Monday, June 23, 2008
What We Want in a Newsman
A Columbia Journalism Review piece opines about what all the Tim Russert replacement talk says about what we as viewers are looking for in newscaster. I know I'm never looking for an anchor, but rather a reporter who just happens to be good in the anchor seat. And you couldn't ask for a better political reporter than Tim Russert. That's becuase he cut his chops as an indispensible news source - first as chief of staff to Senator Patrick Moynihan, then as counselor to NY governor Mario Cuomo. And unlike so many of today's entertainment newspeople, who won't let inconvenient facts get in the way of their "good story," Russert never tried to manipulate us. Tom Brokaw is a reporting legend, too, but still, when I watch my Tivo recordings of "Meet the Press" on Monday nights, I'll be sorry to see him sitting in Tim's seat...
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Iraqi Refugees Struggle to Find Jobs in America
On Saturday afternoon forty-eight Iraqi refugees who have resettled in the U.S. arrived at Reagan International Airport. The men wore pressed suits and ties and the women had freshly polished fingernails and high heels. They were clearly dressed to impress. In their luggage they carried a most prized possession - resumes detailing their work with American companies, the American military and the American government in Iraq. While they are a unique refugee group -- all are college-educated professionals -- they face the most common refugee problem: continuing their careers in America.
"I helped Army soldiers understand the Muslim culture. I trained them. Why can't I do that same job here in the United States? Before the soldiers go to Iraq?," one middle-aged Iraqi man pleaded with a job advisor from Upwardly Global, a non-profit organization that partnered with The List Project to organize a job search skills conference in Washington, D.C. this week.
Iraqis learned the hard truths about hunting for a job here: human resources managers spend an average of 20 seconds on every resume, personal stories (even the heart-wrenching ones they all have to tell) have no place in a job interview, the economy is terrible, resumes should be limited to a page or two (most of theirs are 3, 4 and 5 pages), and, most difficult for them to hear, don't expect their employers in Iraq to hire them in America.
"Iraqis are having a hard time coming to terms with the reality that while their education and skills were valued in Baghdad, Fallujah, and Basra, they are not valued here," says Jane Leu, Upwardly Global's founder and president. "These people were leaders in Iraq, and they will be leaders here if given the chance. The idea that all immigrants have to pull themselves up by their boot straps is outdated."
Titan Corporation, the single largest employer of Iraqi translators, has not hired even one single Iraqi who has has resettled in America. And while study after study shows how a lack of Arabic translators hurts national security, no Iraqis who worked for the government in Iraq have been hired by the State Department.
"I don't want focus on the negative. I need to move forward," says Emam Al-Timimi who worked for the State Department in Baghdad. Emam may not have her career back yet, but, she says, she does have a job: setting an example for Iraqis who come here in the future. "I want to show them that it is possible to succeed here. I know it is. I hope."
(Listen to NPR report "Iraqi Refugees Struggling to Rebuild Life in America.")
"I helped Army soldiers understand the Muslim culture. I trained them. Why can't I do that same job here in the United States? Before the soldiers go to Iraq?," one middle-aged Iraqi man pleaded with a job advisor from Upwardly Global, a non-profit organization that partnered with The List Project to organize a job search skills conference in Washington, D.C. this week.
Iraqis learned the hard truths about hunting for a job here: human resources managers spend an average of 20 seconds on every resume, personal stories (even the heart-wrenching ones they all have to tell) have no place in a job interview, the economy is terrible, resumes should be limited to a page or two (most of theirs are 3, 4 and 5 pages), and, most difficult for them to hear, don't expect their employers in Iraq to hire them in America.
"Iraqis are having a hard time coming to terms with the reality that while their education and skills were valued in Baghdad, Fallujah, and Basra, they are not valued here," says Jane Leu, Upwardly Global's founder and president. "These people were leaders in Iraq, and they will be leaders here if given the chance. The idea that all immigrants have to pull themselves up by their boot straps is outdated."
Titan Corporation, the single largest employer of Iraqi translators, has not hired even one single Iraqi who has has resettled in America. And while study after study shows how a lack of Arabic translators hurts national security, no Iraqis who worked for the government in Iraq have been hired by the State Department.
"I don't want focus on the negative. I need to move forward," says Emam Al-Timimi who worked for the State Department in Baghdad. Emam may not have her career back yet, but, she says, she does have a job: setting an example for Iraqis who come here in the future. "I want to show them that it is possible to succeed here. I know it is. I hope."
(Listen to NPR report "Iraqi Refugees Struggling to Rebuild Life in America.")
Friday, May 16, 2008
Kirk Johnson on CBS 60 Minutes
Kirk Johnson and The List Project are the focus of Principle Pictures' newest feature documentary. We have been filming with Kirk and the Iraqis on his list since August 2007.
When Kirk Johnson came home from Iraq after working for the U.S. Agency for International Development, he had a plan: get into the best law school he could. But that plan changed when Kirk heard about Ahmed*, an Iraqi colleague who was receiving death threats. Ahmed also worked for USAID, and although he had tried to hide what he did for a living, the militia werfe ollowing him. They branded Ahmed a traitor, left death threats on his door, and forced him to start a life on the run. "I asked my bosses at USAID to transfer me," he says. "I would go anywhere in the world - to any country. But they said, no, we're sorry. If you do not come back to work in Baghdad, you are terminated."
Ahmed would become the first person on Kirk's "List" which has become a huge database of Iraqis who believed in America's vision of building a democratic Iraq. Like so many of the other Iraqis who signed on as interpreters, drivers and reconstruction specialists, Ahmed had grown up watching Hollywood movies, practicing English, and hoping that one day Iraqis would be able to acheive their own version of the American Dream. In the Spring of 2003, it seemed that day had come.
But it didn't take long before the once coveted U.S. work badges became a symbol of "collaboration" with the enemy, and Ahmed and his friends began leading double lives. Ahmed told his family he had quit his job with the Americans, and pretended to go to work every day for an Iraqi company.
A year later the death threat came... punctuated by the severed head of a small dog. The message was - "You're next."
That day, Ahmed and his wife left their home and their country. Not long after, Ahmed and Johnson reconnected. They were two guys who had bonded in the frenzied excitement over Iraq's reconstruction. Together, they had set out to do their part in building a stable, democratic Iraq. And at the time, it hadn't seemed at all naive. Why should it have? At the time, everything seemed possible. But all that had changed. Johnson was back in Chicago after a devastating accident caused by his own post-traumatic stress issues. And Ahmed was running for his life.
