NBC Olympic Editing Generates Controversy

The other day, someone asked me, "did you even know that the Olympics were starting?" And frankly, no, I did not. While I certainly see the value of exercise and understand and believe in the positive effects of sport on the mind and body, I do not practice a sport regularly and I certainly have no interest in watching or following the Olympics (as an aside, I am a huge baseball fan, which is another story, and I listen to my team's games every day -- and have, since I was about 8).

When the Olympics were going on when I was a teenager, my friends and I would gather to watch figure skating in winter and gymnastics in summer. Mostly, as with anything during adolescence, it held a romantic attraction for us. In skating, we liked to see the sequins and the skirts and the death-defying spins of couples impossibly paired and destined for heartbreak. In gymnastics, we pined after the guys on the pommel horse and their resin-covered hands and longed to be petite little girls whose developing bodies were forever locked in amber. We spent quite a long time imitating these heroines -- in fact, I broke my wrist for the first time ice-skating, while pretending to be Peggy Fleming in front of a friend.

Somewhere between junior high and college, the Olympics lost their allure for me and became something only athletes watched. And it took some time, but I also began to experience that sense of what the Spanish call "vergüenza ajena" -- a kind of embarrassment one encounters on behalf of someone else. The chants of "USA, USA" make me cringe. So do the wearing of flags, whether they be American or those of another nation. And all the opening ceremonies showcasing the supposed harmony of the world, complete with native dances and costumes -- like a UNICEF Christmas card -- belie what the Olympics is really about: a kind of athletic nation-building extravaganza. Certainly, a great deal of the Olympics is still about superior athletic achievement and what the human body is capable of. But inevitably, no matter where the Olympics are held, we must encounter an "Olympic controversy."

This year, in London, the U.S. newschannel NBC has already gotten into the fray by editing out a ceremony commemorating the 7/7 terrorist bombings and instead, pasting in an interview between Ryan Seacrest and swimmer Michael Phelps (see British coverage of the story here and American here). As The Guardian reports, "NBC. . . chose to broadcast the entire ceremony on a time-delay to maximise primetime advertising revenue..." While revenue may be part of the story, the larger issue is memory and victimhood. 

Basically, NBC decided that American viewers would not be interested in watching a memorial tribute to the 52 victims of the London bombings, and would prefer to see their own heroes -- in this case, the former "boy next door"gold medal winner Michael Phelps, making his triumphant return. NBC's excuse was that the program was tailored for U.S. audiences.

Maybe, part of the problem is precisely that! What the U.S. needs less of is programs tailored to its own viewing preferences and more opportunities for engaging with the rest of the world. If a British TV channel had edited out a tribute to victims of 9-11, we most certainly would have voiced our outrage. The bottom line is that politics matters when it's our politics. Victims matter when they're our victims. 9-11 is the terrorist attack, and all others fall beneath it. Editing out something even as apparently minor as this 6-minute tribute does nothing to help the image of the U.S. abroad. And then we complain about "anti-Americanism!" The tribute to the London victims could have been an opportunity for Americans to contemplate 9-11 alongside 7/7. As Joanne Garde-Hansen writes in Media and Memory, "National broadcast media, in particular, across the world tend to tell self-aggrandising stories about a nation to a nation" (109). The Olympics is the perfect stage for tales of rebirth from the ashes -- as long as the ashes are those of our own.

See the BBC video here.

My Visit to Ground Zero

In May 2000, I made my first trip to New York City. I was attending a wedding between a Japanese woman and an American man, and the couple had arranged a tour of the city for some of their guests. It was an ideal first time experience, and I was lucky to be a part of it, essentially for free. We did many of the typical tourist excursions -- the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, Little Italy and Chinatown, a boat tour along the skyline. And, we also stopped outside the Twin Towers, just long enough to get out of our shuttle and shoot several photographs. I really had no understanding of what occurred inside those buildings or in the surrounding area. But I did recall the 1993 bombing and knew that the towers had been, at one time, the tallest buildings in the world. Mainly, my recollection of the towers is limited to the one or two images left behind by my point-and-shoot camera: massive, institutional gray structures that blocked the sun and sky, making it seem like night on the street below. Because it was impossible to capture the buildings in their entirety, most of us tried to catch the top of the towers in our lens (see my photo below, from May 9, 2000). Maybe I am wrong, but I also recall sitting or kneeling on the sidewalk out in front in order to get the best view. And then it was time to board the shuttle again with the remainder of the gawkers, most of whom had never been in the city before.

