What would you risk for the sake of your writing?

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I posted earlier to the "Sorry to get...your ass" thread, recommending an award-winning Iranian film called "The Circle" for those who've expressed an interest in the lives of women in an Islamic state.

Searching reviews of the film, which won at Cannes in 2001, I found this radio interview with the director that was broadcast a year later, following the arrest of another Iranian filmmaker for treason. Her film had previously been cleared by censors; she was arrested in a crackdown on the industry that's credited here to the Iranian gov't's reaction to the U.S. presence in Afghanistan.

The risks and repercussions of free expression in Iran offer a chilling picture of life in a "faith-based" society. The religion & sex thread has had some thoughtful and provocative comments about the politics of religion. Rather than confine this to the "Sorry...ass" thread, I thought I'd take the issue of religion vs. free expression to the broader AH audience, and ask, "How many would be willing to walk the political tightrope that these filmmakers face in their determination to be heard?"

(I hope you all say you'd risk anything, because I'm going to need my dirty stories fix more than ever, when Big Brother finally brings us to heel.)

:D

At the end of the interview is a review of the film published after it won at Cannes and before the gov't crackdown.

------------------------------
The Circle

Radio National’s film critic, Julie Rigg, spoke to director, Jafar Panahi, about the increasingly difficult conditions for filmmakers in Iran. The current political climate is no exception - one socially critical filmmaker, Tahmineh Milani, has recently been charged with treason. Panahi’s film,'The Circle', is critical of the treatment of women under this regime and has never been screened in Iran.

The following is an edited transcript from Radio National’s Sunday Morning program, broadcast on 24/02/2002.

Background:

Jafar Panahi’s film The Circle won the Jury Prize at Cannes in 2001. The latest in a stream of gifted filmmakers to emerge in Iran in the last decade or so, Jafar Panahi has been feted by critics round the globe for this astonishing yet grim portrait of the situation of women in Iran.

Panahi grew up in a poor quarter of Teheran, got his tertiary education in the army, and then decided to become a filmmaker. He apprenticed himself to the Iranian master Abbas Kiarostami and then had a modest international success with his film The White Balloon.

But 'The Circle' is a much tougher film and, since America invaded Afghanistan, things have become very difficult in Iran for Panahi and other filmmakers whose films raise some difficult questions.

Julie Rigg:
Jafar Panahi welcome. Last time we talked you’d just got the Fipresci Award for ‘The Circle’ at the San Sebastian film festival, and it still hadn’t been released in Iran. Has it screened at all in Iran since then?

Jafar Panahi:
No unfortunately it has not yet launched to be screened. [It has] the same problems and it is more difficult even. The man responsible for the movies in Iran has said that this movie is never to be screened, and even that it should be burnt.

Julie Rigg:
‘The Circle’ is a devastating picture of the situation of women in Iran, even down to the smallest things – they cannot travel unescorted, in their public lives they are harassed and bullied and watched under surveillance by men, even a little thing like smoking a cigarette, in a society where most of the men smoke, women can only do so in secret, not in public. I imagine, if anything, things have changed for the worse since you made that film in your country?

Jafar Panahi:
It changes all the time. Sometimes it gets better, sometimes more difficult, but unfortunately [during the making of] this film we felt that it is becoming worse. Smoking in this movie could be added to that. To interpret [smoking] in a broader way [would be to] say that we have limitations, so it could be a metaphor to explain other limitations that exist.

Julie Rigg:
I understood it as a metaphor. The women in this film have some very tough solutions to choose. I mean we see a woman giving birth to a daughter and immediately there is alarm in the family, it’s not good to bring a daughter into the world instead of a son. We see women out of jail that we don’t know what they were charged with. We see a woman trying to have her daughter adopted by some visiting westerners, by abandoning her outside a hotel. It’s like a circle of imprisonment and small situations. All these stories, are these things you’ve seen around you?

Jafar Panahi:
This could exist at any time. She thinks they have been in a small prison but when they go out of that small prison they are in a bigger prison as if they were going to the same place that they were before.

