tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144617622024-03-23T11:13:46.342-07:00Into the WhirlwindI am traveling the country with "Divided We Fall," my documentary film about race and religion, hate and healing in post-9/11 America. I am a third-generation Sikh American. I study religion and ethics and law. I wish to face the violence and fight it. I don't want to fight alone. And so I write. These are my notes.Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-27399797626585944182010-08-31T15:45:00.001-07:002010-08-31T16:02:45.593-07:00Goodbye Blogger!Blogger has been good to me. I first began chronicling my journey on this site five years ago. It was the summer of 2005, and we were heading across country in production on<a href="http://www.dwf-film.com"> </a><i><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com">Divided We Fall</a></i>. Now the film is released into the world, and I've moved on to speak on and work on broader issues -- from immigration raids to racial profiling by local police departments, domestic violence against women to military commissions at Guantanamo. I've launched a new website to document the next chapter of my advocacy work and invite you to join the efforts!<div><br /></div><div>Check out the new website: <a href="http://www.valariekaur.com.">http://www.valariekaur.com.</a><div><div><br /></div><div>You can also continue to follow me here: <a href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ValarieKaur">http://feeds.feedburner.com/ValarieKaur</a><div><div></div></div></div></div></div><div><br />See you there!</div><div><br /></div><div>Valarie</div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-39303647577319926222010-01-18T06:48:00.000-08:002010-01-18T18:56:59.192-08:002009 Year-in-Review<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Today, on the birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., people across the country are taking a moment to celebrate our shared victories in the civil rights struggle and </span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">perhaps renew their commitment to go further. As for us, we are reflecting on our year and feel humbled and grateful for our journey with <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><a rel="nofollow" track="on" href="http://www.dwf-film.com/" linktype="link" target="_blank">Divided We Fall</a></span></span></span></span> -- our own modest contribution toward the dream of Dr. King and so many unsung women and men. </span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:85%;" ><div><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a rel="nofollow" track="on" href="http://www.dwf-film.com/buy.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.dwf-film.com/images/DWF_DVD_newsletter.jpg" align="right" border="0" height="237" width="160" /></a></span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">For the last eight years, our little film has inspired a growing community of people committed to creating social change through dialogue and storytelling. </span></span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">We thought that we released the film when we made it<span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"> <a rel="nofollow" track="on" href="http://www.dwf-film.com/buy.html" linktype="link" target="_blank">available on DVD</a></span>. But in <a href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs076/1101865578764/archive/1102883865192.html">2009</a>, the whirlwind still swept the two of us into new a</span></span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">nd unexpected arenas -- more movie theaters and universities, but even beyond, into the halls of corporate America and the classrooms of inner-city schools, onto new public stages in the US and brand-new football fields in the UK, deep into the jungles of Central America and way down under to the <span style="font-style: italic;">Parliament of the World's Religions</span> in Australia.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">We want to<span style="font-style: italic;"> thank you </span>for supporting us and look forward to what adventures may come in the new year -- but first, here are </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">some <a href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs076/1101865578764/archive/1102883865192.html"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">highlights of 2009</span> </a>for y</span></span></span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">ou to enjoy...</span></span></span></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">!<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Valarie Kaur and Sharat Raju</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >Divided We Fall</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" >www.dwf-film.com</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" ><br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);" href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs076/1101865578764/archive/1102883865192.html">CLICK HERE TO READ OUR YEAR-IN-REVIEW</a></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >.</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><br /></span></span><span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:85%;" ><span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:85%;" ><span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/S1UfNkb5opI/AAAAAAAAAwY/KtoRn1cZt7I/s1600-h/Letchworth+Premiere.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/S1UfNkb5opI/AAAAAAAAAwY/KtoRn1cZt7I/s400/Letchworth+Premiere.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428279243844461202" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div></span>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-35306571801959916582010-01-10T11:48:00.000-08:002010-07-09T11:49:13.839-07:00Parliament of the World's ReligionsI wanted to go to the <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://www.parliamentofreligions.org/">Parliament of the World's Religions</a></span> ever since I first heard about it as a high school student studying religion. I would close my eyes and imagine the very first Parliament in Chicago in 1893, when Swami Vivekananda rose to address an American audience for the first time. The crowd wondered if this man from India even spoke English. When he greeted them – “Sisters and Brothers of America!” – the crowd rose to their feet in applause. “Sectarianism, bigotry, and its horrible descendant, fanaticism, have long possessed this beautiful earth,” he said in his famous address. “They have filled the earth with violence, drenched it often and often with human blood, destroyed civilization and sent whole nations to despair."<br /><br />Swami Vivekananda’s words echoed down the century to reach me one hundred years later, a young girl growing up on California farmland, struggling to defend her Sikh faith to Christian friends and teachers who threatened hellfire. My childhood encounters with religious conversion bred destruction and despair in my own small life, and inspired me to fight for Swami Vivekananda’s vision of religious pluralism as a filmmaker, writer, and storyteller. One can imagine my excitement, then, when invited to speak at the 2009 Parliament as an adult, eager to join a movement of religious practitioners working together to fight those dark forces Swami Vivekananda identified, threatening even more destruction in our post-9/11 world.<br /><br />During the Parliament, I floated from room to room in the convention center, taking in hundreds of lectures, panels, and performances from every faith tradition from every corner of the world. Thousands of people swarmed the convention floor, exchanging ideas and stories and songs, sharing inspiring examples of social justice work from their own communities. But in the in the midst of all this networking, I could not find my movement. In the middle of the convention center, the Dalia Lama’s monks sounded the drums, as if quieting the noise around us so that I could hear our collective longing – a deep desire for action. Everyone around me wanted to meet the need of the hour, climate justice, but no one had a blueprint for coordinated global action.