In time we will fly the skies

(Ella [volunteer] and Pearl [actress] being irresistible saleswomen for the V-Day merchandise)

I spent yesterday collecting testimonies (even that vocabulary makes me nervous and reeks of academic imperialism). Por and I talked with three women at Emergency Home, and their stories were absolutely overflowing and overlapping tales of abuse, of hair pulling, rock crushing, love turned monstrous and isolating fear. BUT. But, they were also the stories of deeply loving mothers, fiercely strong survivors. They still have the mental stamina to dream of a better life for themselves and their children, even if those children are products of rapes that will never be punished, and even though their dreams are all mixed up with fear. One woman’s worn pink t-shirt had birds all over it and English text sprayed across her heart, ‘I cannot fly the sky’. Another woman when I asked her what it means to be a woman told us it meant to be weak. She later clarified that women no longer needed men to take care of them if they were going to abuse them. Another woman shyly but proudly told us her dream is to be both mother and father for her babies.

The evening fundraiser was quite the contrast from the humble but clean and peaceful women’s compound of the morning. This was a glamorous, earnest and slightly superficial crowd. I was much more comfortable behind the VM table talking about it and selling merchandise than mingling with the models, journalists, editors, producers, writers and creative elite on a rooftop bar looking over the sex playground of the Nana district, heady with their brilliance and the balmy Bangkok breeze.

I was glad for the sense of excitement and celebration though. Free drinks and pounding music make me as happy as the next person. But after Emergency Home, I wasn’t in the mood to humor balding jerks endless jokes about, “supporting violence against women! I support that!’ As though he’s the first to present misogyny in the uncouth and unconvincing package of liberalism and wealth. I wanted to tell him, ‘Today I listened to a sixteen year old girl so crippled by her embarrassment at being raped that she hid her pregnancy seven months, till it was too late to get an abortion. How she told us her fear had been disappointing her family who saw her as their light and cherished dream of her being the first to attend college’ So no, I don’t think you’re funny.

And I know this makes me the angry feminist who would still the party atmosphere around us were I to engage him. I also know it wouldn’t help her, it wouldn’t actually make me feel better, and he would not listen. This is why I entrust my faith and voice to the Vagina Monologues; because they can engage a diverse audience with patience, wit and humour unlike my anger. If it had been Ellie, she would have delivered some bitingly clever line that let people laugh while also chastising him in the most charming way possible.

So when you become the 'vagina woman' you get the best e-mails!

Check it out: Bikes and vaginas! (Thanks Em!)
http://jalopnik.com/393601/giant-vulva-bicycle-taxi-is-freudian-wet-dream

(And, a friend of a friend's baby)

First all-cast rehearsal!

A few moments from today that I'd like to share with you:

Walking back after lunch Mew asked me what 'fistula' is. The word is in her Monologue, the new one about the Congo. I explained it's a medical word, but a hugely social issue. I carefully told her how it's usually caused by prolonged child-birth by very young girls. I watched her reactions carefully to be sure she understood, as I told her how they can't control themselves and leak urine and feces uncontrollably. I explained how even more horrifically than usual, fistula is one of the huge problems in the DRC because of the especially terrorizing way that women and children are being raped. I wasn't quite sure she understood, because she was looking at me so intently as we dodged Bangkok traffic. Then she started to cry. So I started to tear up. She understood in a very real way. Mew is a travel agent, but tells me her passion would be to work with women in the U.N.

~

The after lunch stupor sets in and the BKK heat, while apparently very 'cold' these days (the paper yesterday listed the expected high at 90 degrees Fahrenheit), is still enough to bring the energy down. I'm glad to see I'm not the only one sweating. Everyone is leaning against the walls, but independently Yvonne and the woman doing 'Village' are practicing their Monologues. They mouth the words, drifting gracefully across the 'stage'. I am struck by this.

'My Vagina was my Village' chronicles horrific rape while Yvonne's is 'I was there in the room' a squishy Monologue about the miracle of life and full of 'vaginal wonder' Rape and birth, two universals, two near opposites, though sometimes tragically overlapping. They are both earnest and non-dramatic, and I don't think anyone else is noticing. But seeing raw-pained survival and cherished re-birth quietly side by side, co-existing, gives me chills in a way I cannot quite describe. It is a quiet, beautiful (and feels to me) loaded moment.

