Rwanda was recognized for its stable political environment and for achieving one of the highest economic growth rates in the world. Through the voices of Rwandans, Coexist provides a means of examining how social and political reconstruction has been managed.

The documentary provides the context for which the genocide took place. Major ethnic groups were at the center of the genocide, despite there being little difference between the groups. Coexist does not highlight Rwanda’s colonial history. It is, therefore, unable to explore how this experience shaped political struggles in the nation. The documentary attributes the intensity and sheer scale of the genocide to fear, without providing a historical context of Rwanda. This deprives the viewer of vital insights into the extreme violence unleashed during the 1994 genocide. To its credit, Coexist does shed light on the role that the elite, at the national and local level, played in triggering and sustaining the genocide through the voices of victims and perpetrators.

The Adam Mazo-directed documentary also focuses on the nature of the state-backed reconciliation process which has required, among other things, the reintegration of perpetrators into communities. Touching on very sensitive issues, the voices of victims and perpetrators provide a very graphic take on a chapter of world history that continues to traumatize the population of this African state.

What strikes me as interesting is that the reconciliation process is depicted as being insulated from public debate. Coexist demonstrates the resilience of the victims and juxtaposes this against a latent resistance to the reconciliation imposed by the Rwandan state. The documentary succeeds in directly confronting the nature of the repressive Rwandan state. For instance, Coexist does illustrate how the Rwandan state has managed to maintain a façade of resolution in the midst of flashes of violence and political repression. This is further reinforced by a state-backed narrative glossing over the violence the (now ruling) Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) rebel army unleashed on unarmed civilians during the conflict. The added fact that reprisal attacks continue on genocide survivors, who either testify or act as judges in the traditional Gacaca courts, illustrates that reconciliation is still uncertain.

Due to the scale of the genocide, the path to peace does imply that victims would have to tolerate some of the perpetrators. The question that remains to be addressed is whether the approach adopted provides a long-term resolution. The role that political struggles over property played in the genocide also received some attention in the documentary, but the issue was not examined closely. As a result, Coexist left me wondering if the distribution of power and resources in Rwanda has the ability to secure stability and peace for current and future generations.

Coexist attempts to universalize the message of tolerance in the midst of conflict resolution, but the lack of a reflection on Rwanda’s historical experience, which has shaped political struggles, deprives the viewer of understanding the depth of the conflict. The dilemma left for future generations to confront is how to repair the damage wrought by violence and Coexist succeeds in emphasizing the role tolerance must play in this process.

Written by: Hibist W. Kassa, December 14th 2010

Thousand-Cricket Song

annette — Fri, 24 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

By Catherine Strisik

Plain View Press

Thousand-Cricket Song is a compelling collection of poetry. My copy is smudged with fingerprints, creases, and other signs of wear from the use I've given it in only one month. I often read one poem at a time, and found myself needing time to consider new ideas or read up on history. The subject matter is heavy; poet Catherine Strisik spent time in Cambodia. She wrote her poetry based on her observations there.

Usually, her writing style is simple, straight-forward, and speaks for itself. These are the poems I love the most. At other times, she gets a bit too enthusiastic for details, offering long, sometimes muddled, prose. I say this with some restriction, though. It's difficult to blame someone for needing to paint a perfect picture from memory.

There's so much good in this book, that I need to restrict myself from naming too many titles. "The Woman At Pol Pot's Grave" is possibly the best of the best. "The New Holy Medicine" is so perfect that I want to hear it spoken over a musical background. Her poems concerning genocide, suicide, miscarriage, prostitution, and rape make me want to heal the entire human race. I was often surprised by and unprepared for these details. Words hit us hardest when they are based on truth.

Though Catherine covers the trauma and tragedy of Cambodia's history, she also embraces its beauty and relationships. Women, children, residents, and friends are sometimes weaved into parties and temples. Her poem "Seeing Hands," written about her intimate experience with a blind masseuse, is now counted with some of my most favorite poems of all time. Most importantly, she openly admits to being a complete outsider and awkward observer in "In The Nail Salon, Siem Reap." The author is obviously humbled in the company of genocide survivors.

Pick up a copy of this collection if you want to learn, grieve, and be blown away.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, September 24th 2010

Micmacs

admin — Fri, 21 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet

Sony Pictures Classics

After running through a gauntlet of elevators and security guards at the Sony Tower in midtown Manhattan, I entered a small screening room to see the French film Micmacs. Micmacs follows a group of ragtag junkyard denizens as they attempt to help a newcomer in their midst get revenge.

