Showing posts with label war. Show all posts
Showing posts with label war. Show all posts
12.4.17
31.3.13
Rebelle..times 10
I began watching Hotel Rwanda again...just to remind me. Sometimes a good film can transport you from the everyday into reality. Sometimes I need to remember what reality is for others. And as the film began, I thought of the need for films like that about Congo. Films, novels, children's stories. Anything and everything to make the people remember. And not even remember, but to know. The reality that continues today. Right now. Because I've been here for five years already and it remains the same. I see myself become complacent. I know that story- about the women in the east, about the children too young to see the things they do. I know that story but what am I doing about it?
People have heard about Rwanda. They've heard about Darfur. But I'm not really sure they've heard about Congo. As I am watching the film, I remember Rebelle....War Witch, in the English title I believe. An amazing film. A Congolese actress from the streets of Kin who won an award even. But I'm still not sure people know about Congo.
The group I have been dancing with would like to celebrate their first anniversary by holding a fundraiser for the women and children in the east. A noble jest, as it is explained in French. It makes good sense- our group of women who come together to find strength, courage and community in dance. We want to show our support for women who need strength, who need courage and who have been let down and abandoned by their communities.
Big names can dot it. Eve Ensler held a dance in the streets for women. One Billion Rising. Even Kinshasa had a chapter. Angelina Jolie has been traveling. And the word is- people need to take her seriously, although I find the picture of the woman sleeping next her really explains it all. Can any American female imagine taking a nap while sitting next to Angelina? Really? But were we to walk a day or two in the steps of that woman, filled with her memories, her struggles, her impossible view of the future, we might find Angelina a bit irrelevant as well.
But big names do draw publicity. They bring news and public interest and hopefully a bit of awareness. Perhaps I was a bit naive to think a small group of women here in Kinshasa could do the same. We've been trying to organize a dance event with our instructor since January. Myself, I was inspired by the youth in Kisangani who rallied together to present a concert for peace as well as the Eves and Angelinas of the world. We are women, and we want to support our sisters.
Organizing a concert in Kinshasa is not as easy as one might think. There is the problem of space, of parking, of inviting the people who are wealthy enough to donate but not so wealthy that they've already closed their eyes to situations they know too well. It's about attracting the people who need to know more and the people who care. Its about inviting the artists who can send a message and presenting an image of strength, solidarity and compassion. And its also about finding a way to do this on a shoe string. Because, franchement, we're not Angelina Jolie. We are a group of women led by a Congolese artist- from Brazzaville, a refugee of war with bullet scars to prove it- who wants to use his talent to support the women of his sister country.
To be sure, the women who attend weekly classes belong to the middle class. They have contacts. And we've been trying to exploit this- true Kinshasa style. True to business anywhere. It's all about the networking. Our efforts have led us down many many roads - many expensive roads- before arriving at a real possibility in negotiating with the Grand Hotel. This appeared to be a lucky break. A soirée at the Grand Hotel could bring the kind of people who can really donate, who would think nothing of parting with a hundred dollars or so for the sake of an elegant evening and a good cause.
The hotel asked for a paper of confirmation from the Hospital Panzi, where we planned to donate the money. The hospital has made recent news concerning Doctor Denis Mukwege and his assassination attempt. Perhaps we aimed too high, because, although the doctor has returned home, the hospital has yet to get back us. About whether or not they'd like to accept our donation. Which complicates things when searching for donors.
It's not the first time I've had this experience in Kinshasa. The experience of trying to give money to people who may not actually be ready to accept it. In this case, however, I was doubly surprised. I guess you can never really get used to the way things work in Congo. Often without logic or reason, but with some kind of synchronicity that can't be counted on or determined. A charity that may or may not accept your gift.
The paper of acceptance is important because, as one hotel worker responded, "So many people talk of the women being raped in the east. But how can it really be possible? All those soldiers....acting like that all of the time. How can it be? It's probably just another scam to get money...."
This was one perspective I'd never really considered. That the Kinois themselves would consider it all a ploy for others to hold fundraisers and pocket the money. But of course, suspicion and connery abound in Kin's "every man for himself" atmosphere. Making it ever easier to believe the cry for the women and children of eastern Congo is but one more scam in the effort to line personal pockets with gold.
While our plans have not yet been realized and the evening of dance and art remains, as yet, uncertain, perhaps any money we raise would be more productively spent on films, children's books, pamphlets, and photos to be distributed on the streets. Because awareness starts at home. And the Kinois need to be the first to rise up for their compatriots, their sisters and children who are living the unimaginable. We need Rebelle times 10. So people remember.
