The Turkish systematic extermination of its minority Armenian subjects from their historic homeland in the territory constituting present-day Turkey between 1915-1923 can be defined with one word: genocide. Is this by now an incontestable statement? Over the last century, the surviving Armenian communities, spread across the globe as part of one of the world’s largest diasporas, have struggled to gain official recognition for the genocide. Along the way, Turkish nationalist organizations have fought recognition. Instead these organizations push for reconciliation, which merely serves to perpetuate denialist propaganda as it distracts from Turkey’s role in committing genocide.

Last year, with the numerous centennial events commemorating the genocide, the global Armenian community made great strides in gaining recognition. Throughout the year, several countries officially recognized the Armenian Genocide. In April, dozens of Representatives in the United States Congress penned a letter urging President Obama to condemn the events beginning in 1915 as genocide. Later in the same month, Pope Francis issued a statement calling the deaths of 1.5 Armenians as the first genocide of the twentieth century. The centennial was commemorated in the Twin Cities in a series of events, including an interfaith service at the Cathedral of St. Paul and a service at St. Sahag, St. Paul’s Armenian Church.

While the world is increasingly coming to recognize the massacres of 1915-1923 as genocide, Turkey is not. A poll of Turkish citizens last year found that less than 10% want their government to recognize the genocide. Seemingly caught off guard by the massive display of support for recognition, Turkey and Turkish nationalist groups made the 101^st anniversary the target of denialist rhetoric. On April 20^th, the denialist website, FactCheckArmenia, contracted with a skywriting company to spread its message across the skies of New York City. The same day, the website also took out a full page advertisement in the Wall Street Journal. Earlier in the month, the site had billboards installed in Boston. This is made especially disheartening because the Boston area is home to the second largest Armenian community in the U.S.

Not surprisingly, sites like FactCheckArmenia are intentionally vague about their founding. It’s likely the organization receives at least some support from the Turkish government. FactCheckArmenia is just one of many well-funded organizations established to curb recognition of the Armenian Genocide and the efforts are extensive. Last week, it was revealed that the deputy mayor of a New Jersey city actively lobbies to deny the genocide. Former Congressmen Dennis Hastert and Dick Gephardt have long been accused of lobbying on behalf of genocide denial. The University of Minnesota and the Center for Holocaust and Genocide has also been the target of denialist efforts, when both were sued in 2011 by the Turkish Coalition of America. The case was dismissed.

Efforts to deny the Armenian Genocide go beyond ignoring historical facts. Denying genocide is in effect, leaving a wound unhealed for the millions of victims and their relatives. Genocide denial is the last stage of genocide, as the victims are insulted, invisibilized and ultimately forgotten. Denial not only perpetuates in time the past genocide – “Even the dead will not be safe from the enemy if he wins,” wrote the philosopher Walter Benjamin. It is also is a dreadful sign of genocides to come.

Joe Eggers is a graduate student at the University of Minnesota, focusing his research on cultural genocide and indigenous communities. His thesis project explores discrepancies between the legal definition and Lemkin’s concept of genocide through analysis of American government assimilation policies towards Native Nations.

Bystanders, Rescuers or Perpetrators? The Neutral Countries and The Shoah

Edited by Corry Guttstadt, Thomas Lutz, Bernd Rother, Yessica San Román

This volume offers a trans-national, comparative perspective on the varied reactions of the neutral countries to the Nazi persecution and murder of the European Jews. It includes a chapter by CHGS director Alejandro Baer and historian Pedro Correa entitled “The Politics of Holocaust Rescue Myths in Spain.”

The volume is based on the conference papers of the international conference of the same name which was held in November 2014 in Madrid. The conference was originally funded through IHRA’s Grant Program and co-sponsored by CHGS, among other organizations. The entire volume can be downloaded for free at this link.

Displaced: The Semiotics of Identity, is an ambitious exhibition of art and historical artifacts that explores diverse aspects of the displacement of people and things, and its many repercussions. On display at the Wilson Library at the University of Minnesota, this sprawling exhibit inhabits walls throughout the first and the fourth floor, as well as having an online component. The exhibit’s theme is to explore the meaning made of a person’s or object’s identity in different spaces and times. The topic is in-and-of-itself huge, but the process whereby the show developed is why it is so ambitious: Displaced was curated by students.