Neither could have anticipated it at the time, but finding each other again meant an attempt to fulfill a new dream. Johnson started The List Project to help Ahmed and other Iraqis who have been branded "traitors" by the militias for aiding the U.S.-led war effort. Today, there are more than 1,000 names on Johnson's list. About 40 of them have been allowed into the United States... Ahmed is one of them.
*Ahmed's name has been changed to protect his safety and the safety of his family.
When Kirk Johnson came home from Iraq after working for the U.S. Agency for International Development, he had a plan: get into the best law school he could. But that plan changed when Kirk heard about Ahmed*, an Iraqi colleague who was receiving death threats. Ahmed also worked for USAID, and although he had tried to hide what he did for a living, the militia werfe ollowing him. They branded Ahmed a traitor, left death threats on his door, and forced him to start a life on the run. "I asked my bosses at USAID to transfer me," he says. "I would go anywhere in the world - to any country. But they said, no, we're sorry. If you do not come back to work in Baghdad, you are terminated."
Ahmed would become the first person on Kirk's "List" which has become a huge database of Iraqis who believed in America's vision of building a democratic Iraq. Like so many of the other Iraqis who signed on as interpreters, drivers and reconstruction specialists, Ahmed had grown up watching Hollywood movies, practicing English, and hoping that one day Iraqis would be able to acheive their own version of the American Dream. In the Spring of 2003, it seemed that day had come.
But it didn't take long before the once coveted U.S. work badges became a symbol of "collaboration" with the enemy, and Ahmed and his friends began leading double lives. Ahmed told his family he had quit his job with the Americans, and pretended to go to work every day for an Iraqi company.
A year later the death threat came... punctuated by the severed head of a small dog. The message was - "You're next."
That day, Ahmed and his wife left their home and their country. Not long after, Ahmed and Johnson reconnected. They were two guys who had bonded in the frenzied excitement over Iraq's reconstruction. Together, they had set out to do their part in building a stable, democratic Iraq. And at the time, it hadn't seemed at all naive. Why should it have? At the time, everything seemed possible. But all that had changed. Johnson was back in Chicago after a devastating accident caused by his own post-traumatic stress issues. And Ahmed was running for his life.
Neither could have anticipated it at the time, but finding each other again meant an attempt to fulfill a new dream. Johnson started The List Project to help Ahmed and other Iraqis who have been branded "traitors" by the militias for aiding the U.S.-led war effort. Today, there are more than 1,000 names on Johnson's list. About 40 of them have been allowed into the United States... Ahmed is one of them.
*Ahmed's name has been changed to protect his safety and the safety of his family.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Grand Jury Prize for BEYOND BELIEF
Exciting news from the Indianpolis International Film Festival where BEYOND BELIEF won Best Documentary. Congratulations to THE GREATEST SILENCE: RAPE IN CONGO for being awarded the Eric Parker Social Justice Award.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Where's Monica's Pink Ribbon?
When my friend, Monica*, was first diagnosed with breast cancer in her early 30s, she expected to do what all breast cancer survivors are expected to do: fight it, stay positive, and, above all, never let down her peers by being diagnosed again.
But not long after her daughter was born, Monica's cancer came back. Every doctor's appointment brought more disappointing news about where the disease was spreading. And little by little the pink ribbons and chemo-comraderie that defined her first battle with cancer were gone. The word "survivor" was replaced with "tragedy," and a reporter told her that her story was too depressing for a drive-time audience. "I think it'd be better if you just stopped your story with the birth of your daughter," the reporter advised. Silence. "Is that out of line?"
Out of line? Perhaps. But whose fault is that? The "diagnosis-fight-happy ending" story is exactly the one audiences expect--and want--to hear. While feminism may have helped breast cancer surivors unite, fear continues to allow metastatic patients to be ostracized. And the universally upbeat tone of the breast cancer movement often fails to communicate the strongest message of all: breast cancer is a disease that kills. Indiscriminately.
(*Name has been changed to protect identity.)
But not long after her daughter was born, Monica's cancer came back. Every doctor's appointment brought more disappointing news about where the disease was spreading. And little by little the pink ribbons and chemo-comraderie that defined her first battle with cancer were gone. The word "survivor" was replaced with "tragedy," and a reporter told her that her story was too depressing for a drive-time audience. "I think it'd be better if you just stopped your story with the birth of your daughter," the reporter advised. Silence. "Is that out of line?"
Out of line? Perhaps. But whose fault is that? The "diagnosis-fight-happy ending" story is exactly the one audiences expect--and want--to hear. While feminism may have helped breast cancer surivors unite, fear continues to allow metastatic patients to be ostracized. And the universally upbeat tone of the breast cancer movement often fails to communicate the strongest message of all: breast cancer is a disease that kills. Indiscriminately.
(*Name has been changed to protect identity.)
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Beyond Belief Wins Best Documentary at Sonoma Valley Film Festival
It is no surprise that the Sonoma Valley Film Festival is considered one of the best destination film festivals around. I loved every second of my time there (even when it was 90 degrees on Saturday and finding a glass of wine was easier than tracking down water!). The festival is extremely well organized by people who really care about films and filmmakers. Particularly exciting for me was that my husband, Dennis, and 7-month-old daughter, Isabelle, joined me for the event, and two days before the Awards Ceremony Isabelle started clapping for the first time! So, when BEYOND BELIEF won, she was ready! Read the Sonoma News article here.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Congratulations, Ilir!
Ilir is packing his bags and heading to Boston to get his MA in Photojournalism at BU. I'm so proud of you, Ilir! (For background on Ilir's journey from Kosovo's ashes to college... see blog entry on Wednesday, January 16, 2008.)
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
A United Nations Day
When I told my mother that BEYOND BELIEF was screening at the United Nations the day after Easter, she reacted with the kind of surprise and amazement that told me I had earned her respect in a new way. "Wow. Beth. The United Nations..." is all the formerly eloquent English teacher could muster. My mother-in-law had a similar reaction, and the next thing I knew the three of us were having our picture taken in front of UN Headquarters with the 179 Member State flags flying in an undulating row behind us and sharing stories about my family's Italian and Hungarian heritage and my husband's Irish ancestry.