<br /><br />The loudest ones calling for action were young people like me. Interfaith dialogue for its own sake may have been novel one hundred years ago, or even twenty years ago, but my generation has done it all our lives. We no longer need the Parliament to introduce us to people from different faiths: we grew up with pluralism. Instead, we need a way to translate our shared progressive values from our multiple faith traditions into political and social action. We need the Parliament to help organize religious practitioners committed to the same issues into global grassroots movements that apply real political pressure. For example, the Parliament sent a video in support of climate justice to the Copenhagen Summit. Imagine instead: on the eve of the Copenhagen Summit, coordinated marches led by priests and monks and nuns in every city around the world capturing headlines, calling for commitment from our political leaders at the round table. Only the Parliament, the largest interfaith gathering on earth, has the potential to serve as a platform to mobilize such interfaith social justice movements on a global scale.<br /><br />In his address on the final day, the Dalia Lama himself called on the Parliament to take greater action. In order to meet his challenge, I believe that the Council for the Parliament of the World’s Religions should harness the ideas of young people, including the generation who led the successful grassroots campaign in the U.S. to elect President Barack Obama, to institute a movement-building program into the next Parliament. Marching and praying and fighting and singing together, we become true “sisters and brothers” of the world.Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-73498706387680194212009-09-15T06:05:00.000-07:002009-09-15T00:05:07.103-07:00Remembering 9/15<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7HQGnVJ3I/AAAAAAAAAu0/254CeyyRxjo/s1600-h/candle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7HQGnVJ3I/AAAAAAAAAu0/254CeyyRxjo/s200/candle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381457684221732722" border="0" /></a><span style="color:black;">It is the morning of September 15th, </span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">eight years</span><span style="color:black;"> since the hate murder of </span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Balbir Singh Sodhi</span>. I sit with a candle in memory of Uncle Ji -- and in honor of untold numbers of people whose names will never be read at Ground Zero, but whose lives were lost or damaged in the ongoing aftermath of terrorist attacks, whether in the name of hate or vengeance or security.<br /><!--[endif]--><span style="color:white;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Please join me in this day of memorial. </span><span style="color:black;">Light a candle. Take a moment of silence. Invite friends or family over to watch <a href="http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?t=forlh4cab.0.0.mi77egcab.0&p=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.dwf-film.com&id=preview"><i><span style="color:black;">Divided We Fall</span></i></a>. Join people around the country and world in our campaign for deeper dialogue on hate and healing -- in your own school, office, or living room. And tell <a href="http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?t=forlh4cab.0.0.mi77egcab.0&p=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.dwf-film.com%2Fresponses%2Freviews.html&id=preview">your own untold story</a>.<br /><br /></span>Last fall, 80 U.S. cities hosted screenings of <a href="www.dwf-film.com"><span style="font-style: italic;">Divided We Fall </span></a>to commemorate Sept 15, 2001 and engage in deep dialogue about race and religion, hate and healing in America. From Idaho to New York, North Dakota to Florida, Texas to California and Alaska and all parts between, the film screened in living rooms, lecture halls, and theaters, sparking dialogue and discussion between people from all walks of life. Read audience responses in their own words <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/responses/reviews.html">here</a>. You can find the film on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Divided-We-Fall-Americans-Aftermath/dp/B001EMUIWI/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=dvd&qid=1250338300&sr=8-4">Amazon</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Divided-We-Fall-Americans-Aftermath/dp/B001EMUIWI/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=dvd&qid=1250338300&sr=8-4">Netflix</a>, and you can join our national dialogue <a href="http://dwfdialogue.blogspot.com/">here</a>.<br /><span style="color:black;"><br /><b>My Own Journey</b><br /><br />Today, we enter our third year of touring the world with <a href="http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?t=forlh4cab.0.0.mi77egcab.0&p=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.dwf-film.com&id=preview"><i>Divided We Fall</i></a>. Since our premiere in Phoenix with the Sodhi family three years ago tonight, we have reached tens of thousands of people in 130 cities around the world.<br /><br />This year alone has brought many stories I have not yet shared with you -- stories from University of Michigan in February, University of Notre Dame in March, Drexel University in April, University of Chicago in May, the Library of Congress in June, a tour through England in August, and Florida in September. I have yet to order the chaos of my most recent adventures in the whirlwind. But today I would like to offer you <b>glimpses</b> to begin your day:<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Speaking to Corporate America</span><span style="color:black;"><br />Each year on Sept 11th, I find myself in New York City, invited by a university or community to commemorate the anniversary. Not this year. On Sept 11th, invited to speak to a corporation for the very first time, I stand before a banquet hall of three hundred managers and executives at Blue Cross Blue Shield of Florida. I see a familiar face in the audience; my mentor Tommy Lee Woon has come to give his support. I take a deep breath, and deliver a one-hour keynote address on terrorism, racism, healing, and health-care. When I'm done, there is a second of stillness -- and then a bursting standing ovation, businessmen standing with tears in their eyes, and smiling through the tears. And I realize that the cubicles and conference rooms of corporate America are hungry for humanity and compassion -- values that could help executives defend the poor and powerless even before mandates from Congress. Thank you, KheSahn Barker, for helping cultivate these values at Blue Cross Blue Shield of Florida.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Fighting Racism Through UK Football</span><b><span style="color:black;"><br /></span></b><span style="color:black;">In London, I find myself in a skybox at the famous Wembley Stadium surrounded by football players and sports reporters who are ready to talk about race. Sharat Raju and I have been invited by the Khalsa Football Academy to help them combat racism through the sport of football -- where young men of color often face racial barriers in their career and racial slurs out on the field. Throughout a week of film screenings and workshops, I make groups of boys and men sit in circles to examine the impact of racism on their physiology -- and find ways to cultivate healing and build resilience. A first for me. And for them.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Training British Police Officers</span><b><span style="color:black;"><br /></span></b><span style="color:black;">In Letchworth, just outside of London, I face a room of 50 white police officers from the Hertfordshire Policy Academy. They have gathered together for a two-hour workshop with me. I have never worked with police officers before. I take a deep breath and ask: "How has terrorism affected your policing?" And then: "How does racism affect your policing?" They identify two major changes: the threat of hate crimes and the need to combat the perception of racial profiling by their own agencies. After leading them through real-life case studies on hate crimes and racial profiling from the film, the officers emerge with a deeper recognition of the need for community engagement. And I emerge with a new appreciation for police officers who are committed to doing their job well. Thank you Bal Singh for arranging our entire England tour!