Throughout my life, I’ve been involved in movements for social justice, and privileged to meet, see, or read people who leave an indelible mark on my psyche, challenge my opinions, confront me with new knowledge, inspire me – and usually leave me feeling glad there are such amazing, vibrant spirits around working to touch the life of others in a positive way.
Attending the preview of the film about the making of the stage play, The Baulkham Hills African Ladies Troupe at the Nova Cinema and meeting theatre director and filmmaker, Ros Horin and one of the “African Ladies”, Yordanos left me humbled and richer for the experience.
The after-screening discussion a privilege because we heard responses from refugees and asylum seekers, teachers and writers, radio broadcasters and actors. The raw honesty of so many people working to promote a strong message that violence against women is wrong, and there must be cultural shifts throughout the world – whether first or third world countries, institutions or the home.
Below is a snapshot from an extensive gallery online:
The only time I feel jealous of Sydney is when there is an art exhibition, festival, play or other performance that doesn’t venture south of the border. Melbourne may be the world’s most liveable city and we have memorable art venues and events here, but we missed out on a groundbreaking stage production.
I first heard it mentioned on Q and Aby Tony Burke MP who supported the project. (In the film he has a cameo appearance when the then Governor-General Quentin Bryce and other supporters like Tony, go backstage to congratulate the cast). On Q and A, Tony mentioned how powerful the play is regarding exposing the effects not only of violence against women in war but within families and communities.
Watching the film of how these four inspirational African women came together to not only tell their harrowing stories but work with Ros Horin to celebrate their survival by telling it on stage is the next best thing to actually seeing the play.
Yordy and Ros at the Nova
As an extension of the work of The Baulkham Hills African Ladies Troupe theatreproduction, this film seeks to share the powerful stories of these four women and their traumatic experiences of civil war, rape, sexual abuse and violence to a much larger Australian and international audience.
The film reveals their extraordinary journeys of struggle, empowerment, and healing through the arts, as the four African women, former refugees, play themselves in a moving story based on their own terrifying experiences.
The personal journeys of Yordy plus three other women, Aminata, Rosemary, and Yarrie are told through the film, interspersed with rehearsals, family life, counselling, the effects of reliving trauma, healing, and finally the triumph of public performance.
The whole film thought-provoking and memorable.
It is difficult to understand the devastating effects of sexual abuse and almost impossible to comprehend the brutality of war. History records how rape is used in war to humiliate, defeat and subjugate people. But this is not some dry historical account or sensationalist news story or Hollywood version of war.
These women depict the horrifying reality of what happened to them recently. It is still happening NOW (think Syria, Nigeria, Yemen, Ukraine…). War and documentary footage in the film is real.
The four African Australian women from Eritrea, Kenya, Guinea and Sierra Leone were refugees. Their bravery unquestionable, their survival and recovery astounding. The new lives they have made heart-warming and a credit to those within our country who welcome and support refugees. However, their story is universal – women are abused, many killed every day, by partners never mind soldiers.
I Came By Boat Project
I was invited to see the film preview because I donated to the crowdfunding for the I Came By Boat Campaignanother project using the power of storytelling to challenge people’s assumptions and change attitudes.
I guarantee your emotions will be engaged when you hear the stories of the “African Ladies” but also uplifted when you see the empowerment of the women and pride of families, especially their children.
The determination, doubts, fears, friendships, and resilience of all of them, including Ros, laid bare in a film about a life-changing project. I hope it deeply affects and moves to action all who watch it.
Certainly, that’s what Ros and the women want – they are spreading the word far and wide and will be grateful to anyone with suggestions to help or who can facilitate a screening.
If you have contacts or can suggest contacts to ensure the message of this film and play receives wider coverage please email: hello@africanladiestroupe.com
Ros said there will be a DVD of the full stage play. I can’t wait for that to be released! I hope schools pick this up because young men and women need to hear and see this story.