~

I'd heard that Sonoko's was powerful- Alanna had cried during her audition though she understood none of the words. But even so, I wasn't quite prepared for the total raw power and pain of her 'Say it' Half Japanese herself, the piece is about the Comfort Women. It's a rehearsal, yet she pours everything into it.

Raw is the only way to describe her fury and overwhelming grief. And strength. A tear clings stubbornly to her chin, and I think about the layers of bravery. Her bravery to respond so, to access those emotions and to let them twist her face and lash out in her voice which goes from quiet sighs to animalistic screams for justice. The howl. The bravery of the woman whose story it really is- is she still alive? Is she still picketing the Japanese embassy in Milan? Dry leaves blow across the floor.

I am crying though I understand none of the words, and I look around and the majority of the cast is as well, though many don't understand Thai. Mere moments later we are all laughing, though the tears aren't even dry yet; this is the power of the Monologues.

Eve and Dr. Mukwege on NPR

Give it a listen folks- should be enlightening :)

Eve and Dr. Mukwege on NPR TOMORROW!

Eve and Dr Mukwege will be on NPR's Weekend Edition tomorrow, Saturday January 24. The interview is scheduled to air at roughly 8:25AM ET. The program runs from 8AM to 10AM Eastern.

Check your local listings if outside of the New York City area.

Obamanos!

Yeah Obama! Though was for once on a work roll, made myself leave the apartment to seek the Night Market, some din din, and an inauguration party. It's crazy how ultra proactive one has to be in the beginning stages of making a home somewhere. On the one hand I think I am freakishly adaptable at this point- having only slept like four nights here, I got back from the North and way like, 'Oh sigh! Home!' Though this also backfires; for example was talking to Katie and heard myself complaining about how I don't have any friends beyond my informants here... Then realized I haven't even been here a week- come on! Give yourself some slack Jen.

Night market was a fairly revolting mess of everything I don't like about tourism, globalism, and sex work- i.e. could have gone to a 'pussy-ping-pong event' declined rather scornfully. So after some green curry (blisssssssss) went to this bar, for Democrats in Thailand event, and holy-cow, haven't seen this many Americans since July.

Was kind of an overload actually, we could have been in Salem, Portland, anywhere. Lots of tanned, confident, and glammed up ex-pats- most of the women with nose piercings (a nod here to the daily comedy that is life and acknowledgement of the irony). Anyways, it was kind of lonely to be in the crush of people, though the energy was undeniably charged. Ended up chillin with folks from London, Norway, and some Australians, so that's hilarious. Anyways, I will go to sleep tonight very content and so so pleased for these tides of change.

On the way out of Huay Pu Keng Karen village I was meditative as we crossed the small river. I helped Mubi’s (my translator, the leader of the women’s shelter’s in the refugee camp and now my friend) son scramble up the steep bank. His little feet clinging resolutley to his sandals as I swooped him up the rocky bank. With his sturdy little body in my arms I was well aware of how foreign little people are to me, and that most of the women in the village my age had been married almost a decade. How strange I must seem to them!

We walked along the small but much loved path, and she told me with pride about the previous conversation. I had been utterly oblivious to the discussion’s gravity, as I attempted to gnaw on the very hard and aptly named bitter nut, and sipped at a beer/energy drink concoction I had been gifted. Turns out, the village chief and his delightful wife who had the most neck rings I’d seen, a near constant gob in her mouth and an infectious chortle, were on the verge of divorce. As we swished our way through the long grass she told me with pride how she had been mediating their conversation, how they had no-one else to talk with because of their high status, and how their now-nightly shouting matches due to his infidelity were wearing on the family. I, while trying to appear engaged, and understanding nothing, had been gazing at the numerous soccer trophies and attractive dangling CD decorations, pondering my sore butt, and had assumed they were talking about something mundane due to the frequent laughter. Just goes to show how clueless I can be, and what a barrier language is.

