Добірка наукової літератури з теми "David (1930-2003)"

Opera Zora D., composed by Isidora Zebeljan during 2002 and 2003, and which was premiered in Amsterdam in June 2003, is the first Serbian opera that had a world premiere abroad. It is also the first Serbian opera that has been staged outside Serbia since 1935, after being acclaimed at a competition organized by the Genesis Foundation from London. Isidora Zebeljan was commissioned (granted financial backing) to compose a complete opera with a secured stage realization. The Dutch Chamber Opera (Opera studio Nederland) and the Viennese Chamber Opera (Wiener Kammeroper) were the co-producers of the first production. The opera was directed by David Pountney, the renowned opera director, while an international team of young singers and celebrated artists assisted the co-production. The opera was played three times in Amsterdam. Winfried Maczewski conducted the Amsterdam Nieuw Ensemble whereas Daniel Hoyem Cavazza conducted the Wiener Kammeroper on twelve performances. The Viennese premier of Zora D. opened the season of celebrations, thus marking the 50th anniversary of the Wiener Kammeroper. The libretto, based on the script for a TV film by Dusan Ristic, was co-written by Isidora Zebeljan, Milica Zebeljan and Borislav Cicovacki. Speaking of genre, the libretto represents a m?lange of thriller, melodrama and mystery, with elements of fiction. The opera consists of the prologue and seven scenes. The story, set in the present-day Belgrade, also goes back to the 1930?s and the periods interweave. The opera was written for four vocalists: the soprano, the baritone, and two mezzo-sopranos. The chamber orchestra has fifteen musicians. The story: One summer day in 1935, Belgrade poetess Zora Dulijan mysteriously disappears. Sixty years later, Mina, an ordinary girl from Belgrade, quite unexpectedly becomes part of an incredible story, which gradually unravels as time goes by. Led by a dream (recurring night after night, with some vague verses about poplar trees and contours of a mysterious woman with a silver scarf being all that Mina remembers) she sets out to solve the mystery that seems to haunt her for no apparent reason. Part of the secret is also an invisible force, which Mina uses to gradually piece together the story of a great love that was brutally brought to an end 60 years ago and now seeks fulfillment. At the same time, Vida, a woman in her 80s, who has just returned to Belgrade from a long exile, begins to feel tortured and haunted by ghouls from the past, the very same she has been trying to escape all those years. Mina, desperate to solve the mystery, and Vida, in search of final rest and redemption, meet to disclose to us the answer and tell us what really happened to Zora D. The leading characters of the opera, whose main attribute is illusiveness, undergo transformation that is something rarely found in opera literature. This quality of the characters and the story, as well as the absence of a real drama in the libretto, matches the specific idea of a contemporary opera. Unlike composers who insist on giving characters psychological quality, thus reducing their emotions to clich?s for reasons of clarity, Isidora Zebeljan demonstrates a need for a completely different type of opera. Her idea is to have an opera which focuses on the sensual exploits of music itself. This is the very type of opera sought after by Isidora Zebeljan. The first and most striking feature of her music is a very unique melodic invention. Opera Zora D. could be described as a necklace of thickly threaded music pearls. Microelements of the traditional music from Serbia (Vojvodina), Romania and the south of the Balkans give her melodies a very special quality. Those elements, however, have not been taken over in their entirety, nor do they exist in the form that would link this music to any particular type of folk music. Music elements of the traditional music, incorporated in the music expression of Isidora Zebeljan, provide additional distinctiveness and the colour, while being experienced as an integral part of Zebeljan?s creative being which carries within itself the awareness of the composer?s musical roots. Melodic elements of the opera expressed in such a manner give form to vocal parts, which require of performers great musicality and perfect technique without compromising the nature of their vocal expression. Specific chords with a diminished fifth, resulting from the use of folk music scales with augmented second, give the opera a distinct harmonic quality. The rhythmic and metric components of music are complex, naturally stemming from the melody and are characterized by a mixture of rhythms and changeable metrics. The rhythmic patterns of percussion are incorporated in the whole by parallel lining up of melodic and rhythmic layers, so that they produce sonorous multiplicity. Very often the rhythmic elements have characteristics of a dance. The chamber orchestra consists of flute (piccolo and alto), clarinet and bass-clarinet, saxophone (soprano and alto) bassoon, French horn, trumpet, harp, piano, percussion, and string quintet. By providing specific orchestration and coloring, Isidora Zebeljan manages to completely shift the real dramatic suspense from words to music particularly the orchestra, thus causing various emotional states to quickly change. Speaking of structure, the opera represents an infinite sequence of melodies. Although rarely, melodic entities have, in some places, the form of arias. There are no real recitatives in the entire opera. Each segment of the opera belongs to a corresponding melodic section of the stage that they are part of. The extraordinary quality of the music in Zora D. lies in the music surprise that it provides, which is an element of the composer?s language and style rarely seen in the music literature but is a symbol of a special talent. Emotional states are not merely evoked through particular musical clich?s, the unusual origin of which may be found in the exceptional parallel quality of states stemming from the very music. The listener, in his or her initial encounter with the music of the opera, will never hear dark and disconsolate music when tragic and dramatic happenings are taking place. Listening to the music will, however, help them feel the sound layer of the tragedy that is present in the offered sound. They will not follow it consciously but, instead, they will be leaded to the exact emotional stimulus that they will not be able to defy rationally. Such a music expression we call a music fiction. Artistic team involved in the first production of Zora D. has discovered a HVS technique, which helps shifting elements of scenography, from one set into the next, very efficiently and effectively. Isidora Zebeljan?s opera Zora D. represents a great success of Serbian music on the international scene, and undoubtedly the greatest success of Serbian opera. Her music liberates listeners from the compulsion of reflecting upon the content they are listening to. Instead, her music compels them to feel.

e4913062Professional education, initially called industrial education, was instituted in the country in 1909 and according to the Law of Guidelines and Bases, it aims to prepare for the exercise of professions.Professional education of students with disabilities would seek the development of their potentials on the citizenship exercise;describedNational Policy on Special Education in the Inclusive Education Perspective, needs to offer and ensure services related to special education for its public. The research focuses on the pedagogical practices and resources analysis present in students with disabilities' professional education, to make this educational offer and its specificities explicit. This qualitative study has descriptive nature and document design. It was developed into an institution that offers training courses for acting in the industrial sector.The data collection are publications and institutional documents, examined from the content analysis. The results indicate aspects as collaborative management, guidelines established based on institutional publications, and flexibility in the curricular matrix of the courses. However, the history of the person with disabilities' professional training shows to focus mainly on the integration subjects in productive scenario, which is visible in the analyzed context.It is important that professional education develops tools, strategies, practices and learning resources in a humanistic and integrative conception, promoting equal rights and opportunities and, especially, active participation in society.ResumoA educação profissional, denominada inicialmente ensino industrial, foi instituída no país em 1909 e, de acordo com a Lei de Diretrizes e Bases, tem como objetivo preparar para o exercício das profissões. A Educação Profissional de alunos com deficiência buscaria o desenvolvimento dos potenciais dos estudantes, proporcionando o exercício da cidadania; descrita na Política Nacional de Educação Especial na Perspectiva da Educação Inclusiva, precisa prever e assegurar os serviços atinentes à educação especial para este público. A investigação centra-se na análise das práticas e recursos pedagógicos presentes na educação profissional de alunos com deficiência, com intuito de explicitar esta oferta educativa e suas especificidades. A pesquisa, de característica qualitativa, cunho descritivo e delineamento documental, foi desenvolvida em instituição que oferta percursos de formação para atuação no setor industrial. Os instrumentos para coleta de dados são publicações e documentos institucionais, examinados na perspectiva da análise de conteúdo. Os resultados indicam a observância de aspectos como a gestão colaborativa, o estabelecimento de diretrizes a partir de publicações institucionais e ainda a realização de flexibilização na matriz curricular dos cursos. Contudo, a história da formação profissional da pessoa com deficiência demonstra incidir majoritariamente na integração dos sujeitos no cenário produtivo, o que é visibilizado no contexto analisado. É importante que o ensino profissionalizante desenvolva instrumentos, estratégias, práticas e recursos de aprendizagem em uma concepção humanista e integradora, promovendo a igualdade de direitos e oportunidades e, sobretudo, a participação ativa na sociedade.ResumenLa educaciónprofesional, inicialmente educación industrial, se instituyóenel país en 1909 y, de acuerdo con la Ley de Directrices y Bases, tiene como objetivo prepararse para las profesiones. La Educación Profesional de los estudiantes con discapacidad buscaría el desarrollo de las potencialidades de los estudiantes, proporcionando el ejercicio de laciudadanía; descrito enla Política Nacional de Educación Especial enla Perspectiva de la Educación Inclusiva, necesita proveer y asegurar los servicios relacionados con la educación especial. La investigación se centra en el análisis de las prácticas y recursos pedagógicos presentes en la formación profesional de los estudiantes con discapacidad, ensus especificidades. La investigación, de carácter cualitativo, descriptivo y diseño documental, se desarrollóen una institución que ofrece cursos de formación para el desempeño en el sector industrial. Los instrumentos para la recopilación de datos son publicaciones y documentos institucionales, examinados desde la perspectiva del análisis de contenidos. Los resultados indican la observancia de aspectos como lagestión colaborativa, elestablecimiento de directrices basadas en publicaciones institucionales y también la realización de flexibilidad en la matriz curricular de los cursos. Sin embargo, la historia de la formación profesional de las personas con discapacidad muestra principalmente en la integración el escenario productivo, que se visualiza enel contexto analizado. Es importante que la formación profesional desarrol le herramientas, estrategias, prácticas y recursos de aprendizajeen una concepción humanista e integradora, promoviendo la igualdad de derechos y oportunidades y, sobre todo, la participación activa en la sociedad.Palavras-chave: Educação Especial, Inclusão, Trabalho.Key Words: Special Education, Inclusion, Job.Palabras clave:Educación Especial, Inclusión,Trabajo.ReferencesANJOS, Isa Regina Santos dos. Programa TEC NEP: avaliação de uma proposta de educação profissional inclusiva. São Carlos: UFSCar, 2006.BARDIN, Laurence. Análise do conteúdo. ed. ver. e ampl. São Paulo: Edições 70, 2011.BARROS, Adail Jesus da Silveira; LEHFELD, Neide Aparecida de Souza. Fundamentos de Metodologia Científica. 