The eleven listed curators are students in ARTS 1490/3490, “Be the Curator,” an undergraduate workshop on curatorial theory and practice led by Deborah Ultan Boudewyns, Instructor and UMN Libraries Arts and Architecture Librarian. These students delved into the process and challenge of curatorial work; their course included study and reading in the history of curatorial work in museums and galleries, the challenge of curating difficult and sensitive subjects, numerous field trips and guest speakers, as well as the task to curate and install Displaced in Wilson Library.

The Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies has an art and historical artifact collection which served as the foundation of the exhibit. CHGS collections provided a basis for the students in formulating ideas about how to present art and make choices about the display and information associated with each piece. For example, the sensitive nature of the swastika as a symbol brought forth the question of how to display a knife from World War II Germany with a swastika emblazoned on it.

The reference to semiotics in the subtitle is apropos. Semiotics is the field of thought surrounding the ways in which meanings are created and transmitted. This is exemplified by a mundane stop sign on a street, where drivers are expected to respond to the traffic direction lawfully. But what happens when you put the stop sign in an art museum? Similarly, a swastika on the handle of a knife would have been part of daily life during World War II. It is now in a different context, preserved in an academic collection. What new kinds of meaning will be made in the mind of the viewer upon encountering this artifact and symbol in a wholly new environment? Knowing that the swastika is a symbol that entails terror, the students’ curatorial process endeavored to take viewer reaction into account, while articulating their own curatorial goals. The range of curatorial issues encountered by the students, therefore, began with material considerations, such as how to hang and display certain work, which were ultimately inseparable from major intellectual inquiries, because context can have a strong influence on viewer response.

The overarching curatorial exercise was a process of the juxtaposition of art in order to highlight areas of coherence between CHGS collections and the works exhibited by contemporary artists. The questions asked in this curatorial process are huge and ultimately unanswerable, but the exhibition that came together out of this process is diverse and intellectually absorbing. It fills the library, as is appropriate given the gravity of the topics addressed, and contains an array of pieces of art which are stirring, beautiful, evocative, and technically superb.

The art in this exhibition is evidence of the act of making meaning, in response to huge instances of historical and personal trauma. The photos below take you on a virtual tour through the show.

The student curators are: Kristina Eng, Agnes Esser, Emily Gallina, Kennedy Gunnes, Dan Hasty, Madeline Hudek, Samuel Lynn, Jerald Mironov, Jennifer Sweet, Anya Udovik, Caroline Woodruff, and Winston Xue.

The local artists represented are: Melissa Boric, David Feinberg, Kimchi Hoang, Wing Young Huie, Marc La Pointe, Alex M. Petersen, and Laura Youngbird.

The artists represented by CHGS Collections are: Felix de la Concha, Bette Mittleman, and deceased artists Lucien Philipe Moretti, and Maxine Rude.

The historical artifacts are on display digitally here.

Demetrios Vital is Outreach Coordinator for the Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies.  In this role he is responsible for the care and promotion of CHGS art and object collections, as well as working with the community in the development of programs, activities, and events.

The idea of reviving a historical figure to return from the dead to our own time period is not new.  Many novels and films have dealt with this premise before though usually they focus on the return of someone likable. In the German film Look Who’s Back (Er ist wieder da) we get Adolf Hitler in Berlin circa 2014.

Billed as a comedy, Look Who’s Back opens in the clouds, reminiscent of Leni Riefenstahl’s 1935 propaganda masterpiece Triumph of the Will. At first, Look plays like a science fiction film around the return of the deceased. It turns into a buddy-road picture, as Hitler and the recently fired, down-on-his-luck filmmaker Fabian Sawatzki (played by Fabian Busch) drive about Germany in Fabian’s mother’s floral delivery van. They film people’s reactions to Hitler in the hopes that Fabian can get the footage on the air at the TV station that fired him. (These scenes are actual reactions of unsuspecting people on the street to Hitler as played by the actor Oliver Masucci.) Is it a comedy? Yes. Is it funny? Yes. There are laugh-out-loud moments, several moments of uncomfortable laughter, as well as a few cringe-inducing scenes.

