Sunday, 12 May 2013

TINTIN

TINTIN
personagem criada pelo belga Georges Remi (1907 - 1983), mais conhecido como Hergé. Suas histórias em quadrinhos é motivo de preconeitos, racismos e colonialismos.









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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Adventures_of_Tintin

Controversy [edit]

The earliest stories in The Adventures of Tintin have been criticised[49][50] for both displaying animal cruelty as well as racial stereotypes, violent, colonialist, and even fascist leanings, including caricatured portrayals of non-Europeans (Ethnocentrism). While the Hergé Foundation has presented such criticism as naïveté,[51] and scholars of Hergé such as Harry Thompson have claimed that "Hergé did what he was told by the Abbé Wallez",[51] Hergé himself felt that his background made it impossible to avoid prejudice, stating that "I was fed the prejudices of the bourgeois society that surrounded me."[29]
In Tintin in the Land of the Soviets, the Bolsheviks were presented without exception as villains. Hergé drew on Moscow Unveiled, a work given to him by Wallez and authored by Joseph Douillet, the former Belgian consul in Russia, that is highly critical of the Soviet regime, although Hergé contextualised this by noting that in Belgium, at the time a devout Catholic nation, "Anything Bolshevik was atheist".[29] In the story, Bolshevik leaders are motivated only by personal greed and by a desire to deceive the world. Tintin discovers, buried, "the hideout where LeninTrotsky, and Stalin have collected together wealth stolen from the people". Hergé later dismissed the failings of this first story as "a transgression of my youth".[51] By 1999, some part of this presentation was being noted as far more reasonable, with British weekly newspaper The Economist declaring, "In retrospect, however, the land of hunger and tyranny painted by Hergé was uncannily accurate".[52]
Tintin in the Congo has been criticised as presenting the Africans as naïve and primitive. In the original work, Tintin is shown at a blackboard addressing a class of African children. "Mes chers amis," he says, "je vais vous parler aujourd'hui de votre patrie: La Belgique" ("My dear friends, I am going to talk to you today about your fatherland: Belgium"). Hergé redrew this in 1946 to show a lesson in mathematics.[53][54] Hergé later admitted the flaws in the original story, excusing it by saying, "I portrayed these Africans according to ... this purely paternalistic spirit of the time".[29] The perceived problems with this book were summarised by Sue Buswell in 1988[55] as being "all to do with rubbery lips and heaps of dead animals" although Thompson noted this quote may have been "taken out of context".[51] "Dead animals" refers to the fashion for big game hunting at the time of the work's original publication.
Drawing on André MauroisLes Silences du colonel Bramble, Hergé presents Tintin as a big-game hunter, accidentally killing fifteen antelope as opposed to the one needed for the evening meal. However, concerns over the number of dead animals did lead the Scandinavian publishers of Tintin's adventures to request changes. A page which presented Tintin killing a rhinoceros by drilling a hole in the animal's back and inserting a stick of dynamite was deemed excessive, and Hergé substituted a page in which the rhino accidentally discharges Tintin's rifle while he slept under a tree.[37] In 2007 the UK's Commission for Racial Equality called for the book to be pulled from the shelves after a complaint, stating that "it beggars belief that in this day and age that any shop would think it acceptable to sell and display 'Tintin In The Congo'."[56][57] In August 2007, a complaint was filed in Brussels, Belgium, by a Congolese student, claiming the book was an insult to the Congolese people. Public prosecutors are investigating, however, Belgium's Centre for Equal Opportunities warned against "over-reaction and hyper political correctness".[58]
Some of the early albums were altered by Hergé in subsequent editions, usually at the demand of publishers. For example, at the instigation of his American publishers, many of the black characters inTintin in America were re-coloured to make their race white or ambiguous.[59] The Shooting Star originally had an American villain with the Jewish surname of "Blumenstein". This proved to be controversial, as the character exhibited exaggerated stereotypically Jewish characteristics. "Blumenstein" was changed to an American with a less ethnically specific name, Mr. Bohlwinkel, in later editions and subsequently to a South American of a fictional country – São Rico. Hergé later discovered that 'Bohlwinkel' was also a Jewish name.[26]


