2: The long now (1924 - 2124)
By Talya Lubinsky
Intro
Echoes of Southern African liberation struggles is a podcast that explores sounds, interviews, music, and even noises recorded during the Southern African independence era in Swiss journalism archives. Over five episodes, journalists, artists, and researchers present mixtapes that reconsider archival recordings and reflect on their meanings in the present moment.
The invited collaborator for this episode is Talya Lubinsky, a South African artist living in Berlin. The title of her mixtape is “The long now”.
Mixtape
The long now (1924 - 2124)
Archival reference no: BAB, TPA.43. 116, 117, 174, 175, 176.
Conversation
Melanie Boehi:
We are recording this conversation about Talya’s mixtape in June, 2024. Talya, thank you so much for your mixtape and for making time.
Talya Lubinsky:
Thank you so much for having me, and it’s been so wonderful to work on this project. It’s been especially meaningful for me because you and I started working on Ruth Weiss’s archive many years ago, and it’s been really cool to return to that material and to feel like it’s coming into the world in a really beautiful way. So thank you.
Melanie Boehi:
Well, thank you. Yeah. I think we actually met for the first time in 2017 around this archive.
Talya Lubinsky:
Yes.
Melanie Boehi:
But I actually want to go back even further with my first question. I want to ask you, how did you become an artist? Is art something you’ve always been interested in?
Talya Lubinsky:
Yeah, I mean, I think even as a nerdy child, I was always making things and drawing and painting, and I was lucky enough to have a mom who really encouraged that. But then after I finished high school, I went to a Jewish school in Johannesburg, which meant I grew up basically surrounded by white Jewish kids in the suburbs of Joburg. And when I left school, I went to do a beginner’s course at the market photo workshop, which is a really important institution situated in Newtown in downtown Johannesburg, which has been, I think it was founded by David Goldblatt in the eighties and has been supporting young people to learn photography mostly towards documentary photography, but they’ve also expanded to do more conceptual fine art style photography. And I went and it was like a whole world opened up to me in terms of the people, in terms of the discourse. And I was just like, I want more. I want this. And then I went on to study fan art at university.
Melanie Boehi:
You started with photography?
Talya Lubinsky:
Yeah. Haven’t taken many photos since then, but it was more the sense of there’s a whole world out there, which I want to be part of. And yeah, it was a very formative few months being fresh out of a very, I think weirdly sheltered environment where you grow up in Joburg knowing there’s so much more going on, but having quite limited access to that.
Melanie Boehi:
And when you started out as an artist, who were the people who inspired you? Did you have role models?
Talya Lubinsky:
I was really into my studies at Wits. I think some of my lecturers for sure became my role models. The structure of the studies there is you do your first two years and then the second two years you have a mentor, a person you meet with every week. And I became really close with my mentor. Her name is Frances Goodman. She’s quite a well-established artist in South Africa. And I mean, her work is always coming from a feminist kind of position and works a lot with materials. And the way that the materials she works with are really what give the work it’s meaning. So for example, she works, she makes these huge sculptures out of false nails, like those plastic nails. And these are not materials I work with at all. I work with kind of stone natural material, but I think she gave me a sense of the fact that the material carries the meaning or at least in this particular way of working. And that was really, I think, something I learned from her and have taken forward. Yeah.
Melanie Boehi:
Very interesting. And this connection to art that draws from the material, because that is something that is typical for a lot of your work. You really work with material, be it paper, water, stones.
Talya Lubinsky:
Yes. Yeah.
Melanie Boehi:
I also want to ask you about connections to Ruth Weiss through your own family history because your family history has a similar geography to Ruth Weiss’s history through your grandfather who was also born in Germany, Jewish family escaped from Nazi Germany to South Africa, also lived in Johannesburg. How would you say has your family history shaped what you’re doing as an artist?
Talya Lubinsky:
I mean, I think more and more it becomes such a central focus. And even before that, I think that I was always working with these themes of loss and absence and maybe drawing on different stories, drawing on the stories I found around me that were, when I was based in South Africa, that had to do with coloniality, apartheid. Those were the stories that I felt I had to tell. And I remember speaking to my cousin about one exhibition that I had made where I was looking at the exhumations of political prisoners in Mamelodi Cemetery just north of Johannesburg. And much of that exhibition had to do with return and how to and the kind of impossibility of restitution for a loss, a loss of a life, a loss of an entire generation of life. You can give back the physical remains of the person, but the rest of their life is impossible to give back.