People have heard about Rwanda. They've heard about Darfur. But I'm not really sure they've heard about Congo. As I am watching the film, I remember Rebelle....War Witch, in the English title I believe. An amazing film. A Congolese actress from the streets of Kin who won an award even. But I'm still not sure people know about Congo.
The group I have been dancing with would like to celebrate their first anniversary by holding a fundraiser for the women and children in the east. A noble jest, as it is explained in French. It makes good sense- our group of women who come together to find strength, courage and community in dance. We want to show our support for women who need strength, who need courage and who have been let down and abandoned by their communities.
Big names can dot it. Eve Ensler held a dance in the streets for women. One Billion Rising. Even Kinshasa had a chapter. Angelina Jolie has been traveling. And the word is- people need to take her seriously, although I find the picture of the woman sleeping next her really explains it all. Can any American female imagine taking a nap while sitting next to Angelina? Really? But were we to walk a day or two in the steps of that woman, filled with her memories, her struggles, her impossible view of the future, we might find Angelina a bit irrelevant as well.
But big names do draw publicity. They bring news and public interest and hopefully a bit of awareness. Perhaps I was a bit naive to think a small group of women here in Kinshasa could do the same. We've been trying to organize a dance event with our instructor since January. Myself, I was inspired by the youth in Kisangani who rallied together to present a concert for peace as well as the Eves and Angelinas of the world. We are women, and we want to support our sisters.
Organizing a concert in Kinshasa is not as easy as one might think. There is the problem of space, of parking, of inviting the people who are wealthy enough to donate but not so wealthy that they've already closed their eyes to situations they know too well. It's about attracting the people who need to know more and the people who care. Its about inviting the artists who can send a message and presenting an image of strength, solidarity and compassion. And its also about finding a way to do this on a shoe string. Because, franchement, we're not Angelina Jolie. We are a group of women led by a Congolese artist- from Brazzaville, a refugee of war with bullet scars to prove it- who wants to use his talent to support the women of his sister country.
To be sure, the women who attend weekly classes belong to the middle class. They have contacts. And we've been trying to exploit this- true Kinshasa style. True to business anywhere. It's all about the networking. Our efforts have led us down many many roads - many expensive roads- before arriving at a real possibility in negotiating with the Grand Hotel. This appeared to be a lucky break. A soirée at the Grand Hotel could bring the kind of people who can really donate, who would think nothing of parting with a hundred dollars or so for the sake of an elegant evening and a good cause.
The hotel asked for a paper of confirmation from the Hospital Panzi, where we planned to donate the money. The hospital has made recent news concerning Doctor Denis Mukwege and his assassination attempt. Perhaps we aimed too high, because, although the doctor has returned home, the hospital has yet to get back us. About whether or not they'd like to accept our donation. Which complicates things when searching for donors.
It's not the first time I've had this experience in Kinshasa. The experience of trying to give money to people who may not actually be ready to accept it. In this case, however, I was doubly surprised. I guess you can never really get used to the way things work in Congo. Often without logic or reason, but with some kind of synchronicity that can't be counted on or determined. A charity that may or may not accept your gift.
The paper of acceptance is important because, as one hotel worker responded, "So many people talk of the women being raped in the east. But how can it really be possible? All those soldiers....acting like that all of the time. How can it be? It's probably just another scam to get money...."
This was one perspective I'd never really considered. That the Kinois themselves would consider it all a ploy for others to hold fundraisers and pocket the money. But of course, suspicion and connery abound in Kin's "every man for himself" atmosphere. Making it ever easier to believe the cry for the women and children of eastern Congo is but one more scam in the effort to line personal pockets with gold.
While our plans have not yet been realized and the evening of dance and art remains, as yet, uncertain, perhaps any money we raise would be more productively spent on films, children's books, pamphlets, and photos to be distributed on the streets. Because awareness starts at home. And the Kinois need to be the first to rise up for their compatriots, their sisters and children who are living the unimaginable. We need Rebelle times 10. So people remember.
23.7.12
Surviving laser tag
I have an idea. I'm told the next step is to write it up in a business plan, which I might actually attempt. It's not one of those ideas that will change the world, or one I even feel close to my heart, but it is a simple thought for a business. And it could actually work- were there to be a viable business partner. It's just something I have been keeping around in the back of my mind- for awhile now.
So as Mohamed and I were chatting one night over a late lunch (or perhaps an early dinner, depending on which time zone we are counting ourselves in) I had my mind in that direction- the direction of fun and frivolity. Because not all things in Congo have to be about developing hospitals for the maimed and wounded or plans to reign in children off the street and somehow put a stop to the accusations of witchcraft and sorcery. Sometimes people are just looking for a way to spend a Friday night.
