seeking refuge…

Imagine you’re an 16 year-old young man from Afghanistan.
Imagine the horrendous ordeals you’ve suffered during the course of your short life after fleeing the extremely volatile and hazardous circumstances that confronted you in your homeland and on your frightening journey to the UK.
Imagine being left hugely traumatised and mentally scarred by your experiences.
Imagine being left feeling afraid that there are still people ‘out there’ that are seeking to harm you further and that your life is in danger.
Imagine yourself as a very vulnerable young man who needs support.
Imagine that the war has left you with absolutely no living relatives and that you’re completely alone in this world.

The young man is now aged 20 living in Bristol (at least for the time being) and, for the past nine months, he and I have been meeting together perhaps 3-4 times a month.

He’s personable and shy. He’s become a good friend. We share a love of cricket and I’ve endeavoured to assist him with matters such as his college language course; his consultations with his doctor/hospital appointments; providing additional help and support with the excellent Bristol Refugee Rights people; plus various issues regarding his accommodation. He clearly needs support and encouragement.
He’s also an asylum-seeker.

Although I have strong feelings about our country’s responsibilities towards refugees, this is NOT intended to be a blog post to persuade you to ‘join a crusade’ or anything like. I simply want to paint a picture of what life is like for some of these refugees and ask you to reflect on this.

This young man (we’ll call him Khan) has been in the UK for the past 18 months. Khan lives in a shared house with other individuals who find themselves in the same predicament. Khan lives a pretty primitive life, eating simply, trying to learn the language (and doing well at this)… but at least he has a roof over his head (for which he’s very grateful).

As an asylum-seeker, Khan has previously attended a formal Asylum-Seeker Hearing (in Cardiff) to secure refugee status. This hearing, conducted by the Home Office, apparently lasted three-and-a-half hours and involved 118 questions (Khan has shown me the papers verifying his answers).

His application was duly denied by the Home Office.
(note: according to Google, more than 60% of applications are denied)

So, today, I drove Khan to his Asylum-Seeker Appeal Hearing in Newport - junction 24 of the M4 (in my car-club car)… the alternative was train from Bristol to Newport, followed by a 5 minute walk, a 15 minute bus ride, and then a 20 walk at the other end… not too easy if you’re an asylum-seeker with very limited funds and little knowledge of ‘how things work’ in this country.

His appointment was set for 10am… but it was then explained to us that “everyone has a 10am appointment” (which, for some, meant a wait of up to 6 hours!). Fortunately, he was ‘on second’ – which involved a wait of only some 100 minutes. I was there for moral-support and, although the barrister said I’d be allowed into the Hearing, I wouldn’t be able to speak or contribute in any way. In event (based on the barrister’s advice), I sat in the waiting room. Khan’s solicitor (who had prepared the necessary papers) was unable to attend due to ‘other work commitments’, so Khan’s case was presented by a barrister who he’d met for the first time just 10 minutes before the scheduled start of the Appeal Hearing. Although, to my mind, this seemed unreasonable, the barrister was absolutely fine – polite, understanding and helpful. There was also an interpreter provided to assist during the Hearing.

The Appeal Hearing lasted nearly an hour and a half (the Home Office produces the case against the asylum-seeker and the Barrister acts on behalf of appellant). 

The judge will make his (in this case) decision known within 2 or 3 weeks. Both parties have a right to Appeal the Appeal decision.
I was left with a strong sense, maybe unfairly, that the Home Office is determined (obliged even?) to make the case against the vast majority of asylum-seekers… but it also left me wondering if the judge had a ‘quota or prescribed percentage’ of cases that he was allowed to grant?
On the positive side, I must stress that it’s been good to see the support that asylum-seekers like Khan do receive (legal advice, health care, language tuition, accommodation etc).

However, I was very conscious that this wasn’t just a legal case. This was actually determining an individual’s future… and it all felt very scary… especially if you’re a lonely 20 year-old who’s trying to find his way in a cruel, cruel world.

