Setting the stage is information outlining how coal plays a part in the American energy equation:

• Almost one-half of the electricity in the United States comes from burning coal
• 16 pounds of coal are burned daily for every man, woman, and child in the United States
• One third of the coal comes from the mountains of Appalachia

Juxtaposed to this data is footage of ordinary people holding signs that read, “Stop Blasting: Save the Kids.” They are residents of Coal River Valley, West Virginia. Their goal is to protect Coal River Mountain, home to biologically diverse forests and their way of life. “People have had enough and they’re standing up to the coal companies,” says one demonstrator.

With the hopes of evening the odds in their battle, the West Virginia citizens reached out to Robert F. Kennedy Jr.—an environmental lawyer with established creds. The film shows him as a 10-year-old, visiting his uncle John in the White House to discuss his concerns about the environment. Over forty years later, in the fall of 2009, he spoke to President Obama about the liabilities of mountain top coal mining.

Kennedy appears at pivotal moments throughout the film. He is the father of three children with asthma caused by “ozone and particulates from burning coal illegally.” Giving a brief history lesson, Kennedy discusses how regulations that were supposed to be in effect eighteen years ago were transformed when George W. Bush abolished the “New Source rule.” With a nod to ongoing arguments about the economy versus health priorities, Kennedy explains that up until the 1870s, if a factory in America emitted smoke that permeated your house, you had the right to shut them down. However, the laws were eroded by the Industrial Revolution, in order to facilitate the growth of manufacturing. Kennedy says flatly, “So we will allow industry to pollute.”

Walking through a destroyed mountaintop, Kennedy comments, “If the American people could see it, there would be a revolution in this country.” When directly confronting a coal company representative on how a demolished mountaintop has been reconstructed, Kennedy points out, “This is supposed to be a forest.” Reacting to the talking points response he receives, he asks sardonically, “How many lies do you have to tell to make this whole fiction work?”

There is ample footage that demonstrates exactly what transpires in order to extract

Maria Gunnoe at Mountaintop Removal Site. Photo courtesy of Vivian Stockman

coal from the Appalachian Mountains. First, the trees are cut down. Then the mountains are blasted. Boulders tumble down to the homes in the valley below, filled with silica dust (this contributes to the disease silicosis). With 2500 tons of explosives detonated daily, the mountains are reduced to rubble. Maria Gunnoe, a mother who comes from two generations of coal miners, conveys, “You feel like you’re under attack.” It happens several times a day as 800 to 900 feet are taken off a mountain and dumped in the valley. Gunnoe, who lives in Boone County, West Virginia, discusses how the persistent and severe flooding on her land pushed her to become proactive. A coal company engineer defends the rainfall flooding as, “Not our fault.” Rather, he attributes it to, “An act of God.” Gunnoe, previously a waitress, now works full time for the Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition (OVEC), and is a powerful presence in the movie. Her concerns embrace not just those of ecological balance, but also the potential loss of Appalachian culture and heritage.

Those fighting tooth and nail to halt mountaintop removal have deep roots in the area. Bo Webb’s father was a coal miner. His family’s property on the banks of Coal River was homesteaded in the 1830s by previous generations. Destruction of the mountain ridge above his house pushed Webb to co-found the grassroots organization Mountain Justice Summer. Mountain removal mining has destroyed 500 Appalachian Mountains. This translates into one million acres of decimated forest and 2,000 miles of buried streams—with contamination of thousands of additional miles. The result is heavy metals in both well waters and springs.

Jennifer Hall-Massey, a resident of Prenter, West Virginia, joined with 264 neighbors to sue nine coal companies on the grounds that they were responsible for the contamination of the local water supplies. Their small enclave has witnessed a cluster of brain tumors, with fatalities including Hall-Massey’s 29-year-old brother. Hall-Massey points out that the national average for brain tumors is one in 100,000.

The Bruce Mansfield power plant, one of the country’s largest coal-fired facilities, is located a few miles from Shippingport, Pennsylvania. The plant has blanketed the town with toxic fly ash. There are eight children in the area with autism, including Susan Bird’s son. She has become part of the environmental group Penn Future to amplify her concerns. She asks ruefully, “As a parent, you sit there and wonder, did I do this? You know, if I lived somewhere else would he have been healthier?” Currently, researchers have undertaken a ten-year study on the relationship between autism and air borne pollutants.

The documentary makes it clear that the people pushing back are up against very heavy hitters. This includes representatives from both political parties, lobbyists for varied interests, as well as the coal industry. In 2004, George W. Bush, who received enormous contributions from the coal sector was quoted as saying of his re-election, “This is a coal-fired victory.”

Massey Energy (which was acquired by Alpha Natural Resources in 2011), and its CEO (through 2010) Don Blankenship, serve as the major representatives of the coal industry’s point of view. The largest coal company in West Virginia, Massey does more mountain top removal mining than any other company in the country. Their track record includes evicting the unions from their mines and replacing jobs with mechanization. Over the past thirty years, that move has increased production by 140 percent while shedding 40,000 jobs. Massey paid the largest fine in EPA history (20 million dollars) for over 60,000 violations. In 2010, twenty-nine Massey miners died in the worst American mine disaster since 1970. The company came under investigation later that year. During his eighteen-year tenure as CEO, Blankenship’s compensation was in excess of 190 million dollars.

Another one-time Massey employee, with a very different outlook, is Ed Wiley—who served as a contractor to the company. Little did he know that he would go head to head with his former boss. His mission was to fight for the health of his granddaughter and her classmates, who attended elementary school adjacent to a Massey industrial coal processing plant. The children and teachers were subjected to air borne coal dust sucked into the school’s ventilation system. Wiley describes the situation as “a hornets nest sitting over the school.” With an elevated rate of cancers and respiratory ailment in evidence, he becomes determined to have the school resituated. He marches with signs asking, “Massey: Why are you poisoning our kids?” He confronts then governor Joe Manchin, who self-identifies as a “friend of coal.” Pointing to his granddaughter Wiley instructs, “This is not an environmental issue, this is a little human being.” Along with Bo Webb and other members of the community, the town finally gets a new school—with Massey footing 20 percent of the bill.

Facts disseminated on screen point to the manifest impact of coal on health. Each year, emissions from coal-fired plants contribute to:

• More than 10 million asthma attacks
• Brain damage in up to 600,000 newborn children
• More than 43,000 premature deaths

Burning coal is the number one source of greenhouse gases worldwide. There are 600 coal-fired plants across the United States; their emissions cover the entire country. There are 600 ash ponds nationwide filled with 150 billion gallons of toxic sludge.

By focusing on the stories of those whose physical well being and families have been directly affected, The Last Mountain shows, in the words of director Bill Haney, “the power of ordinary citizens to remake the future when they have the determination and courage to do so.”

This article originally appeared on the website Moms Clean Air Force.

Pamela Hogan - Photo Courtesy of Joseph Sinnott ©WNET

A co-production of THIRTEEN and Fork Films, in association with WNET and ITVS, the series was created by executive producers Abigail E. Disney, Pamela Hogan, and Gini Reticker. I had the opportunity to speak with Hogan by telephone about her role in the series, and to learn the back story on the project.

Hogan, producer/writer on the Bosnian segment “I Came to Testify,” and co-writer on the Colombian entry, “The War We Are Living,” has a long track record in the documentary film arena. She served as series producer for the initial six seasons of WIDE ANGLE for PBS. This run included Ladies First, which chronicled women working to rebuild post-genocide Rwanda. When I asked Hogan about the intended goals for Women, War & Peace, her response evidenced her passion for women’s issues and human rights. She spoke animatedly about the core motivation of the series: “To have a bigger footprint and to start a conversation.”