The story opens with Bazil (Dany Boon) receiving word that his father has died after stepping on a landmine in the Moroccan desert. Bazil is effectively orphaned, as his frail mother winds up institutionalized. Several decades later, Bazil is working his shift at the local video store when a random act of violence gets him a bullet in the head.

Bazil returns home from the hospital—bullet in skull—only to find out that he has lost his housing and his job. Suddenly homeless, Bazil scrapes by as a street performer. He crosses paths with Slammer (Jean-Pierre Marielle), a life-long criminal who was pardoned after the guillotine failed to take his head off. Slammer takes Bazil to the junkyard run by Mama Chow (Yolande Moreau). Bazil becomes part of a group that includes, amongst others, Remington (Omar Sy), a Congolese ethnographer; Buster (Dominique Pinion), a man desperate to make it into the record books; and Elastic Girl (Julie Ferrier), a contortionist with more than a friendly interest in Bazil.

Shortly after his “adoption,” Bazil happens across two gigantic buildings that bear the logos of the weapons that destroyed his life. Vowing to get even, Bazil and his new friends work to deceive two unscrupulous arms dealers (Nicolas Marie and Andre Dussolier).

While I watched Micmacs, I couldn’t help but compare it to an earlier Jeunet film, Oscar-nominated Amelie. Both films have a zany charm, presenting gentle dreamers given to surrealistic fantasy sequences. Bazil and Amelie lost parents at tragically young ages, like old movies, distract themselves with silly questions, and anxiously avoid romantic attachments. The plots of both films are driven by coincidences and fortuitous events, have quirky characters who achieve their ends by (repeatedly) breaking into other people’s homes, and present comical sex scenes. In fact, three of Micmacs' cast members also appeared in Amelie.

Unfortunately, Micmacs doesn’t work as well as Amelie did, which I chalk up to an inappropriate tone. While Amelie was basically a romance, Micmacs touches upon corporate greed, international arms dealing, terrorism, and even genocide. To make matters worse, the arms dealers come off like caricatures, despite Jeunet’s efforts. A much darker tenor would have been more suitable for this film.

Micmacs was funny, but not hilariously so. The word that kept coming to mind during the screening was “cute,” and I found myself fidgeting despite the 104-minute run time. I anticipate that Micmacs will have a respectable run in certain American theaters; however, I would suggest that anyone interested in this film wait for the DVD.

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, May 21st 2010

Dark Heart of the Night

admin — Sat, 08 May 2010 23:59:00 +0000

By Leonora Miano

University of Nebraska Press

The gross reality of genocide brings one’s spirit to feel a deep sadness for groups and individuals who don't understand different cultures. Delineating a brutal world of power and defeat, the author of Dark Heart of the Night doesn't hold back and the shocking truth of this topic engenders an incredulous curiosity in the reader: how can a village not support their people, even those who are related to some in the village? How can the world be so out of kilter that more energy is spent killing while refusing to understand others? The power of violence resonates throughout and accompanies the overriding story.

The author depicts the harshness and pain of this specific village to help us understand the ongoing brutality of a small tribe of people. In reading Dark Heart of the Night, a person may see parallels to oppressed groups through history. The sheer stubbornness and defiant attitudes of particular individuals in the village overpower the mass of followers in the village.

Nightmarish in its intensity, the novel opens with the brutal acts of a rebel force taking place within the country. As readers, we observe protagonist Ayané, who returns to her Central African village from France to assist her dying mother; she is continually an outcast—not understood nor understanding this culture to which she returns uneasily. As a more "worldly" individual, she confronts the local leader of the village after witnessing killing in her mother's village from afar.

Throughout Dark Heart of the Night, the author depicts an ongoing conflict within the self, among others, and in the overall world. Her stark imagery brings to light gruesome and harsh experiences. Deftly utilizing only minimal words, Leonora Miano shapes the storyline with the sheer power of her writing. She elaborates on the human aspects of communication and being misunderstood in a cross-cultural situation. All character interactions bring ideas of human survival to the forefront.

Miano is originally from Cameroon, and she lives in France. Both Tamsin Black and Terese Svodboda translate Miano’s work into English for their readers. Overall, Miano presents a hearty and challenging novel to surely move the reader to action to demand fairness for those people who find themselves under the proverbial oppression of misplaced power.