At lunch when the waiter suggested the special turbot fish that had just been flown in from Holland, I couldn't resist. We were heading to the Dag Hammarskjöld Library, after all, and I imagined this high-end fish was just the kind of meal a Netherlands diplomat and former Secretary-General would eat during lunch breaks. Two hours later, I greeted UN staffers and special guests with a full belly and a new nickname: "Turbo" (which we decided was better than "Litte Miss Fifty Dollar Fish").
Every time I have an opportunity to connect with audiences I am grateful. But to do it at the UN was something truly special. The event was organized by Gay Rosenblum-Kumar for the United Nations Department of Political Affairs, the Department of Economic and Social Affairs, and the United Nations Development Programme, and Susan Koscis of Search for Common Ground. Together, Gay and Susan's sheer love of film and dedication to advocacy keeps a film series going on a shoe-string budget.
Following the screening, I joined Susan Retik (one of the 9/11 widows featured in the film) and S.K. Guha, a senior program specialist with the United Nations Development Fund for Women, for a panel discussion with the audience. A Norweigan woman in the front row made an astute observation about the Taliban's misrepresentation of Islamic law. An American diplomat wanted to understand how my own life had been effected by the filming experience. And an Iraqi refugee wanted Susan to share her thoughts about the politicization of 9/11 - "How do you feel about your husband's memory being used to fuel other acts of violence?" he asked.
As Susan began to answer, I looked up into the crowd, and all the way in the back row I could see my mother... snapping pictures...
At lunch when the waiter suggested the special turbot fish that had just been flown in from Holland, I couldn't resist. We were heading to the Dag Hammarskjöld Library, after all, and I imagined this high-end fish was just the kind of meal a Netherlands diplomat and former Secretary-General would eat during lunch breaks. Two hours later, I greeted UN staffers and special guests with a full belly and a new nickname: "Turbo" (which we decided was better than "Litte Miss Fifty Dollar Fish").
Every time I have an opportunity to connect with audiences I am grateful. But to do it at the UN was something truly special. The event was organized by Gay Rosenblum-Kumar for the United Nations Department of Political Affairs, the Department of Economic and Social Affairs, and the United Nations Development Programme, and Susan Koscis of Search for Common Ground. Together, Gay and Susan's sheer love of film and dedication to advocacy keeps a film series going on a shoe-string budget.
Following the screening, I joined Susan Retik (one of the 9/11 widows featured in the film) and S.K. Guha, a senior program specialist with the United Nations Development Fund for Women, for a panel discussion with the audience. A Norweigan woman in the front row made an astute observation about the Taliban's misrepresentation of Islamic law. An American diplomat wanted to understand how my own life had been effected by the filming experience. And an Iraqi refugee wanted Susan to share her thoughts about the politicization of 9/11 - "How do you feel about your husband's memory being used to fuel other acts of violence?" he asked.
As Susan began to answer, I looked up into the crowd, and all the way in the back row I could see my mother... snapping pictures...
Thursday, March 27, 2008
My Four Days with Ousted Afghan Parliamentarian and Human Rights Activist Malalai Joya
The action of evil-doers is better than the inaction of good people.
--Malalai Joya (March 17, 2008)
Although she is a marked woman at home and has survived numerous death threats and assassination attempts, Malalai Joya arrives at Logan airport alone, holding a rain coat a supporter in California gave her and a small black, leather pocketbook with a copy of "Three Cups of Tea" peaking out. All five-foot three-inches of me towers over her small frame, and I might have mistaken her for a foreign undergrad student if I hadn't spent the morning watching her fiery speeches on YouTube.
Joya is 29-years-old, but already she seems to have lived a thousand lives. She was four-years-old when her father lost his right leg during the Soviet invasion, and her family fled Afghanistan. It was in the refugee camps of Iran and Pakistan where her social activism flourished, and she returned home during the Taliban's reign of terror to help lead the underground fight for women's rights. She tells me that it was during this time that she fell in love with Langston Hughes poetry, opened an orphanage, and taught her mother to read and write.
The moment the word "mother" crosses her lips, a brilliant smile envelopes her face. "My mother is coming to meet me when I go home," she says as her voice giggles but her eyes turn sad. "I haven't seen her in over a year." It's nearly impossible for Joya to visit with her parents, six sisters, three brothers and friends. Because she is being hunted by anti-democratic forces in Afghanistan, she is constantly on the run, sleeping in different places nearly every night, and hiding under the burqa. She's even on a list of about 300 people who are forbidden to leave Afghanistan. Every border guard, airport worker and immigration official has her name. And to confirm her status as political prisoner, officials did one of the things she feared most: they took away her passport.
So, it's somewhat of a miracle that Joya is here now, sitting in the passenger seat beside me as we drive through downtown Boston. It seems to me that nothing scares her. Because nothing stops her: Not being threatened with rape by a fellow colleague in parliament (he was angry when she exposed his ties to the opium trade); not the bomb that exploded 5 seconds early, saving her from certain death; and certainly not the "loss" of her passport. Avoiding official channels, she asked her province to issue another passport, and even though her name is misspelled and there's no birth date or expiration date, she has now criss-crossed the globe with it.
Days later, as I watch a beefy Massachusetts State Police officer turn the passport over and over in his hands and stare at the pretty Dari script, I wonder if he'll be the one to put an end to this unlikely journey. But he hands it back to the Delta ticket agent, "Looks fine to me," he says as he walks away.
Joya is in Boston to participate in the International Women's Day celebration I helped plan for the International Institute of Boston. At this event--and at three others over the course of her stay--I hear her deliver the same damning message: the United States is helping to return fundamentalism to Afghanistan. (Click here for a trancsript of her speech.)
Although her English is broken, it is excellent, and she speaks like someone on borrowed time—-fast and with a sense of urgency. The current U.S.-supported Karzai government, she says, is just the latest corrupt regime to disappoint the Afghan people and suppress their human rights. For women, the dreams of equality anticipated after the fall of the Taliban and demanded in the new Constitution, have never been realized. In fact, life for Afghan women today slips further into darkness. “We are treated not like humans. We are treated like animals. Worse than animals.”