The aim of this unique and exceptional project is to be a catalyst for open dialogue about violence within communities all over the world. It needs to reach as many people as possible including schools, government bodies, and social impact groups.
Check out their website for screening dates, and if you can, please support the distribution of this film to the wider audience it so richly deserves.
It was such a privilege to witness the honesty and openness by Ros, Aminata, Rosemary, Yarrie and Yordy. They not only shared the stories for the play but so much more about their personal journeys about acting for the first time – performing as the cold observer on their own story.
There are glimpses in the film about playwriting and acting and it was fascinating to hear all the contingency plans Ros had in place to protect the women from the emotional trauma of retelling their stories.
Yordy had a breakdown and withdrew from the project. Being the cold observer impossible but we see her recover and rejoin the troupe. There is a lot of joy in this film.
I hope The Baulkham Hills African Ladies Troupe has the viewing and success it so richly deserves.
I chose to have a break from the pressure of writing deadlines, including blogging – and it’s been wonderful – once the guilt receded.
The last few weeks have left me drained and struggling to find my usual positivity and so I gave myself the freedom not to write once my classes finished for the term.
I produced three anthologies for the different classes at Mordialloc, Bentleigh, and Chelsea and it is wonderful to have a record of the delightful writing from last semester’s students. And it encouraged me to polish a few pieces.
However, the editing, laying out, printing and collating of the books entails hours of work and always leaves me tired.
I appreciate teachers at universities, TAFE, and schools have greater workloads, larger class sizes and more demands on their time than me. However, the pressure of end-of- term projects, bureaucratic paperwork and the looming lesson-planning over the holidays is ongoing for most teachers.
Therefore, it has been a short-lived break but in the words of an old Monty Python skit ‘a merry one’ – well not exactly merry but a break I needed with some memorable high spots.
I spent quality time with two special friends Glenice Whitting (we attended an evening celebrating the stories and contributions of refugees – more of that in another blog) and Lisa Hill(we attended a one-man show at Kingston Arts Centre: Is it Because I’m An Indian? enjoying a delightful dinner afterwards at the Bawarchi Indian Restaurant, Moorabbin).
An intensive day of shooting over the weekend saw at least the filming completed in another of my projects. This one organised by Kingston Youth Serviceswhere participants share their skills and enthusiasm to write, produce and complete a short film based on the theme of Transition.
This intergenerational project involved several workshops with industry professionals and won’t be completed until the end of September with films to be shown at a public screening in October. Our enthusiastic crew is well on the way to meeting the deadlines.
A triumph of networking, flexibility, adaptation and cooperation meant my script Homewas accepted, survived several drafts, including a major rewrite to substitute characters and locations and accommodate the availability of people, places, and equipment.
Another dear writer friend (I’ve found writers are the salt of the earth!) accepted the major role and was available for a 6.30am start on a freezing winter’s day!
I’m looking forward to blogging about the experience from ‘start to finish’ to encourage others to put their hand up and volunteer for Arts projects, especially when you get the opportunity to work with different generations and people you have never met. The bonus of picking up new skills and knowledge has kept this lifelong learner on her toes.
The film shoot was Saturday – the preparation (cleaning my house, moving furniture) seemed to last all week!
On Sunday, I helped Kristina, an ex-student of my Monday class and now an active member of Mordialloc Writers’ Group, make our Readings by The Baymore special by hosting an author event with picture storybook writers, Isobel Knowles, and Cat Rabbit. (More of that in another post.)
When Is A Break Not Really A Break?
On reflection, my break from writing fed my passion for writing – on books, refugees, film, collaborative projects, teaching, man’s inhumanity to man …
The last three frenetic weeks filled with things to do, people to see, and places to be. But in the background, some seismic global and local events almost making my mind shut down and energy disappear.
The Orlando Massacre, a shocking immobilising crime that dominated social and mainstream media and conversations of friends and family. As an activist who is passionate about social justice, I was overcome with sadness. The level of anger, disaffection, hate and desire to hurt others evident by the perpetrators of horrific crimes never ceases to appal me.