3. ed. Pearson Prentice Hall, São Paulo, 2007.BATISTA, Eraldo Leme; MÜLLER, Meire Terezinha (Orgs). Realidades da Educação Profissional no Brasil. São Paulo: Ícone, 2015.BRASIL. Decreto nº 494, de 10 de janeiro de 1962. Aprova o Regimento do Serviço Nacional de Aprendizagem Industrial. Brasília, 1962. Disponível em: https://presrepublica.jusbrasil.com.br/legislacao/103811/decreto-494-62. Acesso em: 02 dez. 2019.BRASIL. Lei nº 11.741, de 16 de julho de 2008. Altera dispositivos da Lei no 9.394, de 20 de dezembro de 1996, que estabelece as diretrizes e bases da educação nacional, para redimensionar, institucionalizar e integrar as ações da educação profissional técnica de nível médio, da educação de jovens e adultos e da educação profissional e tecnológica. Brasília, 2008. Disponível em: http://www.planalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/_Ato2007-2010/2008/Lei/L11741.htm. Acesso em: 10 out. 2019.BRASIL. Ministério da Educação. Pronatec. 2019a. Disponível em: http://portal.mec.gov.br/pronatec.Acesso em: 20 de dez. 2019.BRASIL. Ministério da Educação. Educação Profissional e Tecnológica. 2019b.Disponível em: http://portal.mec.gov.br/educacao-profissional-e-tecnologica-ept.Acesso em: 18 out. 2019.BRASIL. Ministério do Trabalho e Emprego. Programa de Disseminação das Estatísticas do Trabalho (PDET). Relação Anual de Informações Sociais (RAIS) 2017. Brasília, 2018. Disponível em: http://pdet.mte.gov.br/rais. Acesso em: 31 de mar. 2019.CARDOSO, Maria Heloisa de Melo. Inclusão de alunos com deficiência na Educação Profissional e Tecnológica. 2016. 166f. Dissertação (Pós Graduação em Educação). Universidade Federal de Sergipe, São Cristóvao (SE), 2016.CARVALHO, Carlos Henrique de; FERREIRA, Ana Emília Souto. Impasses e desafios à organização da instrução pública primária no Brasil (1890-1930). Belo Horizonte: Mazza Edições, 2016.CORDEIRO, Daiana Rosa CavaglieriLiutheviciene. A inclusão de pessoas com deficiência na rede regular de educação profissional. 2013. 184f. Dissertação (Mestrado em Educação) - Faculdade de Filosofia e Ciências, Universidade Estadual Paulista, Marília, 2013.CUNHA, Angélica Moura Siqueira. Educação Profissional e inclusão de alunos com deficiência: um estudo no Colégio Universitário/UFMA São Luís. Dissertação (Mestrado em Educação) – Universidade Federal do Maranhão, São Luís, 2011.CUNHA, Murilo Bastos da. Para saber mais: fontes de informação em ciência e tecnologia. Brasília: Briquet de Lemos, 2001.FLICK, Uwe. Introdução à pesquisa qualitativa. 3. ed. Porto Alegre: Artmed, 2009.FOGLI, Bianca Fátima Cordeiro dos Santos. A dialética da inclusão em Educação: uma possibilidade em um cenário de contradições - “Um estudo de caso sobre a implementação da política de inclusão para alunos com deficiência na rede de ensino Faetec”. 2010. Tese (Doutorado em Educação) – Universidade do Estado do Rio de Janeiro (UERJ), Rio de Janeiro, 2010.GRABOWSKI, Gabriel. Financiamento da Educação Profissional no Brasil: contradições e desafios. 2010. 222f. Tese. (Doutorado em Educação) – Programa de Pós-Graduação em Educação, Faculdade de Educação, Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, Porto Alegre, 2010.KUENZER, Acácia Zeneida; GRABOWSKI, Gabriel. Educação Profissional: desafios para a construção de um projeto para os que vivem do trabalho. Perspectiva, Florianópolis, v. 24, n. 1, p. 297-318, jan./jun. 2006. Disponível em: https://periodicos.ufsc.br/index.php/perspectiva/article/view/10762. Acesso em: 09 nov. 2019KUNZE, Nádia Cuiabano. O surgimento da rede federal de educação profissional nos primórdios do regime republicano brasileiro. Revista Brasileira da Educação Profissional e Tecnológica, v.2, n.2, p.8-24, jul. 2009. Disponível em: http://www2.ifrn.edu.br/ojs/index.php/RBEPT/article/view/2939. Acesso em: 01 out. 2019MANFREDI, Silvia Maria. Educação Profissional no Brasil. São Paulo: Cortez, 2002.MENDES, Enicéia Gonçalves. Perspectivas para a construção da escola inclusiva no Brasil. In: PALHARES, Marina Silveira: MARTINS, Simone (orgs). Escola Inclusiva. São Carlis: EduFSCAR., p – 61-85, 2002.MOLL, Jaqueline. Escola de tempo integral. In: OLIVEIRA, Dalila Andrade et el. Dicionário trabalho, profissão e condição docente. Belo Horizonte: UFMG/ Faculdade de Educação, 2010.MORAES, Gustavo Henrique; ALBUQUERQUE, Ana Elizabeth M. de. As estatísticas da Educação Profissional e Tecnológica: silêncios entre os números da formação de trabalhadores. Brasília: Instituto Nacional de Estudos e Pesquisas Educacionais Anísio Teixeira, 2019.MOURA, Dante Henrique. Ensino médio e educação profissional: dualidade histórica e possibilidades de integração. In: MOLL, Jaqueline; [et al.]. Educação Profissional e Tecnológica no Brasil contemporâneo: desafios, tensões e possibilidades. Porto Alegre: Artmed, 2010.MOURA, Maria Lucia Seidl de; FERREIRA, Maria Cristina. Projetos de Pesquisa: elaboração, redação e apresentação. Rio de Janeiro: EDUERJ, 2005.OLIVEIRA, Deise Cristina Silva de. Formação técnica e a inserção do jovem e do adulto no mercado de trabalho: estudo na cidade de Guaratinguetá. 2016. 115 f. Dissertação (Mestrado em Planejamento e Desenvolvimento Regional) – Programa de Pós-Graduação em Administração, Universidade de Taubaté, Taubaté, 2016.OLIVEIRA, Fábia Carvalho de. Educação profissional de pessoas com deficiência: política e produção acadêmica, no Brasil, pós Lei 8.213/1991. 2017.192 f. Dissertação (Mestrado) - Curso de Mestrado em Educação, Universidade de São Paulo, São Paulo, 2018. Disponível em: https://teses.usp.br/teses/disponiveis/48/48134/tde-28112018-151700/pt-br.php.Acesso em: 16 nov. 2019.OLIVEIRA, José Adelmo Menezes de. Formação profissional da pessoa com deficiência: uma experiência da Escola Técnica Federal de Sergipe/Centro Federal de Educação Tecnológica de Sergipe (2001-2007). 2018. 211 f. Tese (Doutorado em Educação) – Programa de Pós-Graduação em Educação – PPGED, Fundação Universidade Federal de Sergipe, São Cristóvão, SE, 2018.OLIVEIRA, Ramon de. A (des) qualificação da educação profissional brasileira. São Paulo: Cortez, 2003.OTRANTO, Celia Regina. A política de educação profissional do governo Lula: Novos caminhos da educação superior. In: REUNIÃO ANUAL DA ANPED, Natal: Anped, 2015. p. 1 - 17. Disponível em: http://www.anped11.uerj.br/GT11-315%20int.pdf. Acesso em: 12 out. 2019. RODRIGUES, David. Os desafios da equidade e da inclusão na formação de professores. In: A Inclusão nas Escolas. (Org) Felicity Armstrong, David Rodrigues. Colecção: Questões-Chave da Educação Edição: Fundação Francisco Manuel dos Santos 1.ª edição. 2014.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Ações do SENAI para o desenvolvimento sustentável. 2. ed. Brasília: SENAI/DN, 2017.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Ações inclusivas SENAI/DN. Brasília: SENAI, 2013.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Capacitação dos docentes do SENAI para identificação e atendimento de alunos com altas habilidades / superdotados: módulo teórico: lições I a 8. Brasília: SENAI, 2003.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Desafios e sugestões para avaliação de pessoas com deficiência nos cursos de educação profissional do SENAI. Brasília: SENAI/DN, 2012.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Estudo sobre inovações tecnológicas e recursos didáticos – pedagógicos. Brasília: SENAI/DN, 2007. 2008. (Educação Profissional para a Nova Indústria, nº 12)SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Glossário de termos técnicos, equipamentos e ferramentas utilizados em eletricidade. Brasília: SENAI, 2009.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Guia de avaliação certificação educacional adequado para pessoa com deficiência. Adriana Barufaldi. Brasília: SENAI, 2016.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Inclusão na Educação Profissional 2012. Brasília: SENAI, 2013.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Inclusão na Educação Profissional do SENAI. Loni Elisete Manica; [et al.]. Brasília: SENAI/DN, 2011.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Método de adequação de curso para inclusão da pessoa com deficiência. Brasília: SENAI, 2015.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Orientações para as escolas do SENAI no atendimento à diversidade. Brasília: SENAI, 2010.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Nacional. Orientações técnico-pedagógicas para a educação profissional e tecnológica de pessoas com deficiência. Brasília: SENAI, 2010.SERVIÇO NACIONAL DE APRENDIZAGEM INDUSTRIAL. Departamento Regional do Rio Grande do Sul. Glossário de Termos Técnicos na Língua Brasileira de Sinais - Libras - Área Metalmecânica. Porto Alegre: SENAI-RS, 2008.SERVIÇO SOCIAL DA INDÚSTRIA. Departamento Nacional. Inclusão e Acessibilidade na Indústria: Cartilha: Metodologia SESI SENAI de Gestão e Qualificação Profissional para inclusão da pessoa com deficiência na Indústria. Brasília: SESI/DN, 2014.SILVA, Izaura Maria de Andrade da. Políticas de Educação Profissional para pessoas com deficiência. 2011. 209 f. Tese (Doutorado em Educação) – Faculdade de Educação, Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Belo Horizonte, 2011VIEIRA, Alboni Marisa DudequePianovski; SOUZA JUNIOR, Antonio de. A educação profissional no Brasil. Interacções, Lisboa, v. 12, n. 40, p.152-169, 2017. Disponível em: https://revistas.rcaap.pt/interaccoes/article/view/10691. Acesso em: 27 out. 2019.ZANOTE, Marco Aurélio. Avaliação de competências profissionais de aprendizes com deficiência: um estudo de caso. 2011. 172 f. Tese (Doutorado em Educação) – Programa de Pós-Graduação em Educação, Faculdade de Filosofia e Ciências, Universidade Estadual Paulista, Marília, SP, 2011.