Written by: Carolyn Espe, May 8th 2010

"If You Leave Us Here, We Will Die": How Genocide Was Stopped in East Timor

admin — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Geoffrey Robinson

Princeton University Press

In 1999, twenty-four years after the original invasion and occupation by Indonesia into the former Portuguese colony, 1,500 East Timorese were killed after a referendum in which the majority voted in favor of independence. Under the Indonesian occupation, hundreds of thousands of East Timorese had already been murdered, debatably, as an act of genocide. That independence was desirable was obvious, yet Indonesian paramilitary groups worked with oppressive diligence to incite fear into hopeful hearts after the country’s landmark referendum. During the outbreak of violence that followed the vote, a significant portion of the country’s infrastructure was destroyed and 400,000 people abandoned their homes.

Geoffrey Robinson—a history professor, scholar of the islands, former Amnesty International principle researcher, and former UN officer based in East Timor during the 1999 conflict—is arguably one of the most informed, compassionate outsiders to tell the story of the violence in the small island nation. In “If You Leave Us Here, We Will Die”, Robinson frames the struggles of East Timor as emblematic of struggles against colonization worldwide. He also explores how Cold War politics impacted nations like East Timor, the intersections of militarism and extreme nationalism, and the overlap in debates over humanitarian aid and intervention.

Unlike some scholars, Robinson posits the theory that the violence in East Timor was neither spontaneous nor a final result of the long-standing ethnic tensions between the Portuguese, Indonesians, and East Timorese. Instead, he makes the case for larger international political and cultural relations that supported Indonesia’s militaristic actions and ideology, tracing several decades of history that led up to the violence of 1999.

In his writing, Robinson mixes historical fact with his own truth, careful to separate but respect both. He explains a complicated past in linear form and displays empathy for people with whom he shared such a life-altering experience. Even if you don’t have much baseline knowledge about the conflicts between these Southeast Asian islands, this book will illuminate the complicated history is accessible terms. Robinson offers crucial perspective on modern colonialism and explores issues of accountability and justice with aplomb.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, April 17th 2010

The Blue Tattoo: The Life of Olive Oatman

admin — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 16:48:00 +0000

By Margot Mifflin

University of Nebraska Press

The Blue Tattoo tells the story of Olive Oatman, a nineteenth century woman with an unusual life. In 1851, Oatman was violently abducted along with her younger sister by Yavapais after watching this group of Native Americans brutally slaughter the rest of her family. What happens after this life-altering event, Mifflin argues, sheds light on American attitudes and treatment toward Native Americans, as well as the role and expectations for women in the 1800s.

It was a blue tattoo on her chin that marked Oatman for the rest of her life and served as a testament to her experience. After her abduction, Oatman was later adopted by the Mohave and assimilated into the tribe. This was evidenced by her tattoo, which Mohave women usually had themselves. Mifflin argues, despite what Oatman and others said later, that the tattoo was one symbol, among others, that she was accepted into the tribe and wanted to be a part of the tribe as well.

Years later, Oatman was “rescued” from the Mohave and had to transition back into White society as an adult. While she was an unusual woman for her time (she was the among the first white women to be tattooed in the United States and went on tour for speaking engagements, another uncommon act for a female to participate in), Oatman allowed her experience with the Mohave to be twisted into one where she was a victim of Native American oppressors. In fact, in subsequent photographs, and at some lectures, Oatman would cover up her chin tattoo with makeup, as if erasing her friendly ties to the Mohave.

Although Oatman’s story on its own is full of intrigue, Mifflin adeptly uses her tale as a springboard for larger issues of the time. Mifflin highlights America’s history of westward expansion through either war or simply seizing new land. The slaughter of Oatman’s family took place as they were heading through what was then Native American territory in the Southwest. While an occasional action by Oatman after her release gave some indication of the affection she felt toward the Mohave, she did not use the spotlight to defend Native American rights or acknowledge the kind treatment she received from the Mohave tribe. After her release, she seemed to bury any of the fondness and goodwill toward the Mohave, and instead, perpetuated the notion that Native Americans were savages.