And she was just like, well, of course you’re making this work because it’s like this is also your story. This is also your history of absence and loss. And I had never thought of it in those terms. I also grew up understanding my position as a white person, the privilege that brought into my material existence. And I always thought of myself as kind of having to tell these stories from the position of someone who benefited from the loss and the absence that I was trying to articulate. And now that I’m in Germany, it’s an interesting shift. And I think maybe the small story that I could tell that I think illustrates it quite well is that this was in 2017. We were both in Bayreuth in a small town in Germany. Yes, I remember that. Yes. And I had an opening of some of my work.
And the origin story of that exhibition that I had made in Bayreuth was that I was invited to work with the archives at the Iwalewahaus, which is an institution connected to the Bayreuth University, where Ulli Beier, who is the founding person of that institution, had also been a Jewish refugee from Germany and had lived in London and Palestine and then had gotten a job in Nigeria and lived there for 20 years over the period just before independence in Nigeria. And he had been involved in the whole modernist art scene there and amassed quite a significant of that work. And then he had donated this archive to the University of Bayreuth, and they had continued the legacy of his work by continuing to work with artists from the African continent. So that’s how I found my way there. But I had been interested in working with Ulli Beier’s personal archive in a similar way that I was interested in working with Ruth Weiss’s archive because I was thinking about the lives of German Jews who fled Germany in the thirties and then found themselves in colonial Africa and what that meant and how they interacted with that reality.
I had been interested in doing an exhibition in the old Iwalewahaus building at the time when I was there. The institution had recently moved into a new building, and it just so happens that there’s a synagogue on the other side just across the road. And the synagogue was also was under renovations. I realised that the synagogue had been holding their services in the old Iwalewahaus building. So they had moved out, but they still had some of the posters and some of their stuff was still lying around in the old building. So in this interim time while the synagogue was being renovated, they were holding their services upstairs. And it turned out to be that I was doing my research there over September, October, which is when the high holidays of the Jewish calendar are happening. I was just curious and I decided to go to some services and sometimes you find situations in life that are poetic and tell the whole story you wanted to tell without even having to make any art about it, because there’s posters of modernist African art downstairs with a Jewish liturgical service going on upstairs.
And I wanted to make my exhibition in that building. So I went and spoke to the head of that congregation and I told him my plans and a bit about what I wanted to do. I told him about my grandfather and that I wanted to make this work that drew on the archive of Ulli Beier, but also was about my grandfather’s story. And he said, well, if you want to make an exhibition about the circumstances that led to your grandfather fleeing Germany in 1936, that would be fine. But if you want to talk about what happened after that when he was in Johannesburg and wanting to talk about the shift in positionality and becoming white under colonial conditions, then we are not going to host it. We are not interested. And I think it was that moment that I realised that there was just this one hegemonic story that people were really holding onto about Holocaust memory in Germany and that complicating that with any other stories from what they would perceive as other places in the world, but I took it for granted at that time that it was all part of the same story.
I realised that that wasn’t the case and that there was something to really push against in this German context in insisting on the stories of colonialism and the Holocaust being told together. And this is why I decided to speak about my family history, not because it’s so important that it’s my family just because it makes the point that the fact that this is my family’s history means that these stories should be told together.
Melanie Boehi:
Wow. Wow. What a story.
Talya Lubinsky:
Yeah.
Melanie Boehi:
So was this the first time you went to Germany in 2017 for this residency, or did you visit Germany with your family as a child as well?
Talya Lubinsky:
No, so the first time I was visiting Iwalewahaus was actually 2016 when I was on a residency that would lead to the exhibition in 2017. But I had been once, I mean, my grandfather loved Germany. It was never, my grandparents spoke German at home. Unfortunately, they never taught me because now it would have really been useful. But my grandfather visited often and he had a very good friend who lives in Köln in West Germany. And I don’t quite understand the circumstances of their friendship, but that friend of his is a very eccentric character, and he always says that he’s my grandfather’s cousin, although he’s not Jewish, and he’s a kind of rich, white German dude. So I think maybe they had a cousinly bond. So that’s to say that when I was in high school, we went to visit my grandfather’s cousin in Germany, and we spent a few days at their house in Köln. But yeah, at the time, I didn’t have the insight that I have now about the politics of the Holocaust memory. And these are all only things that I started learning once I started working as an artist in the German context.
