Blowing in the Wind

Capturing a feeling in a moment of a hundred words is interesting. It is almost like taking a risk. On the one hand I open myself up to depth of feeling in having to describe it so succinctly. Trying to create atmosphere, emotion and context in a few words, it becomes poetry. On the other hand I notice a feeling of detachment as I clear away some of the details. I am able to put distance between myself and the pain as I mold the piece of writing to tell some but not all the story. In a way it keeps me safe. I do not give myself away. I am able to keep people guessing and still retain parts of me that are too vulnerable to expose. The difference between a painting and an illustration, perhaps.

Recently a small piece of news slipped by the pundits and politico-bloggers. Or perhaps I missed them. It entered the news like a whisper and disappeared again.

When I was a young woman growing up in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe now) I sang protest songs of Baez and Dylan. I sang at youth group meetings around camp fires and at a couple of work camps I attended. The latter were run by a group that was working toward multiracial unity in the country. Liz Palmer was one of the organizers. In late 1967 she was deported from Rhodesia because of a section of an act that stated: "Any person or class of persons deemed by the Minister, on economic grounds, or on account of standards or habits of life, to be undesirable or unsuited to the requirements of Rhodesia."  She was considered a "non-conformist" because she taught in African schools, made friends both black and white, and lived in what was considered the cosmopolitan part of my hometown, Bulawayo. She lived in Lobengula Street which was the boundary between black townships and the white city. In January 1968, someone who was living in Manchester at the time, read an article that Liz Palmer wrote in the Guardian. I still have the newspaper clipping that he sent me.

Now, I pull out the flimsy, yellowing piece of newspaper clipping. Just a question mark is inscribed next to a section that reads:

I also helped organise voluntary service projects where African and coloured students and a few, rare, open-minded young whites would work together, white-washing a center for handicapped Africans or making a garden at an old age home. After work we would talk or sing: I have a poignant memory of a pure-voiced young Jewish girl singing: "How many years must some people exist before they're allowed to be free?" Contact of this kind, unselfconscious and on a basis of equality is almost non-existent and we all recognised the special quality of such moments.

He had recognized the singer as me. When I sang that song on those evenings after working side by side with people like Liz, Jan and the others I certainly felt the "special quality" of those moments. I was filled with passion and hope for a better life for us all.

When I read recently that the Israeli government has decided to stop bulldozing Palestinian homes I rejoiced. The decision to halt the demolition of homes came after an investigation by an Israeli military panel deemed it unproductive: "The demolitions usually occurred at night, within hours of the attack. Palestinian families often were forced to flee with nothing more than their nightclothes. In many cases, homes that were blown up or knocked down were compounds that housed several generations of a single Palestinian family ... such punitive measures sowed fury and hostility among Palestinians, rather than serving as a deterrent to future attacks as intended."

As we "defend ourselves" or "fight for our freedom" we must always be aware of the way we behave toward one another. People will treat us the way they have been treated. I am always amazed at how political pundits are surprised when history repeats itself or people do not learn from it. The more we cause pain and humiliation, the more we feed into the system and strengthen cycles of atrocity and shame.

Blowing in the Wind (Bob Dylan) is one of my favorite songs to this day. The words became a part of what I still believe with passion and hope:

Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?

Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?

Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?

The blogosphere or media did not make much of the news the day that story was published. But I did quietly, alone in my home. I rejoiced because of my love for Israel.

One of my recent favorite authors, Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela writes in A Human Being Died that Night:

Societal groups can transcend cycles of violence and forgive, if not necessarily fully reconcile with, other groups. But that process is made more likely, and less tentative, when it is supported by an ethos of acknowledgment and accommodation and underpinned by the nationally constructed language, cues, and symbols of collective reconciliation ... our capacity for ... empathy is a profound gift in this brutal world we have created for one another as people of different races, creeds and political persuasions.

We have a long way to go towards reconciliation and forgiveness after so many acts of violence and pain toward one another. But each small act of apology will bring us closer bit by bit.

... peace is not something you wish for. It's something you make, something you do, something you are, and something you give away! You begin with what you have, where you are and pass it on (Robert Fulghum said that!)

