This is the second half of a two part interview with Dr. Adam Muller from the University of Manitoba. CHGS interviewed Dr. Muller after his November presentation on campus in which he highlighted the Embodying Empathy project, a collaborative project at the University of Manitoba that will bring Canada’s residential schools alive with an immersive digital experience.

If you’d like to get caught up, you can find the first half of the interview here.

 What are some of the unique challenges you have experienced using cutting edge technology in a medium that isn’t traditionally associated with it?

It is probably worth pointing out that increasingly museums and commemorative sites of all kinds have been turning to digital technologies in the hope of creating ever-deeper and more rewarding visitor experiences for some time now.  Recently, for example, USC’s Shoah Foundation announced that it had begun work on its “New Dimensions in Testimony” project, which seeks create digital holograms of Holocaust survivors that users of the foundation’s testimonial archive can interact with. The initial rendering of survivor Pinchas Gutter is technically quite impressive, and it gestures towards the more immersive and dynamically interactive computer modeling that we’re undertaking in our project. The thing is, for all the investment that’s being done on representations of this kind, the jury is out on whether or not such digitally mediated interactions actually enhance users’ understanding of or capacity to care about others’ suffering, at least over the medium and longer term. This is something Embodying Empathy is looking closely at: whether or not the “immersive turn” in museum curation actually facilitates increases in empathy, and thus a propensity to engage in transformative social action. We’re working with a team of social psychologists to help evaluate the empathy levels of users of the EE storyworld.  This has required us to take a closer look at what empathy is and how it works, and specifically at how it might be engaged (or not) by certain features of a digital design. Partly because of its location at the intersection of a large number of distinct academic and technological discourses and procedures, this moral-psychological evaluative element of our project is proving especially challenging, particularly for a humanist like myself but also for older non-academic members of our team with a relatively limited understanding of the potential of emerging technologies and the specifics of social-scientific methods and debates.

There are also considerable risks to our undertaking, not the least of them the possible secondary traumatization of users of the storyworld intimately exposed to viscerally horrifying depictions of the application of coercive force. We discussed with our Indigenous partners the need to withhold or avoid representations of certain forms of physical violence for fear of doing damage to those experiencing Embodying Empathy. However, while acknowledging our concerns, both survivors and intergenerational survivors have been very clear that they want us to remain as truthful and direct as possible when representing IRS experiences. For too long, they have told us, these experiences were hidden away or denied, and thereby allowed to prolong the damage done to identities, families, and communities. Acknowledging and (as insiders, not outsiders) making sense of the damage done by the IRS requires the rejection of earlier regimes of secrecy that the TRC and its resulting archive have done so much to challenge. Where exactly we will draw the line between acceptable and unacceptable forms and subjects of representation, though, remains to be determined.

There’s a perception in the United States that the relationship between the Canadian government and indigenous people is much better than here. What are your thoughts and has your work had impact on your perspective?

It is hard for a Canadian like myself not to be struck by what seems like almost a dead silence on Indigenous issues in American official and popular discourse. This stands in marked contrast to the prominence given to Indigenous issues in Canada, not just with respect to the work done by the IRS Truth and Reconciliation Commission, but in relation to many other aspects of Indigenous history and life more generally. I find the contrast most pronounced politically. We in Canada have just been through a federal election campaign during which the case of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls, Indigenous education, northern development and resource rights, treaty rights and land claims, the quality of life of Canada’s Métis people (i.e. those of mixed Indigenous and European ancestry), and the 94 calls to action made by the TRC in its final report were widely discussed and in different forms incorporated into the platforms of all of the political parties vying for power. Justin Trudeau, our new prime minister, has placed Indigenous issues at the forefront of his administration, and just this past December publicly declared that “never again in the future of Canada will students be told that [the historical mistreatment of the country’s Indigenous population] is not an integral part of everything we are as a country and everything we are as Canadians.” There is a prevailing social and intellectual consensus that about this he is correct. By contrast, in the surreal spectacle comprising this year’s American presidential campaign, nothing to my knowledge has been said by any of the candidates from either of the two major parties that suggests Indigenous concerns are or need to be a priority, or indeed that they even exist.  Indigenous people barely seem to register in the lived present of the American cultural imaginary; when they are visible at all (as in the recent film Revenant, for example), they show up nostalgically, as traces of the historical past. Viewed not just in but as the country’s past, Indigenous people in America are denied any political currency. When reflecting on the causes and consequences of this disempowerment, I am often reminded of something that the British historian Peter Burke once presciently observed: “It is often said that history is written by the victors. It might also be said that history is forgotten by the victors. They can afford to forget, while the losers are unable to accept what happened and are condemned to brood over it, relive it, and reflect on how different it might have been.”

