|
back to top
Festival for Chiapas comes to Asheville
By Nicholas Holt
We are a product of 500 years of struggle: first against slavery, then
during the War of Independence against Spain led by insurgents, then to
avoid being absorbed by North American imperialism, then to promulgate
our constitution and expel the French empire from our soil, and later
the dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz denied us the just application of the
Reform laws and the people rebelled and leaders like Villa and Zapata
emerged, poor men just like us. We have been denied the most elemental
preparation so they can use us as cannon fodder and pillage the wealth
of our country. They don’t care that we have nothing, absolutely
nothing, not even a roof over our heads, no land, no work, no health care,
no food nor education. Nor are we able to freely and democratically elect
our political representatives, nor is there independence from foreigners,
nor is there peace nor justice for ourselves and our children.
But today, we say ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.
-From the Zapatista Army of National Liberation’s First Declaration
from the Lacandon Jungle, Dec. 31, 1993.
This Saturday, July 12, UNCA will host the Festival for Chiapas, an all
day education, arts, and fundraising event for the people of Mexico’s
poorest state.
The people of Chiapas, Mexico’s southernmost state, have been victims
of severe oppression, beginning with the Spaniard invaders in the 16th
century, whose arrival reduced the indigenous Mayan population by half.
Today, the Mexican government’s lust for the region’s natural
wealth, and the influx of investment cash from powerful US businesses
hungry for the same continues to be a source of woe for Mexico’s
poorest state.
Chiapas became the focus of world-wide interest when, on New Years Day
1994, the indigenous Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN) emerged
from the rainforests and occupied six large towns, including the state
capital, San Cristobal de las Casas, in an armed action timed to coincide
with the implementation of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA).
(Multinational corporations were so distraught by the uprising that one,
Chase Manhattan Bank, issued a report, calling on the Mexican government
to “eliminate the Zapatistas.”)
Though a ceasefire was declared 12 days after the uprising, the indigenous
of Chiapas are still denied their constitutionally granted right to protected
communal lands, and continue to be victimized by poverty and the violence
of both the army and its affiliated paramilitary groups.
The Festival for Chiapas will raise money for the Fray Bartolomé
de las Casas Center for Human Rights, an organization which defends human
rights of the people of the region, with a special focus on the indigenous.
The festival will feature local musicians (ranging from folk, to Celtic,
Americana, and a capella), dance, poetry, and a silent auction for goods
and services.
Children will also enjoy jugglers, magic shows, balloon animals, face
painting, and a moon walk.
Documentary films about the struggle of the people of Chiapas will be
shown, as will works by photographer Javier Nicolás.
Nicolás took the photos while taking a vacation from his native
Barcelona, and explained that, at the time, he had no intention of being
drawn into local politics.
But Nicolás, who lived in San Cristobal for four years, explains
that “When you are there, you cannot avoid to take sides.”
And though he makes clear that he limited his actions to photography,
he is emphatic that “Definitely, I was a sympathizer of the Zapatistas.”
Nicolás’ photos are powerful portraits of the men, women,
and children of Chiapas, among them, striking images of members of Zapatista
autonomous communities wearing the characteristic ski masks of the indigenous
rebels.
“It was seeking Javier’s photographs, and hearing on a very
personal level about the situation,” that festival organizer Gail
Forsyth says inspired her to assemble the various performers and artists
for the fundraiser.
“Looking into the eyes of the people in the photographs made it not
just a news story, but something more personal.”
Forsyth calls the performers, all of whom are donating their time, “all
incredibly generous,” and hopes for a large turn out.
Forsyth is especially hopeful lots of children will attend, as well as
plenty of adults armed with generosity and checkbooks.
Because the people of Chiapas, as Nicolás says, “They need
our help.”
The Festival for Chiapas will be held on Saturday, July 12 at UNCA. Festivities
begin at 2:00pm, with documentary films and childrens activities running
through the afternoon. At 7:00pm, performers take the stage and the silent
auction for goods and services will be available for bidding. Afternoon
activities are free--but donations are always welcome. After 7:00pm, the
cost is $10 for adults, $4 for children. For more information, see www.chiapasfest.purplecat.net.
back to top
Terror and readicalism
By Pat Aufderheide
July 1— It’s hard for many veteran leftists to uncurl their
lips on hearing the phrase “Weather Underground.” A home-grown
terrorist movement with pretensions to Third World revolution, it grabbed
the headlines with bombings punctuating ’70s history and stigmatized
the entire range of left activism until its leaders surrendered in disarray.
Even for the Weather-weary, though, the new film The Weather Underground
by Sam Green and Bill Siegel can’t help but hold fascination. Green
and Siegel, who were both children in the ’70s, have made a feature
documentary that goes behind the mask of terror. The result is an illuminating
footnote on history, and also a thought-provoking insight into extremist
belief communities.
The Weather Underground is not a wide-angle history film; it doesn’t
even claim to give you movement history. Instead, it provides a platform
for its central characters — members of the underground — to
recall and reflect on their own lives. The result is character studies
that are both uncommented and unvarnished, and an insider’s tale
of group madness. “When you feel you have right on your side,”
says one-time Weatherman Brian Flanagan, standing in the bar he now owns,
“you can do some horrific things.” And some ludicrous ones.