Melanie Boehi:
So since 2016, you’ve been going to Germany regularly as an artist for residencies, and then you stayed in Germany after the outbreak of the Covid pandemic. And listening to you now, it somehow feels like a natural development just of the work you were doing and the themes you were exploring. Has moving to Germany somehow changed your work as an artist, or how has it shaped your work that you’ve been doing since?
Talya Lubinsky:
It’s hard to say because I’m slow. I don’t make many exhibitions. If I can get an exhibition out once every two years, I think, wow, that’s good enough. And I was never planning to stay in Germany. I was in Germany in Bayreuth for that residency that we just spoke about in Iwalewahaus. And then I was invited for another residency in 2019, ending in 2020 for one year in Berlin. And I had thought, okay, great. Basically, I’m thinking of it as an artistic opportunity, a career opportunity. And then as you said, I landed up staying because of the pandemic. And I mean, it was easy for me to say, I have a German passport through my grandfather. And so the way that it’s shaped my practise is that, I mean, I landed up in 2022 making a project at a former concentration camp in another small town in Germany called Flossenbürg.
And the whole project was a kind of critique or a reflection on the ever maddening and ever increasingly upsetting ways that Holocaust memory is being instrumentalized. And it was a very difficult exhibition to make because I was in the very place of the extreme kind of violence that was perpetrated. And I never want to take away from the importance of commemorating and the importance of telling that story, but I found myself in position where I had a voice that I could make a critique of that history because it was also my history, and I felt that I had the responsibility to do that also. So I think that the way that my work has shifted is that I feel that I’m speaking from a slightly different positionality now that I’m in Berlin because simply because I’m Jewish and because in South Africa, I think the primary marker of my identity is that I’m white, and that’s the positionality that I’m speaking from in that place.
And I’m not trying to make this big distinction between the two because I’m still a white South African, and I still embody the legacies of that. But I also have found myself in a position where I’m in Germany and I can speak into the debates that are going on at the moment. And they’re not only debates the ways that Holocaust memories being used towards extremely racist agendas. I feel I have something to say here in Germany, and I think this is why I stayed. I don’t think I would’ve stayed in a place where I didn’t feel I had a political agenda. I do feel like there’s a project, and luckily I’ve been able to find beautiful communities of people who are wanting to make the same kinds of political enunciations that I want to make. And so in a way, I work much more in groups in community settings, which is also why I haven’t, since 2022, I haven’t made another major solo exhibition because I’ve been quite enmeshed in these group organising projects that are really deep and important, but might not be visible in an exhibition setting. So I continue to work and I continue to be an artist, but I think I’ve also been putting my energy into creating a world that I feel I can live in Berlin, which isn’t always easy. Yeah.
Melanie Boehi:
Yeah. No, and your work seems spot on and highly relevant in the current context, and it does seem to be like you’re at the right place at the right time. I want to ask you a question about archives. And I know that in a lot of your work, also the work that you’ve done previously in South Africa, archives, museum collections have played an important role. And as we mentioned before, we first met when you came and you spent a month doing research in the Ruth Weiss archive in Basel in Switzerland, and the audio archive wasn’t digitised at that time. So there were manuscripts, newspaper clippings, correspondence, some pictures going back to your first day at the archive and then also having access to the digitised tapes later. What is your impression of this archive?
Talya Lubinsky:
So when I came to the archive in 2017 in Basel, I was at a stage where I was of course interested in the material itself, but I was also trying to ask questions about the meta politics of archiving in general, let’s say. And I was interested in the structures and how things were categorised. And I think in a way when I look back on it, it was in a way a missed opportunity, but I think I missed an opportunity to actually get into the content. So in the years since that time, I’ve shifted a lot more to care about the contents. So coming back to the archive now, I was just listening to these interviews that you shared digitally, and I was like, there is so much rich material here that has to do with just listening to people. It was so moving, just listening to people speaking about their experience of the struggle.