Hogan outlined the genesis of her partnership with Disney and Reticker, explaining how the series concept “came out of three people having the same idea”—an interest in “women in conflict resolution at the center of foreign policy as an underutilized resource.” Their efforts were directing toward “shifting the paradigm to see women front and center with men.”

With a clear understanding of the reach of social media tools, Hogan discussed how the team had crowdsourced funding and was currently working with a range of platforms to amplify the show’s content, extending public awareness. Major financial contributions came from a group that took the name 40×50, signifying forty key “visionary” donors who each gave $50,000 to the initiative. A robust website was put into play, supplementing the broadcast by showcasing exclusive material, original reporting, interviews with journalists and scholars, and video from on the ground reports. It also features a link for educators, with tools to give structure to broadening the dialogue.

Hogan told me that they had been working with “hundreds of groups hungry for material.” This activity has included both partnering with NGOs and law schools, as well as providing living room screening guides on how “individuals and groups can impact change.” “The War We Are Living,” which tracks displacement as a tool of war used to drive the Afro-Colombian population off their land rich in natural resources, has been shown in Washington, D.C. The intent is to educate those in Congress about the imperative to ensure that the Colombian government is “meeting their obligations.”

In a personal anecdote, Hogan shared an experience that occurred at a St. Louis screening of “I Came To Testify,” where there is a sizable Bosnian diaspora. A married couple, that had lived through the period of ethnic cleansing, informed her that the film had given them a starting point to discuss their experiences with their children.

In the finale, “War Redefined,” the Hillary Clinton axiom from the Fourth World Congress on Women in 1995 that “human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights,” is highlighted. Clinton is straightforward in her call for an end to “impunity against women” and for “stopping these heart of darkness activities.” Equally eloquent and incisive on the challenges facing women is Leymah Gbowee, featured in Pray The Devil Back to Hell, the second installment in the series. She states, “All of the wars in our region now are fought on the bodies of women.” Aware of the power that women can harness when they speak in unison, Gbowee notes with insight and a touch of irony, “When women gather, men get afraid.” It is from her experience that she has learned that “women are able to start the dialogue, even if it is painful.”

Women, War & Peace illustrates the power of women to challenge the male-dominated structure of the peacemaking process, formulating their own version of pushback. As Hogan told me, part of the evolution on her side of the camera included the realization about how overwhelming the strength of women is. She said, “We stopped using the word victim, and inserted survivors, leaders, and revolutionaries.”

Melding journalistic reportage and visceral narrative, Women, War & Peace stands as an example of the power of film to ensure that under-recognized subjects become part of the permanent record.

Photo Courtesy of Oscar Bernal

Photo: Francia Márquez, leader of the Afro-Colombian community of La Toma, Suarez, delivers a speech at a government meeting in which they defend their ancestral rights to the land (May 26, 2010). The community faces the threat of eviction due to authorization of mining licenses without their prior consultation.

This article originally appeared on the website cultureID.

Director Jim Whitaker has fashioned a film that is both an oral history and a meditation on healing.  It is virtually a primer on grief and its shifting stages.

The production makes extensive use of time-lapsed photography, via fourteen cameras sited in strategic locations around the World Trade Center site. Captured are multi-angle views of construction in progress 24 hours a day.  This sets up a juxtaposition and visual parallel of the site’s devastation and reconstruction—with the personal stories of loss, rebuilding, and restoration of spirit.

Whitaker, previously an executive at Imagine Entertainment, came to the project almost inadvertently.  A visit to Ground Zero a month after the attacks led him to the belief that there needed to be a specific approach to an account of what had transpired.  Having lost his mother six months prior, he was also experiencing his own issues with the bereavement process.

Five individuals, directly impacted by 9/11, openly share their feelings on a yearly basis from 2002-2009. The viewer follows them in their evolution from overwhelming pain, through grappling with the tremendous shifts in their mental transformations.  In the case of Ling, who was severely burned, her physical adjustments are central to her journey.

There are no interviewer’s questions heard. The participants, positioned against a simple black background, relate their feelings and evolving insights.  Home videos and photos are intercut with their testimonies, creating a collage of their memories.  The original score, written by Philip Glass, develops an aural background balanced between anxiety and tranquility, stasis and continuity.

As the subjects develop a relationship and rapport with Whitaker, the viewer becomes intimately invested in each of their struggles to make sense out of what has happened to them.  Their testimony bears witness to the human effort to understand relationships, love, pain, and psychological ambivalence.  Personal philosophies shift, as they each endeavor to emerge from the ashes of the phoenix.  A consistent theme is the ambivalence of being caught between the desire to move forward and a need to stay connected to the past.  Tanya, who lost her fiancé, a New York City First Responder, explains it as, “Letting go without letting go.”  Later, despite the new beginnings she has been able to forge, she reveals, “The truth is, you don’t move on.  Something is always there.”  However, she notes, “The grief is very private now.”

Anger, brokenness, survivor’s guilt, PTSD, and hopelessness about lives previously “well-planned” are all grist for introspection. Midway through, Brian, a New York City construction worker whose youngest brother, a firefighter, died when the towers collapsed, says, “I don’t think I’ve started to heal yet.  I think I have a ways to go.”  By 2007, Nick, recovering slowly from the death of his mother, who worked on the 104th floor of the World Trade Center, can say that he has “let go of the anger and terror of that day.”  He will work through an estrangement from his father, who remarried a close friend of his mother.

In 2009, Tim, a firefighter on the scene who suffered when his best friend and colleague died in World Trade Center One, admits to the exhaustion of holding on to the sorrow.  “I am just done with it,” he says.  “I can’t live there.  It’s making me tired.  I’m happy to be alive.”  That same year Tanya accepts, “Life has obviously moved forward, and I have to move with it.”  Giving herself permission to live in the present with a husband and two children she acknowledges, “I have to let myself off the hook.”  However, the push-pull dynamic between “moving on” and the “something that is always there” remains a subtext.

Ling, enduring forty operations in eight years, is not just the film’s core indomitable spirit, but also the physical metaphor for the emotional scarring that has taken place.  Where previously a life overtaken and ruled by doctors visits had made her “feel useless,” she reaches a place where she can reflect, “It happened, but I’m still alive.”

An integral part of the film’s genesis was the development of Project Rebirth.  As specified during the end credits, all proceeds from the documentary will go to “help first responders and other support communities that are impacted by trauma and future disasters.”  Included in the mission of the Project Rebirth Center will be “to develop and provide new multi-media tools to aid the therapists, academics, First Responders and others working with people recovering from disasters and violent conflict, as they confront the trauma of the past and build new futures.”  Whitaker has remarked that he sees the movie as a vehicle to raise the inquiry, “How can we best repair the many lives unraveled by war, conflict and disaster across the globe?”

There were countless indelible and resonant images in Rebirth.  However one that was particularly evocative was the video showing Nick delivering a eulogy for his mother, when a baby sparrow alighted on his head.  The bird allowed itself to be held by him briefly before it flew away.

It was a simple but powerful symbol.

Photo Courtesty of Oscilloscope Laboratories

The film will premiere on Showtime on September 11, 2011 at 9:00 EST, with repeated showings throughout September.

This article originally appeared on the website cultureID.

These words stand as the most salient message of the documentary Semper Fi: Always Faithful, a film that encompasses the worlds of environmental justice, the military, politics and science.

The protagonist of the narrative is Ret. Master Sergeant Jerry Ensminger—a formidable presence.  When framed against the backdrop of the United States Capitol, his physical demeanor telegraphs that he is a man to be reckoned with. For Ensminger, the narrative begins with his daughter, Janey, who died at the age of 9 from a rare form of childhood leukemia.  Trying to understand the reason behind her illness is the subtext of Ensminger’s quest, as well as the connective tissue for the ensuing narrative about water contamination at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Ensminger’s relentless search for truth is driven by the need to get answers not only for himself, but also for the nearly one million people who were unknowingly exposed to toxic chemicals at the base.

