My Name is Rachel Corrie

After a long and caffeine powered week of setting up the equipment and reconfiguring the Havana space, we were ready for our first Vancity audience. You could physically feel the electric buzz in the air as the audiences filled the house for the preview of the show on Thursday and the performances on Friday and Saturday.

On the morning of the preview, I stopped into the People’s Co-op Bookstore and found this book called ‘How to Re-Imagine the World’ (a pocket guide for practical visionaries) by Anthony Weston. After purchasing the book by Visa (they keep upping my limit- which is really not so good, yet can be helpful in situations where visionary pocket guides must be bought…it was 20% off…ha, i am a sucker for a deal)

So, as I was walking in the sun down Commerical Drive to the Havana, i opened the book to this:

“Deeply resistant in some directions, the system can also be surprisingly responsive in others. The world is a fluid, dynamic, intricately interconnected whole. Certain distinctive tipping points, vectors and dynamics emerge that make unexpected openings for creative change-making.”

I thought that this was great because not only is it echoing some of the exact words and sentiments expressed by Rachel in the play, it conveys that everything is constantly in flux and there are spaces where we can participate in the direction of the flow…

Jasmine

I haven’t written in a while- mostly because i haven’t known where to start. Being involved in this project has given me so much…and it’s made me question so much. It could be that because i have just finished 5 years of schooling and am now sitting directly in the existential void of: who am i? and what do i do with my life?

I have been thinking a lot about privilege—what i take for granted and how much my idealism is tied to the glory of youth. Although my political horizons are constantly expanding, i struggle with how much i take in because i am afraid of getting lost in despair. It is hard not to sound like a cliche of a young person struggling to find meaning…but heh, what can you do when you live in a shoe?

Often it can be difficult to imagine the distant war torn realities of others (especially for those of us who have never lived it), but i feel like it is so necessary that we at least try to get a sense. The more i learn, the more i feel that, to an extent, the wars and the destruction of other people’s lives are being fought for the comfort and luxury that we benefit from in the ‘developed’ worlds. I think we are all responsible for what is happening around us and ‘over there.’

I have spent my whole degree thinking about and questioning the role of art and activism- and theatre as a tool for social change. Over the past few weeks, i have listened to the guest speakers and audience members talk at the panel discussions and it has been extremely moving because even though this play may not be necessarily converting people’s minds, it is making people think and feel and generating discussion about the how critical the situation is for Palestinians and asking the question: where are we in all of this?

In some ways the talk backs have felt like a forum for artists and activists to share their stories in relation to Rachel’s and to acknowledge that we are all a part of a similar movement. Friends of mine who have come to see this production have expressed how much it has made them reflect upon what they are doing in their own lives.

I think that is the power of this play- because it is one woman speaking for an hour and a half straight, there is space to filter Rachel’s thoughts and experiences through one’s own, and as a result question where you- as the audience member, sits in the midst of it all.

This being said, maybe just questioning ourselves and feeling the catharsis that this play invokes is not enough…maybe it needs to lead to action. When Cindy and Craig Corrie spoke at the panel discussion after the play, they expressed how many people have contacted them to let them know that Rachel’s words, and her story have inspired them to take action of one kind or another. Perhaps we need to realise what we are capable of, and Rachel is one example of how much change one person can affect.

I have more disjointed thoughts to share but i shall save them for another day…

Last night i watched (on google video) a man named Derrick Jensen discuss the premise of his books ‘Endgame.’

Somewhat related, somewhat not, but worth checking out:

part 1

part 2

Day off today and tomorrow. Montreal is buried in another snowstorm. 30 cm blew in yesterday and last night, leaving behind cars disguised as snowdrifts and human-width tracks along the sidewalks.

Last night a group of us met at the Teesri office for a delicious dinner cooked by Rahul’s mother. There was enough food for at least three times as many. The conversation ranged from Dipti’s challenge for us to recall encounters (with Hell’s Angels, grieving mothers and drunks on the bus), the Reasonable Accommodation hearings (very frightening government action currently going on in Quebec) and the reaction of audiences to our show.

