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mercredi 12 octobre 2011

History and graphic novels / L'histoire et la bande dessinée


History and graphic novels

Recently, Jeune Afrique shone the spotlight on a graphic novel about the history of relations between the United States and the Middle East. This first volume, of a projected three part series, is a collaboration between Jean-Pierre Filiu et David B., and covers 1783-1953. Those dates correspond with the end of the American War of Independence and CIA-engineered coup that deposed the popularly elected Iranian Prime Minister, Mohamed Mossadegh. Certainly, it's a narrative with many dramatic twists and turns.

Both authors are well-respected in their fields and there is no reason to suppose that this project is anything other than well-crafted. And that's important; graphic novels have a different, larger readership than the audience Filiu generally reaches, with a different set of expectations and a different toolkit for understanding history. A larger, more diverse audience is a double-edged sword; while it means more readers, it also means more scrutiny, and a greater possibility of backlash.

Les meilleurs ennemis is particularly interesting, because it deals with history, and thus runs up against questions of objectivity and subjectivity. History is a discipline, one of the social sciences, but history is also popular memory of past events. In German, there is a distinction between Historie, which is verifiable facts and Geschichte, which is the interpretation of these facts in a variety of contexts. Pierre Nora's monumental work, Realms of Memory, investigates this cleavage in French history, examining what meaning people attach to historical events, famous individuals, and commemorations. Of course, the question then becomes: who are the people who choose what meaning an event has? And when they choose, what other viewpoints get brushed to the side? A relevant example is the establishment of the state of Israel; the Israeli government and many Israelis view it as a great achievement, while Palestinians refer to it as the Nakba, or catastrophe.

Since the advent of the printing press (which is a disputed historical milestone in itself), governments have sought to use newspapers and other media to present a favorable perspective on their actions. The Atlantic has a wonderful summary of the development of print culture and the impact it has had on politics. It's not for nothing that today's dictators censor the internet, limit access to journalists and hire firms to manage their images. But despite this, citizens find ways to express their dissent, and employ formats that are accessible, like cartoons and songs, which can be disseminated easily. Unfortunately, high visibility puts the dissenters in danger. Since the beginning of the conflict in Syria, several outspoken artists have been targeted for reprisals, including the pianist Malek Jandali's elderly parents and Ali Ferzat, a well-known political cartoonist, whose hands were broken in an attack.

Very few people would come to the defense of these Syrian attackers, but sometimes dissent is more controversial. Thousands of angry people filled the streets several years ago in reaction to the cartoons in the Jyllands-Posten. And more recently, a film by the Franco-Tunisian director Nadia el-Fani caused an uproar in Tunisia. Many Muslims see these as a provocation and don't consider that free speech should extend to what they consider blasphemy. Of course, if some speech is forbidden, who then decides where to draw the line? And what guarantees that they won't abuse this power for their own gain or to hold on to power?

Part of the power of the Arab Spring has been that at long last, the citizens of the Middle East are throwing aside fear of their repressive leaders and expressing themselves. They will finally be able to contest and interpret the meanings of history and current events. When Filiu and David B. get to the third volume of their series, the story might look very different.

L'histoire et la bande dessinée

Dernièrement est apparu en Jenue Afrique une critique de l'album de bande dessinée Les meilleurs ennemis. Une histoire des relations entre les Etats-Unis et le Moyen-Orient. Première partie 1783/1953 qui décrit les relations entre les Etats-Unis et le Moyen-Orient. Ce premier tome, sur une série de trois, est une collaboration entre le chercheur Jean-Pierre Filiu et l'artiste David B. et s'étend sur la période entre 1783 et 1953. Une période qui commence avec la fin de la guerre de l'indépendence des Etats-Unis et qui finit par le coup, orchestré par la CIA, qui a déposé le premier ministre iranien Mohamed Mossadegh. Evidemment, un récit qui comprend des aventures et des rebonds dramatiques.

Tous les deux auteurs sont bien connus et respectés dans leur domaine, donc l'on peut supposer que le travail est bien fait. Et cela est important; les bandes dessinées ont un public plus grand et plus varié que celui dont réjouit habituellement les écrits du chercheur, avec des attentes et une manière différente d'aborder l'histoire. Mais alors un public plus grand et plus varié est une épée à double tranchant; plus de lecteurs entraîne aussi plus de visibilité et une possibilité plus grande des réactions défavorables.