Mohamed was telling me about some of the things he did on his summer vacation in Florida. Although the temperatures seemed to prohibit much outside play, he did venture off to a nearby park a few times and had an exhilarating experience driving go-carts (the real kind, with motors.) I thought of the few places here in Kinshasa where you can go to ride a quad, probably the closest thing to a motorized go-cart to be found in the city, and the tragic story of a teenage death I'd heard about. The young rider was celebrating her birthday and had just called out to her dad to show off her new driving skills when she revved too fast and hit enough of a bump to throw her off the machine, which landed on top of her. There seems no end to the go-cart tragedy stories including one I'd heard of as a kid. It began as a small accident in which a girl had bumped into another car. Both riders appeared fine with only minor stomach pains. Much later, one of them was brought to the hospital where she died from internal injuries. Urban myth perhaps but this story about a Muslim mom made the news as did others about teens and children in unfortunate accidents involving go carts. Considering the level of safety consciousness generally present here in Kin, motorized go-carts are probably not the best business plan.
The highlight of the trip to the go-cart park, however, was the laser tag section. It sounded as if the arena was outside, with Mohamed and his brothers hiding behind trees and ducking under bushes. I was reminded of the roller skating rink I had gone to as a teen. Somewhere between the time I stopped going and the time I brought my own children there, they'd installed a laser arena. It was all strobe lights and loud music. I never really checked it out. Emmanual Jal has me pretty much convinced that war games aren't really games. But for a minute I was thinking about my business plan for a skating rink here in Kin and wondering what other attractions might help it grow. Perhaps a minute is even too long to describe the time it took for this thought to really land.
Because as Mohamed described the game, his face morphed into the face of the young Congolese fleeing their homes, running through darkness filled with fear and the sound of gunshots. I could only imagine this game to be a cruel irony- a recreation of a real life event. The juxtaposition of this image with that of so many American children enjoying a carefree day "shooting" their friends was more than I could really process. "You know, for some people that's a reality," I began. Mohamed and I had yet another one of those talks....not the "eat-your-food-because-some-child-is-starving-in-Africa" talk but a real discussion. About how people live and the complexities that war brings to ordinary boys like him. (Although, I must say Mohamed gets the starving children perspective. I have had more than one discussion with teachers and lunchroom monitors about his over zealous preaching to classmates who dare to head to the bin with so much as a scrap of food on their plate....)
We talk about war and its consequences. We talk about reasons why people fight and what they hope to gain by it. We even talk about what happens to the towns and villages that get caught up in the midst of the conflicts. Our talks are full of questions and suppositions and sometimes child like solutions.
But Mohamed almost always seems to end with a shrug and "I know. But this isn't real." He seems to see a distinct difference between his gaming and others reality. Perhaps it is too much too expect that he would empathize enough to swear off war and gun play. After all, it really is one of those situations we cannot imagine ever intruding into our lives.
What I have noticed - and appreciated- about entertainment here in Kin is that it is generally simple. Play spaces for children often resemble little more than what can be found in an average American backyard. And Kinois pay to bring their children for play, for parties and for weekend amusement. So, it seems the best business plan will follow this model. A skating rink, simply put outdoors, with some of those trademark blue plastic chairs and a table or two. And maybe a pizza cone truck nearby. Of course, the loud music is probably a must. It is Kinshasa, after all. But for now, it seems best to leave the strobe lights and laser attacks to the children of the West, who have the luxury to play out the war games that other children are trying to survive.To be sure, most Kinshasa kids have no real experience with war either- and would probably love a game of laser tag as much as Mohamed. But the irony of families paying for a real live war game is just too much, and I certainly don't want to be the one sponsoring it. Friday night fun and birthday bashing needn't imitate the woes of the country.
So as Mohamed and I were chatting one night over a late lunch (or perhaps an early dinner, depending on which time zone we are counting ourselves in) I had my mind in that direction- the direction of fun and frivolity. Because not all things in Congo have to be about developing hospitals for the maimed and wounded or plans to reign in children off the street and somehow put a stop to the accusations of witchcraft and sorcery. Sometimes people are just looking for a way to spend a Friday night.
Mohamed was telling me about some of the things he did on his summer vacation in Florida. Although the temperatures seemed to prohibit much outside play, he did venture off to a nearby park a few times and had an exhilarating experience driving go-carts (the real kind, with motors.) I thought of the few places here in Kinshasa where you can go to ride a quad, probably the closest thing to a motorized go-cart to be found in the city, and the tragic story of a teenage death I'd heard about. The young rider was celebrating her birthday and had just called out to her dad to show off her new driving skills when she revved too fast and hit enough of a bump to throw her off the machine, which landed on top of her. There seems no end to the go-cart tragedy stories including one I'd heard of as a kid. It began as a small accident in which a girl had bumped into another car. Both riders appeared fine with only minor stomach pains. Much later, one of them was brought to the hospital where she died from internal injuries. Urban myth perhaps but this story about a Muslim mom made the news as did others about teens and children in unfortunate accidents involving go carts. Considering the level of safety consciousness generally present here in Kin, motorized go-carts are probably not the best business plan.
