The Greatest Silence

The first screening was in a room in the Belgian Parliament.  Shannon had told me that the room would be full for the noon screening, but at 12:15 it was half empty and folks were still streaming in.  The delay worked to our advantage as when we arrived there was no sound system – the tech guys had assumed it was some sort of power-point presentation and were a bit surly about being asked to provide speakers.  Juliette Boulet, the Green Party MP who was sponsoring the event, handled their disrespect with considerable aplomb, especially when they balked at helping find cardboard or table clothes to cover the windows, whingeing that “this is not our job.”  Shannon surmised later that if Juliette had been a man – or perhaps an MP with more seniority – they would not have been so crude and unhelpful.  In the end a chivalrous waiter helped us bock out the uncharacteristic Belgian sunlight.

I had spent part of the day before wandering Brussels a bit agog at all the triumphal arches and palaces, wide boulevards and manicured parks and considering that they were all made possible compliments of King Leopold’s depraved plunder of the Congo over a hundred years ago.  There was something repellant about the plane trees in the King’s garden, all pruned and plucked and wired into tortured, trellised, non-tree-like postures, the nature drained and dragged out of them, sad joke trees.  Somehow they seemed a perfect metaphor for the evils of colonialism.  And towards the end of my visit I was shocked to find out that this hideous chapter in Belgium’s history is barely alluded to in its history books.  Natalie, Shannon’s boss, Belgian born, said that she knew nothing about these hellish exploitations until well into adulthood.

I sat out the screening in an adjacent conference room and people were still streaming in an hour after the film had started (Shannon would later comment “fuck me sideways – this country has some of the most arrogant self-involved people I’ve ever met…”).  Right after the screening a woman (who had only been identified as “Madame C.”) made a statement.  She identified herself as a Congolese woman (from Massisi?) who had been raped (by FDLR?) and wanted to attest that from her own experience everything in the film was true.  The post-screening discussion was predictably monopolized by a clatch of Congolese who, again, felt the need to vent and anguish over ground that the film had already covered, but several lawmakers and NGO officials asked about concrete policy suggestions and mention was made of the potential role of the EU in forcing attention on the war and demanding enforceable peace accords to diminish violence in the east.

That night’s screening was held at the European Commission  (and organized in part by One World) and every seat was full.  The lights came up as the film ended and Shannon and I came to the front of the room and nobody moved, nobody clapped, everyone just stayed frozen in their seats.  I broke the spell by initiating a Q&A and was impressed by the high level of the inquiries about policy, impunity, a discussion of issues around the resource exploitation etc.   After the discussion I walked out with Igor Blacevic from One World who provided me such a lovely metaphor for these doings.  He mentioned a scene in one of Tarcovsky’s last films where a man puts a dry stick into the ground and tells his son to water if every day without fail – it may look like a dead stick, but you never know.

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I was recently in the audience at the showing of the film at the ICA in London, as part of the Human Rights Watch film festival, and wanted to thank you - I was incredibly moved by the film and the voice that you have given these women and the issue. Seeing the film has inspired me to encourage everyone I know to watch it too - as a tool for awareness raising and bringing to life this often hidden issue, I think it is unrivalled. I wonder whether it is possible to get hold of a copy of the DVD for showing both privately, and also screening publicly (I’m looking into possibilities for showing this to a wider audience locally)?

I felt obliged to respond to every one of the inquiries and - poof! - there went the afternoon,  My gawd, this “outreach” is a full time job, a suspicion that was confirmed tonight by director Nick Francis, whose film  “Black Gold” opened the Addis festival.  It’s a terrific doc about Ethiopian coffee growers and the profound gap between what they make and what their precious commodity sells for on the world market. Smart and sharp with a brilliant crusading central character.  Nick and his brother premiered this film at Sundance in 2006, and he’s still making the festival rounds, still working the cause of third-world farmers, of ending US subsidies and trade barriers, of fighting for a living wage for the coffee workers.  Oy, what do I have ahead of me?