<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Kids on the South Side of Chicago</span><span style="color:black;"><br />In an elementary school on the south side of Chicago, I watch fifty squirming fourth and fifth graders enter single-file for their special presentation. These kids were two-years old when Sept 11th happened. They are all African-American, looking up at me in absolute curiosity. "What country do you think I'm from?" I ask. "Afghanistan!" "Pakistan!" "Iraq!" "Mexico!" Stumped into silence, finally someone tries, "America?" And so begins magical two hours with these kids, connecting my story to theirs, thanks to our organizer and long-time kindred spirit Currun Singh. Want to know what happened? </span><span style="color:white;"><a href="http://rs6.net/tn.jsp?t=forlh4cab.0.0.mi77egcab.0&p=http%3A%2F%2Fvalariekaur.blogspot.com%2F2009%2F09%2Fon-may-21-2009-i-stood-at-front-of.html&id=preview">Read about it here.</a><br /></span><span style="color:black;"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">In the Halls of Power</span><span style="color:black;"><br />As a student at Yale Law School, I find myself in the strange position of passing senators, justices, and former heads of state on my way to class. And since I always carry copies of our little film around, I can now tell you that the following people own <i>Divided We Fall</i>: U.S. Senators Russell Feingold and Dick Durbin, Justice Breyer of the U.S. Supreme Court, and former UK Prime Minister Tony Blair, who incidentally says that he heard about the film before. I told him Balbir Singh Sodhi's story and hoped he would watch the film on 9/15.<br /><br />Thank you for being part of our growing family. Thank you for your commitment to social change through dialogue and storytelling. And thank you for remembering 9/15.<br /></span>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-80444583165603111382009-05-21T23:55:00.000-07:002009-09-14T17:25:13.320-07:00Lessons from the South Side of Chicago<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7bKYv3bvI/AAAAAAAAAu8/5ZcFAu6YQ0U/s1600-h/PICT0057+copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7bKYv3bvI/AAAAAAAAAu8/5ZcFAu6YQ0U/s400/PICT0057+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381479576242712306" border="0" /></a>Today, I stood at the front of a classroom and watched fifty squirming fourth and fifth graders enter single-file for their special presentation in North Kenwood/Oakwood Elementary School. As the teacher managed to seat them in perfect rows on the floor, my co-producer Sharat Raju leaned over and whispered, “These kids are young!”<br /><br />He was right. They could not have been more than nine or ten years old. My mouth opened to give my usual introduction – after all, this was our third year on tour with our film Divided We Fall– but I stopped short. I had never had an audience so young. Would they be able to understand a story about hate violence after terrorism attacks? Would a room of African-American school children from the south side of Chicago be able to connect with the stories of Sikhs and Muslims beaten up after 9/11?<br /><br />They looked at me, eager and open and very curious. I decided to follow their lead.<br /><br />“What country do you think we’re from?” I heard myself ask.<br /><br />Not exactly waiting to be called on, they shouted out guesses, “India! Japan! Brazil! Afghanistan! Pakistan! Iraq! Mexico!” (They certainly proved that they were learning geography...)<br /><br />The excitement created by breaking classroom protocol gave way to frustration as they scanned their minds for more countries around the planet. Then finally someone said – “America?”<br /><br />“Correct!”<br /><br />“Ohhhhh, yeah…” They replied. We explained that although our families are from India, we, like them, were born in the United States – Sharat just miles from Hyde Park.<br /><br />“What we’re going to talk about today is the difference between how we see one another – and how we want to be seen,” I began.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7c_dMCkMI/AAAAAAAAAv8/b4qreoWbGqE/s1600-h/PICT0068+copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7c_dMCkMI/AAAAAAAAAv8/b4qreoWbGqE/s200/PICT0068+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381481587479318722" border="0" /></a>We had been invited here by the <span style="font-weight: bold;">University of Chicago’s South Asian Center</span> to give a series of presentations about our film Divided We Fall, the first feature documentary chronicling hate violence in the aftermath of Sept. 11, 2001. Our host and long-time friend <span style="font-weight: bold;">Currun Singh</span> (right) had arranged for us to present before all age groups, thanks to co-sponsorship of the<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Center for Race, Politics, and Culture and the Human Rights Program.</span><br /><br />Earlier that morning, we had screened the film in the Max Palevsky Cinema before three hundred middle and high school students from seven schools on the south side of Chicago. Later that day, I presented a workshop to school teachers called “Race and Religion in a Post-9/11 World,” in partnership with the Office of Language and Cultural Education at Chicago Public Schools. That evening, we screened the film again for the general public.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7cmHJOlzI/AAAAAAAAAvs/MG7J9y1Xeag/s1600-h/PICT0015+copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7cmHJOlzI/AAAAAAAAAvs/MG7J9y1Xeag/s400/PICT0015+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381481152065214258" border="0" /></a><br />In more than 150 film screenings nation-wide since we premiered in 2006, high school and college audiences had always been my favorite. They always asked the best questions. That morning, students asked: “After you went on this journey after 9/11, what changed for you?” “What would your grandfather think of you making this documentary?” “Was there ever a time that the racism made you want to quit?”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7c0Zh7jqI/AAAAAAAAAv0/UiWz2jPKAzM/s1600-h/PICT0001+copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7c0Zh7jqI/AAAAAAAAAv0/UiWz2jPKAzM/s400/PICT0001+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381481397518831266" border="0" /></a><br />Afterward, a Latina student confided in us that her parents wanted her to become a housewife, another that her family only wanted her to do medicine. “But we want to study humanities and the arts!” they exclaimed. “We want to do what you did!”<br /><br />Although risking parental wrath, it has been an honor to tell a story that inspires other young people to tell their own. We had wanted the film to resonate with students who like us, had come of age in post-9/11 America. We had never imagined however, that our film would one day teach children about Sept. 11th for the first time.<br /><br />This appeared to be the case in our classroom at North Kenwood/Oakwood Elementary School – where the kids were only one or two when 9/11 happened. So, I did the only thing that made sense. I told my story.<br /><br />“I was a twenty-year old college student on September 11, 2001. As a third-generation Sikh American, I had deep roots in America: my grandfather came to these shores nearly one hundred years ago. But the moment the towers fell, we were not seen the way we saw ourselves. The picture of Osama bin Laden was held up as our nation’s new enemy. He had brown skin like me. And he wore a turban like my grandfather.<br /><br />“Four days later, a Sikh man Balbir Singh Sodhi was killed because of his turban – the first of nineteen hate murders across the country. It was as if an uncle had been killed.” The kids gasped. One girl even buried her head in her hands. I then shared with them the next brave thing I did – disappear into my room for days and read all the Harry Potter books. The kids giggled.<br /><br />“Between page 277 and 278, I remembered the stories my grandfather used to tell me as a kid – stories of strength and resilience of my Sikh ancestors – and it compelled me to grab my camera and cross the country to make this film. Do you want to see some of it?”<br /><br />“Yeah!!”