Satire is about making us laugh to see truth and the film certainly does this. The film does not focus on Hitler as a returning hero, everyone who first sees Hitler thinks it is a joke that he has to be a comedian. Hitler in Germany in 2014, walking about in uniform? Who in their right mind? Of course people clamor to take selfies and photos with Hitler. They later discuss hatred of foreigners and immigrants with him and converse on the sad state of affairs they all find themselves in, and Hitler, being “a man of the people,” nods, agrees and asks people to follow him. Of course his biggest enthusiasts are mainly drunken football fans or people in bars. No one is taking him seriously-until he gets himself on TV. Hitler is dismayed by the state of television programming. Great propaganda tool being wasted on cooking shows! ”Goebbels is spinning in his grave,” and of course TV is willing to oblige, here after all is something everyone will be talking about. Good or ill there will be ratings and ratings equal money and success.

A newly appointed head of a local TV station (a 21^st century Riefenstahl) thinks Hitler would be a great fit for their comedy Krass Alter (Whoa Dude!) Jews are off limits, as “they are not funny,” but everything else is fair game and Hitler readily agrees. The show’s host is not pleased to be upstaged by a Hitler look-alike, and voices his displeasure as he is being made up in “Black Face” to do an impression of President Obama and a crazed terrorist.  Hitler uses the big moment to declare war on television. The audience laughs uncomfortably at first but then begins to realize they agree with him on how appalling TV programming is. Based on the success of the broadcast he is added to every show they have, spouting his views on politics, culture and whatever else he sees fit, all in the name of “Making Germany Great Again.” The media frenzy that follows  is one in which people begin to consider what he is saying as truth, and it is refreshing to hear the truth, even if it is coming from Hitler.  Not everyone is okay with the success, some for legitimate reasons (We are promoting Hitler!) others like the deputy director at the station (who is upset about being passed over for a promotion) tries to foil Hitler’s success, leading to his own “Downfall” which plays out brilliantly in an homage to the much parodied bunker scene from that film.

You cannot help but think about our current election coverage while watching Look Whose Back. Over a year ago I recall watching John Stewart and other comedian’s rub their hands together gleefully over the prospect of a Donald Trump run for president, “comedy gold” a “comedian’s dream.” TV, social media, and print have all covered him tirelessly eagerly awaiting to see what outrageous thing he will say or do. He has turned the televised debates into shouting matches. The Trump campaign has been short on substance, but big on ratings. However, as we edge closer to November and the actual election it appears the candidate who was to be little more than a good punchline is now a legitimate contender for the presidency.  Though I will not go as far to compare Trump to Hitler (that has already been done on several occasions, including the comedian Louis C.K. with little effect on him or his followers) one can certainly see the danger in accommodating anyone who spews hatred to see how far they will go and who they get to support them in the process.
The film is more of a reminder of how surface orientated we can be, easily led by the media and public opinion.  The film goes as far to state that it is Germany that made Hitler and they keep him alive and well, as he lives in all of them. I would argue it is also true outside of Germany.  There is an international cultural obsession with him.  In my own classroom I’m reminded how much students are fascinated with Hitler as they ask me endless questions related to what they have seen on countless TV shows, featured films, or documentary style films (dressed as legitimate history).  Let’s face it- Hitler sells! In Germany, Look Whose Back was a hit at the box office and the book it was based on of the same name by Timur Vermes has sold over 1.5 million copies for the cost of $19.33. (Yes it was intended).

Therefore, it is no surprise that the only one to truly see through the façade in the film is an elderly Jewish woman suffering from dementia who becomes quite lucid when Hitler visits her home. While calling him out for the horrible person he is, her granddaughter, who works at the TV station remarks, “not to worry it is just a joke,” her grandmother’s reply, “yes we thought he was a joke at first too, but look how that turned out.” Now that is a truth we can all comfortably agree with.

Look Whose Back (2015) Germany, Directed by David Wnendt. Now streaming on Netflix.

Jodi Elowitz is an adjunct professor of the Humanities at Gateway Community College in Phoenix, Arizona and the Content Coordinator for the Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies (CHGS) at the University of Minnesota. Ms. Elowitz’s area of expertise is artistic representation of the Holocaust in the visual arts with an emphasis on work done in the camps and ghettos. Current research is on Holocaust memory in animated film and the Holocaust in Polish Memory, particularly in film and tourism. Her most recent article “Seven Minutes in the Warsaw Ghetto: Representing the Unimaginable through Animated Film” was published in Short Film Studies Journal Volume 4, Number 2, 2014.