And specifically, I was drawn to the ones that were from South Africa because I was like, when you grow up in South Africa, there’s this kind of monolithic idea of the struggle, the struggle. And one has the idea that there were hundreds of thousands of people whose lives were completely dedicated and upended and lost towards this cause of changing this political dispensation. And it’s one of those things, I guess like the Holocaust where it’s such a huge effort to get it changed that it’s like it’s in the pores of everything in that society. And I grew up, I remember having the TRC hearings kind of just on in the background on the TV when I was maybe, I don’t know, like a child, and understanding that there had been this extreme violence, extreme loss of life that had happened. But listening to people, listening to Ruth, talking to people who were part of the struggle, who were, they weren’t talking about the macro stories, they were talking about their own lives and their own ways that they were part of that struggle.
It was extremely moving. Actually, I was also, I’ve been listening to it in the past months that we’ve been watching the unfolding of the genocide in Palestine and in Gaza, and it’s been making me feel like there’s such an immensity of work that was done to get to the point of 94 when apartheid ended and feeling like we’re in a similar moment of extreme effort that needs to be made to bring the end of the current political situation in Israel and Palestine. So that’s the lens I was experiencing it through, and it was very, inspiring is a very awkward word to use, but I think that’s how it felt.
Melanie Boehi:
It’s interesting what you say that you, in your approach to archives, you shifted from a kind of very abstract theoretical approach of focusing on the power of the archive, its structure, its categories to the content and how that reflects in how you made the mixtape, which is a kind of a collage. Maybe you can talk a bit about the process of developing the mixtape.
Talya Lubinsky:
Sure. So I was interested in speaking about Ruth’s life and her biography as she does very beautifully in her autobiography, A Path through Hard Grass, but I was interested in using the archive to tell her story in a way that would speak to the kinds of all the things that were making me angry at the time or still making me angry at the time. And that has to do with the way that identities are kind of instrumentalised and made to seem as though one identity can only be a perpetrator or a victim. And as I’ve been speaking throughout this interview, to speak against the very narrow way that Holocaust memory has been done in Germany and the ways that has been playing out at the moment, and just to say that we’re in a time of extreme suppression of any types of support for Palestine solidarity and in Germany, and it’s always, the excuse for that is always antisemitism.
And it’s not to say that antisemitism doesn’t exist, it just is being used in very violent racist ways. I wanted go back, so I wanted to hear Ruth talking about her life and use that as a template for telling a story that complicates the narrative that is still the hegemonic idea of some people were the victims of national socialism and others were the perpetrators, and trying to delink that story from anything else that was going on in the rest of the world. And Ruth speaks often in her book and in the interviews that I was working with about how she understood what it meant to be made the other in Germany. And this was so clear and so obvious to her when she came to Johannesburg, that as a child, she started realising that the people she lived with in this mixed race neighbourhood that she lived in, her friends were being made different to her.
And there was a regime in which they had different rights. There was a regime of apartheid racist discrimination, but on an state level. So I think it was very, very obvious to her and something that she then really took up as her project for the rest of her life. But I would also like to say that that’s not the way that many Jewish refugees reacted to that situation that they found themselves in because I mean, if I speak about my family, like my grandparents and my parents, they weren’t activists. My grandfather, I mean, despite not finishing high school, he became a businessman and he made money. And of course, having a business and making money during the time of apartheid in South Africa means that you’re choosing to be on the side of white supremacy, and there’s a kind of way that you’re completely implicit in all of that.
And I was reading an interview that my grandfather’s cousin, who also landed up, who’s also from Germany and came to South Africa later, she did an interview for the Deutsche Welle, and they were kind of asking her about her life, and she said, as Jewish refugees, after we came to South Africa, we didn’t want to involve ourselves in politics because we were just trying to survive. We were like, we know what it is to be on the wrong side of power and we don’t want to get ourselves in that position again. And I think Ruth really went against that trend. And of course, there are these other very celebrated Jewish activists who are part of the liberation struggle in South Africa, and I think the Jewish community has, they’ve done a bit of revisionist history in claiming those figures for themselves. At the time, the Jewish community as a whole really sided with the nationalist party, the apartheid government in an official way.
