Introduction
A Reign of Bombs,
A Never-ending Rain
當炸彈下成一場不停歇的驟雨
文｜鍾適芳（策展人、音樂製作人）
譯｜David Chen
Chung Shefong｜Festival Director, Music Producer
Translation｜David Chen
天空降下驟雨，刷落黑體，打向地面。鏡頭拉近，雨線不是來自天神，而是從軍機降下。鏡頭拉遠，越拉越遠，聲音漸被消去，歷史也淹蓋於無聲。曾經落下的、狂飆的雨點，是數百萬噸的集束彈，投向肉身。暴雨打向越南、柬埔寨、寮國。戰機每日起降於沖繩，盤旋、停駐在亞洲諸嶼、海域、邊界。
連續九年，二十三萬平方公尺的寮國，接受了兩百多萬噸如暴雨的炸彈。一隻大象重四噸，兩百萬噸是五十萬隻大象的總重量。許多許多年後，在寮國首都永珍，美國總統歐巴馬雲淡風輕地說：「體認那場戰爭加諸於各方的痛苦和犧牲」。語調似高空的鳥瞰，沒有人與生命，只有標的與邊界。
軍機、戰艦與砲彈，鏈結了亞洲的命運，我們無法置身於外，因為我們的島也被鏈鎖於宿命之中，無法掙逃。2016當代敘事影展的主題單元「島影。島歌」就從島的宿命說起。
年初，參與沖繩年度音樂會議後，獨自一人在沖繩島上旅行，遇見沖繩史上最低溫。失去藍天碧海的沖繩海灣，陰灰的冬日天空下，軍機在頭頂上每三分鐘滑過一架。2016年，一個我們以為和平的日常，其實暴雨一旁伺機而下。
海灣環抱著戰艦與戰機，島無法自主的身體，蜷縮喘息。日本導演東陽一1969年之作《沖繩列島》，黑白的沖繩島影，看向人，發不出聲的沖繩人。我們以這部從未在台灣上映的重要歷史影像，揭開島的宿命與政治。
同一時代，沖繩還在美軍的「暫管」下，作家大江健三郎在《世界》雜誌連載《沖繩札記》，書寫那些他與沖繩人交會交心的片段，激盪著語言、認同、被治理、島與「本土」（mainland）間的複雜情結。島被牽連著想像的本土，有時本土是塊大陸，有時是更大的島，或較大的島，或看不見的遠方。於是，我們從大江健三郎的《日本屬於沖繩》，延伸出影展的另一單元「大陸屬於島」。
看過東陽一另一部劇情片的人，大概都很難抹去這段印刻至深的情節：不請自來的日本男子，一登岸，就在炙烈的白日豔陽下，毫無遮蔽地，強暴了靠近岸邊的女子。女體如島，外來者不斷侵入，然後築起藩籬，以保護之名，繼續侵犯。男子與女子間，似愛更虐的關係，也似島與本土的曖昧。
島與本土，時代間流轉，繩索被鬆開，又繫向另一方。琉球民謠大家嘉手苅林昌的《時代之流》，這麼唱：
中國轉手日本統治
日本拱手讓給美國
我們的沖繩變化快啊…
柬埔寨金邊街弄間的咖啡座，跟其他城市沒有兩樣，義式咖啡機響在昏黃燈色的咖啡香。英語、華語、日語、法語座間此起彼落，聽不見兩百萬人被屠害的傷痕，歷史被悄悄掩葬在一幢幢外資興起的高樓下。在「時代之流」單元中，紀錄片導演以鏡頭推近那些未結疤的傷口。
我們也藉著「時代之流」，推介多位東南亞青年世代導演。他們分別來自菲律賓、泰國、印尼、柬埔寨，後冷戰出生的世代。長年不斷的砲彈雨林，被時間釀成了長輩口中的神話，但他們以敏銳的鏡頭，在嚴苛的檢查制度下，挑戰政權製造的國族糖衣，放大來自邊緣與底層的微弱聲音。
「漂流群庄」則帶我們登上不同的島岸，拜訪在時間流動下，印尼爪哇島的城市邊緣、香港邊陲小嶼、台灣客庄交界的故事。那些人與人、人與空間，而非桐花、花布、Batik的紋飾。在時間、語言、職業、認同中流動的群庄，我們提問，什麼是當代客家的影像？「客家」符號停駐的鄉愁，在工業化驅離農業、全球化移動的浪動下，說了誰的故事？
2016年的「邊界。世界」，我們從島的邊陲，透過影像與聲音，重讀歷史，重建歷史。
Showers fall from the sky. Sheets of black pellets fall to the ground.
The camera zooms in. We see that the showers are not the work of mother nature, but military planes. Then the camera zooms out, moving farther away, until we no longer hear the falling of those pellets, a symbol of a disappearing history: In Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos, millions of tons of cluster bombs were dropped from American planes in the 1960s and 1970s, each bomb designed to tear apart flesh and body. The planes that unleashed those "rains of bombs" were stationed in Okinawa, and they circulated throughout islands and seaports across Asia.