Sunday March 23rd, Addis

It was the African premiere and there was a pretty fair crowd.  The Sebastapol Theater is a huge space that seats like 900+ and people were sprinkled about making the 300 or so in the audience seem like less.  And there were an astonishing number of men in the audience.  The Q&A began with an emotional testimonial from a woman in the front row who had to pause several times to compose herself but managed through tears to say how the film confirmed for her that women are the stronger sex and perhaps that is why they have to suffer so. 

(And may I just add here that Ethiopian women are the most gorgeous creatures – tall and slim with high foreheads and dark eyebrows and dazzling smiles)

Nick Francis had a very good question about the illegal mines and whether or not the UN forces were doing anything in those areas to support the civilian population and assure that the exploitation was at least kept to a minimum.  I said that to my knowledge this had never been a Monuc priority, a surmise that was later confirmed.

I had one prolonged anxious moment when a gentleman who had been waving frantically from a back row was finally given a chance to ask his question and the wireless microphone man got to him.  He commenced a long spiel in Amharic and at one point the audience giggled and then broke into full laughter with spatters of applause and I’m thinking, OMG - what has he tapped into and exposed about my film that I’ve been completely oblivious to, some horrific cultural faux pas that only this audience knows to be a blunder, exposing my utter naiveté about… what?  On he rambles and I ask the translator, “does he have a question?” and he nods and waves me off and finally comes the reality:  the questioner had first apologized for having to speak in Amharic as his English was inadequate to express the emotions that the film had stirred in him (audience giggles) and then says that in pointing the finger at the first world the film uses the remaining the remaining three fingers to point at Africa (laughter) by laying some blame on Rwanda, Burundi, etc.  Seems he was quoting an Ethiopian proverb that says when you point at someone, three fingers are actually pointing back at you – point and you’ll get the point.  I wanted to hug him.

The Odd Ball Question of the night award went to a woman who inquired if, in my interviews with the rapists, I’d asked the chaps if they feared the wrath of some higher power.  I said, you mean like god?  Yep, that’s what she meant.  I said that I wish I’d had more of my wits about me because I would have loved to have heard from the soldiers if they were looking forward to burning in hell.

I have to note that in Ethiopia it is the year 2000.  The main square/parade grounds are festooned with enormous 2000’s in lights and bright plastic.  I’m told that the building boom is connected with the millennium celebration.  And they operate on a 12-hour clock, from 6-6.  So 6:00 pm is actually 1:00 pm.  A time and place out of time.

March 24th, Kigali Rwanda

Rwanda is such a beautiful country, the air smells sweet and there are soft green hills and abundant trees and flowers in every direction and I am so glad to be here… I keep repeating this happy mantra as I wait outside the airport waiting for my ride, sitting on my baggage trolley, waiting.  It’s the first little hitch, really.  When Jimmy and a small entourage pull up over an hour later with a long forlorn story about a punctured tire, all is quickly forgiven.  I’m staying at the Milles Collines, the (in)famous Hotel Rwanda.  I’m tempted to take a swim in the pool that was the source of drinking water for all the hundreds of desperate Tutsi’s who took refuge there during those dreadful weeks of the genocide in ’95.  I can almost picture General Romeo Dallaire, the brave and embittered UN peacekeeper, drinking double scotches at the bar – or maybe I’m confusing him with Nick Nolte.

Tuesday March 25th

The screening this morning took place in a conference room on the hotel’s top floor.  There was more than a bit of a delay as hotel personnel and guests tried to staunch the sunlight that was streaming through the louvered shades: table clothes and room dividers finally did the trick and darkened the room sufficiently to see the image on the screen.

I watched the last 5:00 of the screening from the back of the room and four women were bent over crying, several women so shaken that they couldn’t phrase a question.   Many of the audience worked in the GBV area, with women’s health centers, rural clinics etc.   The event was sponsored by the Norwegian People’s Aid, which has a big presence in Rwanda and Kenya.

There was in interesting discussion of the ethics of interviewing survivors and showing their faces – many asked if the women would face reprisals.  I explained that they had all given informed consent, some even signing releases.  Many were still skeptical.

