Arkotong Longkumer
There are certain films you watch and wished you had and some you wished you hadn’t. And then again there are those films you know you had to watch because of the intense publicising, or maybe you heard the critical reviews that marked it as ‘controversial’, ‘cult classic’, or simply ‘extraordinary’. I am one of those readers who are easily drawn in by various reviews. And this year is no exception. The two films I am most eager to watch are ‘The March of the Penguins’ and ‘The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’. The former, because of my love of a sense of adventure and nature, while the latter made from a book by C.S Lewis I loved reading growing up as a child. These two films fall into the category of easy watching and must watch films of the year.
Unlike these two films I am keen on watching, the other day I watched a film I wished I hadn’t seen but was somehow glad I did. The ‘Constant Gardener’ is one of those films that leaves you with a heavy heart, weighs you done, and as a watcher, makes you feel immense guilt and sadness, having done nothing.
The portrayal of the characters as intense lovers almost snatches the realism of the plot by making it a surreal rendition of ‘love at first sight’. But one cannot follow the narrative—often lengthy—description of the author, John Le Carré’s novel set in Kenya, Africa. The general pitfall of the film is realised in the beginning when the one of the protagonist argues, almost in personal vent, hot headedly, for the ‘purity’ of the United Nations, and its ultimate responsibility on the world stage. The next general pitfall occurs when she says ‘take me to Africa’ to her diplomat boyfriend, as if to say, the woes of the United Nations can be remedied in Africa. Hence, the third pitfall: of treating Africa as something wholly other, an inanimate object for ‘our’ making, a testing lab, to project our guilt in some nihilistic fashion, that will make things right. We so often fail to recognise the different dimensions of one continent: not all of Africa is the same.
It is to Kenya they are led, as a married couple, where, in almost clichéd scenery, the diplomat and western officials are safely barricaded inside a secluded but lush tropical paradise. It is only the ‘workers’ within these enclaves, due to the lack of the diplomat’s contact with other Kenyan people, who are adopted as one of us/them, as if to establish such ‘familial’ bonds, within these power relations, is okay. This bond is established on the diplomat’s terms and not the ‘natives’.
Everything is largesse and often patronising within the largely visual portrayal of the ‘westerners’ contact with the local Kenyans: they supply food, medicine, aid, missionaries, and subtle civilising methods like cocktail parties, where the dress code is often the prim tuxedoes and champagne—the haute couture of high culture in striking contrast to the diseased and decapitated slums.
The film unravels its major theme: the use of Kenyans as lab rats to test the effectiveness of a new drug sponsored and developed by ‘western nations’. It is revealed that the British High Commission in Kenya, with instructions from London, collude and bed the drug companies in testing the medicine without taking into account the people who will be effected by this testing. The protagonist eventually finds out the conspiracy and in her attempt to publicise it, is silenced along with her supporter in a tragic, but terrifying accident.
As a viewer I wasn’t concerned much with the characters or the development of the plot to its anticlimax (they did add to the effective narrative).
But my ultimate concern was the frailty of humanity. Yes, to us viewers the ‘truth’ is revealed and in some ironic sadism of knowledge, the ‘villains’ go free and we the viewers are the only witnesses to the nature of events. Yet, though we are the possessors of this knowledge, we cannot act upon it because we are simply the detached spectator.
Much of the world is glowing in these cinematic experiences, based on ‘truth’ and ‘experience’; and like many narratives, the viewers empathise with the story and forge alliances with instinctive feelings and promise ‘never again’. Yet, we will remain the spectators until we are willing to make choices and act upon them here and now at home.
Instead of projecting our feelings of inadequacy, and directing our guilt-ridden selves, upon some ‘foreign land’ where all the ills supposedly lie.
These bonds are difficult to forge and difficult to earn ears, eyes and mouths to stand up for what is wrong and to make an effort to make it right. Some people utilise what they have at home and contribute to those who are less fortunate: some are peace activists, some set up charities and funds, some choose an alternative lifestyle that is mindful of the earth and its produce, some participate in fair-trade, some are practicing pacifists. There are many ways we can choose and participate in this global experiment, realising that our fates are intertwined.
Reading recent news in Nagaland, we seem to be digressing into ‘criminality’ cloaked in Nationalism. And the common people often feel that they are lab rats in the big laboratory of defining and forging some sort of pan-nationalism of ‘Nagahood’. Instead of leading to some sort of clarity, we are delving deeper into ambiguity.
And, in an apt juxtaposition, the common people are often the spectator to the drama unfolding: the interplay of willing and often dangerous bedfellows that deride the ‘purity’ (for lack of a better term) of Naga Nationalism: now the only thing we need is an activism that realises the hole that will expose the gaping ideologies. Otherwise, like the Kenyans, we will only be spectators unable to do anything.
What can Nagas do? For one, let’s start with peace and non-violence.
The writer is pursuing studies on Culture and Religion from Edinburgh University, UK