Eye on Africa has often talked about atrocities unfolding, or likely to unfold, in different African states. Most of this information is never collected by myself and is gleaned from news organizations within and outside of Africa. Journalists are perhaps the one group of people that I owe a deep gratitude to. Even when working under tough circumstances they still believe in telling the story, and telling it right. The reason I point this out is because the past year has been a fraught one for African journalists in several countries. From outright assassinations in South Sudan, to the erasure of press freedoms in Rwanda and Kenya, African journalists are quickly becoming an endangered group. So this month’s contribution will focus on the plight faced by journalists working in Africa, for without them, this column would not exist.

In Rwanda, the Committee to Protect Journalists has pointed to the continued and systematic dismantling of that nation’s press. While in Kenya, Kenya’s largest media organization (Nation Media group) has been coerced into firing one of its editors who was viewed ‘unfriendly’ to the current government and one of the continent’s preeminent editorial cartoonists. In both of these countries, journalists and news organizations have started self-censoring and, in Rwanda specifically, gone into exile.

As the conflict in South Sudan has raged on over the past few years, a different war has also continued to become frenzied. The war against journalists and a free press. In 2015 alone, almost 7 journalists were killed by either rebels or the state. Journalists have resorted to sometimes self-censoring for fear of reprisals by the state. Perplexingly, the independence of South Sudan led to the curtailing of the independence of the press. Sentiments against press freedom are often couched in nationalist rhetoric. Journalists finds themselves being asked to always put the nation’s concerns before truth and honesty. 2015 saw the deaths of Randa George, Dalia Marko, Musa Mohamed, Boutros Martin and Adam Juma, all killed in the same attack in January 2015. Peter Julius Moi was killed a day after the president of South Sudan threatened to kill journalists that refused to be subservient to his government.

So this month I tip my hat to those upon whose labour I have benefited from, the journalists I have met over the past few years, and those I am likely to meet in the next iteration of my research. Those in exile hiding from seemingly nasty government officials and those that have lost their job taking a stance and shining a light on underhanded government practices. Without them, and the courage they show, it would be near impossible to know what African governments were doing to their citizens.

In February, the Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies welcomed Pedro Correa Martín-Arroyo to discuss his research. Correa presented a lecture titled “The Spanish Paradox”, which examined the Spanish government’s policies towards the Jews, and how these were influenced by actors both within and outside the country.

Pedro Correa Martín-Arroyo is currently the Diane and Howard Wohl fellow at the Jack, Joseph and Morton Mandel Center for Advanced Holocaust Studies (US Holocaust Memorial Museum); as well as PhD candidate at the London School of Economics. His doctoral research addresses the international management of the Jewish refugee crisis in the Iberian Peninsula and North Africa during World War II.

You presented a lecture at CHGS titled “The Spanish Paradox”. Why do you consider Spain’s role during the Holocaust paradoxical?

My use of the term paradox was completely deliberate.  I simply could not find a better way to summarize the inconsistent and contradictory policy maintained by General Francisco Franco’s government towards the Jews, both during and after the war.

During the war years, the Franco regime was fearful to accept Jewish refugees into Spain, since these were seen as conspirators and communists, and therefore posed a ‘threat’ to the regime’s stability. This is why the Francoists opposed the repatriation of the Spanish Jews living in Nazi-occupied territories, and only allowed a number of them in transit. As the prospects of an Axis victory decreased, the Francoists started to show great concern for the future of the regime once its natural allies had vanished. Consequently, Franco’s government started to portray an image of a quasi-democratic Spain, one completely foreign to the Nazi’s anti-Semitism. Through this propaganda campaign, Franco’s government claimed to have saved the lives of thousands of European Jews. Surprisingly, at the same time the regime declared itself rescuer of the Jews, Franco ordered the expulsion of all ‘foreign’ Jews from the Spanish territory. Amongst those expelled, many were Spanish Jews stripped of their Spanish nationality. Paradoxically, this was an attempt to free Franco’s Spain from the very same people the regime so proudly boasted to have rescued.

Is it still difficult to assess the role of the Spanish government during the Holocaust?

