Since the Brexit referendum in July 2016, migration has been one of the most hotly debated topics in the British public sphere. Indeed, the withdrawal of the UK from the European Union has brought to the fore questions of boundaries, identities and belonging. Yet, despite the sensationalism with which migration is treated by media and politicians alike, none of this is actually new, as the latest exhibition hosted at the Migration Museum shows. Entitled No Turning Back: Seven Migration Moments that Changed Britain, this exhibition is a timely reminder that the process of migration itself, into and from the UK, has always been part of British life, and that without it, the country would certainly look very different today.
The exhibition brings together photographs, art installations, personal stories and commentaries around seven pivotal migration moments in the history of Britain. It ranges from the expulsion of the Jews in 1290, to the 2011 Census which revealed an 85 per cent increase of the number of people who define themselves as mixed race, compared to the previous one of 2001. In between these two moments, the exhibition tackles the arrival of the Huguenots fleeing oppression in France in 1685, the first journey of an East Indian Company ship from Tilbury to Surat in 1607 – asking whether this was the beginning of globalisation – the 1905 Aliens Act, the ‘Rock Against Racism’ movement in the late-1970s and the first ever long-haul passenger jet flight in 1952. Significantly, these events are not presented in a chronological order, so that the visitor is free to explore the connections and parallels between these different moments, and between the past and present.
‘Postcards from Nowhere’ (Shao-Jie Lin) shows 65 postcards made from the pulped landing cards refused by the UK Border Agency – 65 also being the average number of people who are denied entry to the UK every day. It is impossible not to make the connection between this installation and the Alien Act previously referred to, and, before that, to the expulsion of the Jews.
Analogously, the wall covered with the front pages of newspapers which, in the run up to the Brexit referendum, discussed migration in terms of ‘invasion’, ‘deception’ and ‘protection of borders’, point to a resurgence of racism.
In this light, Rock Against Racism being chosen as one of the turning points for Britain testifies to the influence it had on people and the nation as a whole, as well as exhorting people to not stand by racism, but instead, to fight it. While, of course, being a way to pay homage to the creativity that emerged out of that moment (let’s not forget about <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5RKtp-dq7I">White Riot</a> or <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lfkOxYxFKQE">Punky Reggae Party</a>!) Moreover, Andy Barter’s portraits of mixed-race families in Britain and Angélica Dass’s installation ‘Humanae’, where the artist used the Pantone colours to catalogue every human skin tone, exposes the feeble fantasies of purity and race, whilst calling for an inclusive notion of Britishness.
Not willing to identify these seven moments as the only key ones in the history of migration into and from Britain, the exhibition also exhorts the participation of visitors, who are encouraged to write down what they believe to be a key migration moment and to leave it there for the curators. But, focusing on these moments the exhibition provides an exploration to questions of migration, identity and culture that is badly needed at this historical moment in time. They remind us that, as the late Edward Said argued, no one is ever exclusively one thing, and that the mixture of cultures and identities on a global scale started well before the Brexit referendum.
‘No Turning Back: Seven Migration Moments that Changed Britain’ exhibition runs until 25 February 2018. Opening hours: 11am – 5pm Wed &#8211; Sun, with a late opening the last Thurs of each month. Location: Migration Museum at The Workshop, 26 Lambeth High Street, London, SE1 7AG. Free admission.
See also <a href="https://culturehealthresearch.wordpress.com/forced-displacement-and-cultural-interventions/">‘Experiences of Creativity’</a> workshop (12.30 – 5.30pm) held this Saturday at the Migration Museum.
<pre>Photo Credits: Susan and Joseph, part of Andy Barter's Mixed series © Andy Barter</pre>

Andy Barter, Photography, Photographer

This exhibition demonstrates that migration has been critical to the shaping of this country long before current debates