I’m listening to Lucy give a presentation about the services that her organization in Nairobi provides to rape survivors (It really is quite impressive, from full rape kits to psychological counseling to free legal advise and HIV prophylaxis.  We’d been talking bout it the night before at dinner and I asked her what kind of conviction rate the police had with sex crimes.  She took a sip of Coca Cola.  “Not very good,” she answered.  In fact it’s pretty damn shitty). 

Mid-litany there is a tap on my shoulder and it’s Bernard Kalume who has taken a taxi from the DRC border, arriving several hours after the screening, but arriving nevertheless.  Huge hugs.  In the lobby he is recognized from the film and poses for many photographs.  After lunch we take a taxi to the US embassy to see if I can weasel an exception and get his visa without the rigamarole of making the on-line appointments, etc.  It’s a no go, no exceptions.  They recognize him, though, as the person who showed up a few weeks ago with his ticket and suitcase but without the cash to pay for the exit visa and was sent back, crushed, to Goma. Back at Mille Colline we meander through the embassy site until we finally find the place to make the appointment.  I write down all his confirmation numbers and tell him this is his last chance.  He promises to be there.

 

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Wednesday March 5^th, Prague, Czech Republic

The film has just opened the One World Human Rights Film Festival! There were two screenings tonight. I made opening remarks at the Svetozor Theater at 7:30 to a sell-out crowd of over 300 - they were literally standing in the aisles - with Helena doing the Czech translations. They were screening a version that had been totally re-subtitled in Czech.

As I looked out at all the faces I said that none of the women in the film, in their wildest dreams, could have imagined that their silence would be broken and their stories heard in venues like this one. I'm glad the translator took over at that point as I was getting a little choked up.

 Then we went across the street to the Kino Lucerna, a theater in a magnificent art nouveau building with tiers of balconies and crystal chandeliers, where the second screening started about half an hour later. Again, a total sellout. Again, I give my little intro and get all teary. Then back to the Svetozor for the Q&A, which took a little effort, I must say, to kick off.

Helena commented later about the Czech"reticence"was probably compounded by being a little overwhelmed by what they'd just seen. Once rolling, though, I fielded questions and comments for almost 45:00. The usual question came up about filming the rapists: wasn't I in fear of my life with those thugs in the bush? I recalled my moment of panic, being washed with sweat as we hiked in, and then realizing that these twerps really wanted to be interviewed and that if anything were to happen to me they would miss out on their little moment of fame - my camera was as good as a gun. And speaking of guns, there was the inevitable comment (from a man) that maybe all the women in eastern Congo should be given guns to protect themselves. Really! By the time I got back over to the Lucerna the opening party was in full swing. I spent most of the evening talking with a woman named Marketa who came rushing up to embrace me and tell me that watching the film had given her the courage and conviction to leave her abusive husband.

Here are some photos of me at the Q&A - I think I look spaced out and jet-lagged, but there you have it:

Lisa Jackson at Q&A

But I thought this article in a Prague paper really nailed it:

He who rapes a woman rapes an entire nation

Friday March 7^th, Prague 

After the screening this afternoon I was joined by Shannon Meehan, who's with the International Rescue Committee, for a discussion with the audience that lasted over 90 minutes.

Shannon is great, so wise about the topic in ways I could never be. When the theater had to be vacated for the next event we took up in a hallway to continue talking with a group of about 20 people.

Shannon made the point, in response to the "what can we do to help" question that the Czech Republic in 2009 would become president of the European Union and could lobby for funding and attention towards the crisis in the DRC:"if two-thirds of the European Parliament agrees, it forces the European Commission and Council to act." I didn't know that!

Crowd arriving for opening night screening in Prague (with ubiquitous beer in hand)

Saturday March 8^th, Geneva(International Women's Day!)

It was totally not fun getting up in the pre-dawn chill for the flights to Geneva, but once here I'm glad I made the effort. My flight was late and I barely had time to dump my bags at the hotel, literally stick my head under the faucet to freshen up and head back out. Lunch was a chocolate bar. The FIFDH festival is small but intensely earnest and smart. There were 100+ folks in the audience who were full of eager questions, but things got cut short because of the pressure to clear the hall for the next event, which was a screening of Carmen Castillo's 1993 film"La Flaca Alejandra"about the Chilean revolutionary movement and her friend who breaks under torture and betrays her comrades. Then there was a panel on the role of women in the fight against impunity with activists like Guatemalan Helen Mack and Mandira Sharma from Nepal. They spoke eloquently about the need for support and protection of victims of torture and state sponsored violence. Mack seemed to imply that some survivors never recover. They also spoke about"chain of command"issues where the guys on top never get punished for the atrocities their soldiers are ordered to commit. I left the panel early as I was cratering from jet lag and hunger.

