"Shiny Ropes"

Shiny ropes hang by my side

When the nights are long

Shiny ropes can tell no lies

Even when the dream’s gone

We all love the same when the stakes are high

We all crash, burn and hope, until we die

We’re all lookin’ for somethin’ that keeps us hangin’ on

Liftin’ you

Liftin’ me

Right up to the sky

We all feel the sadness when they say goodbye

We all pull, push, and cling to give it one more try

We’re all reachin’ for heaven, hoping to belong

Hold you up

Hold me up

We won’t break the tie

Shiny ropes hang by my side

When the nights are long

Shiny ropes can tell no lies

Even when the dream’s gone

We’re all dependin’ on someone to make us feel alive

We’re not savin’ our hearts from something we can’t deny

LETTERS TO A DEAD GIRL: TRANSCENDENCE ready for CESA2015

Synopsis - Letters to a Dead Girl: Transcendence

One-person show written by Shazia Islam a.k.a. Neon

*This story is a fictionalized account of an American soldier's dive into the hellfire of war and the tragic consequences of his indoctrination. The idea of the story evolved during the annual 3-Day Novel Writing Contest held over Labour Day weekend in 2013 after I had read about the horrors of the US invasion of Iraq in Jim Frederick's Black Hearts: One Platoon's Descent into Madness in Iraq's Triangle of Death. The now deceased Frederick (rest in peace Jim) had a vision to write a book that would effectively change people's naive perceptions of US intervention in Iraq. He wanted to tell the real story and he did in profoundly gripping detail. His book changed my reality for good. The 50-page Letters to a Dead Girl was written during a turbulent time in my own life so I was unable to expand on the story and make it more "complete" within the 3-day time limit. As fate would have it, an opportunity arrived to turn the manuscript into a solo theatre show, and so, the story renews its determination to be heard, for better or for worse...

Humanity in every soul cannot be extinguished, yet it must be continuously rediscovered, for a light flickers within. --SI

During the second U.S.-led military invasion and occupation of Iraq in 2003, hundreds and thousands of Iraqi civilians were subjected to violent deaths as a result of an armed, foreign military presence. The deaths of civilians in this period saw a tragic increase from the first invasion of Iraq in 1991. The embattled region remains in chaos and its people deeply affected by the horrors they had witnessed.

Letters to a Dead Girl: Transcendence is a one-person theatre production with music about a U.S. soldier living out the rest of his life in solitary confinement for crimes he committed while stationed in Iraq. The story of Private First Class Leonard Purple is a profound and disturbing exploration of a troubled American youth's indoctrination into military invasion, racism, occupation, and violence. After receiving the toughest sentence of life without parole out of a group of soldiers charged with the rape and murder of an Iraqi teenager and the murders of her family, he sits in a solitary jail cell back in the U.S. as turbulent memories of the past invade his mind. In an attempt to take accountability for his actions, Purple begins writing a series of letters to Fatima Qureshi, the girl he had killed. What follows is an unexpected transcendence where identities converge and then merge, and where Purple suddenly finds himself on the side of the Occupied. As this alternate reality unfolds changing the landscape of his prison cell, Purple hears the voice of Fatima through his own as she delivers a repertoire of haunting ballads to reclaim the life she knew in one final act of resistance and repossession.

Letters to a Dead Girl: Transcendence has no entertainment value. It is not a show or a spectacle. It is a story to remember and to honour the young spectres of war and violence whose lives were mercilessly stolen, and whose spirits yet remain, roaming in anticipation of liberation. 

Music:

"Time" composed and performed by Timothy A. Bartsch

"Foreshadowing" and "Abeer Qassim Hamza Al-Janabi" composed and performed by NO FEALTY

Performance Date:

Thursday, April 30, 12:15pm - 1:45pm @ Critical Ethnic Studies Conference (#CESA2015)

York University Campus

Cracks in the Pavement

PHOTO BY SI

I don't see grass growing through those cracks. All I see is cold, fractured holes that descend into nether worlds.

I lose my child's imagination that chooses the missteps so I could fall into this abyss of wonder with rabbits, mad hatters, and bitch-face queens, enticing with tea and talk of pleasantries and backstabbing. 

But no, these cracks rob me of a child's talent to make light of danger; the child who trusts and believes all the big people in this world will eternally love, care, and protect. You love me, don't you?

Looking down into that void, I sense its strong gravitational allure, a familiar sensation and a familiar place.

These fissures, abode of the Erinyes, they know me. They know me well after the child's erasure. 

Blood tastes metallic sweet as another number pops up in the morning news. The sound of splitting, breaking. A screaming separation. I attempt to avert my eyes, struggle to block my mind from letting the story seep into this trembling sentience.

But I've been hit. A hard nefarious force like all the others before, a deafening blow on the side of the head. Gravity beckons with no safety net for the fall through the jagged tear, a knife wound meandering in freakish zigzag carved with sadistic sensuality by that staunch killer of functional faculty.

I retreat, cower, holding breath, a bete noir that the imminent intrusion will take me down for good. Because they all know me. Know I belong to them. That I'm one of them.
 

I'm. One. Of. Them. 
 

Lateral Violence: Divide and Rule's Special Ingredient

"Lateral violence happens when people who are both victims of a situation of dominance, in fact turn on each other rather than confront the system that oppresses them both. Lateral violence occurs when oppressed groups/individuals internalize feelings such as anger and rage, and manifest their feelings through behaviors such as gossip, jealousy, putdowns and blaming."