The Holocaust is now a part of global memory. The residential school system is little known to even many Canadians. Has your team considered the potential for your project creating a new shared memory among Canadians of the residential schools? If so, what kind of impact has that had?

It is true that the country’s Indian Residential School system is something that Canadians are still learning about, notwithstanding the nearly seven year-long effort by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC) to bring the story of the genocidal harms done in the country’s residential schools to light. Even after national events staged and broadcast on Canadian news media from coast to coast, the collection of more than 7000 IRS survivor testimonies most of which are now available through the recently-founded National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation (NCTR), a wide variety of primary, secondary, and post-secondary educational initiatives, and various academic and public commentaries and debates, there continues to be a general lack of awareness of the IRS and their lingering negative effects. Going into Embodying Empathy we knew of course that settler Canadians lacked this awareness. What has been surprising to realize is the extent to which relatives and descendants of IRS survivors also have a great deal to learn. Survivors have often not wanted to share the specifics of their lives in residential schools with family and community members.  Some were so damaged by their experiences that their lives ended violently and prematurely, leaving them no real chance to impart reliable accounts of what they had undergone.

Embodying Empathy seeks to fill in some of these blanks, and is relying on extensive and ongoing consultations with IRS survivors and intergenerational survivors to help determine which gaps matter most, to identify relevant experiences to share, and to determine the design parameters of our IRS “storyworld.” We have created a highly consultative and interactive “participatory design” methodology to realize our virtual IRS in a way that gives our Indigenous partners a real say in what the resulting project looks like and is made to do.  By giving up ownership of key elements of our project, as well of any resulting technology that is created, we hope to make it possible for the storyworld to provide an intimate and richly nuanced account of the experience of being a child exposed to neglect, starvation, corporal punishment, humiliation, and rape.

Any hope of creating a shared memory of Canada’s IRS, and through the experience of that sharing to foster a morally and politically transformative form of empathy (understood as a kind of doing and not just a quality of feeling), depends crucially on this intimacy and trust.  Even when settler Canadians are aware of some of the facts of the country’s Indigenous history, often what they know has been selected and interpreted “from without” by non-Indigenous historians and educators who haven’t taken the time, or lack the wherewithal, to view things from an Indigenous perspective. Along with the NCTR, with which Embodying Empathy has formally partnered, we aim to redress this externality by linking victims of and secondary witnesses to Canada’s IRS in shared experiences of forced assimilation. We hope that via this sharing Indigenous and non-Indigenous Canadians may together come to a clearer understanding not just of Indigenous suffering but of what constitute appropriate forms of reconciliation and redress.  The resulting “imagined community” will, we hope, end up being more humane, inclusive, and just.

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.

In November, the Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies welcomed Dr. Adam Muller from the University of Manitoba to discuss his upcoming project, which creates a virtual First Nations residential school.  Dr. Muller is part of the Embodying Empathy project, which seeks to create a digital immersive experience for educate visitors about the settler-colonial interactions at Canada’s residential schools. The project is also exploring whether immersive representations can bridge the empathetic distance separating victims from secondary witnesses to atrocity.

Dr. Muller is Associate Professor of English at the University of Manitoba (Canada). He specializes in the representations of war, genocide and mass violence, human rights, memory studies, critical theory, cultural studies, and analytic philosophy.

CHGS followed up with Dr. Muller to learn more about his innovative project. You can find a recording of the original presentation here.  This is part 1 of our conversation.

Could you tell us about how the concept for the virtual museum was initiated?