The backstory gets set in motion in 1941, when a fuel depot in operation at Camp Lejeune had leaks that were seeping into the ground—1500 feet from a drinking water supply well.  The estimated start date of the water contamination was 1957, when other improperly disposed of solvents additionally entered the mix.  In 1975, Ensminger was living at Camp Lejeune.  His wife was pregnant with Janey.  In 1983, his daughter received her diagnosis.  Ironically, unbeknownst to Ensminger, between 1980-1984, the water was being tested at the base with results consistently finding contaminants and “health concerns.”

In 1985, the Commanding General at Camp Lejeune notified residents to conserve water because of well closures, but neglected to mention that eleven wells were closed due to contamination—referencing only “minute [traces] of several organic chemicals” present in the water.  In actuality, the chemical levels were 20 to 280 times the safety standards of today.  The last contaminated well was closed in 1987, without notification to any of the residents of Camp Lejeune, either past or present.

It wasn’t until 1997 that Ensminger had a clue about the situation.  He heard a report on the local news about a “proposed health study on adults and babies” exposed to carcinogens in the water supply at Camp Lejeune.  Then it all started to click.

When Ensminger found out that the Marines were not taking care of their own, he felt totally betrayed.  Yet his close to twenty-five years of military service as a drill sergeant had comprehensively prepared him to become a forceful opponent to the Department of Defense (DOD).  He applied the Marine mindset—“Don’t give up ground; No person left behind”—to the task at hand.  It gave him the tenacity and grit to take his case all the way to the halls of Congress.  The juxtaposition between hardnosed non-com and grieving parent presents Ensminger as a multidimensional anchor for the action around him. The film captures Ensminger’s righteous anger in a sequence when he visits a cemetery near Camp Lejeune, pointing out a series of headstones marking the graves of babies.  Later, while detailing the pain his daughter endured from her illness, it comes as no surprise when he states emotionally, “You understand my resolve.”

Ensminger came to realize that he was dealing with a cover-up, and that the government regulations “were a burden that was unwelcome” by the DOD.  An interaction between those who have been harmed and Marine Corps representatives is telling.  “A very difficult and laborious task” is how the Marines qualify notifying those who have been impacted, adding feebly, “We could try.”  One of the key characters fighting cancer, former Marine Denita McCall, is overwhelmed by frustration.  She states, “If I die tomorrow, my family gets nothing.”

The movie, which began shooting in mid-2007 and wrapped at the end of 2010, is able to encapsulate Ensminger’s journey through the political maze.  He graduates from consistently unreturned phone calls to finding support from Rep. John Dingell (D-MI), Rep. Brad Miller (D-NC), Sen. Kay Hagan (D-NC), and Sen. Richard Burr (R-NC). Miller has reintroduced the Janey Ensminger Act, which would require the Department of Veterans Affairs to provide health care to veterans and their families who have been impacted from their exposure to toxic water at Camp Lejeune. Burr has sponsored a bill in the Senate, the Caring for Camp Lejeune Veterans Act of 2011.

With approximately one in ten Americans living within ten miles of a contaminated military site, Ensminger comments, “Camp Lejeune is just the tip of the iceberg.”  His verbal asides lend color and a down to earth voice amidst the technical jargon of science, military, and law material. A meeting at the National Academy of Sciences to review the classification of the chemical PCE, is an opportunity for Ensminger to weigh in on the testifying suits. “These people come flying in on jets…Why is the benefit of the doubt going to the chemicals?…It’s all about money.”

Semper Fi: Always Faithful had its world premiere at the 2011 Tribeca Film Festival, and is rolling out in theaters on August 26.  At a time when the Environmental Protection Agency is coming under attack for “over-regulation,” the film stands as a testimony to what happens when the public’s health is neither protected nor considered.

I spoke with Rachel Libert (who co-directed the film with Tony Hardmon), to discuss the political ramifications of the documentary, and her commitment to creating films that “raise awareness and effect social change.”  Libert characterized the information they encountered as similar to “layers of an onion peeling away.”  She never expected to learn how “broken” the public health and environment regulatory systems were.  Libert expanded on the enforcement issues the EPA was having with the DOD, clarifying that as a government agency—the DOD has been able to circumvent standards that would be strictly applied to private companies.

As Libert explained it, Ensminger ‘s search for the truth rippled out into an examination beyond water contamination and illness.  It entered the spheres of the clout of special interests and how to determine guidelines on regulating toxic chemicals.  She said, “When you make a film like this, it doesn’t just exist in the entertainment world.  Our first question was, ‘What can we do?’  Film is a very powerful tool to reach people you wouldn’t normally reach.  It has the ability to do that.  It’s a pathway to action.”

To that end, the film’s website has a “Take Action” link which encourages the public to write their representatives in support of the pending legislation.  Community screenings have been set up across the country, and partnerships have been forged with environmental groups.

For Libert, the fact that the film could push forward an agenda was a “dream” for her as a filmmaker.  It also left her with a new sense of optimism.  Despite the fact she knew that Ensminger was a man of “relentless determination,” she was cynical about how much he could actually accomplish.

Liebert pointed to the ultimately “hopeful message”—Individuals can make a difference through the power of one.

This article originally appeared on the website cultureID

Ret. Master Sergeant Jerry Ensminger

©Jason Laure, 1969/courtesy of HBO

Gloria Steinem has frequently spoken about the importance of sharing stories, using the imagery of communicating oral narratives around an ancient campfire. She has done that with her own personal history in the HBO documentary, Gloria: In Her Own Words.  Responding to questions asked by director Peter Kunhardt and co-producer Sheila Nevins, Steinem has added depth to readily accessible facts by opening up about the darker corners of her emotional life.

Two juxtaposed Glorias emerge.  One evolves from a brunette young woman who came to New York City via Smith College.  (Early on, Steinem had determined that she would get out of Toledo, Ohio—even if it had to be on the winged feet of her tap dancing prowess.) The other is a woman who has lived seven decades, delved into the journey of self-knowledge, and come up with the hindsights that the passage of time affords.

Repeatedly referenced as a “feminist icon,” Steinem often functions as a blank slate upon which others imprint their own anxieties, appreciation, disapproval or angry resentments.  In a society that habitually discards its most prominent contributors when they are deemed no longer relevant, Steinem radiates resilience. Functioning as a stand-in Rorschach test for all the attributes and shortcomings of the feminist movement, her best armor has been an acute sense of humor.

I saw the documentary first on a preview DVD, and then at the Women’s Media Center screening at the HBO building.  The 120-seat theater was filled with women (and a handful of men) representing a continuum of ages and a modicum of diversity.  As Steinem quipped when she appeared to answer audience questions—fresh from a taping with Stephen Colbert, “For a lot of people in this room, it’s a home movie.”  Archival footage of the 1972 Democratic convention (where one third of the delegates were women) and the march in Manhattan down Fifth Avenue gained a breadth of scope on the larger screen.  The experience of hearing in unison laughter when a 1960s broadcaster intoned, “Women have a problem with concentration,” lent a feeling of community.  Yet Steinem’s private revelations were more intimate when viewed via television’s smaller scale.

Throughout the film, a window into the burgeoning women’s movement runs parallel to the storyline about the girl born in the 1930s who described her awareness as, “I’m not sure if I knew what feminism was.  I thought if I was having difficulty, it was my own personal fault.”