In Australia, we are undergoing the longest Federal Election Campaign I can remember and I’ve been voting for 45 years! One of the issues is the current ruling party wanting a plebiscite on gay marriage. Many people fear this will encourage bigotry, fear and ignorance to flourish. The consequences for the extensive LGBTQIA community could be terrible. An expensive, divisive plebiscite that is unnecessary because parliament can pass the necessary legislation.
The recent referendum and unknown consequences of the UK’s ‘Brexit’ from the EU also caused me anxiety, especially with the murder of Labour MP Jo Coxthat many people seem to have forgotten already. I was born in Scotland and returned there for two twelve-month periods in my early twenties – the murder of a politician like this is devastating. What is happening to Britain?
It is frightening that immigration and the plight of asylum seekers and refugees are often used in political campaigns here and abroad stirring up xenophobia and racism. There is no doubt we are experiencing the biggest global movement of people since the Second World War and instead of individual nation states closing their borders we need a considered global cooperative approach. Solutions not selfish posturing.
Perhaps it was serendipity that one of my final lessons of the term in the Life Stories & Legacies writing class at Godfrey Street Bentleighwas on the subject of Serenity to put events in the private and public arena into perspective.
Negative feelings and emotions challenge our equilibrium: What can we DO about the horror/sadness/helplessness/hopelessness?
I write and it helps me. I encourage others to try and find words, ideas, and memories to match their feelings and because it is a Life Story class, I encourage reflection.
Serenity Writing Exercise
Once a year, sometimes more often, I visit Stony Point on the outskirts of Melbourne. This tip of the Victorian coast looks across to French Island among other smaller islets and the tide flows out to the sea. There is a pier always populated with anglers – more in some seasons than others.
There is a ferry to French Island and half the pier is now fenced off for Navy patrol boats installed during John Howard’s ‘be alert not alarmed’ crusade.
I visit because my husband John requested his ashes be scattered where they would be carried out to sea, ex Royal Navy he was more comfortable on the water than land and Stony Point fitted the bill.
There are mini wetlands (or mud flats) at Stony Point frequently visited by shearwaters, pelicans and of course the ubiquitous seagulls. The place oozes tranquillity.
The area is attractive to fishermen and regardless of the season you will always see boats coming and going. The gutting and scaling table is regularly visited by a host of birds who seem to know just when to land and wait for a feed. The take-offs and jockeying for advantageous positions to catch thrown leftovers provides a raucous display by the birds, especially the pelicans.
My daughters laugh at my delight and are convinced I have the largest collection of photographs of pelicans in the world!
I love watching the interaction of the birds, their acceptance of each other – there is a lot of noise and jostling but rarely violence.
Many people visit Stony Point and there is a caravan park with permanent residents as well as frequent holidaymakers. Every day there will be bush walkers, anglers, picnickers, fossickers, commuters to French Island, naval personnel from nearby Cerberus base and a handful of locals who operate a rundown cafe/shop.
There is also people like me who come for serenity.
Stony Point is the end of the line for the train – a little diesel that comes from Frankston. The station personnel seems to be from another era of Railway culture – a more friendly, relaxed era.
Stony Point’s charm is irresistible.
I always leave feeling calm and at peace.
Where do you go for serenity?
(This may be a room, a church, a friend’s house, a special tree in your garden, or indulging in an activity (like writing)…
Have you a special place you visit only once or twice a year? A place that may hold a strong emotional attachment or memory? Perhaps a favourite holiday destination that allows you ‘to get away from it all’!
My evening walk a relaxing end
To a day of relentless heat
That baked trees, people, cars, and concrete.
Oven temperature lowered,
I’m no longer a hot lump
Of fatigue and frustration.
Exhausted birds peep
From their sheltered boughs.
They flutter feathers but leave evensong
To the cicadas celebrating the cool breeze
From the foreshore.
The summer sun slides seawards
While the silver shadow of the moon
Waits in line to shine.