“Do you want some examples?” she asks the audience. Without waiting for an answer, Joya rattles off stories from every corner of the country: a 22-year-old woman whose husband cut off her hands and poured boiling water over her body; a 14-year-old girl who was gang-raped by three men, but because one of the men was the son of a parliamentarian, police did nothing; an 18-year-old who committed suicide after being sold to a 60-year-old man. “Do you want me to continue?” she challenges us.
Since I started writing this blog entry, two women have died in Afghanistan while giving birth (that’s one every 28 minutes). Depression and suicide rates among women—already alarmingly high—are growing. And forced marriages are still the norm, accounting for nearly 90% of all unions.
This is the reality, Joya says, of the War on Terror. The Afghan people have watched the United States pump $15 billion dollars into the country, yet still only 2percent of the people have access to electricity, and more than 60% of Afghans are unemployed. All the while, the Taliban resurgence gains momentum.
“This is not democracy,” she pleads. “This is only teaching Afghans to have a negative view of democracy. It is a mockery of democracy. The Taliban and the fundamentalist warlords of the Northern Alliance are now the leaders of our country. They are killers and criminals. And they may fool the rest of the world with their shaven faces and their neat ties, but they cannot fool the Afghan people.”
It was her reference to the parliament as a “zoo” on Afghanistan’s ToloTV that ultimately led to her ousting from the legislature. Stripped of her salary and bodyguards and wary to put family and supporters in danger by being seen with them, Joya leads an increasingly solitary life.
But it is a life infused with meaning. She was engaged on Afghanistan’s Freedom Day and married on International Women’s Day. She rarely sees her husband, but, as you might expect, their relationship defies any Afghan tradition. Recently, he told her he was ready to have a baby. “I told him no,” she confided. “I love babies. They make me so happy. But it’s not my time. I told him if he wanted a baby he could take a second wife and have one with her.” He told her, “I waited 8 years to marry you. I only want you as my wife.”
She has been called the “bravest woman in Afghanistan” but as I drive her to the airport before the sun comes up, I can’t help wondering if it is naive of her to go back. I have so many questions I want her to answer: Wouldn’t you be more effective outside the country? How can you accomplish anything inside Afghanistan when you’re running for your life? And, ultimately… What good is all this if you’re dead?
Her answer is a quote from The Little Black Fish, a children’s story by Persian writer Samad Behrangi’s. “Beth, My Ever-loving Sister,” she wrote to me on a beautiful note card embossed with Picasso’s Dove of Peace, “Death could very easily come now, but I should not be the one to seek it. Of course, if I should meet it and that is inevitable, it would not matter. What matters is whether my living or dying has had any effect on the lives of others.”
--Malalai Joya (March 17, 2008)
Although she is a marked woman at home and has survived numerous death threats and assassination attempts, Malalai Joya arrives at Logan airport alone, holding a rain coat a supporter in California gave her and a small black, leather pocketbook with a copy of "Three Cups of Tea" peaking out. All five-foot three-inches of me towers over her small frame, and I might have mistaken her for a foreign undergrad student if I hadn't spent the morning watching her fiery speeches on YouTube.
Joya is 29-years-old, but already she seems to have lived a thousand lives. She was four-years-old when her father lost his right leg during the Soviet invasion, and her family fled Afghanistan. It was in the refugee camps of Iran and Pakistan where her social activism flourished, and she returned home during the Taliban's reign of terror to help lead the underground fight for women's rights. She tells me that it was during this time that she fell in love with Langston Hughes poetry, opened an orphanage, and taught her mother to read and write.
The moment the word "mother" crosses her lips, a brilliant smile envelopes her face. "My mother is coming to meet me when I go home," she says as her voice giggles but her eyes turn sad. "I haven't seen her in over a year." It's nearly impossible for Joya to visit with her parents, six sisters, three brothers and friends. Because she is being hunted by anti-democratic forces in Afghanistan, she is constantly on the run, sleeping in different places nearly every night, and hiding under the burqa. She's even on a list of about 300 people who are forbidden to leave Afghanistan. Every border guard, airport worker and immigration official has her name. And to confirm her status as political prisoner, officials did one of the things she feared most: they took away her passport.
So, it's somewhat of a miracle that Joya is here now, sitting in the passenger seat beside me as we drive through downtown Boston. It seems to me that nothing scares her. Because nothing stops her: Not being threatened with rape by a fellow colleague in parliament (he was angry when she exposed his ties to the opium trade); not the bomb that exploded 5 seconds early, saving her from certain death; and certainly not the "loss" of her passport. Avoiding official channels, she asked her province to issue another passport, and even though her name is misspelled and there's no birth date or expiration date, she has now criss-crossed the globe with it.
Days later, as I watch a beefy Massachusetts State Police officer turn the passport over and over in his hands and stare at the pretty Dari script, I wonder if he'll be the one to put an end to this unlikely journey. But he hands it back to the Delta ticket agent, "Looks fine to me," he says as he walks away.
Joya is in Boston to participate in the International Women's Day celebration I helped plan for the International Institute of Boston. At this event--and at three others over the course of her stay--I hear her deliver the same damning message: the United States is helping to return fundamentalism to Afghanistan. (Click here for a trancsript of her speech.)
Although her English is broken, it is excellent, and she speaks like someone on borrowed time—-fast and with a sense of urgency. The current U.S.-supported Karzai government, she says, is just the latest corrupt regime to disappoint the Afghan people and suppress their human rights. For women, the dreams of equality anticipated after the fall of the Taliban and demanded in the new Constitution, have never been realized. In fact, life for Afghan women today slips further into darkness. “We are treated not like humans. We are treated like animals. Worse than animals.”
“Do you want some examples?” she asks the audience. Without waiting for an answer, Joya rattles off stories from every corner of the country: a 22-year-old woman whose husband cut off her hands and poured boiling water over her body; a 14-year-old girl who was gang-raped by three men, but because one of the men was the son of a parliamentarian, police did nothing; an 18-year-old who committed suicide after being sold to a 60-year-old man. “Do you want me to continue?” she challenges us.
Since I started writing this blog entry, two women have died in Afghanistan while giving birth (that’s one every 28 minutes). Depression and suicide rates among women—already alarmingly high—are growing. And forced marriages are still the norm, accounting for nearly 90% of all unions.