O presente trabalho tem por objetivo apresentar uma análise comparada das personagens femininas Hulga/Joy do conto “Good Country People” (1955), de Flannery O’Connor, e Dolores/Dôda do romance O tigre na sombra (2012), de Lya Luft, em uma aproximação inédita. As semelhanças entre as personagens vão desde a deformidade física e a complicada relação mãe-filha, até a duplicidade de nomes e a percepção de si mesmas como seres ambivalentes. Apesar de viverem conflitos e experiências diferentes, ambas as personagens retratam experiências vividas por muitas mulheres em sociedades patriarcais. Assim, este artigo propõe uma leitura do conto de O’Connor e do romance de Luft como críticas aos papeis de gênero e à sociedade patriarcal construída por meio das imagens e personagens grotescas, bem como uma discussão sobre as possibilidades feministas nas obras das autoras.REFERÊNCIAS:BABINEC, Lisa. Cyclical Patterns of Domination and Manipulation in Flannery O’Connor’s Mother-Daughter Relationships. Flannery O’Connor Bulletin, v. 19, 1990, p. 9-29.BAKHTIN, Mikhail. A cultura popular na Idade Média e no Renascimento: o contexto de François Rabelais. Trad. Yara Frateschi Vieira. 8ª ed. São Paulo: Hucitec, 2013.CARUSO, Teresa (Org.). “On the subject of the feminist business”: re-reading Flannery O’Connor. New York: Peter Lang, 2004.COSTA, Maria Osana de Medeiros. A mulher, o lúdico e o grotesco em Lya Luft. São Paulo: Annablume, 1996.CRIPPA, Giulia. O grotesco como estratégia de afirmação da produção pictórica feminina. Estudos Feministas, Florianópolis, 11(1): 336, jan-jun/2003, pp. 113-135.FEITOSA, André Pereira. Mulheres-monstro e espetáculos circenses: o grotesco nas narrativas de Angela Carter, Lya Luft e Susan Swan, (Tese de Doutorado) UFMG. Ano de obtenção: 2011.GENTRY, Bruce. Flannery O’Connor’s religion of the grotesque. Jackson and London: University Press of Mississippi, 1986.GILBERT, Sandra M.; GUBAR, Susan. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination. 2 ed. New Haven and London: Yela University Press, 2000.HARVID, David. The saving rape: Flannery O'Connor and patriarchal religion. The Mississippi Quarterly. 47.1, Winter 1993, p. 15.Disponível em: http://www.missq.msstate.edu/Acesso em: 23 abr. 2015KAISER, Gerhard R. Introdução à Literatura Comparada. Trad. Teresa Alegre. Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 1989.LUFT, Lya. O tigre na sombra. Rio de Janeiro: Record, 2012.MACHADO, Álvaro Manuel; PAGEAUX, Daniel-Henri. Da literatura comparada à teoria da literatura. Lisboa: 70, 1988.O’CONNOR, Flannery. Collected Works. New York: The Library of America, 1988.O’CONNOR, Flannery. Contos completos: Flannery O’Connor. Trad. Leonardo Fróes. São Paulo: Cosac Naify, 2008.RUSSO, Mary. O grotesco feminino: risco, excesso e modernidade. Trad. Talita M. Rodrigues. Rio de Janeiro: Rocco, 2000.XAVIER, Elódia. Narrativa de autoria feminina na literatura brasileira: as marcas da trajetória. Mulheres e Literatura, v. 3, 1999.Disponível em: http://www.letras.ufrj.br/litcult/revista_mulheres/volume3/31_ elodia.htmlAcesso em: 23 ago. 2004WILSON, Natalie. Misfit Bodies and Errant Gender: The Corporeal Feminism of Flannery O’Connor. In: CARUSO, Teresa (Org.). “On the subject of the feminist business”: re-reading Flannery O’Connor. New York, NY: Peter Lang, 2004, p. 94-119.YAEGER, Patricia. Dirt and Desire: Reconstructing Southern Women’s Writing, 1930-1990. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000.ENVIADO EM 10-05-19 | ACEITO EM 28-07-19

Deepa Mehta first attempted to shoot her film Water in the year 2000, in Varanasi, a holy city hanging on the edge of the Ganges in East-Central India. A film about the anguish of widows in 1930’s India, where widowhood was in many parts of the country taken to be a curse, an affliction that the widow paid penance for by living in renunciation of laughter and pleasure, Water points not only to the suffering of widows in colonial India but to the widow-house that still exists in Varanasi and houses poor widows in seclusion and disgrace, away from the community. The film opens the lens to the prostitution and privation experienced by many widows, as well as Gandhi’s efforts to change the laws that affected “widow remarriage.” The international filming crew was forced to shut down production after one day of shooting, following a violent uproar in the Varanasi community. These riots were fueled by the same political party coalition that was responsible for the destruction of the Babri Masjid in 1992, a Muslim religious site dating from the sixteenth-century, that was smashed to rubble when Hindu Nationalists alleged that it was the original site of a Rama temple and hence a Hindu, rather than a Muslim, site of worship. While the Water crew had permission (after a few censorship negotiations) from the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting to shoot the film in Varanasi, following the riots lead by these fundamentalist political parties—the BJP, the KSRSS and the VHU—the Indian government (lead by the BJP) strode in to shut down, or at the very least delay (which given the tight budget of the film amounted to the same thing), the shooting of this film. It apparently caused too much local upheaval. A few years later, Mehta managed to surreptitiously shoot this last film of the controversial trilogy in Sri Lanka, fielding and ignoring letters from the Indian government that implied that the content of the film was not very flattering to India and showed India in a poor light to the international community. The film was released worldwide in 2005. I would like to place this astringent argument that was put forward by government officials and political rioters in a historical light by locating it within anti-colonial nationalist discourse of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. This desire to mask the face of Indian oppressive patriarchy and assert moral uprightness and the ‘reform’ of women is neither new nor original, and dates back to colonial India. The British colonial government had a tendency to zero-in on instances of female oppression by Indian men to justify the fact of colonial power and domination. British rulers denounced the moral degradation and lack of initiative of Indian men as two of the reasons to continue their control of the land in face of the mounting opposition, both in India and in other parts of the world, which was rising up against colonialism and later fascism. Chatterjee analyses this facet of the nationalist movement and suggests that female emancipation was a question of importance at the turn of the century in colonial India, as Indian men defended their right to ‘protect’ their women from oppressive orthodox practices. They repeatedly asserted their ability to rule their own country, and adopt modernity, both through ‘reform’ movements and rebellious uprising. Spivak too addresses this question as it centres on the Sati debate. The immolation of widows on the funereal pyres of husbands is often cited as an example of abusive Indian patriarchy. However, even at its height in the nineteenth century, as both Spivak and Narayan point out, this custom was practiced only in one location in India, and not nationwide as is popularly believed in the West. Debates around widow immolation were an easy answer both for the British to assert moral superiority and for Indian men to claim that they would ‘reform’ the lot of their women, and carve a new, more enlightened nation. The question of ‘widow remarriage’, along with dowry and Sati, became popular issues at various times in the last hundred years when the nation wished to champion the uprightness of Indian masculine morality, and its ability to protect its women. This fretfulness by the government and other political parties over the picture of Indian women that is revealed in Water is an anxiety over the portrayal of India as backward and unenlightened, a plodding place seeped in orthodox traditions and bubbling with religious fundamentalism. It a picture that puts the West at ease in the face of the growth of economic and telecommunications power in the region, and a Western-media-driven picture that often collects self-fulfilling data, while ignoring contradictory evidence. It also points an easy finger that quells and controls the frightening Other. It is really interesting, however, that the very political parties in India who are most active in generating this criticism of the film are in fact the most strongly fundamentalist of all, and are, in a seeming contradiction, also the coalition responsible for speeding open-door economic policies along their way in the second half of the nineties in India. While the nationalist Hindutva coalition quivers at this, one could say “Orientalist” description of Indian women in Water as always-oppressed, always-victims of Indian male chauvinism, it is also this coalition that assisted economic liberalisation policies by indigenising and Orientalising Western products so that they could find an easier market within the Indian population. It seems in fact that the versions of the Indian past that can be made public with lavish additions of Orientalist signs are the ones that are marketable, like yoga, cheap booze, and tantric sex. Add to these the very exportable Indian textiles and jewelry, Indian software engineers and Indian masala films, and you have a sizzling avenue for foreign trade and investment. The versions of the Indian past that are not marketable, however, even if depicted with courage and sensitivity, like the issue of middle-class patriarchal abuse of women and lesbian relationships in Mehta’s Fire (1996), or widow-houses in Water, do not advertise a mecca for tourists or investors, and hence are beaten into oblivion by Hindu fundamentalists. While these fundamentalists wish to change the names of cities from British colonial names to ‘authentic’ Indian ones, or protest against the hosting of the Miss World pageant in India in 1995, they do, however, wish to bring in increasing amounts of foreign investment in the media, in