“It started out like a normal day”: Documenting
the Disaster
In “The Earthquake”, Elena
Poniatowska recounts the experience of Elia Palacios Cano during the event of
the 1985 earthquake on September 19th. The day began similar to any
other day, except within seconds, her routine changed. She watched as the
building outside crumbled, realizing the immensity of the earthquake. The
sudden shaking of the ground shocked many with its landscape altering effects.
Before the damage could register in anyone’s minds, their city was in ruins.
With many people dead, and many trapped, rescue took days and a second earthquake
created more difficulty.
Natural disasters such
as earthquakes are typically unpredictable and therefore difficult to document
during the period of tectonic movement; for instance, the accounts of both Elia
and her nephew César, though similar, vary slightly in regarding specific
language. Each person experiences the same tragic event subjectively. Even cameras
have the ability to frame specific moments in certain ways. According to Susan
Sontag, “…photographs…both objective record and personal testimony, both a
faithful copy or transcription of an actual moment of reality and an
interpretation of that reality…” (26).
Accidental documentation
during the event records a whole set of complex emotions that occurs during the
devastation. Spontaneity transforms these human reactions into everlasting
imprints of the pain and fear that people suffer. For example, the live
broadcast of Hoy Mismo shows a raw,
unedited version of reactions to the earthquake, with each news anchor (Lourdes
Guerrero, María Victoria Llamas and Juan Dosal) reacting in their own way. In
opposition, Pedro Meyer’s photographs may be edited but they are also raw in
the sense that the subject is raw; destruction is photographed in its natural
state using framing techniques by the author. The photographs document but also
tell a story Meyer chooses to tell. In this sense, neither text, nor video, nor
photograph is more accurate.
“No more, get me out”: The Rational and Irrational Traces of the
Disaster
In “Disaster, Crisis,
Revolution”, Eric Cazdyn suggests that: “Disaster is everywhere and touches
everything” (647). Certainly, disaster is that precise instant when “the
relation between one thing and another break down” (Cazdyn 647). Even a natural
disaster, such as Katrina or the Earthquake of 1985 in Mexico City, becomes an
event that not only defies our logical way to comprehend the magnitude of
contingent situations, but also a moment in which all possible relations within
society fail (the individual disconnected from the community, the collapse of
communication. the devastation of infrastructure, the uncertainty of the
future). When natural disasters strike, the basic structure of human society,
and the values and principles that support the foundation of our society are
reduced to rubble. Nature strips us from the confortable limits of our rational
world.
In On the Natural History of Disaster, W. G. Sebald analyses the silence
and the consequences that preceded the Allie’s air raids at the end of the
Second World War. As the German writer suggests it is impossible to comprehend
the magnitude of a million tons of bombs falling in German territory, changing
at once the life of people and the landscape of the cities: “Today it is hard
to form an even partly adequate idea of the extent of the devastation suffered
by cities of Germany in the last years of the Second World War” (Sebald 3). As
Sebald implies, as a consequence of this devastating action, there is a certain
feeling of “national humiliation” that affected German language and memory. The
disaster remained as a taboo that created “an individual and collective
amnesia” (Sebald 24). It is clear that Sebald’s account portrays the
humiliating result of two forces colliding in the battlefield, but can we apply
the same paradigms to a natural disaster, such as the Earthquake of Mexico City
in 1985?
Such as the immense Allie’s
bombing, the Earthquake of 1985 not only devastated the urban landscape in one
day, it also become an event that affected the collective consciousness. The
Earthquake left profound scars in the mentality of the inhabitants of the city.
Since that day, a culture of disaster transformed the everyday life practices
of people, as well as the laws that regulated the construction of buildings.
Planning and waiting for the next disaster became a priority of the social
policies. New strategies to survive influenced our language and our cultural
manifestations. Songs, such “Cuando pase el temblor” from the Argentinian rock
band Soda Stereo, became an expression of resistance, and the subtle semantic difference
between “sismo” and “temblor” symbolized the conceptual bridge between a 5 to 7
degree movement and a violent 8.1 degree earthquake with the potential to desolated
once again the city.
Did 1985 become a
date of national humiliation? Were Mexicans defeated by the unpredictable and
unstoppable power of Nature? Or does it symbolize something else? Certainly,
the Earthquake transformed our way of thinking the world. Our memory was
affected and our minds conditioned to wait the next one. But, could this event
be a memory of collective resistance and survival?
In Arte y Olvido del Terremoto, Ignacio Padilla argues that only through the distance achieved through artistic representation can we create memories of the past to truly remember, heal, and grow from a disaster rather than collectively forgetting (what Padilla calls, “collective amnesia”). In contrast, he warns that the documentary representation as a technique for remembering and finding resolution is a fallacy, feigning to provide accuracy and closeness, but ignoring the broader issues and experience of the event. Is artistic representation truly the only way for a culture to grow from a catastrophic experience? Or is there a necessary balance between the anecdotal and transcendental? Rather, is Padilla’s concern reflecting a larger cultural issue of an over-dependence on the “facts” and quantitative over the “transcendental” and the qualitative? Then, documentary representation by its nature is not the fallacy; the promise of solely utilizing documentary representation to resolve disasters of the past is.