The film is organized chronologically, with flash-forwards to today as
middle-aged Weatherfolk — many of them still social activists —
retell their memories. The story begins in 1968, with the disillusionment
prompted by escalation of the war in Vietnam, assassinations, and splintering
of left groups. The impossibly young activists, still vibrant in the Ektachrome
tints of that era’s film, glitter with the charisma that Todd Gitlin
recalls. He likens them to Bonnie and Clyde, and says, with a shrug: “They
were into youth, exuberance, sex, drugs. They wanted action.”
It continues with a failed search for the working class; for an end to
monogamy through group sex; and an end to the state through bombings.
The New York townhouse explosion that killed three Weathermen as they
were preparing bombs sends the rest underground and puts a damper on grand
terrorist schemes. Until they surrender — lost in America but still
outwitting the hapless FBI — they execute publicity-seeking attacks
on symbolically rich sites like the Pentagon, State Department, police
and state government offices, and ITT and Gulf Oil headquarters.
What propelled them, other than the thrill of attention? They each refer
to the revolutionary tenor of the time, and to their revulsion at American
empire. “Doing nothing in a period of violence is a form of violence,”
Naomi Jaffe explains quietly. “The Vietnam War made us all a little
crazy,” one says, and another seconds it. “None of us thought
we were gonna live through it,” says Bill Ayers.
No matter what, the filmmakers resolutely avoid commenting on their central
characters; they don’t contradict, contextualize, celebrate, or snicker.
And so they build, through the characters revealed in these interviews,
a picture of a group whose self-delusion deepened until underground life
sealed their isolation. The occasional glimpses of the tumultuous moment
— shooting of a Vietnamese in the street, dying US soldiers, presidents
pontificating — are gestures to headlines of the times. More importantly,
as they exploit the privilege they are so embarrassed by with every media
appearance and symbolic act, they testify to the frenetically mediacentric
society the Weatherfolk were media stars in.
Bernardine Dohrn was the star of the Weathermen then, and she’s the
star of this movie. Unrepentant and self-assured, she provides guided
tours of once-hot spots, including her first hideout (but doesn’t
share how she managed to stay underground for a decade). Her husband,
Bill Ayers, walks over the ground he once rioted over in Chicago. Like
Naomi Jaffe, they are proud of having been part of a worldwide revolutionary
movement. But they never explain exactly how they were part of such a
movement, other than in their minds. (They do claim more of an alliance
with the Black Panthers, but it’s more than others would acknowledge.)
In this film, as in life, the Weatherfolk speak mostly to each other.
Others live with regret and self-doubt, but in no less of a feedback loop.
Mark Rudd, a firebrand student organizer at Columbia University, is now
a community college math teacher with a bad conscience. David Gilbert
takes solace in not having killed anyone else with their bombs (even though
he was part of a holdup in which others died later —an incident the
film ignores). The film closes with Brian Flanagan at the site of the
New York townhouse (“it never gets any easier”) and Rudd saying,
“In a way, I still don’t know what to do with this knowledge.”
They may not be much as political analysts, but they are fascinating as
survivors of a political cult.
Filmmakers Green and Siegel were both raised in families where politics
was dinner-table conversation. Green was attracted as a child to the Weather
Underground as part of what he now calls his “false nostalgia”
for the ’60s. An award-winning filmmaker, Green has focused on dissident,
offbeat, and criminal characters in other films, such as The Rainbow Man/John
3:16 and Pie Fight ’69. Siegel (who once interned at In These Times)
found himself captivated by the puzzle of the “generational cliff”
of memory that the Weathermen had tumbled over. “No one younger than
me knows who they were,” he said at the Sundance Film Festival, where
the film was shown before winning the top documentary award at the San
Francisco Film Festival. They decided the Weather Underground would make
a great subject, and also could provoke some good conversations about
politics, violence, and responsibility. The two spent two years meeting
with principals, winning their trust, before commencing filming. They
also spoke to harsh critics, and read histories of the period.
They were finishing the film (which has major funding from the Independent
Television Service, the part of public TV that funds work “for underserved
audiences”) when 9/11 hit. “That changed the editorial focus,”
said Green. “It made the whole issue more serious. There was a lot
less room for humor.”
Bernardine Dohrn, who also attended Sundance, misses the humor. “We
blew up a statue of a policeman —a statue! It was a joke!” she
says. Bill Ayers, at her side but plugged into a cell phone to receive
word from his son of an antiwar rally in Washington, nods. “It was
poke-you-in-the-eye stuff,” he acknowledges. “It was theater,”
Dohrn says emphatically.
Both praise the film for its “no nostalgia, no axe to grind”
approach, but they hate the ending. “It ends with sadness for the
loss of three people. But tragedy pulled us back from a very dangerous
strategy,” says Dohrn. “I look back and say, this was a very
restrained movement. We weren’t wrong about the US power internationally,
about the jailing of black people. We were doing our work in a way where
we didn’t kill people.”
Still, Ayers likes how they were portrayed. “This is a film about
people who were in earnest, maybe too earnest, about being engaged. It
is a cautionary tale about only listening to yourselves.” That’s
not a mistake Green and Siegel intend to make.
Source: In These Times
back to top
|