As we’d walked to the truck, her son manically ran between the driver and us more stumpy walkers, exactly like my childhood puppy used to do. I’d wondered, and expressed without really thinking, ‘Mubi, what is your earliest memory’ thinking, maybe this would be her son’s. Of war she told me, of fear, fleeing Burma with her family, of hiding in the jungle, of the first refugee camp. I don’t remember my own first memory, I just remember swearing to myself I would always remember it- I think it had something to do with lilacs. What a contrast…

I was surprised when this time Mubi and her son jumped in the back of the truck with me for the long ride back into MaeHongSon. He apparently took to me, and even let me carry him when I offered to give poor Mubi’s back a break. She said in surprise that he liked me, that farong (whities) usually made him cry. While he nestled into her in the back of the dusty truck, Mubi grinned at me, glowing, with her mouth stained a vibrant rusty color from the bitter root/leaf/unknown white paste. Her face opened into a wide smile, and her eyes nearly disappeared in gleeful half moons, as she told me, ‘say hi to your mom for me next time you see her!’ I thought I had misheard, which would be easy over the extreme bumpiness of the ride, which made me wish I had a sports bra or, better yet, a helmet. ‘Tell her to be proud of you’ she told me next, and the kindness and care in her face took my breath away. Dear dear Mubi! I’d felt honored by her company that day, and awed by her survival and tenacious optimism in the face of such hardship. I’d felt a real connection to her as well, but to hear her so openly volunteer this touched me in a very real way. She said, almost with surprise, ‘I already feel like you’re family! I feel I could tell you anything, you’re so nice.’ She insisted I must come back and visit sometime, to bring my mom, war or peace, to come stay at her house. I honestly can’t think of the last time I’d been gifted with such a meaningful compliment.

Photos from MaeHongSon Interviews

Article I wrote for Bangkok Monthly

Go “Down There?!” with the Vagina Monologues, Bangkok Style

This February, go “Down there?!” as V-Day Productions brings you “The Vagina Monologues,” one of the freshest, sexiest plays to hit Bangkok. This multi-award winning production is being performed in Thailand for the first time. Boasting a talented cast of 23 diverse and engaging women, “The Vagina Monologues,” is a powerful collection of real experiences and surprising facts, narrating the story of women around the world- with a profound dedication to improve it.

“The Vagina Monologues” is compelling both hilarious and extremely moving. It approaches often taboo subjects with wit, humor and heart. The play is accessible and authentic because the Monologues are all real women’s stories, based on over 200 international interviews. With such a range of perspectives, there is something for all men and women, and is sure to open your mind and heart.

Bangkok’s three not to be missed performances of “The Vagina Monologues” will be on February 27-March 1 at the Patravadi Theater, Theater in the Garden. These performances will join the tide of thousands around the world as part of V-Day’s international campaign to end violence against women and girls. V-Day is traditionally celebrated around Valentine’s Day, as the “V” in V-Day stands for “Victory, Vagina and Valentine,” thereby ideologically linking the campaign to love.
Bangkok’s performances will be fully bilingual, with monologues in English and Thai, and simultaneous translations. Designer, Marisa Baratelli, will donate the Thai-silk costumes. This historical first for Thailand is supported by local celebrities such as Natalie Glebova, Paradorn Srichaphan, and artist Doytibet Duchanee, as it was supported internationally by such well-known actresses as: Meryl Streep, Whoopi Goldberg, Oprah Winfrey and Jane Fonda.

The V-Day movement also strives to raise funding for local efforts to end violence. V-Day Bangkok has partnered with other change-making organizations, including MTV’s anti-trafficking campaign MTV EXIT, and the local Thai charity, the Emergency Home for Women and Children, part of the “Association for the Promotion of the Status of Women” under the Royal Patronage of H.R.H. Princess Soamsawali. All proceeds will be donated to Emergency Home to fund their safe house and initiate a violence prevention campaign. The director of the show, Alanna Gregory, hopes the performance “will open up a dialogue about some of these issues—rape, violence, assault and exploitation—and will increase awareness about these highly prevalent problems.” At the performance you will also receive testimonies of local vulnerable demographics.

In addition to the three performances,V-Day Bangkok volunteers will hold a fundraising dinner in the newly renovated Nomad Restaurant on February 18, 8-11PM, also serve the restaurant’s debut. The event features a four-course dinner, live auction with exciting items including a painting by Doytibet Duchanee, a “sneak preview” performance, and speech by the President of Emergency Home.

The production is made possible by the loving dedication of local volunteers, and with just a little over a month to go the excitement is palpable. Volunteers’ affirmative energy is creating a powerful local community to continue the work to end violence against women in Bangkok, and everywhere. The production promises to be so sensational, it has gained international focus and will be documented for a book.