The past week has been quite intense. Though not as charged as the opening week, the past week has seen the show grow more solid - in my biased opinion. There is nothing like repetition, for me, I love repeating the patterns and finding the subtle nuances and intricacies of action, story-telling and communication.

I do feel like I made an error, though. On one night, three women attended the show. They asked me before we started how long the show was. Then throughout the performance I noticed them talking to each other and smiling, one woman sat with one leg crossed over the other, bouncing her foot up and down. In my performer’s brain a range of narratives presented. Of course the first (because we performers are ego-centric, in case you didn’t know) was that they were bored. So I played to them. And then noticed glances shared between them. And that’s when I made my mistake: I got angry and righteous.

You should know that performers get upset when people don’t pay attention to them. I have had many conversations with actors, angry when they feel ignored.

And so I got angry at these women. Because they were distracting me and the other audience members.

I realize now that these women were doing something brave. I imagine they were coming to investigate a story that challenged their beliefs. They were coming to challenge the claims that most critics of the politics of this play have not actually seen it. So they came. Which is brave. And they reacted. Which is human. And I reacted with anger. Which is also human.

But I hope that in the future, should this situation present again, that I can remember in the moment (and subdue my ego long enough) to congratulate the audience for their bravery and learn from them.

I, too, am just beginning to learn how dialogue really works - which is ironic considering this is a monologue show -  and continue to find this process inspiring and incredibly rich.

Adrienne

The Opening Weekend has been a real whirlwind. In addition to the simple fact of opening the show - which seems simple, but never is - this weekend was also one of special guests. In addition to my Mom and my Fella’, Craig and Cindy Corrie were also in Montreal.

The Corries watched both matinees on Saturday and Sunday. When they came backstage, it was as if I had been waiting to meet them forever. In fact, I think I said something to that effect!

Performing the show with these two brave, intelligent and kind people felt like a real honour. Their generous spirit immediately set me at ease. “Enjoy the show,” I said, as they were going back into the lobby, leaving me to prepare for the show. “Oh we will, don’t worry, we will.”

And I think they did.

Here are some pictures from the social events that accompanied their visit, as well as the panel on Sunday.

(from left) Sarah Garton Stanley, Marcus Youssef, Craig Corrie and Cindy Corrie after the show on Saturday afternoon.

Dinner on Saturday. I’m not sure who all was there.

The panel on Sunday December 9th.

Cindy, Me and Craig.

Tonight i watched a ‘Nature of Things’ episode on global warming and then right after there was a CBC special documentary about Paris Hilton (and i watched it). Both were disturbing (for different reasons) but made me think about how television gives a shared sense of reality.

Last year i read a book on Eduardo Galeano (by Daniel Fischlin and Martha Nandorfy) called “Through the Looking Glass.” Part political and literary biography, part cultural theory, Galeano addresses issues concerning the telling of history and the conjunctions between literature and human rights.

After boob-toobing it this evening, I picked this book off the shelf and as i skimmed through the pages, these passages leaped out at me:

“Myths, collective metaphors, collective acts of creation, offer answers to the challenges of nature and the mysteries of the human experience. Through myths, memory lives on, recognizes itself, and acts.”

“The best of the world lies in the many worlds the world contains, the different melodies of life, their pains and strains: the thousand and one ways of living and speaking, thinking and creating, eating, working, dancing, playing, loving, suffering and celebrating that we have discovered over so many thousands of years.”

“No computer can count the crimes that the pop culture business commits each day against the human rainbow and the human right to identity. But it’s devastating progress is mind-boggling. Time is emptied of history, and space no longer acknowledges the astonishing diversity of it’s parts. Through the mass media the owners of the world inform us all of our obligation to look at ourselves in a single mirror.”

“Utopianism is no longer an illusory dream of perfection but rather a recognition of the urgency of being in this moment, in this world- collectively, imperfectly, discrepantly, critically.”

