In recent decades, memory has been assaulted from all sides. The designs and interests of the dominant hegemonic system, along with intercultural transmissions facilitated by knowledge and experience of the ways others remember and preserve their past—and, therefore, the existence of the universal culture of the mass media—represent a challenge to our supposedly differentiated past.
On December 9 or 10, 1986—I don’t remember exactly when—I left for San Antonio de los Baños to study film. At the time, I was a pretty bourgeois punk who wanted to change the course of history in South America.
The 1960s and ’70s were the years of my coming of age and then young adulthood in Iran.
The Italian general election held last March produced predictable and unpredictable results.
People often ask me the difference between being an Iraqi in Sweden versus in the United States. I usually find myself taking a deep breath and sinking into my chair before answering this somewhat mnemonic exercise.
Migration is connected with communication and the decision making process.
So, as the afternoon diffused into a windy May evening in Virginia, I was too swept up in a number of internal drifts, an intimate conflict where the strong winds of desire collide with—and succumb to—those of hurt and annoyance.
In 1984, when I was nineteen, I left Perú to study arts in France. That was the beginning of my life abroad in a country and a culture that were not completely unknown for me: I had the privilege to study twelve years at a French-Peruvian school in Lima.