Indeed, and that is mostly due to the fact that Franco’s inconsistent policies towards the Jews make it difficult to provide with a straightforward answer and allow instead for all sort of interpretations. Most of Franco’s policies responded to the regime’s most immediate needs rather than to long-term ideological commitments. The Spanish government’s position during the Holocaust is a perfect example of such pragmatism.

Although clearly pro-Axis, Franco’s Spain was materially dependent on American and British imports, which the Fascist regimes were unable to provide. The Allies capitalized from this situation, and pressured the Spanish government to dissociate from the Axis and comply with its theoretical neutrality. As a result, the Spanish government became increasingly tolerant of the Jewish refugees in transit through Spain.  In regard to the Spanish Jews living in Nazi-occupied territories, Franco’s ministers were confronted with what they defined as a ‘grave dilemma’. Either they could let the Jews of Spanish nationality, living in France and Greece, die at the hands of the Nazis, or they could organize their repatriation to Spain. Whereas the former option would make Franco accomplice of genocide and weaken his rapport with the Allies, the government unanimously refused to allow these Jews to settle in Spain.

After months of hesitations, a number of them were allowed in transit through Spain only to be expelled from the country shortly after. This ‘repatriation’, however, was shamelessly exaggerated by Francoist propaganda, which ‘multiplied’ the number of those saved, and hid the fact that they were actually Spanish subjects, and therefore the government’s responsibility.

Are there still blind spots in research?

As in many other aspects of Spain’s recent history, there are still some blind spots in this particular story. In fact, some of them will be difficult to solve due to the destruction of sources under Franco rule and the impossibility to access certain archival collections even today.

For instance, our understanding of Franco’s policy towards the Jews in the early years of the war is still very limited. It is during these years that the Spanish fascists of the Falange party had more influence over the government’s home and foreign policy. Not surprisingly, it was during this period that Spanish anti-Semitism reached its peak. Measures such as the creation of a ‘Jewish section’ within the Spanish Police and the registry of all Jews living in Spain, have led some historians to speculate about further plans for Holocaust collaboration. However, based on our current understanding of these obscure years of the dictatorship, there is no evidence that the Spanish government was directly involved in the Nazi genocide.

What do Spaniards know about this history?

In my experience, the Spaniards’ knowledge of this period of our history is still very limited, and heavily mystified.

For example, the legend that Franco kept Spain out of the war despite Hitler’s insistence is still quite widespread even amongst those who do not sympathize at all with Franco’s regime. Similarly, the myth of Franco as a rescuer and benefactor to the Jews is still present in the twenty-first century. In my view, this is due to the fact that Spanish society is still very polarized over our recent past. This deems any sort of historical reconciliation in our country impossible. The fact that debates on the Spanish Civil War and the Francoist dictatorship can be more heated than those about current politics, illustrates the extent of the historical rupture that still divides present-day Spaniards.

This unfortunate situation is not helped by the lack of historical integrity that still permeates some of the Spanish official institutions’ historical initiatives. In recent years, the Spanish Ministry of Foreign Affairs has successfully worked to reshape the myth of Franco as rescuer of the Jews, by highlighting the rescue activities of a number of Spanish diplomats who did intervene in favour of the Jews, often against Madrid’s ruling. A handful of them certainly deserve the title of ‘Righteous amongst the Nations’. Some other diplomats, however, have been elevated to the category of heroes even though the Jews they protected had a Spanish passport and were entitled to such protection.

In my opinion, it is irresponsible of our public institutions to promote such a partial and oversimplified interpretation of the facts; in which the good deeds of a few government officials are magnified in an attempt to overshadow a more complex and uncomfortable reality.

Note: Pedro and Dr. Baer collaborated together on a chapter of the recently published Bystanders, Rescuers or Perpetrators? The Neutral Countries and the Shoah. Their work explores the politics of Holocaust rescue myth in Spain. The book is free to access online and is available here.

Natalie Somerson is an undergraduate student at the University of Minnesota, pursuing degrees in Spanish Studies and Global Studies, with concentrations in Latin America, Human Rights and Justice. Her undergraduate thesis examines the effects of the Spanish conquest on the Mexican woman’s psyche. 