With only three performances, seating is limited, so get yours soon at www.totalreservation.com at their call center 02 833 5555 or by visiting one of their ticket offices in Victory Monument or Mo Chit. VIP ticket options insure optimal seating and include pre-show dinner. Student, group and early-booking discounts also available.
To learn more, please visit vdaybkk.blogspot.com or http://events.vday.org/2009/Community/Bangkok_(TVM). For further questions about the performance, V-Day Bangkok Merchandise and tickets, donations or to attend the fundraising dinner, please contact vdaybkk@gmail.com.

Bangkok!

(Bangkok V-Day cast!)

I’m in Bangkok! What does that mean? It means everything is new. It means last night was a whirlwind of the first V-day fundraiser event, with my backpack stashed behind the bar, and mingling with a crowd of glittering ex-pats producers, stockbrokers, actresses, UN workers, etc. It means I am new enough here that I was thrilled to see an elephant in the street. It means I slept nearly 12 hours after an endless two days of travel and bureaucratic bull-shit that necessitated me desperately buying a plane ticket to India before I could board; I’m going to have to switch my ticket and make a visa run at 30 days. It means I am listening to Flashdance and Eve 6 while the Thai wind wraps around the studio apartment my main contact Alanna’s friend is letting me use. It means I’m sleeping in the hugest bed ever, that a tiny balcony overlooks the Northern Bangkok skyline, that I am determined to keep this guys plant not only alive but flourishing. The skytrain is awesome! It means there is pomegranate juice and chocolate soy milk in the fridge. It means I can breath easier in the humid heat, that my pores are cheering the warmth, that I can return to flipflops, that the sun is making me ridiculously giddy. And having done my first step immersion stuff- cell phone now in hand, mystifying grocery store experience, public transportation, I am suddenly- settling. It is shocking how quickly these basic details get taken care of. How… (please don’t let this jinx me) easy it all is. I was a bit daunted leaving this morning, but my nerves quickly switch to excitement-stimulation instead of fear by all the I see, smell and hear. Walking from the skytrain to ‘my apartment’ the air is filled with mouthwatering street food smells, and there is a beautiful, silk draped shrine in the alley. Motor-bike taxis await their next patron. I think I’m going to be really inspired here.

Tonight I’m going to a Vagina Monologues rehearsal; the cast includes Thais, ex-pats, transgendered folks… It will be done in a combination of Thai and English. My mind’s already a whirrrrr. There is heavy censorship here- a film producer last night told me his movies had liberal chunks frequently removed, including a frame where a women’s dress strap slid modestly off her shoulder. BUT the Vag Mons is somehow under ‘royal patronage’ so it gets to skate away, censorship free! There is a famous tennis player and ex-miss universe publicly sponsoring the event, and there has already been excellent media coverage though it’s still over a month away. This kind of participant-observation is what I dreamt of while writing this fellowship proposal. In a few days Alanna and I will catch a flight to Northern Thailand to do interviews, collecting testimonies of women who have experienced violence at Burmese Refugee camps as part of the activist/educational component of the production. If you know me, you can understand that I am in heaven. More than ever I am aware of the flippant brevity of a year, and feel a near constant ticking against my wrist where a watch should be, reminding me how brief this blessing is. Half way gone, so much to still see and experience…

"[...] are they like us?"

(no picture bc computer is fucked)

My computer pooped-out on me in a major way, and though I am flustered, I am also pretty impressed with my reaction. I am pleased with my own progression away from material things; these days if I have my health, my passport, and a pair of jeans (and research material backed-up) life is pretty okay. Though I am still dismayed, especially because technology isn't supposed to be quirky and weird like this, but around me it goes wack. It's like when I was worried I'd scratch my tattoo off, and everyone laughed that it wasn't possible, and then who scratched off part and had to go BACK to the chair of pain?! Yep, me.

Tomorrow I bus to Zaragoza, then to Madrid, then catch a LONG-ASS flight to Bangkok and head right to a V-Day event. It is pretty wild to be chatting with people in this lovely rural Spanish town, and be like, "Yep, heading to Thailand tomorrow..." My time in Quinto both research-wise and life-wise has been lovely... In ways lonely because the community here is so strong, family ties so obvious, loyalties so steadfast that I feel slightly off-kilter; the strange girl who is off travelling around the world and who left her mother by herself. Simultaneously though, I feel welcomed and so warmed by the kindness I have been shown. I am moved to see the richness and openness that can be brought to a place when people decide to truly devote themselves to improving their community. Today I was invited to this home that a bunch of friends buy together and then use for Sunday lunches, parties, celebrations- it's like the hippie commune that Emili dreams of us having, with kids underfoot, everyone knowing eachother so well. It was so normal, but also so beautiful.