The highlight of the trip to the go-cart park, however, was the laser tag section. It sounded as if the arena was outside, with Mohamed and his brothers hiding behind trees and ducking under bushes. I was reminded of the roller skating rink I had gone to as a teen. Somewhere between the time I stopped going and the time I brought my own children there, they'd installed a laser arena. It was all strobe lights and loud music. I never really checked it out. Emmanual Jal has me pretty much convinced that war games aren't really games. But for a minute I was thinking about my business plan for a skating rink here in Kin and wondering what other attractions might help it grow. Perhaps a minute is even too long to describe the time it took for this thought to really land.
Because as Mohamed described the game, his face morphed into the face of the young Congolese fleeing their homes, running through darkness filled with fear and the sound of gunshots. I could only imagine this game to be a cruel irony- a recreation of a real life event. The juxtaposition of this image with that of so many American children enjoying a carefree day "shooting" their friends was more than I could really process. "You know, for some people that's a reality," I began. Mohamed and I had yet another one of those talks....not the "eat-your-food-because-some-child-is-starving-in-Africa" talk but a real discussion. About how people live and the complexities that war brings to ordinary boys like him. (Although, I must say Mohamed gets the starving children perspective. I have had more than one discussion with teachers and lunchroom monitors about his over zealous preaching to classmates who dare to head to the bin with so much as a scrap of food on their plate....)
We talk about war and its consequences. We talk about reasons why people fight and what they hope to gain by it. We even talk about what happens to the towns and villages that get caught up in the midst of the conflicts. Our talks are full of questions and suppositions and sometimes child like solutions.
But Mohamed almost always seems to end with a shrug and "I know. But this isn't real." He seems to see a distinct difference between his gaming and others reality. Perhaps it is too much too expect that he would empathize enough to swear off war and gun play. After all, it really is one of those situations we cannot imagine ever intruding into our lives.
What I have noticed - and appreciated- about entertainment here in Kin is that it is generally simple. Play spaces for children often resemble little more than what can be found in an average American backyard. And Kinois pay to bring their children for play, for parties and for weekend amusement. So, it seems the best business plan will follow this model. A skating rink, simply put outdoors, with some of those trademark blue plastic chairs and a table or two. And maybe a pizza cone truck nearby. Of course, the loud music is probably a must. It is Kinshasa, after all. But for now, it seems best to leave the strobe lights and laser attacks to the children of the West, who have the luxury to play out the war games that other children are trying to survive.To be sure, most Kinshasa kids have no real experience with war either- and would probably love a game of laser tag as much as Mohamed. But the irony of families paying for a real live war game is just too much, and I certainly don't want to be the one sponsoring it. Friday night fun and birthday bashing needn't imitate the woes of the country.
12.6.10
Proof Positive
I tend to be a bit behind the times. It’s a purposeful lateness that I can’t quite explain. I just know that I am immediately skeptical about all things on the bestseller list or that receive major media attention. Usually, I let the furor die down before I cautiously approach to see what all the hype was about. And so it was no surprise that I came to be seated in the TASOK Cultural Arts Center (CAC) watching Avatar late one evening in March long after most of my friends in the US had already seen it. The movie was being shown as a fundraiser for the boys soccer team (entrance to the movie was free of course; they sold popcorn to raise the actual money.)
As with most viewers, I was taken in immediately by the special effects. The blues were richer and the greens were deeper than anything I had seen recently. The movie had really only just begun when I began to wonder why no one had told me it was about the Congo. It seemed so clear to me I actually looked around to see if there was anyone close by who could confer. It began to feel more and more eerie. I was living in the Congo after all; why hadn’t anyone mentioned to me that this movie receiving all the hype was about the very country I had come to call home for the past two years?
I was accompanied by my boys, who really haven’t reached the intellectual maturity I was looking for to confirm my ideas. In fact, by the time Jake was being chased by the creatures Mohamed had decided maybe he wasn’t old enough for the movie after all and we should go home. We stuck it out a bit longer, but I did miss the ending. And I missed the ending for another few months before I finally had the chance to see the movie in its entirety. I asked around…. “How did it end?” And I got the same reply, “It was ok.” This from the same people who never told me the movie was practically a living replica of the present day DRC. I should have known “ok” meant something else completely.