Mifflin adds that Oatman's tale also reflects upon the unique lifestyle she had as a woman after her release. Oatman, ultimately, had only one immediate family member who survived the massacre and, therefore, little financial support after her release. This was a time when women did not work outside of the home. When faced with being reintroduced into white society, however, Oatman was forced to try to make a living for herself through endeavors like releasing a book about her experience and by attending public speaking events.

In the end, Oatman did what was necessary for her survival in White society. She did what she could to financially support herself by telling the American public what they wanted to hear about her years in captivity. We’ll never know how Oatman really felt about her time with the Mohave, but it is certain that, at the very least, Oatman did push the boundaries of what was thought to be appropriate for women during her time, even if what she did was at the expense of Native Americans.

Written by: Beverly Jenkins-Crockett, November 7th 2009

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

Is the Holocaust Unique?: Perspectives on Comparative Genocide

admin — Sat, 09 May 2009 16:02:00 +0000

Edited by Alan S. Rosenbaum

Westview Press

In the third edition of this book, Alan Rosenbaum has collected a selection of brilliant, incendiary, and questionable essays addressing a sensitive yet much argued question. To quote Israel W. Charny in the foreword, “This book is outstanding because it brings together in one volume the contentious and often unsavory Tower of Babel of scholars’ voices in the field of Holocaust and genocide studies.” Rosenbaum tries to include a range of voices to create a comprehensive approach.

Rosenbaum says that his goal is to “underscore, in one way or another, the centrality of the Holocaust in any broad-based, contemporary inquiry made within the emerging area of comparative genocide studies.” Meaning, should the Holocaust remain the benchmark for modern genocides? Further, can we study the Holocaust alongside the twentieth century atrocities in Rwanda, Cambodia, and Sudan? Or is the Holocaust a particularly unique case of genocide, and should it be studied only within the context of Holocaust scholarship? Whichever side you support, you would be surprised to find that there are many people who vehemently believe the opposite. When we speak of genocides, especially in the twentieth century, the discussion often becomes personal and fraught with emotion.

For me, the chapters hardest to swallow are those too essentialist and definitive. They try to define exactly what a genocide is and therefore exclude certain atrocities from the category of genocide. This is the case in Barbara B. Green’s "Stalinist Terror and the Question of Genocide," where she determines that the Great Famine was not genocide because extermination was not the intent. Comparatively, there are essays that illuminate how learning about the Holocaust can shed light on other atrocities and the danger of future genocides, such as in Kinue Tokudome’s "The Holocaust and Japanese Atrocities" and Ben Kiernan’s "Hitler, Pol Pot, and Hutu Power: Common Themes."

The danger of this book is that it assumes a high level of critical thinking on the part of the reader. Due to the fact that questionable claims are made, one must be discerning and comprehensive in her reading of the essays. Do not assume that you can randomly choose one essay to answer the question “is the Holocaust unique?” I would not choose to teach this book, unless we had the time to read and discuss every essay. I would also only read this with a book group that is ready, critical, and understanding enough to discuss the destruction of human life.

Approaching human rights from an academic and intellectual standpoint can alienate and frustrate many people. To aid with a cohesive reading, Charny has included a very helpful list of questions in the foreword to help guide a reading of each chapter. Is the Holocaust Unique? is a challenging and valuable book for many readers. Even if you have your mind made up regarding your answer to this question you not only will find support for your opinions, but also will learn about other atrocities throughout the world. The mass destruction of human life is always wrong, no matter the ideology framing it, and Rosenbaum’s collection of essays helps to build awareness and knowledge about the roots of genocidal violence.

Written by: Claire Burrows, May 9th 2009

I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given to Me By a Young Lady From Rwanda (4/13/2008)

admin — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 03:18:00 +0000

Phoenix Theatre Ensemble

New York, New York

I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given to Me By a Young Lady From Rwanda is an amazing two-person play set in London, England in the modern day. It chronicles one Rwandan refugee’s struggle to write about what happened to her in 1994, and the Englishman who helps her.

While living in England, Juliette (Susan Hayward) meets an aging poet, Simon (Joseph J. Menino), who works at the refugee center part-time. She comes to him for help in getting her book about the Rwandan genocide published. After reading her work, Simon notes that the book is completely—and only—historical and factual, so much so that he asks, “Where are you in all of this, Juliette? Where is your story?”

