"And I saw what Art can do"

(Excerpt of Eve speaking about V-Day's work in the Congo and collaboration with the UN/UNICEF)

"[...]we did these public tribunals, when I was there. In Goma and Bukavu, where ten women in each city came forward and told their stories before government officials, before UN officials, before hundreds of people in their community. It has never happened in the Congo that women have broken silence.

These women were so fierce. We worked with them for a week everyday, practicing their stories, telling their stories, doing trauma exercises, releasing… And then they got up, and they were so strong, they were so fierce, they were so powerful. And both events were filled with men who were weeping, literally. Kleenexes were being passed out. Governors were there, high officials were there. We would never have have gotten [...]the high officials... the – UN brought all those people. They are able to bring in all kinds of players and actors in the story that V-Day would never have access to. And we’re able to do these radical moments of breakingthe silence, and telling their story, and spreading pink, and spreading red, and spreading a whole different kind of energy [...]

I’ll tell you another example of our collaboration that sums it up. Last year we did huge demonstrations in the streets of Bukavu and Goma, and 8,000 women marched in the streets of Bukavu to stop the violence. And it was beautiful. And in the end, there was this huge stadium, and there was speeches and we did this whole performance [...] she [Justine, famous Congolese actress] had organized a theater piece which was about rape. And they were doing this whole community-based piece, where women were being raped, and they were calling on the cell phone- and this was in front of all the U.N. officials, and the first lady, who had come [...] All decked out, in this pink outfit! No kidding, she looked like Princess Diana, in pink [...] during the piece, Justine got dragged away, by a rapist, and when she came back, she had a little baby in her arms, who was a product of rape.

And she started to scream, “I have been raped, by so many men, that I don’t know the name of my baby!” And then she took the baby, and she threw the baby onto the first lady's lap. Threw the baby! Just like that [mimics motion] And said, “You. Name my baby!” I have never seen anything like it in my entire life. The first lady just went, [mimics total shock] scoops up the baby- all the guards were like [mimics sound of loading guns] but they couldn’t shoot the baby, right? And there was just like this moment, 5,000 women watching, and everyone just gasped.

And then the first lady sort of scooped up the baby, held the baby, and the first lady changed all her plans. She stayed at Bukavu three days. She came and danced with the rape women. She fed the rape women, she joined our campaign. And I saw what art can do, but I also saw UNICEF and V-Day. And the UNICEF people were like, ‘Did you plan that? Why didn’t you tell us about that?’ And I was like, ‘I dunno, it just happened!’ [laughter] And that’s what we are able to do together. And that’s what, at our meeting in Goma, the UNICEF people said, we need you to be who you are. You need to go and push the edge as far as it can go, and we need to do what we do."

Cassie

I thought of Cassie today. I do occasionally, only once a month or so now. But for awhile what was done to her haunted me. Its not that I had ever been so close to her. Katie was. I remember her as being golden and rosy. Very kind. Overly bubbly for me, who has been called overly bubbly; she was that warm. I remember how her gruesome murder shocked us, it was incomprehensible. And I was also obscenely curious. I'm not proud of that. I was on a plane when I finally read the article about exactly how he had killed her, a total nightmare of dismemberment and death at the hands of the boy she had maybe loved. I thought I wanted to know. But I still haven't forgotten the sickly strawberry smell of my vomit as I heaved, my body out of control as it reacted with utter horror.

Its years later now, and when Cassie crosses my mind she individualizes statistics for me. Having just compulsively re-read articles and looked through her memorial site, I'm struck as well by my sorrow for him. What happened to this boy? What do we do to our boys so that they do this to our girls? Sad too by some of her family's assertions that Cassie would never have been a victim of domestic violence. That means nothing. Do any of us know what we would really do in these profoundly sick situations? Haven't we all realized with fear how deeply in love we were, and wondered what extremes that love would put up with? More to the point, the power dynamics that color nearly all of our desicions.

I remember her memorial at EMS, sitting in a circle singing hippie songs that were at once beautiful/fitting/tawdry/obscene. How the teachers seemed so much older with grief. Thinking we were too young to know how to do her justice. That she was too young to die. I think now that this will never get easier, but only harder. How nearly all of my close friends have been raped or assaulted. When asked to step in the circle if I've known anyone who has been a survivor of assault I don't even know who to picture anymore- its a blur of faces. Does that get easier? No. Each time I am more angry, more convinced that I have to find someway to make this better.