Eurovision Song Contest has served as a platform to strengthen both national and European identities and embrace diversity throughout every nation for over 60 years.  The show’s vast influence expands to an audience of approximately 180 million people all over the world. Its expansive reach has not only sparked the careers of various performers, it has also allowed for the television program to have social, political, and cultural influence.

The televised contest does have strict rules; songs that promote political messages are disqualified from entry.  In 2009, the song “We Don’t Wanna Put In” was the Georgian entry. The song contained negative political references to Vladimir Putin, the Prime Minister of Russia, and provided a critical Georgian perspective on the war between Georgia and Russia in 2008. Because of the song’s strong political message and references, the European Broadcasting Union ruled that the song would have to be rewritten or a new song would have to be chosen. Georgia did not comply with this ruling, and therefore withdrew from the 2009 Eurovision Song Contest.

Despite this, many countries have still used songs to indirectly address political tensions and social issues and catalyze activism. In 1998, a transsexual Israeli, Dana International, won the Eurovision Song Content. Her win was seen as a victory for human rights and equality and a huge breakthrough for trans visibility. Dana International’s performance was important not only because of its impact on LGBT issues, but it demonstrated the power the Eurovision competition could have to sway public opinion on social issues in a wider context.

Last year, Armenia’s entry was a power ballad entitled “Don’t Deny.” The 2015 Eurovision Song Contest coincided with the 100-year anniversary of the Armenian Genocide. While the head of Armenia’s Eurovision Delegation, Gohar Gasparyan, said the song was “about love, unity and peace: the family as a symbol of humanity, alternation of generations, the bird as a symbol of peace, the keeper of the national values and tradition,” many speculated that the song was aimed at Turkey, who continues to deny the Armenian Genocide. While the song drew some controversy due to its political interpretation, the Armenian Delegation chose to keep the lyrics to the song and changed only the title to “Face the Shadow.” This decision was a response to Turkish and Azerbaijani claims that Armenia was politicizing the music contest. A petition had been launched by Eurovision’s Turkish fans calling for Armenia’s disqualification. The Armenian performance kickstarted an international conversation about the Genocide and Turkey’s continued denial.

This year, Ukraine’s entry has raised controversy. The song “1944” addresses the deportation of 240,000 Crimean Tatars to Central Asia by Joseph Stalin in 1944. Between 20 and 50 percent of those deported died within the first two years of deportation. On November 11, 2015 the Ukraine parliament adopted a resolution that recognized the mass deportation of Crimean Tatars to Central Asia as genocide and declared May 18 as a Day of Remembrance for victims. The song opens with the lyrics: “When strangers are coming. They come to your house, they kill you all and say ‘We’re not guilty. Not guilty.’” Despite this unequivocal message to Russia, the European Broadcasting Union has decided that the song’ content is historical rather than political and does not break any rules.

While “1944” does not directly address recent tensions between Russia and Ukraine as a result of Russia’s 2014 annexation of the Crimean peninsula, the song certainly creates a space to discuss human rights violations on the peninsula and resulting consequences. The song also creates a dialogue to discuss the relationship between pop culture and traumatic memory. How soon is too soon? The withdrawn Georgian entry from 2009 was seen as too political, likely because it addresses an event that happened the previous year and current tensions. Pop culture has been a growing platform to discuss human rights abuses and has made the conversation more accessible to an increasing number of people around the world. Can it be used to discuss recent and ongoing atrocities? Eurovision Song Contest creates a unique platform where it lets contestants paint an entire picture through song. Can and should other pop culture mediums replicate this?

Alexandra Steinkraus is an undergraduate student at the University of Minnesota, pursuing a degree in Global Studies with concentrations in East Asia and Human Rights and Justice. Her areas of academic interests include media representations of crimes against humanity, global refugee policy, sociology of foreign media in North Korea, and the United Nations. 

On Saturday, February 20th the Italian Cultural Center of Minneapolis & St. Paul presented If Only I Were That Warrior as part of their annual Italian Film Festival followed by a moderated discussion. In the film, director Valerio Ciriaci examines Italy’s brutal attempts to colonize Ethiopia in 1935 through the lens of the 2012 erection of a monument dedicated to Rodolfo Graziani. The monument, located in the Italian town of Affile, reignited the tense politics surrounding Graziani’s involvement in the Italian invasion of Ethiopia and its legacy today.