So, now imagine being in the shoes of my friend Khan… now living in the knowledge that your future is being determined by a judge… and that, within a few months, you could be returned to Afghanistan – a country from which you narrowly escaped with your life.

official secrets…

I went to the Watershed again this morning(!) to see Gavin Hood’s “true-story thriller” about Katharine Gun (convincingly played by Keira Knightly), the British secret service whistleblower who tried to stop the Iraq War. In 2003, on the eve of the UK-US invasion of Iraq, Gun (who was working at GCHQ) intercepted communications that revealed the UK was being asked to spy on UN Security Council Members to help influence votes sanctioning the invasion.
This came as a shocking revelation to Gun. She was fully aware of her legal responsibilities towards her employer (she’d signed the Official Secrets Act) and also the risks to her own family’s security (her husband was a Muslim immigrant awaiting permanent residency status). As a government employee, is it ever right to leak state secrets? When is such a thing in the national interests? War would inevitably bring huge loss of life…
What should she do?
Well, of course, she decided to leak the document. Surely, you remember?
The Guardian newspaper subsequently published the story (risking prosecution themselves) … and, somewhat predictably, Katharine Gun was duly arrested and charged with breaking the Official Secrets Act (as an interesting, disturbing aside, she was also advised that taking legal advice would be against Official Secrets Act!).

Yes, I know it’s all about stuff that relates back to events that took place 16 years ago… but, for me, it marked the time I stopped believing that we could trust a UK government (of any political persuasion) ever again. I was one of the huge number of people who took part in the Anti-War march in February 2003.

I had written to Tony Blair on 25 January 2003 expressing my “very deep concern” about his government’s “apparent commitment to go to war against Iraq”. In my letter, I told him that:
“I feel a real sense of unease at recent developments and your Government’s handling of the situation.  I would seriously question the morality and legality of war against Iraq at the present time and would urge that force should be considered only as a last resort - and, crucially, ONLY with UN support”.
Initially, in January 2003, the attorney general Lord Goldsmith advised Blair that war would not be legal but, “after he’d met with White House officials”, he changed his mind and, ultimately, Blair decided to ignore public opinion and his attorney general’s initial legal advice (despite the Cabinet not having been told of the attorney general’s initial legal opinion).

Gun was duly brought to trial in February 2004. She pleaded ‘not guilty’ saying in her defence that she had acted to prevent imminent loss of life in a war she considered illegal (numbers of reported deaths vary widely, but they're certainly in excess of half a million). If she’d have pleaded ‘guilty’, she’d have faced a prison sentence and the case would have been soon forgotten… In the event, she pleaded ‘not guilty’ and, within half an hour, the prosecution team declined to offer evidence and the case was dropped. The day before the trial, Gun's defence team had asked the government for any records of legal advice about the lawfulness of the war that it had received during the run-up to the war. A full trial might well have exposed any such documents to public scrutiny… and, as a result, led to the war being declared unlawful (and an investigation into possible war crimes?). To my mind, the subsequent Chilcot Inquiry represented something of a whitewash and left a very bitter taste in one’s mouth (well, my mouth!).

I think the Iraq War represented a turning point in the public’s trust (or lack of it) in politicians (ok, I know that Thatcher also “stretched the truth” about certain aspects of the Falklands War!) – certainly here in the UK, but also across the world. Now, with Brexit, Trump, social media (and media) manipulation and the like, I think many of us feel that we can do very little individually to influence political thinking and affect the election of governments.

There was a wonderful line in the film (voiced by Gun) which produced smirks of approval from today’s audience: “Just because you are prime minister that doesn’t mean that you’re allowed to make things up”. Damn right (and still VERY relevant today!)!
It’s a very good, powerful film. It’s not utterly brilliant cinema, but it DOES remind us of this important story. I think you ought to see it. It reminded me just how angry I felt at the time (and how angry I STILL feel). The duplicity. The injustice. The deception. The lies…
Who Do They Think We Are?
PS: In 2003, I also sent a copy of my letter to Blair to a) all members of the cabinet, b) Mr Iain Duncan Smith, Leader of the Opposition, c) Charles Kennedy, LibDems Leader and d) a certain Boris Johnson, our ineffective, bumbling MP!

bristol metropolitan orchestra at st george’s (again)

I went along to St George’s, Bristol last night to see/hear the Bristol Metropolitan Orchestra perform a programme of three pieces: Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’; Stravinsky’s ‘The Firebird Suite’ and Louise Farrenc’s ‘Overture in E minor, Op 23’.

This was the third time I’d heard the BMO perform (conductor: Michael Cobb). None of the orchestra’s players is a professional musician (they have diverse working backgrounds – including anaesthetists, paediatric nurses, engineers and IT developers), but the quality of their playing is consistently excellent.