consumer products, and in the service sector to bring new lifestyles and ideologies to the rapidly growing middle-class. While films about widows are inappropriate and apparently show India in a poor light, films about prostitutes (like Devdas released in 2002), as long as they romanticize the courtesan and act as a lure to tourists and diasporic Indians nostalgic for an ‘authentic’ Indian spiritual experience, are entirely acceptable. For fundamentalist political parties that wish to maintain or regain power it seems like an easy step to incite local populations to rise against religious minorities, homosexuals, and filmmakers who wish to document instances of abuse, so that Western imperialism can quietly slide in through the back door. Water points to the inequality between men and women, remarking on the traditional practice of an arranged match between a man in his forties or fifties with a young pre-pubescent girl. It looks closely at the custom of sending widows to live in isolation, lifelong chastity, and renunciation of ‘worldly desires’, while as little nine year old widowed Chuiya in the film points out, there is no such house for widowers. It also, however, talks about the change in laws in the late 1930’s that allowed widows to marry again after the death of their husband, and banned child marriage. It sets the film in the historic struggle of a nation trying to find its feet between Hindu nationalist traditions and British colonial ideologies, Indian aspirations for education and emancipation, and fear of cultural annihilation. Maybe if Mehta romanticized the widows’ struggle, and added a few more song and dance sequences, made the film more marketable and set it in exotic Goa, and allowed the widows to frolic in the streets decked in Indian block prints and marketable kundan jewels, fundamentalist Hindus would not find it quite as disturbing. References Bhabha, Homi. The Location of Culture. London: Routledge, 1994. Chatterjee, Partha. The Partha Chatterjee Omnibus. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999. Corbridge, Stuart, and John Harriss. Reinventing India. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2000. Levy, Emanuel. “Mehta Water”. May 2006 http://www.emanuellevy.com/article.php?articleID=2300>. Mazzarella, William. Shoveling Smoke: Advertising and Globalization in Contemporary India. Durham: Duke University Press, 2003. Meduri, Avanti. Woman, Nation, Representation. Dissertation. 1996 Narayan, Uma. “Contesting Cultures.” In The Second Wave: A Reader in Feminist Theory. Ed. Linda Nicholson. New York: Routledge, 1997. Said, Edward. Orientalism. Revised ed. New York: Vintage Books, 1994. Spivak, Gayatri. “Can the Subaltern Speak?”. In Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture. Eds. Carl Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988. Yuen-Carrucan, Jasmine. “The Politics of Deepa Mehta’s Water” April 2000. May 2006 http://www.brightlightsfilm.com/28/water.html>. Films Devdas. Directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Nayyar, Mishra and Shah. 2002. Fire. Directed and Produced by Deepa Mehta. 1996. Water. Directed by Deepa Mehta. David Hamilton. 2005. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Nijhawan, Amita. "Damning the Flow: Deepa Mehta’s Water." M/C Journal 9.4 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0609/3-nijhawan.php>. APA Style Nijhawan, A. (Sep. 2006) "Damning the Flow: Deepa Mehta’s Water," M/C Journal, 9(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0609/3-nijhawan.php>.

“The cop in our head represses us better than any police force. Through generations of conditioning, the system has created people who have a very hard time coming together to create resistance.” – Seth Tobocman, War in the Neighborhood (1999) Even when creators of autobiographically-based comics claim to depict real events, their works nonetheless inspire confrontations as a result of ideological contestations which position them, on the one hand, as popular culture, and, on the other hand, as potentially subversive material for adults. In Seth Tobocman’s War in the Neighborhood (1999), the street politics in which Tobocman took part extends the graphic novel narrative to address personal experiences as seen through a social lens both political and fragmented by the politics of relationships. Unlike Art Spiegelman’s Maus (1986, 1991), War in the Neighborhood is situated locally and with broader frames of reference, but, like Maus, resonates globally across cultures. Because Tobocman figures the street as the primary site of struggle, John Street’s historiographically-oriented paper, “Political Culture – From Civic Culture to Mass Culture”, presents a framework for understanding not that symbols determine action, any more than material or other objective conditions do, but rather that there is a constant process of interpretation and reinterpretation which is important to the way actors view their predicament and formulate their intentions. (107-108) Though Street’s main focus is on the politicization of choices involving institutional structures, his observation offers a useful context to examining Tobocman’s memoir of protest in New York City. Tobocman’s identity as an artist, however, leads him to caution his readers: Yes, it [War in the Neighborhood] is based on real situations and events, just as a landscape by Van Gogh may be based on a real landscape. But we would not hire Van Gogh as a surveyor on the basis of those paintings. (From the “Disclaimer” on the copyright page.) This speaks to the reality that all art, no matter how innocuously expressed, reflect interpretations refracted from the artists’ angles. It also calls attention to the individual artist’s intent. For Tobocman, “I ask that these stories be judged not on how accurately they depict particular events, but on what they contain of the human spirit” (from the “Disclaimer” on the copyright page). War in the Neighborhood, drawn in what appears to be pencil and marker, alternates primarily between solidly-inked black generic shapes placed against predominantly white backgrounds (chapters 1-3, 5, 7-9, and 11) and depth-focused drawing-quality images framed against mostly black backgrounds (chapters 4 and 6); chapter 10 represents an anomaly because it features typewritten text and photographs that reify the legitimacy of the events portrayed even when “intended to be a work of art” (from the “Disclaimer” on the copyright page). According to Luc Sante’s “Introduction”, “the high-contrast images here are descended from the graphic vocabulary of Masereel and Lynn Ward, an efficient and effective means of representing the war of body and soul” (n.p.). This is especially evident in the last page of War in the Neighborhood, where Tobocman bleeds himself through four panels, the left side of his body dressed in skin with black spaces for bone and the right side of his body skeletonized against his black frame (panels 5-6: 328). For Tobocman, “the war of body and soul” reifies the struggle against the state, through which its representatives define people as capital rather than as members of a social contract. Before the second chapter, however, Tobocman introduces New York squatter, philosopher and teacher Raphael Bueno’s tepee-embedded white-texted poem, “‘Nine-Tenths of the Law’” (29). Bueno’s words eloquently express the heart behind War in the Neighborhood, but could easily be dismissed because they take up only one page. The poem’s position is significant, however. It reflects the struggles between agency and class, between power and oppression, and between capitalism and egalitarianism. Tobocman includes a similar white-texted tepee in Chapter 4, though the words are not justified and the spacing between the words and the edges of the tepee are larger. In this chapter, Tobocman focuses on the increasing media attention given to the Thompson Square Park homeless, who first organize as “the Homeless Clients Advisory Board” (panel 7: 86). The white-texted tepee reads: They [Tent City members] got along well with the Chinese students, participated in free China rallys, learned to say ‘Down with Deng Xiao ping’ in Chinese. It was becoming clear to Tent City that their homelessness meant some thing on a world stage. (panel 6: 103) The OED Online cites 1973 as the first use of gentrification, which appeared in “Times 26 Sept. 19/3.” It also lists uses in 1977, 1982 and 1985. While the examples provided point to business-specific interests associated with gentrification, it is now defined as “the process by which an (urban) area is rendered middle-class.” While gentrification, thus, infers the displacement of minority members for the benefits of white privilege, it is also complicated by issues of eminent domain. For the disenfranchised who lack access to TV, radio and other venues of public expression (i.e., billboards), “taking it to the streets” means trafficking ideas, grievances and/or evangelisms. In places like NYC, the nexus for civic engagement is the street. The main thrust of Tobocman’s War in the Neighborhood, however, centers on the relationships between (1) the squatters, against whom Reagan-era economics destabilized, (2) the police, whose roles changed as local policies shifted to accommodate urban planning, (3) the politicians, who “began to campaign to destroy innercity neighborhoods” (20), and (4) the media, which served elitist interests. By chapter 3, Tobocman intrudes himself into the narrative to personalize the story of squatters and their resistance of an agenda that worked to exclude them. In chapter 4, he intersects the interests of squatters with the homeless. With chapter 5, Tobocman, already involved, becomes a squatter, too; however, he also maintains his apartment, making him both an insider and an outsider. The meta-discourses include feminism, sexism and racism, entwined concepts usually expressed in opposition. Fran is a feminist who demands not only equality for women, but also respect. Most of the men share traditional values of manhood. Racism, while