personal photo, taken May 9, 2000

Since 2000, I've returned to NYC three times; however, because I usually spend time in other areas of the city, I had never gone to Ground Zero until a week or so ago. There were several factors that motivated me to visit the area this time around. First, after the memory course I taught last semester, I thought it was essential that I be able to talk about my direct impressions of the site, particularly since several of my students had already visited Ground Zero and the visitors' center. There is no substitute for being there. Waiting until now has also allowed me to have a more informed encounter with the site; I benefited from studying memory and traumatic events for many years prior to my visit, because I was able to observe and evaluate the scene differently than had I gone with say, only the TV images of planes crashing into the buildings. Finally, the fact that the site is under construction also compelled me to see it now, before the new tower goes up. The traumatic landscape is unstable and in the process of being transformed (though perhaps "transformed" is too strong a word because it signals something final, and I mean to indicate more of an evolution).

I made the trip to Ground Zero with a person who grew up just outside the city. At one time, he had worked briefly in Manhattan. He had last visited the site in December 2001, when the area was heavily protected by chain link fences still peppered with photographs of loved ones, letters, poems and other personal items. He experienced 9-11 while living in the Midwest -- actually, in what some call the "buckle of the Bible Belt," a phrase that to me, has always encompassed multiple points on the U.S. map -- and he had felt, early on, that New York's 9-11 had been "co-opted" by the rest of the country. Yes, of couse 9-11 was a national, collective event. But to him, it was as if suddenly, New York mattered in the Midwest. More than just the stereotypical image of rude people, insane taxi drivers and crime, New York suddenly became "ours," with the flood of "United We Stand" and "God Bless America" bumper stickers soon to come, followed by the yellow ribbon car magnets ("Support the Troops"). In other words, where he lived, the experience of 9-11 seemed to become political quicker than elsewhere. Revolting expressions of nationalism had not only (re-)surfaced, but taken over the entire landscape. Everyone's patriotism was questionable. If you didn't have an American flag in your yard, you were probably "the enemy." This was the logical mindset spawned by the "you are either with us or against us" mentality of the post 9-11 world. In his own words, he writes:

it was odd for New York, or at least certain very specific aspects of New York being embraced suddenly as "our America."  New York has always been regarded, especially in the rural midwest, as essentially "foreign" --- in ethnicity, values, politics, etc.  It felt manipulative and disingenuous the way very specific New Yorkers (Cops, Firemen, First Responders, Rudy Giuliani) were suddenly---it seemed---granted temporary status as exemplary Americans.  It was always and without fail these New Yorkers who were celebrated, not the ordinary citizens---not the Hasidic Jews and the Somali cab drivers and the Puerto Rican restaurant workers, etc.

Then came the 2004 GOP Convention in New York, which took this manipulation to new heights.  911 memories and Ground Zero  was a kind of conquered "Red State territory" in the heart of the enemy.

It is difficult to be at Ground Zero and concentrate on the terror of 9-11 without also reflecting on the way 9-11 was used -- and continues to be used -- politically (a perfect recent example is the debate over whether a mosque should be permitted near the site). While the Ground Zero landscape is about the catastrophic loss of human lives, it is subsequently about other wars (Iraq, Afghanistan); about imperialism and capitalism; about religious freedom and (in)tolerance; about memorialization and urban landscapes. My visit to the site was relatively brief -- maybe 15 minutes -- because, truthfully, there is not that much to see, but a lot upon which we can reflect later on.