In 2011, during the early planning and design stages of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights, I was one of three organizers of a lecture series hosted by the University of Manitoba’s Faculty of Law entitled “The Idea of a Human Rights Museum.” As part of this series I, along with my colleagues Struan Sinclair and Andrew Woolford, decided to present a talk on some of the thinking behind what the CMHR’s plans to become an “ideas museum” might mean for the representation of Indigenous experiences, most especially those associated with Canada’s Indian Residential School system. Ideas museums depend heavily on technology and not artifacts to create enriching experiences for museumgoers. We were wondering what kinds of technology the museum might use to engage its visitors, and whether or not they’d be well-suited to representing Indigenous experiences of human rights abuses and successes stories. In preparing for our lecture we noted the increasing dependence of museums of all kinds, but especially ideas museums, on various virtual and augmented reality technologies. These included VR headsets and digital overlays of otherwise static exhibitions designed to give museum visitors more information, and richer experiences, than would be available through observation alone. These technologies have been increasingly viewed by museum curators as a good way to connect with to younger audiences already cognizant of VR and AR via their use in digital gaming. We wanted to explore how they might be adapted to the demands of representing traumatic experiences, and were also curious about whether or not more immersivity would translate into an increase in museumgoers’ understanding of historical trauma, as well as enhancements in their capacity to care. We noted that to date the secondary literature remains divided on whether or not such technologies can open people up empathetically to others’ suffering, or else instead contribute to what has been termed “empathy fatigue,” or the erosion of our capacity to feel for others. And so with these issues in view, Embodying Empathy was born as creative, critical, commemorative, and educational project seeking to build and assess the empathetic potential of a virtual and immersive museum-quality representation of a Canadian IRS.

In your presentation, you discussed the successful efforts to get support from survivors of the residential schools. What was their initial reaction to the project and has that changed as it has evolved and taken shape?

From the first we were nervous that what we were thinking of doing would be perceived by IRS Survivors as an attempt to hijack and/or distort their school experiences. We worried that what we wanted to do would seem not merely problematically playful to them (in so far as we were turning their suffering into something plausibly understood as a video game) but offensive.  When we began discussing our project publicly, we really didn’t know what to expect in response. We were acutely aware that the core idea for Embodying Empathy was hatched by three non-Indigenous scholars, and we weren’t sure we could explain our belief in the merits of our project in a way that would reassure people all too familiar with the hollow promises and risks more typical of conventionally “extractive” forms of academic research.

We were therefore surprised at (and relieved by) the strong support for Embodying Empathy that we’ve received from a wide range of Indigenous people from the get-go. Survivors have made it clear that they view our work as urgent and necessary, the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation views the project as potentially an extremely useful way of making their testimonial archive more accessible, and intergenerational survivors and other members of Indigenous communities have expressed their hope that via our immersive storyworld they may become better informed about the exact nature of the abuses suffered by their relatives. Of course things have been made somewhat easier by our high degree of consultativeness.  We have been very careful to involve Indigenous people in our project not as objects of inquiry (i.e. “things” to be studied) but as full research partners actually determining the directions our design and critical inquiry are heading.  We actually ended up developing new and very explicit language concerning the fullness of this partnership which we included in our research ethics protocols.  In order to maximize the control and oversight of our Indigenous collaborators to our project we have adopted a “participatory design” methodology that requires us to share and modify potentially all of our strategies and results before they are finalized and made public. Thus one of our project’s goals is to empower our Indigenous partners while contributing to contemporary thinking about the appropriate forms and methods of non-extractive Indigenous research.  The sincerity of our commitment to this end seems have to inspired the confidence of those whose stories of IRS life we are working to share, as well as our prospective audiences.

The experiences in the boarding schools were wide ranging. How is your team incorporating survivor accounts that vary so greatly from fairly positive memories to extremely traumatic ones?

We have been aware from the outset of the potentially harmful reductions inherent in conceiving of our storyworld as a single, prolonged, trauma-drama. Even though many of the survivor testimonies presented before the TRC focused on negative experiences such as physical and sexual abuse, they also often included reference to positive aspects of IRS life such as moments of human kindness, extraordinary resilience, and hope. This diverse complex of experiences is something actually acknowledged by the TRC in its final report, though critics of the commission continue to point to its conclusions as deliberately and unproductively one-sided. In consultations with our Survivor advisory council, we have come to understand the experience of being a student at an IRS as not one single thing but rather as an unstable patchwork of positive and negative occurrences resulting from the schools’ wider goal of stripping away from Indigenous people their capacity to remain culturally intact, and so dignified and self-respecting versions of themselves. One of the major challenges for us in our attempt to design our storyworld has therefore been how to acknowledge this complexity while not making IRS life seem more horrific, uplifting, or even banal than it really was.