Julie Rigg:
You give us a very revealing picture of life in Teheran, the texture of life in the streets, the formal and informal structures of power and people’s attitudes. I’m wondering about life in Teheran now since the American invasion of Afghanistan. Now the Americans are talking about taking the so-called ‘war against terror’ against other countries, maybe even your own. What’s been the effect of this?

Jafar Panahi:
I just show a part of that, one part of the street, in my movies. When you are watching [life in] Teheran maybe you won’t see all these things happening. For example, if you see an American movie, and you see a bank robbery or a shooting, it doesn’t mean that when you go to the United States these things will happen all the time.

What is happening around us I couldn’t say. I don’t find any excuse for the United States and what happened in Afghanistan. I don’t know what will happen but I’m sure a lot of innocent people have been killed, people who have a lot of [other] problems perhaps. But this is not the solution, this is not the best solution, you have to look deeper into the problem. Why do people like Bin Laden exist in the world? You have to see where the problem lies. The US always needs a marionette [in order to] defend what they are doing. For example, we have Saddam but they never killed him, he is still there. And they entered Afghanistan, they killed people - but not Bin Laden; so they always need someone.

Julie Rigg:
We know that, as a reaction possibly to the United States threats, the political climate in Iran has become tighter; it has been said about your own film that it should be burned. I’ve also read about the arrest for the first time of a woman filmmaker, Tahmineh Milani, who released a film which had actually been approved by government censors, and now she’s charged with treason, crimes against the state. How can people go on making films in this difficult climate?

Jafar Panahi:
For many films, in other countries also, you always have the same problems because the social filmmakers are speaking about problems in these countries. For example what happened to Imail Nawaz was the same thing. In a closed system, when you make movies, you know that it will be banned but you are hoping that you [will be able to] screen it and that, one day, it will be seen by everyone. This is a characteristic of these kinds of movies. In Iran we have 60 to 70 films a year; we have every kind, you have family movies, industrial, commercial and bar movies, and then four or five movies like mine.

Julie Rigg:
So are you personally frightened that if you make another critical film you might be arrested as Tahmineh Milani has been?

Jafar Panahi:
I was abroad when it happened to Tahmineh Milani and when I came back I defended her and I even gave my award to her. You know that these things happen but you continue to make movies. We have had three stages in history of filmmaking in Iran - special conditions.

One of them was right after the revolution and a lot of filmmakers had difficulties because they had made their film before the revolution, and after that the films had been banned.

The second one was six or seven years ago and we can compare it to McCarthy and the blacklist. At that time every filmmaker was thinking that maybe he’s on the blacklist.

The third stage started two weeks ago, and it has been started, I think, by Tahmineh Milani. [Only because of the protests] by other filmmakers, has she been released from prison. Two movie magazines have been banned. At the moment in Iran we have a festival [that goes] for 15 days, after which they have said that they will decide on the fate of these magazines. But the conditions are becoming difficult and dangerous.

Julie Rigg:
I understand Jafar Panahi our thoughts are with you there. Thankyou so much.
---------------------------

MOVIE REVIEW
By SEAN AXMAKER
SPECIAL TO THE POST-INTELLIGENCER

Friday, April 27, 2001

THE CIRCLE
DIRECTOR: Jafar Panahi
CAST: Fereshteh Sadr Orafi, Maryiam Parvin Almani, Nargess Mamizadeh
RUNNING TIME: 91 minutes
LANGUAGE: In Farsi with English subtitles
RATING: No rating, contains discussions of abortion and prostitution

'Circle' illustrates the snare of powerlessness for women in Iran

"It's a girl."

The first words spoken in Jafar Panahi's "The Circle" should be a celebration. They're so troubling to the anxious grandmother pacing in the hospital waiting room that she needs to confirm them with another nurse.

Communicating through an tiny opening in a thick door like a prisoner, she insists: "The ultrasound said it would be a boy," as if willing it to be so. "The relatives will be furious."

