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  • 'Blind Spot' a Searing Reminder of the Holocaust

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    (cross-posted in The Buddha Diaries

    Friday night, we watched the movie "Blind Spot: Hitler's Secretary." I can't remember how we were alerted to it, but it must have been on our Netflix list because someone had recommended it.. So, thanks to whoever did, because it's an amazing documentary.  The camera dwells exclusively on the one person, Traudi Junge, who sits in the same position throughout a series of interviews, recalling her days as secretary to one of the great monsters of history.  

    Frau Junge's is an absolutely compelling story, from the time she had barely heard of Hitler as a young girl to her move to Berlin with the hope of becoming a dancer; to the secretarial skills tests she was urged to take and her first interview with the man she described as as a kindly older gentleman, and particularly as "fatherly"--she herself had grown up without one; to her recollections of typing to his dictation, mostly personal things, she said, and speeches, never anything that carried a remote suggestion of the evil that she later came to understand he represented...  She recalled only one instance of his hatred of the Jews, expressed by no more than a curt response to a woman visitor who dared to mention hearing of the poor treatment of Dutch Jews being herded onto trains: the great dictator told her not to speak of things she did not understand and stalked out of the room.  Frau Junge could remember nothing more.

    Most compelling were her memories of the Stauffenberg attempt on Hitler's life and the last days in that bunker in Berlin, with Hitler's increasing alienation from reality, his marriage to Eva Braun, the six Goebbels children and their distraught mother, the constant din of bombing and artillery, the suicides...  And the feelings of guilt she had lived with for the rest of her life--she was 91 at the time of the interviews, and remarkably robust and clear of memory, and died at the time of the film's release--for not having been aware, for having allowed herself to sleepwalk through the horror of the war and the holocaust, for having been an enabling cog in the machinery.  Only at the very end, shortly before her death, could she tell her interviewer that she had begun to forgive herself.  These days, we tend to scoff at those who claimed not to know what was happening in Nazi Germany: Traudi Junge's story, from the very center of it all, is a tragic example of the "blind spot"--or, more literally translated from the German title, the "dead corner"--that succeeded in numbing the consciousness of the great majority of her countrymen at the time.  

    We are, as members of the human species, responsible for our own consciousness.  We need to remind ourselves to stay awake, because it is all too easy to close our minds to that which we choose not to see.  It's a lack of consciousness, as I see it, that has led us to the current woeful predicament of our own country and its reputation in the world. 


  • The Voices of Babel run Deep

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    Babel  (2006)

    (Cross posted in The Buddha Diaries

    About halfway through BABEL I wondered what I was doing there.  By the time the film ended, I understood why I had stayed.  It's a wrenching movie, with violence at its core.  Knowing little about it before seeing it, I was ready for some harmless escapist fare.  

    What I got was something far more difficult.  It's about human beings caught in the act of being human--in the most dire of all imaginable circumstances.  

    It's about bad things happening to good people, and about bad people's cold indifference to them.  It's about the consequences of mindless action, about random acts of violence and calculated cruelty.  It's about love and hatred, the results of fear and anger and mistrust, about guilt and innocence, official heartlessness and individual compassion.  

    It's about the agony of loss and grief, and the mad, occasional ecstasy of letting go all inhibitions.  It's about the joys and fears around human sexuality, about defensiveness and vulnerability.  It's about the difference between races, cultures, and religions--and about their interdependence.  It's about the shared identity of the human species.  

    It's about being out on the edge and the fear of falling off it, about the brutal imminence and randomness of death in the midst of life.  It's a film brimming with the everyday tragedy and folly of human existence--what Balzac called the "Comedie Humanine."  It's about the way we butt up against each other in the strangest and most difficult of ways, how we stroke each other--and rub each other the wrong way.  

    It's also about language (the "babble" of human voices) and the ways in which we communicate with each other, about the limitations and the failures of communication that produce sometimes dreadful results.

    "Babel"'s director, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarrita, has done a powerful job in confronting us with the complexity, the contradictions, and the suffering of ordinary people in the world.  He also celebrates the nobility and selflessness of which we are capable at times of stress.  An outstanding movie.


  • In "Sicko," Moore asks America: "Who are We?"