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ReplyDeleteThe Padilla reading was very interesting since he compares the memory of the earthquake to the memory of the student massacre. Coming from the "provincia", another state hours away from Mexico City, the earthquake was more known around the people than the massacre (which seemed to be contained locally). However, his book made me think on the artistic production on both disasters, and I agree with Padilla, that the earthquake has been ignored. The media coverage, though, I believe it's more abundant in the case of the earthquake, especially because TV stations, newspaper office, etc, were affected directly. This might be the reason why the earthquake is more known around the country than the massacre. This year marks the 30th anniversary of the earthquake and from what I've seen, the Centro Cultural de Tlatelolco has prepared a conference program throughout the month of November that intends to discuss the aftermath of the earthquake and its effects specifically in the space of Tlatelolco. I wonder if there are more events being organized around the city and if these events are state organized/sponsored (which would be a good contrast with the events organized around the massacre). Now, at the 30th mark, is the memory of the earthquake slowly coming out to the surface?
ReplyDeleteThe earthquake of '85 lurks in the background of my family's memory as a somber event that was not often talked about but undoubtedly never forgotten. I heard about it here and there growing up, but wanted to ask my parents about their experiences in light of this week's readings. Overall, my parents' memories largely match up with Padilla's framing of the crisis as bringing people together: it highlighted the strength of Mexican informality and community organizing, briefly created pride in community strength and Mexican identity, and brought to the forefront the government's role in creating the conditions for the disaster and failing to respond adequately.
ReplyDeleteMy mom was 17 years old and at school in Las Aguilas (near the Televisa studios) when it happened. Even in this part of the city supported by volcanic rock, the quake felt strong, but she and her friends didn't realize the magnitude of the disaster until several hours later. My mom heard that a medical center had collapsed and worried for my grandpa, who was at a medical center that morning but had been able to make it out. She recalls the destruction as something you're supposed to see in a movie but not in real life, and she was astounded that it had been the result of natural forces rather than intentional demolition (though as we know, humans were largely at fault for the magnitude of the destruction).
My dad was 19 and at home in the wealthy neighborhood of Pedregal. Since this neighborhood is also underlain by volcanic rock largely well-built, he and his family also didn't realize the extent of the damage until much later. My dad was a boy scout and involved in his church, so naturally he was quick to volunteer to help in the aftermath. He told me that he actually wasn't able to help much because his group of volunteers would be driven to a site that was already oversaturated with volunteers, so they would be driven elsewhere and find much of the same thing. He also recalled there being a sports stadium (maybe fútbol or béisbol) where recovered bodies were gathered, and that there were so many bodies that they filled up the entire stadium.
My dad is an engineer, so he also told me that the most permanent effect of the earthquake was on the city's water supply. The earthquake apparently damaged a lot of the city's already fragile water infrastructure and led to some mixing of potable water with wastewater and sewage. Although this was conceivably fixed in the reconstruction, no one ever really trusted the potability of the water supply again-- this is really another extension of the distrust of government. So now in Mexico City we never drink tap water and instead buy garrafones of water to drink. Growing up I always knew that that was just a thing that we did, but I had no idea until now that this only traced back to the earthquake of 1985.
Sorry for the long post, but I hope sharing more memories is helpful!
I appreciate hearing about your families personal experiences on the day of the earthquake. I was struck by the image of your dad and an arena full of dead bodies. In light of your interests in housing, I wonder about the buildings that collapsed verses those that did not. I'm wondering if there is a class/race element to the dwellings and buildings that withstood to those that did not. As we learned in the summer during the lecture on Katrina, there was a race and class element to that disaster. I could not help but look at the photos by Pedro Meyer and note that, at least in his images, the people he represents as dead or living and displaced appear to be people already marginalized by race and class. I am wondering what an analysis would look like that accounts for the role and that race and class plays in the disproportionate losses that we see during natural and man made disasters.
DeleteLeighAnna-- there was definitely a race & class element to the impacts of the earthquake. My family was privileged to live in parts of the city with either old/historic homes or new construction, in both cases well-built. Many of those that suffered most were lower income people in structures resulting from the criminal real estate speculation Maite mentions in her synopsis (many of these were corrupt government-led developments...). In fact, the Nuevo Leon building in Tlatelolco was one of the major structures that collapsed in the earthquake, and the decline of the Tlatelolco complex as a whole is largely attributed to damage from the disaster.
DeleteBoth Padilla and Sebald complicate the issue of forgetting. Padilla asks, “oblivion (is ‘forgetting’ a necessity or a crime?)” Sebald writes that German society in the postwar period “relegated the experiences of its own prehistory to the back of its mind and developed an almost perfectly functioning mechanism of repression, one which allowed it to recognize the fact of its own rise from total degradation while disengaging entire from its stock of emotions… it is impossible to understand "the mysterious energy of the Germans...if we refuse to realize that they have made a virtue of their deficiencies. Insensibility…was the condition of their success." Yet, Padilla points to the dangers in the present of an unresolved and unacknowledged past. By postponing the past, “the tramatic past becomes stigmatized” and “keeps tricking down from generation to generation.” Are both forgetting and remembering necessary?
