Bhopali

Whilst natural disasters, such as the Japanese tsunami or nuclear disasters such as Chernobyl, capture the imagination of the media and public alike, other less high profile cases have failed to attract such publicity. In an effort to change that, documentary maker Van Maximilian Carlson has attempted to shine a light on one such disaster in his film Bhopali.

In 1984, the American-owned Union Carbide factory in Bhopal, India suffered a huge catastrophe. After a series of cost-cutting exercises and a number of safety oversights, an enormous gas tank exploded. Forty tonnes of toxic material was launched into the night sky and as the population slumbered they were asphyxiated.

In the aftermath, water supplies were contaminated with a cocktail of lethal chemicals – including cyanide. As well as causing further deaths at the time, these poisons have caused future deaths and medical conditions, including cerebral palsy, in the generations of children born in the years since.

On the 25th anniversary of the disaster, Bhopali examines the ongoing fight for justice for the 25,000 who died by exploring the lives of those affected and the struggle for legal justice…

Bhopali is a sumptuous film to look at. Director Carlson seems to have made a deliberate decision to avoid the traditional ‘talking heads’ interview, which commonly populate documentaries. It’s a decision which has paid off handsomely. Interview subjects are often framed unconventionally, and each shot is usually filled with at least one slash of lush colour – a verdant green lawn or a richly coloured sari. Given the often grave nature of the subject matter, it’s quite a juxtaposition – but one that really works.

Indeed, the film is full of juxtaposition. The most heartbreaking scenes see Saiba Babu, a tiny child afflicted with an undiagnosed illnesses caused by the polluted water supply. She’s absolutely beautiful – huge brown eyes and the cutest mouth – but she’s been rendered speechless and almost incapable of movement. That she’s so damaged inside is hard to fathom when viewed from the outside – and it makes her plight all the more appalling.

The contrast between rich and poor is also apparent. Whilst Union Carbide refuses to accept responsibility, the people affected campaign for justice. It’s a classic David and Goliath tale, but this time Goliath is swaddled in layers of protection from toothless international laws. David can hardly get a shot at his opponent. As the multinational company Dow buy out Union Carbide, the people of Bhopal see their campaign undermined by Indian politicians who refuse to acknowledge that the area is polluted at all.

Perhaps, here, the documentary is slightly less powerful. Whenever Carlson moves away from the personal tragedy of the situation, he is danger of politicking. This is a minor criticism, however. The filmmaker has assembled some truly impressive commentators – including Noam Chomsky – and manages to steer a path through the complicated maze of denials and outright lies without ever losing sight of the human story.

That story is best exemplified by Sanjay Verma – a victim of the gas who lost both parents and five siblings in the immediate aftermath. He’s an optimistic and positive presence, despite the awful loss he has suffered – his activism is truly inspirational, and his account of the night of the explosion is extremely moving.

As the film moves towards its conclusion, it becomes clear that a resolution is still some way off. Union Carbide’s pesticide factory still stands – a skeletal hulk still filled with dangerous chemicals – and children play in its grounds. It’s distressing to see something so harmful is still so close to those it continues to damage – yet the people have nowhere else to go and nowhere else to obtain the water they need to survive. It’s an ugly reminder which scars the landscape – as well as the people.

Perhaps the most distressing part of the film deals with the unborn children of those affected by the explosion. A horrifically poignant scene sees the camera pan along a shelf of foetuses: the unborn or stillborn babies of poisoned pregnant mothers. Initially, they’re otherworldly and intriguing – until the realisation of what you’re looking at dawns on you. It’s a very short scene which packs a huge punch. Although the final scene (produced by Dow themselves) is still more shocking.

It’s also worth mentioning how refreshing it is to see a documentary which makes such intelligent use of subtitling. There’s been a recent trend in cinema (and particularly television) to subtitle any kind of regional or foreign accent. Here, the decision has been made to subtitle only the heaviest of accents – leaving the audience to listen to the words being spoken. It’s a small thing which makes a big difference.

Bhopali is a fantastic documentary about an appalling episode in India’s history. It looks thoroughly cinematic, and the human stories which are woven throughout the narrative ensure that it remains interesting and engaging throughout. More important than its artistic virtue, it sheds light on a little-known tragedy which has affected thousands and thousands of people – and the efforts taken to avoid accepting responsibility for it. Vital stuff.

On The Dole aka Losing The Will To Live

Unemployment is like a vice slowly squeezing the spirit out of me. I feel like my soul has been ripped from my chest, hurled at the floor and stamped on until nothing remains but a bloodstain. The crushing tedium of applying for jobs which I suspect don’t even exist in the first place is suffocating. The response rate (approximately one application in ten garners a reply) is heartbreaking. Each rejection is a kick in the face.

I am intelligent, educated, erudite and adaptable. I communicate well. I look the part. I’m confident I could learn just about any new role quickly and efficiently. I can multi-task and manage people. I lead by example and work quickly. I understand things and can explain complicated theories in simple terms. I can use most Microsoft programs ably. I read faster than Johnny Five and still manage to retain the information. My academic achievements are a rival for anyone. My CV looks great (if I do say so myself). I get things done. Yet nobody is interested in me.

The recession/downturn/whatever-the-appropriate-term-for-it-is-this-week has bitten harder in West Yorkshire than anywhere else. Dockside flats become ever cheaper, building on the new city-centre shopping centre has ground to a halt and the queues at the job centre grow longer than the dark shadows which loom over Leeds.