This is the reality, Joya says, of the War on Terror. The Afghan people have watched the United States pump $15 billion dollars into the country, yet still only 2percent of the people have access to electricity, and more than 60% of Afghans are unemployed. All the while, the Taliban resurgence gains momentum.
“This is not democracy,” she pleads. “This is only teaching Afghans to have a negative view of democracy. It is a mockery of democracy. The Taliban and the fundamentalist warlords of the Northern Alliance are now the leaders of our country. They are killers and criminals. And they may fool the rest of the world with their shaven faces and their neat ties, but they cannot fool the Afghan people.”
It was her reference to the parliament as a “zoo” on Afghanistan’s ToloTV that ultimately led to her ousting from the legislature. Stripped of her salary and bodyguards and wary to put family and supporters in danger by being seen with them, Joya leads an increasingly solitary life.
But it is a life infused with meaning. She was engaged on Afghanistan’s Freedom Day and married on International Women’s Day. She rarely sees her husband, but, as you might expect, their relationship defies any Afghan tradition. Recently, he told her he was ready to have a baby. “I told him no,” she confided. “I love babies. They make me so happy. But it’s not my time. I told him if he wanted a baby he could take a second wife and have one with her.” He told her, “I waited 8 years to marry you. I only want you as my wife.”
She has been called the “bravest woman in Afghanistan” but as I drive her to the airport before the sun comes up, I can’t help wondering if it is naive of her to go back. I have so many questions I want her to answer: Wouldn’t you be more effective outside the country? How can you accomplish anything inside Afghanistan when you’re running for your life? And, ultimately… What good is all this if you’re dead?
Her answer is a quote from The Little Black Fish, a children’s story by Persian writer Samad Behrangi’s. “Beth, My Ever-loving Sister,” she wrote to me on a beautiful note card embossed with Picasso’s Dove of Peace, “Death could very easily come now, but I should not be the one to seek it. Of course, if I should meet it and that is inevitable, it would not matter. What matters is whether my living or dying has had any effect on the lives of others.”
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Beyond Belief featured in the Boston Sunday Globe
Well, it's been a long road since our first festival screening at Tribeca last April, but at last the official theatrical premiere of Beyond Belief is just around the corner! We will be hosting a special advance screening this Saturday, February 16, 7pm at the Museum of Fine Arts. The screening will be followed by Q&A with director Beth Murphy and a reception with special guests.
On February 29, the film opens in New York at Cinema Village (tickets on sale Feb. 20), and regular screenings begin at MFA Boston on March 1.
In other exciting news, Beyond Belief was recently profiled in the Boston Sunday Globe.
I hope to see you at one of the screenings!
On February 29, the film opens in New York at Cinema Village (tickets on sale Feb. 20), and regular screenings begin at MFA Boston on March 1.
In other exciting news, Beyond Belief was recently profiled in the Boston Sunday Globe.
I hope to see you at one of the screenings!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
From Kosovo's Ashes... to College
Before 1991, Yugoslavia was one country made up of six republics: Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia Herzegovina, Montenegro, Macedonia and Serbia--with Serbia again divided into two autonomous regions: Kosovo and Vojvodina. When Slobodon Milosevic came to power in 1987 with a vision of a Greater Serbia, one of his first moves was to abolish Kosovo's autonomy. Martial law was imposed, and systematically, Kosovo’s Albanian Muslim minority was stripped of basic human rights. They were fired from their jobs, and denied access to health care and education.
Ilir Bajraktari was 11-years-old in 1990—the year teaching in his native language (Albanian) was banned, and all the schools were shut down—including the Albanian University of Prishtina, the region's only institute of higher education, where his father was a professor. For the next decade, while Kosovo's struggles were overshadowed by wars of independence fought by Slovenia, Croatia, and Bosnia, Ilir studied in garages and basements, doubting he would ever have a chance to go to college. Today, Ilir is a college graduate, and he's applying for a masters program in photojournalism at Boston University. He asked me to write a recommendation letter:
To Whom It May Concern:
I am very pleased to provide these words of recommendation for Ilir Bajraktari who I consider to be an extraordinary human being. Not only is he an enormously talented photojournalist and artist, but he is also a person who understands what it means to truly suffer at the hands of evil while all the while dedicating himself to helping others who are also suffering. Rarely does a person have an opportunity to meet someone of such moral fortitude and strength of purpose.
I am a documentary filmmaker, and I first met Ilir in June 1999 while shooting a public television documentary about the war in Kosovo and the campaign of ethnic cleansing against Kosovar Albanians by Serbian forces. Ilir is a Kosovar Albanian, and he and his family were victims of the Serb atrocities committed between March and June 1999.
As he told me then, “I had no family, no friends, no house, no hope. I had nothing worth living for. Although I had a new name: refugee. It felt like I was dreaming. But this was not a dream. This was not a Nazi movie. These people in front of me—my friends and neighbors—were not Jews chased away by Hitler. This was happening to me.”
Faced with this terrifying truth, Ilir (then only 20-years-old) could have turned inward. Instead, he extended himself to help other refugees. Forced out of Kosovo at gunpoint, Ilir crossed the border into Macedonia. A few days later he saw someone from his village who told him his home had been burned to the ground. But Ilir refused to succumb to the anger and sadness that were knocking on his heart’s door. He was skilled in English, had excellent communication skills, and was inherently smart. He was ready to get to work.
MercyCorp, an aid organization that was running refugee camps in Macedonia and Albania, hired Ilir as a driver and translator. In no time, he was working with foreign media—like me—helping us to document the stories of refugees and providing sensitive cultural education lessons.
When the peace accord was signed on June 9, 1999, Ilir was with us as part of the first convoy to re-enter Kosovo after three months of war. As we made our way through the war-ravaged province, Ilir wondered whether the friends he’d left behind were dead or alive: “I had to confront my ideas and everything I stood for,” he said. “Every once in a while I would get this image in my head where I would see corpses of people I knew laying all over the soccer stadium. Still to this day, I refuse to admit that in that pile of corpses I saw my closest friends and my family. But I did.”
While many of the Albanians arrived home intent on exacting revenge on former Serbian neighbors who attacked Kosovo Albanians or destroyed their homes, Ilir was not interested in vengeance. He wanted to go to school and study, something that had been denied to him as a member of Kosovo’s minority population.