More than two million tons of those cluster bombs were dropped on Laos over nine years. The average elephant weighs four tons. So the number of bombs dropped on Laos is equivalent to the weight of 500,000 elephants. This year, US President Barack Obama visited the Laotian capital of Vientiane and gave a speech in which he acknowledged the atrocities: "Today, I stand with you in acknowledging the suffering and sacrifices on all sides of that conflict," he said. That lofty rhetoric might have received congratulatory praise from commentators in the West, but from here, in Asia, those words felt light and empty, given the weight of those bombs, given the true weight of history.
Bombs, warplanes, warships. These instruments of war are forever tied to the fate of Asia, which, in the cold eye of a military power, was reduced to lines marking borders. Those of us who live on an Asian island such as Okinawa cannot remove ourselves from this fate because we have no other place to go. There is no escape.
"Island Elegies" is the main theme of the 2016 New Narratives Film Festival. We begin by looking at Okinawa, an island that exemplifies Asia's struggle with a legacy of war and post-colonial geopolitics.
In 1968, Japanese director Higashi Yoichi made "The Okinawan Islands," a black and white documentary that focused on the Okinawans, who, until then, had no voice in expressing their feelings about living under American control. Through this film, which will be shown in Taiwan for the first time at this festival, we uncover the politics and destiny of the island.
I traveled to Okinawa for a conference at the beginning of the year, and I arrived in a bitter cold — the temperature had hit a historic low. The island's famed blue skies and emerald ocean waters were no where in sight. It was overcast, and all I could hear was the roar of US military planes, which flew by every three minutes. Here we are in 2016, I thought to myself, and we assume peace as the norm. But here it felt like another storm of war was around the corner.
When its bays are filled with warships and planes, the island has no control of its body. It can only cower and gasp for breath.
In 1970, while the Americans were still "temporarily administering" the islands, the novelist Kenzaburō Ōe wrote an essay entitled "Okinawa Notes," a record of his encounters and friendships with Okinawans. He noted their complicated feelings, a mix of rage over being subjugated to an outside power and divided identification with their island and the "mainland" — yet another outside power, Japan. Oe's writing offers a new perspective on the notion of an "island" and a "mainland." His remark "Japan belongs to Okinawa" reminds us that the idea of Okinawa as part of a Japanese "mainland" is a political construction. We expand on this in a portion of the festival entitled "The Mainland Belongs to an Island."
A separate film by Higashi Yoichi contains a disturbing scene that takes place on Okinawa. It is difficult to erase from the mind: A Japanese man comes ashore, sees a woman nearby, and then rapes her in broad daylight, under a broiling hot sun with no shade or shelter in sight. The woman's body and the island are one and the same: Outsiders come in uninvited. They build fences in the name of "protection," and then keep forcing their way in. The space between woman and man is the space between love and tyranny. It is also the space between the "island" and the "mainland."
An island, a mainland. As times change, one rope is loosened, but then another is tightened. Rinshō Kadekaru, a representative Okinawan/Ryukyuan folk musician, sang in "The Flow of Time":
China fell under Japanese control
Then Japan submitted to America
How quickly has our Okinawa changed
Today Phenom Penh looks a city like any other, with cafes like cafes in any city anywhere, espresso machines humming and blowing steam, the fragrance of roasted beans wafting in the air. Conversations in English, Chinese, Japanese and French ebb and flow. But one doesn't hear very much talk about the scars left from the two million people massacred during the 1970s. Those ghosts have been quietly obscured by the growing number of shimmering high-rise buildings built by foreign investment. The Bob Dylan song "The Times They are A-Changin'" still resonates in Southeast Asia today, and so this portion of the festival is titled as such, and features documentaries brings attention to some of these unhealed scars.
The "Times Are A-Changin'" series is composed of works by up-and-coming directors from the Philippines, Thailand, Indonesia and Cambodia. They were all born after the Vietnam War-era, and only know the phrase "Rain of Bombs" as something part of the oral mythology of the older generation. But these young directors possess their own keen view of the world and a unique approach to the craft of filmmaking. With an unwavering, critical eye, they challenge sugar-coated notions of a national identity constructed by authorities motivated by political power. These directors magnify the voices of the marginalized in their respective countries today.
The "City Borders" portion of the festival brings us to other shores. We visit a city on the outskirts of Java, several tiny islands outside of Hong Kong, and a Hakka village in southern Taiwan. Instead of the typical things these places may bring to mind — Tung flowers, fabric, batik prints — these films focus on the relationships between the people there and their relationship to the space around them. Looking at changes in time, language, occupation, personal identification, we ask: what is "film" to the contemporary Hakka? What can future films aspire to? If we look beyond the cultural nostalgia associated with the word "Hakka" in Taiwan, we see other topics worthy of attention in Hakka communities, such as the shift in jobs from farming to heavy industry and the impact of a globalized economy in small towns and villages. More of these stories are waiting to be told.
The 2016 New Narratives Film Festival explores what it means to be a part of, and to live on, an "island" in modern times, as we also attempt to revisit and rebuild history.