From this ominous prelude emerges a portrait of Iranian society that resembles a police state (not a surprise the film was banned in Iran). Women scramble through streets, dodging cops like fugitives. Some of them are (their crimes are left ominously vague), but another is a pregnant woman tossed out of the family home and searching for a doctor who will risk giving her an abortion.

Panahi, whose previous films "The White Balloon" and "The Mirror"are deft, delicate little tales about the innocence of childhood, brings a passion and an anger to "The Circle."

A mix of the poetic and the polemic, the film is oddly abstract and untethered, with men little more than anonymous authority figures and women rarely more than roughly sketched martyrs. It's Panahi's sensitivity to moment-by-moment sensations and the more subtle realities of the status of Iranian women that brings the film to life.

Constructed as a roundelay, the film drifts from one plight to another with an easy grace. The women search for a place to smoke in public (prohibited by law) and are constantly reminded to wrap themselves under their concealing chadors (which they continually remove when in private). One young woman has to fast-talk a ticket salesman into securing a seat on a bus out of town because he is not allowed to sell tickets to single, unaccompanied women.

The prisonlike imagery of the opening scene becomes literal by the last scene. The tiny opening is shut tight with a clang that reverberates through the credits and beyond.
 

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Gosh, ella, I have no real clue how to answer your question. I am well aware of political repression of artists in several countries, more so in the Soviet Union, China and "Latin" America.

I take so much for granted and am as spoiled as anyone in the U.S., can't imagine really what I would do.

I have close friends from Iran (one is an artist) so I know a bit of what they went through. They had to leave after the revolution. One of them went through torture and prison. Still, I really cannot say what I would do if forced to make choices about my freedoms.

sorry for the poor response,

Perdita
 
I was looking through Wirter's Market, and there is a listing for a literary magazine that is looking for writers who will risk everything for their writing- including their writing careers. And they don't pay much either! I don't quite understand how they manage to stay around.
 
perdita said:
Still, I really cannot say what I would do if forced to make choices about my freedoms.

sorry for the poor response,

Hey, don't apologize to me. I'd be the first one to defend the rest of you, and the first one squealing on you when they pulled out the fingernail pliars. I apologize in advance!

:confused:
 
This is a thought provoking question. Perhaps a lot more thought than is good for me. Currently the negative consequences for posting my work are pretty much limited to desparaging anon feedback and the odd nastygram. I suppose I also run a slight risk of another stalker. I stilll post under my real name and am less guarded with personal details of myself than I should be probably.

If the consequences were expanded to official governemnt harassment and the real possibility of being charged with something and dragged off to jail I can't say with 100% certainty I would be willing to runthat risk. I would like to think I was, but I would be less than forthright if I said emphatically I would.

If you expand the possible penalties to death I would have to say I would not post. I would never stop writing of course, but I would defintely cease to post. I love to write and am commited to my craft, but I love a lot of other things in life too.

Sometimes deep introspection is depressing. I suppose the moral for me is I am not overly brave, but I am at least honest with myself and that counts for something.

-Colly
 
Colly, like you I don't think I have any idea of how brave I'd be if I saw my peers being arrested for the capital crime of publishing their thoughts.

As disturbing as it is to read about what these filmmakers are risking, it's encouraging to read that the woman arrested for treason was released because peers in her industry stood up to authorities on her behalf.
 
Hi She,

It's not been mentioned that there has almost always been underground writing, either of the political kind, or porn.

I would see no need to write and openly publish, *in country X*, a book in that would tweak the nose of X's murderous dictator.**

All of us who've lived in the 60s know something of living on the wrong side of the law, though mostly no lives were at stake unless you were black. Just as there will always be drugs and importers and users, there will always be porn creators and consumers. The internet has made that even more clearly true.

J.

**I recognize the heroism of those who openly resist or actively fight with arms against a dictator, but I don't consider that path to be a moral requirement. It's supererogatory.
 
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She,

Your question is a bit too close to my everyday work. Teaching those who fled their own country how to start over in mine.

To be honest, I do a lot to avoid hearing all their stories. I could not function with the hurts, the anger and the fear of all those people inside of me. Of course I hear them anyway. So I skipped the interview.