There were so many moments of ‘coincidence’ that I actually took notes while Mohamed watched a second time (I guess he grew up a bit in those few months.)
Here is the proof positive that Pandora is easily an equal to modern day Congo:
There is, of course, the jungle vast in its mysteries and stunning in its beauty. It is the home to many animals and referred to as the source of life. I found it especially poignant when Grace was trying to explain the ‘global network’ that the trees represented to a disbelieving Parker. This is exactly what is happening to our rainforest areas today. Their role in replenishing our atmosphere with oxygen and cleaning the carbon dioxide pollutants is completely undervalued. As humans, we seem to completely be ignoring our need and dependence on the rainforest in sustaining the balance of our environment as we know it and currently survive in. We seem to be like Parker, who is in a state of refusal that the trees could hold any biologic value worth more than the precious rock he is seeking to convert into dollars.
Parker is willing to destroy an entire race of people and possibly alter the ecological balance of the planet in search of this rock. There is a clear correlation here to the current marauding of Congo. The rock in the movie seems to stand for every resource that has ever been plundered from Congolese soil- rubber, tin, diamonds, and coltan. With every Western invention that makes life quicker, smoother and richer, Congo is the source of the material. From automobiles to airplanes, from computers to cell phones and from our throw away lifestyles (think aluminum soda cans) to pure entertainment (video games, race cars, cameras) the materials needed to create these pleasures comes from the earth of Congo. Life for most Congolese does not include owning a computer, flying across the country, investing in gold or receiving top quality medical care. These things Westerners take for granted as part of normal life come at the cost of Congolese lives. The majority of people don’t even know it. Men, women and children are dying- have been dying and are continuing to be killed-in order to ensure that the supply of resources continues.
In turn, this is similar to when Neytiri tells Jake he is like a child. Western society desires to have its demands for easy lives, instant pleasure and constant entertainment met, regardless of cost or effect. Jake, at least, is open to learning and wants to be taught how to see. “You can’t be taught to see,” comes the response. It is a moment to wonder if some societies will ever grow up, wake up, accept responsibility for the consequences of their lives and take action to make a real and solid change.
I’m still hoping for more than a Hollywood ending as the movie continues to shock me with message after message. Trying to incite war into the hearts and minds of his compatriots, the Colonel says “We’ll blast a crater so deep in their racial memory they won’t come within 1,000 meters of this place ever again.” I am stunned. Because ‘blasting a crater in their racial memories’ is a perfect metaphor to describe the era of King Leopold in Congo. After becoming somewhat educated about this particularly brutal period in history, I can see a similarity in the idea of crushing a people so completely they live in a fear so intense that future generations for decades suffer a development of culture, confidence and ego at the most basic level. It gave me chills to hear that line spoken with such voice and emotional hatred. Not just a movie, but a representation of the revulsion and disregard one people has held for another in our not so distant past.
There are many other, smaller references that continued to shout out “Africa” and more specifically, “Congo” to me as I viewed the film. The constant references to the ancestors and the power, magic and guidance that can be found there is clearly an African belief (if only we could all accept looking to our past to find wisdom for our future.) The idea of referring to the natives as ‘hostiles’ when the violent acts were initiated (and in some cases choreographed right down to training and placement of weapons) by the foreigners seems to mirror exactly Western notions of ‘tribal wars’ and ‘angry Africans fighting amongst themselves.’
I found a few things personally relevant and haunting such as Jake’s video blog when he states that ‘everything seems backwards now….like in here is the true world and out there is the dream.’ After living in Africa for 2 years, I can say I feel the same way. This is the true reality- where there are problems to be solved, people to feed and wars to be stopped- as opposed the harsh bright lights of America that will have you believe there are things to be bought, entertainment to be pursued, and people and problems to be ignored.
Finally, I found the idea of the Avatar itself to be pretty convincing. It can be exhausting being white in Africa and I often find myself wishing for an Avatar to disguise me. Most often I forget to notice what color I am----I spend so much time staring out from behind my eyes at deep browns, smooth chocolates and rich tans that I forget my white skin stands out, marking me as different. But on those moments when it is brought to my attention (usually in the face of some injustice) I am outraged, exasperated and wishing to blend in—hide behind the eyes of an Avatar, imagine something different in the way Jake was able to experience a different perspective. The ultimate in walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. But that was not entirely the intention. The Avatar was meant to provide inside information that could be used to destroy the people of Pandora. Similarly, many African leaders today are living breathing shells filled with ideaology, greed, and military training of the West. These leaders are then returned to their countries, posing as people who stand for and support independence and justice, when in truth, behind their facade is an American business, government or family pulling strings and reaping millions in rewards while the civilians continue to be, not just cast aside, but trampled upon and torn apart, crushed and incinerated like long forgotten refuge.
