Pride: Review

I finally managed to watch Pride yesterday. For everyone who completely missed out on Facebook, Twitter and every relevant magazine, here's the trailer:

I was naturally curious to see it, since it's set in South Wales (where I happen to live), it's about the gay and lesbian community (which I happen to support), and it's about the struggle of the Welsh miners in that capitalist catastrophe better known as the Thatcher era. Produced by the BBC and starring a whole bunch of top actors, the film had its big debut in Cannes, and from thereon set out to conquer our hearts. 

It's a cheery little gem, this film. It just does everything right that is needed in order to give the audience a bloody good time. There are the outsiders and the oppressed, lots of fairly complex yet not overbearing characters to sympathise with. There are cleverly-written, cunning, funny lines, and there's the notorious scene highlight that includes a group of innocent women, some of them elderly, and a dildo. There's the lovely underlying message, quite a few prejudices from all sides taken on with good humour, there's the link to the real events of 1984/1985, and a heart-lifting climax. There's Dominic West and Andrew Scott as a loving couple - how can you not love them?!

It's a simple formula, I guess. Yet it works. It is such a feel-good film, it should be taught in film class at every college as the best example of the feel-good film. I can't quite put my finger on what makes Pride so special. It might be that everyone involved in making this movie really seemed to care. Or maybe it is just Dominic West and Andrew Scott, or that adorable Welsh accent. Maybe y'all should go watch the film and find out for yourselves.

(Warning: You'll find yourselves with a very possessive tune stuck in your head, and a sudden urge to show solidarity to anything around you. That's not a bad thing, mind you.)

Photo Festival Secvențe - a review

©Gabriel Amza

6th September, 2014. It's shortly after 4 pm, we're in the History Museum of Ploiești, Romania, and in less than half an hour I'm scheduled to give a talk. I've titled the presentation "Transcendence: Gender in Photography", rather optimistically, as for in my head it's more something between "the first spoken version of my blog, how exciting" and "what the f*** am I doing here". I haven't practiced. I haven't even looked at my notes twice. And to make everything even less predictable, my laptop won't work with the projector, and I don't have an USB stick.
Thanks God there's Anda. Anda is here, friendly, caring, and although she doesn't speak English very well - and my Romanian is basically non-existent - she's got a laptop, an USB stick, and she knows what she is doing.
The first page of my presentation appears on the wall. Slowly the room fills with visitors, curiously staring alternately at me or their smart phones. I'm ready to go, just waiting for the last group to flood in, and practicing opening lines in my head. 
I turn around.
The laptop is blank, and the wall dark. I have no idea what... "ANDA?"

It's the second edition of the photo festival Secvențe in Ploiești, and although it's my second time exhibiting, it's the first time I've actually made it to the town of 300,000 people south-east of the Carpathians. I'm here thanks to an invitation by festival founder and study colleague Cătălin Munteanu, and I have to say, I'm quite impressed.
Driven by Cătălin and his never tiring volunteers, the festival aims to carefully wake the curiosity for photography among the Ploieștians, and given the versatile and thought-through programs, they've got every reason to be curious. Alongside exhibitions in some of the city's most prestigious buildings, there are a street display, talks, portfolio presentations, workshops, concerts and a lantern party in the city park. And although the program is packed, my companion Mira and I never find ourselves running from one place to another; there's always time for a chat, a stroll through the park or one of the notorious pastries from that Gigi place right opposite the history museum. From a North-Western European (okay, German) point of view, Romanians practice a jolly laissez-faire in regards to time: You're 'late'? There is no such thing as 'late'. 'Ten minutes' might be thirty. Once you get the rhythm, it's truly liberating.
The exhibitions themselves are oscillating between documentary, photo art, fashion, portrait and whatever else comes to mind. It's a colourful, yet challenging mix of foreign photographers like Mira and me, and Romanians from all over the country. While in some places the exhibitions have been carefully curated, others are more motley, and they succeed or fall with the location. In the giant hall of the Cultural Palace the few photo walls seem a bit lost, and the street display is struggling with the strong winds; in the pub Conac however, the giant prints look like home. 
Given that it's only its second edition, it is only natural that Secvențe is suffering from a few infantile disorders. The funding stems mainly from Cătălin and his volunteers' pockets, so the exhibitions are kept as simple as possible (that includes tons of blue tac) and there's a disheartening lack of advertisement which leads to the larger masses ignoring the small festival. It's again the Conac that is attracting the majority of visitors, as it is also the locations for the nightly concerts. Together with the street display, it's where the audience is at. The talks and workshops are rather visited by the photographers, coming from near and far to attend the show, and the volunteers; after a few of them, you know their faces.
What I thoroughly enjoy throughout the festival is the constant exchange with these people, though. By the second afternoon, Mira and I have our 'gang', consisting of a few Romanian photographers - much needed, as they translate to us most of what is going on - and their friends. Together we discuss our projects, the state of women in the arts, Romanian history, traditional sports, studying abroad; or we simply enjoy some documentary films by a bottle of beer. As diverse the exhibitions are, as different are the people we meet: there is always something to discuss, to ask, to laugh about. Most of them are also giving a presentation, like me, and are as excited to hear feedback. Sometimes it gets as profound as it can get in photography:
"Projects are like girlfriends - they come and go", philosophises Gabriel.
- "Maybe you haven't met the right project yet!"
"Maybe there isn't the right project..."
- "You are such a slut!"
At the end of the day it's the atmosphere that makes the festival great for me. It's a good atmosphere. It's warm, summery even, the people are nice, helpful, cheerful (I have mentioned Anda, my guardian angel?). You don't have to speak Romanian, you just get along. There is so much to see, and it feels easy, accessible, even when you're from a different culture entirely.
There's a lot of space to grow in for Secvențe. The blood, sweat and tears of Cătălin and his volunteers are only to be applauded, and I really hope that Secvențe is going to continue, to make more and more people excited about photography - there really is something for everyone at this festival, and if it is just a beer and a good chat, than that's fine.

