This is some of the close-up beauty of Pankisi captured by film-maker and author Miriam Ruth Black when she came to work on our film project in July. It is true that beauty is found all throughout the Pankisi Gorge; in the faces and hearts of its people, in the lush landscapes and abundant fields, in the ruggedness of the snow-covered mountains, in the wildness of a Pankisi thunderstorm, in the caring of families for their elders, in the unconditional love the women have shown me – a stranger from the West.
But as the women and I prepared for the film project over the past 8 months, as our conversations and friendships deepened, as we trusted each other with more of our truths, I discovered some truths of life here that some Americans rarely if ever have to contemplate. Ones that are more difficult to focus on than beauty. Ones that are difficult to see at all if blinded by cultural ignorance. Ones that hurt the heart rather than fill it. Ones that are easier to ignore if they don’t directly affect us.
One of those difficult truths is the danger of telling the truth.
It appeared first in a meeting with the Women’s Council, when the women were deciding which principles they wanted to base the work of the Women’s Council on – things like mutual trust, equal rights, caring for others, peace, compassion. Then honesty and integrity came up. The women all decided these were important and wanted to include them; but they wanted to know if they really should include them when one of the women asked: “But what happens to believing in honesty and integrity when you live in a culture, in a place and time, where telling the truth can get you or your family killed or “disappeared”?”
It appeared again while filming the women’s stories. When the women asked for the cameras and microphones to be turned off so that they could finish the story they were telling, but not endanger themselves or their family members in Pankisi or those that remain in Chechnya.
And I witnessed the beauty of courage, of telling the truth; the incredible beauty and courage of the women as they told their stories. I saw the beauty that can happen when we can create safe places for others to tell their truth. The beauty of simply listening. Close up or from a distance, these acts too are beauty.
But as the women and I prepared for the film project over the past 8 months, as our conversations and friendships deepened, as we trusted each other with more of our truths, I discovered some truths of life here that some Americans rarely if ever have to contemplate. Ones that are more difficult to focus on than beauty. Ones that are difficult to see at all if blinded by cultural ignorance. Ones that hurt the heart rather than fill it. Ones that are easier to ignore if they don’t directly affect us.
One of those difficult truths is the danger of telling the truth.
It appeared first in a meeting with the Women’s Council, when the women were deciding which principles they wanted to base the work of the Women’s Council on – things like mutual trust, equal rights, caring for others, peace, compassion. Then honesty and integrity came up. The women all decided these were important and wanted to include them; but they wanted to know if they really should include them when one of the women asked: “But what happens to believing in honesty and integrity when you live in a culture, in a place and time, where telling the truth can get you or your family killed or “disappeared”?”
It appeared again while filming the women’s stories. When the women asked for the cameras and microphones to be turned off so that they could finish the story they were telling, but not endanger themselves or their family members in Pankisi or those that remain in Chechnya.
And I witnessed the beauty of courage, of telling the truth; the incredible beauty and courage of the women as they told their stories. I saw the beauty that can happen when we can create safe places for others to tell their truth. The beauty of simply listening. Close up or from a distance, these acts too are beauty.