Ce qui rend particulièrement intéressant Les meilleurs ennemis est qu'il traite de l'histoire et donc du clivage entre objectif et subjectif. L'histoire est une science sociale, mais l'histoire est aussi la mémoire du grand public. En allemand, l'on fait une distinction entre Historie, qui comprend que les faits certifiables, et Geschichte, qui est l'interprétation de ces faits dans plusieurs contextes. L'oeuvre monumental de Pierre Nora, Les lieux de la mémoire, examine ce clivage au cours de l'histoire française, interrogeant la signification assignée aux evènements, personnes renommées et commémorations. Et alors la question se pose : qui assigne cette signification? Et quand ils choississent, quelles autres persepctives sont balayées? Tenez l'exemple de la création de l'état d'Israël : le gouverenment israëlien et beaucoup des israëliens célèbrent cet evènement, mais les Palestiniens l'appelle “nakba” ou catastrophe.

Depuis l'apparition de la machine à imprimer (qui est elle-même controversée), des états cherchent à contrôler les journaux et les médias, afin de donner un image favorable de leurs actions. La revue Atlantic résume le développement de la culture imprimée et son effect sur la politique. Ce n'est pas pour rien que les dictateurs de nos jours coupent l'internet, limitent l'accès des journalistes, et engage des conseillers pour soigner leur image. Malgré tout ces obstacles, certains citoyens parviennent à exprimer leur contestation, et utilise des formats abordables, tels les caricatures et les chansons, qui se distribuent facilement. Malheureusement, cette renommée met en danger les dissidents. Depuis le déclenchement du conflict syrien, des artistes sont devenus des cibles des représailles, comme les parents de pianiste Malek Jandali, ou encore le caricaturiste Ali Ferzat, dont les mains ont été brisées lors d'une aggression.

Très peu de gens trouveraint des justifications pour ces abus en Syrie, mais il existe des cas où la contestation est plus controversée. Des milliers de gens en colère ont défilé dans la rue contre la parution des caricatures dans le journal Jyllands-Posten. Plus récemment en Tunisie, le film de Nadia el-Fani crée un scandale. De nombreux musulmans les considèrent comme une provocation, et veulent que la libre expression s'arrête là où commence le blashphème. Mais, quand l'expression est limitée, qui décide ce qui est permis et ce qui ne l'est pas? Et comment assurer qu'ils n'abusent pas ce pouvoir?

La puissance du Printemps arabe est le fait qu'enfin, les gens du Moyen-orient se libèrent de la peur et s'expriment. Ils ont le pouvoir de contester et interpréter l'histoire pour eux-mêmes. Une fois arrivés au troisième tome, l'histoire que dépeignent Filiu et David B. serait bien différente.


samedi 1 octobre 2011

The Zon-Mai in Philly; What Viewers does it Reach?

During the Fringe Festival, I went to see the Zon-Mai which is on loan from the Cité nationale de l'histoire de l'immigration in Paris. It's a house with dance performances about the experience of migration projected on the outside. In Philadelphia, it was presented in the Pump House space, along the Delaware River waterfront, which used to be a busy port and is now underused.

The performances showcased in the Zon-Mai were filmed in intimate spaces, like the bathroom of a Parisian apartment. The pain and separation of migration are very private feelings and the Zon-Mai is designed to confront the viewer with this experience.

I visited the installation with someone who has migrated twice; once from the Maghreb to France and now to the US. His reaction highlights a contradiction that I have noticed many times; the art forms used to express migration are often lost on the people who would most likely relate to these feelings. While he was impressed by the flexibility and technical skill of some of the dancers, he did not see how it expressed anything relevant to his experience as a migrant.

Migrants feel a panoply of pressures; to succeed financially, to meet the sometimes inflated expectations of their families in their home countries, to build new lives without forgetting their families and cultures, to be good citizens of their new countries. None of this necessarily gives them time to understand or appreciate high culture.

I wrote my French thesis about films that depict the range of experiences of immigrants and children of immigrants in France and how they relate to their country and its culture. Film and television are more accessible than dance performances, and thus maybe reach more people and can inspire them to reflect on their own identity and experience.

The home site of the Zon-Mai, the Cité nationale de l'histoire de l'immigration was controversial to open and was born out of complex set of academic and political negotiations about France, immigrants and identity. The Palais de la Porte Dorée, where the museum is housed was built for the Universal Exposition in 1931 and housed the museum of the colonies. Many of the migrant populations in France come from France's former colonies. How do they feel about this? Does having a museum dedicated to the history of immigration give them recognition or isolate them from other French citizens? These questions are unresolved.

Does this mean that the Zon-Mai is useless? Not at all; but it also will perhaps reach an elite audience. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Communicating what other people experience to elites can connect them to the needs and aspirations of the greater population who they are supposed to serve.