Pursuing a career as a freelance journalist, Steinem was continually assigned features on food, beauty, and babies despite her interest in political topics.  “The low point,” she said, “was writing a piece on textured stockings.” Friday afternoon propositions by the boss were not uncommon.  Steinem notes of this time, “There was no word for sexual harassment.  It was just called life.”

In 1963, Steinem got what she called “the bunny assignment,” to do an undercover report about employment conditions at the “glamorous” Playboy Club. What was written as an exposé of “grinding work in three-inch heels” ended up creating new problems of credibility for Steinem’s writing—as she got stamped with the “unserious” label.

By the time Steinem hit her 30s, she realized that she wasn’t the only woman having problems. She put it concisely, “I wasn’t crazy, the system was crazy.”  Her “aha” moment came in 1969, when she was covering a story about an abortion hearing for New York Magazine. For Steinem, “That was the big click.”  At 22, she had an abortion and never told anybody. The black and white sequence of the meeting illustrates irate women speaking up and refusing to be silenced.  It is evident how the energy and dissension in the room telegraphed a message to Steinem that she was now ready to decode.  She observed, “I began to understand that my experience was an almost universal female experience.”

A montage of top male news anchors delivering reports in 1970 about the new “women’s liberation movement,” serves as a mordant backdrop to Steinem discussing her frustration about not being able to get her work published.  It pushed her to seek a different venue to get the word out.  She moved into speaking publicly, embarking on a national tour in partnership with Dorothy Pitman Hughes.

By then, Steinem had evolved into the “Gloria persona.”  Explaining the genesis, she said. “I used the aviator glasses to hide behind.”  The blonde streaks at the front of her long hair owed their origins to Audrey Hepburn’s character Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s–and Steinem’s appreciation for Golightly’s determination not to lose her freedom in a relationship based on “belonging to another person.”

The recognition that there was no place for women to read content uncontrolled by men was Steinem’s impetus for co-founding Ms. magazine.  Feminism hadn’t been faring well in the media, though as Steinem slyly pointed out, “Hostility is a step forward from ridicule.”  Harry Reasoner pronounced the periodical’s mission as “sad.”  The number of issues printed was supposed to last on the newsstands for three months.  They sold out in a week.  Seven months later, Ms. was in the black. For Steinem, making a point of using her “anger constructively” had paid off well.

Despite what appeared to be a successful and glamorous life, Steinem was dogged by criticism—from outside the movement and from within. “A woman who aspires to be something is a bitch,” she said.  Both lauded and excoriated for her appearance, Steinem stated, “I work really hard, and then it’s attributed to looks.  That’s really painful.”  Esquire magazine ran a story (with an accompanying comic strip) portraying Steinem in such a negative light that she characterized it as “cruel.”  Some of the sniping, bubbling just below the surface, came from other contributors to feminism who resented the limelight coalescing around Steinem.  The most prominent conflict played out with Betty Friedan, author of the groundbreaking The Feminine Mystique. Steinem said of Friedan, “She considered herself the owner of the movement.”  Looking to expand feminist alliances with other constituencies marginalized by traditional hierarchies, Steinem forged friendships with women who shared her sensibilities—such as Bella Abzug and Flo Kennedy. Qualifying Friedan’s approach, Steinem elucidated, “She didn’t identify down, she identified up.”

In 1977, The National Women’s Conference took place in Houston, Texas. Steinem refers to it as a major highlight of her career.  First Ladies Ford, Johnson, and Carter were present. The 20,000 women in attendance had different objectives for the proposed National Plan of Action, twenty-six resolutions that were put to a collective vote.  Ultimately, abortion and lesbian rights—along with support for the Equal Rights Amendment—were included in the Plan submitted to President Carter in 1978.  Steinem worked non-stop to promote her ideological agenda, pushing herself relentlessly.

Viewers get an unguarded glimpse of Steinem’s core in the segments where she addresses her dysfunctional upbringing.  She describes her father as a “charming” but “totally irresponsible man,” and tells how her mother, a “pioneer in journalism who couldn’t do it all,” was debilitated by what was “at that time called a nervous breakdown.”  In a childhood that Steinem depicts as scary and depressing, she became a caretaker to a mother who couldn’t function. When her father departed, they were a household of two women, enveloped by the sound of a persistently playing radio.  Steinem learned to rely on the defense mechanism of “detachment.”  She came to understand, in her later adult years, that she had distanced herself from her mother out of the apprehension of “not being her.”  Steinem expresses profound misgivings about her handling of the demise of both her parents.  Her father, who was mortally injured in a car accident in 1961, died alone.  Resisting the call to travel to California to be with him, Steinem feared being recast in the role of caretaker.   She was at her mother’s side during her last hours, yet confesses that in retrospect, “I so regret that I wasn’t more of a companion to her.”

Steinem’s 50^th birthday was celebrated by a party attended by luminaries—or as Phil Donahue put it, “The revolution comes to the Waldorf.”  She saw the year as a definitive marker.  Yet, it was a diagnosis of breast cancer (she had a lump excised and was treated with radiation) that served the purpose of making her aware of the passage of time.

In the segment titled, “There was a period when the world was in black and white instead of color,” Steinem sorts out an interval when she dealt with depression.  Moving from “bottoming out,” she looked internally.  Burnt out from constant traveling and speaking gigs, the solitary din of a radio in her hotel room brought back the memories and unfinished business of her childhood—and the “neglected child” who felt “she didn’t exist.” With this realization, Steinem knew that she “couldn’t go forward in the old way.”  Her book on self-esteem, Revolution from Within, uses her own issues as an anchoring point.  She admits, “Even social activism can be a drug that keeps you from going back, as you keep trying to fill up an emptiness which can’t be filled by anything external.”

Married in 2000 to David Bale, it was a union of two partners who understood that “love is not about power.”  Steinem affirms that for the first time since childhood, she felt “in the present.” Bale developed brain lymphoma in 2002, which lasted a year.  In considering what she learned from Bale’s illness and death, she recounts her appreciation for the chance to do-over her part as a caretaker—this time as an adult.  The exchange is another parallel of the younger Gloria and older Gloria—underscoring her psychological progression.

Why did Steinem evolve into a symbol of so much to so many?  It’s impossible to know.  She became a vessel through which some women discovered themselves, their potential, and the strength to advocate for their own truths.  For others, she will remain the scapegoat for the “downfall of our beautiful American family,” as an irate caller to Larry King pronounced.

On her own place in the feminist pantheon, Steinem tells audiences on college campuses, “Don’t listen to my advice.  Listen to the voice inside you and follow that.”  She is clear that being of a different generation, girls coming up now need to have their own feminist heroes.  In a self-effacing manner Steinem suggests, “The primary thing is not that they know who I am, but who they are.”

Her hope for the future is succinct—a time when being a feminist means you see the world whole instead of half.  “It shouldn’t need a name,” Steinem pronounces.  She adds, “One day it won’t.”

©Annie Leibovitz, 2010/courtesy of HBO

The movie is structured in a style reminiscent of the 1980s Costa-Gavras narratives.  The dramatization is based on actual events. Some characters have been merged, with names and timelines changed for the sake of a streamlined plot. One of the anchoring characters is Madeleine Rees (Vanessa Redgrave), who was the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights in Bosnia.

Shot in palettes of blues and browns, the facts are laid out as Bolkovac—who is of Croatian descent—takes her belief in “doing her job” into the field.  After ten years of experience on the domestic violence beat back home, Bolkovac finds herself up against a web of corrupt players ranging from local police and United Nations peacekeepers, to State Department brass and “Democra” bigwigs.

Bolkovac discovers that the area’s bars and clubs are serving as a front to sites where girls from the Ukraine, Russia, and Eastern Europe have been enslaved. Many of the girls being sold to an international clientele are between 12 and 15 years old.

