the crooked line

Anyone whose had experience with international agencies in the documentation of human rights knows their oft-repeated response is “We need facts. We need hard, objective documentation of names, places, positions and what actions were employed against the victims. We need documentation that shows injuries and deaths.” It’s a callous, often depersonalised response, part of me knows the need for it, but part of me is appalled at its ability to take the human out of the story.

What is equally apparent in human rights documentation is the path that appeals to a different audience, the average joe blow in their suburban home, whose attention is more likely to be gained through visual documentation, video or photographs, and who is more likely to respond to the subjective appeals of the victims themselves. This is a whole other level of victimisation and helplessness that is simply reinforced and retold.

Both avenues maintain a level of exploitation which many victims find callous, confusing and frankly life-threatening. Many find it disheartening, for why, when your house has been destroyed, family members killed, and you struggle for daily survival, should you have to justify your “victim status” with some hard facts that will back up your story. It’s bleedingly obvious what has happened to you, but it seems that unless you know the name, rank and place of the attack your story becomes less credible.

However, along the border there is an increasing use of skills and knowledge of media techniques which allow the victims themselves to control the message that goes out. As video and music become more accessible, there is a whole group of Karen who are taking advantage; producing their own stories, in their own words.

Below is a song, written by Kyaw Kweh and visually put together by Po Taw. It’s a beautiful song, I think, a sad song, but in a medium that has allowed the Karen to put dignity and humanity back into their experiences. It’s in Karen (there is a version with english subtitles but unfortunately I don’t have it, I have written the english translation afterwards however). It is written by Karen, performed by Karen, video compilation and images taken by Karen. Of course it has a motive, a particular audience, and some may look at it with such limitations in mind. But if nothing else, this is a message created and controlled by the Karen themselves. And it is mostly due to our increased access to alternative, contemporary forms of media.

Story of an IDP

Security and shelter are vanishing
Health, food and education I lack of
I can’t think for tomorrow
Because I don’t know how to survive today

The military regime destroyed my lands and home
I wonder who even knows our suffering

I miss the place where I was born
Where my mother rocked me in the cradle
Peace, love and unity were there
Natural resources abundant
And a picture of ‘home’ was in my eyes

Now the worlds’ greed destroyed this unity and peace
Oh, I miss the place where I was born
I long for the songs my mum sang to me
And her love drags me to recall the place I once lived
Wishing to be back there before the end of my days

The children are naked
The mothers are sobbing
The fathers disheartened
And all because of war

And I want to go home when the light shows my way
I can’t think of tomorrow
Because I don’t know how to survive today
My farm and home has been destroyed by the military regime
I wonder who even knows our suffering

Dark clouds are growing darker
And the military troops approach our home
We are moving from place to place and suffering daily

Oh I want to be free
Oh where has all the education gone
I want to learn

I want to rest like the birds at night
But I have to worry for tomorrow
And that worry brings screams while I sleep