A few years later, it was an honor for me to sponsor Ilir to come to the United States to attend college. Highly motivated, Ilir honed the skills I had witnessed when we first met. He excelled in the communications field, spent his spare time volunteering at the student paper, and reveled in being a “regular” college kid. Over the course of four years, I watched as his photographs—which from the beginning showed a raw talent—became stunning. He was able to capture creative, beautiful and emotive imagery while developing his own signature style that earned him accolades from the university and photography communities.
I felt like a proud parent when Ilir graduated from college two years ago, and was so disappointed when a shoot in Afghanistan prevented me from attending his graduation ceremony. But at least his parent would be there… or so Ilir had hoped. Haxhi and Rabije Bajraktari were denied their visas, told by the embassy in Skopje that their son’s graduation was not a good enough reason to visit America. They were even accused of wanting to flee. It was another harsh reminder that Kosovo Albanians continue to be discriminated against in society.
It is my deepest wish that Haxhi and Rabije will have the joy of watching their son receive his MA in photojournalism from Boston University. Ilir is a true inspiration and a talented photograher and journalist. I believe he will make a most worthy addition to the BU graduate program.
Ilir Photos 1
Ilir Photos 2
Ilir Bajraktari was 11-years-old in 1990—the year teaching in his native language (Albanian) was banned, and all the schools were shut down—including the Albanian University of Prishtina, the region's only institute of higher education, where his father was a professor. For the next decade, while Kosovo's struggles were overshadowed by wars of independence fought by Slovenia, Croatia, and Bosnia, Ilir studied in garages and basements, doubting he would ever have a chance to go to college. Today, Ilir is a college graduate, and he's applying for a masters program in photojournalism at Boston University. He asked me to write a recommendation letter:
To Whom It May Concern:
I am very pleased to provide these words of recommendation for Ilir Bajraktari who I consider to be an extraordinary human being. Not only is he an enormously talented photojournalist and artist, but he is also a person who understands what it means to truly suffer at the hands of evil while all the while dedicating himself to helping others who are also suffering. Rarely does a person have an opportunity to meet someone of such moral fortitude and strength of purpose.
I am a documentary filmmaker, and I first met Ilir in June 1999 while shooting a public television documentary about the war in Kosovo and the campaign of ethnic cleansing against Kosovar Albanians by Serbian forces. Ilir is a Kosovar Albanian, and he and his family were victims of the Serb atrocities committed between March and June 1999.
As he told me then, “I had no family, no friends, no house, no hope. I had nothing worth living for. Although I had a new name: refugee. It felt like I was dreaming. But this was not a dream. This was not a Nazi movie. These people in front of me—my friends and neighbors—were not Jews chased away by Hitler. This was happening to me.”
Faced with this terrifying truth, Ilir (then only 20-years-old) could have turned inward. Instead, he extended himself to help other refugees. Forced out of Kosovo at gunpoint, Ilir crossed the border into Macedonia. A few days later he saw someone from his village who told him his home had been burned to the ground. But Ilir refused to succumb to the anger and sadness that were knocking on his heart’s door. He was skilled in English, had excellent communication skills, and was inherently smart. He was ready to get to work.
MercyCorp, an aid organization that was running refugee camps in Macedonia and Albania, hired Ilir as a driver and translator. In no time, he was working with foreign media—like me—helping us to document the stories of refugees and providing sensitive cultural education lessons.
When the peace accord was signed on June 9, 1999, Ilir was with us as part of the first convoy to re-enter Kosovo after three months of war. As we made our way through the war-ravaged province, Ilir wondered whether the friends he’d left behind were dead or alive: “I had to confront my ideas and everything I stood for,” he said. “Every once in a while I would get this image in my head where I would see corpses of people I knew laying all over the soccer stadium. Still to this day, I refuse to admit that in that pile of corpses I saw my closest friends and my family. But I did.”
While many of the Albanians arrived home intent on exacting revenge on former Serbian neighbors who attacked Kosovo Albanians or destroyed their homes, Ilir was not interested in vengeance. He wanted to go to school and study, something that had been denied to him as a member of Kosovo’s minority population.
A few years later, it was an honor for me to sponsor Ilir to come to the United States to attend college. Highly motivated, Ilir honed the skills I had witnessed when we first met. He excelled in the communications field, spent his spare time volunteering at the student paper, and reveled in being a “regular” college kid. Over the course of four years, I watched as his photographs—which from the beginning showed a raw talent—became stunning. He was able to capture creative, beautiful and emotive imagery while developing his own signature style that earned him accolades from the university and photography communities.
I felt like a proud parent when Ilir graduated from college two years ago, and was so disappointed when a shoot in Afghanistan prevented me from attending his graduation ceremony. But at least his parent would be there… or so Ilir had hoped. Haxhi and Rabije Bajraktari were denied their visas, told by the embassy in Skopje that their son’s graduation was not a good enough reason to visit America. They were even accused of wanting to flee. It was another harsh reminder that Kosovo Albanians continue to be discriminated against in society.
It is my deepest wish that Haxhi and Rabije will have the joy of watching their son receive his MA in photojournalism from Boston University. Ilir is a true inspiration and a talented photograher and journalist. I believe he will make a most worthy addition to the BU graduate program.
Ilir Photos 1
Ilir Photos 2
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Afghanistan: In Danger of Becoming Afghanistan Again
It has been almost two years since we were in Afghanistan filming BEYOND BELIEF, and from the moment we left, the situation has been steadily deteriorating. Just 24 hours after our departure in May 2006, anti-Western riots erupted in Kabul after a US military vehicle's brakes gave out coming down a hill and slammed into a line of cars, killing five Afghans. The incident ignited the worst violence in Kabul since America's invasion in 2001.
Rioters chanted "Death to America," and terrorized international aid organizations in a search for foreigners. The Naween Guest House, a B&B known for foreign guests—and where we had stayed for our entire visit
—came under attack, as gunmen fired bullets at the front gate. The armed guard who was on duty outside the Naween was forced from his post, and Aziz Humraz, the manager who smoked shisha with us on our last night, hid under the reception desk. Just a few blocks away, the CARE International offices we had visited every day during our filming were ransacked and set on fire, and an Afghan toddler at the organization’s daycare center was pulled from her caretaker’s arms after being mistaken for a foreigner because of her light skin. Only when she cried out in Dari was she saved.