The story’s trajectory follows Bolkovac (who served as a story consultant) from her discovery of trafficking corruption, complicity, and cover-ups through her efforts to report her findings—despite files of evidence disappearing and witness tampering. Death threats are the precursor to her being fired, when she gets too close to the truth.  The multilayered cover-up finally sees the light of day when she files a wrongful dismissal case against “Democra,” and feeds the information from her findings to the British press.

Director Larysa Kondracki spent time with her co-writer in Eastern Europe doing background research.  There are two key scenes that speak volumes.  One is revelatory, the other is searing.  In the former, Bolkovac—and the audience—begin to understand the magnitude of what she is up against as she scrutinizes the first photos and bits of information she had pinned to her office wall.  The camera pulls back to show how the original findings have grown exponentially.  The latter is an indelible image of one of the girls being raped, tortured and killed in front of the others, as an example of why compliance is the only way to survive.

The Human Rights Watch Film Festival showcased the New York premiere of The Whistleblower in June. HRW has done extensive work documenting post-war abuse in the Balkans.  Their website article “Bosnia and Herzegovina: Traffickers Walk Free” gives an overview of the material covered in the movie.  In addition, they issued a report in 2002 that breaks down their findings into twelve comprehensive sections.

I interviewed Kondracki by e-mail to get additional insights about her vision and aspirations for the movie.  She explained that as a Ukrainian Canadian, the issue of sex trafficking was widely discussed within her community.  When she read Bolkovac’s book, The Whistleblower: Sex Trafficking, Military Contractors, and One Woman’s Fight for Justice, she was overwhelmed by the breadth of the crime of trafficking.  She was surprised that a film had not already been made.

What made you decide to do the movie as an indie film? Did you think it would give you more latitude to portray the story as you best saw fit?

To be honest, I didn’t see another way. We set out to do it. We spent some time in studios, which was a valuable experience and I think the script was improved when we were there. But ultimately, this was the way that made sense. That’s where I have to hand it to the producers. Once we got the project out, we were shooting within nine months.

Do you see the film reaching people about the issue of human trafficking in a way that a news story or article cannot?  Are you hoping that the “political thriller” tag will pull people in, which might otherwise be afraid of the subject matter?

Absolutely. Kathy’s story is practically a Robert Ludlum novel. Sex, scandal, corruption, governments, international cover-ups. It’s something you would usually make up. Our primary goal was to make a good thriller with a great character at the center. Is she going to get the girl? Are they going to get our heroine?

Was it Bolkovac’s experience with domestic violence in the United States, combined with how she got a conviction on her first time at bat in Bosnia, that made Madeleine Rees reach out to her?

Yes. That conviction made Kathy really stand out.

How did you decide how far to go with graphically showing the abuse and torture of the trafficked girls?

I wasn’t going to make this movie and not be realistic. But I also had no intention of deterring audiences. We tested it several times, and found the right balance. You don’t see anything. It’s not unlike Silence of the Lambs in a way. It’s what’s inferred.

How is the United Nations dealing with the film? I understand there was an internal memo that was circulated that advocated a “no comment” policy. Does that suggest that they haven’t learned anything from their experience about transparency?

The internal memo left it at the UN being split. But we have learned from sources that they are sticking with a “damage control” policy. I really have no idea what they’ve learned, and why they aren’t seizing the opportunity not only to right these wrongs, but in doing so, to gain some faith from so many cynics that are watching. Show us you want to be the organization you’re meant to be. I’ve written a letter to Secretary General Ban-Ki Moon, and we have offered to screen the film wherever and whenever they want. So far…No Comment.

cultureID specifically deals with connecting those doing cultural work with political and social intent/content with audiences.  How do you see The Whistleblower within this context?

I genuinely believe that films have one of the loudest voices. And I believe that if we can get this story into public discourse, the State Department and the United Nations will be embarrassed. Hopefully, enough to do something. Look at Guantanamo, extraordinary renditions…I’m not saying that’s done with, but at least they aren’t snatching people in plain sight out of airports anymore. Same thing here. U.S. tax dollars should not be going to the buying and selling of girls. Period. There’s no grey area to that.

This article originally appeared on the website cultureID.

Judith F. Baca, "Farewell to Rosie the Riveter and Development of Suburbia" (1983) - A detail from "The Great Wall of Los Angeles"

History doesn’t happen in a vacuum.   Often the individual steps it takes to get from Point A to Point B can only be understood as stops and starts — until the journey has been underway for decades.  Then it is possible to look back and say with an element of recognition, “I get it.”

In the documentary, !Women Art Revoltution — A Secret History, artist and filmmaker Lynn Hershman Leeson seams together forty years of her personal interviews with friends and colleagues to capture the story of Feminist Art.  In 2007, that creative output was described by critic Blake Gopnik as “the most important artistic movement since World War II.”

Hershman Leeson narrates her footage, stating without reserve that the timeline for the film is her own.  She is clear about the fact that “much is left out.” Regardless, watching the convergence of the feminist art movement with the rising awareness that led to “women’s liberation,” gives plenty to view and digest.

For those who didn’t live through the tumultuous 60s, separate dynamics are named as the factors for a seismic cultural shift.  The Civil Rights movement, the Black Panthers, Vietnam and anti-war activism all set the stage for another upheaval.  It was during the protests at the 1968 Miss America pageant, Hershman Leeson suggests, that “art and politics fused, and then transfused.”

Artists are documented during different periods of their careers. They come on camera, reflecting on and often revising their previous beliefs.  At the very beginning, Nancy Spero says that at first in women’s art, “Everyone felt isolated.”  Hannah Wilke comments dryly, “It’s hard to know you’re being censored when you’re not in a museum to begin with.”  Howardena Pindell reflects on the challenges of coming up “both as a woman and a black person.”  “It was,” she said, “daunting.”  Yet these single voices eventually found that they were not alone, and melded into a sort of unison.  However, like any other forged alliance, there were disparate points of views and eventually major disagreements.

One element that united them was their alienation from the prevailing art current of the day, Minimalism, which promoted art as a higher form devoid of content.  It was what was being exhibited and taught academically.

For many women, it did not reflect the landscape.  Adrian Piper felt that against the backdrop of the Kent State killings and civil unrest, her work needed to be “more concrete and confrontational,” so she turned to performance art.  As Nazi refugee Rachel Rosenthal pointed out, “Women were able to enter the art structure through performance.”  Women’s bodies became the “tool” of the work.  Martha Rossler created Vital Statistics of a Citizen, Simply Obtained, which addressed women being measured and judged by individual parts, on both a concrete and a metaphorical level.

As the decade wore on, women began making art that echoed their reflections on identity.  Consciousness raising groups stirred up concerns, as well as anger, that had either been ignored or pushed down.  “The personal is political” became the credo.  Women saw that they were being excluded from even the anti-establishment shows.  Faith Ringgold called artists Robert Rauschenberg and Carl Andre to demand that 50 percent of an exhibit they were organizing reflect both women and artists of color.  In a humorous anecdote, Ringgold relates that at the time her group, WSABAL (Women Students and Artists for Black Art Liberation), was actually a party of two — herself and her daughter.

Like all revolutions, there were strong leaders, cults of personality, and fervent ideological differences that led to fractures.  Miriam Schapiro, who was based at CalArts in Los Angeles, invited Judy Chicago, who had started the first feminist art track at Fresno State College, to join her in implementing a feminist art program.  Together, they developed Womanhouse, a woman-only art installation and performance series launched in 1971. Soon after, we learn, they stopped speaking.