That should tell you something about the amount of guts I have.

I remember a similar discussion in my family when me and my brothers were kids. Reflecting on WWII and the occupation of my country back then. Question: what would we have done? My parents were aghast that I said I was not sure I would have actually done anything. They did and both lost a few marbles in the process. And created a family with a lot of post war trauma's because of that.

On the other hand, you never know what you will do. And me, keeping my mouth shut? Hard to imagine. :D
 
The reality of the question is not what you would risk, but would you risk the lives and well-being of other members of your family and those you love?

It may be easy to decide for yourself. It is not so easy if you know that your partner and children may be tortured or may just disappear.

"He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue of mischief." Sir Francis Bacon.

Totalitarian states depend on fear, not for yourself, but for everyone you care for. Would your writing outweigh the risks to your children? Not the risk of financial distress, but of actual harm, rape, torture and death.

It would be a hard decision to take.

Lidice and Oradour showed that resistance can be repaid not just with death for you and your family but for your whole community.

Og
 
Dear SheRe,
For MY writing? Oh, up to 98 cents. For the writing of others? Quite a lot.
Literararily,
MG
 
I couldn't do it. I'm not saying I wouldn't do it.

Receiving a letter or mail that said "Dear voter, you are requested not to show dissent to the Government under penalty of prison." That would be for the others.

Until the men in shades came to the door and asked me "is it safe?" I would probably blithely carry on, whoever else in my situation was being arrested. Things don't happen to me, they happen to other people.

But I live in good old democratic England with rights and safeguards, and that sort of thing never happens here.

Gauche
 
Hi Gauche. oops, wrong thread.

Ogg makes a good point. Anna Akhmatova and Marina Tsvetaeva, imo two of the greatest poets of the 20th c., had to endure the imprisonment of husbands and sons. One of the greatest poems of the century came from Akhmatova's long, long waits in lines outside the prison which held her son. Here is the opening of Requiem (tr. Judith Hemschemeyer)

Requiem

No, not under the vault of alien skies,
And not under the shelter of alien wings –
I was with my people then,
There, where my people, unfortunately, were.

Instead of a Preface

In the terrible years of the Yezhov terror, I spent seventeen months in the prison lines of Leningrad.

Once, someone “recognized” me. Then a woman with bluish lips standing behind me, who of course had never heard of me, woke up from the stupor to which everyone had succumbed and whispered in my ear (everyone spoke in whispers there):

“Can you describe this?”

And I answered, “Yes, I can.”

Then something that looked like a smile passed over what had once been her face.

---------------
edited to 'fix' (simplify) translation
 
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An interesting question, not one that I can reliably answer having no experience of that kind of oppression. I have a rebellious streak, and will set out to do things if people tell me that I am not allowed to do them. But that is not really the same thing.

A month ago I was in Amsterdam, in one of the local coffee shops (the sort of coffee you smoke), talking to some Israeli lads who were probably only 20 years old. These boys are conscripted as a matter of course in their country - whether or not they believe in war or violence or weapons, they have to do service. In addition, each time they go on leave (particularly in Europe) they will be asked on their return if they have taken drugs. If they say no, they are given a lie detector test to see if they told the truth.

This made me realise how lucky we are (and I believe I speak for the majority on this board) that we can say or write about pretty much what we like without fear of the consequences. Does that qualify us to answer what we would do in the face of government or social oppression of our artistic or literary licence?

I like to think my works here are quite deep and meaningful. However, they do not attempt to make any social or political comment. So at what risk am I of offending the government, even if said government was forcefully against any public uprising?

If the day arises that I feel the need to make political or social comment via literature or art, I will have to ask myself these questions again. Only then will I know if I have the courage to answer them.

ax
 
perdita said:
...Then a woman with bluish lips standing behind me, who of course had never heard of me, woke up from the stupor to which everyone had succumbed and whispered in my ear (everyone spoke in whispers there):

“Can you describe this?”

And I answered, “Yes, I can.”

Then something that looked like a smile passed over what had once been her face.