&#8216;No Turning Back&#8217;: Tracking Stories of Migration in Britain

Film based on short stories by Manto revisits the intricacies of the Partition of India and Pakistan and powerfully examines the human capacity for untold violence 
“Memories Beyond Borders” was the theme of this year’s <a href="http://www.tonguesonfire.com/">London Asian Film Festival</a>. A timely subject, considering the divisive times we are living in. Besides this being the year of <a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/tag/brexit/">Brexit</a> and of the erection of <a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/us-europe-migrants-hungary-fence-idUSKBN16614A">physical and metaphorical walls</a>, this is also the year in which India celebrates 70 years of independence – an event that cannot but bring about memories of the Partition between India and Pakistan. Rahat Kazmi’s Mantostaan (2016), presented at the festival, brings its viewers back to the days when the border between the two countries was created and focuses on the chaos that ensued. 
Seventy years have passed, but the theme of Partition is still a very difficult one to handle. The violence that accompanied the creation of the two independent states, and which led to the death of almost 2 million people and to the displacement of 15 million people, made Partition, in the words of literary scholar Vijay Mishra, <a href="https://books.google.co.uk/books/about/Bollywood_Cinema.html?id=N5Z9_ysSgW8C">“a symbol so enormous, so vast and obscene”</a> that it seemed impossible to face up to. As a consequence, the dominant political discourse in India in the wake of independence actively displaced the horrors of Partition in favour of a historiography that foregrounded the non-violent ethos of the independent movement and the idea of inter-communal harmony suggested by the “unity in diversity” slogan of the Congress. (It is only in October last year that the <a href="http://www.partitionmuseum.org/">first museum</a> and memorial dedicated to Partition was opened, in Amritsar.) 
Yet the memory of Partition has never really left the subconscious of the two countries and the film Mantostaan, which is based on four short stories by the Urdu writer Manto – Khol Do, Thanda Gosht, Assignment and Aakhri Salute – powerfully retrieves the memory of the events which occurred at the time. Fiercely opposed to the creation of Pakistan, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/jun/11/saadat-hasan-manto-short-stories-partition-pakistan">Manto</a>, who eventually moved to Lahore, captured in his stories the ordinary folly of Partition days. Instead of focusing on the political actors who determined the faith of the two countries, the writer focused his attention on ordinary people whose lives were irremediably affected by their decisions and their reactions to the unfolding of events. 
Director Rahat Kazmi, a strong admirer of Manto himself, has faithfully adapted these stories for the screen. Rather than being divided into separate chapters, the four tales are interwoven into a single narrative that, creating a sense of synchronicity, turns the film into a sort of chronicle of Partition days. We find the story of Sirajuddin and Sakina, father and daughter, who desperately flee Amritsar during the riots that resulted in the death of Sakina’s mother. There are lovers, Ishar Singh and Kulwant Kaur, who meet at an isolated place away from the riots, of which, it turns out, Ishar is an active participant. There is judge Mian Abdul Hai, who refuses to leave his Amritsar home as he is confident that his friends would never turn on him, fatally condemning his family to death. Finally, there are the two childhood friends, Rab Nawaz (played by Kazmi himself) and Ram Singh, facing themselves as enemies in Kashmir – one with the Pakistani army, and the other with the Indian one. Feelings of fear, desperation, disbelief and regret pervade the film. 
Mantostaan perfectly renders the degree of violence that broke out during those terrible days in the subcontinent, while at the same time capturing the dismay of people unable to believe the rapidity with which former neighbours and friends had turned into enemies – indeed, unable to understand how they themselves had suddenly turned into cold-blooded murderers and rapists. The paradox of the fratricidal violence is superbly captured in Aakhri Salute, where the two friends, now head-to-head as rivals, keep teasing each other as if still playing a game. That is, until tragedy strikes. 
While Mantostaan, just like Manto’s stories, does not offer a moral judgement on Partition, it nevertheless invites a reflection on society. The topic of Partition provides a platform for a more universal reflection on the human condition: what are men (and women) capable of in exceptional circumstances? The frenzy and the ferocity with which people act does not bear any religious connotation. Paradoxically, it is the one thing that Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims share. Everyone is a victim, but, at the same time, it is impossible to single out perpetrators along the lines of religion, a point emphasised in Khol Do when Sakina is raped by “her people”. “Man is a strange creature,” says a dying Ishar before confessing his crimes to Kulwant. To confirm the film’s invitation to reflect on the human condition, the following words from Manto appear on screen as the film closes: 
&#8220;If you can’t bear these stories, then the society is unbearable. Who am I to remove the clothes of this society, which itself is naked. I don&#8217;t even try to cover it, because it is not my job, that&#8217;s the job of dressmakers.”
<pre>Photo Credit: Mantostaan</pre>

