Amnesia/ Countermemory by Helene Shulman Lorenz

An exploration on the theme "When History Wakes" immediately places us in dialogue with ancestors. In nearly all spiritual traditions around the world, there is a sense that we have obligations to those who came before, to the environment, and to the still unborn generations to come ; and if we don't pay them proper respect -if we live in states of amnesia regarding the past - our lives will be haunted by restless spirits. But whose ancestors should be remembered and how? Former President Clinton went to Selma , Alabama on March 5, 2000 to celebrate the 35th anniversary of the 1965 Voting Rights March that galvanized the Civil Rights Movement and led to the passage of the voting rights act of 1965. This march is often referred to as "Bloody Sunday" because participants were teargassed, billy-clubbed, and whipped with cattle-Prods. In 1965 less than 1% of potential Black voters in Selma were registered to vote - about 250 people; today there are 20,000 and Selma elected its first Black mayor in 2000 after a massive voter registration drive in a highly contested election. President Clinton spoke at the National Voting Rights Museum. It was founded in 1992 to chronicle the story of the several hundred years of struggle for the vote, because this story was rarely mentioned in the official histories of Alabama. The 35th anniversary event was as much about the present as the past. In the year 2000, the museum was vandalized - pictures were defaced and a Ku Klux Klan robe on display was stolen. At the same time, fundraising was begun in another part of Selma to erect a major new monument to Nathan Bedford Forrest, a cotton planter and slave trader who had raised a battalion of rangers in Alabama during the Civil War. Forrest was a leader of the Ku Klux Klan during Reconstruction from 1865-1869. The monument was placed on public property in a Black neighborhood in Selma in the Fall of 2000. The next year, a group of protestors led by Civil Rights lawyer Rose Sanders, one of the founders of the National Voting Rights museum, attempted to pull the statue down. After a series of public protests the City Council removed the statue to Live Oak Confederate Cemetery at the outskirts of town. Eventually a series of lawsuits were filed that cost the city of Selma $100,000. These events in Selma represent a kind of war of memory and are a clear indication of an unfinished process of coming to terms with our past in America. President Clinton put it this way at the Museum: "As long as the waving symbol of one America's pride is the shameful symbol of another America's pain, we have

another bridge to cross." That these issues of the past are still troubling the present became painfully obvious in November of 2000, when thousands of Black voters in Florida were disqualified, affecting the outcome of the national elections. Wars of memory are happening all over the world today, and the subject of how we honor, forget, or make use of the past is the subject of intense and expanding dialogue. The controversy I've just chronicled in Selma, Alabama is being paralleled in Argentina, Guatemala, Chile, El Salvador, Mexico, Rwanda, South Africa, Israel, Japan and many other countries where there have been histories of brutal violence that one group wants to remember as a heroic gesture or even a national victory, and another as an unfinished struggle for justice. We know that such divisions in communities can harden into more violence, including terrorism, paramilitary attacks, suicide bombing, and even genocide. This path has unfortunately been well-trod, but is it inevitable? What is the alternative? We're here today to explore other ways to live with traces of the past at the intersection of the fields of psychology and history. We want to look at the link between how we remember collective history and how we remember personal history, how silence and suffering in one realm, may produce amnesia in the other. Freudian and Jungian psychology each began with a challenge to the notion of human rationality. Freud saw that our words and actions were not entirely of our own choosing, but were embedded in unconscious processes that are at once expressive and confusing. We forget, bungle, and slip because we are unaware of so much of what we experience and desire. He proposed Kulturarbeit, literally, cultural work, which involves a long process of recollection, reworking, and mourning the past. We are trapped in our histories, as long as we fail to come to terms with them. For Jung the problem was what he called "the fundamental dissociability" of the psyche. He imagined our experiences live in memory like islands in archipelagos, not necessarily linked. He added to Freud's ideas about recollection, an idea of emergence or rebirth, in the sense that the work of depth psychology could midwife new imaginations and dreams about how to live in the world. Contemporary trauma theory has ratified these insights. Many volumes have been written now on the catastrophic effects that both individual and collective trauma have on psychological life. Often people who have been through violent trauma cannot remember the event at all, but only what happened just before. The symptoms of trauma are the fragmentation of memory, the creation of aporias or a kind of "black hole" in the narrative of the self and the world that cannot be filled. With the loss of narrative, time is distorted, and fragments of the traumatic event