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, and I think many of us who identify with marginalized communities are really hesitant about talking about this issue because it might open our communities up to ridicule and possibly further oppression. But I've spoken to peers who have experienced it far too often on a daily basis. I've experienced it myself both on a personal and professional level and am very familiar with the various displays of wrath that's out there - usually in the forms that are listed in the definition above. I don't think any of us are necessarily immune from it. Whatever struggles you're identifying with as a human being, those struggles will bring you into a community of others who have experienced the same. Our hope is that in coming together under this collective suffering, we'd all find understanding and acceptance. But more often than not, the very people who we need to count on for support are the ones who drag us down even farther. What such lateral violence creates is a profound and permanent lack of trust in our own people so that we all remain divided...and wretchedly conquered.

The only way we can create change and challenge systemic oppression and violence against our communities is to love each other fabulously, where each and every person's dignity is held up to be honoured and respected, where each and everyone's strengths, achievements, and dreams are celebrated, not envied or ridiculed. There is no denying the fact that we can't change the world if we can't change ourselves, but I'm not that naive to think that making such a change is all a bed of roses, as quick as a holiday makeover, particularly when we ourselves become both prey and predator of this kind of violence as we fall into a cycle that takes us deeper into fear, rage, and hate.

How do we develop self-esteem and self-awareness, and have the emotional tools to draw on courage to challenge our own internalized tendencies to oppress? How do those of us who work in sectors that serve vulnerable populations that we ourselves identify with in some capacity support them without having to sacrifice our own healing for the sake of seeming less than we actually are (such as by faking stupid) so we can avoid becoming victims ourselves? And if we do encounter the unfortunate circumstances of being a victim, where can we access resources and support that act as harm reduction to throw a wrench into the gears and stop the cycle?

We can't heal in a vacuum. We desperately need each other and need to collectively explore and implement transformative ways to reconcile, resolve, and grow with each other and for each other. If February is meant to be the month of Love (beyond the consumerist-romantic meaning of it), then let's challenge ourselves to know, be, and breathe Love. That, in my mind, is probably the single greatest act of resistance, and possibly the best antidote to our inner oppressed and our inner oppressor. Cultivate love by never losing hope in ourselves and our peers, especially the ones who have wronged us. Power to the people.

HIV is not the problem

Recently, a friend of mine flew into Toronto for a visit. My place was too small to be shared between two people, so I checked out the airbnb site and found him a communal home where several people lived. When I sent my friend information about the house, he was quite elated to read that the residents shared many of his own values and lifestyle and dietary practices. I was really happy to have found the place since most of the other bnbs looked a bit too stuffy for an artistic wunderkind like my friend.

My friend arrived and I helped him settle at the home. He would stay for the next 3 weeks in order to connect with musicians who might be interested in working with him on his musical odyssey. All of that began to fall into place as he hit the pavement and began to expand his network here in the urban jungle. He exuded warmth and did not feel inhibited as he struck conversations with musicians, bar patrons, and friends at the open mics he performed at. He received a welcoming ear among the crowds, and support and encouragement from new and old faces.

He struck up similar conversations with his housemates and in an effort to tell them more about his personal story, he gave his card to one of the residents, who then checked out the website. Well, I'll inform you all here that my friend is open about his HIV status, which he spells out in colouful text under his alter ego's section on the website. This resident upon reading this information about my friend, then notified other residents of my friend's status. One person who frequented the house refused to come while he was there. I'm not sure if this person was given appropriate information about HIV, but they eventually sort of came around as I was told.

The owner of the house told my friend that he should have disclosed his status from the beginning. Soon, many of the residents were walking on eggshells around him when just a few days before they were warm and welcoming. Now, it seemed they didn't know what to say to him. Their discomfort was obtrusive, but my friend didn't take it to heart and responded by providing the owner with website reources such as TheBody.com to help educate. I also supported my friend by writing an email to the owner outlining some of the basic myths and facts of HIV, the reality of stigma and discrimination against poz peeps, and ways to educate and stay informed. I offered to invite my colleagues at ASAAP to hold a HIV 101 workshop at the residence along with a grounding activity so everyone would feel safe, most especially my friend. The owner responded by asking if the email could be forwarded, and I gave the OK.

Even though the owner had responded that things were much better now that some of the other residents who were apparently well-informed about HIV were back in the house, my friend continued to experience a sort of arms length distancing and contrived friendliness among some of the folks there.

It's the 21st century, but some folks choose to live in a past largely constructed by irresponsible and inaccurate media hype when facts and realities about the condition were still being formulated. I'm surprised that a household that prides itself on establishing a sustainable communal lifestyle was unable to extend that care and compassion to a fellow human being who respected the rules and policies of the house, and made the effort to reach out to the residents and give them an opportunity to learn something new about the human condition and the diversity of struggle, suffering, and triumph. I would think that if we are to apply social justice practices in our daily lives, it demands that we raise our consciousness and foster understanding. What does inclusion and anti-oppression really mean if they only serve as catch phrases to pad our egos?

What this incident showed me was that despite all the great gains that have been made in HIV treatment and care which has resulted in the overall improvement in the lives of poz communities, programs that educate and raise awareness to help fight HIV stigma must continue full steam if we are to see greater positive shifts in attitude and knowledge among the status quo. It's largely due to the work, advocacy, commitment and courage of many many poz individuals, their supporters and allies, and AIDS service organizations that advances have been made. I'm proud to stand by all of them, including my friend, as we act diligently to soften hearts, transform minds, and nurture our collective and love-affirming humanity.


*In writing this post, my intention was not to judge people's behaviour. I acknowledge that some people struggle with OCD, and so situations such as this might trigger fear or anxiety. They too are suffering from a condition, and should be provided with all the information they need to feel at ease and safe. In order to challenge HIV stigma, it requires compassion for all.