KONG RITHDEE
Humanist before it is political, soul-searching before
it is Thaksin-bashing, Polamuang
Juling (Citizen Juling) is perhaps the most
important documentary about our Deep South
dysfunction to come out since the outbreak of violence in 2003. The movie has
been made quietly, almost spontaneously, and the next question is whether it
will get its deserved exposure, either on television or in the cinema,
without being subjected to the tyranny of censorship at a time when the
political climate is dizzying both in Parliament and on the street.
The title makes it clear that this is an unblinking
report into the brutal case of Juling Pongkunmul, an art teacher who was
abducted and severely beaten into a coma by terrorists from Gujingruepo village
in Narathiwat
in May 2004. Travelling into what many believe to be the heart of darkness,
the filmmakers - artists Ing K and Manit Sriwanichpoom, and Democrat party list MP Kraisak Choonhavan
- use the Juling incident to hold up a mirror to the complexity of our
southern malaise and the bankruptcy of the justice system that has betrayed
the trust of the citizens. In an intertwining storyline, the doc stares back
into the aftermath of the scandalous horrors of Tak Bai, Saba Yoi and Krue
Sae mosque, before traversing the Siamese latitudes to a village in Chiang Rai,
the hometown of Juling, to show us that the tragedy of being a Buddhist or a
Muslim is sometimes not as bitter as the tragedy of merely being a citizen in
this str! ange, deeply troubled land.
"I believe the moving picture can help to expose
what's happening down there, because over the years, we've heard such an
impossible amount of lies," says Kraisak, a former senator who's long
worked on southern issues and was a staunch critic of the Thaksin
administration. "We've been lied to to the point that it's not even
possible for us to imagine what the truth actually is. Sometimes we need to
hear blunt statements, otherwise we'll continue to take everything for
granted.
"Every year I get to speak only once - in the
parliamentary session," continues the MP, laughing. "Perhaps I can
say something more in the film."
"Above all this is a movie that 'listens' to the
southern people," adds Manit, a photographer whose pictures are known
for their sardonic, anti-establishment wit. "Most people have not paid
attention to what's happening, because we've grown impotent to all the bad
news about the South. This is a complex issue that reflects the state of the
entire nation, and I think that we need to take time to listen and to try to
learn about all its aspects and implications."
Citizen Juling runs for 220 minutes, its human face
emerging through on-site conversations between Kraisak and villagers,
headmen, students, teachers, eyewitnesses, Muslims, Buddhists, imams, local
politicians, friends and relatives of Juling, friends and relatives of the
"suspects" arrested by the military, wives of those killed at Tak
Bai and Krue Sae, and so on. The tapestry is rich and sad, revealing and
perplexing. The film makes no effort to hide its distaste for the way Thaksin Shinawatra
mishandled the conflict, but it doesn't make the pretence of being privy to
"the truth". Instead, it shows us that the process of trying to
find the truth is perhaps more important than actually finding it.
The idea of the documentary came to Manit and Ing when
they attended an exhibition of Juling's paintings organised by Kraisak in
June 2006. At that time, Juling was still in a coma at a Hat Yai hospital,
and the shocking violence committed against her had come to symbolise the
senseless atrocity of the "southern people" that provoked an
outpouring of anger and bewilderment from the entire country. Believing that
the cultural media can foster understanding, Kraisak, then a senator,
organised a photography exhibition at Parliament House and assembled
paintings by Juling and other southern painters to show as a separate event
at Queen's Gallery.
At the exhibition, Ing met a visitor who was driven to
tears by Juling's paintings - or more likely, by the story of this idealistic
northern woman who, against everybody's advice, packed up and went to teach
art at Gujingruepo school in Narathiwat's Red Zone with the conviction that,
since she was doing good for her country, there was nothing to be afraid of.
After months in the ICU, Juling passed away in January 2007.
She was 24.
'After meeting her, I realised that even though city
people may not be able to relate to the southern people, they should feel
related to Juling, and her story can be the door to explore what's happening
in the South," says Ing, an artist and activist. "It touches me
that she sounds like a kind of Don Quixote, a person guided by her idealism.
In many ways, her actions reflect the Thai belief in the pillars of chart,
sart and kasat - nation, religion, monarchy."
In the early 1990s, Ing made a documentary exposing the
environmental damage inflicted by a golf course, and in 1999 her vehement
satire of Buddhist monks, Kon Krab Mah (literally, "men who bow to
dogs") was banned in a high-profile saga that involved policemen
storming the theatre to prevent the screening taking place.
But, Ing says, what drove her to make Citizen Juling
was less the pang of moral indignation than the need to present the complex
emotional landscape of the region, and perhaps of Thailand.
"That's what I told myself when I started, that this is a film about
emotion," she says. In the film, we meet Juling's parents outside the
ICU, and they speak calmly about how they don't want to hold grudges against
the people who harmed their daughter. Then we meet the father of one of the
boys killed in the notorious - and quickly forgotten - massacre of the Saba
Yoi Muslim football team, who breaks down in tears while imploring the
authorities for long-delayed justice.
Meanwhile, there are people who speak, with the same
sincerity, about how they fear the southern people because of "their
veils" and because "even the name of Juling's school sounds
scary." Equally stunning is a maverick imam in Songkhla, who speaks eloquently
about how it pains him to see his fellow Muslims "fighting over power,
instead of fighting to improve the religion."
By confronting the divisive environment - and pointing
out that this is the consequence of a failed policy - the doc pushes past the
platitude of a "reconciliation message" that risks hiding
unpleasant realities behind the land-of-smiles myth. And that's only possible
because Kraisak's presence opened many doors to Ing and Manit, who followed
him with a camera as the then-senator made a trip to the southernmost
provinces to inquire about the case.
As the air is thick with mutual mistrust, it's
impossible to imagine any random person wandering into some village with a movie camera
expecting to be greeted with co-operation - or to be greeted at all. It's
even worse if that person, say, is escorted by authority figures, like
soldiers or policemen. Kraisak's status as a politician who publicly speaks
against the authority has earned him the trust of the southern people mired
in the sense of prolonged injustice, and somehow they open up to him.
"If anything, the movie stresses the point that
the justice system of this country is not functioning," says Kraisak.
"The South is an extreme case, but it's a microcosm of what's happening
everywhere in Thailand."
And it will be no small injustice if the movie goes
unseen by a wider audience. Manit and Ing are concerned that the film's
daunting length, over three-and-a-half hours, will dim interest even from
alternative movie houses, though they believe it's possible to divide Citizen
Juling into a series for TV.
But it goes without saying that their principal concern
is censorship. Since the new Film Act, which will introduce a ratings system
to Thailand,
is still to be delivered from the womb of the Culture Ministry, the process
remains with the police. The police consider each film along with a group of
representatives from the government and cultural agencies, who can demand
filmmakers cut scenes they deem "inappropriate". Nevertheless, the
new Film Act still retains the right of the state to cut or ban films that
may disrupt "national stability" - deliberately open phrasing that
can be applied to films that do not play in favour of the powers-that-be,
especially ones that have a political edge.
"Let's see what we can do, but it's my dream to
show this small movie to Thai audiences in Bangkok," says Ing.
Maybe in the the rest of country too. Despite the many
southern faces we encounter in the film, it is a burly northern man who
springs out to capture our attention. A Thai man of Akha origin speaks with a
mixture of grief and fury about the plight of hilltribe people: the
persecution, the fear, and yes, the state injustice that has left a wound
inside his soul. "We're also victims," he says. What citizen Juling
faced, we realise, may not be so different from what we, and other citizens,
are facing.
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