We took the subway to Ground Zero, and even though my companion thought the stop for the WTC had been eliminated, we later discovered it still exists, but on a different train than the one we were on. Even if we hadn't known which direction to head when getting off the subway, it would have become quickly apparent by the long line of tourists on the sidewalk and an enormous construction site at the end of the street. We bypassed the tourist line, which was gazing at a bronze-colored wall sculpture commemorating "first responders," and stood at the edge of the sidewalk across the street from the construction area.

The first thing I noticed was the amount of people with cameras out. I told my companion, "I feel guilty taking photographs," but at the same time, it seemed a necessary, important thing to do, as long as it was done in a respectful, unobtrusive way. This is the first photo I took:

I am not positive, but I believe that what we are looking at in the center of the photo is the beginning of the new building, "One World Trade Center," which is scheduled to open in 2013. While looking at this site, I was struck by the emptiness of the landscape, and the fact that the sky is visible. When I stood in front of the Twin Towers in 2000, what I recall is the shadow they produced, and the sliver of sky between them. What's interesting is that the view of this traumatic site of memory is also now obstructed by fences and gates and screens of all kinds. I don't know how much of this has to do with security, and how much is just a regular part of safety on any construction job site, but it certainly adds a sense of secrecy to the whole operation, despite the large banners designed to help viewers understand what the site will look like upon completion (see photos 3 and 4).

Photo 1

Photo 2

Photo 3

Photo 4

Although it was important to contemplate the construction site, to take in the cramped quarters of the nearby streets and to imagine what the devastation must have been like, I found it more interesting to turn my gaze to the sidewalk area. I think I may have been anticipating a larger, public memorial on the street. But all that was there was this makeshift memorial:

This memorial, to NYC firefighters lost on 9-11 (see large poster), is also a place for people to leave fire and police uniform insignia from all over the world. The fluorescent uniform item in the lower right-hand corner is that of a police officer from Móstoles, just outside Madrid. If one looks carefully, above this memorial is a handwritten sign taped to a building window:

"Vendors are not allowed to sell near or around firehouse (photos/pamphlets/booklets/etc. Please do not purchase in these areas and report them to police. Thanks."

Just around the corner from the sign above, one finds the Tribute WTC Visitor Center, open 10-6 on most days, with a $10 admission fee. We did not go in. For some reason, to do so felt wrong. I had learned enough on the street outside. Nonetheless, I did pick up a pamphlet, and am intrigued by this description of the center:

Tribute Center Tour Guides are intimately connected to the events of September 11, 2001 as survivors, family members who lost loved ones, rescue workers, civilian volunteers, police, firefighters and Lower Manhattan residents and workers. Guides share their personal experience of loss, healing and survival with a factual description of the events, providing the visitor with an unparalleled opportunity to connect with history firsthand.

I am glad I made this visit to Ground Zero, though I must admit I am in opposition to the construction of a new building at this site. I can understand and respect the argument that sees construction as proof of strength and perseverance in the face of tragedy, as well as what comes "natural" to New York. However, the entire reconstruction process has already been marred by design polemics, and to me, there is something very American about the need to rebuild bigger and better and not just let it be. I do like the plans for the actual memorial, but I am resistant to that new memorial being located alongside more commerce and power. Perhaps, when I view the site in coming years, my impressions will change. Also, I should recognize that my Midwestern upbringing also probably colors my perspective on this site and what ought to be done with it.

7/7 Memorial

It is interesting that yesterday, Queen Elizabeth II was at Ground Zero, just one day prior to the anniversary of the terrorist bombings in London (July 7, 2005). Here are a few images of the memorial for victims of the 7/7 attacks, which opened in 2009.

photo here

As a point of comparison, this is Madrid's March 11 memorial, located outside Atocha train station.

Interior:

Exterior:

It will be interesting to see what develops as a memorial at Ground Zero. For various reasons, my personal opinion is that a new skyscraper - which will be the same height as one of the previous towers of the World Trade Center - should not go up. However, I do like the idea of the memorial (called "Reflecting Absence") thus far -- two empty spaces where the original towers once stood. According to Wikipedia, "pools of water fill the footprints, underneath which sits a memorial space whose walls bear the names of the victims."