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7cFm-AxdI/AAAAAAAAAvc/QK2RMLgixhs/s1600-h/PICT0061+copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7cFm-AxdI/AAAAAAAAAvc/QK2RMLgixhs/s400/PICT0061+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381480593672422866" border="0" /></a><br />We showed them scenes from the film, including one with Samir Akhter, a Muslim boy about the same age as the kids in the classroom. He was called “bin Laden’s son” by the other kids at school. “I’m not a bad guy and I don’t want to be a bad guy. I’m a good guy. And I don’t want to go to jail.”<br /><br />The students quickly grasped the question of identity, that Samir was able to be both Muslim and American equally, and recalled moments in their own lives when they too were treated as outsiders. This was my chance to go deeper.<br /><br />“Close your eyes.” (They did, but many peeked.)<br /><br />“Now, try to remember a moment when people treated you as if you did not belong. Where do you feel it? Describe the feeling in your body.”<br /><br />Some said they had difficulty breathing, that they felt tightness in their chests. One girl said she felt outside of herself.<br /><br />“Hold that sensation in your memory and your body for a moment. Now go to a place of warmth, into the arms of someone you love – a sister or brother or parent. Now, do you notice if anything in your body changed?”<br /><br />This time, they described the tightness melting, giving way to warmth and openness in their chests or bellies or hands. Many said that thought of the safety of their bedroom or home. But one kid said, “The bathroom.” Everyone laughed.<br /><br />“It’s quiet in there and I can be alone and think of my friends and that makes me feel good,” he explained.<br /><br />“That’s right!” I said. “This is a tool you can use anytime. When something bad happens, let yourself feel the pain in your body. Otherwise, it might get stuck in there. But don’t stay there, because who wants to end up bitter and angry? The next step is to go to the love. But there’s a third step. Create something good out of it!”<br /><br />“Like you did?”<br /><br />“Right, but it doesn’t have to be a film. It can be anything that tells your story.”<br /><br />“Writing!” “Dancing!” “Singing!” “Painting!” “Texting!” And everyone laughed.<br /><br />“Now, when something makes you feel bad, what should you do?” I asked.<br /><br />“Feel the pain!” They shouted.<br /><br />“Then?”<br /><br />“Go to the love!”<br /><br />“And the final step?”<br /><br />“Create something good out of it!”<br /><br />Everyone cheered, and the class was over.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7dP_FossI/AAAAAAAAAwE/NEvx-Fi9Jz8/s1600-h/PICT0050+copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7dP_FossI/AAAAAAAAAwE/NEvx-Fi9Jz8/s320/PICT0050+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381481871457170114" border="0" /></a>I had been worried that heavy subjects like terrorism, hate, and healing would be inappropriate or at least incomprehensible for such young children. I was wrong. These kids taught me that every human being, even a 9-year old child, knows what it is like not to belong – and can reclaim the power to transform that hurt and rage into creative action.<br /><br />It is never too early to help children develop the power to empathize, cope, and understand that we all strive to be seen the way we see ourselves. I will always be grateful to the fourth and fifth graders of North Kenwood/Oakwood Elementary School for teaching me that lesson.<br /><br />Thank you to our long-time friend, kindred spirit, fellow artist and activist<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Currun Singh</span> (below with Sharat Raju and me) for making our trip possible!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq69fnipwYI/AAAAAAAAAus/E2RJbYINYyk/s1600-h/IMG_0555.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq69fnipwYI/AAAAAAAAAus/E2RJbYINYyk/s400/IMG_0555.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381446955642241410" border="0" /></a><br />And thank you to our editor <span style="font-weight: bold;">Scott Rosenblatt</span> who joined Sharat Raju (below) the next day on a filmmaking panel for college students.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7dzSlpO1I/AAAAAAAAAwM/ZMvkERUWTNg/s1600-h/PICT0003+copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Sq7dzSlpO1I/AAAAAAAAAwM/ZMvkERUWTNg/s400/PICT0003+copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381482477987117906" border="0" /></a>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-52305933586129698172009-01-29T19:42:00.000-08:002009-01-29T20:08:30.475-08:00The New Era<div style="display: inline;" id="pastedDivNode"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SYJ7PxWc5_I/AAAAAAAAAuM/wf78hLahuGg/s1600-h/INAGURATION2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SYJ7PxWc5_I/AAAAAAAAAuM/wf78hLahuGg/s400/INAGURATION2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296931622616885234" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Sharat and I stood in the bitter cold in a sea of people last week to witness our 44th President sworn into office. I could barely see the Capitol, but closing my eyes, I heard people around me whisper under their breaths "<span style="font-style: italic;">Thank you, Lord</span>," "<span style="font-style: italic;">Yes, Lord</span>" and "<span style="font-style: italic;">Yes we did</span>" through the prayers and the inaugural address, an</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">d I knew I was standing in the heart of a singular spiritual moment in our nation's history where we as a people -- burdened with the sins of genocide and slavery, segregation and racism, racial profiling and ongoing hate violence in the aftermath of 9/11 -- had touched our own greatness.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">No matter what our politics, as we begin the long slow work of restoring our country and communities, we can draw inspiration from this bare bold fact: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">we have elected our first African-American president. The promise of America is real. And yet, we break the greatest racial barrier to find a hundred more yet to be broken -- gay and straight, Christian and Muslim, white and black, citizen and not. We have yet to build a community where others see us for how we see ourselves -- where class, color, and powe</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">r do not define how fully we are recognized.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />So the election of Barack Hussein Obama merely present an opportunity: we who share a vision of social justice may push our vision further and farther than before. It is time to seize the </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">moment.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">And so our little film <span style="font-style: italic;"><a track="on" href="http://www.dwf-film.com/" linktype="link">Divided We Fall</a> </span>has a new role to play in this new era. It can harness the swelling interest in interracial and interfaith dialogue and bring people together through a story of reconciliation. <a href="http://dwf-film.com/buy.html">The film is now <span style="font-weight: bold;">released on DVD</span>, available for purchase by individuals and educators.</a></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-50718374431623230332008-11-24T23:46:00.000-08:002008-11-26T23:11:17.142-08:00My Grandfather's Funeral<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5GPXbc30I/AAAAAAAAAtA/d6WUZ4AW0hI/s1600-h/img529.JPG"></a><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SSzMGbY9T6I/AAAAAAAAAqo/qTYlsheUb_U/s320/Papa+Ji.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272813674547728290" border="0" /><div style="text-align: left;">Today was Papa Ji's funeral. His wisdom and love made me who I am -- and inspired <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Divided We Fall.