TINTIN
filme dirigido pelo Spielberg - 2011
Secret of the Unicorn


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Mia Couto & Sebastião Salgado

dobras visuais
http://www.dobrasvisuais.com.br/2013/05/o-que-e-fotografia-mia-couto-vi/


O que é fotografia? | Mia Couto VI


Sebastião Salgado: Genesis, Zambia, 2010.
“- Vou fazer uma reportagem da caçada, fui contratado pela mesma empresa que o contratou a si.
- Tenho certeza de que vai gostar. E os leões vão gostar de saber que a morte deles merece uma reportagem.
É a primeira vez que vou participar numa caçada. Devo dizer, sem ofensa, que sou contra.
- Contra o quê?
- Contra as caçadas. Ainda por cima tratando-se de leões.
- O problema, caro escritor, é que você nunca viu um leão.
- Como nunca viu?
- Viu leões em safaris fotográficos, mas você não sabe o que é um leão. O leão só se revela, em verdade, no território em que ele é rei e senhor. Venha comigo a pé pelo mato e saberá o que é um leão. (…)
Henrique Baleiro cumpria o resto do ritual: invariavelmente, metia a carta num envelope que humedecia nos lábios e que depois guardava na mala de viagem. Transportava aquelas cartas para as demoradas caçadas. Levava também uma fotografia desfocada de Martina.
- Está assim, sem foco, para os outros verem, mas não olharem demais. (…)

Sebastião Salgado: Genesis, Congo, 2004.

Sebastião Salgado: Genesis, Botswana, 2007.
Aqueles que matamos, por mais estranhos e inimigos que sejam, tornam-se nossos parentes para sempre. Nunca mais se retiram, permanecem mais presentes que os vivos. (…)
Sou um caçador. Eu não mato, eu caço. (…)
O escritor segue atrás de mim, de máquina fotográfica a tiracolo. (…) Os aldeões suspendem a cerimônia, em silêncio, observam-nos com animosidade. Está patente no olhar que nos lançam: somos intrusos, estamos contaminando o momento. De imediato, o escritor percebe que está fora de questão tirar fotografias. (…)
Então percebo: aqueles caçadores já não são gente. São leões. Aqueles homens são os próprios animais que pretendem caçar. Aquela praça apenas confirma: a caça é uma feitiçaria, a última das autorizadas feitiçarias. (…)
Extasiado, o escritor comenta:
- Espetáculo inesquecível! Uma exibição telúrica, que pena não ter podido fotografar! (…)
Sabia que o pisteiro e a leoa morreram abraçados, como se os dois se reconhecessem, íntimos parentes.
- Tivemos que separar os corpos, com muito custo. Aquilo parecia um parto às avessas. Dizem que o escritor até chorou. Nem conseguiu fotografar. (…)
Máquina fotográfica balançando no peito, o escritor segue atrás de mim. Os espinhos roçam-me as pernas e os braços. Um rastro de sangue é a minha herança. Sou um caçador que sangra mais do que a vítima. (…)
A leoa tinha sido morta junto à estrada. A esta hora já fora conduzida para a aldeia onde iria ser exibida como uma prova do êxito da caçada. Restava o macho, que se apresentava imponente. Por esta razão, o administrador pediu que se fotografasse não a leoa mas o leão: a imagem renderia mais nos noticiários da nação. (…)
- Fotografe-me a mim, junto com o troféu – insiste o administrador. (…)
Não é matar que me fascina. É esse encontro com o esquivo milagre, o fugaz e irrepetível momento.”
Mia Couto em A confissão da leoa [São Paulo: Companhia das Letras, 2012].
Para conhecer mais: Sebastião Salgado: Genesis.
No Dobras:
O que é fotografia? | Mia Couto: I – II – III – IV – V.