Surely the light at the tunnel should be that I want to work? It’s cruel to stereotype people, but the majority of people in the Job Centre look like they’re incapable of tying their own shoelaces and have as much will-to-work as a three-toed sloth with a glue habit. Every other Monday I’m asked what I’ve been doing to search for employment and on each occasion my 'interviewer' has looked at me agog – they’re amazed that I’ve done anything at all. They slide the appropriate form across the desk which I sign before they grunt that they’ll see me in two weeks – offering not a hint of advice without a modicum of interest. If that’s all it takes to earn the princely sum of £64.30 a week it’s little wonder that people can’t be arsed to find a job.

I’ve never been famed for my jolly outlook and joie de vivre, but my cynicism has never been more acute. My outlook has never been so downbeat. I wake up at 8am every day and try to instil some routine into my life. I try to eat healthily on my meagre income. I try to enjoy the things that have always made me happy and I’ve been lucky to benefit from a credit line which was extended to me prior to my redundancy. But living for the weekend when your week is so empty feels both ridiculous and pointless. And the credit cards and overdrafts won’t last forever...

Bill Clinton:
I do not believe we can repair the basic fabric of society until people who are willing to work have work. Work organizes life. It gives structure and discipline to life.

The Pol Pot Regime

For anyone who missed it the first time around or wishes to read it again, here's my (slightly edited) blog from Phnom Penh again, published alongside my photos for the first time...

Is it okay to take photographs of a mass grave? Is it morally acceptable for a tourist to record images of human remains? Does it demonstrate a lack of respect? These are questions we needed to ask ourselves today as we visited two of the most significant sites in the history of Cambodia: Tuol Seng Prison and the Killing Fields of Choueng Ek.

Less than thirty-five years ago, the tyrannical Pol Pot presided over a period of torture, oppression and genocide which decimated the population of Cambodia. Unthinkable horrors were perpetrated against anyone who opposed or were considered to be a threat to Pot’s Khmer Rouge regime. At least 1.8 million people (a quarter of the population) were simply exterminated. Yet somehow, against the background of the Vietnam War, the situation in Cambodia has largely escaped the notice of the Western world. The name of Pol Pot may be familiar to many back home, but the real story of the Khmer Rouge is less so.

And so to answer my initial questions: yes, I think it’s perfectly acceptable to take images away from these sites which can be shared with friends, family and anyone else who has any interest in humanity. When this blog was posted previously i put the photos on Facebook, but was unable to upload the images alongside my words. Now i can put some of those pictures together with what i wrote, which hopefully deepens the impact. I sincerely hope that those of you who see and read about Cambodia here will recoil in horror, cry in sympathy and maybe even do something to help.

Due to a shared border, Cambodia was sucked into the Vietnam conflict in the late sixties. US troops carpet-bombed areas of the country in an effort to flush out Viet Cong who were hiding there and eventually invaded Cambodia (along with Southern Vietnamese troops). This effort failed, and Cambodian communists joined forces with their Vietnamese allies. Fierce fighting ensued, and only ended when Cambodia’s capital, Phnom Penh, fell to Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge on April 17th 1975.

What followed was one of the world’s most brutal and bloody revolutions. Declaring a new ‘Year Zero’, Pot abolished money, forced the people to abandon the cities in favour of the countryside, declared war on religion and free-thinking and attempted to set up a whole new system of oppressive rule centred around farming and ‘co-operation’.

In order to achieve this end, the vast majority of Cambodia’s educated people were systematically eradicated. Those who wore glasses were killed. Schoolteachers and academics were massacred. Those whose hands were not calloused by manual labour were murdered.
A truly stomach-churning visit to Tuol Seng prison emphasised exactly how bad the suffering had been. Formerly a school, the site was transformed into a hell on earth where humans were kept in battery-hen conditions. Systematic torture was commonplace, with all variety of implements used to inflict pain and suffering still on display. Water torture, drowning and beatings were commonplace and at one point an average of a hundred people died each day within the prison walls. Some cells remain untouched - rusty iron beds covered in shackles are a poignant reminder of the hurt inflicted. Darkened patches on the floor show where blood was spilled. Harrowing black and white images of prison ‘mug-shots’ give way to images of bleeding and starving inmates. When these photos are replaced by pictures of disfigured corpses it is difficult not to feel squeamish.

Only a small proportion of the prison’s inmates died in detention. The vast majority - thought to be around 17,000 - were transferred to the Killing Field at Chuoeng Ek. Here they were slaughtered and buried in mass graves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything which affected me so much. Around half of the graves have been excavated and the bodies they contained preserved and encased in a white stupa. This tower contains approximately nine-thousand skulls and other bones. It’s possible to see the cause of death on most of them - rather than wasting valuable bullets the Khmer Rouge usually used blunt instruments, axes or knives to inflict fatal head wounds.

A walk around the site is even more harrowing. Each crater in the ground used to be full of corpses: some headless, some filled with women. As you move between these unmarked graves, items of clothing and even bones can be seen poking up through the ground - as the rain washes away the topsoil more and more human remains are revealed. Definitely the most upsetting sight is that of a tree which the Khmer Rouge used to commit infanticide: children and babies were swung head first by their legs into the trunk of the tree until their bodies fell limp. They were then thrown in a nearby grave. Close by was another tree which used to have a speaker dangling from it so that music could be played to drown out the sounds of murder and torture.

Everyone in Cambodia has been affected in some way: most people directly. Our tuk-tuk driver told us how his family were ‘disappeared’ for ‘further education’ never to be seen again. A whole generation of teachers, academics and scholars has only just begun to be replaced. The spectre of the Khmer Rouge looms large - justice has yet to be served on those behind the atrocities. Pol Pot died before he ever went to trial: a source of bitter and understandable resentment. But the Cambodians are resolute and good humoured - it’s testament to them that less than forty years on they are capable of being such gracious, smiling people.