</span></a> I stood before his casket adorned with flowers, where his face shone regal in a red turban, and gazed out at a hundred people who had gathered in the small chapel. I never write down what I will say before an audience, but today, I knew I needed to draw courage from words on paper. I clutched the pages and spoke through the tears:</div><div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My Beautiful Papa Ji,</span><br /><br /><div>In the beginning, there were sounds: your voice at my childhood bedside, teaching me to recite the root verse: <span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-style: italic;">Ik Onkar. Sat Naam. Karta Purakh. Nirbhau. Nirvair. Akal Murat. Ajuni Saibhang. Gurprashad. Jap. Aad Sach. Jugad Sach. Hai Bhi Sach. Nanak Hosi Bhi Sach.</span><br /><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS46N2hJ_kI/AAAAAAAAArY/LFhYEIP1KPc/s200/img422.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273216223344721474" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 158px; " />You would tuck me in and kiss me on the forehead and ask: “Happy-happy?” And I was happy. I was happy walking with you to the grocery store for ice-cream cones and running through the back yard as you sprayed us with the hose, the water cascading and sparkling in the summer sun. I was happy watching you carefully wrap my school-books out of brown paper bags or cutting us fresh cantaloupe with utter precision. I was happy handing you my latest poem to tuck away in the file you kept of all my writings and learning how to underline my favorite sentences in books just like you. I was happy running from you when you became the tickle monster, and I was happy jumping into the bed next to you when I was sad. You would stroke my hair and I would gaze at your perfect ivory feet until I fell asleep. You were the pillar of wisdom in my whole existence, my constant companion and my source of truth, my playmate and my teacher.<div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS43O3xGXWI/AAAAAAAAAq4/6NSUsk8lAqE/s400/img431.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273212942325013858" />As I got older, you began telling me stories – stories that would shape my life passions. You told me stories from your childhood – you played at the foot of a great banyan tree in your father’s village where Hindus, Sikhs, Muslims and Christians lived side by side. </div><div><br /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 186px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS4136oLGwI/AAAAAAAAAqw/l-3zRxB3Da0/s200/img008.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273211448444263170" />You told me stories from your service in World War II – you would sleep through the air raids at night because you held faith in what your father told you, “My son, there is no German bullet made for you”; you refused to take off your turban when you were sent to the frontlines, saying, “God gave me my helmet”; you humbled your obnoxious British superiors when you outran them on Gaza beaches; and you wrapped your friend’s body with your turban when he was killed next to you. You told me stories about how you escaped India’s Partition in 1947 and the anti-Sikh riots of 1984. And when you told me all these stories, you imparted to me a sense of history, a rootedness that bound me to my ancestral home and people, and a deep sense of faith – for if you could maintain complete faith in God as your companion through air raids and illnesses, riots and unspeakable loss, then I could do the same.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5B8CarLUI/AAAAAAAAAsY/kfU2ugpV8bM/s1600-h/img207.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5B8CarLUI/AAAAAAAAAsY/kfU2ugpV8bM/s320/img207.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273224713394138434" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a><div>Those early years we spent together – granddaughter and grandfather – made me who I am. You stirred a deep commitment to social justice that set my course of study in religion and ethics and law and inspired me to continue telling stories through speaking and teaching and even through making a film. Do you know, Papa Ji, that thousands of people have met you and learned about Sikhism from you in <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">Divided We Fall</a></span>? I can just hear you saying, “You have made me great.” And you can just hear me saying, “It’s the other way around.”<br /><br />In these recent years, as I make my way into adulthood and experience real pain, real disappointment, and real fear for the first time, I begin to understand your magnificence, not just as a grandfather but as a human being who lived and breathed truth even in the face of the worst suffering. You had a small piece of paper taped to your radio by your bedside that read: "ISKCATAUAC." I thought it was a Punjabi word I didn't know until you revealed that it was an acronym: “I shall keep calm at all times and under all circumstances.” And you did. Even when disagreement entered our own relationship, your calm opened into understanding that deepened our bond. </div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5GPXbc30I/AAAAAAAAAtA/d6WUZ4AW0hI/s200/img529.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273229443498565442" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>You lived every moment in this deep calm with child-like wonder and love for the beauty in the world – and you cultivated that beauty around you, in the blooming flowers of the garden you kept and in the hearts of your friends and family. Why else would so many visitors – women and men, young and old, rich and poor – flow into your room day after day for your advice, your poetry, and your company? We were inspired by your fierce intellect, your lust for learning, your resourcefulness, your love for life, and your fearlessness – your fearlessness.<br /><br />Papa Ji, you were never afraid. In the darkest hours of your illness, you were never afraid. When your lungs hardened, your throat closed, and the pain shot through you and rendered you gasping for breath and motionless these last weeks, you still managed to smile at us. You would make us laugh. You showed us you had no fear. We bathed you in our love and your eyes sparkled and your spirit blazed, even as your body shut down. Four summers ago, I asked you if you were afraid of death:<br /><br />“Absolutely no,” you said. “There is no difference in my being here or not here. If I be, God will be with me. If I don’t be, I will be with God… I had been subject to changes from unit to unit in my army service, subject to transfers. And I had been going from place to place happily. On my last transfer also, I’ll go happily.”<br /><br />I asked you, “What is your last wish at the time of death?”<br /><br />“That I should be able to smile with all the people around me present at that time. That I could give a smile to all the people around me. This is the only wish I have. I want to go smiling to my master. Wailing and all that, this is worldly and serves no purpose. It does not do any good. So worldly attachments end. We should accept the end happily.”</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS4-uqvqImI/AAAAAAAAAsA/417t1mgxiQk/s1600-h/img929.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS4-uqvqImI/AAAAAAAAAsA/417t1mgxiQk/s400/img929.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273221185166516834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px; " /></a></div><div><div>You died on a Wednesday afternoon at home, with all your children surrounding you: Masi Auntie, Mama Ji and Mami Auntie, Mommy and Daddy, and Kathy rubbing your feet. They touched your lips with <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">amrit</span> (holy water), and you gave them a smile. </div><div><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5DWgXqVVI/AAAAAAAAAso/jWsQ5Iws9sA/s200/img011a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273226267622790482" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 143px; " /><div>You waited until Mummy Ji (wife of 62 years, pictured) gave you <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">amrit</span>, you took it into your mouth, you sighed, and gazing out, you died. It was miraculous. It was perfect. Your life was a perfect miracle.<br /><br />I know that you want us to be happy and you would be very upset with all of our wailing. So I must tell you, Papa Ji, that the tears we shed today are not for you. They’re not for you! We cry for ourselves. We cry because we will miss you terribly. You have made memories with each of us, and we know that you promised to appear when we summon you – but let us cry for a moment. Let me cry for a moment for what I have lost.