repeat themselves again and again in psychological life as a return of the repressed. These fragments which might be physical symptoms or tensions, nightmares, hallucinations, or recurring images of nearby events or things, haunt survivors who essentially live in a state of imperfect amnesia. They become cut off from others in their inability to speak about what has affected them so deeply. Yet they cannot let go of symptoms because they may be the only memorials to the traumatic event. Particularly in collective trauma such as war, state terror, or industrial disasters like Chernobyl, people begin to doubt the whole possibility of human empathy and solidarity so that rituals of community building begin to die out as people become resigned and disillusioned. This process has been called "symbolic loss" in the work of Peter Homans, and when it has set in, people lose the ability to process and mourn their losses, or to carry out any kind of recovery or creative repair. In Germany, France, and Poland it took between 30 and 40 years before there was a public process of recollecting the effects of World War II on community life. In the Southern Cone of Latin America, it is only in the last few years that public discussions of the terror of the 1970's and 1980's has been possible. Argentine writer Elizabeth Jelin has written about the need for the "labor of memory" highlighting the break in transmission of oral histories and personal recollections from one generation to another in this period. When people forget this labor, memory becomes habitual and passive, and the quality of subjective life is diminished. Without witness who are willing to hear, and testimony about memories, people become trapped in silences about the past. While some types of personal suffering can be worked through within the safe container of one-on-one encounter, it may be that certain kinds of traumatic collective events require public witness and memorializing. The violence and trauma of the Apartheid regime in South Africa, could not have been metabolized with individual counseling; it needed the public accounting of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission to begin a process of recovery. Similarly, people working with post-traumatic stress syndrome in Vietnam veterans in the United States, have discovered that group processes are critical. The creation of the Vietnam monument in Washington, has opened an important space for reckoning, even though a war of memory has developed on this issue once again in the current presidential electoral campaigns. Now here is the crucial question: To what extent are the wars of memory I referenced earlier, signs of traumatic events that have not yet been worked through and memorialized in ways that honor the dead? Could we see events in Selma as related to symbolic loss, amnesia, and the inability to mourn? To what extent might we also be constructing our own memories within the logic of historical amnesia,

given that American history has been filled periods of extreme violence and massive protests over injustice, as well as war? Can we make a link between a traumatic past, a failure of the labor of memory, and the kinds of issues that trouble American life that are the topic of many of the papers that will be given today? Around the world, people involved in trauma work are suggesting that normal processes of official national history, and the heroic monuments that are built to memorialize events, are actually a form of amnesia and deadening, pushing away the real suffering and violence experienced in the past and covering it over with national myths. Such structures create public grave markers that literalize history into dates or victories, but open no space for questioning their psychological and community traces in the present. Yet without such possibilities for of dialogue history hardens and freezes into repetitive patriotic narratives. There are also those who are invested in our forgetting. Yosef Yerushalami speaks of "agents of oblivion, the shredders of documents, the assassins of memory, the revisers of encyclopedias, the conspirators of silence." He writes: ...it is no longer merely a question of the decay of public memory...but of the aggressive rape of whatever memory remains, the deliberate distortion of the historical record, the invention of mythological pasts in the service of the powers of darkness. (1989, p.116) The question then, is how to create possibilities for dialogue about historical memory within a framework of amnesia.. We need to develop new forms of recollection, subjectivity , agency, and freedom; and if these spaces are surrounded by active and passive forgetting, part of the work will be creating ways to bring amnesia and forgetting out into the open. One response to this question has been the development of work called countermemory or counter-memorial. In answer to a 1995 contest by the German government for designs for a "memorial to the mudered Jews of Europe," artist Horst Hoheisel proposed blowing up one of Germany's most beloved monuments, the Brandenburg Gate. He reasoned that this would produce an empty space filled with rubble, a disorienting ruin perfectly representing the outcome of the Holocaust. A new monumental construction would only have created an artificial closure, a new "final solution" that failed to witness the horror of genocide that went unmarked for fifty years. Of course, the artist knew his design would be rejected by the government but that was the point: to open dialogue about memory and forgetting. What Foucault called subjugated knowledges and depth psychology the personal