While the Avatar solution may have provided a creative way for some earthlings to experience life on Pandora, the ending to this movie seemed to employ no creativity at all. “It’s ok.” That’s what people told me. It ends with a war. That's what they didn't say. Typical. Historical. Disappointing. There are no winners with war, only destruction and devastation. It's not "o.k." at all. If we can’t imagine an alternate ending in art, how will we ever arrive at one in real life? It’s time we begin to imagine a new solution, rehearse it in our movies and stories, suggest it in our paintings and photographs. Use art not just to mirror reality, but to change it.
As with most viewers, I was taken in immediately by the special effects. The blues were richer and the greens were deeper than anything I had seen recently. The movie had really only just begun when I began to wonder why no one had told me it was about the Congo. It seemed so clear to me I actually looked around to see if there was anyone close by who could confer. It began to feel more and more eerie. I was living in the Congo after all; why hadn’t anyone mentioned to me that this movie receiving all the hype was about the very country I had come to call home for the past two years?
I was accompanied by my boys, who really haven’t reached the intellectual maturity I was looking for to confirm my ideas. In fact, by the time Jake was being chased by the creatures Mohamed had decided maybe he wasn’t old enough for the movie after all and we should go home. We stuck it out a bit longer, but I did miss the ending. And I missed the ending for another few months before I finally had the chance to see the movie in its entirety. I asked around…. “How did it end?” And I got the same reply, “It was ok.” This from the same people who never told me the movie was practically a living replica of the present day DRC. I should have known “ok” meant something else completely.
There were so many moments of ‘coincidence’ that I actually took notes while Mohamed watched a second time (I guess he grew up a bit in those few months.)
Here is the proof positive that Pandora is easily an equal to modern day Congo:
There is, of course, the jungle vast in its mysteries and stunning in its beauty. It is the home to many animals and referred to as the source of life. I found it especially poignant when Grace was trying to explain the ‘global network’ that the trees represented to a disbelieving Parker. This is exactly what is happening to our rainforest areas today. Their role in replenishing our atmosphere with oxygen and cleaning the carbon dioxide pollutants is completely undervalued. As humans, we seem to completely be ignoring our need and dependence on the rainforest in sustaining the balance of our environment as we know it and currently survive in. We seem to be like Parker, who is in a state of refusal that the trees could hold any biologic value worth more than the precious rock he is seeking to convert into dollars.
Parker is willing to destroy an entire race of people and possibly alter the ecological balance of the planet in search of this rock. There is a clear correlation here to the current marauding of Congo. The rock in the movie seems to stand for every resource that has ever been plundered from Congolese soil- rubber, tin, diamonds, and coltan. With every Western invention that makes life quicker, smoother and richer, Congo is the source of the material. From automobiles to airplanes, from computers to cell phones and from our throw away lifestyles (think aluminum soda cans) to pure entertainment (video games, race cars, cameras) the materials needed to create these pleasures comes from the earth of Congo. Life for most Congolese does not include owning a computer, flying across the country, investing in gold or receiving top quality medical care. These things Westerners take for granted as part of normal life come at the cost of Congolese lives. The majority of people don’t even know it. Men, women and children are dying- have been dying and are continuing to be killed-in order to ensure that the supply of resources continues.
In turn, this is similar to when Neytiri tells Jake he is like a child. Western society desires to have its demands for easy lives, instant pleasure and constant entertainment met, regardless of cost or effect. Jake, at least, is open to learning and wants to be taught how to see. “You can’t be taught to see,” comes the response. It is a moment to wonder if some societies will ever grow up, wake up, accept responsibility for the consequences of their lives and take action to make a real and solid change.
I’m still hoping for more than a Hollywood ending as the movie continues to shock me with message after message. Trying to incite war into the hearts and minds of his compatriots, the Colonel says “We’ll blast a crater so deep in their racial memory they won’t come within 1,000 meters of this place ever again.” I am stunned. Because ‘blasting a crater in their racial memories’ is a perfect metaphor to describe the era of King Leopold in Congo. After becoming somewhat educated about this particularly brutal period in history, I can see a similarity in the idea of crushing a people so completely they live in a fear so intense that future generations for decades suffer a development of culture, confidence and ego at the most basic level. It gave me chills to hear that line spoken with such voice and emotional hatred. Not just a movie, but a representation of the revulsion and disregard one people has held for another in our not so distant past.