In an attempt to limit to a manageable number the experiences we will be representing in Embodying Empathy, we chosen to focus primarily on a single school, the Fort Alexander IRS located near Pine Falls, Manitoba, on land that is now part of the Sagkeeng First Nation. For the most part the members of our advisory council attended this school, though our research (and the testimony taken by the TRC) has revealed considerable overlap in experiences undergone at a wide range of schools across the country. We are also concentrating on experiences of the sort likely to have been undergone from the 1940s to the early 1960s. Residential schools functioned and were staffed and regulated differently at different periods of Canadian history, and we are anxious to incorporate the experiences of former IRS students undergone by a generation that is rapidly declining in health and numbers.  Since we are just now entering the design phase of our project, and since our methodology is highly consultative and so dependent on the guidance we’ll receive from various stakeholders and partners, we don’t yet know exactly which experiences will feature prominently in our virtual world.

Stay tuned for the second half of our interview with Dr. Muller, coming next week!

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.

CHGS is proud to maintain collections of art and historical objects that originated with founding director Stephen Feinstein’s work in Holocaust art. These collections include visual artworks, such as the paintings of Fritz Hirschberger, as well as historical objects, including postcards and badges from Nazi Germany.

CHGS has stewardship over these important pieces of history and artistic expression. Our goals are to care for these objects through best museum practices and extend their educational impact through physical and digital exhibition.

We are collaborating with Deborah Boudewyns, UMN Art and Architecture Librarian, and instructor of a UMN course, Workshop in Art, in which students learn the skills of curating and exhibiting, using CHGS collections as the foundation of their work. These students will end the semester with an exhibition featuring CHGS art and objects, to be held in Wilson Library from April 29 – May 12, 2016, with an opening reception on April 29.

In an effort to keep our art collections vital we have migrated the CHGS owned exhibitions to the University of Minnesota Archive.

Our website, which includes resources in the study of Holocaust visual history, is being updated. Our imagery and art research is in the process of being made available online through UMN digital archives, enabling greater functionality, flexibility, and reach. We are working with the University’s physical archives to document CHGS history as we near our 20th anniversary in 2017.

Son of Saul is a film about a member of the Sonderkommando (Jewish prisoners forced to aid in the killing process and clean up) at Auschwitz.  What sets Son of Saul apart from most films that deal with the Holocaust is that it is not presented in a traditional narrative structure. Hungarian director László Nemes upon accepting his Golden Globe for Best Foreign Film said “over the years the Holocaust has become an abstract. It deserves a face.” Certainly he does this immediately as the camera never leaves Saul; we are either looking directly at his face in close-up or over his shoulder. We experience events with Saul as he goes about his work and later his self-imposed mission, the burial of a boy. The movie is a visceral experience — there is very little dialogue, and we only see and hear what Saul sees and hears.  Nemes gives us very little to go on, we know nothing about Saul’s past, who he once was, prior to landing in Auschwitz.  Saul is introduced to us as he emerges from a combination of mist, smoke and sound. We are immersed in a world that is out of focus and filled with a cacophony of sounds, some so sharp and real one turns to look for the offending speaker in the audience.  Nemes and his sound designer Tamas Zanyi, recorded over eight different languages speaking dialogue to create aural chaos, these layers of sound combined with the close-ups and long takes are intended to disorientate, forming a psychological experience with Saul. Nemes does not use any sentiment or melodramatic devices to tell his story. We never form an emotional bond with Saul as one might to other characters in other films on the Holocaust.

How does Son of Saul measure up against Shoah?

 The film does owe a small debt to Claude Lanzmann’s masterpiece documentary Shoah (1985), especially as it engages resourcefully with the limits of representation. Nemes has the horror take place at the edge of the frame, mainly in the shadows, out of focus, or through sound. It is relentless, but respectful. The scene involving our first encounter with the gas chamber is only reflected in the litany of expressions upon Saul’s face and the soundtrack of voices. The experience is left to our imagination. It is our knowledge of the Holocaust that creates the visual. In fact what we imagine is certainly far worse than anything he could recreate. Lanzmann in an interview given to French magazine Telerama on May 24, 2015 gave the film a positive endorsement claiming Son of Saul the “anti-Schindler’s List.” Lanzmann, was highly critical of Spielberg’s dramatic choices, especially the scene involving women entering the showers.

 What Source Material was used to write Son of Saul?

Nemes and his writing partner Clara Royer, based their script on Voices from Beneath the Ashes, a collection of testimonies written by the Sonderkommandos that was hidden away in 1944. Nemes’s grandparents also perished in Auschwitz. It was personal, and is one of the reasons why he does not tell a tale of survival. Like Shoah, Son of Saul is a film about death.