unconscious can open out unexpectedly into creative forms of narrative, bodily awareness, and affective experience through public arts. Horheistel began his own Holocaust memorial project by visiting classrooms in Kassel where he lives and speaking of the Jewish community that had disappeared during the war. He asked students who knew any Jews in Kassel to raise their hands; no one did, marking the void. He then encouraged each student to research one of Kassel's deported Jews, interviewing their former neighbors, visiting their homes and writing a short narrative about the person. The stories were then wrapped around cobblestones and placed in bins in the railroad station from which the Jews were deported. Now a permanent and ever-growing community art installation, the stone cairns mimic a practice of creating informal rituals of honoring the dead in Jewish cemeteries. Everyone who travels to Kassel by train is now confronted with this puzzling,, troubling,, unexpected memorial that breaks open new forms of conversation within normalized amnesia. Community art of counter-memory is being practiced all over the world. History and theater projects and living history tours have been organized in the American South, so that new generations can engage with the diverse perspectives of those who lived through other periods of history. Kim Abels, a Los Angeles artist, encouraged teens to interview elders in their communities and create a sculpture and textual fragments from the themes of the interview. These were assembled and presented in a large gallery space to which the public was invited, integrating the experiences of diverse communities. Joyce Kohl worked with artists and AIDS orphans in Zimbabwe to create an AIDS memorial in a park after realizing there was an official silence on the subject. According to art historian Betty Ann Brown, such projects are gifts that generate social cohesion. "They create community by nourishing those parts of our spirit that are not entirely personal..." For Suzi Gablik, writing on "the reenchantment of art," such projects are part of a new paradigm, "emphasizing our essential connectedness rather than our separateness,...evoking the feeling of belonging to a larger whole, rather than expressing the isolated, alienated self." (1991, p..5) The work of architect Maya Lin on the Washington Vietnam memorial and later the Civil Rights memorial also illustrates this logic. Each memorial features reflecting surfaces that refract the vision of the viewer toward the surrounding viewers, the landscape, and the sky, hinting at the thin veil between the dead and the living. The Civil Rights Memorial has water falling over a waist-high round stone table that lists the dates of important Civil Rights events. Those who enter the space spontaneously place their hands in the water and rotate around the table to read what is engraved, thus enacting a kind of baptism in the present that

engenders a rebirth of solidarity. New visions of how to mark historical events within the frame of countermemory and countermemorial stress the theme of the local, personal, embodied labor of memory in public space. Spectators become what Augusto Boal called "spectactors." Countermemory explores the way the body in symptom, affect, and dream bears traces of the past that can be given voice when there is an empathetic situation of witness. In fact, it has been suggested that trauma is the outcome of situations where no one was available to understand and validate experiences of violence so they were endured in lonely isolation. Tzvetan Todorov has proposed that rather than developing literal memory, we need to begin a process he calls "exemplary" memory of past violence and genocide. In exemplary memory, the first step is to create protected spaces where recollection can occur, but successfully contain it so that it does not take over one's life completely. Secondly, exemplary memory should be a public process of interpreting the past from multiple perspectives, learning from it, asking what work of reparation and restoration it requires, and building new myths and solidarities for the future. What if we were to begin our discussion of historical memory, grounded in a new logic, what Jung called a "revolutionary" idea. Instead of seeing ourselves primarily as modernist searchers for fact, evidence, and certainty, we formulated our methodology as "thinking from the underside of history" (the title of a recent book by Linda Alcoff and Eduardo Mendieta on the work of Enrique Dussel.) In this perspective, which is being called in different locations a philosophy, psychology, or ethics of liberation, we begin with the idea that the history of colonial institutions, and colonial ways of thinking have divided both selfknowledge and world-knowledge into one set of stereotyped official histories that are re-enforced, and other set of untold stories that are stopped at the border of language. I mean by "colonial" the historic economic global system in which we find ourselves, where today nearly a billion people on earth are without sufficient food and fresh water, in an ongoing genocide that is silenced by a language of delinquency, police and prison regimes, military occupation, and business as usual. Enrique Dussel has proposed that we stop thinking about this as a problem of social morality based on individual action and instead begin to create ethical communities that live in ways that invite dialogue and action about unjust and silencing arrangements. Dussel argues for what he calls a "transmodern" perspective, a kind of archeology of silenced narratives, utopian dreams, and indigenous cosmovisions, combined with networks of communities committed to demilitarization, sustainable economies, and the protection of human rights.