Sebastião Salgado: Genesis, Galápagos, 2007.
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BOAVENTURA DE SOUSA SANTOS E ANTIMARXISMO


Marcelo Paula de Melo
BOAVENTURA DE SOUSA SANTOS E ANTIMARXISMO: algumas notas
Revista HISTEDBR On-line, Campinas, n.39, p. 297-315, set.2010 - ISSN: 1676-2584


"Stairways of Kandy Temple, Ceylon",
oil on canvas, 100 x 86 cm.
Signed T.F.Šimon
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descolonizate



:)



colonialismo - Edgardo Lander



Edgardo Lander (Org.)
A colonialidade do saber: eurocentrismo e ciências sociais
Perspectivas latino-americanas
Colección Sur Sur, CLACSO, Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires, Argentina, setembro 2005.






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‘Algerian Chronicles,’ by Albert Camus

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/12/books/review/algerian-chronicles-by-albert-camus.html?pagewanted=all&_r=1&


The Postcolonial

‘Algerian Chronicles,’ by Albert Camus

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Albert Camus was that rare writer who enjoyed a celebrity usually reserved for rock stars, even while being taken very seriously as an artist and a public intellectual. His first novel, “The Stranger,” published in 1942 when he was 29, made him famous; after that came more novels, plays, lyrical essays, short stories, two major philosophical works (“The Myth of Sisyphus” and “The Rebel”), and countless newspaper articles, editorials and political commentaries. In 1957, at age 44, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature, the second-youngest writer ever to receive the prize (after Rud­yard Kipling). Less than three years later, in January 1960, he was killed in a car crash; people the world over mourned.
Kurt Hutton/Getty Images
Albert Camus