Re-reading Cassie's words for her own eulogy moved me, and I hope they touch you. I can only imagine what a sweet life she would probably be living now. If I were her, if I were dead, if I could be, I'd be pissed off, 'oh good, my death helps remind you to live more fully. Nice.' But I can't imagine Cassie being so bitter.


"There are those who lived longer, and those who lived better for the world, but she made a difference that mattered, even on a small scale. She was protector to her family, and to women who thought themselves weak. She taught them, as best she could, to find confidence and inner power Ÿ She decided she was going to adopt as many female children as she could support; she brought up those girls to be strong women Ÿ She wrote books that didn't reach mainstream bookstores, but the content mattered Ÿ She loved dogs. The world's not drastically different because of her, but there are signs that she lived. The women she raised grew up to be powerful, and took those values into the world with them. Dogs led happier lives, and her books touched the lives of few, but loyal, readers." (Cassie Brown)

Belgrade bars are way too cool for me

Sipping beers in a bar with pianos as tables, I was struck by how open communication can be with strangers. I miss being around people who know me so well. Yet there is also something liberating when you can have genuine conversation with someone completely new; just jumping in, getting glimpses of their history but never having the whole story (which you couldn't have even if you'd known them their whole life).

I was struck by this, and also a little saddened by how quickly apparent so many of our scars are, even when shared as something already passed. So transparent, as old heartbreaks bubble to the surface three hours in. Are my own sorrows and insecurities so apparent as well? It makes me wish I could meet myself in a bar, chat objectively, just to know how blatantly these hurts show. Then again, maybe I don't want to know.

I've been gone almost 100 days. How startling. How urgent. Having my ticket to Barcelona somehow makes my time here feel more real and fleeting. While very aware of the complexity of this statement: I am learning to be happy here.

Excerpt from the European V-Day Workshop that moved me

(my morning walk along the waterfront)

I love this, how sometimes its about not asking- about resisting and perservering...

"Sarah: Hi I’m Sarah. I’m actually from Memphis, Tennessee [...] I’ve been involved in V-Day for about six years [...] in Memphis, and then I brought it to my university, Mississippi University for Women [...] It’s a very small school, about 2,500 people, and a really conservative area, so I had- I asked my junior year, and was shot down by the president. She said I could quietly show the movie. So I showed it.

Eve: QUIETLY show the movie [laughter]

Sarah: It wasn’t very quiet, I don’t think she liked that much. And my last year, I just didn’t ask. [laughter, “yeah!”] And we had it in a room about this size, we had a hundred people crammed in, so it was a small presentation-

Eve Go girl!

Sarah: - but it got a lot of awareness out, and we gave the money to the Mississippi Coalition Against Domestic Violence, the Hurricane Katrina Fund, Which helped with shelters that had been torn down from the hurricane.

Eve: I want to just say, you all don’t know Mississippi. But to do the Vagina Monologues in Mississippi, is like doing it in Islamabad, Pakistan. [appreciative laughter] Its about the same, it’s about the same. So I just want to say, kudos for your bravery! You go!"

Book recommendation!

Please please read Eve's book, a collection of pieces by notable men and women poets and authors about ending violence. It is now being used as a tool in community and university productions just as the Vagina Monologues is. I'm just starting it, but found Eve's first words in the introduction moving. I share them with you below, and hope they inspire you to seek out the book.

"Words. Words. This book is indeed about words. Speaking the unspoken. Speaking the spoken in a new and viable way, speaking the pain, speaking the hunger. Speaking. Speaking about violence against women not because it is the only issue, but because it is an issue that lives smack in the middle of the world and is still not spoken, not seen, not given weight or significance. So that words crack open numbness and denial and disassociation and distance and deception. Speaking so that we are in community, in conscience, in concern. " (Ensler, 13)

Quarterly Report

3 Months done :(
See mushy report below:

http://www.fileden.com/files/2008/6/20/1967513/Quarterly%20Report%20

Susana challenges Bill Gates

(Excerpt form interview with Susana Moscatel: co-translator/adaptor of Mexico's VM script)