Last night’s programme was ideal for my taste: I was very familiar with ‘Firebird’ (or, at least, so I thought… but, during the course of the evening, realised that there were quite large chunks that I’d forgotten!); I knew nothing about the little known (to me) female composer Farrenc – but am always ‘up’ for listening to something new (I wasn’t disappointed); and the Cello Concerto is one of my very favourite pieces of classical music.

The soloist for the Elgar piece was British cellist Ariana Kashefi (I think she’s just 29 years old). I’d never heard of her before last night, but my good friend Ed Kay (himself a member of BMO) had known her for more than 10 years and assured me (with a glint in his eye) that she was ‘very, very good’.
And so it proved… but for ‘very, very good’ read ‘absolutely amazing’!

Kashefi was simply outstanding. Within the first 10 seconds, you just KNEW that you were in for a huge treat! I’m no connoisseur, but she seemed to have ‘everything’ in terms of musical gifts. Her performance was electrifying – commanding (and yet incredibly sensitive); arrogant (and yet completely captivating and self-contained); and all done with wonderful, natural musical technique and skill.

Kashefi’s performance was utterly mesmerising.
This may sound ridiculous (who me?), but the Elgar piece actually brought tears to my eyes. It was so, SO beautiful. It made me recall that the last time I had seen/listened to the ‘Cello Concerto’ played ‘live’ had been when I’d attended a special concert at St Hilda’s College, Oxford (I designed some student apartments for the College in Stockmore Street, Oxford during my time working for The Oxford Architects Partnership). That was some 45 years ago(!) and, strange as it may seem, it made me wonder if I would ever again witness hearing/seeing the piece performed ‘live’ again in my lifetime.
Anyway, the evening was a bit special and the BMO are definitely worth following (their next concert will be Sunday 22 March at St George’s – featuring works by Beethoven and Liszt).
PS: The world-famous cellist Jacqueline Du Pré was an Honorary Fellow at St Hilda’s College. She was forced to stop performing in 1973, due to Multiple Sclerosis, and died in 1987, aged 42. The Jacqueline Du Pré Music Building was subsequently built in Oxford and opened in 1995 (St Hilda’s had been one of the joint fundraisers).
PPS: As an encore, Ariana Kashefi performed a short piece entitled “Song of the Birds” - a traditional Catalan Christmas song and lullaby. The song was made famous outside Catalonia by Pablo Casals' instrumental version on the cello. After his exile in 1939, he would begin each of his concerts by playing this song. Kashefi played it superbly… and I cried again (I know!). This YouTube recording doesn’t quite do it justice (IMHO), but it’ll give you a sense of Kashefi’s musical ability.

the irishman…

Went to the Watershed (for the second time in three days!) to see Martin Scorsese’s “The Irishman” film – featuring Robert De Niro, Al Pacino and Joe Pesci.
Before I start, I think I should warn you that the film lasts three-and-a-half hours - that’s the equivalent of watching the FA Cup Final TWICE… plus extra time!

But there were an impressive number of people at the Watershed’s first screening of the film – and perhaps, even more impressive (in my view), that I think only two people had to get up and find the loo!

As you may know, the film is a return to Scorsese’s ‘gangster genre’. The film’s background is the unsolved murder of Jimmy Hoffa (played brilliantly by Pacino), the labour leader and infamous head of the powerful Teamsters Union, whose connections with organised crime were wide-ranging. His career ended with a conviction for jury tampering, attempted bribery and fraud (they failed to ‘pin’ any murder charges on him). Although he was pardoned by President Nixon (who he just happened to support financially) in 1971, he ‘disappeared’ soon after… and was declared legally dead in 1982.

As one might expect, there are several theories about Hoffa’s death, but perhaps the most convincing version is the one told by Frank ‘The Irishman’ Sheeran (again, brilliantly played by De Niro) in an account he revealed to a journalist… and this forms the basis of the film… and is presented through Sheeran’s memories of his own criminal past.

