Minding The Perceptible Gap

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I did find this discomforting…its only the trailer, but the associations and presumptions are a offensive combination of Orientalism / Historical revisionism. Indeed, as someone pointed out, they are fantastic musicians, but this fact is entirely irrelevant to the issue at hand i.e the appropriation of Western symbols of liberation and freedom, juxtaposed against highly curtailed and crafted ideas of ‘religious’ fundamentalism and barbarism. We have seen this very often, and as well made as this film is, and as well crafted the narrative, it really doesn’t seem to want to get past this dichotomy, and to find a way to convince the international movie-going circuit that there is a longing to be more like them, and a desire to speak more like they do. And in that process, all sorts of liberties have been taken to construct the freedom vs. barbarism narrative.  Details »

Prisoners Caught In The Searchlight!

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There is a uncomfortable relationship between winning awards and doing journalism. Or photojournalism. Personally, I find it odd that reporters and photographers are so keen to ‘pick up’ awards, to walk down red-carpets, to accept trinkets that are apparently there to mark their ‘achievements’. It begs the question: what is the journalist’s or photojournalist’s achievement? How does one measure that in fact? Well, clearly in photojournalism, the achievement is always merely aesthetic. The works are never measured for their political, social, cultural or intellectual impact. Never. We are merely happy to pick up awards because the pictures were nice. Its all quite insular, self-congratulatory, and in complete contradiction of the public rhetoric of the craft, and the moral grandstanding that so many writers and photographers spew in social media and interviews. Details »

New World Order?

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The theatre of democracy keeps falling apart. What we are witnessing is the ideology of neoliberalism that is now so deeply entrenched in the EU member states that an entire political idea – people centred democracy – that Europe once claimed was ‘its heritage’ is being jettisoned. We saw how the voice of the people of Greece was never even a consideration in the way the Troika dealt with that crisis, we see it here the constitution is effectively discarded to protect the arrangements of the EU itself, and we will see it again elsewhere. This is however, not just about ideology. It is also about faith in a system called Ordoliberalism – a German concoction that emerged in the aftermath of WWII, where it is believed by its adherents that:

…like the Anglo-Saxon advocates of laissez-faire, believe the state should not distort the workings of the markets, but they also believe that free competition does not develop spontaneously. The state should establish a legal, technical, social, moral and cultural framework for the markets, and make sure everyone follows the rules….They argued that a strong state was needed to neutralise cartels and avoid the escalation of economic war. Eucken wrote: “The state has to consciously shape the structures, the institutional framework, the order, in which the economy functions … But it [should] not direct the economic process itself.

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The Amsterdam NOOR / NIKON Masterclass

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I am in Pakistan now. But in a few weeks I will be in The Netherlands. And here is why.

We hear from self-proclaimed photojournalism futurists that the media world as we know it is dead. We are told repeatedly by major magazine editors that there are no budgets for serious, long-term photojournalism assignments. We argue every week with other editors for a even the most basic of day rates for the assignments we do get. We hear and read about all the new technical breakthroughs that are making sure magazine-spread, linearly laid out photo-essays, once the bread and butter of the craft, are no longer relevant, and that more sophisticated tools are promising us non-linear, complex, multi-layered means of story-telling.

And yet, there are few photography workshops that will actually discuss and incorporate these realities and help students figure out ways to navigate them. Even the most well known, resourced and taught photojournalism workshops continue to teach students based on a pedagogy that has little relevance in the world the students hope to make a name for themselves. We continue to see people standing around a light table carefully and with exaggerated precision, laying out photos in an A-to-B sequence, as if the magazine page was the principal and only possible publishing medium. We continue to hear teachers talking about ‘sense of place image’ or ‘an opener’ or a ‘closer’ and other such anachronistic ideas that frankly suggest that there  has been no digital transformation. Linearity, sequencing, start-here-then-go-there approach remain the principle method in workshops, photo festivals, gallery exhibits and even online portfolio presentations. This despite the fact that more likely than not, a new photographers work will end up on a digital platform far before it ever ends up in a printed one.

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War As A Product

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Militarism was thus being perpetuated at precisely the moment that it had become marginalised as a political program…[This was possible because of the]…spatial packaging of the underside of British modernity, in which Arabia figured as the last bastion of the world free from bourgeois convention, a place of honour and bravery (however mindless), of manly sportsmanship and perennial conflict…As Glubb put it, “Life in the desert is continuous guerrilla warfare,” and this meant striking hard and fast because that was the way of “Bedouin war.” “Not a moderate, but a maximum weight of bombs must be dropped” to maintain the native’s respect for airpower, insistend Flight Lieutenant Mackay. On his return home, General Haldane corroborated this truism about Arabs’ masochistic respect for “force, and force alone,” assuring audiences at the United Services Institute that though he had been “obliged t0 inflict a very severe lesson on the recalcitrant tribes, they bore me no resentment.” To them, Glubb elaborated, war was a ‘romantic excitement” whose production of “tragedies, bereavements, widows and orphans” was a “normal way of life,” “natural and inevitable.” Their taste for war was the source of their belief that they were “elites of the human race.” It would be a cultural offence not to bombard them with all the might of the empire (not least out of respect for the frequently invoked tribal principle of communal responsibility). Arnold Wilson confirmed for the Air Ministry that the problem was one of public perception, that Iraqis were used to a state of constant warfare, expected justice without kids gloves, had no patience with sentimental distinctions between combatants and noncombatants, and viewed air action as entirely “legitimate and proper.” “The natives of a lot of these tries love fighting for fighting’s sake,” Trenchard assured Parliament. “They have no objection to being killed.”  (Page 250)

Priya Satia Spies In Arabia: The Great War And The Cultural Foundations of Britian’s Covert Empire In The M.E. 