When the U.S.-led invasion of Afghanistan in October 2001 ended five years of barbaric Taliban rule, there was hope that a new democratic government would help liberate Afghanistan’s most oppressed population: the women. But many dreams have been dashed as fundamentalist restrictions on women take hold once again. As William Dobson, managing editor of Foreign Policy Magazine, told me, "Afghanistan is in danger of becoming Afghanistan again."
Disturbing trends include increasing arson attacks on girls’ schools, forced gynecological exams of women “caught” in public with men who are not their husbands or relatives, and the murder of a young female TV host who was condemned by conservative clerics for being “un-Islamic.”
In September 2007 a new burn unit opened up at Herat’s hospital to handle the dramatic rise in cases in which women set themselves on fire to avoid a forced marriage (60 to 80 percent of all marriages are believed to be forced) or end an abusive one.
And just last week Islamic clergymen in Tahkar province made it illegal for male tailors to measure women for fittings—a ruling reminiscent of the oppressive bans imposed by the Taliban between 1996 and 2001.
Little by little the Taliban is once again gaining power and exerted influence across Afghanistan.
Yesterday, when the Serena Hotel—a favorite of foreigners and diplomats—was attacked by Taliban suicide bombers, Nato officials were quick to call it a “sign of Taliban weakness.” But this is a naïve description for such a brazen attack in Afghanistan’s capital. Eyewitness Lisa Gans who is an NGO worker in Afghanistan wrote in an email to friends and family after the attack: “I hope that this country will not go the way of Iraq, but I'm sure that I'm not the only one here who sees this as a dramatic event that will shift the security situation on the ground. This tragedy will have broader-reaching implication, not only for me, but for the country of Afghanistan.”
Unlike previous winters which signaled an end to fighting before a spring offensive, this year, Taliban leaders have begun a winter offensive in dramatic fashion. Spokesman Zabihullah Mujahed has put Westerners on notice: the restaurants you eat at and the guest houses where you stay are “not safe anymore.”
For more:
BBC News -- Little Hope for Afghans in 2008
Rioters chanted "Death to America," and terrorized international aid organizations in a search for foreigners. The Naween Guest House, a B&B known for foreign guests—and where we had stayed for our entire visit
—came under attack, as gunmen fired bullets at the front gate. The armed guard who was on duty outside the Naween was forced from his post, and Aziz Humraz, the manager who smoked shisha with us on our last night, hid under the reception desk. Just a few blocks away, the CARE International offices we had visited every day during our filming were ransacked and set on fire, and an Afghan toddler at the organization’s daycare center was pulled from her caretaker’s arms after being mistaken for a foreigner because of her light skin. Only when she cried out in Dari was she saved. When the U.S.-led invasion of Afghanistan in October 2001 ended five years of barbaric Taliban rule, there was hope that a new democratic government would help liberate Afghanistan’s most oppressed population: the women. But many dreams have been dashed as fundamentalist restrictions on women take hold once again. As William Dobson, managing editor of Foreign Policy Magazine, told me, "Afghanistan is in danger of becoming Afghanistan again."
Disturbing trends include increasing arson attacks on girls’ schools, forced gynecological exams of women “caught” in public with men who are not their husbands or relatives, and the murder of a young female TV host who was condemned by conservative clerics for being “un-Islamic.”
In September 2007 a new burn unit opened up at Herat’s hospital to handle the dramatic rise in cases in which women set themselves on fire to avoid a forced marriage (60 to 80 percent of all marriages are believed to be forced) or end an abusive one.
And just last week Islamic clergymen in Tahkar province made it illegal for male tailors to measure women for fittings—a ruling reminiscent of the oppressive bans imposed by the Taliban between 1996 and 2001.
Little by little the Taliban is once again gaining power and exerted influence across Afghanistan.
Yesterday, when the Serena Hotel—a favorite of foreigners and diplomats—was attacked by Taliban suicide bombers, Nato officials were quick to call it a “sign of Taliban weakness.” But this is a naïve description for such a brazen attack in Afghanistan’s capital. Eyewitness Lisa Gans who is an NGO worker in Afghanistan wrote in an email to friends and family after the attack: “I hope that this country will not go the way of Iraq, but I'm sure that I'm not the only one here who sees this as a dramatic event that will shift the security situation on the ground. This tragedy will have broader-reaching implication, not only for me, but for the country of Afghanistan.”
Unlike previous winters which signaled an end to fighting before a spring offensive, this year, Taliban leaders have begun a winter offensive in dramatic fashion. Spokesman Zabihullah Mujahed has put Westerners on notice: the restaurants you eat at and the guest houses where you stay are “not safe anymore.”
For more:
BBC News -- Little Hope for Afghans in 2008
Monday, August 20, 2007
Upcoming Screenings and a win at Woods Hole FF!
We are happy to announce that Beyond Belief recently won the Best of the Fest Award at the Woods Hole Film Festival!
For those of you in the Massachusetts area that haven't yet seen the film, it will be screening at two more local festivals in September:
UNIFEM Berkshire Women's Film Festival
Sunday, September 9 -- 10am
Koussevitsky Auditorium, Berkshire Community College -- Pittsfield, MA
Newburyport Documentary Film Festival
Saturday, September 29 -- 7:30pm
Firehouse Center for the Arts -- Newburyport, MA
For those of you in the Massachusetts area that haven't yet seen the film, it will be screening at two more local festivals in September:
UNIFEM Berkshire Women's Film Festival
Sunday, September 9 -- 10am
Koussevitsky Auditorium, Berkshire Community College -- Pittsfield, MA
Newburyport Documentary Film Festival
Saturday, September 29 -- 7:30pm
Firehouse Center for the Arts -- Newburyport, MA
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
"Beyond the Boundaries of Grief"
Ellen Mills of NEFilm has written a profile of the Beyond Belief production process, including interviews with Susan Retik and director Beth Murphy. As mentioned in the article, the documentary will screen at the upcoming Woods Hole Film Festival. The film will play Saturday, August 4 at 6pm in the Redfield Auditorium.
Monday, July 09, 2007
"The Show Must Go On" screening times at the Independent Television Festival
The Show Must Go On will be screening on the following dates at the Independent Television Festival in Los Angeles. We hope those of you in the area can make it!