Where was it filmed?

The gas chamber and crematorium were all sets built on a sound stage in Hungary by production designer Laszlo Rajk, an architect and political activist who was responsible for the creation of the Hungarian exhibition at the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial Museum.  That exhibition was one of the most jarring exhibitions I have ever encountered; it was described by a fellow participant at an educational conference as a “blitzkrieg” on the senses.  Like Son of Saul you are immersed and disorientated, by layers of sounds and visuals, reminding the visitor of the swiftness and violence of the murder of 400,000 Hungarian Jews in a few short months in 1944. The small exhibition leaves you completely depleted in the knowledge of those deaths and stays with you long after you exit.

Is this a film an educator can use in the classroom?

It is always imperative that we look at the film as a cinematic experience first. Not every film dealing with the Holocaust should be used in the classroom. Nemes, when questioned about the film, has said he has no interest in providing a manual for the film — the film is ambiguous on purpose, and that it is an artistic choice.  Not everything needs to be explained, it is a choice that leads the audience think about the film long after leaving the theater.

One always has to consider the level of knowledge the students have before showing any film.  Son of Saul relies on a higher level of knowledge to convey its meaning. It is not an easy film to watch, it is a film that asks you to consider the brutality, the victimization and the possibility of retaining ones humanity as a Sonderkommando at Auschwitz.

Will it win an Academy Award?

Probably, based on the Academy’s track record and the long running joke that if there is a Holocaust film nominated in any category, it will win an Oscar. It has already won the Grand Prix at Cannes and a Golden Globe for Best Foreign Film so the odds are good. All that aside, from a cinematic point of view it is a very artful film. The layering of sound, the camera techniques and the acting of Géza Röhrig, certainly make it a legitimate contender.

To learn more about the film or watch the trailer, visit Son of Saul’s official site.

If you’re in the Twin Cities, Son of Saul is playing now through the end of the week at the Uptown Theater and opens Friday, January 29th at the Edina Cinema.

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.

On December 15^th, the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission issued its final report. It documents the treatment of indigenous children in Canadian residential schools over the course of more than twelve decades. More 150,000 youth were sent to the schools. The report estimates that more than 3,200 never came home. In June, Beverly McLachlin, chair of the TRC commission, labelled the residential schools cultural genocide.

To many, the report and its finding are an astounding admission to the culpable role the Canadian government played in the destruction of several generations of indigenous culture. The release of the report raises an interesting question: can this be a positive sign of Canada coming to grips with its troubling past?

When I’ve asked Canadian scholars why the perception of how Canada has treated its indigenous communities is so much better than the United States I’m generally met with a laugh. “Only because the relationship in your country is so much worse,” is the usual response. While on the surface, the Canadian TRC process appears to be a positive sign its origins give less cause for optimism.

In the years preceding the Commission, it was estimated that more nearly half of Canadians had little to no understanding of the residential school system.  The TRC process was only initiated after survivors of the residential school system successfully organized the largest class action lawsuit in Canadian history when they sued the government and the churches that operated the schools. The truth and reconciliation process was something the survivors pushed to include in the settlement. Its inclusion likely staved off further litigation. Stephen Harper, the former Prime Minister ousted after this fall’s election, has had a long history of troubling interactions with Canada’s indigenous peoples. While the TRC process was initiated under his premiership, his lack of leadership to address the challenges facing First Nations people was seen by many as a contributing factor to the Conservatives heavy losses in the recent election. Clearly, the TRC process is not the product of a benevolent approach to reconciling Canada’s troubling past we might think of it being.

Troubles aside, how can Canada move forward? A report can only go far to address the injustices of the past. It remains to be seen what effect the TRC will have on the relationship between the government and its indigenous people. The report issued 94 calls to action that address issues in the report, targeted at a number of continuing challenges, including access to healthcare, education and the legal system.  These solutions will take years to have an impact.  However, with its focus on the residential school system the report does not fully explore the other abuses committed against Canada’s indigenous people.  Allegations of forced sterilization of indigenous women continue to come out, despite forcible sterilization being explicitly outlawed in the Genocide Convention.

The Canadian government under Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is making a concerted effort to change the country’s relationship with its indigenous communities. Forming the most diverse cabinet in Canadian history, promising to address the issues of missing indigenous women and releasing the full Truth and Reconciliation Report are positive moves. With these actions, the path to Canada’s reconciliation may be a clearer one.

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.