"[...] I have this column for the newspaper, and every year, EVERY YEAR, I update my software...and it keeps telling me the word vagina is misspelled. And I keep on laughing so hard, and ... A year ago I wrote to Bill Gates, and I told him that vagina is the right word in Spanish. It is not misspelled. It doesn’t mean anything else. And he still hasn’t corrected it! So every year- I’ve been doing it for seven years...So every year, I think, ‘Okay, time for the vagina thing again!’ And I check and its still a mistake! ... And I find it unbelievable, you know?! So I think that’s the kind of thing this play, the Vagina Monologues, can change. Because somebody somewhere programmed that to be a mistake, or didn’t program that in... The way that if you write a curse word, it marks it.
JM: As though it doesn’t exist…
SM: But you write penis, and there’s nothing wrong with it.
JM: Oh, pene goes through?
SM: Yeah, pene’s right, it doesn’t correct it [...] It might just be someone’s mistake, but its been so long. And I DID write to Bill Gates!

Home #...?

I am sitting in the new "flat" I am likely paying way too many Euros for. BUT, I have laundry hanging on the balcony outside my room, good company and an unpacked bag. It is right next to the conjunction of two rivers, and walking there last night and this morning I felt comforted. It reminds me of the Portland Esplanade and all the important moments I've had there. Like there, people walk their dogs, ride bikes, fall in love, families unwind after a work day, old couples stroll out their last years.

Having met with the mighty women of ATC (Anti-Trafficking Centar), it makes most sense for me to stay in Belgrade to be part of the momentum leading up to bringing the VMs to Novi Sad for the first time. I'm going to be a participant-observor, and help out as well as document. In November I'll take two week-ish to go to Bosnia and Croatia and do interviews with some vagina warriors who have collaborated in the past to creatively spread a "V-Triangle" across the former Yugoslavia.

They are so inspiring- Don't look much older than me, but founded the NGO five years ago and tackle multiple and interesecting issues with bravery and brilliance. It was humbling to hear the constraints that they face, as they talked about how being an activist for touchy subjects is to daily risk your life. Talking honestly over blackberry beer, I felt myself surrounded by a kind of energy and solidarity. They remind me of Dawn and I. It was a relief talking about how to remain individually and communally sustained, and the grassroots movement's predispopsition to burnout. I feel so green. Driving last night through beurocratic red tape, my roomie pointed out, "and there's the Chinese Embassy that you 'accidentally' bombed".

I could go on for ages, but will leave it there, because I have to write my Quarterly Report. It seems impossible three months have passed. True, my hair is awkwardly longer. The seasons are changing. But it fills me afresh with a desperate desire to make this count. Knowing I will be back the 24th for Courty's wedding is strange; it makes me feel old to be going to my freshman year roomate's wedding. And at the same time, it gives me a reason to go back. It is something I can picture- a dress, reuniting with college friends, dancing with Angie, Megan making some hilarious toast- these are things I can picture, whereas two months from now I draw a blank.

Belgrade~Beograd

Belgrade has elements that are so familiar, yet distinctive. Kind of like when you get a wisp of thought that reminds you of last nights’ dream, but the details are blurry. Had a strange experience having stepped off the plane, and then the bus, of having directions given to me in Serbian and somehow understanding. I can cobble together a piece-meal understanding through Spanish and English similarities. I haven't travelled somewhere I don't speak the language in a long time, and it is humbling. Which feels healthy in the same satisfying way that salad does.

Its as though my skin is coated in a light film of emotions rising to the surface. Reading the most beautiful book, and I'm like an old lady crying at every little thing- whether extremely sad or beautiful or both. Imagine what an emotional time-bomb I will be when I actually AM old, yikes.

Having made my way up a precarious elevator to Three Black Catz hostal, I was offered a shot of home-made plum brandy. And since then have been amused and amazed by Belgrade. Think: Turkish coffee. There is also such recent violence, and I'm only beginning to get a grasp on the history. It was eery to see children playing on old tanks and weapons at the fort, as well as the eardrum-destroying sound of planes thundering above. Though it was an aerial show, mere years ago the planes could have been dropping NATO bombs. I'm hoping to meet with the anti-trafficking NGO goddesses tomorrow. I have ganas de getting my ass settled in Novi Sad. I want to be able to sleep naked, do laundry and unpack my stanky bag for awhile.

