Thailand chapter is winding down...

Going 'home' is feeling more and more daunting. A few times, attempting to convince friends my life isn't perfect right now, I have gotten sucked into pity-parties thinking about my student loan-jobless-penniless existence post this adventure. Though this is usually appealingly bohemian, I apparently succeeded in depressing them, and myself. Point being, time in Thailand has been so ideal project-wise. I am moved to tears and joy and admiration on a daily basis. I'm luxuriating in amazing food, heat, massages and yoga.

I meet new people nearly every day and seem somehow blessed that most of these interactions feel truly authentic and teach me volumes. But in spite of this, or maybe because of it, I am left feeling a bit lonely. I am always the one asking questions, and although I have grown to genuinely really care for these vagina warriors, I worry few people really know me at all. I guess that's the off-shoot of both Anthropological fieldwork and this kind of activism; the self becomes more contained, dissolved into a cause that demands a sort of sacrifice that you give in bits and pieces till you don't realize how deeply you are immersed. Silly girl, that's what I wanted, to be a kind of vessel. Maybe I am just sad about leaving. I feel like I'm never doing enough. Tonight is the final rehearsal, and 30 women from Emergency Home will come see it pro-bono. I am so glad- I hope this helps bridge the gap sometimes created between glamour and professionalism and heart. I am so proud for all of them.

Elephant empathy

As I was cycling around Angkor Wat with my new friends Hannah and James, they kept bringing up Bangkok, ‘Oh, have you gone to the Palace?’ ‘There’s this bizarre forensic museum have you been to that? Or the park? Or the dildo shrine?’ Turns out, I’ve skipped the sights entirely while here. Instead what I’ve loved is the normalcy: regular haunts, daily yoga, nightly rehearsals, constant interviews and coffee, weekly massages, swimming pools, oh so much delicious food, hopping on and off the BTS, moto, BTS, moto… I’ve slipped up and started thinking of it as ‘living here’ as opposed to visiting or travelling, a distinction I strive to ignore. And it’s true that entering the tourist circus of Kao San was a shock to the system; though I learned important lessons about the joys of ‘buckets’ of booze, to never try to keep up with the Danish and the obscenely high degree of my tolerance to spice.

The whiskey fueled my dancing, but although it was a fantastic night out, more than that it fueled my anger. What will stay with me from that Saturday night is the baby elephant paraded through the streets packed with sunburned and drunken tourists. Turns out, baby elephants make the most pitiful squeak, and have to put up with belligerent fucks feeding them lit cigarettes and garbage. I realized, though I stayed fuming in my seat and throwing death glares, that I am most certainly capable of violence in the face of cruelty. This leads me to question again where pacifist compunction resides and how quickly it can be overwhelmed.

I have discovered a deep love for elephants and motorcycles and one of my lasting impressions of Bangkok will be breezing past trundling elephants with bicycle lights, cds, or reflecting tape flickering on their tails, as I sit expertly poised on the back of a moto, consciously pushing aside the reality of danger to enjoy the breeze, smells, vibrancy, and conflicting identities of this city.

Sorry it's been so long!

Hey friends, sorry I've been out of touch a bit had to do a visa run to Cambodia, so threw in a trip to Angkor Wat ruins and Phnom Penh for some VM research (THEY ARE EVERYWHERE!) and now everything's a blur of vagina madness. But here's how they decided to use my photos and interviews for the testimonies, thought you'd be interested, and more to come soon. Also, don't be alarmed that my blog's been 'flagged' for objectionable content, I find it amusing and their objections are objectionable in my opinion. Don't get too excited, the sex factor hasn't been amped up or anything fun like that. Huge all-cast rehearsal last night was invigorating- news channels were filming away and Bangkok is getting all a-flutter with the vagina spirit, or curiosity anyway.

As I was taking photos and buzzing around the room, one of the cast members snagged me, 'Did Alanna tell you?' I was thinking she was referring to something not yet checked off my to do list, and then she latches on to my eyes and says, ' this weekend I was held hostage and a man tried to rape me for hours' And just like that you're slapped by it, the wind is knocked out. These violent metaphors seem appropriate as that's exactly what it feels like, that's what it is- violence against anyone IS violence against all of us.

I hugged her. I said what I am supposed to say, but what does that really mean? 'What timing, what a coincidence don't you think? And I want to tell you about it, I want to talk about it.' I watched her the rest of the rehearsal, as she delivered the lines from the new Congo monologue about how the violence touches all of us, how it is present in what we do, and what we don't do. And I marvelled at her bravery to even be standing, much less part of this collective roar against violence. The VMs is good for my heart. As all this regular yoga is stretching muscles I had forgotten about and sweating out all this unnecessary junk, as do the Monologues. My heart feels like some kind of insane magnetic field with all these positives and negatives pushing apart, holding me together, making me hum with feeling and urgency and love.

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.