Text & Photos: Julie Schwietert Collazo

As President Obama makes good on his promise to close Guantanamo’s detention facility, there’s no better time to help the world understand a bit more about Guantanamo.

To that end, I agreed to an interview with Steven Roll of the Latin American travel blog, Travelojos, which you can read in full here.

And I decided to put together a quick audio slideshow comprised of photos I took while at Guantanamo Bay in October 2008.

Please feel free to share your reactions and ask questions below.

There were so many many moments from inauguration week in Washington, D.C. that moved me to tears:

*Standing on the mall with an estimated 1-2 million people from 6 in the morning until 2 in the afternoon, sharing conversations with people from around the country and the world who couldn’t be anywhere else except here;

*Watching elderly and disabled people brave the cold and do whatever it took to make it through the inauguration pomp and circumstance;

*Listening to President Obama’s inaugural speech;

*Feeling a flood of relief as the helicopter lifted the Bushes into the sky, finally, finally signaling the end of an era;

*Watching the 40 kids and adults on the tour I was leading have transformative moments as they just took in everything around them.

But just when I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, I went back to my hotel room on the night of the inauguration and saw this on TV:

and then, Robin Roberts’ interview with Beyonce:

“I’m so proud of my country,” she says. “I’m so lucky to be alive at this [moment in] history…. He makes me want to be smarter, he makes me want to be more involved.”

Me too. At last, I finally feel that this country has been returned to the people. And now, it’s time for us all to get involved and be the change we wish to see in the world. What part will you play?

A few weeks back, the PBS show “Independent Lens” featured “Operation Filmmaker,” a documentary that both the director and the viewer probably hoped would be a neat, feel-good narrative about a couple of generous Americans doing their part to atone for the damage their country has done in Iraq.

The story is this: A young Iraqi man named Muthana, a film student and aspiring actor/director, was featured on a 2004 MTV special, which the actor/director Liev Schreiber happened to see. Schreiber, grateful for the opportunities his own career had afforded him, felt guilty that the handsome, seemingly talented Muthana had no such opportunities.

And so… Schreiber arranged for Muthana to leave Iraq and meet him in Prague. The idea was that Muthana would get a respite from the ongoing war while simultaneously developing contacts and hands-on film skills.

The story sounded so fantastic, so American-dreamish, that the filmmaker Nina Davenport decided to document it, hence “Operation Filmmaker.”

Everything that could go wrong does, and yet no one but the viewer really anticipates this. Muthana is relieved, perhaps, to be away from the black-outs, bombs, and boredom of life in Iraq, but no one ever seems to take the time to prepare him for life in Prague. Sure, he lives in an all-expenses paid apartment with an incredible view of the peaceful city, but he feels lonely. And since it seems no one’s ever really set out any expectations for him or checked in with him to see how he’s really feeling off the set, it’s just a matter of time before Muthana starts stirring up trouble for himself and his hosts.

The patience of Schreiber, the producer, and other crew members is exhausted quickly. Muthana is petulant; he can’t understand why he’s pouring coffee and making trail mix when he is, after all, an aspiring filmmaker. He reveals that he was a member of Iraq’s upper class, and he views the menial tasks of the set as beneath him; the concept of working one’s way up the ladder, totally foreign to him.

There’s no doubt that Muthana is irresponsible. He waits until the last minute (on more than one occasion) to get a visa extension. When he’s tasked to actually do some real film-related work, he drops the ball, deciding he’d rather get drunk with friends instead. And when the crew wraps and leaves him in Prague, he lives rent-free with friends, clearly disinterested in resolving his immigration situation or his employment (or lack thereof).

I began to dislike him severely, but as the documentary continued, I realized that his hosts and other Westerners who wanted to “help” him were largely responsible for this train wreck of a story. Muthana was right when he argued that “all any of you really ever wanted was a nice story.” Everyone wants to be a hero, providing this handsome young Iraqi with a hand-out. Yet they know little about him or his culture, and they never take time to find out what he really needs.

It’s a common mistake among do-gooders, and one that’s worth talking about. If you’ve seen “God Grew Tired of Us” or “The Lost Boys of Sudan,” both about Sudanese refugees relocated to the United States, you’ll see similar stories of men who have survived terrible circumstances in their home countries, only to come to the supposed promised land without any real assistance to help them acclimate.