Chicago went on to co-found The Woman’s Building.  One of the testimonies in the documentary features Martha Wilson, relating her encounter with Chicago — which left her in tears.  When she responded to work Chicago was championing as “prescriptive,” an enraged Chicago replied, “Can’t you see what we’re trying to do here?”  It was the beginning of an ongoing dialogue about “who owns feminist art?”  Wilson moved to New York and established Franklin Furnace.  In tandem with the on the ground artistic activity, a range of feminist magazines such as Heresies and Chrysalis were launched, that examined and disseminated the movement’s work.

The film also targets the trajectory of women who began their careers from within the system, and went on to forge their own independent paths.  A case in point was Marcia Tucker. She became the first woman curator at the Whitney Museum — after undergoing a barrage of questions during her interview that today would be illegal.  When she found out that she was being paid $2,000 less per year than her male colleague, she pushed back by suggesting the story would be of interest to the New York City media.  After eight years, and without explanation, Tucker was fired when a new director came in.  She turned around, rented a space on Broadway within days, and set up The New Museum.  She said, “I took the model for the New Museum from feminism.”

By the 1980s, Reagan was president and the Equal Rights Amendment had been voted down in the Senate.  Five years into the decade, the artist Ana Mendieta died.  Married to the minimalist sculptor Carl Andre, she allegedly fell from the 34^th floor window of their apartment.  He was charged with second-degree murder, indicted three times, and acquitted in a 1988 non-jury trial.  Calls for justice in her death became a rallying point for the Women’s Art Coalition.

Throughout the movie, the issues of power and exclusion are a constant.  So is the subtext about diversity and if roles were open to women of color, lesbians, and the working class women who did not emanate from the predominately white, middle-class, and straight ranks.

Despite this rich history, the crop of newer feminist artists in the film note that, when they went to the library to research their predecessors, they found little to no documentation.

Yet 2007 became a watershed year for a reexamination of feminist art. The exhibitions Wack! Art and the Feminist Revolution on the west coast and Global Feminisms on the east coast, dovetailed with the opening of the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art — which is the permanent home of Chicago’s “Dinner Party.”

At this point, Hershman Leeson articulates, “I began to shoot this film forty years ago.  I’ve been waiting all this time for the right ending.”

The art continues.  The film provides history to those who were not present, and validation for those who participated in a groundbreaking period.  The Stanford University Special Collections Library has digitized the footage from the archive of the film, and it is accessible online.  The !WAR graphic novel written by Hershman Lesson, Alexandra Chowaniec, and cartoonist Spain, which includes a curriculum guide by Dr. Krista Lynes, Dr. Claire Daigle, and Dr. Fiona Summers, is a valuable supporting document.

With many national elected officials looking to rescind hard won reproductive rights, and global violence against women epidemic, a re-examination of the rocky road traveled in pursuit of gender equity could not be timelier.

Photo: Linda Eber. Courtesy of SPARC

This article originally appeared on AlterNet.

For Roberts, the questions started when he read a letter in a Northern Californian town newspaper.  It was written by Ken Kunde, who claimed to have witnessed a water-injected carburetor that gave drivers 100 miles per gallon.  On screen, Kunde relates the tale of a man who developed the concept and sold the patent to Shell Oil, making him a millionaire.  However, the sale came with a condition.  He could use the one that he had invented for his own use, but he could not produce any others.

This information sent Roberts and Wagener on a three-year exploration of other technologies that were also suppressed under suspect circumstances.  Prominent among them was Tom Ogle and his fuel system invention, the “vapor engine,” where two gallons of gas yielded 200 miles per gallon.  Ogle died mysteriously, and his “Oglemobile” disappeared.  But the question remained, why would oil companies want to suppress these innovations?

The filmmakers lay out the timeline and backstory on the birth of the American oil companies, which is essentially a narrative about John D. Rockefeller.  Understanding the benefit in consolidating companies, Rockefeller bought out smaller producers who were in financial trouble.  Often, he would “sweat a competitor,” a method that forced them to sell out.  Through moving into both refining and shipping, by 1899 his Standard Oil company had virtually gained total control of the industry.  Rockefeller’s assertion that his goal was a move toward stabilization was disputed in the first journalistic exposé of oil price fixing and predatory business practices in The History of the Standard Oil Company, written by Ida Tarbell in 1904.  In 1906, Standard Oil was accused of being a monopoly, and was broken up into twenty subsidiaries.  This yielded twenty regional monopolies, which become even richer.  Simple graphics show how the current international major companies referred to as the “Seven Sisters” were all direct descendents of Standard Oil.  With these insights, the viewer is better able to understand the larger picture.

Before the turn of the 20^th century, in 1893, Rudolf Diesel developed a fuel source based on peanut energy.  He said, “The use of vegetable oil for engine fuels may seem insignificant today.  But such oils may become, in the course of time, as important as petroleum.”  His demise is also shrouded in mystery, and his engine invention moved forward — using oil.

News footage traces American presidents expounding upon the need for energy independence.  It begins with Richard Nixon in 1974 telling the country, “We must provide for our own energy needs.”  It follows Ford and Jimmy Carter, who in 1980 stated, “Independence on foreign oil is a clear and present danger to our national security.”

Thirty-one years later, despite being aware of the political implications and understanding that if we use less petroleum there will be less pollution, the country has yet to address the problem.  Kriss Moller, Founder of ConservFuel, a platform to amplify the alternative fuel dialogue, observes dryly, “It’s going to take a tidal wave coming over Los Angeles for people to realize there’s a correlation [between the oil market and the factors of weather and politics].

Nothing speaks louder than the highlighted C-SPAN clips from the oil hearings on Capitol Hill, when the testifying executives who are earning salaries in the millions, refused to be sworn in under oath.  It is noted that the two Chairmen of the panel received a combined 1.5 million dollars from the coffers of the oil companies.  Rep. Joe Barton (R-TX) declared, “As long as I am Chairman, regulating global warming is off the table indefinitely.  I don’t want there to be any uncertainty about that.”  Barton would later make headlines in 2010 with his apology to BP CEO Tony Heyward.

The stats for campaign contributions on both sides of the aisle are astounding.  Since 1990, oil and gas companies have contributed $49,027,504 to Democrats and $150,588,788 to Republicans.  Despite these dismal numbers, there are those in the House and Senate who have been asking the hard questions about America’s addiction to oil, and looking for accountability.

Rep. Roscoe Bartlett (R-MD) has been a strong advocate for reducing American dependency on fossil fuels.  Rep. Anna Eshoo (D-CA) has served on the House Energy and Commerce Committee since 1995.  She explains, with an air of disappointment, that Congress is a “reactive rather than a pro-active body.”  She makes it clear that she is working on behalf of her constituents, and not the oil corporations.

“Bush and Cheney were way too close to the oil industry to give it the kind of scrutiny it needs,” suggests Sen. Tom Udall (D-NM).  Having served as New Mexico’s State Attorney General and as a Congressman, Udall wrote and passed legislation to establish a national renewable electricity standard.  He has served on the Committee on Environment and Public Works, and firmly believes that our national policy has been influenced by oil — pointing out that America produces 8 percent of the world’s supply to the Middle-East’s 66 percent.

Throughout the documentary, questions are put forth and examined.  They include:

• When crude went up 12 cents a gallon, why did gasoline elevate to 60 cents more a gallon?
• Where are the record profits coming from?
• How is the price of oil set? Are U.S. oil companies damaging the country’s economy with their prices?
• Do the oil and automobile industries work in collusion by having consumers believe that safety and fuel efficiency aren’t synonymous?
• What is the role of advertising in influencing the consumer?
• What’s the incentive for oil companies to embrace alternative fuel options?
• How do you get people to change their behavior to benefit the collective?

It should be noted that the filmmakers contacted Chevron and Shell for interviews.  They both declined.  Fear of retribution from the oil companies impacted Wagener and Roberts while they were in production and distribution.  People were afraid to speak on the record, and threats were made to potential sponsors of the film’s tour.