Crick, crack…
A faint discordant note
Followed by a crash.
No twig or dead branch
Protesting summer sizzle
But shattered crockery.
Screeching curses jump
From the window of a nearby house
Adult voices spit and spew.
A dog yaps hysterically
Accompanying the invective
Timing perfect, as if scripted.
This is no television drama.
Rather a domestic tragedy
Of Shakespearean proportions unfolds.
Years of resentment boiling over
No stuttering
As domestic bliss unravels
Suddenly, silence
Hold breath, chest aching…
Awaiting the cry of ‘Help!’
What to do?
Pat perspiration from hot cheeks
Stare at white handkerchief…
Have they called a truce?
I remember to breathe.
No more yells or broken china,
No slammed doors or weeping.
Although my body weeps
As voices in normal tones
Float from the window
Sweat snakes from armpits,
Pools beneath breasts.
The summer sun slides seawards
The silver shadow of the moon
Waits in line to shine.
I resume my walk –
Perturbed
Sweltering
Fatigued
Feeling a failure
Seeking serenity.
Some writing suggestions:
Describe your serenity setting.
Imagine yourself there. Why are you there? Has something prompted the visit?
What happens when this place is disturbed or no longer available, or your plans must change? Do you have an alternative?
Write a poem inspired by the word serenity.
Write about how you unwind or handle stress – this may have changed over the years.
Did you ever consider ‘stress’ before it became a much talked about health issue?
(When I recorded the history of our local primary school in Mordialloc on its 125th anniversary, I interviewed many past students and staff. A woman who attended the school during the depression years of the 1930s and coped through the tumultuous war years said, ‘no one had stress then – we just got on with life.’)
Reflect on the lives of your parents and grandparents. Do you think they suffered stress? How do you think they dealt with the difficult periods of their lives? Was the pace of life really that different? If so – how?
A picture suggesting serenity, Fitzroy Gardens, Melbourne
I know it’s Father’s Day today, but my lovely daughters bought me flowers and took me out to lunch at Abbey Road, St Kilda where a background of songs from the 60s and 70s and a delicious roast dinner with ‘Yorkshire Pud’ (their father’s favourite) reminded us of the happy times when John was alive.
As my youngest daughter MJ said this morning, “September is a crap month – it starts off with Father’s day and ends (21st) with the anniversary of Dad’s death.” I’m sure many people who have lost ones they love, for whatever reason, feel the same. There’s even a song to encapsulate how we feel:
Wake me up When September Ends
Summer has come and passed, the innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Like my father’s come to pass, seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are
As my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed, the innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Ring out the bells again
Like we did when Spring began
Wake me up when September ends
Summer has come and passed, the innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends
Like my father’s come to pass, twenty years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends
Wake me up when September ends
Of course in this hemisphere, September is the month of Spring and Summer is still ahead, but the Neil household relates to this song. Waking up to sunshine and evidence of new birth as flowers in the garden begin to bloom may help lighten the mood, but the gloom of despair still lurks.
I try to be buoyant and focus on Nature’s beauty: inhale the sweetness of the roses and geraniums, the camellias beginning to bud, the rosemary and lavender blooming. I know we are fortunate to have a nice home and garden and to have each other.
And this past week, the media has been filled with horrific pictures and stories. My grief has paled beside the enormity of what refugees face. It is hard to go about normal business never mind be happy when you know there are so many desperate people fleeing tragedy.
The scenes in Europe tragic, but also inspirational. People have lost loved ones, their homes and their jobs, but thank goodness they still have their spirit and a desire to survive and start afresh.
The worst and the best of humanity on display. Well done to Angela Merkel of Germany for showing leadership and humanity and shame on the heartless people who turn their backs and the fascist demonstrators who abuse the desperate people on their journey to a better life.
I only hope the shift in attitude from some of Australia’s political leaders will mean the end of official policies here of mandatory offshore detention and denying citizenship to people seeking asylum if they arrive by boat. Despite the political spin being mouthed by Government, our record on this issue is appalling. The hypocrisy being shown is astounding.