There are many other, smaller references that continued to shout out “Africa” and more specifically, “Congo” to me as I viewed the film. The constant references to the ancestors and the power, magic and guidance that can be found there is clearly an African belief (if only we could all accept looking to our past to find wisdom for our future.) The idea of referring to the natives as ‘hostiles’ when the violent acts were initiated (and in some cases choreographed right down to training and placement of weapons) by the foreigners seems to mirror exactly Western notions of ‘tribal wars’ and ‘angry Africans fighting amongst themselves.’
I found a few things personally relevant and haunting such as Jake’s video blog when he states that ‘everything seems backwards now….like in here is the true world and out there is the dream.’ After living in Africa for 2 years, I can say I feel the same way. This is the true reality- where there are problems to be solved, people to feed and wars to be stopped- as opposed the harsh bright lights of America that will have you believe there are things to be bought, entertainment to be pursued, and people and problems to be ignored.
Finally, I found the idea of the Avatar itself to be pretty convincing. It can be exhausting being white in Africa and I often find myself wishing for an Avatar to disguise me. Most often I forget to notice what color I am----I spend so much time staring out from behind my eyes at deep browns, smooth chocolates and rich tans that I forget my white skin stands out, marking me as different. But on those moments when it is brought to my attention (usually in the face of some injustice) I am outraged, exasperated and wishing to blend in—hide behind the eyes of an Avatar, imagine something different in the way Jake was able to experience a different perspective. The ultimate in walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. But that was not entirely the intention. The Avatar was meant to provide inside information that could be used to destroy the people of Pandora. Similarly, many African leaders today are living breathing shells filled with ideaology, greed, and military training of the West. These leaders are then returned to their countries, posing as people who stand for and support independence and justice, when in truth, behind their facade is an American business, government or family pulling strings and reaping millions in rewards while the civilians continue to be, not just cast aside, but trampled upon and torn apart, crushed and incinerated like long forgotten refuge.
While the Avatar solution may have provided a creative way for some earthlings to experience life on Pandora, the ending to this movie seemed to employ no creativity at all. “It’s ok.” That’s what people told me. It ends with a war. That's what they didn't say. Typical. Historical. Disappointing. There are no winners with war, only destruction and devastation. It's not "o.k." at all. If we can’t imagine an alternate ending in art, how will we ever arrive at one in real life? It’s time we begin to imagine a new solution, rehearse it in our movies and stories, suggest it in our paintings and photographs. Use art not just to mirror reality, but to change it.
3.6.10
State of the Union
The nights have become cool and crisp, blowing gentle breezes that make me reach for a sweater or some kind of light wrap. I could never really understand how Africa could be cold, though I'd heard many people suggest it. I guess you must live here to experience it. Of course, it is not the bone chilling, raw winter wind whipping across your cheeks kind of cold, but it is shiver inducing nonetheless.
As we came to the campus street, we paused to let a pizza delivery motorcycle go by. I thought for a minute how the world needs to know that you can get a pizza delivered in Congo. It is not the first image to come to mind when picturing DRC. We were on our way to pick up a school car, which we can use for a nominal fee. Generally, I have nowhere to go with my Kinshasa nights, but every Wednesday I do head up the road for a dance class. Its a short drive and causes me no concern. I have been known to walk occasionally, if I am sure I will have someone to walk back with.
It is travel out into the other areas of Kin that sometimes gives me pause. The city is gearing up for its Independence Day celebration on the 30th of June. I suppose the word independence could be debated in this case, as in many developing countries. There is talk of demonstrations to protest the perceived lack of independence and control and to express general displeasure of those in charge. The normal frustrations of traffic congestion will only be compounded by the expected disruption of a major celebration. I could say I am happy not to be in attendance, but the reality is I would probably spend the day locked behind the walls of TASOK, nothing ventured, nothing lost, nothing experienced.
It is something I miss a bit here- not taking part in local happenings that are a point of pride in other countries. My inbox is flooded with cautionary reminders about what to do if approached by armed robbers, areas of heavy police presence to avoid and other advice about how to navigate daily life. It reads like the evening news and must be considered a s such, I truly believe. It could be too easy to fall into a tainted view of things and begin believing that life here really is all and only bad and everyone is out to get you. Stay out of local taxis. I haven't yet had a bad experience in a taxi....though I suppose I have as much chance of that here as I do in NYC. But I am cautious about large gatherings, have promised not to go into an African stadium and think twice when approaching intersections laden with police. Since the boot, I have only once been summoned to the side of the road....an order which I pretended to heed before quickly driving off.
