Diaspora: Identity and the Pathos of Global Labor
By: Sf Urban Film Fest
Tags: Globalization, Labor, Diaspora, Identity, Immigration

For some, the concept of a “diaspora” seems to denote a finite game. There is an origin, a direction, and a total, incontestable end. People shift from one geographical space to the next — from point A to point B — and the journey ultimately concludes once a boat meets land, a gate opens, or a checkpoint guard gives a discernible (albeit begrudging) nod of welcoming. Yet in the experience of migrants, it is evident that diaspora might not have the foolproof “end”; it is an ongoing process of assimilation, trauma, memory and subjectification for those caught in its tumultuous waters. February 6th, 2020’s evening presentation entitled “Diaspora: Identity and the Pathos of Global Labor” troubles the static conception of what diaspora means, entails, and problematizes for those who are caught between “here” and “there,” beautifully displaying such complex experiences in a filmic triad.

San Francisco’s Yerba Buena Center for the Arts acted as a backdrop for the evening’s screening, curated by SFUFF’s Robin Abad Ocubillo. As guests trickled in, an excitement smoldered for what was sure to be one of the more “artistic” programs of the film festival week. Directors’ names were familiar to many in the room, the already-seen trailers were incontestably elegant, and a fervor for the films’ aesthetic dimensions — alongside their political messages — was palpable. Yet as the lights dimmed and Abad Ocubillo introduced the first film, it became clear that the now-filled theatre was soon to be, not just a visually pleasing experience, but one that troubled conceptions of human being and “home” in the midst of modern refugee “crises.”

Courtesy of Ashmina

Ashmina (2018, dir. Dekel Berenson; 15 min.) tells the tale of a young girl whose life is tucked alongside the Himalayan mountains of Pokhara, Nepal. Upon first meeting Ashmina, spectators learn that she longs for an academic experience like the one her brother receives; one that she is kept from in order to provide for her family, as is the case for many young women in the Global South. “You are lucky to even have this work,” her mother reminds her of her informal job helping paraglide tourists pack up their equipment. Her mother’s harsh comment launches her into a depressive contemplation of her precarious position — between familial economic necessity and a desire for educational freedom. At work, paragliding tourists — if they’re kind enough — might just reward Ashima with their loose change. With Australian, British and American accents constantly surrounding her, Ashmina’s home country is painted as a site of troubling displacement as opposed to a familiar place of origin. Such begs the question of “home” in the realm of diasporic representations; what is a homeland when the subjects who surround you aren’t but ephemeral visitors?

Courtesy of Letter to the Outsider

Letter to the Outsider (2018, dir. Dorothy Cheung; 6 min.), gathers images of prisons in the Netherlands to reflect upon Hong Kong’s contemporary political revolutions. This intracultural mingling of penal strife between the east and west places the viewer into a mobius framework, one that is simultaneously here and there, underscoring the universality of diasporic and revolutionary turmoil. Stitching together black-and-white long shots — so still that they are almost photographic in nature — Cheung’s suspended imagery is accompanied by the voiceover recitation of a letter to the “outside”; outside of an imaginary “here,” outside of the prison, outside of the cold cement box, and outside of the anguished headspace of one who is caught in a literal and metaphorical prison of being.

Courtesy of Children of Spring

The program finished with Children of Spring (2019, dir. Dusan Solomun; 49 min.), an experimental documentary that follows a group of Syrian refugees in Berlin. Donning orange life vests, the group re-enacts their experience traveling across the Mediterranean, complete with the sentimental anguish, confusion, and interpersonal conflicts that painted their harrowing journey. Shots of Berlin are cut into with iPhone-style videos of the group in the sea, as well as vlog-style footage from the days before their forced displacement. In an attempt to relocate the vast and harrowing Mediterranean onto the rooftop of a Berliner building, Solomun’s use of rapidly oscillating camera angles, seasick shots, and oceanic soundscapes depict the journey with an eerie verisimilitude; the re-enactment is so amazingly believable that viewers lose their awareness of Berlin’s supposed “safety,” believing, instead, that they are still in the midst of witnessing life-threatening travel. Solomun’s directorial hand informs the fact that the anxieties and traumas of diaspora do not conclude, but instead continue to ferment, once a voyager reaches new land.

The crowd sat in pensive silence as Robin Abad Ocubillo introduced the panelists for the evening, Kathleen Coll (Professor of Anthropology and Politics, USF) and Jethro Patalinghug (Filmmaker and Associate Artistic Director of the Filipino International Cine Festival). Enmeshing a variety of vantage points — from the academic to the artistic, the political and the personal, between the Philippines, San Francisco and Central America — Ocubillo, Patalinghug and Coll catalyzed a discussion on diaspora and lived experience. How might we consider life after diaspora? Who has the “right” to diaspora? How can we consider forced diasporas and, finally, how do we consider refugee “crises” when they become embedded into our understanding of society’s hegemonic systems, systems that are becoming worryingly commonplace?

Patalinghug related his firsthand experiences as an immigrant and member of the Filipino diaspora, remarking that each film provoked personal resonance. He and Abad Ocubillo discussed the unique power of film to create an emotional experience and establish empathy on the part of viewers. A filmmaker himself, Patalinghug observed that the Letter to the Outsider film subtly conveyed the sense of being a prisoner, struggle with language, and loneliness that often characterize the immigrant and refugee experience. Abad Ocubillo interrogated gendered and colonialist readings of the films, noting especially that Ashima focused on the prospects of a young woman of color reaching for an education but trapped in an informal service economy. Coll cited cases in South America of local women-led tourist companies, whose work created value that accured back to the local community — a positive alternative to the grim, pervasive situation in the Ashima film.

Diaspora must relocate its emphasis from considerations of politically contested space to the multifaceted, subjective considerations of living human beings.

The implications of Diaspora for urban life and culture shone strongest with the Children of Spring film, wherein boat refugees from Syria find themselves in Berlin. The boat journey reenactment is set atop a high-rise, against a sea-like backdroup of the modern metropolis’ skyline. The multi-generational group of men, women, and children find themselves in a new country, new climate, and new language. Though not explicitly depicted on film, it’s evident that this group is seeking new ways to make a living and advance the education of their young. Almost subconsciously, the film provokes meditation on the role of cities in welcoming refugees; balancing global identities with native and immigrant ones; and sites of rebirth and renewed social connectedness.

Furthermore, viewers left with the knowledge that an experience of diaspora never truly ends. It is a slippery and ceaseless odyssey for the psyche and existence of each human who undergoes such a process. With this said, the job of the evening’s films was not to display diaspora as a game of geopolitical chess, but one of an experiential and human dimension. Diaspora must relocate its emphasis from considerations of politically contested space to the multifaceted, subjective considerations of living human beings. And these beings — whether they be in the mountains of Nepal, a mobius prison, the deathly Mediterranean, or the rooftop of a Berlin building — deserve their rights to life and the realization of experience, be it in the realm of international relations, or in their aesthetic representations on film.