Roberts advocates for people to check out how their elected officials are voting on oil industry regulation, industry tax cuts, campaign contributors, and alternative fuel.

Once again, it comes down to the power and determination of the individual.

This article was written for the Moms Clean Air Force blog.

Image courtesy of HBO

The history of New York City is studded with stories of triumphs and tragedies, but perhaps none resonates more today than the horrific Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire which took place on March 25, 1911. The incident, which killed 146 people in 18 minutes (all but 17 were female), illuminates the issues of women’s empowerment, labor rights, and immigration — a potent stew that continues to trouble the country today.

In March, HBO is presenting the documentary “Triangle: Remembering the Fire,” directed by Marc Levin and Daphne Pinkerson.  The narrative is framed through interviews with descendents of those who had a personal involvement with the historical event.  This approach creates an emotive, rather than a clinical point of view.  The Executive Producer on the project, Sheila Nevins, President of HBO Documentary Films, lost a great-aunt in the fire.

The film begins with a montage of young women, primarily Jewish and Italian, who emigrated to America to flee poverty, famine, and persecution.  Surviving the rigors of ocean travel in steerage class, what awaited them were not “streets lined with gold.”  Rather, they found jobs for minimal pay with unregulated work conditions, often twelve to fourteen hours per day.

These women and young girls, working to help their families survive, took up seamstress employment in factories that had sprung up to fill the demand for the shirtwaist blouse.  The fashion trend combined a tailored shirt with an above the ankle skirt, affording women more freedom of movement in their dress.  Originally modeled on the man’s button-down shirt, it was a garment of clothing that liberated the modern woman.

Toiling in harsh surroundings, the work included sewing patterns and finishing buttonholes.  The job of clearing the floor of fabric scraps was assigned to the youngest girls.  The untenable working environment led to the general strike of September 1909.  Although women still did not have the vote, a force of 20,000 women demanded equitable labor conditions.  The nascent International Ladies Garment Workers Union (ILGWU) directed and organized.  They encouraged women to take to the streets, where they formed picket lines and stood their ground against hired hooligans — as well as the police, who roughly hauled them off to jail.

The owners of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, Max Blanck and Issac Harris, were also immigrants. Know as “The Shirtwaist Kings,” they had become financially successful.  A wide chasm separated their uptown luxurious lifestyle from that of their workers in the slums of the Lower East Side.  Susan Harris, the granddaughter of Max Blanck says without reserve, “From a personal point of view, I’m happy my grandfather didn’t have to go to jail.  From the victims’ and families’ point of view, if my daughter had died in the fire and he hadn’t been my grandfather, I probably would have shot him.”

The factory was in a new skyscraper, the Asch Building, located at the corner of Washington Place and Greene Street. It occupied the top three floors.  In these large loft spaces, machines were brought in to facilitate mass production. There was a fierce demand for faster output, due to the intense competition between manufacturers. The 9^th floor of the factory was packed with 300 machines and virtually no elbow room.  Workers were viewed as “cogs” in a wheel.  Despite their efforts, the women could not break the bosses of the Triangle factory, who were able to survive a 13-week industry-wide strike.  Few demands were met, and the women returned without union recognition.

On the Saturday of the fire, 500 workers punched their time cards for the final day of their week.  At 4:40 p.m. a fire broke out on the 8^th floor. A discarded cigarette may have been the origin.  Fabric and paper accelerated the flames.  The newly constructed Asch building should have been safe.  However, the stairways were only two and a half feet wide, the doors opened in, and there were no sprinklers — not yet a legal requirement. With no prior fire drills or contingency plans, panic ensued.

The switchboard operator contacted the 10^th floor, which housed the executives.  However, she neglected to alert the 9^th floor, and minutes of crucial time were lost.  With the Washington Place exit door locked to prevent potential pilferage, the next option was the window ledges.  Ladders brought by the fire department were too short, missing the 9^th floor by thirty feet.  On the street, 90 feet below, thousands of people watched in horror as workers chose to jump rather than be enveloped by flames.  They fell from the windows, hugging or holding hands.

As bodies piled up on the sidewalk, the seasoned New York City coroner wept.  Corpses were so badly burned they were difficult to identify.  One girl was able to recognize her mother from how she had plaited her hair that morning. Make shift coffins were brought to the scene; temporary morgues were set up on the East River near 26^th Street.

It is impossible not to draw a correlation between the 1911 tragedy and what transpired on 9/11.  The rawness of the archival photographs and witness descriptions speak volumes.  Ray Ott, a firefighter who was at the World Trade Center, creates a link when he speaks about his grandfather — a first responder on the Triangle Factory scene.

For the charred corpses that were not identifiable, the union wanted a public funeral.  The city refused, fearing they would become “martyrs to organized labor.”  In protest, 100,000 people held a requiem in the rain, marching in their own funeral procession through the streets, past the Asch building. 250,000 people showed up in support.

On April 11^th, Blanck and Harris were indicted for manslaughter.  At their trial, an all male jury deliberated less than two hours before finding them not guilty on all counts.  The owners made a substantial amount of money from their insurance policy, and resumed business.  Building inspectors and the legislature were called to task.

Yet, the fire became an effective catalyst. Out of the ashes, action was born.  Alfred E. Smith IV discussed how his great- grandfather, Governor Alfred E. Smith, evolved from looking out for those with money, to a reformative legislator.  Teaming with Robert Wagner on a commission appointed to investigate conditions around the disaster, they forged major changes through mandates for safety measures. Minimum wages, working hours restrictions, and unemployment support paved the way for Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal.  Also on the commission was Frances Perkins, the future Secretary of Labor for Roosevelt, who had been in the neighborhood the day of the fire.  She later said, “The New Deal started on March 25, 1911.

The movie clearly ties the fire and its lessons to contemporary topics. Bruce Raynor, president of Workers United/SEIU (descended from the ILGWU) stated flatly, “We face the same threats today.  Workers need to be protected, whether in Bangladesh or in Brooklyn.  Whether it’s an oil rig, a garment factory, or a coal mine.”  Labor historian Leigh Benin, who lost his 19-year-old cousin when she jumped from the building, reflected, “People forget the Triangle fire at their peril.  If people want to know what deregulated industry would look like, look at the bodies on the sidewalk outside the Triangle building.”

Workers’ rights at the turn of the 20^th Century and the connection to the Wisconsin public-employee union demonstrations are evident.  The filmmakers employ images of the BP Oil spill and recent mining fatalities to underscore the point that the push for profits over people remains fixed.

What is more subtle are the references to the class struggle that has always been the underbelly of the American dream.  The haves versus the have-nots; newly arrived immigrants struggling to claim a place in the national mosaic; divisions within ethnic groups between those who have made it and those who are fighting for a toehold.  Most of the women who died in the fire didn’t speak English and were adapting to their new environment.  Yet, they found the courage to demand equity in the new land that had held out so much promise.

The film concludes with a complete list of all the fire’s victims, including those previously unidentified bodies buried in the Evergreen Cemetery in Brooklyn.

It is a fitting remembrance for the centennial anniversary.

This article originally appeared on the website AlterNet.

Out of an 111 minute running time, the first half-hour is devoted to the account of a nation that was birthed in bloodshed.  There is a full primer on Benazir Bhutto’s father, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and the Pakistan People’s Party, which he founded on the platform of  “food, clothing, shelter.”  For Americans, who can be woefully ignorant of other nation’s narratives (even those we are seeking to engage in cooperation around the Afghanistan war), the lesson is welcome.