Meanwhile, back at the History Museum, I've somehow made it through the first few slides, a tour de force through gender theory, and people genuinely seem to like what I'm doing. This is the reason why I don't practice: I'm much more free, I can be responsive, I can happily shout "Gender is fun!" five times in fourty minutes - which I do, as Mira points out afterwards. When Gabriel loudly appreciates my re-telling of the gender-bending adventures of Scott Schuman, "This guy is fabulous!", I'm like f***, yeah. I'm really enjoying myself. Everything is going well. Problems? No problems. I'm in Romania, I don't speak Romanian, I'm at a photography festival talking about Gender Studies, and everyone's fine. Hello, Ploiești, nice to meet you, see you next year.

©Cătălin Munteanu

©Cristina Venedict

The included photographs are examples of work by a few of the many photographers I met during the festival. A write-up of the presentation "Transcendence: Gender in Photography", also known as "GENDER IS FUN!", will follow soon in several blogposts over the next few weeks. Keep your eyes peeled, and watch out for Secvențe!
Also, please excuse the weird font on the Romanian characters. Romanian is something that my blog, like me, sadly refuses to learn.

Jenny Nordberg / Adam Ferguson: Bacha Posh

Following up the Sworn Virgins of Albania, a project by Pepa Hristova, which went viral a few months ago - and will get an entry of its own on this blog soon - an interesting story from Afghanistan emerged recently. Jenny Nordberg, journalist, tells the stories of girls who live as boys to fulfill a social role, who live up to their parents' and society's expectations this way.

Bacha posh Mehran. Photo: Adam Ferguson

These so-called bacha posh are girls made boys to save their families from starving, or mere ridicule in a strictly patriarchal society: Girls and women are often not allowed to work, and families with only daughters are frowned upon. It is yet another example that a change of gender does not need to happen on the basis of body dysphoria and has nothing to do with sexuality - on the contrary, both the bacha posh and the sworn virgins from Albania emphasise the importance of virginity. The change takes place outwardly, through clothes, change of speech and behaviour; what is beneath the clothes is never mentioned or shown. As Mehran's (see above) headteacher points out, "what sets little boys and girls apart is all exterior: pants versus skirts". It is an accepted practice for little girls in Afghanistan, and the only way to ditch the rigorous binary gender regime in which women are valued far less than men.

Zahra, living as a boy since being very little. Photo: Adam Ferguson

As opposed to the sworn virgins, the bacha posh maintain their switched gender roles only until they reach the age of marriage. This only means that children in Afghanistan become part of the patriarchal system very early, and especially the bacha posh experience how fickle freedom can be. Nordberg quotes Robin Morgan on how destructive patriarchy can be to the life of an individual: "[Birth] Sex is a reality, gender and freedom are ideas."

Jenny Nordberg's extensive findings have been featured in the Guardian and The Atlantic, among others, and will be published in a book soon.