Our hope is that this conference too can be a place for exemplary memory "when history wakes", a place where we can think together in transformative ways about past and future. Our speakers have all been facilitators of new kinds of dialogue that open what the Zapatistas have called "spaces for peace." Just as in some therapies the strength of personality is used to organize an encounter where that same personality may be questioned, disorganized, and transformed, the Zapatistas have proposed that those in power need to use power to organize spaces for communities and individuals to find their own voices and projects. Facilitators, in this way of thinking, restore the connections between power and freedom, speech and silence. For Gloria Anzaldua, such people are "nepantleras" - those who know how to live in transitional and liminal spaces betwixt and between that the Nahuatl called nepantla. In her last work published just before she died, Gloria wrote this about the work of nepantleras, drawing on centuries of Mexican folk tradition of community healers or curanderas: "In gatherings where people feel powerless, la nepantlera offers rituals to say goodbye to old ways of relating; prayers to thank life for making us face loss, anger, guilt, fear, and separation; rezos to acknowledge our individual wounds; and commitments to not give up on others just because they hurt us. In gatherings where we've forgotten that the aim of conflict is peace, la nepantlera proposes spiritual techniques (mindfulness, openness, receptivity) along with activist tactics. Where before we saw only separateness, differences, and polarities, our connectionist sense of spirit recognizes nurturance and reciprocity and encourages alliances among groups working to transform communities. In gatherings where we feel our dreams have been sucked out of us, la nepantlera leads us in celebrating la communidad sonada, reminding us that spirit connects the irreconcilable warring parts para que todo el mundo se haga un pais, so that the whole world may become un peublo. (2002, p.568) Today, I invite you to join a gathering of nepantleras in dialogue about the serious questions of culture and environment that face us locally, nationally, and internationally. I hope you'll bring your wisdom and doubts, wounds and dreams, spirits and souls into the conversation and help us imagine how we can be part of building transmodern spaces for peace.

References Alcoff, L.M. and Mendieta, E. [Eds.]. (2000). Thinking from the underside of

history: Enriquez Dussel's philosophy of liberation. New York: Rowman and Littlefield Anzaldua, G. and Keating, A. [Eds.] (2002) This Bridge we call home: Radical visions for transformation. New York: Routledge Boal, A. (1985). Theater of the Oppressed. New York: Theater Communications Group Bouchard, D. [Ed.]. (1977). Language,countermemory,practice:Selected essays and interviews by Michel Foucault. Ithica: Cornell University Press Brown, B. (1996). Expanding circles: Women, art, and community. New York: Midmarch Arts Press Gablik, S. (1991). The Reenchantment of Art. London: Thames and Hudson Homans, P. (2000) Symbolic loss:The ambiguity of Mourning and Memory at century's end. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press Jelin, E. (2003). State repression and the labor of memory. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press Todorov, T. (1997). The conquest of America: The question of the other. New York: Harper Perennial Yerushalmi, Y.H. (1996).Zakhor: Jewish history and Jewish memory. Seattle: University of Washington Press Young, J.E., (2000). Memory, counter-memory, and the end of the monument. http://www.arthist.lu.se/discontinuities/texts/young1.htm