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5DAGzKsyI/AAAAAAAAAsg/TVaz-9_zr38/s1600-h/img515.jpg"></a><div>I have lost the pleasure of seeing you walking your garden, hands clasped behind your back, surveying the rows of vegetables like a military captain, the warmth of your face glowing in the sunset. I have lost the comfort of falling asleep on your shoulder, running my thumb over the smooth end of the nail on your right hand. I have lost the excitement of closing my eyes and sending you images to dream about on Monday nights and hearing you report in the morning. I have lost the joy in hearing you say before some new adventure, “Let’s make a memory!” I have lost the feeling of connection when you calm beneath my hands or when I rub the blue elixir into your forehead and wash you in love. I have lost the tremor of your voice, asking: “Happy-happy?” No, Papa Ji, I am not happy. Just for a moment, give me permission not to be happy: I have lost my pillar of wisdom, my constant companion, my playmate and my teacher.<br /><br /></div><div>Since you died, I have turned into a small girl looking for her grandfather. I wail in the streets just as you instructed me not to, then I sit quietly before a candle listening for you. I walk the cemetery calling out your name and sob when there is no answer. I fly home and search for you in all the rooms of the house. And I stand by your casket – you look handsome and regal like a king but your forehead is icy cold when I kiss it and your chest is hard where I used to rub it and your face is white without the blush of the sun, and I cannot find you there. You are not there either. The small girl in me cries.<br /><br />But there is another part of me too. Deep inside, where you planted a seed of strength in my heart, I know that you are just on the other side of my anger and grief. I know that you have been with me all along. And you will continue to be with me. You will be within each of your grandchildren whenever we need you: you are laying a hand on Andrea’s head, you are dancing inside Ginny’s poetry, you are the star guiding Sonny, you are the deep rhythm in Sanjeev, you are the dreams in Neetu, and you live within Jyoti Didi and her son Harry too. It is an honor to be your grandchild; it is an honor to be blessed with your love.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5DAGzKsyI/AAAAAAAAAsg/TVaz-9_zr38/s1600-h/img515.jpg"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS5DAGzKsyI/AAAAAAAAAsg/TVaz-9_zr38/s200/img515.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273225882801713954" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 200px; " /></a><div>We will try to live up to your example: your deep faith in God, your constant curiosity, your discipline in mind and body, your endless creativity, and yes, your fearlessness in life and in the face of death. I will feel you in the root of me, so that everything that I do, you do. Everyone who knows me, will know you. My children will know you and their children’s children will know you. It’s just as you always said: There is nothing that can separate us. There is nothing that can separate those who love one another unconditionally. And so I will go on loving you and talking to you until I am a very old woman.<br /><br />In that case, since this is not goodbye, we grandchildren have one last prayer to offer your spirit as it goes blazing up into the heart of God. It is the prayer that you taught all of us when you drove us to school each day: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Tati vao na lagi</span>. The hot wind cannot touch you in the fires, Papa Ji, just as it could not touch you in life, because you move in the circle of God's Protection.<br /><blockquote>The hot wind does not even touch one who is under the Protection of God.<br />On all four sides I am surrounded by God’s Circle of Protection; pain does not afflict me, O Siblings of Destiny.<br />I have met the Perfect True Guru, who has done this deed.<br />He has given me the medicine of God’s Name, and I enshrine love for the One Lord. <br />God has saved me, and eradicated all my sickness.<br />Says Nanak, God has showered me with His Mercy; He has become my help and support. </blockquote><blockquote>[Guru Arjan, SGGS, 819:16]</blockquote></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><a name="11dd294077215eca_11dcf2460941b493_LETTER.BLOCK3" style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="nfakPe">Obituary</span> printed in Sunday's <span style="font-style: italic;">Fresno Bee:</span><br /><br /></span><img src="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=14461762" align="right" border="0" /><span style="font-weight: bold;">CAPTAIN GURDIAL SINGH</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">March 7, 2921 - November 19, 2008</span><br /><br /></span></a></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS462JGJTYI/AAAAAAAAAro/fPBgM3ItwZY/s1600-h/img481.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS462JGJTYI/AAAAAAAAAro/fPBgM3ItwZY/s320/img481.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273216915526471042" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 320px; " /></a><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><a name="11dd294077215eca_11dcf2460941b493_LETTER.BLOCK3" style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Gurdial Singh, our beautiful "Papa Ji," died at home in the company of his family at the age of 87 after a courageous battle with Parkinson's disease on Wednesday.<br /><br />He was born on March 7, 1921 to Tara Singh and Kesar Kaur in the village of Basupanu in Punjab, British India. He spent his childhood playing beneath a great Banyan tree and excelled at the top of his class in mechanics and engineering.<br /><br />He joined the Indian Army at the age of 18 and fought in World War II. Papa Ji served bravely in Sudan, Ethiopia, Egypt, Libya, Iraq, Iran, and Palestine, earning the rank of Captain. He cheated death several times and escaped the mass riots that consumed India in the 1947 Partition.<br /><br />After the war, he transferred to Kashmir, Sikkim, Bangalore, and Joshi Math, where the music of the river Ganges stirred new passions in him and he began to write poetry. Shortly after Papa Ji survived the anti-Sikh riots of 1984, he immigrated to the United States to live with his daughter Dolly and her family in Clovis, CA. In his new home, he worked at the office of Senior Citizens, tended a blooming garden, read and wrote fervently, and published three books of poetry in Punjabi, Urdu, and English. His life work in poetry won many honors, including recognition by the Punjabi Literary Society of Fresno and the Punjabi University of Patiala. In 2002, Papa Ji returned to India to rebuild his family's house in Patiala, Punjab, so that his grandchildren would always have a home in their ancestral land.<br /><br />Papa Ji lived by example: his deep faith in God as his companion, his child-like wonder for the world, and his pure joy even in the darkest moments of his illness inspired all who met him. His life flourished as the great tree he played under as a child and will continue to offer shade and wisdom to all who knew him.<br /><br />"No jewel leaves its mine willfully, they are forced out. And once out they are subject to cutting, chipping, buffing, and a lot of harsh treatment. Be a jewel and become more precious after harsh treatment." (CGS, USA, July 10, 1989)<br /><br />Papa Ji is survived by his wife of 62 years Joginder Kaur, his three children (pictured below) and their spouses: Manjit and Jasbir Sandhu, Jagmit and Sukhwinder Gill, and Dolly and Judge Brar. He will always be loved and adored by his grandchildren Jyoti, Neetu, Valarie, Sanjeev, Amandeep, Ginny, and Simran. The family thanks the doctors and nurses at Clovis Community Hospital who took care of him and the friends who made him smile in his last days.<br /><br /></span></a></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS4_7-4SQ7I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/YzBKZzIxnqA/s1600-h/img010.jpg"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SS4_7-4SQ7I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/YzBKZzIxnqA/s400/img010.