---------------

What a remarkable gift.
 
ella, I cannot recall the number of months Akhmatova spent writing "Requiem" (a long poem) but she was so afraid of being found out that she would give bits of it to trusted friends who would memorize the sections for her then destroy the paper copy. Later she collected her friends' memories to put the whole thing together. True.

Perdita

Edited to add this:

untitled poem by Akhmatova (tr. Jane Kenyon)

Wild honey has the scent of freedom,
dust—of a ray of sun,
a girl’s mouth—of a violet,
and gold—has no perfume.
Watery—the mignonette,
and like an apple—love,
but we have found out forever
that blood smells only of blood.
 
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In America, we pride ourselves on the freedoms we have here that were earned, and are upheld by the spilled blood of others. These others that I speak of have always come to the forefront in our times of need. And in certain holidays we remember their valiant efforts, and sacrifices with parades, and long speeches. These men and woman who believe that it is each of our responcibilities to defend to the death that which another would yell at the top of their lungs against what we personally believed ourselves. We call them brother, sister, father, mother, etc., others call us simply Soldiers, and yet others called us baby killers, and some still do. Would I continue to write? Perhaps not, but it would be because I took up my other weapon for other writers, that I laid down my own quill. Does it bother me that there are those who would give in to tyrany? Do I get pissed off at those who know nothing of real war, but put down we who do, yet when it arrives are the first to run? Yes, but that too I would defend to the death, as that is what real freedom is. And too, not all soldiers in the fight for freedom wear a uniform, but all bleed just the same. All feel the loss of a loved one, and a friend. Would my family understand my risking their lives if I risked my own? Since I am risking my life for them as well, I can only hope that they would, and be content with that as I can only die but once.

As Always
I Am the
Dirt Man
 
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Dirt, I exclude myself from your "we". Just for the record (i.e, no argument desired),

Perdita
 
perdita said:
Just for the record (i.e, no argument desired),

Perdita [/B]

That's a shame, Perdita, because I found a site with the script for The Argument Clinic.

(Now you say, "No, you didn't.")

----------------

Dirt Man, I have a good friend who was 21 when he received in the mail, a newspaper clipping of himself from his hometown paper, announcing his return from his first tour of duty in Southeast Asia. The sender had circled his photo with a red marker and written, "Welcome home, baby killer." I understand that depth of bitterness. He already felt lousy about the war, and was far too young and carrying to much grief to keep the insults in any perspective. Vietnam veterans are unique in that the country heaped its shame about the war on them, personally.

I suppose when people accuse those of us who are against the war in Iraq of failing to support our troops, they're recalling the godawful treatment of the young men returning from Vietnam at the height of the country's internal struggle of conscience. I wish they had been welcomed more graciously.

Anyway, I wanted to start an argument with Perdita, but I wanted it to be a Python one with only contradictions.

"An argument is more than just a series of contradictions."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is!"

Another thread, another time...
 
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ella, simply define your terms so that I can shoot them down.

Perdita
 
It's a tough question, isn't it. Like Perdita, I have read far too much about the supression of freedoms in the former Soviet Bloc. (And reading was nothing like experiencing it first-hand. Not that anything I dealt with during my short time in the USSR was anything like what the Soviet people had to handle. But it was pretty freakin' scary, I'll tell ya that. Especially when I thought they weren't going to let me leave the country.)

It's one thing to sit there at your computer in your comfy chair knowing that your rights are protected by the Constitution or what have you and say, "Hell, yeah, I'd write whatever I wanted to! No one can intimidate me!" It's quite another to know that by doing so, you are risking not only yourself, not only your family, but *anyone you might have ever come into contact with*. I offer Evgeniia Ginzberg's Journey into the Whirlwind as a most readable example. She was arrested. Not for knowing someone who did something "against the state." No no. Because she knew him and *did not denounce him*.

How anyone can find the strength to write and publish, even if it's samizdat (self-publishing) is quite beyond me. Or the ones who kept writing while emprisoned, using matchsticks and cigarette papers as the tools of their trade.