recognized at a societal level, creeps into the choices concerning the dismissal or acceptance of blacks and whites at ABC House on 13th Street, where Tobocman resided. As if speaking to an interviewer, a black woman explains, as a white male, his humanity had a full range of expression. But to be a black person and still having that full range of expression, you were punished for it. ... It was very clear that there were two ways of handling people who were brought to the building. (full-page panel: 259) Above the right side of her head is a yin yang symbol, whose pattern contrasts with the woman’s face, which also shows shading on the right side. The yin yang represents equanimity between two seemingly opposing forces, yet they cannot exist without the other; it means harmony, but also relation. This suggests balance, as well as a shared resistance for which both sides of the yin yang maintain their identities while assuming community within the other. However, as Luc Sante explains in his “Introduction” to War in the Neighborhood, the word “community” gets thrown around with such abandon these days it’s difficult to remember that it has ever meant anything other than a cluster of lobbyists. ... A community is in actuality a bunch of people whose intimate lives rub against one another’s on a daily basis, who possess a common purpose not unmarred by conflict of all sizes, who are thus forced to negotiate their way across every substantial decision. (n.p., italics added) The homeless organized among themselves to secure spaces like Tent House. The anarchists lobbied the law to protect their squats. The residents of ABC House created rules to govern their behaviors toward each other. In all these cases, they eventually found dissent among themselves. Turning to a sequence on the mayoral transition from Koch to Dinkins, Tobocman likens “this inauguration day” as a wedding “to join this man: David Dinkins…”, “with the governmental, business and real estate interests of New York City” (panel 1: 215). Similarly, ABC House, borrowing from the previous, tried to join with the homeless, squatters and activist organizations, but, as many lobbyists vying for the same privilege, contestations within and outside ABC splintered the goal of unification. Yet the street remains the focal point of War in the Neighborhood. Here, protests and confrontations with the police, who acted as intermediary agents for the politicians, make the L.E.S. (Lower East Side) a site of struggle where ordinary activities lead to war. Though the word war might otherwise seem like an exaggeration, Tobocman’s inclusion of a rarely seen masked figure says otherwise. This “t-shirt”-hooded (panel 1: 132) wo/man, one of “the gargoyles, the defenders of the buildings” (panel 3: 132), first appears in panel 3 on page 81 as part of this sequence: 319 E. 8th Street is now a vacant lot. (panel 12: 80) 319 taught the squatters to lock their doors, (panel 1: 81) always keep a fire extinguisher handy, (panel 2: 81) to stay up nights watching for the arsonist. (panel 3: 81) Never to trust courts cops, politicians (panel 4: 81) Recognize a state of war! (panel 5: 81) He or she reappears again on pages 132 and 325. In Fernando Calzadilla’s “Performing the Political: Encapuchados in Venezuela”, the same masked figures can be seen in the photographs included with his article. “Encapuchados,” translates Calzadilla, “means ‘hooded ones,’ so named because of the way the demonstrators wrap their T-shirts around their faces so only their eyes show, making it impossible for authorities to identify them” (105). While the Encapuchados are not the only group to dress as such, Tobocman’s reference to that style of dress in War in the Neighborhood points to the dynamics of transculturation and the influence of student movements on the local scene. Student movements, too, have traditionally used the street to challenge authority and to disrupt its market economy. More important, as Di Wang argues in his book Street Culture in Chengdu: Public Space, Urban Commoners, and Local Politics, 1870-1930, in the process of social transformation, street culture was not only the basis for commoners’ shared identity but also a weapon through which they simultaneously resisted the invasion of elite culture and adapted to its new social, economic, and political structures. (247) While focusing on the “transformation that resulted in the reconstruction of urban public space, re-creation of people’s public roles, and re-definition of the relationship among ordinary people, local elites and the state” (2), Wang looks at street culture much more broadly than Tobocman. Though Wang also connects the 1911 Revolution as a response to ethnic divisions, he examines in greater detail the everyday conflicts concerning local identities, prostitutes in a period marked by increasing feminisms, beggars who organized for services and food, and the role of tea houses as loci of contested meanings. Political organization, too, assumes a key role in his text. Similarly to Wang, what Tobocman addresses in War in the Neighborhood is the voice of the subaltern, whose street culture is marked by both social and economic dimensions. Like the poor in New York City, the squatters in Iran, according to Asef Bayat in his article “Un-Civil Society: The Politics of the ‘Informal People’”, “between 1976 and the early 1990s” (53) “got together and demanded electricity and running water: when they were refused or encountered delays, they resorted to do-it-yourself mechanisms of acquiring them illegally” (54). The men and women in Tobocman’s War in the Neighborhood, in contrast, faced barricaded lines of policemen on the streets, who struggled to keep them from getting into their squats, and also resorted to drastic measures to keep their buildings from being destroyed after the court system failed them. Should one question the events in Tobocman’s comics, however, he or she would need to go no further than Hans Pruijt’s article, “Is the Institutionalization of Urban Movements Inevitable? A Comparison of the Opportunities for Sustained Squatting in New York City and Amsterdam”: In the history of organized squatting on the Lower East Side, squatters of nine buildings or clusters of buildings took action to avert threat of eviction. Some of the tactics in the repertoire were: Legal action; Street protest or lock-down action targeting a (non-profit) property developer; Disruption of meetings; Non-violent resistance (e.g. placing oneself in the way of a demolition ball, lining up in front of the building); Fortification of the building(s); Building barricades in the street; Throwing substances at policemen approaching the building; Re-squatting the building after eviction. (149) The last chapter in Tobocman’s War in the Neighborhood, chapter 11: “Conclusion,” not only plays on the yin and yang concept with “War in the Neighborhood” in large print spanning two panels, with “War in the” in white text against a black background and “Neighborhood” in black text against a white background (panels 3-4: 322), but it also shows concretely how our wars against each other break us apart rather than allow us to move forward to share in the social contract. The street, thus, assumes a meta-narrative of its own: as a symbol of the pathways that can lead us in many directions, but through which we as “the people united” (full-page panel: 28) can forge a common path so that all of us benefit, not just the elites. Beyond that, Tobocman’s graphic novel travels through a world of activism and around the encounters of dramas between people with different goals and relationships to themselves. Part autobiography, part documentary and part commentary, his graphic novel collection of his comics takes the streets and turns them into a site for struggle and dislocation to ask at the end, “How else could we come to know each other?” (panel 6: 328). Tobocman also shapes responses to the text that mirror the travesty of protest, which brings discord to a world that still privileges order over chaos. Through this reconceptualization of a past that still lingers in the present, War in the Neighborhood demands a response from those who would choose “to take up the struggle against oppression” (panel 3: 328). In our turn, we need to recognize that the divisions between us are shards of the same glass. References Bayat, Asef. “Un-Civil Society: The Politics of the “Informal People.’” Third World Quarterly 18.1 (1997): 53-72. Calzadilla, Fernando. “Performing the Political: Encapuchados in Venezuela.” The Drama Review 46.4 (Winter 2002): 104-125. “Gentrification.” OED Online. 2nd Ed. (1989). http://0-dictionary.oed.com.csulib.ctstateu.edu/ cgi/entry/50093797?single=1&query_type=word&queryword=gentrification &first=1&max_to_show=10>. 25 Apr. 2006. Pruijt, Hans. “Is the Institutionalization of Urban Movements Inevitable? A Comparison of the Opportunities for Sustained Squatting in New York and Amsterdam.