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273222513421337522" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 400px; " /></a><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><a name="11dd294077215eca_11dcf2460941b493_LETTER.BLOCK3" style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">A viewing will be held at Tinkler Funeral Chapel and Crematorium at 475 N. Broadway in Fresno on Sunday, November 23, 2008 at 3:00 p.m. A Funeral Service will be held at Tinkler Funeral Chapel on November 24, 2008 at 11:00 a.m., followed by final prayers at the Gurdwara Singh Sabha of Fresno at 2604 E. Dakota Ave.<br /><br />In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to Papa Ji's final project "Sikh Stars" to sponsor the education of poor Sikh girls in India. Donations can be made out to "Captain Gurdial Singh Memorial Fund" and mailed to 2779 Bullard Ave/ Clovis, CA 93611. </span></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-size:16px;"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SSzK9WsLd0I/AAAAAAAAAqg/6UUtvmtCRdg/s400/Papa+Ji+and+Dolly+at+Grand+Canyon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272812419155720002" border="0" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></span></div></div></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-32466957234324258892008-11-04T23:36:00.000-08:002009-01-29T19:50:23.966-08:00Election Night 2008Today marks a new era of possibility for America and the world. After seven years of despair in the shadow of September 11th, the election of Barack Obama as President throws wide open the doors to the future, and I am left blinking in the light. September 11th was the nightmare from which we could not awake; the election ushers in a new era of possibility I keep mistaking for dream. The world unites again, this time in hope and celebration, that a visionary may be elected president of the most powerful nation on earth.<br /><br />"This victory alone is not the change we seek --" said the President-Elect last night, "it is only the chance for us to make that change." The hard work is yet to come, but just for a moment, I stand in awe that my generation has played a role in bending the arc of our nation's history toward justice. It is our time. And it is just the beginning...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SYJ2fT88_qI/AAAAAAAAAuE/uWN0JftvSB8/s1600-h/Obama+Celebration"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SYJ2fT88_qI/AAAAAAAAAuE/uWN0JftvSB8/s400/Obama+Celebration" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296926392045076130" border="0" /></a>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-80589371240971814282008-09-11T00:18:00.000-07:002009-01-29T20:03:54.641-08:00The DWF Campaign<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SMhYPqZe43I/AAAAAAAAAeY/nhAGNri6Adw/s1600-h/DWF_OneSheet_FN%282%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SMhYPqZe43I/AAAAAAAAAeY/nhAGNri6Adw/s200/DWF_OneSheet_FN%282%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244538792175395698" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Starting today, </span><a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">80 cities </span></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">across America will hold screenings of </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">Divided We Fall</a> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">and hold <a href="http://www.businesswire.com/portal/site/home/permalink/?ndmViewId=news_view&newsId=20080819005945&newsLang=en">deep community dialogues about </a></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.businesswire.com/portal/site/home/permalink/?ndmViewId=news_view&newsId=20080819005945&newsLang=en">race, religion, and renewal</a> during the seven-year anniversary of September 11, 2001. To find a screening nearest you: <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour">http://dwf-film.com/tour</a></span><br /><br />After two years on tour with <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Divided We Fall</span></a>, my director Sharat Raju and I sat with our circle of friends and volunteers this summer to talk about what how to release the film. In <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/tour/pastscreenings.html">100 screenings and events around the world</a>, we had discovered that the film had remarkable power to rip open <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/responses/reviews.html">a space for deep dialogue among our audiences</a>. Now that it was time to release the film, we could go the way of traditional theatrical distribution in a couple of cities, but this felt incomplete. We talked, debated, and meditated.<br /><br />We thought ahead to the 9/11 anniversary mere weeks before the most historic election in out nation's history. We anticipated that the memory and trauma of the terrorist attacks would likely be used to serve a politics of fear. We knew that people were hungry for brave new honest dialogue (we felt this ourselves every time we turned on the evening news). We knew we had something to offer. And so we decided to put the film directly in the hands of communities.<br /><br />With the help of our friends and supporters, we launched <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/campaign/index.html">an ambitious grassroots campaign</a> to screen the film in cities across the country in September -- as a way to commemorate those who died on 9/11 and its aftermath through deep community dialogue about race and religion, fear and forgiveness, who we are and who we want to be.<br /><br />We didn't know if it would be possible. We had no major company behind us to print the advertising and book the theaters. We relied on everyday people to answer the call<span style="text-decoration: underline;">.</span><br /><br />And they did.<br /><br />Today, tens of thousands of people in <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour">80 cities</a> across the country will gather in college lecture halls and living rooms, theaters and mosques, churches and gurdwaras and community centers to watch <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">Divided We Fall</a> </span>and reflect together on how these stories may help us imagine and work toward a more perfect union.<br /><br />I am humbled and inspired by this journey that began seven years ago today. It began when I picked up my camera after 9/11, but it was carried and completed by all the people who gave their stories, skills, and passion to something larger than any of us. This film is a testament to what is possible when people join together to reach deep into hate and violence in order to transform it.<br /><br />Tonight, I will spend the anniversary returning to New York City, where<a href="http://www.danieldromm.com/site/news/currentevents/2008/09/dromm-hosts-screening-of-divided-we.html"> a gay pride group will host a film focused on Sikhs and Muslims in a Jewish community center</a>: I can't imagine a more perfect illustration of the spirit of solidarity that the film inspires.<br /><br />Thank you to all who have the courage to tell their own untold stories.<br /><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.dwf-film.com"></a>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-5891320624840071272008-05-02T22:30:00.000-07:002008-05-14T00:28:44.986-07:00Tubman Middle School - Augusta, GA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqRH5hi6BI/AAAAAAAAAdg/A1Z252Fg8_o/s1600-h/7th+graders+wide+side+angle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqRH5hi6BI/AAAAAAAAAdg/A1Z252Fg8_o/s200/7th+graders+wide+side+angle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200128284639291410" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">Today, I was invited to present at </span><a href="http://chronicle.augusta.com/stories/050808/met_198050.shtml"><st1:placename style="font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Tubman</st1:placename></st1:placename></st1:placename><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > </span><st1:placetype style="font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placetype st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Middle School</st1:placetype></st1:placetype></st1:placetype></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a href="http://chronicle.augusta.com/stories/050808/met_198050.shtml"> </a>in the inner-city of </span><st1:place style="font-family: georgia;" st="on"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Augusta</st1:city></st1:place></st1:city>, <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Georgia</st1:country-region></st1:country-region></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:city></st1:place><span style="font-family:georgia;">. The students live in a depressed part of </span><st1:city style="font-family: georgia;" st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Augusta</st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:city></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-family:georgia;"> where textile workers used to live before the mills shut down. They have grown up with gang violence in their neighborhoods and go through routine weapons inspections at schools. These kids know violence. I have taken the film to middle-class kids at public and private schools but never inner-city kids with these kinds of experiences. I did not know what to expect.