Comments

[Richard Lawrence Cohen]

Tamar,
The first paragraph is a good description of an aspect of the creative process. In my experience writing feels like that in many genres. The balancing act between personal involvement and detachment is not just a function of trying to trim the story very short.

[lhombre]

Tamar, I agree with Richard as to the significance of the first paragraph. What really caught my attention,however, is your finishing thought as to the similarity or difference between painting and illustration. I felt that you alligned painting with the potential for ambiguity as it relates to "giving away" and the illustative as somehow being more literal and therefore, "actual." I don't know if those are the best terms for me to use, but the thought that comes to my mind is that just because something can be literal, and surely illustaration can, it can also be ambiguous, hiding much! And can we really know ourselves so well as to assume that we "give all away." Or if we try to control just how much we give, do we not limit ourselves to new discoveries? Control can be a very "limiting" thing. And not always in the best way. I don't offer this thought as a criticsm nor do I advocate that we must always wear our heart on our sleeve, this only an observation that I take from my own work; especially painting and my recent attempts at poetry where I hope to discover something I am not already aware of. Otherwise, even if do an abstract painting, with the intention of holding back, then I would be wasting my time with a medium and approach that may have much to offer as to finding new things; either about myself or the medium I work in. I'm not sure where I want to take a discussion like this, but I find your thoughts on the difference between painting and illustration, provided I am somewhat correct in my readinng, very enlightening for me. Especially as to what different mediums of expression have to offer. Then we get into voice and style. Thank you for the courage to talk about it. Oh, one last thought, and this could really go on....I have a similar view as to the difference between EXPRESSION and COMMUNICATION, with painting taking on the role of EXPRESSION. Thanks again for sharing

[lhombre]

Hmm. After reading my comment placed directly under Richards, I have to ask myself who the real minimalist is, Richard or moi? Perhaps I'm moving toward the minimal-baroque! Yeah! I Ilke that. There's a discovery! You have me on that "Journey" again Tamar. Thank you.

[Matt Bell]

Excellent thoughts Tamar, and then I come to the comments and find a discussion worthy of a post on its own. I'm not sure I have much to add, except to say that the issue of communication in art and literature has been on my mind a lot lately. There seems to be a trend in short stories toward the "accurate depiction." What I mean by that is, reviewers, writers, and editors seem to be saying "This story is an accurate depiction of life" or of a certain type of character, ethnicity, social class, whatever. To me, an accurate depiction is fine, I suppose, but what happened to art that asked questions and strove to answer them? What happened to stories that disregarded reality in favor of communion and enlightenment? I don't read or view art to see an accurate depiction of life-- I see that every day with my own eyes. Art and literature are supposed to do something else, I think. Without getting into ideas like "raising conciousness" and that sort of thing, I still believe that art/literature should have bigger goals than merely being a record of "things as they were."

OK, so I went pretty far afield from where I started there, I think, but still-- Your post helped me put some of these things I've been pondering into words. Thank you.

[Tamar]

My mind is whirling from this discussion. Richard, Yes I agree about the balancing between personal involvement and detachment taking place in all forms of creative expression. I guess the "limiting myself to 100 words or less" raised different emotions for me that I was trying to explore with that paragraph.

Dan, How daring I was to use "painting" and "illustration" as my comparison, eh? I am intrigued by what you say about this. "And can we really know ourselves so well as to assume that we 'give all away.' Or if we try to control just how much we give, do we not limit ourselves to new discoveries? Control can be a very 'limiting' thing. And not always in the best way." This piece of your discussion encourages me to allow myself to explore my creativity. Very exciting for me - words cannot describe how exciting! I am interested in how you see the difference between "expression" and "communication" because I see them as interrelated.

Matt, Art has a lot of functions. The reality that you already see with your own eyes is interesting in itself. What kind of reality is it that we see with our own eyes? My reality that I see has changed so much as I journey through this life. What I depict as reality can be art for you and vice versa, no? As soon as "I" start to depict something accurately, implicit in it are my biases, childhood dreams, generalizations, imagination. But, yes, I think of art as being communion and enlightenment. I just cannot imagine that I could achieve that! And yet, the poetry of the 100 word essay tickles that for me and ... hmm ... raises hope in me. Does it scare me?