Rather than focusing his film solely on the crimes committed by Graziani, known as the Butcher of Ferran for his massacre of civilians in Libya, and the Italians during the invasion and subsequent occupation, Ciriaci chose instead to highlight the monument as a means to convey the difficult, and largely unexplored, legacy of Italy’s attempted African conquest. The monument itself was initially proposed as a symbol for the Unknown Soldier and used public funds for its construction. When the federal government learned that it was being dedicated to Graziani, the funds were revoked, but Affile’s mayor privately funded some of the project despite the federal government’s condemnation of the memorial. It is not unusual for monuments in Italy to be funded by public-private partnerships, but there was no partnership in Affile’s conscious omission of the monument’s intent. Ciriaci uses this opportunity to showcase the lingering pride in Graziani and the Mussolini-era fascist government that continues to exist today across much of Italy.

The film follows three people– Mulu Ayele, an Ethiopian refugee in Italy who invites viewers into the country’s protests of the Graziani monument, Nicola DeMarco, an Italian-American New Yorker and grandson of an early Italian Ethiopian settler actively organizing the monument protests, and Giuseppe Debac, an Italian coordinator of a UN development project in Ethiopia.

It’s perhaps Debac’s narrative that best exemplifies the complicated relationship Italians have with their past. When he is introduced, Debac seems as if he will be the pragmatic UN worker with insight into the horrific Italian occupation as we job shadow him through Ethiopia. However Debac ends up representing the complexity of the Italian identity and the lack of acceptance of Italy’s role as he shares his fascination with the past, stopping at Italian cemeteries among the countryside, pointing out the Italian infrastructure built during the occupation, all while saying that he feels “the presence of the Italians and never feels alone” on his country assignment.

Graziani is a complex figure in Italian history. After World War II, he was indicted as a war criminal by the UN, in part for his actions in Ethiopia. Despite this, he has several supports across Italy. Ercole Viri, the mayor of Affile, deems Graziani “a proven hero” and local business owners defend the monument as “due recognition to a local historical figure.” The memory of Italy’s fascist past is made even more complicated because of the resettlement of thousands of Ethiopian refugees following the country’s civil war. Ayele conveys this  difficulty as she organizes protests against the fascist monument. She is also campaigning for the monument and park to be rededicated to the victims of Graziani’s occupation of Ethiopia as well as Libya.

After the movie, a moderated discussion was held by Achmed Wassie of KFAI’s Voices of Ethiopia program and Michael Senay, the former  president of the mutual benefit association at the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in Minneapolis and whose parents were witnesses to the Italian occupation of Ethiopia. Mr. Wassie and Mr. Senay had the difficult task of answering questions from a diverse audience at the film which attracted many from the Ethiopian community. Emotions ran high during the discussion: some commended the Italian Cultural Center for bringing this film to Minneapolis; others criticized the organization for not being stronger advocates of the issue.  One audience member passionately critiqued the film for not showing more of Ethiopia’s struggle since the Italian occupation. These criticisms from the audience demonstrate the strained relations that continue to exist between Ethiopians and Italians even in the Twin Cities.

While I can sympathize with the feedback, I was impressed the Italian Cultural Center featured this film and provided a venue for discussion over a topic that is both rarely focused on and critical of Italian political views and the revisionist history that is being spread. Having spent time as part of a consulting team for a UNESCO project in northern Ethiopia, I could easily see the Italian influence in the area. City centers are still called piazzas, areas subject to the Italian occupation had more paved roads and bridges, and stuccoed buildings stood in contrast to the more traditional Ethiopian construction. I worked on a 17th century castle complex which Italian soldiers made their residence and we could visibly recognize the modifications and intrusive alterations made on the site. Despite these influences, any Ethiopian I worked with would proudly tell you that Ethiopia has never been occupied. It is a proud part of their identity and cultural heritage. Without films like If Only I were that Warrior, this troubling history could easily continue to go unexplored.

Allison Suhan graduated from the University of Minnesota with an MS in Heritage Preservation in 2015. During her graduate studies, she spent several weeks assisting the Ethiopian government restore the Fasilides Castle complex in Gondar. Her primary research focus is funding strategies for Italian heritage sites, where she spent a semester studying as an undergraduate student.