London beauty by night

(So, I actually didn't feel that emo walking the waterfront, but I couldn't resist- I just felt so damn cool listening to my Coldplay and strolling with my date [my camera])

At night they would go walking ‘til the breaking of the day,
The morning is for sleeping…
Through the dark streets they go searching to seek God in their own way,
Save the nighttime for your weeping…
Your weeping…

Singing la lalalala la lé…
And the night over London lay.
So we rode down to the river where the Victoria ghosts pray
for their curses to be broken…
We’d go wandering neath the arches where the witches are and they say
There are ghost towns in the ocean…
The ocean…
Singing la lalalala la lé…
And the night over London lay.

God is in the houses and God is in my head… and all the cemeteries in London…
I see God come in my garden, but I don’t know what he said,
For my heart, it wasn’t open…
Not open…

Singing la lalalala la lé…
and the night over London lay.
Singing la lalalala la lé…
There's no light over London today.

Too much tea- weighing me down this London afternoon

Its strange how I’m studying the breaking of silence through being quiet myself. I am learning so much about listening. Spending so much time with others, absorbing their stories, so that when I have company, I feel more quiet than usual. And of course spending more time alone also means more silence; even though thoughts are ricocheting through me quicker than usual.

At slightly melancholy moments like this, I feel like a kind of neutral receptacle, a bit of a non-person. Going so many new places, making so many rich new acquaintances, but aware that no one knows me deeply, or perhaps not as well as I think I know them. I suppose I am sharing of myself in a different way than I am used to. That's how we remain open, by voluntarily sharing of ourselves. And I need to remind myself to speak out, whether asked to or not, to remind myself of who I am. Most times I feel more intensely myself than ever, but there are moments when I get lost.

And I feel so lucky to be in this experience, that I feel guilty for feeling lonely, or cranky, or whatever, because even in the midst of that is my privilege and my gratefulness for this opportunity. I remember reading some of the Watson blurbs, and they felt so self-pitying to me, so focused on the self, when I want to focus on my project, and I figure the self revelation will naturally accompany that.

I'm thinking a lot about the devastating violence Eve told us about in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and how to know these things, and let them in, and not choke. She said, 'These women lived through hell, and survived. You are not going to die just hearing it' No, but I'm trying to learn how to give myself over to being this useful tool, and at the same time remain that "seeker of beauty" that I used to envision myself. How to care for ourselves enough to maintain our efficiency and drive, without floating indefinitely in the mundane, or petty. So after I finish transcribing this endless interview, I'm going to go out into the sunny autumn day. I'm going to go to the FREE National Gallery and look at some Boticelli, DaVinci, and Duccio. I'm going to brush up against strangers, and probably see some incredibly human detail that fills my heart and reminds me that what we are fighting for is a revival of our full humanity.

V-Day European Workshop

The "vagina godmamas" dancing it out and healing ourselves at the V-Day European Workshop yesterday

(Ana, Eve Ensler, and I!) I got not only hugs, but her blessing and a renewed sense of purpose)

Text to come tomorrow!

Brighton, the Robin Hood, and the kindness of strangers

(Brighton from the pier)

I’m sitting in the Robin Hood, a People’s Pub that donates all the money to charity, and allows puppies inside. It is a block-ish from the boiling ocean, and I am feeling rejuvenated. The beach is wild and cold and windy in a very Oregon way, it saltily smacks your face and wakes you up. Reminds me of the surreally beautiful beach trip with Anyel when I got back from Ecuador and was heart sore. The way the foam was piled as deep as snow drifts, the dramatic lighting, rainbow, and wild joy that I could still feel.

You know the old saying, “wherever you go, there you are”? Well, I feel that I am rediscovering the parts of myself I like best, and am remembering to enjoy my own company. I am a woman who doesn’t mind the rain, and who is drawn to the ocean. There I feel more thoughtful. It is easier to be intentional as well as kind. I feel a renewed optimism. In myself, in love; I feel the Regina Spektor lyrics, “You peer inside yourself -You take the things you like - And try to love the things you took - And then you take that love you made - And stick it into some - Someone else's heart “. I have worried my heart is closed, but it isn’t. I love in many other ways, and in time another person will come along who, like the ocean, brings out the best parts of me and loves me in spite of the rest. When I was with Andrew before things got so hard, I was so damn happy my heart was that much more open to the other relationships in my life as well.