ReplyDeleteI think the question of perception and interpretation is key. What is the personal experience of disaster, how does this form individual memory, and then collectively construct social memory? The diversity of experiences of disaster, trauma, emotional and ideological repression and erasure weave a tangled web. Yet as pointed out in the blog post, this tangled web could create solidarity amongst survivors. There is immense potential to leverage this solidarity in pursuit of spatial justice.
ReplyDeleteOne more thought - what if we think of applying this question to contemporary slow-motion disasters like global war or climate change, where the collective amnesia not of the past but of the present serves mostly to perpetuate and accelerate disaster itself? Art can be leveraged to unerase ongoing disaster. But as in the case of the earthquake it must not only document disaster but seek to uncover its underlying causes: not "natural" at all but direct results of power and manipulation at the hands of the most privileged humans.
ReplyDeleteI'm taken aback by Cazdyn's description of disaster as the moment when “the relation between one thing and another breaks down”. The analysis is so concise and so far from the phrases or frameworks that I might have used to explain the nature of disaster yet it gets exactly at the heart of the matter, namely physical, social, or psychological rupture. There is a non-binding nature to disaster tied to the opportunity to synthesize new objects from its aftermath. Susan Sontag's commentary on the art of photographing pain in light of last week's conversation concerning radio's elevated knack for the avant garde has me wondering what, if any, is the medium and/or message that could communicate the presence or productive nature of disaster to a world culture in a perpetual state of it. I'm not feeling dystopic but there seems to be an emotional/informational heat death lingering and I'm very curious about what forms of communication might penetrate or synthesize human thought in a time when the Certainly, disaster is that precise instant when “the relation between one thing and another" seems to be perpetually fractured.
ReplyDeleteIgnacio Padilla starts his essay by contrasting Tlatelolco with the earthquake of Mexico City. The latter one, a “natural disaster” creates several questions. The negligence of the government under Miguel de la Madrid where army officials were more worried to keep order than help the wounded; the deadly collapsed buildings were government sponsored - schools, hospitals and state apartment complexes. However, Mexicans moved on quickly and went through the process of a collective amnesia. Why is it that Tlatelolco is so different than the earthquake if the losses were much bigger in the latter disaster?
ReplyDeleteStriking in Sebald are the graphic descriptions of the bombings he provides; e.g. the ‘frozen’ corpses that were caused by a ‘Pompeij’ effect (where the magma preserved the positions of the people killed by the volcano outburst) (28); and the following subconscious psychological flow evoked by the underlying collective knowledge about the “corpses built into the foundations of our state” (13). The brutality provokes several questions and deductions, such as the idea that the iron discipline of the fascistic regime was the foundation of Germans fast re-construction and rise to power (12); or the question if the bombings were a just punishment (14). Another perspective on the terror that the text provides is the mere aesthetic spectacle of war that is produced by its ‘play of flames’ (22); which occurs at the Gaza strip today where people gather on hills with chairs, beer and popcorn to watch the bombings; or in other forms of Katastrophentourismus. In The Rings of Saturn (1995) Sebald spins his narrative of destruction further, combining and reconstructing it in an ‘aestheticized’ form to construct an overarching cycle of destruction that creates a space of mourning for all natural and human destruction, melting German, English, Chinese and many other destruction sites; and highlights the connection of aesthetics, violence and mourning. Thus he emphasizes the power of fiction for mourning; as Susan Sontag says “Something becomes real–to those who are elsewhere, following it as 'news'–by being photographed” (21); but also reveals the manipulative power of those who create powerful narratives of destruction.
ReplyDeleteI found a number of things provocative in retrospect to this day at UHI (the Padilla lecture and ensuing discussion).
ReplyDeleteThe first thing was Padilla's notion of the artist being the only one with the agency to comment on events - he mentions this both in the reading and heavily during the lecture. It struck me as an old-fashioned notion to pose a dichotomy between the 'testimonial' or 'documentary' account, versus the artists version of events as holding pertinence in a so-called 'collective memory' of disaster. There are a few moments in this statement that solicit further enquiry: whom is the artist? why, then how, are they endowed with the agency to comment? why is the documentary not sufficient? and why not interpret documentary as art?
The second thing that caused pretext for discussion was the reference to images of catastrophe (both visual and figurative, Sebald’s interpretations as noted by Paul above, for example) as seductive or holding their own artistic qualities. Whilst this idea is an interesting one, I think it allows the viewer to move further away from the event at hand. The statement, in negating forms of emotional trauma that are associated with images, somehow allows viewers to pontificate or elaborate on suffering with eyes averted to the pain that they involve, by the very act of looking and quietly observing such pain as some form of morbid fascination, a 'right to look' that people often exercise on the freeways by car accidents.