The story covers four decades and the ‘stars’ all play their characters at each stage of their lives. To do this (and I can assure you, it was done incredibly convincingly!), the film uses astonishing post-production, state-of-the-art visual effects to ‘de-age’ the cast from their 70s through to their 30s (the Watershed’s programme notes refer to it as ‘youthification’!)(I’m looking for a cheap alternative at our local “Boot’s”!).
It’s brilliantly filmed (and acted – Joe Pesci makes a very convincing Russell Bufalino – ruler of the infamous Bufalino crime family from 1959 to 1989)… and there are wonderful sets, cars and a perfect soundtrack featuring music to suit the period (including Fats Domino, Johnny Ray, Smiley Lewis, The Five Satins and Glenn Miller).
As ridiculous as this might seem, the three-and-a-half-hours just flew by… I found myself completely sucked into the compelling storyline… threat, power, guilt, remorse and the trappings of success.
It’s a brilliant film… you should definitely try to see it.

meeting gorbachev…

Last month, I watched an excellent television documentary on Bruce Chatwin, directed and presented by Werner Herzog. So, when I discovered that the Watershed were showing a documentary on former Soviet head of state Mikhail Gorbachev by Herzog (and André Singer), I felt I should see it.
I wasn’t disappointed.
Despite the slight ‘clunkiness’ of the interviews (due to delays in translation etc), it proved to be a fascinating reminder of a crucial time in world history, when Gorbachev – as the last leader of the Soviet Union – created and directed the country’s perestroika and glasnost reforms. Gorbachev (who’s now 88 years old) served as head of state from 1985 until 1991 and, by the early 1990s, was instrumental in leading the country towards social democracy. He brought unprecedented openness to government, put nuclear disarmament on the international agenda and allowed Eastern Europe to escape the stranglehold of Moscow.
In spite their massive political differences, Gorbachev achieved unlikely, but hugely important relationships/dialogues with Western leaders (eg. Reagan, George HW Bush, Kohl and Thatcher) – including striking landmark nuclear arms control agreements. He was far more respected abroad than he was at home (where many Russians apparently continue to blame him for the break-up of the Soviet Union). You will no doubt recall that, in late 1991, he was “ousted and the dismantling of empire fell into less scrupulous hands” (in the words of the Watershed’s blub)… a certain politician by the name of Boris (Yelsin, in this instance) comes to mind!
The film describes Gorbachev’s rural upbringing (born of peasant parents), his brilliant youth and his improbable rise from the provinces to the centre of Soviet political life… and his wife Raisa (who he clearly adored).

It’s a moving portrait of Gorbachev’s humanity (his triumphs, hopes and regrets) and his profound historical impact (and an important examination of the decline of the Soviet Union and the Iron Curtain). The story is also something of a political tragedy – trying to change a system and integrate it with the West. In Gorbachev’s words: “We wanted to have democracy in our country, and we made progress in that. But we didn’t get to finish the job, as certain forces took control of state power and property. These forces didn’t want democracy; it didn’t suit them”.

But, for me, I think the most powerful quality that came across was Gorbachev’s statesmanship… something which, given the attitudes of many of the current world leaders (no names!), is sadly lacking in this 21^st century world – where ‘power politics’, ego and personal ambition seem to matter far more.
Well worth seeing – if only as an alternative to following the depressing daily claims and counter-claims of our current General Election campaign!

army cadet corps… and remembrance

I was in town first thing yesterday morning… I was outside our city centre church (Saint Stephen’s), just a stone’s throw from the crowds gathering for the Remembrance Service at the Cenotaph. An army officer rode past on a white horse… and it immediately took me back to my school days at Handsworth Grammar in Birmingham.

Each year, the school’s cadet corps had a large parade – they marched (complete with a full band of drummers and buglers) from the school to the sports ground off Wood Lane, two miles away… and they were always led by the Divinity master (and Army officer, of course!) who rode a huge white horse.
Our school was ‘big’ on the Army Cadet Corps… it had its own fully-equipped armoury on school premises (complete with rifles, bayonets and bullets!) and its own firing range (set up next to the woodwork block!). The firing range consisted of a high brick wall, with battered earth in front to house the targets. We used the firing range as one of our playground ‘goalmouths’, of course!
There was something of an expectation for all boys to sign up for the Cadet Corps and I think most did. But NOT our Form. I was in the ‘Remove Stream’ at school – we were in the ‘fast stream’ earmarked to take our ‘O’ Levels in 4 years instead of 5. When it came to the time for signing up (in 1962/63, when we were perhaps 14 years old?), absolutely NO ONE in our class volunteered to ‘join up’. The assigned ‘Cadet Corps Masters’ were incredulous… “never in the history of the school has this ever happened” (or words to that effect). I recall the ‘Top Dog’ Corps Master coming to lecture us… it was our DUTY… we were the school’s future Cadet Corps OFFICERS for goodness sake (implying that, as the ‘bright’ ones, we were required to pull the others ‘into shape’). It had absolutely no effect… none of us joined up. It’s something I look back on with a certain pride… you might think our actions were inappropriate, unwarranted or misguided but, like the climate change school pupils of today, I think we were making our own small statement… and, naïve as it might be, I’m very pleased that we did.
Why was this?
Well, I think we were making a collective statement. I don’t think it happened because we’d got together to discuss whether or not we should join the ‘Corps’. I think it was just a gut feeling that a number of us had and others joined as things developed.

