In late September I went to a screening of a documentary called "Unheard Voices." It was created by the WAVE Trauma Centre with the help of the Centre for Media Research from the University of Ulster. The documentary includes interviews with six people who lived through the Troubles and either lost someone or were injured themselves. The documentary is presented in a series of short stories, each lasting about five minutes. There is no music, there are no fancy cinematic effects. It is raw and piercing and heart-wrenching. As an audience member, you are invited into the lives of people who are still suffering as a result of the Troubles; the interviewees share with you some of their most personal experiences. One woman agrees to allow viewers to watch as she visits the parking lot where her brother was killed years ago, just as he was leaving the hospital after having seen his newborn child. As a viewer, I felt intrusive, like I wasn't supposed to be watching this moment or that I shouldn't be allowed. But the wonderful thing about this documentary is how involved the participants were in the making of the film. They were given the opportunity to choose, amongst all their footage, the five minutes that would be shown to the audience. This woman chose to show us this profound and sorrowful experience. The directors and producers were keen to make sure the process of sharing the stories of these people was a community-wide and holistic effort. Unlike many other documentaries, in which participants have little control over what is included or left out of the film, these participants were allowed to copyright their stories, so that they could "have ownership of their stories in a public sphere." I think this was a crucial and meaningful action to take because the storytellers should be in control of how their stories are related to others. This, I think, is how those who have suffered can begin the process of reconciliation.
We were able to meet two of the participants from the documentary tonight. I sat right behind a woman whose son was killed after six shots were fired into his back. It was an incredible and horrifying to watch her watch the documentary. I've never interacted with anyone who has been so affected through violent conflict. I was so struck by how ordinary she was, which was unsettling. I couldn't help but think: that could've been me; it could've been my mom, my grandma, my sister. And the fact that she was sitting right in front of me made watching the documentary all the more powerful. I commented later on how thankful I was that she was brave enough to share her story, and that she was so willing to share it with complete strangers, like me. She was asked by another audience member if storytelling helped at all with the healing process. She said it did, but that it is impossible to ever rid yourself from the grief of losing a child. Another audience member commented that he thinks storytelling is one of the best ways for a community to acknowledge the terrible effects of a conflict. It is most critical, he said, for the story to be shared with young people, so that events like those of the Troubles won't occur again.
I was sitting with three other students from Magee who had accompanied me to the screening. We were the only young people in the audience, so we were asked by the panel to share our thoughts about the documentary. None of my friends would say anything, so I spoke up, which is something I hadn't planned on doing because I had been crying the entire time, and I was still choked up. But I felt obligated to comment, so I struggled through some sort of answer, broken up in embarrassing sobs, that we really appreciated the documentary and that it had a great effect on all of us and that we would really like to show it at our home universities, etc, etc. My comment wasn't nearly as articulate as I wanted it to be, but I guess it turned out alright. I was given a copy of the DVD to show at Juniata in the spring, to help share their stories abroad.
No comments:
Post a Comment