Photo here

"Un largo invierno" ("A Long Winter") - documentary on Spain's March 11 and Pilar Manjón

On March 11, 2004 -- known as "el 11-M" in Spain -- 191 people were killed  and thousands wounded when ten bombs exploded on four different commuter trains in a terrorist attack in Madrid. Until 2004, terrorist attacks in Spain had been largely tied to ETA, the Basque separatist organization. Initially, Spanish politicians -- including the president at the time, José María Aznar, and the candidate for president, Mariano Rajoy, both of the Partido Popular, or "People's Party" (PP) -- and media blamed ETA for the attacks. However, ETA had long had a practice of announcing their attacks prior to their occurrence, as well as  assuming responsibility for them. Also, despite the fact that ETA had murdered over 800 since 1968, their largest attack was the Barcelona Hipercor bombing of 1987, which killed 21.

Occurring just three days before Spain's presidential elections, the attacks inspired widespread protests when it became apparent that the governing party (aligned with Bush and Blair) had attempted to sway public opinion by contacting the media and asking them to support the ETA theory, as Democracy Now reported in November 2004:

Within a few hours, Spanish prime minister Jose Maria Aznar had called all the major media executives in the country and told them that ETA, the Basque separatist group, was to blame. Such was the conviction expressed by the president that Spain’s largest newspaper, the left-leaning EL PAIS, published a special edition on the day of the attacks with the title "ETA massacre in Madrid."

Without a doubt, the ETA theory was politically-motivated. As is well-known, the Aznar government supported the U.S. invasion of Iraq. The widely-publicized photo of Tony Blair, George Bush, and Aznar smiling like the three amigos in the Azores had drawn the ire of Spaniards that had protested the war from the outset. Essentially, Aznar ignored public outrage about the Iraq invasion, and allied himself with England and the U.S. It is impossible to overlook the fact that two of the countries suffered major terrorist attacks on September and March 11 (England, on Juy 7, 2005). Thus, promoting the ETA theory served to benefit Aznar, while opening the door to radical Islamic terrorists did not. The people of Spain came together -- some holding signs reading "paz," some demanding the PP stop lying -- in a powerful, visible display of solidarity on the streets of Madrid.

The day after the bombings, a massive demonstration that had been promoted by the government to protest the attacks turned into a spontaneous antiwar event that condemned both the bombings in Madrid and in Iraq. Finally, on the eve of the elections, thousands of people congregated in front of the headquarters of the governing political party, the PP. They demanded to be told the truth. (Democracy Now, November 23, 2004)

In 2007, an official report ruled out any ETA involvement in the 2004 bombings, but was also unable to establish any direct links to Al-Qaeda. To date, at least 2 men have been sentenced - a Moroccan national and a Spaniard. Both men received sentences over 30,000 (thirty thousand) years and were charged with supplying the materials needed to make the bombs -- cell phones and dynamite. The years are mainly symbolic, as no one can remain in prison longer than 40 years in Spain. The Socialist party (PSOE), led by José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, has been in power since 2004, but the Zapatero government has had its share of problems, particularly regarding the economy.

Similar to what happened in the U.S. after September 11, Spain has begun to witness an attempt to deal with March 11 via literature, film and music. Probably the best known example to date is the song "Jueves" by the now defunct pop group La Oreja de Van Gogh (LOVG). I also recently finished a short novel by Ricardo Menéndez Salmón, El corrector, which has March 11 as its backdrop. And just days ago, I read about a new documentary film, Un largo invierno, which adopts a new approach to the March 11 story. The film's trailer is embedded in this post below. English subtitles are forthcoming on the official site.

