Through the Eyes of Another: Visiting “Carne y Arena”
“Carne y Arena (Virtually present, Physically invisible)” is a hybrid art exhibition and virtual reality simulation that explores the human experience of immigrants and refugees. The exhibit, created by Academy Award-winning director Alejandro Iñárritu, debuted at the seventieth Cannes Film Festival and won a special Oscar for its storytelling. Based on true accounts from Central American and Mexican refugees, the virtual reality experience places the viewer on the scene, blurring the line between subject and bystander. In doing so, it enables the viewer to move through the scene and immerse him or herself in the environment, sensation, and feelings of a refugee.
Arriving at the site of “Carne y Arena,” I encountered a building studded with metal fragments from the U.S.-Mexico border. Entering the exhibit, I was confronted with a staggering sense of disorientation. The exhibit is split into three rooms with different environments, deconstructing the notion of a traditional exhibit.
Cold. Sterile. Gray. Empty. Silent. The walls were covered with instructions: remove your socks and shoes, and place them in the storage bin. Covering the floor were the remains of dust-covered shoes and clothing items that were recovered from the border zone. An alarm jarringly broke the silence of the holding cell, and with the alarm, I was instructed to enter a larger room.
Barefoot, I stepped into the room, covered in coarse sand and again surrounded by fragments from the border fence. Operators placed the Oculus Rift over my eyes and strapped a backpack to my back. As the darkness faded, I found myself in the desert at the border.
For six-and-a-half minutes, I was a bystander and a subject of the experience. A group of refugees started taking shape—men, women, and children of all ages made their way toward me, led by a coyote. Some were injured, some were tired, and some were determined to continue the journey. The light of day faded, and we were again shrouded in darkness. A bright light, the jarring blare of sirens, and an overwhelming gust of wind accompanied a helicopter. We tried to take cover, but border agents found us. The scene played out as I was confronted by border agents—with a rifle in my face—and ultimately separated from the group.
It would be naive not to address the significance of such an exhibit in the current political climate. The nation is polarized over immigration. This art installation gained public momentum in a landscape marred by the separation and detention of children at the border, directives to limit green cards for legal immigrants, and a pattern of presidential and congressional rhetoric rooted in racism and xenophobia.
Iñárrritu undercuts politically charged rhetoric by offering the viewer an immersive story grounded in the testimonies of real migrants from Mexico and Central America. This realism is represented best by the characters themselves: the faces seen in the exhibition are the faces of the very migrants who lent their stories to its formation. Exiting the installation, I entered an after-experience that displayed the testimonies of these individuals, adding to the urgency of the issue.
“Carne y Arena” arrives at a pivotal moment in American politics. Our rhetoric on immigration is deeply flawed due to its overreliance on security theory. This line of reasoning fosters a cycle of violence at the expense of refugees. To address immigration more effectively, refugees must be humanized. We must abandon emotional appeals and target causal factors. We must confront the issue itself. “Carne y Arena” provides us an opportunity to experience migration: its fears, dangers, and uncertainties. Hopefully, with this experience, all viewers—regardless of political orientation—are able to participate in a more constructive debate on migration, the travails of immigrants bound for America, and how our rhetoric fosters these cycles of violence.
The next block of tickets for October 15 to 31 will become available on October 15 at 8:00 AM. Tickets are released every two weeks for the duration of the exhibit.