This year, the University of Minnesota will be hosting Sam Grey, a Fulbright Scholar from Canada. Sam comes to campus to continue her research in the field of reconciliation, specifically in settler-colonial states. While in Minnesota, Sam will be exploring the resistance to reconciliation in Minnesota a century and a half after the Dakota conflict of 1862.

Coming from the University of Victoria in British Columbia, Sam is well suited to exploring Minnesota’s relationship with its indigenous communities. Her doctoral research focuses on political theory and comparative politics, primarily from a non-western political perspective. Sam’s research interests have included, in addition to indigenous rights, gender equality, food politics and solidarity politics.  As a Canadian scholar in Minnesota, Sam is in a unique position to compare Canada’s recently completed Truth and Reconciliation process with the United States’ own attempts to understand its own relationship with its indigenous population.

For context, the CanadianTruth & Reconciliation Commission issued its final findings in June after seven years of examining the legacy of the country’s residential school programs. Unlike other Truth & Reconciliation Commissions, Canada’s held no legal power, which meant that it couldn’t offer amnesty for alleged perpetrators of abuse at the residential schools in exchange for testimony. The result was a commission that primarily focused on recording victim experiences.  Following the conclusion of hearings, the commission published an extensive report of its findings. The report outlined many of the challenges that indigenous people continue to face in Canada as a result of the residential schools and outlined a plan for reconciliation. Most famously, commissioner chair and Canadian Supreme Court Chief Justice Beverley McLachlin labelled the residential schoolsystem cultural genocide .

When asked why Canada has been so forthcoming about its troubling history with indigenous people, Sam is honest. In her assessment, Canada’s relationship with its indigenous communities isn’t actually that positive, though it’s likely that it’s perceived as good when compared to the United States’ relationship its indigenous population. She says the Truth & Reconciliation commission and subsequent report are a positive step, but fall short of addressing many of the systemic issues in Canada. She points to several troubling incidents, including the current epidemic of missing indigenous women in central Canada that demonstrate the amount of work that needs to continue.

When asked about Minnesota, the idea of local reconciliation seems especially difficult to Sam. There are a number of factors that she says make attempts at reconciliation challenging, including that the resentment amongst descendants of the Minnesota settlers who took part in the 1862 conflict and members of the Dakota community is still present. Memories of the conflict represent just one of the hurdles to reconciliation in Minnesota that Sam hopes to explore during her nine months here.

Sam sees the issue of residential schools as the best approach for building a greater understanding of the legacy of colonialism in the United States and Canada. To her, and other scholars, boarding and residential schools represent “philanthropy gone off the rails,” which makes the issue easier to understand and contextualize. As more people gain an understanding the schools as a place of abuse, Sam explains, scholars can build on that awareness to promote a greater understanding of the issues affecting indigenous people today.

Much of Sam’s work can be found on her Academia webpage.

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.

On Saturday, October 17th, 2015, the Minneapolis Film Society screened Pretty Village at St. Anthony Main theater, a documentary depicting the experience of Kemal Pevranic and his village during the war in Bosnia (1992-95). Pevranic, the main subject of the film, is also the producer and a human rights activist who works to raise awareness and to rebuild his community in Bosnia by working on reconciliation efforts, particularly with young people of all three ethnicities in Bosnia. The Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies co-sponsored the film screening event, in which I participated as the moderator of the post-screening discussion.

Pretty Village is a powerful documentary centered on Pevranic’s home village of Kevljani located in Northern Bosnia in the municipality of Prijedor. The Muslim village became a target during the war by the surrounding Serb villages. Most of the men in the village were either killed or taken into the nearby Omarska concentration camp. Labeled an “investigation center,” Omarska was only revealed as a concentration camp by the media after serious denial on the part of the Serb forces. In the film, we see Pevranic return to Omarska to face the horrific memories, as well as his torturer, who just so happened to have been his high school teacher. In the scene where Kemal directly asks the teacher about the camp, we see a kind of denial on the part of the perpetrator that just makes us cringe as we watch the hypocrisy in the interaction. It makes us wonder if facing one’s torturer cannot bring closure, what can? As one of the village residents and torture victim states in the film, hating one’s torturers can also become a kind of torture in itself, as it is exhausting to hate someone with such intensity.