It was hard to watch this documentary because Muthana increasingly becomes such an unlikeable character. But the arrogance and naivete of the people who want to help him–and their complete failure to realize what truly constitutes meaningful help–made watching the film even more difficult.

Text & Photos: Julie Schwietert Collazo

I’ve been in St. Kitts this week, a country about which I knew little before I arrived.

The trip has fit another piece into the postcolonial puzzle that I’m sure I’ll spend the rest of my life putting together and working to understand.

St. Kitts, a tiny country (68 square miles), is not without its problems, but it has been politically stable since gaining its independence in 1983. The current prime minister, Dr. Denzil Douglas, has served three terms, and is preparing to run for a fourth.

And while one can’t make the generalization that the quality of life is exceptional across the board (Can that really be said about any country, though, when one takes a long, hard look at marginalized people?), the local economy seems remarkably robust, particularly considering that the sugar industry–the country’s main source of income for decades– collapsed completely just three years ago after underperforming and draining government resources for the preceding 10 years. As is the case with the other Caribbean nations, tourism has rapidly become the island’s bread and butter.

A woman I interviewed here said that she feels optimistic about the island’s future, and it’s a sentiment that seems to be shared by many.

Today, while roaming about Basseterre, the capital, I noticed campaign signs featuring familiar words and phrases: “Hope.” “Change.” “Yes, we can!”

It seems the candidate running against Dr. Douglas has appropriated a page from the Obama playbook.

And he might just win by doing so.

“We waited up all night,” the woman told me, referring to the night of the election returns in the United States. “Everyone was in the streets, watching big TVs and cheering for Barack Obama. And when he won, well… we all just shouted and danced and wailed– it was like he was our president, too.”

I’ve received a lot of good gifts in my life.

Just the other day, I received a handmade collage from my friend, Kaitlin. I love it because she made it, but I also love it because it features a very dapper looking Obama, circa 1970s. There’s some hope for you.

When I turned 21, a friend took me to dinner and presented me with 21 gifts, each carefully selected to reflect my interests: a hardback atlas that I still have today was the stand out among them all.

Books: so many. A bilingual edition of Neruda from my mentor. Joseph Campbell from my favorite high school teacher and dear friend.

A painting from a client, another from a friend, and still another from Francisco.

And these are just (some of the) material gifts… there are thousands upon thousands of other gifts: moments, words, shared experiences.

Some of the gifts have gotten lost–despite all my care–in my many moves over the past 10 years. But I’ve managed to hang on to most of them, including The Joy of Cooking, a Christmas gift from my godparents 11 years ago. “Hopefully you will have your own home in the near future and will enjoy cooking,” my godmother wrote on the first page.

Fortunately, both of her hopes have been fulfilled.

While I’m not the chef in this family, I pulled Joy off the shelf tonight, in search of a corn chowder recipe. I thumbed through the 1000+ page book for a few minutes, reading the notes, stains, and clippings I’ve added to the text over the years:

Next to Chocolate Mousse: “very easy; delicious.”

A check mark next to Classic Meatloaf, Chicken Breasts Baked in Foil with Sun-dried Tomatoes and Olives, and Gazpacho, and a check with two plus signs next to Pork Tenderloin Scaloppine with Citrus Balsamic Sauce, clearly a dish I made to impress an ex.

Other recipes are circled—Red Onion Marmalade, Indonesian Ginger Sambal, Roasted Red Pepper Soup–things I meant to make but never have.

I was amused to see that I’d read the cookbook like a novel, underlining phrases I liked.

The pages, especially in Soups and Pastries, are dotted with tomato seeds, specks of balsamic vinegar, smatterings of dry dough, reminding me of the times when I was afraid to cook without the structure and comfort of a recipe.

And I started to think about gifts–how they change, as we do, over the years. How we lose touch with the givers for all kinds of reasons, or how the relationship deepens. The gifts eventually take on a life of their own, reflecting who we were at a particular moment in time, and showing us how far we’ve come… as well as how hungry we still are.

Photo: michekerr (Flickr creative commons)