“The chronicler and storyteller- multitude-person, tlamatini–obstinately writes to recuperate words, memories, and whispered dreams, returning them to their collective source as a gift of hope, a discrepant engagement, a marriage of heaven and earth.”

foods for thoughts,
Jasmine

Things are heating up. We’re in the middle of the third (and last) week of rehearsal. I’m off-book - mostly - having crammed the rest of the text into my head on the day off. Still building connections from the inside out. But it’s there, it’s there. Itai, the lighting designer, arrives tonight. Marcus, collaborating director, arrives tomorrow. Cande, video design, arrives Sunday.

I’m experiencing that strange sideways brain drift that happens after repeating someone else’s words again and again over the course of many days. It’s much like that moment when the spelling of a handwritten word is suddenly suspect. “Is that how ‘handwriting’ is spelled? Really?”

I fear I may be coming down with a cold, so I’ve bought some ColdFX and have a pot of Ginger Tonic simmering on the stove. Tonight I’ll do some script work, eat President’s Choice frozen Chinese Food (I couldn’t resist…) and go to bed early. Oh. Except then I’ll get up to let Itai in. Then I’ll go to bed.

Ginger Tonic

• 10 inches of ginger root, sliced
• 1 lemon, whole
• honey or brown sugar, flavour to taste

Place ginger and lemon in a medium saucepan. Add enough cold water for the lemon to float. Add a spoonful of sugar or honey.
Heat the tonic over medium until it comes to a boil, and simmer gently for 30 minutes.
After 30 minutes, cut open the lemon, strain out solids, and add sugar or honey to taste. Supposedly you can mix in some brandy, but I don’t.

I appreciate Jasmine’s postings because I can’t watch myself, I can’t see the bits of performance that are rehearsal, I can’t always see the process of choices along the way. Sometimes, sometimes you get this flash of, what, objectivity. Mostly I feel as though I am either following - or leaving - a trail of breadcrumbs.

In some ways I think, “thank god more people don’t come to watch rehearsals!” But on the other hand, there is a nakedness (metaphorically speaking) and an awkwardness - a willingness to be awkward, to stand in the moment of “I don’t know” that I would like to see more of in performance. Or at least bring to performance.

I’m finding this notion and practice of verbatim theatre very powerful. The potency not only of words that were never intended to be spoken, never intended for the light of day never mind a three week run! And the tension between what is real-real, what is theatre-real and what is history-real. How these threads come together and weave a complicated experience for our multi-layered brains is endlessly fascinating. It appeals, at once, to the pop culture historian, the inventor and the know-it-all geek in me. I think I like it for the same reason I like The Simpsons, that I can play along as I identify and catch the references, I understand the shorthand.

Rehearsal is much like creating a shorthand. First, between the artists. Then between the artists and the audience. We create the shorthand and hope they can follow along. Each show is a new language.

This time next week, we’ll be in the theatre.

Adrienne

Sunday morning 11:25am. Reporting from the converted industrial space that has become the rehearsal home of this show. Winter has landed in Montreal and even though there are some space heaters- the floor is cold concrete, so everyone has to bundle up in order to keep their insides nice n’ warm.

It may not sound all that romantic, but I think that it is…and I feel fortunate to be here- watching Sarah and Adrienne work together as they ask questions, make choices, and explore interesting ways of staging the performance.

Listening to Adrienne connect to Rachel’s passionate voice and watching her bring to life Rachel’s fantastical imagination has hit me with how emotional this play really is, for not only is it bringing to light the current terrorization and desecration of Palestinian lives- the piece itself is a memorial.

The research that i have been doing has given me so much to think about- too much actually. Attending the rehearsals are valuable on many levels, but mostly because it reminds me that even though the play is loaded with many serious things to consider- one of the main things that stands out is what a fascinating and self-reflective woman Rachel was.

Jasmine

Yesterday, Patricia - the Shiatsu practitioner - had an old punk song come into her head while she was working on my legs. (Not that old, nineties, I guess… nouveau old punk.)

Pull me down

Pull me down

I’m not scared

But I am a bit scared. That my legs would be saying that to Patricia. And why not to me?

So I’m thinking about what it means to be scared.

About what it means to be alone.

About courage.

About inevitability.

What we choose to tell and what we leave out.

And I’m thinking about being pulled down and down.

Under the surface of

Water

Dirt

Why not be afraid?