If the current crop of politicians believe what they are saying we have thousands in detention on Christmas, Manus and Nauru Islands that would benefit from compassion and release into the community.
I’ve written poems and stories about asylum seekers and refugees over the years. One of the ways I cope with what seems insurmountable odds and inexplicable human behaviour. ‘Man’s inhumanity to man’ first documented by poet Rabbie Burn’s in ‘Man was made to mourn…’ As writers often all we have is our words to save us from going insane.
International Odyssey Mairi Neil
The trees cling to fragile foliage
like mothers reluctant to let
their children go.
The winter sun radiates
white light promising a day
of autumn glory…
It is Melbourne after all.
A blue sky pockmarked by fluffy clouds
reflecting a sea of shimmering blue
But beyond the benign bay
tragedy intrudes
fear and desperation meets
fear and distrust.
No need of Siren’s song
to lure the mariners to their death.
The monster from the deep is
dressed in political spin and
ideological hubris.
Christian charity in short supply.
To seek asylum deemed illegal
It is Australia after all.
At 30th June there were 945 men in detention on Nauru. 41 have been granted refugee status, but it is too dangerous to go anywhere else in PNG and they’ve been put in a transit camp waiting for freedom. On Nauru there are 88 children, 114 women and 453 men. All there more than 2 years.
Recently, on the ABC 7.30 Report they interviewed a doctor speaking about the dreadful abuse of children offshore. He had tears in his eyes describing the number of children with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and meeting a six year old girl who tried to kill herself!
As a nation we must seriously ponder our humanity – what brings a child of 6 to a decision life is no longer worth living?
Australia takes 109,000 net migration including those coming for business or family reasons. There is 60 million displaced people in the world – the greatest humanitarian crisis on record. About 59 million of those just want to return home and be safe.
Flotsam And Jetsam Mairi Neil
In Australia politicians choose
Who we bring home
And who we turn back
A procession of hearses
Carry innocent victims
Of a plane explosion.
Collateral damage of war
Becomes a television spectacle.
Families plead for privacy
Pain and grief is not a story.
In Australia politicians choose
Who we bring home
And who we turn back
International Refugee Conventions
Ignored and challenged.
A boat-load of asylum seekers
Floating in crowded detention.
Collateral damage of xenophobia
Government silence deafening
Pain and grief is not a story.
In Australia politicians choose
Who we bring home
And who we turn back
The death toll in Gaza grows
Lives ruled by the noise of sirens
Rockets decide who dies
But humans take aim.
David and Goliath a myth.
Palestinian pain and grief
A never-ending story.
When a child asks ‘why?’
The truth garbled white noise…
Whatever gods we choose
To worship and obey
Are not to blame
For human shame.
In Lebanon 260 per 1000 of population are refugees living on their border. Even if we increased our intake to 50,000 it would be only 2.4 per thousand of Australia’s population. It is time all of us who call ourselves writers put pen to paper to give desperate people a voice. If enough people send emails or letters to those in power who can make decisions and demand a stop to abuse in our name, there will be change.
Seeking asylum is not illegal and fleeing from war, poverty and persecution is perfectly natural.
Operation Sovereign Borders Mairi Neil (a found poem from Refugee Week leaflets)
Refugees and asylum seekers
wanting safety
protection
a new life
cross stormy waters
with courage
seeking justice
and a welcome
from Australian society.
Young and old
with amazing personal stories
of darkness, bribery, corruption
challenges faced
uprisings survived
prisoners of conscience
student leaders
from Afghanistan and Burma
seeking resettlement
and freedom
seeking to celebrate and contribute.
Their hopes crushed
basic human rights violated
harsh lessons in cruelty
as the innocent
are locked up.
In limbo
on Nauru and Manus Islands
detention not freedom
Why?
We can do better
Stand up, Speak up
refugees and asylum Seekers
Welcome here!
Up the Creek with a pen ... 