No, my therapy won’t fix things

We should celebrate going to therapy. For the longest time and for some sub-cultures today, to declare that we go for therapy sessions might be synonymous with a declaration of weaknesses. Even though counselling services populate schools, government agencies, and even workspaces, the fear of being seen to reach out to these services might deter us from attending these counselling sessions to better our mental wellness. How wonderful it is, then, that we see an encouraging turn to openly discuss mental illness and our own experiences with therapy. 

As someone who struggled with depression in Junior College due to relationship issues and anxiety during National Service, therapy helped greatly to alleviate these pains. The extent of these issues handicapped the way I operated in the world. For example, the night before a major parade during National Service, I had a rare nightmare: of a Pontianak chasing me down in the toilet. Funny as it may seem now, the nightmare was scary enough for me to wake up at 4am and unable to return sleeping. 

Figure 1 A church in war-struck Mariupol, a place of comfort for the Ukrainians

For those of us familiar with therapy in Singapore, we might understand the role of CBT: Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. As a popular method employed by therapists today, CBT encourages individuals to reframe our narratives and the ways we respond to events in our lives through thoughts and feelings.

CBT greatly helped me to improve my relationship with friends, family, and most importantly, myself. For example, recognising how situations were outside my control allowed me to let go of them better. Earlier this year, recognising how some of my ‘friends’ were taking my friendship and generosity for granted, I distanced myself from these friendships upon knowing that nothing more I could do would be adequate in changing their attitudes towards these relationships.

Figure 2 Birds standing above destroyed buildings in Mariupol, Ukraine

However, an over-emphasis on therapy might imply that the individual is responsible in dealing with problems or adversities.  Conversely, the society or the community’s role in causing such problems becomes less important. Imagine struggling with anxiety influenced by being unable deal with your socio-economic position. How can one not worry about tomorrow if you barely have enough resources to get by today? 

There is no better example than the ongoing Ukrainian-Russian War. The international humanitarian agency Care International has reported an ongoing mental health crisis exacerbated by constant concerns over their well-being. Even as calls persist for greater “mental health services” to support those struggling, all these proposed solutions pale in comparison to dealing with the larger systemic issue of the war itself. 

Figure 3 The observational shots of Mariupolis 2, observing the landscapes of destruction

The 2022 documentary Mariupolis 2 is a reminder of this. Shot by an anthropologist who was unfortunately killed during the war, the film was hurriedly put together by his fiancé in time for the Cannes Film Festival. In the film, long takes reveal ordinary citizens responding to violence and chaos. What was once a familiar city is now a war-torn landscape. In refusing to focus on any few characters but to look at the suffering of a community at large, the film reminds us that an experience of war cannot solely be found on the individual level but must be demonstrated through the shared communal experience instead. The camera detaches itself from individuals, washing over the faces of everyone. It does not penalise individualism, but posits that in the face of communal experiences like these, all experiences are subsumed by a universal consciousness regardless of any demographic or background. We all suffer the same.

However, with each cut persisting in its observational distance, wide shots, and long takes showing ordinary people struggling to maintain their mundane lives amidst the war, the film begins to take on a dreary tone. The successive display of these attempts to uphold normalcy culminates in a mindless sequence of events, where the act of watching these scenes unfold is akin to watching passing scenery. On one hand, this speaks to the mindlessness of the war. On the other, it speaks to the powerlessness of individuals. Each successive cut takes a heavy toll as the constant sounds of bombings in the background become ordinary and expected, like ornaments rather than objects of fear. Warfare and its destruction have quickly become normalised in an attempt to make sense of trauma. 

Figure 4 The normalisation of warfare’s destruction on mundane life

Watching the film while knowing about the director’s death deeply affects the way we understand the film. What might appear to be a mere observational documentary on warfare becomes a meditative obituary, putting lingering uncertainty as to whether the people populating the shots might, by now, have faced the same unfortunate fate as the director. Are we celebrating the resilience of an ordinary citizen struggling to survive, or are we mourning the death of people who look very much like us?

At the start of the film, two men report to each other about updates in the community. For one, the community theatre was targeted in bombings. There were kids inside. There is nothing more communal than theatre itself: a space where the interactions between creators and audiences create experiential art. Now, all that stands in its place is a mass grave. There might be something poetic here about the death of a community symbolised by the destruction of a cinema. But when it comes to destruction as cruel as this, little else needs to be said. 

Figure 5 Standing above the scenes of destruction

While an emphasis on individuals’ role in responding to trauma and crises might help alleviate harmful mental health symptoms, we must be reminded that an individual can only do so much. When external circumstances persist in worsening one’s mental health, a more communal and systemic solution should be encouraged. In responding to the documentary, Mariupolis 2, then, there might be no better time to meditate upon its reflections than the way intended: communally, in the shared space of a theatre, reminded not of the powerlessness of individuals, but of our power in coming together.