The tortured have names and faces...
Zazou has a few readings for Saturday/Sunday on torture:
This one comes courtesy of Chris Brown, a filmmaker and journalist, who had the misfortune of running afoul of the South African police in 1990. After being tortured for about 1 1/2 years, Chris has come to some surprising conclusions.
Crossing The Line: Life In Occupied Palestine: The case against torture: A personal account
And then there is True Confessions of an Albino Terrorist by South African (Afrikkans) writer Breyten Breytenbach, which I read in Paris shortly after it came out in 1985. It is an amazing, harrowing account of his imprisonment for seven years in South Africa, an illuminating look at how torture can be used so casually.
More about Breytanbach here.
And "Mateer" has some interesting things to say about Breytenbach and the effect his writing had on Mateer as a teenager in South Africa:
This one comes courtesy of Chris Brown, a filmmaker and journalist, who had the misfortune of running afoul of the South African police in 1990. After being tortured for about 1 1/2 years, Chris has come to some surprising conclusions.
Crossing The Line: Life In Occupied Palestine: The case against torture: A personal account
And then there is True Confessions of an Albino Terrorist by South African (Afrikkans) writer Breyten Breytenbach, which I read in Paris shortly after it came out in 1985. It is an amazing, harrowing account of his imprisonment for seven years in South Africa, an illuminating look at how torture can be used so casually.
More about Breytanbach here.
And "Mateer" has some interesting things to say about Breytenbach and the effect his writing had on Mateer as a teenager in South Africa:
After I found out that Mister B. The Great Poet was in prison, my map of the country changed. While, admittedly, I was very much a White Boy, not understanding what was taking place in the bantustans, locations and townships - despite the columns of smoke and longer columns of armoured vehicles - after the reading I was to become aware that somewhere behind the prison walls of Our Great Land there was a poet. My map of Azania became the memory-map of spaces between prisons, between the Poet’s House and the potential homes of ghost poets.
you can read more here