The rest of the play follows Simon and Juliette as they create a much more personal account—Juliette’s account—of the genocide. They are the only two characters we ever see, but Simon’s wife and Juliette’s younger brother are important off-stage recurring characters. The theater itself is set very sparsely; only a small table and two straight-backed chairs adorn the stage while most other props are brought to life through the actors’ movements.

I found two things especially interesting about the way the play is performed. First, Simon and Juliette tell the audience their thoughts. At one point, Simon “reads” his poetry for a group of people, but instead of the poem, the audience hears an inner monologue—what Simon is thinking while he’s reading aloud to the imaginary audience. He and Juliette both speak as though directly to the (real) audience throughout the play, whether or not the other character is present. Hayward and Menino, however, do a great job clarifying the separation between personal thoughts meant only for their characters (and the audience) and dialogue with one another.

Secondly, even when Juliette and Simon face each other, they also face the audience. For example, when Simon is reading his poetry to an imaginary audience, he faces the actual audience. Juliette, who is part of the imaginary audience, sits near him, but is also facing the real audience. The effect is notable; though they are not looking at one another (or even facing each other), the actors did a great job making the connection between the two characters clear.

Running for ninety minutes without an intermission, I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given to Me By a Young Lady From Rwanda is a beautiful tribute to the humanity within the inhumanity in the Rwandan genocide. I don’t want to spoil the play for those who would like to see it, but let me say it’s certainly worth the watch. I was brought to tears more than once. The play ends with Juliette and Simon reading her the beginning of her book to an imaginary (and the real) audience: “Once upon a time…” belays their hope for a good and humane future. I congratulate the Phoenix Theatre Enemble, Sonja Linden (the playwright), Joseph J. Menino, and especially Susan Hayward for putting together a truly remarkable performance.

Written by: Viannah Duncan, April 23rd 2008

Underpass

admin — Wed, 11 Jul 2007 23:22:00 +0000

Directed by Rain Breaw

Underpass is a fifteen-minute film about a Cambodian family (survivors of the “Killing Fields”) trying to survive in the USA while also assisting an illegal immigrant, possibly from Mexico. It is about trying to stay sane in a violent world. It is about trying to play by the rules, and still be humane. It is about living with your nightmares.

There is a brilliant colorful thread, which runs throughout this story – the art of the main character, Sann. His art is illegal. He paints pictures under a bridge, hence the title Underpass. What he paints is both beautiful and horrible. He is trying to live with his memories of Cambodia. The resolution, and how the boy comes to terms with his memories of the Cambodian “Killing Fields,” is within his artwork under the bridge! We, the viewers, see the drawings come to life. We see the people killed; blood is spilled. You soon realize that the animation is Sann’s artwork. It is the plot of the film unfolding.

Sann’s mother, who runs a doughnut shop in San Diego, is trying to help an illegal immigrant. The boy wants to turn the illegal immigrant in, but his mother believes “others helped us survive. We should help others…” His mother and sister get along well in the community. There’s a police officer, who comes to the store and talks to the mother. He is also a Cambodian native. He is supportive of the mother, but Sann is hostile towards him.

The conflict within Sann’s psyche is interesting. He is fighting the system (painting his graffiti), and yet combating his memories. Why would he want to turn in the illegal immigrant? Is he afraid of the system here? For someone who lives with the scars of what war and government does, it is a little strange that he would want to turn in this immigrant. However, at one point - and this is depicted in the artwork - Sann finds peace. He regrets that he called the authorities. He tells the immigrant to run. Why Sann makes this impulsive decision is not clear. He begs his mother’s forgiveness, and she does forgive.

My only real problem with this film (besides hating to see bloodshed) is that sometimes the characters mumble. However, that also makes the film more “real.” Real people do not speak clearly! Rain Breaw attended, as she puts it “one of the most diverse schools in the country.” Almost every student in this high school has experienced war and genocide, firsthand. Underpass is loosely based on Breaw’s experience at this high school.

Breaw has produced numerous short films, including the award winning Thermopylae and Archer House. Presently, Breaw and her writing/producing partner, Julie Sifuentes, are working on two feature film projects: Bearing it All and City Heights.

I would recommend Underpass because it is a reminder of what America really is – a melting pot of different cultures. Since the birth of this nation, we have been a nation of immigrants. It’s ironic, don’t you think, considering the present day conservative backlash against immigrants? Watch Underpass for a glimpse of the real USA.

Written by: Patricia Ethelwyn Lang, July 11th 2007