I hate the fear- however fleeting- I feel and the caution with which I consider every outing. No action is taken quickly or without care. If I want to go somewhere, I inevitably spend a moment considering the possibilities. While I understand every day holds the potential for an innumerable amount of things to become life changing (in a positive or negative way) it was never something I thought consciously about before. This naturally leads me to thoughts of women in the villages who went out only to find food or gather firewood or work in their gardens. These women who ended up losing houses, husbands and sons. These women who, one bright sunny day, were whistling or singing even, thinking of the evening meal they would prepare when suddenly their lives are ripped out from them as they are raped or beaten for an unknown cause. I think about these women almost daily because they are living their lives right here, where I am living my life, under the same sun and stars. The breeze that cools me has blown across their backs as well. I feel at once both so far and helpless and too close and connected.
It is thoughts like these that occupy my mind as I drive about Kinshasa. And upon my return to school, there comes a fork in the road. I prefer to take the right- it leads to a less congested, more scenic route. The isolation, darkness and tranquility have all been given to me as reasons to avoid this road- anything could easily happen here with little help available. What's the state of the country today? I've been known to ask my passengers, or even myself if travelling alone. It's become a daily question as I approach this fork- one now presented with a bit of humor, but perhaps with more seriousness as MONUC turns into MONUSCO and Congo approaches her own elections next year. Happily, I can say I frequently take the right road....the state of the union is holding her own right now..kind of a Congolese status quo.
As we came to the campus street, we paused to let a pizza delivery motorcycle go by. I thought for a minute how the world needs to know that you can get a pizza delivered in Congo. It is not the first image to come to mind when picturing DRC. We were on our way to pick up a school car, which we can use for a nominal fee. Generally, I have nowhere to go with my Kinshasa nights, but every Wednesday I do head up the road for a dance class. Its a short drive and causes me no concern. I have been known to walk occasionally, if I am sure I will have someone to walk back with.
It is travel out into the other areas of Kin that sometimes gives me pause. The city is gearing up for its Independence Day celebration on the 30th of June. I suppose the word independence could be debated in this case, as in many developing countries. There is talk of demonstrations to protest the perceived lack of independence and control and to express general displeasure of those in charge. The normal frustrations of traffic congestion will only be compounded by the expected disruption of a major celebration. I could say I am happy not to be in attendance, but the reality is I would probably spend the day locked behind the walls of TASOK, nothing ventured, nothing lost, nothing experienced.
It is something I miss a bit here- not taking part in local happenings that are a point of pride in other countries. My inbox is flooded with cautionary reminders about what to do if approached by armed robbers, areas of heavy police presence to avoid and other advice about how to navigate daily life. It reads like the evening news and must be considered a s such, I truly believe. It could be too easy to fall into a tainted view of things and begin believing that life here really is all and only bad and everyone is out to get you. Stay out of local taxis. I haven't yet had a bad experience in a taxi....though I suppose I have as much chance of that here as I do in NYC. But I am cautious about large gatherings, have promised not to go into an African stadium and think twice when approaching intersections laden with police. Since the boot, I have only once been summoned to the side of the road....an order which I pretended to heed before quickly driving off.
I hate the fear- however fleeting- I feel and the caution with which I consider every outing. No action is taken quickly or without care. If I want to go somewhere, I inevitably spend a moment considering the possibilities. While I understand every day holds the potential for an innumerable amount of things to become life changing (in a positive or negative way) it was never something I thought consciously about before. This naturally leads me to thoughts of women in the villages who went out only to find food or gather firewood or work in their gardens. These women who ended up losing houses, husbands and sons. These women who, one bright sunny day, were whistling or singing even, thinking of the evening meal they would prepare when suddenly their lives are ripped out from them as they are raped or beaten for an unknown cause. I think about these women almost daily because they are living their lives right here, where I am living my life, under the same sun and stars. The breeze that cools me has blown across their backs as well. I feel at once both so far and helpless and too close and connected.
It is thoughts like these that occupy my mind as I drive about Kinshasa. And upon my return to school, there comes a fork in the road. I prefer to take the right- it leads to a less congested, more scenic route. The isolation, darkness and tranquility have all been given to me as reasons to avoid this road- anything could easily happen here with little help available. What's the state of the country today? I've been known to ask my passengers, or even myself if travelling alone. It's become a daily question as I approach this fork- one now presented with a bit of humor, but perhaps with more seriousness as MONUC turns into MONUSCO and Congo approaches her own elections next year. Happily, I can say I frequently take the right road....the state of the union is holding her own right now..kind of a Congolese status quo.
16.12.08
What it's really like....
shedding some light on the state of women in eastern congo:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UX8X6b7q7s8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UX8X6b7q7s8
it was the part when she said, 'I have three children from the rapes, including the one in my arms...'
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