Pakistan, the sixth largest country in the world, has a population of 180 million people and is 97 percent Muslim. Approximately 60 percent of the citizens subsist on under $2 per day. There are 1,000 honor killings per year.  Since the death of Benazir Bhutto in 2007, there has been an average of three terrorist attacks each week.  The country has survived four military coups, and is in possession of 90 nuclear warheads.  After the 9/11 attacks, during the Bush administration, the United States funneled $15 billion in unchecked defense funds to Pakistan.  President Obama has since signed the Kerry-Lugar Bill, which provides $7.5 billion in civilian “non-military” aid to the people of Pakistan for health care, education, electricity, and infrastructure renewal.

Making an observation on the Bhutto family, which has frequently been referenced as the “Kennedys of Pakistan,” one of the film’s talking heads aptly states, “The whole story of the Bhuttos has the elements of a Greek tragedy.”  It is the interweaving of their personal history with that of Pakistan’s that creates the framework for the movie.

Bhutto was born in 1953.  Nobody came to visit her mother for three days; they were in mourning that she hadn’t given birth to a son.  She was given the first name Benazir, which means one-of-a-kind. Her father believed in equal rights for women.  When his daughter first donned the traditional burqa at age 13 he informed her mother, “There’s not a need for her to wear it.”  He saw education as being paramount, so Bhutto attended both Harvard and Oxford.  As the first democratically elected President of his country, Ali Bhutto groomed his daughter to carry on his political legacy.  This subtext of preference added to the ongoing struggles she had with brother Murtaza Bhutto.  They held distinctly different ideological and political points of view.  Later, this discord would extend to Bhutto’s husband, Asif Ali Zardari, and his role in the government.

While Bhutto was at university, she was exposed to the burgeoning women’s movement.  Her roommate at Harvard (interviewed in the film) was Kathleen Kennedy.  Bhutto learned how to straddle both the worlds of tradition and liberation.  Believing that she was on “a holy mission to bring democracy to her country,” she understood that in order to co-exist with the religious factions—and gain their support, she needed to abide by certain strictures of Pakistani society.  At the age of 34, she accepted an arranged marriage to Ali Zardari.  He was a Karachi businessman chosen by her mother, with no ties to the Pakistani intelligentsia. However, Bhutto said, “My mother picked him, but I fell in love with him as if I saw him across a crowded room.”  Despite these concessions, she believed that she had changed how Islamic men—and Islamic society—viewed Islamic women.  She wanted to show by example that “a woman could be as good as a man.”

Bhutto’s world was turned upside down when her father, then serving as Prime Minister, was overthrown in a military coup by his handpicked Chief of Army Staff, Gen. Mohammed Zia ul-Haq.  He was imprisoned for two years on charges of “conspiring to murder a political opponent.”  Bhutto was then 26.  It was the vigil for her father in prison that Bhutto credits as the training ground for her political career.  For two months before her father’s execution, when Zia had outlawed the speaking or printing of the “Bhutto” name, she and her mother were under house arrest.

Beginning in 1981, the next two decades included extreme highs and lows in Bhutto’s life.  After her two brothers were linked to the hijacking of a Pakistani airplane, she and her mother were included in a round up of political dissidents.  She spent months in solitary confinement before being transferred to house arrest.  She left the country in 1984.  The following year, her younger brother Shahnawaz Bhutto died in France, under mysterious circumstances. The family maintained that he had been poisoned.

In 1985, Bhutto returned to Pakistan to take up leadership of her father’s political party.  Eight months later, she persevered in calling for new elections, with the agenda of “bringing change to Pakistan through non-violent means.”  In December of 1988, at age 35, she was sworn into office as Prime Minister.  She took her oath using a Koran, to “debunk myths on the Jihadist views of Islam.”  She said, “I have avenged my father today.”

After twenty months in office, President Ghulam Ishaq Khan dismissed Bhutto’s government on the grounds of alleged corruption. Bhutto blamed the military. Continued jockeying for political power resulted in the People’s Pakistan Party recapturing a majority of seats in Parliament. In 1993, Bhutto regained the prime ministership. Her government was dismissed in 1996 by President Farooq Leghari, for corruption and “disregarding the constitutional limits on executive power.”  She was placed under house arrest. Her husband, who had served as investment and environment minister (and was derogatorily referred to by opponents as, “Mr. 10%”), was taken to prison. He was incarcerated for eleven years and released in 2004—without having been convicted of a crime.  Of that period she reflected, “We were in office, not in power.”

In 1996, Murtaza Bhutto was shot and killed in a gun battle with Karachi police. Her niece, Fatima Bhutto, is a vocal on-screen critic.  She explicitly states that her aunt “bears a moral responsibility” for her father’s murder.  Her unequivocal cynicism about Bhutto’s goals and actions were made clear in a Los Angeles Times article on November 14th, 2007, concurrent with her aunt’s return to Pakistan.

In exile and living in London, in 1999 Bhutto was sentenced to five years in prison on charges of corruption and barred from holding political office.  She denied the accusations.  Her children, speaking wistfully, said that while they lived in exile they spent more time with their mother than when she was in office.

An American-brokered deal with Gen. Perev Musharraf granted amnesty for Bhutto in October 2007.  All corruption charges were withdrawn.  Musharraf ran for President and Bhutto went back to Pakistan for the parliamentary elections.  Her message was that military rule was not the solution and that “she and democracy were a better choice.”  Knowing of the impending danger that faced her when she returned to Pakistan, Bhutto sent an e-mail to her long-time American advisor Mark Siegel, noting that Musharraf would be to blame if any harm befell her.

While participating as the leading opposition candidate in a political rally in Rawalpindi, she was killed in a suicide bomb attack and shooting.  In 2008, Musharraf resigned to avoid impeachment.  Bhutto’s husband was elected President of Pakistan the same year.  In 2009, he asked the United Nations to conduct an independent inquiry into his wife’s death.  On April 10, 2010, the results concluded that Musharraf’s government bore responsibility for her murder by “repeatedly rejecting basic security measures and intentionally destroying critical evidence.”

Interested in getting back-story on the film, I contacted Duane Baughman, the Producer/Director.   Speaking the day after the San Francisco premiere of Bhutto, he discussed the genesis of his film that had taken three years and $3 million of his own money to bring to fruition.

Baughman related his first awareness of Bhutto on the international stage in the 1980s, when he was immersed in political science. He said, “I was riveted by this woman who appeared to be straight out of Central Casting.”  Twenty-two years later, he found his work in the political sphere bringing him into impending contact with Bhutto, when Mark Siegel included him in a group of potential consultants for Bhutto to meet.  The introduction never took place.  After the assassination, Baughman felt strongly that Bhutto’s story needed to be told—particularly by a person who had a pronounced political understanding and could handle the overview of “an extremely complicated story.”  Siegel became the facilitator and conduit to the Bhutto family, as well as the producer on the movie.

Part of Baughman’s vision for the documentary was his commitment to shed light on Pakistan—a country that he sees “intrinsically intertwined” with America’s future.  He said emphatically, “If Pakistan succeeds, the United States succeeds.”

Commenting on the relationship between father and daughter, Baughman spoke about how in Ali Bhutto’s last year, Benazir Bhutto was his lifeline.  In turn, he was her “professor and tutor.”  Baughman quoted from Ali Bhutto’s A Letter from the Death Cell where he wrote of his daughter’s evolution: “She has the blood of warriors running in her veins.”

I asked Baughman what his take-away on Benazir Bhutto was.  He responded by e-mail, “She was the first woman in the world to rise up and lead a Muslim nation, and she gave her life for her country. The level of admiration and curiosity I have for her is wrapped up in this film. Like her or hate her, admire her or abhor her, she was a barrier breaker whose personal and family legacy is forever linked with Pakistan— and Pakistan is linked with America and the West. That makes her story one we should all be more aware of.”