Crucially, I think it was our instinctive reaction to the Cuban Missile Crisis (16-28 October 1962).

People forget what an incredibly frightening time it was. To many of us, it felt as if we were on the brink of a nuclear war. I can still recall a recurring nightmare I used to have… watching a nuclear bomb falling from the sky from red aeroplane flying above our house. I can also recall pupils at school (me included) having conversations with masters and asking them what was the point of us learning stuff if we’re all going to die!
I have huge respect for those who have fought for their countries in wars, but I also despair for the innocent victims. I think it’s vitally important that we remember those millions who have died fighting these wars. Each year I wear my poppy… but, like you no doubt, I long for a world without conflict… and, instinctively, I’m in favour of nuclear disarmament. I think the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 coloured my thinking about conflict… and has continued to do so for the past 55 years or so.

october/november 2019 books…

Red Snow (Will Dean): My second Dean book featuring Tuva Moodyson, a reporter on the local newspaper in a small Swedish town of Gavrik (the first novel was ‘Dark Pines’). Two bodies: one suicide, one murder. Tuva is about to move south to a new job and has just two weeks to help track down a killer. Gavrik feels a bit like the Swedish equivalent of a ‘Midsomer Murders’ location and Tuva seems to have the gift of helping to solve crimes in the way that ‘Silent Witness’ renders the police force entirely superfluous! Actually, this is another extremely good ‘thriller’ – a real page-turner (all 394 pages of it). I love the Tuva character and thought the plot was intriguing (and clever)… and, blow me down, I’ve just discovered that there’s a third book in the series (Black River)!
Survive The Savage Sea (Dougal Robertson): This book, first published in 1973 (a year after the events took place), is quite remarkable for two reasons: a) it tells the story of how four adults and two children survived in a remote part of the Pacific Ocean in a rubber raft, a 9ft fibreglass dingy, emergency rations, water for 3 days and no maps for 38 days, and b) that one of the adults was my great mate Robin! The Robertson family had lived on an upland dairy farm in North Staffordshire; life was tough, with constant financial struggles. On a whim, they decided to sail around the world (father Dougal had served with the Merchant Marine) in a 43 foot schooner. 22 year-old Robin (economics/statistics graduate with no sailing experience) joined them as an extra crew member/hitchhiker in Panama for the voyage to New Zealand. Sailing west from the Galapagos Islands their schooner was sunk by a pod of some 20 killer whales. With no advance warning (obviously!), they were forced to abandon ship and take ‘refuge’ on their raft, tugging a 9ft dingy and with only salvaged pieces of flotsam to assist them (indeed, after 17 days, they were forced to abandon the raft altogether and to survive in just their 9ft dingy in dangerous, shark-infested waters and at the mercy of the elements!). Their ingenuity was quite extraordinary – they ate raw fish and turtles; drank rainwater or turtle blood; they improvised using what meagre pieces of material and equipment they could utilise; and, somehow, they were able to ‘live’ within their ridiculously confined space and all the relationship tensions that ‘mere survival’ threw at them. They were eventually picked up by a 300 ton Japanese fishing vessel… and, amazingly, they all had indeed survived. Quite, quite extraordinary.
Books v Cigarettes (George Orwell): This book comprises a series of essays written between 1936 and 1947. The book’s title relates to one of the essays relating to Orwell’s dilemma about whether he spends more money on reading or smoking! Other articles/essays cover subjects ranging from the perils of second-hand bookshops; the ‘dubious profession’ of being a book reviewer; freedom of the press (with vague references to what today we might call ‘fake news’); what patriotism really means; and, finally, recollections from his days as a prep-school pupil at St Cyprian’s (“an expensive and snobbish school which was in the process of becoming more snobbish, and, I imagine, more expensive”). Thoughts from another age – but entertaining and uncompromising nevertheless.
The Narrow Road To The Deep North (Matsuo Basho): This book, by Japanese poet and diarist Basho (1644-94), describes a series of travels (on foot, by horseback or boat) designed to strip away the trappings of the material world and bring spiritual enlightenment. These sketches include numerous of his haiku poems – which do much to capture his vision of the transient world around him. In this rather lovely book, his words are sensitively translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa (using a four-line stanza in translating the traditonal three-line haiku form in order to achieve the “natural conversational rhythm” in English rather than a “constrained” three-line stanza)(yes, that might sound ‘over-technical’, but Yuasa’s introduction to the book provides a helpful justification). Amongst other things, it’s a book about the changing seasons and about noticing nature and beauty – for example, he frequently describes making particular journeys at particular times in order to see a full moon rise over an individual mountain. Above all, I found it a very gentle, satisfying book – its pace and rhythm echoing the pace and rhythm of the journeys and matched by the simplicity of the language.    
The Songlines (Bruce Chatwin): First published in 1987, I first read it in 1993 (blimey, 26 years ago… feels like only yesterday!). I decided to re-read it after a fascinating TV documentary by Werner Herzog, inspired by his friend Chatwin’s own journeys. The book’s about the invisible pathways connecting up all over Australia… “ancient tracks made of songs which tell of the creation of the land”. Aboriginals’ religious duty is ritually to travel the land, singing the Ancestors’ songs. I love Chatwin’s writing. He has a gift for stories and description… and for seeing details. He describes a trip to Australia, taken for the express purpose of researching Aboriginal song and its connections to nomadic travel. It includes discussions (frequently hilarious and sometimes sad) with Australians, many of them Indigenous Australians, about ‘Outback’ culture; Aboriginal culture and religion; and the Aboriginal land rights movement. A remarkable book and very good to read it again.