Really, those of us who have lived in freedom all our lives have no concept of what it's like to attempt to survive in a place like that. None at all. And we're kidding ourselves if we think we do.

(A brief side-note: I also suggest Aleksandr Solzhenistyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich as a quick yet utterly horrifying look at life in a Soviet Gulag. If you do read it, keep in mind as you do that this particular day is an awfully good one for him. And what that really means.)
 
perdita said:
Dirt, I exclude myself from your "we". Just for the record (i.e, no argument desired),

Perdita

I'm a little uncertain as to which "We" you mean here. If you mean you take no pride in blood being spilled for the freedoms that you enjoy, or the "We" who spilled it; meaning that you didn't spill any in battle. In either case that is your perogative, and you are free to express it. Which is also a freedom. Please note that I am not trying to be antagonistic here, I was just replying to the question at the top of this thread. Also, please forgive my rude behavior on a different thread, it wasn't called for. I should have just gone out for a long walk.

As Always
I Am the
Dirt Man
 
Soldiers don't get much choice

Soldiers are sent to fight by politicians. The soldier, except for the genuine volunteer, doesn't get any say in the matter.

Many of those in this country who opposed the war in Iraq made it clear that they supported the troops even if they didn't like the war. That is as it should be and has been influenced by a reaction against the treatment of Vietnam veterans.

Suez was a close as the UK came in the twentieth century to a Vietnam situation. Only recently have those who fought in Egypt been granted "official" recognition but they never received the poor treatment meted out to some Vietnam veterans.

I am grateful to all the allied troops who fought in WWI and WWII defending the freedoms I enjoy. I will never forget them. I will also remember those who have died in wars since WWII and in "police" actions, minor conflicts, call them what you will, but when a soldier dies fighting for this country, or for NATO, or on UN service, I consider that he or she has died for my freedom and that of my children.

I have seen war. I didn't like it. I still don't like it but while there is evil in the world there will be wars and soldiers will die. It is up to the rest of us to try to ensure that the soldiers do not die in unnecessary wars and that we remember those who have died.

Og
 
I'd take great fun in bending the rules, and create stories/movies/pics that challenged authorities without really stepping over the lie. It would amuse the hell out of me to see them steam with anger over my saucy work, while at the same time they had no real grounds for prosecuting me.


I admire my friend M, though. THAT is one courageous woman! I asked her once what she would do if she ever witnessed a crime, say a murder, and the murderer's friends threatened to kill her son if she testified against their friend. Would she dare to testify?

She said yes. "They might kill me and my family whether I testify or not, so I might as well do all that I can to send the bastard to prison!" she said.

Now THAT'S courage in my book!:rose:
 
Hear hear Og

Having read briefly all the above, and having formerly been a soldier myself, who studied certain aspects of the soviet war machine, saw East Germany before the wall fell, served in the first Gulf War, and patrolled the streets of Northern Ireland,
I would like to completely concur with Og's last comments on the subject.

I won't comment more, as my thoughts on the subject are deep and very lengthy, except to say this:


It Is The Soldier


It is the soldier,
not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the soldier,
not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier,
not the student activist,
who has given us the freedom to demonstrate

It is the soldier,
not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial

It is the soldier,
who salutes the flag,
who serves under the flag,
and whose coffin is draped by the flag,
who permits the protester to burn the flag!


Anonymous
 
Re: Hear hear Og

greene14 said:
Having read briefly all the above, and having formerly been a soldier myself, who studied certain aspects of the soviet war machine, saw East Germany before the wall fell, served in the first Gulf War, and patrolled the streets of Northern Ireland,
I would like to completely concur with Og's last comments on the subject.

I won't comment more, as my thoughts on the subject are deep and very lengthy, except to say this:


It Is The Soldier


It is the soldier,
not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the soldier,
not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier,
not the student activist,
who has given us the freedom to demonstrate

It is the soldier,
not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial

It is the soldier,
who salutes the flag,
who serves under the flag,
and whose coffin is draped by the flag,
who permits the protester to burn the flag!


Anonymous

Thank you.

As Always
I Am the
Dirt Man
 
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