In Un largo invierno ("A Long Winter," 2009), director Sebastián Arabia opts for a much different focus than those we are used to seeing in "terror documentaries." Here, there are no images of smoldering, twisted train cars or people weeping. We do not see played for the millionth time, from the vantage point of an escalator, the moment one of the bombs explodes. In his hour-long film, Arabia zeroes in on one protagonist, Pilar Manjón, whose 20-year old son, Daniel Paz Manjón, died in the March 11 attacks. Significantly, Pilar Manjón is also the president of the Asociación 11M Afectados del Terrorismo ("March 11 Association of those Affected by Terrorism," originally meant to serve victims of March 11 and their families), founded in 2004. She might be said to be the public face of March 11 -- during the March 11 hearings, she called out politicians and accused terrorists alike, and demanded that a new commission be created, independent of political affiliation. Perhaps, it was this appearance that led to her largely negative portrayal by the mainstream press, but Manjón's affiliation with the worker's trade union Comisiones Obreras (CCOO) -- originally founded by the Spanish Communist party -- has probably also contributed unfairly to the tirade of insults she has received.

In addition to the extreme suffering caused by the violent death of her son, Pilar Manjón has had to tolerate public slandering. Cast as the leader of a conspiracy to bring down the right, Manjón has received death threats and even required a body guard to walk down the street. In 2008, she attempted to press charges against two voices of the COPE radio station (sponsored by the Catholic Church and of an extreme right nature) for publicly humilliating herself and, by extension, the victims of terrorism, with comments they made. The complaint was denied. Manjón has also been vocal about the lack of economic and moral support the victims of March 11 have received. Sure to be controversial is the moment in the documentary when Manjón assures the camera she wishes the attacks had been caused by ETA, because then the victims would have been considered "víctimas de primera" (first-class victims) by the Spanish government, rather than second-class citizens. The hierarchy of victims is a topic taken up by Judith Butler in Precarious Life, and I was reminded of this work when I heard this statement. However, to be clear, Manjón is just as angry about the deaths caused by March 11 as she is regarding the deaths in Iraq.

Un largo invierno oscillates between the testimony of Pilar Manjón and clips of Spanish politicians and mainstream media interviews, as well as footage from the protests which followed March 11. This was the first time I have listened to Manjón at length, and I found her to be an eloquent, informed speaker. She has an air of fatigue and grief about her, but her emotions rarely, if ever, overtake her statements. When Manjón is speaking, Arabia tends to use close-up shots, periodically zeroing in on her hands. On several occasions we catch a glimpse of what appears to be a tattoo of her son's name ("Dani") on Manjón's right hand.

I like the way the film begins, with viewers hearing Manjón's report to the March 11 commission being read in her own voice, and simultaneously watching Manjón appear to be listening to her words, as if from a distance. The film picks up the words of this report towards the end of the documentary as well. I also found the end of the film well-done, with the stark images of faces of all ages contrasted against the white background. Such shots are reminiscent of the earlier-mentioned "Jueves" video, and they humanize the events of March 11. However, as I will go into later on, I wonder why the director does not give viewers more access to these people at the end. Who are they? Are they families of the victims? Are some of them those who were wounded on that day? We cannot be sure. It seems we are to read them, as one reviewer put it, as Manjón's acolytes. Yet we just don't know, because they don't speak. Some are serious, some smile and seem to joke with one another. But, unlike Manjón, they remain nameless.

I believe that this was an important film to make, particularly given the politicized nature of March 11, and the villainization of Pilar Manjón. Just like in the U.S. and elsewhere, the notion of "terror" and the concept of the "victim" have been co-opted and manipulated by politicians for political gain. It is difficult to ignore Manjón's point that ETA victims are better treated than other victims of terrorism in Spain, particularly when she cites the economic and medical challenges many face, and asserts that some March 11 victims are actually getting worse rather than better. I also appreciate the director's efforts to allot Manjón her own speaking platform, while he weaves in documentation and audioclips that essentially denounce the center-right (El Mundo) and the extreme right's self-appointed spokespersons (Jiménez Losantos and César Vidal). That said, after viewing this film for the first time yesterday -- and I have not seen it multiple times, which I usually do with documentaries I hope to study -- I am left with some questions. I should add that yesterday, the film was available for viewing in its entirety on the official site, but today, that video has unfortunately been removed (trailer is below and is available only in Spanish at the time).