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 27.1 (Mar. 2003): 133-157. Street, John. “Political Culture – From Civic to Mass Culture.” British Journal of Political Science 24.1 (Jan. 1994): 95-113. Toboman, Seth. War in the Neighborhood (chapter 1 originally published in Squatter Comics, no. 2 (Photo Reference provided by City Limits, Lower East Side Anti-displacement Center, Alan Kronstadt, and Lori Rizzo; Book References: Low Life, by Luc Sante, Palante (the story of the Young Lords Party), Squatters Handbook, Squatting: The Real Story, and Sweat Equity Urban Homesteading; Poem, “‘Nine-Tenths of the Law,’” by Raphael Bueno); chapter 2 (Inkers: Samantha Berger, Lasante Holland, Becky Minnich, Ursula Ostien, Barbara Lee, and Seth Tobocman; Photo Reference: the daily papers, John Penley, Barbara Lee, Paul Kniesel, Andrew Grossman, Peter LeVasseur, Betsy Herzog, William Comfort, and Johannes Kroemer; Page 81: Assistant Inker: Peter Kuper, Assistant Letterer: Sabrina Jones and Lisa Barnstone, Photo Reference: Paul Garin, John Penley, and Myron of E.13th St); chapter 3 originally published in Heavy Metal 15, no. 11 (Inkers: Peter Kuper and Seth Tobocman; Letterers: Sabrina Jones, Lisa Barnstone, and Seth Tobocman; Photo Reference: Paul Garin, John Penley, Myron of 13th Street, and Mitch Corber); chapter 4 originally published in World War 3 Illustrated, no. 21 (Photo Reference: John Penley, Andrew Lichtenstein, The Shadow, Impact Visuals, Paper Tiger TV, and Takeover; Journalistic Reference: Sarah Ferguson); chapter 5 originally published in World War 3 Illustrated, no. 13, and reprinted in World War 3 Illustrated Confrontational Comics, published by Four Walls Eight Windows (Photo Reference: John Penley and Chris Flash (The Shadow); chapter 6 (Photo reference: Clayton Patterson (primary), John Penley, Paul Garin, Andrew Lichtenstein, David Sorcher, Shadow Press, Impact Visuals, Marianne Goldschneider, Mike Scott, Mitch Corber, Anton Vandalen, Paul Kniesel, Chris Flash (Shadow Press), and Fran Luck); chapter 7 (Photo Reference: Sarah Teitler, Marianne Goldschneider, Clayton Patterson, Andrew Lichtenstein, David Sorcher, John Penley, Paul Kniesel, Barbara Lee, Susan Goodrich, Sarah Hogarth, Steve Ashmore, Survival Without Rent, and Bjorg; Inkers: Ursula Ostien, Barbara Lee, Samantha Berger, Becky Minnich, and Seth Tobocman); chapter 8 originally published in World War 3 Illustrated, no. 15 (Inkers: Laird Ogden and Seth Tobocman; Photo Reference: Paul Garin, Clayton Patterson, Paper Tiger TV, Shadow Press, Barbara Lee, John Penley, and Jack Dawkins; Collaboration on Last Page: Seth Tobocman, Zenzele Browne, and Barbara Lee); chapter 9 originally published in Real Girl (Photo Reference: Sarah Teitler and Barbara Lee); chapter 10 (Photos: John Penley, Chris Egan, and Scott Seabolt); chapter 11: “Conclusion” (Inkers: Barbara Lee, Laird Ogden, Samantha Berger, and Seth Tobocman; Photo Reference: Anton Vandalen). Intro. by Luc Sante. Computer Work: Eric Goldhagen and Ben Meyers. Text Page Design: Jim Fleming. Continuous Tone Prints and Stats Shot at Kenfield Studio: Richard Darling. Brooklyn, NY: Autonomedia, 1999. Wang, Di. Street Culture in Chengdu: Public Space, Urban Commoners, and Local Politics, 1870-1930. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP, 2003. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Raney, Vanessa. "Where Ordinary Activities Lead to War: Street Politics in Seth Tobocman’s War in the Neighborhood." M/C Journal 9.3 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0607/01-raney.php>. APA Style Raney, V. (Jul. 2006) "Where Ordinary Activities Lead to War: Street Politics in Seth Tobocman’s War in the Neighborhood," M/C Journal, 9(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0607/01-raney.php>.

1909–22: Turkey exterminated over 1.5 million of its ethnically Armenian, and hundreds of thousands of its ethnically Greek and Assyrian, citizens. Most died in 1915. This period of decimation in now widely called the Armenian Genocide (Balakian 179-80).1910: Siamanto first published his poem, The Dance: “The corpses were piled as trees, / and from the springs, from the streams and the road, / the blood was a stubborn murmur.” When springs run red, when the dead are stacked tree-high, when “everything that could happen has already happened,” then time is nothing: “there is no future [and] the language of civilised humanity is not our language” (Nichanian 142).2007: In my novel The Edge of the World a ceramic bowl, luminous blue, recurs as motif. Imagine you are tiny: the bowl is broken but you don’t remember breaking it. You’re awash with tears. You sit on the floor, gather shards but, no matter how you try, you can’t fix it. Imagine, now, that the bowl is the sky, huge and upturned above your head. You have always known, through every wash of your blood, that life is shockingly precarious. Silence—between heartbeats, between the words your parents speak—tells you: something inside you is terribly wrong; home is not home but there is no other home; you “can never be fully grounded in a community which does not share or empathise with the experience of persecution” (Wajnryb 130). This is the stubborn murmur of your body.Because time is nothing, this essay is fragmented, non-linear. Its main characters: my mother, grandmother (Hovsanna), grandfather (Benyamin), some of my mother’s older siblings (Krikor, Maree, Hovsep, Arusiak), and Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (Ottoman military officer, Young Turk leader, first president of Turkey). 1915–2013: Turkey invests much energy in genocide denial, minimisation and deflection of responsibility. 24 April 2012: Barack Obama refers to the Medz Yeghern (Great Calamity). The use of this term is decried as appeasement, privileging political alliance with Turkey over human rights. 2003: Between Genocide and Catastrophe, letters between Armenian-American theorist David Kazanjian and Armenian-French theorist Marc Nichanian, contest the naming of the “event” (126). Nichanian says those who call it the Genocide are:repeating every day, everywhere, in all places, the original denial of the Catastrophe. But this is part of the catastrophic structure of the survivor. By using the word “Genocide”, we survivors are only repeating […] the denial of the loss. We probably cannot help it. We are doing what the executioner wanted us to do […] we claim all over the world that we have been “genocided;” we relentlessly need to prove our own death. We are still in the claws of the executioner. We still belong to the logic of the executioner. (127)1992: In Revolution and Genocide, historian Robert Melson identifies the Armenian Genocide as “total” because it was public policy intended to exterminate a large fraction of Armenian society, “including the families of its members, and the destruction of its social and cultural identity in most or all aspects” (26).1986: Boyajian and Grigorian assert that the Genocide “is still operative” because, without full acknowledgement, “the ghosts won’t go away” (qtd. in Hovannisian 183). They rise up from earth, silence, water, dreams: Armenian literature, Armenian homes haunted by them. 2013: My heart pounds: Medz Yeghern, Aksor (Exile), Anashmaneli (Indefinable), Darakrutiun (Deportation), Chart (Massacre), Brnagaght (Forced migration), Aghed (Catastrophe), Genocide. I am awash. Time is nothing.1909–15: Mustafa Kemal Ataturk was both a serving Ottoman officer and a leader of the revolutionary Young Turks. He led Ottoman troops in the repulsion of the Allied invasion before dawn on 25 April at Gallipoli and other sites. Many troops died in a series of battles that eventually saw the Ottomans triumph. Out of this was born one of Australia’s founding myths: Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZACs), courageous in the face of certain defeat. They are commemorated yearly on 25 April, ANZAC Day. To question this myth is to risk being labelled traitor.1919–23: Ataturk began a nationalist revolution against the occupying Allies, the nascent neighbouring Republic of Armenia, and others. The Allies withdrew two years later. Ataturk was installed as unofficial leader, becoming President in 1923. 1920–1922: The last waves of the Genocide. 2007: Robert Manne published A Turkish Tale: Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide, calling for a recontextualisation of the cultural view of the Gallipoli landings in light of the concurrence of the Armenian Genocide, which had taken place just over the rise, had been witnessed by many military personnel and widely reported by international media at the time. Armenian networks across Australia were abuzz. There were media discussions. I listened, stared out of my office window at the horizon, imagined Armenian communities in Sydney and Melbourne. Did they feel like me—like they were holding their breath?Then it all went quiet. Manne wrote: “It is a wonderful thing when, at the end of warfare, hatred dies. But I struggle to understand why Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide continue to exist for Australians in parallel moral universes.” 1992: I bought an old house to make a home for me and my two small children. The rooms were large, the ceilings high, and behind it was a jacaranda with a sturdy tree house built high up in its fork. One of my mother’s Armenian friends kindly offered to help with repairs. He and my mother would spend Saturdays with us, working, looking after the kids. Mum would stay the night; her friend would go home. But one night he took a sleeping bag up the ladder to the tree house, saying it reminded him of growing up in Lebanon. The following morning he was subdued; I suspect there were not as many mosquitoes in Lebanon as we had in our garden. But at dinner the previous night he had been in high spirits. The conversation had turned, as always, to politics. He and my mother had argued about Turkey and Russia, Britain’s role in the development of the Middle East conflict, the USA’s roughshod foreign policy and its effect on the world—and, of course, the Armenian Genocide, and the killingof Turkish governmental representatives by Armenians, in Australia and across the world, during the 1980s. He had intimated he knew the attackers and had materially supported them. But surely it was the beer talking. Later, when I asked my mother, she looked at me with round eyes and shrugged, uncharacteristically silent. 