"My Colombian War" by Silvana Paternostro.
I start off by mentioning the title because it caught my eye from the very beginning. Indeed I am Colombian and maybe I too, have a Colombian war of my own. Maybe I've never really looked around the Colombia that breaths and walks around me. So how do I see Colombia? How does the memoir portray Colombia? Is this a critique of the country I love so much, a profound analysis that delves into the back bone of violence in Colombia or the life of this person whom I've never heard about before? I can't define it as any of these really. I can only talk about it as a picture. It's her photograph of Colombia and like any photograph there are many variables that affect how it will look. The light and the exposure, the angle, and ultimately the photographers intent.
Last year in Lit I read a poem titled "The Colonel" by Caroline Forche, which depicted a scene in which Forche visited a Latin American dictator in his beautiful home. The images portrayed in the each line were vivid and harsh, but as I continued reading I could see what she was talking about. The poem read, "Broken bottles embedded in the walls around the house" and I could immediately relate. I've seen plenty of those walls around Bogota. In fact, the buildings around where I live have electrical wiring around their walls, so all this brings the inevitable question: Who is it we're trying to keep out? Paternostro describes it as "the ladrones, the house thieves, would never be able to break into our house."(pg35) She too, like the buildings around my block, and this Latin-American dictator, lived trapped behind the iron bars of her house fearing anything strange outside. This is indeed the bubble. Our bubble, which is no different to the ones we've seen Hollywood depict in oil fields across the Middle East. We live in our country without actually living the reality of Colombia. By segregating ourselves from the crude and sad reality we are able to create the illusion that it doesn't exist. The world is sold the idea that Colombia isn't at war and we back that up because it isn't here. We don't see it and we don't feel it. So do I have my Colombia war? Indeed I do. I question the truth of the country I live in every day as many others do but I just sit in the sidelines and let it go. Whatever is going on doesn't affect me so I give my back to this country I love so much. Turning around is the challenge we all face.
So what does my photograph of Colombia look like? I don't really have one just yet as I'am waiting for the day to clear up a bit t
o see if I can get a little more light in it.
I start off by mentioning the title because it caught my eye from the very beginning. Indeed I am Colombian and maybe I too, have a Colombian war of my own. Maybe I've never really looked around the Colombia that breaths and walks around me. So how do I see Colombia? How does the memoir portray Colombia? Is this a critique of the country I love so much, a profound analysis that delves into the back bone of violence in Colombia or the life of this person whom I've never heard about before? I can't define it as any of these really. I can only talk about it as a picture. It's her photograph of Colombia and like any photograph there are many variables that affect how it will look. The light and the exposure, the angle, and ultimately the photographers intent.
Last year in Lit I read a poem titled "The Colonel" by Caroline Forche, which depicted a scene in which Forche visited a Latin American dictator in his beautiful home. The images portrayed in the each line were vivid and harsh, but as I continued reading I could see what she was talking about. The poem read, "Broken bottles embedded in the walls around the house" and I could immediately relate. I've seen plenty of those walls around Bogota. In fact, the buildings around where I live have electrical wiring around their walls, so all this brings the inevitable question: Who is it we're trying to keep out? Paternostro describes it as "the ladrones, the house thieves, would never be able to break into our house."(pg35) She too, like the buildings around my block, and this Latin-American dictator, lived trapped behind the iron bars of her house fearing anything strange outside. This is indeed the bubble. Our bubble, which is no different to the ones we've seen Hollywood depict in oil fields across the Middle East. We live in our country without actually living the reality of Colombia. By segregating ourselves from the crude and sad reality we are able to create the illusion that it doesn't exist. The world is sold the idea that Colombia isn't at war and we back that up because it isn't here. We don't see it and we don't feel it. So do I have my Colombia war? Indeed I do. I question the truth of the country I live in every day as many others do but I just sit in the sidelines and let it go. Whatever is going on doesn't affect me so I give my back to this country I love so much. Turning around is the challenge we all face.So what does my photograph of Colombia look like? I don't really have one just yet as I'am waiting for the day to clear up a bit t
o see if I can get a little more light in it.
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