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Silence Theatre review: Witnesses silenced by the telling of their tales

Format of stage adaptation of Kavita Puri's Partition Voices, about the casual carving up of land on religious grounds on the subcontinent, sadly imposes a repetitive and predictable pall over the material

September 8, 2022 10:00
Jay Saighal and Bhasker Patel in SILENCE - Donmar Warehouse and Tara Theatre - photo by Manuel Harlan
2 min read

Silence
Donmar Warehouse | ★★✩✩✩

Seventy-five years ago India was partitioned along lines drawn on a map by British lawyer Cyril Radcliffe, who had never been to the country.

The violence and trauma that resulted from this casual carving up of land on religious grounds led to possibly the largest-ever migration of people as they crossed the newly-formed border between India and Pakistan.

The estimated number of deaths that resulted ranges from 200,000 to two million, and it is thought at least 75,000 women were raped and murdered by members of different religious communities.

To end the silence that shrouded the memories of those who witnessed these atrocities, particularly the millions now living in Britain, author Kavita Puri produced a book, Partition Voices, which led to a BBC Radio 4 series of the same name. Now there is this play.

There is a long, honourable line of testimony art. The most famous is Claude Lanzmann’s Shoah, the film that put Holocaust survivors in front of a camera and let them talk.

Peter Weiss’s The Investigation, which was drawn from the Frankfurt war crimes trials, used the power of testimony within the context of a courtroom, a work that was later taken by Rwandan theatre company Urwintore, populated with Rwandan and Congolese actors and brilliantly used to convey what the Rwandan genocide had in common with the Holocaust: mass murder conducted as a function of government policy.

It would be wrong to compare Rwanda and the Holocaust to the Partition, despite the scale of the suffering that ensued. But the horrifying events still deserve a production that sears the audience with memories of those who witnessed what happened. And, unfortunately, Abdul Shayek’s just doesn’t.

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