They are two individuals embedded deep inside America’s war machine. Ostensibly and formally introduced as ‘reporters’ for The New York Times, Helene Cooper and Adam Ferguson, we are told are “…aboard the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt in the Persian Gulf.” And they are supposed to be conducting journalism. The fact that instead they are producing propaganda pieces for the US military is rather difficult to avoid stating. I suppose in such a situation, where access to a major battle fleet has been arranged from negotiations between the highest levels of military command, and the highest levels of The New York Time’s corporate command, I can’t see either one being able to produce anything else. Details »

Manufacting The Arab Woman: On Indexing, Categorising And As A Result, Erasing

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I would like Arab women to stop trying to represent ‘Arab’ women.

This is an insidious trap that steals from them the width and breath of life and imagination. We have so much to document, so much to speak about, beyond the constant rehashing of issues of ‘hijabs’ and ‘harems’ and ‘self-identify’. The Western curatorial tradition – ideological, and blind to its affiliations to power and politics, wants the brown wo/man to only always be explaining and representing themselves. It’s as if we are alien beings under constant interrogation and curious observation. Previously they forced it from us, now they try to get us to do it voluntarily by offering us a ‘space’ in their beautiful galleries and magazine spreads. No Western photographer or curator would ever put together an exhibition like this about White /European women. The subject would not even occur to them, and in fact, it would be considered seriously bizarre. The European needs no representation. The ‘other’s’ women – inexplicable, opaque, deviant, incomprehensible, are constantly placed under a gaze – curatorial, documentary, journalistic and what not. Or being bought together to justify their ‘humanity’ by showing possibly that they are as much human as we are. I don’t even quite understand the need to have such ethnically and geographically segmented works, but clearly there is a huge market for it in the imperial nations. The French are great purveyors of such anachronistic Orientalism, constantly categorising and indexing the world into its neat little ‘packets’.  Details »

Dream Palaces / Tensin Tsundue – IV

My father died
defending our home,
our village, our country.
I too wanted to fight.
But we are Buddhist.
People say we should be
Peaceful and Non-Violent.
So I forgive our enemy.
But sometimes I feel
I betrayed my father.

 

Betrayal by Tensin Tsundue

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Dream Palaces / Tensin Tsundue – III

When it rains in Dharamsala
raindrops wear boxing gloves,
thousands of them
come crashing down
and beat my room.
Under its tin roof
my room cries from inside
and wets my bed, my papers.

Sometimes the clever rain comes
from behind my room,
the treacherous walls lift
their heels and allow
a small flood into my room.

I sit on my island-nation bed
and watch my country in flood,
notes on freedom,
memoirs of my prison days,
letters from college friends,
crumbs of bread
and Maggi noodles
rise sprightly to the surface
like a sudden recovery
of a forgotten memory.

Three months of torture,
monsoon in the needle-leafed pines
Himalaya rinsed clean
glistens in the evening sun.
Until the rain calms down
and stops beating my room
I need to console my tin roof
who has been on duty
from the British Raj.
This room has sheltered
many homeless people.

Now captured by mongooses
and mice, lizards and spiders,
and partly rented by me.
A rented room for home
is a humbling existence.
My Kashmiri landlady
at eighty cannot return home.
We often compete for beauty
Kashmir or Tibet.

Every evening,
I return to my rented room;
but I am not going to die this way.
There has got to be
some way out of here.
I cannot cry like my room
I have cried enough
in prisons and
in small moments of despair.

There has got to be
some way out of here.
I cannot cry,
my room is wet enough.

Dream Palaces / Tenzin Tsundue – II

Pull your ceiling half way down and you can create a mezanine for me

Your walls open into cupboards

Is there an empty shelf for me?

Let me grow in your garden,

With your roses and prickly pears

I will sleep under your bed and watch tv in the mirror

Do you have an ear on your balcony, I am singing from your window

Open your door,

Let me in.

I am resting on your door step.

Call me when you are awake.

A proposal by Tenzin Tsundue

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Dream Palaces / Tenzin Tsundue

When I was born
my mother said
you are a refugee.
Our tent on the roadside
smoked in the snow.

On your forehead
between your eyebrows
there is an R embossed
my teacher said.

I scratched and scrubbed,
on my forehead I found
a brash of red pain.

I have three tongues
the one that sings
is my mother tongue.

The R on my forehead
between my English and Hindi
the Tibetan tongue reads:

RANGZEN

by Tenzin Tsundue

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