Later that night, back in my cruddy little hotel room, I was awakened by drunken rowdies cavorting in the street below my window and as I'm lying there cursing them, for some reason it flashed through my groggy brain:"Jackson, why the fuck didn't you pose a question to the panel about state-sponsored RAPE and ask why perpetrators are never tried or convicted?!"We've heard about torture, we know about apartheid - what about the international apathy/silence/ignorance about SEX CRIMES? I was so furious at myself for the missed opportunity - and furious at the revelers for waking me up - that I cracked a beer from the mini-bar and stewed and scribbled in my journal for almost an hour before finally drifting back to sleep. I went on a long jog around Lake Geneva the next morning and was still  fuming.

Monday March 10^th, London, House of Commons

I'm drinking vending machine coffee as the films screens down the hall, in the Margaret Thatcher Room, to the All Party Parliamentary Group on the Great Lakes Region. In the screening right now are Shannon Meehan and Anneke Van Woudenberg, an extraordinarily eloquent (and extraordinarily beautiful) woman who has lived in the DRC for many years and has been Human Rights Watch's passionate spokeswoman on the issue, on the ground in the Kivus speaking out for the women and girls who have suffered so. I've known her name and read her quoted in so many articles for so many years that I'm awed and honored to be in her company. And to my great pleasure and surprise, Nici Dahrendorf is here, too. I've known Nici for years and she has long been a champion of the film. Her last UN gig was in the DRC investigating the predatory peacekeepers who were raping little girls, setting up brothels and exchanging bags of flour for blow jobs. She wrote a magnificent and infuriating report that was subsequently buried. I stayed with her in Kinshasa on my first trip and she helped facilitate my obtaining MONUC press credentials. And now she's accepted another Congo gig, returning in a month to be the UN's special envoy on sexual violence. Brave, wonderful woman.

Eight hours later... there were some MP's attending but there were also many in the audience of 80+ (the room was full) from the African Diaspora, Congolese who used the occasion to vent big passions about the catastrophe unfolding in their country and the inertia of the international community to affect the situation and initiate some changes. Anneke commented that she has been working on this issue for years and"you can't say they don't know"what's been going on, but still no one acts. One man rose to address the issue of impunity:"they brought Milosevic to justice, why can't we do the same thing with these soldiers who are bragging to the cameras about what they have done?"Another man fumed about how Kagame in Rwanda and Museveni in Uganda needed to step up and take responsibility for their marauding militias. One woman in particular touched me. She said that she had seen practically every recent film having to do with Congo's catastrophic war and was so sickened and sad to see and hear the litanies of horror and abuse that continue to describe the situation in her home country. I went up to embrace her afterwards, feeling almost apologetic that my film was adding to that sorry roll call. And it turns out that she knows Drocele Mugomoka, the Congolese activist who has a small scene in the film! She promised to put us in touch.

Several friends wrote to tell me today that an article about the film had appeared in Metro, a free paper that I've seen handed out at NYC subway entrances. Free is good.

For women, it's "hell on earth"

Post screening discussion in the Margaret Thatcher Room, House of Commons, London
R-L:  Shannon Meehan, Anneke Van Woudenberg, Nici Dahrendorf

 

Tuesday March 11^th, San Francisco

I am jet-lagged beyond possibility after the 11-hour flight from London and cannot quite believe that I am still coherent. Libby Marsh, who is the head of the HRW SF chapter, took Anneke and I to dinner and after we ordered my phone rang, and it was Major Honorine calling! Happily, Anneke was there and after a befuddled salutation in my bad French I handed her the phone to translate and convey H's message that she had gotten her invitation letter from HBO and was on her way to Kinshasa to get her visa and was wondering about the ticket etc, which I had Anneke explain would be coming once the hard-to-get visa was in her hand.