“Those who didn’t live through war don’t know anything,” says an elderly woman at the beginning of Pretty Village, making us think about what atrocity, fear, and trauma do to us. There is a kind of wisdom that comes from enduring and surviving war that is not comparable with other wisdom we have. At the very least, it makes us question where we belong. After being asked what home means to him now during the Q & A, Pevranic, educated in London after leaving Bosnia, says that his idea of home has changed. While Kevljani will never be the same again, he has rebuilt his home and has returned to live there. However, as those featured in his film mentioned, young people educated outside of Bosnia have no reason to return since they have lives away from their original home.

Above all, this is a film that questions and collapses the dichotomies inherent in human relations, particularly when genocide takes place. It is no longer clear what is good and what is evil, who is a foreigner and who is at home, as a student and teacher relationship turns into that of the torturer and the tortured, arguably both equally as intimate. Ultimately, this film shows us just how quickly the status quo can change, and one has to change his definition of what normal life is when the circumstances suddenly change, and they can do so at any given moment.

N.B.: For those who have not had the opportunity to see the film, CHGS is working to bring a screening to campus in Spring 2016.

Erma Nezirevic is a Ph.D. candidate in Hispanic Literatures and Cultures at the University of Minnesota – Twin Cities. She specializes in 20th and 21st century Iberian literatures and cultures. Her dissertation studies the way Spain evokes the Balkan Wars of the 1990s in literature and other cultural production such as photography, and how in turn that provides a political, social and cultural understanding of Spain itself. Erma currently works in affiliation with the Center for Holocaust and Genocide Studies, where she coordinates the HGMV Workshop.

A few things have been happening in Burundi this year. The president, Pierre Nkuruzinza circumvented the constitution and ran for a third term. The result of this has been on-going conflict from April. Burundi was not a surprise though. Journalists I spoke to earlier this year all stated that regional coverage of Burundi had pointed to something being afoot as early as last year. None-the-less, here we are, with yet another unfolding atrocity, several deaths, an ever growing numbers of displaced and plenty of hand-wringing by the international community.

There are reports of massive numbers of refugees already running to Rwanda in anticipation of violence at a massive scale. A Kenyan journalist I spoke to in March painted a really grim picture of politicians getting ready to cause havoc. These concerns have now been confirmed by reports emanating from Burundi. The police are engaging in a campaign of brutal suppression of protesters. Several dissenting voices have been thrown in jail accused with the ever nefarious charge of “endangering internal and external state security.”Protesters have been charged, by the state prosecution, with the offence of“participation in an insurrectionary movement.” Not to forget the continual assassinations and assassination attempts by both sides of this unfolding atrocity.

Despite all of this though what is happening in Burundi is not genocide nor is Burundi going to be another Rwanda. Sometimes it feels as though every atrocity in Africa is often seen as the next Rwanda. This does not mean that the government in Burundi is not heinous nor is it in any way excusable. Indeed in May, the International Criminal Court saw it necessary to warn the Burundi’s leaders of possible prosecution should the court deem it necessary. While the word genocide is emotive and seen as necessary whenever world opinion needs to be influenced, it complicates the situation on the ground as well. In Burundi, this complication is been based on how to define the perpetrators and victims; if it’s a genocide, who is the targeted group and who exactly is the perpetrator of said genocide?

There is also an implication (whenever we are quick to label a conflict genocide) that the international community only cares about genocide. Must atrocities in African countries be called genocide for the world to care?

What is happening in Burundi is a power grab by a cabal of politicians who decided to go against the spirit of the Arusha peace agreement of 2000, which was meant to end years of civil conflict. This implies, therefore, that one way to solve it would be through a political process and dialogue. A process that should include targeted sanctions by the international community and a cessation of foreign aid. Another troubling issue has been the inertia by regional bodies, such as the African Union and the East African Community, both of which have been largely peripheral at best. The world needs to pay attention to Burundi, not because it could be the ‘next Rwanda’ or that there is a ‘genocide’ unfolding there. It needs to pay attention because what happens in Burundi and to Burundians also affects its neighboring countries. If there is anything we should know by now, it is that conflicts in this region have historically tended to spill over national boundaries with disastrous effects. Additionally, we should care because of our shared humanity, which is what binds us.

Wahutu Siguru is Badzin Fellow in Holocaust and Genocide Studies and PhD candidate in the Sociology department at the University of Minnesota. Siguru’s research interests are in the Sociology of Media, Genocide, Mass Violence and Atrocities (specifically on issues of representation of conflicts in Africa such as Darfur and Rwanda), Collective Memory, and perhaps somewhat tangentially Democracy and Development in Africa.