Performance art as a tool for healing
This weekend I participated in a silent march against the genocide in Gaza. This time the theme was back to School and I was helping with make-up. But instead of painting unicorns and butterflies on the children's faces, I painted bruises and wounds, covered them with fake dust and blood and marched alongside others holding bags filled with paper and stuffing to represent body bags of the martyred people of Gaza.
It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t meant to be fun and honestly I was nervous the first time I took part in a similar performance demonstration, questioning whether these measures were necessary, if a visual re-enactment was in poor taste and if it was fair to rub the horror in peoples faces as they were going about their day to day lives. But one poster I saw reminded me why we were there. It said something along the lines of “You can choose to look away but you cannot say you did not know.” And when a 10 year old child gave a compelling speech about how speaking up about the horror in Gaza had occupied much of her grade 6 and now grade 7 experiences, my heart broke and I knew it was important to show up to these things.
The small children wore school uniforms and carried books and lunch bags and we were all reminded of our own children, nieces and nephews and neighbours who are excited about this time of year removed directly from the horror of what is happening in Palestine to children of a similar age.
As I walked through the streets with the other volunteers, organizers and community members carrying props and banners accompanied by a powerful drumbeat, tears rolled down my cheeks, destroying the special effects makeup that had been applied moments earlier. I watched the public reactions, many were moved to tears themselves, stunned and silent. I watched some read through the information being handed out and being surprised by the statistics of the death toll, others completely ignored us. I saw some retaliate and shout obscenities and condemn us for this peaceful demonstration and my heart sank with disappointment. How can people think standing up for human rights is the wrong thing to do?
People were taking photographs and instead of my usual full beamed smile- a natural reaction when a camera is in sight, the somber expression on my face was real and genuine. I didn’t need to act but I realized that participating in a performance art piece was a way of releasing the grief I had been holding inside and been somehow ashamed of and I let it go.
I didn’t know that I was allowed to cry out loud, you see. What right did I have to mourn and show my tears when so many good things are happening in my life in parallel to these mass murders and bombings? My throat was dry and my arms were tired but what was the strain of carrying a fake dead body when the people of Palestine have endured dehydration and pain a million times worse than what was happening in Vancouver on a Saturday afternoon for a few hours?
It’s so difficult to know what to do with our joy when people are being murdered and tortured daily and I’ve been trying to figure out where to put it for the past year. I take joy very seriously and I believe we need to feel it with all of our hearts, hold our loved ones tight and express our gratitude as much as we can. Yesterday I realized that it is also important to give ourselves permission to feel grief too and not try to mask one feeling with the other. Though the depth of my grief might not be on par with the people experiencing the severe trauma in Palestine , I realised it is still valid. I thought I was helping out by using my art skills to raise awareness but showing up in solidarity with others wanting to do something was also an opportunity to be held and to not feel ashamed of the sad messy feelings that ultimately are too heavy to carry alone.
Anyway, as usual, I wrote this to process some feelings and now I don’t know where to put it so I’m putting it here. I hope somebody reads this and realises that their grief is valid too. Maybe one person saw our tears and decided to join the next rally. Maybe one person saw us and is learning about the situation in Palestine for the first time or tuning into the BDS movement. Maybe somebody is reading this and afterwards and will realise they have skills to offer too to help with some part of the movement. We don’t need to guilt ourselves into feeling like we’re not doing enough. Overwhelm is so real and guilt is really good at exasperating that. I say this in the most compassionate way possible; find a way to get over yourself. And don’t be afraid of your grief. Feel it. Weep, scream, sing, write, do what you can to move through it. And then use that grief to transform into power and do something about it.
You can follow @breakthesilencevancouver on instagram for more photos of the silent March.