And I’ve read one of the speeches of the chief rabbi from the early years of a ate, and he said that the Jewish community in its official capacity supports apartheid, and any Jews who act as individuals against it are not acting on behalf of the Jewish community and made that very clear. So I think my grandparents were very involved, there was one synagogue that was started by the German Jewish community who came during the thirties at the same time as my grandparents. So my grandparents were very part of that community. And what I found interesting is that I think Ruth’s family was not part of that community. They lived, as I said, in a neighbourhood that was mixed race until forced removals when it became a white suburb. But I think there was a class difference between my family and Ruth’s family because it was where Ruth grew up was a place where poor working class white people lived. And I think that that might account for the ways that she got involved in the struggle and my grandparents didn’t.
Melanie Boehi:
Then I want to ask you about how you use your voice in your mixtape, because you primarily work as a visual artist. You do installations, you have this background in photography as well. Is this the first time you used your voice in a work?
Talya Lubinsky:
Yes, it is. And it’s basically the first time I’ve worked with sound at all, which I loved, and I’m very grateful that the project gave me the opportunity to do that. The thing that I find complicated when I make work is that I want to say everything at once. I want to say yes, and there was colonialism and there was the Holocaust and there’s Palestine, and I want to try and bring a lot of separated narratives into one space. And the thing that I really appreciated about making this piece is that the medium allows for that. You can layer sounds on top of each other as durational, so you can have one thing kind of coming after another. When you work in analogue visual formats, you have a different temporality in the sense that you have objects that are static. So it opened up a whole new realm of possibility that I found very exciting, and I hope that it’s the start of being able to explore that more.
Melanie Boehi:
Yeah, that’s also very much what has drawn me into working with sound and doing research with sound as a historian, working with sound just gives us more tools for storytelling, and I think for research as well, that allows us to work in maybe in many directions at the same time. And then I want to ask you about the recordings that you chose to include in the mixtape, there is this recording of your grandfather that stands out, can you tell us a bit more about the context of this recording? When was it made by whom? How did you come across it? Is it something that you keep similar to a photo that would be in your family album?
Talya Lubinsky:
The recording comes from a video. Yeah, a recorded interview that my grandfather did for the Steven Spielberg Foundation in the nineties. They were doing a kind of international project of interviewing survivors in a broad sense, because my grandfather also says at the beginning of that interview, he says he doesn’t consider himself a survivor. He considers himself someone who managed to leave in time because he wasn’t in a camp, although he lost most of his family in the camps. He kind of speaks about his life in, he grew up in Duisburg in Western Germany, and he also describes what it was like to arrive in South Africa. Yeah, I added that. And it was also in relation to one of the pieces that I wanted to include from Ruth Weiss’s biography where she talks about the ship that she arrived on from Germany, and she spoke about the ship, I think it was called the Woermann, and that name was the name of the man, but also the company, which was supplying a lot of materials to the German colonies in Africa. And I think that piece where she’s talking about the ship that kind of saved her and her family from probable death in Nazi concentration camps was also tied up with the story of the oppression of Black people in South Africa. And I thought that she makes those connections so easily and so comfortably as part of her life story. And this is why I think she’s such a good role model for this time in which those stories are being so forcefully separated. Yeah, yeah.
Melanie Boehi:
I mean, also these cycles of violence, that’s a topic that you’ve been interested in and you’ve been exploring in your mixtape. Could you tell us a bit more about the song in your mixtape?
Talya Lubinsky:
Yeah, sure. So the song is, it’s called Un Cavretico, and it’s a Ladino version of what I grew up singing as an Aramaic song on Passover. And it’s also just kind of circumstance that the months when I was working on this piece was over the time of Passover. And so I was reminded of the song, because we sing it every year on Passover, and the structure of the song is that you sing the first verse and then you sing the first verse and the second verse, and then you sing the first verse and then the second verse and then third verse, and then continues. So it’s accumulates. So the song starts with, there’s one little goat that my father bought for two zuzim, and then it says, a dog came and bit the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. And then a stick came and hit the dog that bit, the cat that ate the goat that my father bought for two zuzim. And then a fire came and burned the stick that bit, the goat, that bit, the dog, that bit, the cat that ate the goat, et cetera.
And it goes on, and I mean, the song ends in God. And for me it’s like that’s kind of incidental. It’s more the fact that this song is about, as you said, cycles of violence that are also compounded over one another. It’s not a cycle that starts and then ends and then starts again rather than it’s accumulated like a kind of snowball effect. I was thinking about this 200-year period that I make mention to in the beginning of the piece where I’m thinking about the past hundred years, just the past a hundred years, which is such a small amount of history, the way that we can trace these cycles of violence that are, first of all continuing, but seemed to be expanding as well, and really thinking about Ruth’s life as a kind of resistance to that violence as well as a testimony to it.