ALGERIAN CHRONICLES

By Albert Camus
Translated by Arthur Goldhammer
Edited by Alice Kaplan
224 pp. The Belknap Press/Harvard University Press. $21.95.
Camus was born in Algeria in 1913, into a poor French family that had settled in the colony generations earlier. His father, an employee at a winery, was drafted at the outbreak of World War I and died soon after. His mother, deaf and illiterate, supported her two sons by cleaning houses. (Camus draws a loving portrait of her in his unfinished autobiographical novel, “The First Man,” published in 1994.) Although he never lived in Algeria after 1942, he returned there regularly to visit his family. He maintained warm friendships with childhood friends and cordial relations with a number of Arab intellectuals.
When the Algerian war for independence broke out in 1954, Camus was devastated. For years he had voiced strong criticism of French colonial policy in Algeria, and was forced to leave the country in 1940 after the authorities shut down the newspaper where he had published his most critical articles. He considered himself Algerian. In 1954, one million French citizens lived in Algeria, three-quarters of them born there. Even the poorest of them enjoyed privileges not extended to the nine million Arabs and Berbers who also lived there, often in horrifying poverty, as Camus had shown in his 1939 series of articles on “The Misery of Kabylia.” With other left-leaning intellectuals, Camus argued for economic and political reforms; in the 1940s he supported the Arab leader Ferhat Abbas, who called for political representation for Algeria’s Muslims in a federation with France. When even such modest proposals were scuttled by hard-line French settlers and the French government, power among Arabs shifted to the independence movement, which had concluded that only violence could make the French budge. The bloody war that ensued lasted eight years; terrorism and brutal repression — including the torture of militants by the French Army — reinforced each other in a deadly cycle. Even a regime change in France, with Charles de Gaulle returning as president of the Fifth Republic in 1958, could not stop the bleeding for another four years.
Camus was caught in the middle: a passionate believer in justice for all, he supported Arab aspirations for political rights but could not give up his own love of, and claim to, Algeria. Above all, he felt outrage and horror at the blood being shed on both sides. In 1955, when Arab moderates were still calling for dialogue, Camus’s friend Aziz Kessous, a socialist close to Ferhat Abbas, asked him to write in support of a newspaper he had founded. Camus responded with his “Letter to an Algerian Militant,” printed on the front page of the first issue. This text, heartbreaking in many ways, shows both Camus’s hopeful vision for the country and his growing awareness that it was becoming unrealizable.
Just weeks before, on Aug. 20, a new ­escalation had occurred: Arab guerrillas in the north attacked and killed French settlers, along with some Muslim civilians; the army responded by massacring thousands of Arabs. Camus begins his letter by roundly condemning the massacre, which has put him “on the edge of despair.” He continues, “You and I, who are so alike, who share the same culture and the same hopes, who have been brothers for so long . . . know that we are not enemies.” Yet this hopeful note is soon followed by a negative one: “I know from experience that to say these things today is to venture into a no man’s land between hostile armies. It is to preach the folly of war as bullets fly.”
This letter was included in Camus’s “Chroniques algériennes,” a selection of texts, mostly newspaper articles, written over a period of 20 years and published in 1958, shortly after de Gaulle’s return to power. It was the last book Camus published in his lifetime, and it appears now in its entirety for the first time in English, expertly translated by Arthur Goldhammer. The editor, Alice Kaplan, has added six texts to Camus’s original selection in an appendix, to further illuminate Camus’s relation to Algeria. (I wish, though, there were a few more editorial notes to give readers background information. Camus’s allusions to contemporary events like the August 1955 massacre were obvious to most of his French readers in 1958 but not to English speakers today.)
As the writings in “Algerian Chronicles” make clear, Camus’s position in “no man’s land” left him increasingly isolated: hated by the right for his condemnation of government policies, scorned by the left for his inability to imagine an independent Algeria from which the French would be absent.
Kaplan’s introduction traces the evolution of Camus’s positions on the Algerian conflict, as well as the ups and downs of critics’ judgments of them. While Camus’s first readers saw him as a philosopher concerned with universal questions of human existence, some influential critics writing after the 1970s considered him a typical pied noir (the usual, sometimes pejorative designation for French people from Algeria), whose works present a colonialist perspective. In recent years, however, the pendulum has swung back; Kaplan notes that the bloody civil war of the 1990s in Algeria has made many Algerian intellectuals appreciate Camus’s steadfast rejection of violence, even when it is committed in the name of high principles. Obviously, this does not apply only to Algeria.
Some of the most memorable pages here restate an argument Camus had already developed at length in “The Rebel”: not all means are acceptable, even when employed for noble ends; terrorism and torture destroy the very goals they are supposed to serve. This position was criticized as “idealist” (it was the reason for the famous break with Sartre), but Camus sticks to it — admirably, in my opinion: “Although it is historically true that values such as the nation and humanity cannot survive unless one fights for them, fighting alone cannot justify them (nor can force). The fight must itself be justified, and explained, in terms of values.”
Even more eloquent, perhaps, are his remarks on the responsibility of intellectuals in times of hatred: “It is to explain the meaning of words in such a way as to sober minds and calm fanaticisms.” Great writer that he was, Camus placed hope in the calming power of language carefully used, and of reason; in the preface, he asks his readers to “set their ideological reflexes aside for a moment and just think.”
And that, of course, is the best reason for reading these articles today. Algeria never did become the peaceful federation Camus dreamed of, where pieds noirs and Arabs, Berbers and Jews lived together. As Kap­lan points out, we cannot know how he would have reacted to the final years of the war, or to the independence that followed. We do know that his ethical positions are still meaningful, worldwide.
Susan Rubin Suleiman, a professor of French and comparative literature at Harvard, is the author of “Crises of Memory and the Second World War” and co-editor of “French Global: A New Approach to Literary History,” among other books.

Saturday, 11 May 2013

MIA COUTO "Contos do nascer da terra"


O mundo necessita ser visto sob outra luz: 
a luz do luar
essa claridade que cai 
com respeito e delicadeza.
Só o luar revela o lado feminino dos seres .
Só a lua revela revela intimidade 
da nossa morada terrestre.

MIA COUTO
"Contos do nascer da terra"

 Luas, de Angela Felipe

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