Mantostaan: Memories Beyond Borders

Three grandmothers seeking the comfort of apologies demonstrate resilience and vulnerability 
The title of Tiffany Hsiung’s documentary The Apology (2016) refers to the ongoing struggle of former “comfort women” to receive a formal apology from the Japanese government. 
“Comfort women” is a euphemism referring to the girls and women forced into sexual slavery by the Japanese army during World War Two. While there are no definite figures, it is estimated that more than 200,000 women across Asia were forced into sexual slavery, with fewer than 30 per cent surviving the end of the war (referenced in the 1995 book by Kazuko Watanabe, Trafficking in Women&#8217;s Bodies, Then and Now). 
It is a shameful page in the history of Japan, one that the Japanese government is <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/15/opinion/comfort-women-and-japans-war-on-truth.html">still not willing</a> to take full responsibility for. This is despite the discovery, in the early ‘90s, of documents revealing the extent of the army’s involvement in sexual exploitation, after which women began to come forward as victims of the army’s sexual slavery system. 
The film documents how men and women have gathered in front of the Japanese Embassy in Seoul every Wednesday since 1992, demanding a formal apology from the government. A settlement was reached between Japan and South Korea in 2015 but, in the eyes of former “comfort women”, this was not sufficient; instead of apologising to women directly, Japan has apologised to the Korean government and, furthermore, <a href="http://thediplomat.com/2017/02/the-korea-japan-comfort-women-failure-a-question-of-history/">still denies the authorities’ involvement</a> in the forcible enslavement of women. 
The documentary follows the parallel lives of three former comfort women, tenderly called “grandmas”. Grandma Gill is a Korean activist in her late-80s who has devoted her life to the struggle, speaking at protests and travelling to Japan to teach university students about this chapter largely ignored in Japanese history textbooks and by youngsters. Abducted in North Korea when she was a teenager, she found herself in South Korea when she was finally released, unable to reconnect with her family. The trauma she has suffered has not been eased by the comfort of her family in the new country. 
Grandma Cao is a Chinese survivor who lives in a village where several other women had also been abducted and forced into sexual slavery. Despite this story being widely known in the village, no one has ever spoken of it since the war, and Grandma Cao has kept it for herself for years, only opening up about her past to her adopted daughter during the filming of the documentary. 
The third woman, Grandma Adela, lives in the Philippines and, despite being part of a support group for survivors, she has never been able to tell her husband and children about her past, fearing that they would disown her. She eventually gathers the strength to relieve herself of this burden and opens up to her elder son. 
By focusing on the present lives of the three grandmothers, Hsiung discloses a terrible story of violence and exploitation, but, above all, she narrates a story of resistance and resilience. The battle the three grandmas are engaged in is a battle over justice and the power of representation. The abuse that Grandma Gill and her fellow activists receive at the hands of young Japanese men is shown in the opening scene of the film when they are ‘welcomed’ with epithets such as “dirty old bitches”, “prostitutes” and “whores”. The question of the voice of the subaltern, to borrow the words of post-colonial critic Gayatri Spivak, emerges as a central theme in the film, and the three women are determined to make themselves heard: “I will be talking until the day I die,” says Grandma Gill. 
There is a sense of urgency in the ways the three women approach the past &#8211; an urgency to get justice and to have their stories told and acknowledged, so as to restore their role in this part of history (“I am not the one who is guilty”) and to prevent the same horrors from happening to other women. By disclosing their stories to the camera and their families, the three grandmothers find the words to speak the unspeakable and break the silence that has surrounded their lives for too long. 
Although much as the film focuses on resistance, it also celebrates a resilience that is inextricably linked with the vulnerability of the three characters. American philosopher Judith Butler explains that being vulnerable is being exposed to what is beyond our control, acknowledging the fact that we live in a condition of interdependency with other people and that our lives do not depend upon ourselves alone – as in the case of women forced into sexual slavery. <a href="https://thats1.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/butler_adorno_prize.pdf">As Butler remarks:</a> “it turns out that this life is not my own, and that this is what makes me a social creature”. 
Yet the vulnerability of the human body is not simply a synonym for injurability, it is also, <a href="https://dspace.lboro.ac.uk/dspace-jspui/bitstream/2134/19670/1/The%20Ethics%20and%20Politics%20of%20Vulnerable%20Bodies.pdf">as Moya Lloyd suggests,</a> “the condition of possibility for love, desire, care, hope and life”. The vulnerable body can be brutalised and violated but it can also be welcomed, embraced and loved. The scenes which see Grandma Adela dancing with her fellow survivors, Granma Cao watching television with her sister, and Granma Gill giggling while embracing her son on the bed, are all powerful statements of resilience, beautifully captured by the film. 
The grandmothers are not giving up the fight, but the question to the Japanese Parliament remains: “If we all die, who are you going to apologise to?” 
See <a href="http://www.the-platform.org.uk/tag/hrwff2017/">more reviews</a> from this year’s HRWFF London as they are published.
<pre>Photo Credit: Icarus Films</pre>

Clelia Clini