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Showing posts from 2006

"Give us us free"

I found myself smiling as I read Michael Dequina’s review of Amistad ( http://aalbc.com/reviews/amistad.htm ). I did agree with him that the film was American-centered, especially with its focus on the courtroom drama; but that was to be expected. Amistad is an American film, directed and produced by Americans for an American audience. However, something about that film touched me. Language is of essence in Amistad . That the viewer had no clue what Sengbe Pieh and the other Africans were saying as they revolted was not accidental. The decision to exclude subtitles for the beginning portion of the film was a deliberate one. It made the men, women and children inscrutable figures to the viewer. Their silhouettes were only visible in the moonlight as they struck at their Spanish ‘masters’. Just as the distinguishing features and marks on their faces were invisible to the terror-stricken crew, they had to remain so to the viewer. Their humanity was thus masked, hidden fro

The AIDS Memorial Quilt

Late last month the AIDS Memorial Quilt came to town, and I was one of several who went to look at it. Standing before the quilt and looking at the elaborate embroidery and patchwork, I felt peaceful. It was strange standing there, marveling at the beauty, and yet simultaneously aware that each piece marked a life lost, a human being painfully wrenched away from loved ones. How was it that several years of pain had been translated into soothing colors and boldly outlined words? I was awed at the power of the quilt to arrest my steps and to pull me in close enough to follow the stories of the young heroes and heroines. To one section of the quilt, friends and family had carefully sewn pictures of the woman they had loved and lost- pictures taken at different points in her life. My eyes moved from picture to picture, wondering whom she was smiling at in that picture, and why there was a twinkle in her eye in the next. Who had selected each picture? Was it her mother, whom I could see cr

Mustakbali Mpya?

Miaka nenda, miaka rudi Tumekuwa tukitaradadi. Tumeelekea mbele, tumerudi nyuma. Kuzungukazunguka desturi yetu. Ramani waliyotupa tunayo mikononi Lakini yatuelekeza jangwani. Waliahidi kutufikisha mbuga za peponi. Leo twajikuta Jehanamu. Zi wapi hekaheka za madaraka na uhuru? Ndoto zetu zimekufa. Bendera zimecha kaa, zimeraruka. Tumeanguka, miguu imevunjika. Na bado twaimba nyimbo za kale. Eti twajivunia amani, uhuru na madaraka. Enzi za ukoloni zimepita, Lakini kujilisha, kujivisha tumeshindwa. Eti amani, uhuru na madaraka? Ndiyo. Amani, uhuru na madaraka; Madaraka ya vibaraka; Wanavijiji mafukara wa “Global Village”. Watoto wa bara wameamka. Urithi wetu hawautaki, mienendo yetu wanaikana. Lakini mwana wa nyoka ni nyoka. Wataujenga upya uafrika? This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License . Please feel free to use my writing for non-commercial purposes and do credit my name, Rose

Moving beyond pity

I am uncomfortable with the fact that society teaches us to pity those who we believe to be less fortunate than we are rather than to empathize with them. Pity implies an imagined sense of superiority over the other, so that we end up looking at an individual who was born without sight, for instance, and who has lived that way all their lives as having a less complete existence than a sighted person. I instinctively feel that this is wrong. But it’s far easier to recognize this wrong than it is to change it. Every aspect of my life is touched by my ability to see. Even the way I dream, think and imagine is directly related to my ability to register and to respond to colors and shapes. I cannot even begin to imagine how I would map the streets of my town, and the insides of buildings and gardens, relying on my senses of smell, hearing and touch to do so. All the same, I can’t help feeling that my blind friend sees my perception of the world as a completely alien experience. Many peo