2002: Greek-American diva Diamanda Galas performed Dexifiones: Will and Testament at the Perth Concert Hall, her operatic work for “the forgotten victims of the Armenian and Anatolian Greek Genocide” (Galas).Her voice is so powerful it alters me.1925: My grandmother, Hovsanna, and my grandfather, Benyamin, had twice been separated in the Genocide (1915 and 1922) and twice reunited. But in early 1925, she had buried him, once a prosperous businessman, in a swamp. Armenians were not permitted burial in cemeteries. Once they had lived together in a big house with their dozen children; now there were only three with her. Maree, half-mad and 18 years old, and quiet Hovsep, aged seven,walked. Then five-year-old aunt, Arusiak—small, hungry, tired—had been carried by Hovsanna for months. They were walking from Cilicia to Jerusalem and its Armenian Quarter. Someone had said they had seen Krikor, her eldest son, there. Hovsanna was pregnant for the last time. Together the four reached Aleppo in Syria, found a Christian orphanage for girls, and Hovsanna, her pregnancy near its end, could carry Arusiak no further. She left her, promising to return. Hovsanna’s pains began in Beirut’s busy streets. She found privacy in the only place she could, under a house, crawled in. Whenever my mother spoke of her birth she described it like this: I was born under a stranger’s house like a dog.1975: My friend and I travelled to Albany by bus. After six hours we were looking down York Street, between Mount Clarence and Mount Melville, and beyond to Princess Royal Harbour, sapphire blue, and against which the town’s prosperous life—its shopfronts, hotels, cars, tourists, historic buildings—played out. It took away my breath: the deep harbour, whaling history, fishing boats. Rain and sun and scudding cloud; cliffs and swells; rocky points and the white curves of bays. It was from Albany that young Western Australian men, volunteers for World War I, embarked on ships for the Middle East, Gallipoli, sailing out of Princess Royal Harbour.1985: The Australian Government announced that Turkey had agreed to have the site of the 1915 Gallipoli landings renamed Anzac Cove. Commentators and politicians acknowledged it as historic praised Turkey for her generosity, expressed satisfaction that, 70 years on, former foes were able to embrace the shared human experience of war. We were justifiably proud of ourselves.2005: Turkey made her own requests. The entrance to Albany’s Princess Royal Harbour was renamed Ataturk Channel. A large bronze statue of Ataturk was erected on the headland overlooking the Harbour entrance. 24 April 1915: In the town of Hasan Beyli, in Cilicia, southwest Turkey, my great grandfather, a successful and respected businessman in his 50s, was asleep in his bed beside his wife. He had been born in that house, as had his father, grandfather, and all his children. His brother, my great uncle, had bought the house next door as a young man, brought his bride home to it, lived there ever since; between the two households there had been one child after another. All the cousins grew up together. My great grandfather and great uncle had gone to work that morning, despite their wives’ concerns, but had returned home early. The women had been relieved to see them. They made coffee, talked. Everyone had heard the rumours. Enemy ships were massing off the coast. 1978: The second time in Albany was my honeymoon. We had driven into the Goldfields then headed south. Such distance, such beautiful strangeness: red earth, red rocks; scant forests of low trees, thin arms outstretched; the dry, pale, flat land of Norseman. Shimmering heat. Then the big, wild coast.On our second morning—a cool, overcast day—we took our handline to a jetty. The ocean was mercury; a line of cormorants settled and bobbed. Suddenly fish bit; we reeled them in. I leaned over the jetty’s side, looked down into the deep. The water was clear and undisturbed save the twirling of a pike that looked like it had reversed gravity and was shooting straight up to me. Its scales flashed silver as itbroke the surface.1982: How could I concentrate on splicing a film with this story in my head? Besides the desk, the only other furniture in the editing suite was a whiteboard. I took a marker and divided the board into three columns for the three generations: my grandparents, Hovsanna and Benyamin; my mother; someone like me. There was a lot in the first column, some in the second, nothing in the third. I stared at the blankness of my then-young life.A teacher came in to check my editing. I tried to explain what I had been doing. “I think,” he said, stony-faced, “that should be your third film, not your first.”When he had gone I stared at the reels of film, the white board blankness, the wall. It took 25 years to find the form, the words to say it: a novel not a film, prose not pictures.2007: Ten minutes before the launch of The Edge of the World, the venue was empty. I made myself busy, told myself: what do you expect? Your research has shown, over and over, this is a story about which few know or very much care, an inconvenient, unfashionable story; it is perfectly in keeping that no-one will come. When I stepped onto the rostrum to speak, there were so many people that they crowded the doorway, spilled onto the pavement. “I want to thank my mother,” I said, “who, pretending to do her homework, listened instead to the story her mother told other Armenian survivor-women, kept that story for 50 years, and then passed it on to me.” 2013: There is a section of The Edge of the World I needed to find because it had really happened and, when it happened, I knew, there in my living room, that Boyajian and Grigorian (183) were right about the Armenian Genocide being “still operative.” But I knew even more than that: I knew that the Diaspora triggered by genocide is both rescue and weapon, the new life in this host nation both sanctuary and betrayal. I picked up a copy, paced, flicked, followed my nose, found it:On 25 April, the day after Genocide memorial-day, I am watching television. The Prime Minister stands at the ANZAC memorial in western Turkey and delivers a poetic and moving speech. My eyes fill with tears, and I moan a little and cover them. In his speech he talks about the heroism of the Turkish soldiers in their defence of their homeland, about the extent of their losses – sixty thousand men. I glance at my son. He raises his eyebrows at me. I lose count of how many times Kemal Ataturk is mentioned as the Father of Modern Turkey. I think of my grandmother and grandfather, and all my baby aunts and uncles […] I curl over like a mollusc; the ache in my chest draws me in. I feel small and very tired; I feel like I need to wash.Is it true that if we repeat something often enough and loud enough it becomes the truth? The Prime Minister quotes Kemal Ataturk: the ANZACS who died and are buried on that western coast are deemed ‘sons of Turkey’. My son turns my grandfather’s, my mother’s, my eyes to me and says, It is amazing they can be so friendly after we attacked them.I draw up my knees to my chest, lay my head and arms down. My limbs feel weak and useless. My throat hurts. I look at my Australian son with his Armenian face (325-6).24 April 1915 cont: There had been trouble all my great grandfather’s life: pogrom here, massacre there. But this land was accustomed to colonisers: the Mongols, the Persians, latterly the Ottomans. They invade, conquer, rise, fall; Armenians stay. This had been Armenian homeland for thousands of years.No-one masses ships off a coast unless planning an invasion. So be it. These Europeans could not be worse than the Ottomans. That night, were my great grandfather and great uncle awoken by the pounding at each door, or by the horses and gendarmes’ boots? They were seized, each family herded at gunpoint into its garden, and made to watch. Hanging is slow. There could be no mistakes. The gendarmes used the stoutest branches, stayed until they were sure the men weredead. This happened to hundreds of prominent Armenian men all over Turkey that night.Before dawn, the Allies made landfall.Each year those lost in the Genocide are remembered on 24 April, the day before ANZAC Day.1969: I asked my mother if she had any brothers and sisters. She froze, her hands in the sink. I stared at her, then slipped from the room.1915: The Ottoman government decreed: all Armenians were to surrender their documents and report to authorities. Able-bodied men were taken away, my grandfather among them. Women and children, the elderly and disabled, were told to prepare to walk to a safe camp where they would stay for the duration of the war. They would be accompanied by armed soldiers for their protection. They were permitted to take with them what they could carry (Bryce 1916).It began immediately, pretty young women and children first. There are so many ways to kill. Months later, a few dazed, starved survivors stumbled into the Syrian desert, were driven into lakes, or herded into churches and set alight.Most husbands and fathers were never seen again. 2003: I arrived early at my son’s school, parked in the shade, opened The Silence: How Tragedy Shapes Talk, and began to read. Soon I was annotating furiously. Ruth Wajnryb writes of “growing up among innocent peers in an innocent landscape” and also that the notion of “freedom of speech” in Australia “seems often, to derive from that innocent landscape where reside people who have no personal scars or who have little relevant historical knowledge” (141).1984: I travelled to Vancouver, Canada, and knocked on Arusiak’s door. Afraid she would not agree to meet me, I hadn’t told her I was coming. She was welcoming and gracious. This was my first experience of extended family and I felt loved in a new and important way, a way I had read about, had observed in my friends, had longed for. One afternoon she said, “You know our mother left me in an orphanage…When I saw her again, it was too late. I didn’t know who they were, what a family was. I felt nothing.” “Yes, I know,” I replied, my heart full and hurting. The next morning, over breakfast, she quietly asked me to leave. 