And then finding pieces from the interviews that she gave, which are part of the archive, which speak to that, which speak to the of violence, to which Ruth has been subject to which Ruth has been witnessed, to which Ruth has recorded and shared with others. So I actually asked a friend of mine to record herself singing the song because she sings in a band, and she had been the one who had introduced me to the Ladino version of the song. And Ladino is a language like Yiddish, which is written in Hebrew text like Hebrew letters, but using Spanish words. Dalia and I, the person who is singing the song, we had a conversation about, we’re both Ashkenazi Jews, the Ladino is not part of our own family histories, but we were thinking about what it would mean to sing the song in Ladino. And we were just thinking about the fact that there’s so much richness in diasporic Jewish culture that we feel has been lost and annihilated through the project of Zionism that we wanted to also bring attention to and be in respect of those other traditions of Jewish life and Jewish practise that have also been sidelined by the kind of hegemony of Ashkenazi Jewish identity.
Melanie Boehi:
And then you also mixed this up with protest songs that were sung at a protest against the genocide in Gaza in Berlin.
Talya Lubinsky:
Yes. And that protest was actually the day after there was a big Palestine congress that was organised in Berlin, and some very high-profile speakers were supposed to come, and some of them were blocked at the border, and for those who were able to actually attend, and the congress, two hours after it started, it got completely raided by the police and broken up all under the guise of some kind of threat of antisemitism. And I mean, the irony is just so deep because there were many Jewish people, I mean almost every weekend there’s a protest in support of Palestine in Berlin. Again, just drawing on the kind of legacy of Ruth’s archive of, I think she was present, had a lot of political protests and rallies, and some of those you can actually hear in the recordings. And I wanted to pay tribute to that.
Melanie Boehi:
So also kind of an expanding the archive into the present. And that’s my last question that I want to ask you about the location of the archive, because what I learned from you is that the archive is highly relevant in a South African and southern African context, and also in a German context. So what do you make of this archive being in Switzerland?
Talya Lubinsky:
Well, I think it has to do with what they do with the fact that it’s in Switzerland. And I think that this digitising the interviews and making them accessible online is one great step towards making it more accessible. But I think accessibility isn’t only just about putting something up on the internet. I think it’s about a kind of institutional approach to inviting critique, inviting people to be present with the material. And what often happens is that institutions lay claim over material, not just in the fact that they’re the custodians of it, but in a more ontological, epistemological way, that they feel that they have the right to make meaning out of what is there in the archive. And I think if an institution is able to let go of that epistemological right to meaning, it goes a long way. And I think that the project that you’ve initiated gives a very clear direction to how that can be done, not only with this archive, but with any archive. And yeah, I mean, of course it would have a different meaning, a different value, different use if it was in Johannesburg for example, this is the reality that the material is there in Basel and that comes along with a lot of other resources that can shared with people whose lives and whose work would benefit from having access to this material.
Melanie Boehi:
Yeah, I think what I’ve been learning from this project and from work with all of you who created mixtapes with the collection, is that there is so much potential in a shared custodianship where the custodianship is not something that stops when an archive is digitised and the content is put online, but it has to be an active practise and a collaborative practise with people whose lives are entangled with the stories kept in the archive.
Talya Lubinsky:
Exactly, exactly. And that can be done beyond the geographic limitations of where the actual material is.
Outro
The Echoes of Southern African liberation struggles podcast was developed by Melanie Boehi, in collaboration with Andrei van Wyk, Lynsey Chutel, Talya Lubinsky, Niren Tolsi, Belinda Zhawi and Percy Zvomuya. Sound design, editing and production is by Andrei van Wyk. Original archival recordings used in the mixtapes are subject to the regulations of the Basler Afrika Bibliographien Archives. The project “Echoes of the Southern African independence era in Swiss journalism archives” was funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation with a Spark grant. Thanks go to Ruth Weiss, Maggie Caroline Katsande, the Basler Afrika Bibliographien, Radio Télévision Suisse, the University of Lausanne, the Swiss National Science Foundation and all contributors. For more information on the project, please check out our website: independence-echoes.org.
