The price of freedom

Last year, Oliver Hirschbiegel's film Der Untergang (The Downfall), raised the ire of German filmgoers because it presented Hitler in a human light. Instead of portraying an evil monster, Hitler was presented as a softly spoken man whose relationships with strong women demonstrated the depth of his personality and emotions. Yet it seems that German citizens were more comfortable with a portrayal of an insane monster than Hirschbiegel’s depiction of Hitler’s inate and inescapable humanity.

What the prevailing perspective likes to overlook is that Hitler rose to power on a wave of anti-Semitism that had swept Europe prior to the Nazi regime. It was this anti-Semitism that allowed Hitler and the Nazis to progress so far in their destructive rampage before the global community first harkened the voice of conscience.

Perhaps we don’t like to acknowledge that hatred, intolerance, prejudice and the desire to hurt others are just as intrinsic human instincts as love, compassion and the desire for all humankind to be considered equal.

However, quite apart from demonising one’s political enemies, it is a commonly practiced tradition for civilisations to portray the political landscape using the architecture of myth, particularly in difficult times. In most cases, this results in a shallow and simplistic analysis of the issues, and at worst it becomes propaganda.

It seems that the mythic narrative of choice for western democracies is that of the battle between good versus evil. The result is the formation of a false dichotomy: that is that we in the West are good and they, the axis of evil, Iraqis, Arab nations, Muslims, are evil. Such a dichotomy provides an infrastructure for transference from the constant battle between good and evil within every being and essentially it amounts to no more than mythic escapism.

Escapism is very common in cinema, where the horror genre borrows extensively from the good v evil mythology. In most horror scripts the audience can identify and sympathise with the protagonists who, as the narrative progresses, are isolated and an evil invades from outside their known world.

This plays upon an irrational fear of things that are different and unknown. Yet in reality, most criminal investigations begin within the victim’s immediate family. ABS data (2003) found that 78 per cent of sexual assault victims knew their attacker. Unfortunately, for “people like us”, evil most often resides a lot closer to home.

And as the death of a dictator is celebrated, the symbolism of Saddam Hussein’s execution must be drawn into a broader dialectic. As George Bush describes the execution as a “milestone” in Iraq’s journey towards freedom, the question must be asked of Bush just how many more miles are ahead? And where exactly are we headed? How many more will fall casualty before the credits roll?

Escapism has no place in politics. It is best left to cinema, where blood can be spilt, myths can be told and retold, and the protagonist nearly always saves the day. The same attitude does not belong in wars, where life is fragile and death is final.