My project is going good good good! Ana kindly offered for me to stay this week, and it is so wonderful to alight here in the lovely Brighton with such good and intellectually stimulating company. I plan to transcribe and translate all my remaining (read: NUMEROUS) hours of Mexico interviews. And then we’ll go to London for a UK Feminist Conference, and then hopefully back to Cambridge which is showing the VMs! What a crazy coincidence; I’m not sure if the Vagina Monologues really ARE everywhere, or if I’ve just had the most incredible luck thus far. Then back to London for the European V-Day Conference. Serbia plans are (tentatively and with much pushy Americanism) falling into place.

Point is, I am learning to walk alone but not be alone, and when I am, to not be lonely.

(Tlatelolco- Plaza of the three cultures in D.F.)

Imagine suddenly being in a land where the postman serenades (not propositions) you, and you escape into a pub from the wet chill, accidentally order a heaping piece of chocolate cake and “white” fair-trade coffee, which you eat in front of the fireplace where Pink Floyd began. Cheers! Welcome to Cambridge. I’m staying with Emily in her quaint 800 year old college, where Silvia Plath lived. The poetry and history is blatantly present, as it was in Mexico, but so so different. It reminds me what a young country the U.S. is, and how much we have to learn and change (if the debates last night weren’t enough of a reminder).

I keep having, “I’m not in Mexico anymore” moments- though the instinct for constant comparison is wearing off, as is my horror at the GBP. I need to balance my natural penny-pinching with a realization that travel inherently involves a near constant spending of money. Because of this, I feel an urgency to justify the extreme privilege of my life right now with a lot of work and budgeting. Especially meeting all of Emily’s brilliant and specialized peers here makes me feel a bit insecure about my own intelligence and lonely about what can sound like a bizarre and flighty year when described to the classy folk here over a pint. But in the end, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing, or a way to be learning so much about violence against women, and also about myself.

At the Red Bull Pub the other night, I realized with joy that the Vagina Monologues is never really that far away. The very act of talking about what I’m up to inevitably leads me into dynamic conversations about peoples' impressions and experiences. I met Danika, from New Delhi who saw it there twice and passionately ranted over pear cider about how much it moved her and about what she learned about female circumcision while on a dig in Egypt. I also met Katie, who along with an enthusiastic sky-diving conversation told me that Cambridge also has a V-Season every-year and who promised to put me in touch with her friend who organizes the womens group, which has a representative in every college.

After my little rest from jet lag, hopefully a few interviews, and a beautiful breath of home in the form of one of my oldest friends, I’m off to Brighton for a few days. The woman who is getting her PHD in Medical Anthropology, studies Breast Cancer in rural Spain, and organized the VMs there, invited me to go to a breast cancer walking through the “rolling beautiful hills of rural England”. I couldn’t say no to the opportunity, and hope to learn more about the Zaragoza production while I am there.

In London I am going to interview leaders in PozFem, as especially with the New V-Day developments in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, I want to learn more about the connection between violence against women and the spread of HIV/AIDS. And I am getting ridiculously excited about this upcoming V-Day European Organizer conference, where I hope to learn much and make contacts who will inform my next few months. Though I will meet and talk to Eve, I won’t be allowed to interview her. Though this was initially disappointing, just being in the presence of this world-shaking goddess is going to be mind-opening.

Sitting between Rachel and Kasra and watching the Monologos de la Vagina in Mexico City for the last time, I felt a sense of peace. I had interviewed each of the three actresses, so for me their own voices and love for the text combined with the script, making true the title of my project, “Women Echoed eachother”.

I have few regrets from this first stage, having squeezed in a few last interviews with actresses, the NGO the money is donated to, and the original translator/adaptor. I wish I could have interviewed the director, and I feel I should have gone to Juarez to visit the shelter there and to try and better understand the femicide there. I should have gone. I was afraid and didn't prioritize it, and that was wrong.

Listening to the final words of the Mexican version, “Yo estaba alli, yo recuerdo” felt final, and right. I was there. I learned. I will remember. It is time to move on.