Whether sitting around the local cafe where the grandmothers gather to have coffee every morning and doing some snazzy participant-observation, interviewing audience members who went both nights, or interviewing the majority of last years actresses with overly sweet cafes, I was again dazzled by the wealth of experiences they drew out of the Monologues. So much of the critique becomes superfluous when faced with these women's sense of pride, leadership and purpose. Communities are so much more open to these themes because they are going to see their aunt, neighbor, teacher.

They were so natural talking to me, laughing that they thought my recorder was a cell phone, talking about their fears, what moved them, what it was like to step onstage in front of peers and family members they'd known their whole life, and to do something so new! Mothers and daughters acted together; this year husbands and wives will be in the memory Monologue Rant and a Prayer cast, and watching this very multi-generational group at the first rehearsal was about the most precious thing ever. To see family members learning together, stretching their boundaries, whether in their twenties, forties, sixties and on- and being willing to move through discomfort and work to change their community- wow. The oldest member of the cast, in her seventies, is this spunky gem, who rides a bike around town, has the loudest laugh, and told me I was gorgeous and then basically smacked me. I was honored.

After an over 2-hour long focus-group I thought they'd be running for the door, but instead there was a beautiful moment where Pilar turned to me and asked, "These other women you've talked to- in Serbia and Mexico... Are they like us?" They all quieted and looked at me expectantly; so interested, though I know they were all on the brink of splitting off into a dozen directions to take care of newborn babies, make dinner for family, head to meetings...

I took pause, and a kaleidoscope of faces flashed before my eyes of all the stellar women and men I have met. A seemingly simple question, yet it seemed so beautiful to me, and so poignant and telling. Are they the same... What unites them all? The violence I know many of them have suffered? But here's where the affirmation of V-Day comes in; although we could say what unites all women is their shared experience of violence (and it's ALL personal, whether done to their mother, sister, friend if not themselves) the similarities that came to me from her question were instead the strength, the damn power and sense of creativity, fun and humor with which these women seized this tool and empowered themselves and their communities. I answered, "Yes," and rather clumsily elaborated. Yet I saw in their faces a kind of satisfaction and sense of solidarity that shows me I hopefully somehow conveyed my own sense of wonder. They clapped at the end and I felt so grateful.

This side of the sick, the sun is shining

There are some very interesting cases in the world right now regarding death with dignity... (esp. in UK- look them up... I hope I have deep enough love in my life that people would help me die if that's what I wanted, and visa versa. What a strange way to measure love, but really, what could be more selfless?) I have this on the mind, as have just emerged from a few days of sicky-Jen-monster, I realized how deeply degraded quality of life is when you're sick. I become an emotional-mental nut, and my fairly consistent sense of appreciation for life and a quest for intentionality becomes muddled and depressed. Also, being sick in a foreign country is lonely and sad- huddled under blankets with a raging fever in Madrid I kept thinking how I could die and no one would know!

Anyways, on this side of the sick, it is a gorgeous day in Barcelona, and I am guzzling some stolen coffee (I shamelessly poach anything not labelled from hostel kitchens...) before diving back into the city; I WILL get more of a sense of it, and it WILL love me back, damn it! Other goal of the day- see more Gaudi and splurge on a new book (swoon).

Part of the blues, and likely illness, was my body shutting down and requiring some rest. If I'd considered powering ahead this year like a non-stop vacation (i.e. LITERALLY seizing every opportunity), I was reminded of the impossibility and importance of finding SOME balance and pacing myself. Furthermore, my mini-vacation with Emily between research jags at the beginning and end of my month here in Spain isolated me from my PURPOSE. I wonder if I will be happy just "touristy travelling" anymore, instead of either working or living somewhere... I doubt it. But heading back to Quinto to do some focus groups with the vecinas there, and as plans for Thailand fall into place (I will literally head to their press release from the airport after nearly 24 hours of travel (AHHHHHH) to meet everyone and get the key to the flat I'll be staying at); I am reconnecting to the main thread of meaning to this year, which grounds me in some sense, so I don't feel so floating or disconnected.

Also, hostel is again full of freaking-adorable couples; without a doubt, I have to get me one of these at some point. I've been lucky to travel so much, but never with a significant other- sounds like a dream. Although hostalling it up and sex seem highly unconducive... Hilariously- dictionary.com word of the day is abstinence.