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    Sicko  (2007)

    (From my blog, The Buddha Diaries

    Who are we?  It’s the question Michael Moore comes to, after ninety minutes or so spent examining the American health care system—and finding it lacking.  We saw his film, “Sicko” at the end of last week.  I don’t like the title: it’s too flip for the serious work he has undertaken here—a soul-searching that turns out to be about much more than the health system.  It probes deep into the national culture and the national character.  Is this what we have become, he asks?  A nation of people who surrender without a second thought to those who exploit the mental lethargy they have induced in us?

    Is it any accident, I wonder, that we have accepted the odd notion of “The American Dream” as our ideal?  Are we not all rather suffering through what Henry Miller called "The Air-Conditioned Nightmare"?  Are we all so permanently lulled by the sleep of ovine contentment that we don’t notice how the values that once inspired this nation have been perverted?  When do we all wake up?  That’s the fundamental question.  The “dream” has been mythologized into a complacent belief in a benign, love-thy-neighbor, faith-based, friendly giant America where the values of individual freedom and personal responsibility flourish, and where each of our citizens enjoys an equal opportunity to enjoy his or her own vision of happiness.

    What nonsense.  If we’re both clear-sighted and honest, we’ll recognize this myth for what it is: a commonly shared delusion of grandeur.  So when do we all wake up to the truth that we are living in a country that has slipped—unconsciously, perhaps—into the belief that money is the ultimate value and that its pursuit excuses virtually any behavior, any excess, no matter how ruthless or inhuman?  That we have chosen for ourselves a president and a congress of representatives who capitulate to those whose power is gained by wealth, and who allow their policies to be dictated by those who have bought their services?  That what we are pleased to call a “democracy” is nothing more than an oligarchy in which we sleepers surrender our minds and our lives to corporate control?  

    When do we wake up, as Michael Moore would have us do, to the fact that the health care system in this, the wealthiest nation in the history of the planet, exists not primarily to provide for the health and welfare of our citizens but for the profit of our health insurers and providers?  That millions of our fellow citizens either go without health protection because it’s unaffordable, or are commonly forced to leap through labyrinthine hoops to benefit from the insurance that they pay for?  That HMO’s and insurance companies strive mightly to find reasons for the denial of benefits, which turns out to be a not-uncommon cause of death?  That despite the high cost of health insurance, we rank miserably in the delivery of services when compared with other nations?  That our relative infant mortality rate, for example, is a national disgrace?  

    We have been persuaded to swallow whole the negative myth of “socialized medicine” and to buy instead into a system designed to minimize service in favor of maximizing profits.  If we were not asleep, or willfully ignorant, or deaf to reason, how could we have allowed this to happen?  How can we allow it to continue?  Tragically, how can we now do otherwise, with lawmakers bought and paid for by the profiteers?

    And while the health care system is clearly now in crisis, it’s far from the only mess created by our collective surrender to corporate greed.  What else is driving this war in which we are disastrously engaged?  What else drives our international and national policies?  Our significant contribution to the impending ecological disaster that threatens the planet derives from our reluctance to put bottom-line corporate profits at risk.  We have elected, and continue despite all reason and intelligence to elect people who kow-tow to the gods of business and are willing to sacrifice our vulnerable and inestimably precious natural environment on the altar of progress and economic growth.

    Is it not time we ripped the mask from the American Dream and revealed it for what it secretly promotes—the me-first greed that denies social responsibility for those less fortunate than ourselves?  That panders abjectly to those who promise to cut our taxes and fails to mention the social programs that must also be cut in order to fulfill those empty promises?  That willingly steps on the misfortune of our fellow beings in order to promote our own needs and interests?  

    So who are we, Michael Moore rightly asks?  What have we allowed ourselves to become?  What happened to that benign, generous, immigrant-embracing America of which the world once stood in envy and respect?  How is it that violence in our homes and on our streets have become as "American" as the warfare we export?  

    These are questions those of us who seek to find serenity in our lives and to promote it amongst those who share this planet with us must seriously ask ourselves.  We sit, we meditate, we send out metta into the world to the best of our ability.  Well and good.  But I, for one, am tormented by the sense of responsibility to do more--and the recognition of my relative impotence.  I find it hard to be satisfied with doing only what is in my power, when my power seems so negligible in the face of such an imponderable and pressing need to change.


 

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