Saturday, July 28th at 4PM
Raleigh Studios / Fairbanks Theater / 5300 Melrose Ave / Hollywood
Sunday, July 29th at 12PM
Raleigh Studios / Ziddio Theater / 5300 Melrose Ave / Hollywood
Tickets are available through the ITVF website: http://www.itvfest.org
Saturday, July 28th at 4PM
Raleigh Studios / Fairbanks Theater / 5300 Melrose Ave / Hollywood
Sunday, July 29th at 12PM
Raleigh Studios / Ziddio Theater / 5300 Melrose Ave / Hollywood
Tickets are available through the ITVF website: http://www.itvfest.org
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Trapped Inside Iraq: The Added Immigration Burden for Displaced Iraqis
The situation in
Gerald (Jerry) F. Burke
Major, Massachusetts State Police (Retired)
Former Senior Advisor, Iraqi Ministry of Interior and Iraqi Police Service
Testimony before the House Armed Services Subcommittee on
Oversight and Investigations, April 2007
Major, Massachusetts State Police (Retired)
Former Senior Advisor, Iraqi Ministry of Interior and Iraqi Police Service
Testimony before the House Armed Services Subcommittee on
Oversight and Investigations, April 2007
My conversation with Jerry was brief, only about 45 minutes, but it was enough time for me to realize that he will never get
“I had to do something,” Jerry says about protecting his Iraqi friends and colleagues.
I contacted Jerry because we’re developing a documentary that follows three Iraqi families during their first full year in
This year Jerry succeeded in bringing Asma’a Abdi, his first translator in
Ultimately, 7,000 Iraqi refugees will be allowed into
Is it too little, too late? I ask Jerry. “Yes. It has been – and continues to be – hard for the administration to encourage this legislation at an acceptable level because it shows a bit of defeatism. After all, why would Iraqis want to leave? It’s a democracy now, right?”
There are about 2 million Iraqis who have fled the country since the U.S.-led invasion in 2003, most of whom sought refuge in
“For them [the IDPs], finding a way out almost impossible,” Jerry says. “We make it so difficult. The process is almost designed to fail… designed to hinder people who need the most help.”
Because the U.S. Embassy in
The other option for getting to
Once Iraqis reach the U.S. Embassy, their application can be filed. Filed, not finished. Later, they’ll have to do the whole trip all over again to pick up their visa.
For the chosen few, it will all be worth it. But Jerry has no way of knowing if his friends who remain in
Links:
PRI’s Here and Now
http://www.here-now.org/shows/2007/01/20070116_2.asp
Refugees International Report
http://www.refugeesinternational.org/content/article/detail/9679
Christian Science Monitor Article
First Big Wave of Iraqi Refugees Heads for the
http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/0626/p01s07-woiq.html
All Iraq News Website
Friday, June 22, 2007
"The Show Must Go On" to premiere at the Independent Television Festival!
We’ve just received news that our work-in-progress of The Show Must Go On is an official selection of the Independent Television Festival in
Filming on this production all started when I met Wendie Jo Sperber on an elevator at the Hyatt Regency Penn’s Landing Hotel in
She desperately needed that health insurance because of her long battle with breast cancer. And as we hit the town that night, dancing, singing and laughing our way through the city of brotherly love, we had no way of knowing that within a week Wendie Jo would hear this from her oncologist: “I’m so sorry to tell you this over the phone, but… the cancer has spread to your brain.”
Less than a month later, she headed to
After two weeks, the trial left her with lots of hope but few answers. She headed back to LA to get back to work on weSPARK, the organization she founded to help cancer patients and their families, and weSPARKLE, a big show (we fondly called it “The Extravaganza”) that would feature lots of her celeb buddies performing in ways that you wouldn’t expect.
In between connecting with Tom Hanks (who she used to commute with every day to the set of Bosom Buddies) to be the show’s co-host, and meeting with Bryan Cranston to nail down the script, she was shaving off the little hair that was left on her head following radiation, keeping life together at home as a single mom, and running a support group for other women like her -- women for whom cancer was back for a second, third, even fourth time. They jokingly called themselves the “re-runs”. That was Wendie Jo… always finding a way to laugh… a reason to love.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Welcome to our blog
In July 2000 I put my documentary projects on hold to teach a journalism class at American University Paris. I brought my students to Amnesty International for a conversation about genocide. As we were wrapping up, the Amnesty representative ushered us into a room and over to a large cardboard box with a bright blue fabric peeking out. Have you ever worn a burqa before? she asked. As I pulled the tent-like garment over my head and imagined being forced to wear it, I thought about what it would be like to be invisible to the world. That’s when I knew I wanted to produce a film about
A year later, after the attacks of September 11th, the ability to draw the connection between
What I could never have imagined then is that as I was filming in
Their loss gave them permission to shut out the world, but their compassion forced them to have a leadership role in it. As they reached out to Afghan war widows, women they felt a true connection with, it became important to me to tell their story. They weren’t effected by the increasing divisions of the world by politics, ethnicity and religion. Instead, they worked to affirm a common humanity we all share.
After filming with them for more than two years, “Beyond Belief” recently premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival, and my company, Principle Pictures, is now working with a sales rep for theatrical, television and DVD distribution. We’re also looking forward to participating in more festivals.
To take a look at the film’s website: www.principlepictures.com/beyondbelief
On this blog, I will share updates of our experiences with “Beyond Belief” and other documentary projects while focusing on two central themes: understanding our ability for compassion, and our vulnerability to compassion fatigue. These are themes that for me combine elements of human rights, social justice, women’s rights, journalism, ethics, philosophy and history.
The idea of compassion fatigue has fascinated me… and the desire to combat it has motivated me…. since reading Susan Moeller’s book, “Compassion Fatigue: How the Media Sell Disease, Famine, War and Death.” Compassion fatigue has been identified as a relatively new phenomenon. The idea is that as the media hop from one crisis to another, the world is reduced to a blurred trauma of poverty, disease and death, and audiences begin to care less and less about the world around them, despite the increasing number of dramatic images they’re exposed to.
The concept comes out of the relief world as a reference to weary donors, but it translates well to television audiences because it is the result of feeling that, no matter what we do, it is ineffectual.
If we are truly serious about making a difference with our programs, we need to confront compassion fatigue, and help keep viewers—and ourselves—from succumbing to it.
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