1926: When my mother was a baby, her 18 year-old sister, Maree, tried to drown her in the sea. My mother clearly recalled Maree’s face had been disfigured by a sword. Hovsanna, would ask my mother to forgive Maree’s constant abuse and bad behaviour, saying, “She is only half a person.”1930: Someone gave Hovsanna the money to travel to Aleppo and reclaim Arusiak, by then 10 years old. My mother was intrigued by the appearance of this sister but Arusiak was watchful and withdrawn. When she finally did speak to my then five-year-old mother, she hissed: “Why did she leave me behind and keep you?”Soon after Arusiak appeared, Maree, “only half a person,” disappeared. My mother was happy about that.1935: At 15, Arusiak found a live-in job and left. My mother was 10 years old; her brother Hovsep, who cared for her before and after school every day while their mother worked, and always had, was seventeen. She adored him. He had just finished high school and was going to study medicine. One day he fell ill. He died within a week.1980: My mother told me she never saw her mother laugh or, once Hovsep died, in anything other than black. Two or three times before Hovsep died, she saw her smile a little, and twice she heard her singing when she thought she was alone: “A very sad song,” my mother would say, “that made me cry.”1942: At seventeen, my mother had been working as a live-in nanny for three years. Every week on her only half-day off she had caught the bus home. But now Hovsanna was in hospital, so my mother had been visiting her there. One day her employer told her she must go to the hospital immediately. She ran. Hovsanna was lying alone and very still. Something wasn’t right. My mother searched the hospital corridors but found no-one. She picked up a phone. When someone answered she told them to send help. Then she ran all the way home, grabbed Arusiak’s photograph and ran all the way back. She laid it on her mother’s chest, said, “It’s all right, Mama, Arusiak’s here.”1976: My mother said she didn’t like my boyfriend; I was not to go out with him. She said she never disobeyed her own mother because she really loved her mother. I went out with my boyfriend. When I came home, my belongings were on the front porch. The door was bolted. I was seventeen.2003: I read Wajnryb who identifies violent eruptions of anger and frozen silences as some of the behaviours consistent in families with a genocidal history (126). 1970: My father had been dead over a year. My brothers and I were, all under 12, made too much noise. My mother picked up the phone: she can’t stand us, she screamed; she will call an orphanage to take us away. We begged.I fled to my room. I couldn’t sit down. I couldn’t keep still. I paced, pressed my face into a corner; shook and cried, knowing (because she had always told us so) that she didn’t make idle threats, knowing that this was what I had sometimes glimpsed on her face when she looked at us.2012: The Internet reveals images of Ataturk’s bronze statue overlooking Princess Royal Harbour. Of course, it’s outsized, imposing. The inscription on its plinth reads: "Peace at Home/ Peace in the World." He wears a suit, looks like a scholar, is moving towards us, a scroll in his hand. The look in his eyes is all intensity. Something distant has arrested him – a receding or re-emerging vision. Perhaps a murmur that builds, subsides, builds again. (Medz Yeghern, Aksor, Aghed, Genocide). And what is written on that scroll?2013: My partner suggested we go to Albany, escape Perth’s brutal summer. I tried to explain why it’s impossible. There is no memorial in Albany, or anywhere else in Western Australia, to the 1.5 million victims of the Armenian Genocide. ReferencesAkcam, Taner. “The Politics of Genocide.” Online Video Clip. YouTube. YouTube, 11 Dec. 2011. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watchv=OxAJaaw81eU&noredirect=1genocide›.Balakian, Peter. The Burning Tigress: The Armenian Genocide. London: William Heinemann, 2004.BBC. “Kemal Ataturk (1881–1938).” BBC History. 2013. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/ataturk_kemal.shtml›.Boyajian, Levon, and Haigaz Grigorian. “Psychological Sequelae of the Armenian Genocide.”The Armenian Genocide in Perspective. Ed. Richard Hovannisian. New Brunswick: Transaction, 1987. 177–85.Bryce, Viscount. The Treatment of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1916.Galas, Diamanda. Program Notes. Dexifiones: Will and Testament. Perth Concert Hall, Perth, Australia. 2001.———.“Dexifiones: Will and Testament FULL Live Lisboa 2001 Part 1.” Online Video Clip. YouTube, 5 Nov. 2011. Web. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvVnYbxWArM›.Kazanjian, David, and Marc Nichanian. “Between Genocide and Catastrophe.” Loss. Eds. David Eng and David Kazanjian. Los Angeles: U of California P, 2003. 125–47.Manne, Robert. “A Turkish Tale: Gallipoli and the Armenian Genocide.” The Monthly Feb. 2007. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.themonthly.com.au/turkish-tale-gallipoli-and-armenian-genocide-robert-manne-459›.Matiossian, Vartan. “When Dictionaries Are Left Unopened: How ‘Medz Yeghern’ Turned into a Terminology of Denial.” The Armenian Weekly 27 Nov. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/11/27/when-dictionaries-are-left-unopened-how-medz-yeghern-turned-into-terminology-of-denial/›.Melson, Robert. Revolution and Genocide. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1996.Nicholson, Brendan. “ASIO Detected Bomb Plot by Armenian Terrorists.” The Australian 2 Jan. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.theaustralian.com.au/in-depth/cabinet-papers/asio-detected-bomb-plot-by-armenian-terrorists/story-fnbkqb54-1226234411154›.“President Obama Issues Statement on Armenian Remembrance Day.” The Armenian Weekly 24 Apr. 2012. 5 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.armenianweekly.com/2012/04/24/president-obama-issues-statement-on-armenian-remembrance-day/›.Polain, Marcella. The Edge of the World. Fremantle: Fremantle Press, 2007.Siamanto. “The Dance.” Trans. Peter Balakian and Nervart Yaghlian. Adonias Dalgas Memorial Page 5 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.terezakis.com/dalgas.html›.Stockings, Craig. “Let’s Have a Truce in the Battle of the Anzac Myth.” The Australian 25 Apr. 2012. 6 Mar. 2013 ‹http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/opinion/lets-have-a-truce-in-the-battle-of-the-anzac-myth/story-e6frgd0x-1226337486382›.Wajnryb, Ruth. The Silence: How Tragedy Shapes Talk. Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin, 2001.

Cette recherche développe une réflexion autour du photographique dans son lien à la mémoire et au deuil, qu’il soit intime ou d’ordre historique. Elle montre que la photographie est une figure de deuil, autrement dit, elle fait à la fois coupe et lien. A travers un corpus restreint de trois films-essais, elle analyse des figures de deuil et des gestes filmiques singuliers. Dans La Danse des souvenirs (2002), Naomi Kawase est confrontée à une mort intime. L’imbrication de clichés photographiques dans le film produit une suspension qui provoque un renversement dans cette trajectoire dont l’issue semblait fatale. La cinéaste use de la photographie comme une figure de lien qui permet de relier les vivants et les morts. Dans Ce répondeur ne prend pas de messages (1978), Alain Cavalier, incarne un homme endeuillé. Le cinéaste reprend un grand nombre de clichés photographiques tirées de ses archives personnelles, parmi lesquelles des coupures de journaux représentant des cadavres de la guerre. A travers ce geste de reprise, la problématique prend une dimension historique. À l’instar de la photographie devenue ici figure de coupe, le film déploie un ensemble de figures où la rupture insiste, participant d’un jeu de deuil. Avec Le Journal (1973-1982) de David Perlov qui est enserrés entre deux guerres, le texte aborde la problématique dans sa dimension politique. Le cinéaste israélien qui est aussi photographe, utilise différents formats de photographies. A travers les gestes de reprises et de répétitions, le photographique permet une transformation de la figure qui permet la séparation avec un passé traumatique
This dissertation is a consideration of the photographic in its relation to memory and mourning in both their personal and historical forms. It demonstrates how photography is a figure of mourning; how it is at once a means of connecting and a means of cutting off. Figures of mourning and filmmakers’ unique formal gestures are analyzed through a pared-down corpus of three essay films. In Letter From a Yellow Cherry Blossom (2002), Naomi Kawase is personally confronted with death. Her use of photographic stills provokes an interruption that reverses a seemingly fatal trajectory. Photography is a connecting figure that brings together the living and the dead. In Alain Cavalier’s This Answering Service Takes No Messages (1978), the filmmaker embodies a man in mourning. He uses a number of photographic stills from his personal archives, including newspaper clippings showing cadavers from the Second World War. This gesture of reuse brings out the historical dimension of the issues investigated in this dissertation. Photography becomes a figure of cutting off: the film deploys a number of figures through which rupture is insistent and participates in a process of mourning. In David Perlov’s Diary (1973-1982), a project bookended by two wars, these issues take on a political dimension. The Israeli filmmaker and photographer makes use of a number of photographic formats. Through reuse and repetition, the photographic allows for a transformation of the figure that breaks off from a traumatic past

In her essay Ilana Feldman investigates the relations between the private and the political in the autobiographical work of Israeli-born Brazilian filmmaker David Perlov (1930–2003). Problematizing her position as researcher, she points out that she was also affectively and intellectually deeply implicated in this research. In questioning self-reflexively her supposed neutrality as researcher, she is following, among others, Georges Devereux in De l’angoisse à la méthode (2012) where he argues for a dialectics between the subject and the object of the investigation in a prolonged process ‘of becoming aware’. Applying Marcio Seligmann-Silva’s notion of the ‘testimonial content of culture’ (2003) to her research methodology, Feldman writes that there is no knowledge of the ‘other’ without recognition of the ‘self’. She argues for the significance of her own personal archives and the transformative power they had in the construction of this research.