My salmon dinner was my first square meal in several days - I've been snacking on the run, or too tired to venture out of the hotels to forage - and by the time my head hit the pillow it was almost 4:00 am UK time.

Wednesday March 12^th, SF

It was a very full day, starting with a screening at the Pixar Animation Studios across the Bay. I was joined for the Q&A by Heidi Lehmann, the IRC's senior advisor on"sexual and gender based violence"(SGBV is a term she loathes:"why don't they just call it what it is - rape!"). I've known Heidi for a while, and it was great to have her with me. The staff screening room was ridiculously posh -- seating for 300+ and as the lights came down the ceiling lit up with twinkling constellations and shooting stars and the sounds of crickets. Really! About 60-80 folks came, many bringing their lunch, taking a little break from conjuring the next"Ratatouille"money-printing cartoon epic.

I'm afraid I was a little hard on them during the Q&A, commenting that there was probably more coltan in this building than in all of Marin County and if one-tenth of the creative (and money-making) power at Pixar were harnessed towards solving the problem of sexual violence in the Congo, things would change over-night.  I couldn't get off my guilt-tripping and shared with them the suggestion of the person at Sundance who said I should start a campaign where after every screening folks sent text messages to the manufacturers of their cell phones to ask if they used Congolese coltan and therefore had the blood of Congolese women on their phones. I told them that I had no clue how to initiate such a campaign, but perhaps there was a genius at Pixar who could get it launched.

I continued ranting, becoming even more furious as Heidi and I drove back into the city. Rape is like an orphan disease and no one will step up and take it on. Bloody Bill Gates is pouring billions into eradicating malaria, messing with the molecular structure of frigging mosquitoes. If he's looking for a disease with no"competition", how about sexual violence? Why are there no gazillionaires putting dough into helping survivors and punishing perps? On the reception desk at Pixar was a homely Lucite award given to them in thanks for their donations by the Red Cross. The Red Cross? Give me a damn break! Can you get any safer? I practically had steam blowing out of my ears as we crossed the Bay Bridge. It's now after midnight. There was a small reception before the screening tonight for the guests invited to the SFHRW festival's opening night. One of them was a hero of mine, author Adam Hochschild, who wrote the epic expose of Congo's sorry history and the depravities of Belgium's cruel exploitation. I had brought my dog-eared copy of"King Leopold's Ghost"and at the reception he had penned"warmest wishes and good luck with the film". After the screening he asked for the book back that he might amend his inscription. He scribbled a bit, handed me the book, thanked me and left. Afterwards I read what he had written and burst into tears:"Your brave, extraordinary film is in the great, courageous tradition of people like Casement and Morel, who tried to draw the world's attention to the Congo 100 years ago, and in the courageous tradition of all who've spoken up for the rights of women for centuries. This film will long endure."WOW.

The San Francisco Chronicle published this article today:

The Greatest Silence: Rape in the Congo

Heidi Lehmann and a new friend in the Pixar lobby

Poster for the opening night of the San Francisco Human Rights Watch Film Festival

Monday March 17^th, London

I've just gotten in (after another cramped and endless overnight flight from SF) and found this email waiting for me. It's from the head of the great organization Friends of the Congo:

Hello Lisa,

I just read your interview with the San Francisco Chronicle. I was so glad to see you describe the Congo conflict as a resource war and tied it into the modern amenities (cell phones, computers, electronic devices, etc) from which we all benefit. Antonio Guterres of the UNCHR said as much in his interview with the Financial Times in early January.

Also, the Financial Times published an article last week questioning the ties of Microsoft, Hitachi, Sony, Panasonic and other companies to the conflict in the Congo. Unfortunately, this link is rarely made and I was so glad to see people such as yourself who have access to mainstream media make those very critical ties which are key to getting people to pay attention and hopefully resolving this conflict once and for all.

Here is a copy of the FT article:Congo rebels cash in on demand for tin  

Again, thank you very much. All the best with the rest of your tour and raising awareness about the dire situation of women and children in the Congo.

 

Maurice Carney

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