My doubts regarding this film have to do with the use of Manjón as a centerpiece. The official title of the documentary, Un largo invierno, is preceded by a short descriptor, referencing Manjón's name and position. But because the promotional materials feature Manjón's face in shadow, it seems clear that she is meant to stand in as a representative of that long winter. This is a fact Sebastián Arabia acknowledges -- in the words of the director, "había que corregir algo muy perverso, el aislamiento de Pilar" ("we had to correct something really sick, Pilar's isolation," translation mine). Arabia adds that Manjón has had to carry on her shoulders a very close-knit organization ("lleva sobre los hombros un colectivo muy unido").

Perhaps, one of the film's intentions is thus, to illustrate how the personal trauma of March 11 is also a collective one. Yet while we see the power of community uniting in the days after March 11, in full support of the victims, we are also reminded, sadly, of how a community may also unite against its own victims and their loved ones. I am reminded of the despicable comments made by Ann Coulter in 2006, when she called 9-11 widows "self-obssessed" women "reveling in their status as celebrities" who "enjoyed their husbands' death so much." Pilar Manjón has become the whipping toy for those who still resent that the PP lost the elections on March 14, 2004. I see Arabia's point in getting Manjón's extended testimony beyond the courtroom and the paparrazi, but isn't placing her at the center of his film taking something away from the rest of the stories of 11-M victims? What we have in this film is Pilar Manjón against the world. What about everyone else? Can this one woman really represent everyone? In Arabia's opinion, in telling Pilar's story, he is simultaneously telling a part of Spain's recent history ("No creo que sólo esté contando la historia de Pilar, creo que estoy contando una pequeña parte de la Historia de nuestro país”).

Ultimately, Un largo invierno is a study in memory and forgetting. On the one hand, we have the sense that the PP, the party in power in 2004, tried to impose its own (false) narrative about March 11, which arguably got the party kicked out of office. In addition, the film narrates the trials Manjón has endured, depicting them as concerted efforts to silence her. And, at the time of filming, it is five years later, and what we have is the sense that the March 11 victims and their families are being forgotten, removed from public view. Manjón speculates that this forgetting -- particularly, due to the lack of economic assistance by the Comunidad de Madrid -- is politically-motivated. We come away looking at Manjón as the voice against forgetting and silence about March 11. In fact, the film almost feels like we are to read it as Pilar Manjón's vindication.

Another way we might approach the subject of memory and forgetting has to do with the imagery Arabia chooses to use (or not). The director states that he purposely did not use images of 11-M because he wanted viewers to recall on their own the sentiments of those days in March 2004, but also because the photographs and videos of bodies and shattered, twisted train cars have been misued and abused. In this instance, I agree wholeheartedly with the director's decision. Also, by foregrounding images of the protests and politicians, Arabia tries to showcase the response to March 11, or what was going on while the majority of people were still glued to their TVs focusing on the sheer enormity of the tragedy -- this sort of "global" view would not have been possible just after the attacks, or even in the first few anniversaries.

Though the film was just released in April 2010 and does not yet have subtitles, I also have doubts about how the intricacies of the March 11 story will be explained to audiences abroad. The film manages to condense an incredibly complicated trajectory into 56 minutes, and I think the characters and events portrayed will be more than familiar to Spanish audiences. However, viewers outside Spain are going to require quite a bit of background information to appreciate the film's ambitious attempt to depict the aftermath of the attacks -- and to do so through the voice of Pilar Manjón.

All in all, this is an important documentary for Spain (a country that has really seen an increase in documentary film production over the last 10 years or so), and especially remarkable considering the young age of the director. I admire Pilar Manjón tremendously, and I hope this film will help direct attention to the cause of her organization.

Please see the Facebook page for Un largo invierno here (English trailer is available on the FB site).