sorry we missed you…

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to see Ken Loach’s film “Sorry We Missed You”. The words in the title are frequently used on those postcards the delivery drivers push through your letterbox when they’ve tried to deliver a package when you’re ‘out’.
Before you go to see a Ken Loach film, you pretty much know what you’re in for. It’ll be hard-hitting. It won’t pull any punches… and, almost certainly, it’ll be a political statement (it certainly won’t be a celebration of austerity and Tory Britain).
And so it proved.

The family in the photograph (who ‘star’ in the film) represent just an ordinary, working class family. The mother and father are both hard-working individuals who do their utmost to earn a living… but it’s a struggle to achieve anything but basic survival in austerity Britain. The father, Ricky, is a former construction worker who lost his job and home in the 2008 financial crash (not many bankers have similar stories). He’s eager to make a go at being his own boss and takes on a quasi-freelance delivery post… involving punishing hours, a zero-hours contract with no support or benefits, a ruthless manager and the need to make a substantial investment of his own ‘up front’. The mother, Abby, is a care worker who herself faces exploitative pressures, doing her utmost to nurture the sick and elderly people in her care, within the few minutes allowed by her agency.

It’s a truly gut-wrenching, heart-breaking film.
It’s based on rigorously researched off-the-record interviews. Despite their very best endeavours, families are utterly trapped… there’s nowhere to go and they are financially crippled. They are exploited by an unscrupulous system which robs vulnerable, decent people of their dignity and hope for a better life. How are families expected to deal with the demands of family life when their employers lock individuals into a world that doesn’t offer ‘time off’ to deal with the challenges of ‘normal’ family life (and working very long hours) - relationships, health and school issues et al.
It’s a damning critique of an unequal, unfair system.

It would be good to ensure that EVERYONE standing in the forthcoming parliamentary elections (but especially prospective government ministers!) was made to sit through this film. Sadly, I think that many of them wouldn’t have the first inkling of what it might be like to live such lives… and it’s vitally important that they should.

It’s a brilliant, shocking, very hard-to-take, powerful film. See it if you can… but I would absolutely understand if you decided you couldn’t put yourself through it.