</span> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">I had three sessions that lasted an hour and a half each with groups of 30 students, first 8th graders, then 6th graders, then 7th graders. Out of 100 students, all but two were African-American. I started out by talking about Sept 11th. This is how our sessions went:</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqH75hi5yI/AAAAAAAAAbo/HAkUXBoBrB0/s1600-h/Teacher+and+6th+graders+listening.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqH75hi5yI/AAAAAAAAAbo/HAkUXBoBrB0/s400/Teacher+and+6th+graders+listening.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200118182876210978" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><i>"How old were you all when 9/11 happened?" </i>I begin.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">They shout out: "<i>Seven. Six. Eight."</i><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"What do you remember?</i>"<o:p></o:p><i><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p></o:p>"On the TV, planes went into the towers."</i><o:p></o:p> <u1:p></u1:p><i><o:p></o:p></i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p></o:p>And who was responsible?"</i><br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">They answer:<i> "Sadaam Hussein."</i><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"That is a misperception that many Americans still have. Do you remember whose face they showed after 9/11?"</i><br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">After some thought: <i>"Osama bin Laden</i>."<i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"And who was he?"</i><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"Sadaam Hussein's brother."</i><br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqSI5hi6EI/AAAAAAAAAd4/-LSbSuxWrXU/s1600-h/Exclaiming,+7th+graders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqSI5hi6EI/AAAAAAAAAd4/-LSbSuxWrXU/s200/Exclaiming,+7th+graders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200129401330788418" border="0" /></a>In all three sessions, these kids take as fact that Sadaam Hussein and <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Iraq</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region> were responsible for 9/11. I must break down the misinformation and give them the facts before I can move on to the problem of hate crimes.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"> <i>"So what does bin Laden look like?"</i><br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">At this, one student points to Mr. Narinder Malik in the corner of the room who had come with me. Mr. Malik is a distinguished member of the Sikh community and wears a turban and beard, like my grandfather. He looks at the student.<i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqFEJhi5uI/AAAAAAAAAbI/x1UZXxtKUb4/s1600-h/Narinder+Malik.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqFEJhi5uI/AAAAAAAAAbI/x1UZXxtKUb4/s200/Narinder+Malik.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200115026075248354" border="0" /></a><i>"Go on,"</i> Mr. Malik says. "<i>You can say it."</i><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"He looks like you,"</i> the boy says.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And <b>that </b>is how we begin. I introduce them to the <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh religion</a>, why Mr. Malik keeps his turban, and the Sikh greeting "Satsriakal." They all turn to Mr. Malik and say "Satsriakal" in unison, hands folded. I then sweep them into <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/how-film-began.html">the story of what happened to my community after 9/11</a>, how bin Laden looked like my uncles and cousins, how my community was attacked, and how I was so scared, I escaped to my bedroom and read all the Harry Potter books.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqKiJhi57I/AAAAAAAAAcw/DW4ZqrvqkE8/s1600-h/Valarie+with+7th+graders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqKiJhi57I/AAAAAAAAAcw/DW4ZqrvqkE8/s400/Valarie+with+7th+graders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200121039029462962" border="0" /></a></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"I wanted to stay in the black and white world where Harry fought Voldemort instead of face the complexity outside my bedroom door where Americans were killing other Americans," </i>I explain. "<i>Somewhere between pages 277 and 278, I began to remember the stories my grandfather told me about surviving the 1947 Partition riots and the 1984 Sikh massacres. These stories were not in my history book. Are there stories that your grandparents have told you that aren't in YOUR history book? <u1:p></u1:p></i><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">They concentrate and nod.<o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqIeJhi50I/AAAAAAAAAb4/1JFagQlwq94/s1600-h/Explaining,+8th+graders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqIeJhi50I/AAAAAAAAAb4/1JFagQlwq94/s200/Explaining,+8th+graders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200118771286730562" border="0" /></a><i>"So who is writing history? Can we tell our own stories? I had the idea to tell my community's story, so that people would know what was happening. But it was such a big idea, that I was scared by it. Ever had a big idea that scared you?</i>"<br /><br />One kid raises his hand: "<i>Yeah, I had the big idea of starting a newspaper."</i><br /><br /><i>"Why didn't you do it?</i>" I ask.<br /><br /><i>"I was too young," </i>he says.<br /><br /><i>"That's fear," </i>I respond. "<i>It is easy to let our fear keep us from chasing our big ideas. And I would have let fear stop me too. But the words of my grandfather came to me. He gave me the heart of the Sikh religion: </i>'In order to realize yourself and realize God, you must act, here and now, without fear'.<i> And so I did! I got in my car at 20 years old and drove across the country and made the film and almost seven years later, I'm here talking to you. Each of us has the power to make our big ideas come true. Want to see some of <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.dwf-film.com">the movie</a>?"</i><br /><br />At this, they nod eagerly. I show them the opening of the film about Balbir Sodhi's murder and my family's history and the Sikh religion and the decision to leap into the whirlwind. While I watch the kids watch the film, I imagine their lives and their needs and an idea comes over me.<o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqJMJhi54I/AAAAAAAAAcY/zDv5mJLv9Gg/s1600-h/Wide,+7th+graders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqJMJhi54I/AAAAAAAAAcY/zDv5mJLv9Gg/s400/Wide,+7th+graders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200119561560713090" border="0" /></a>"<i>While I was on the road, people began to yell at me and tell me to go back to my country."</i> I share with them.<i> "It was the first time I was seen as an outsider. People did not see me the way I saw myself. All of us can remember a time when we have experienced this too. So try something with me. Put your feet on the ground. Sit up in your chair. Put your hands in your lap. And close your eyes."</i><br /><br />The squirming kids miraculously do this. It takes extra effort to get some of them to close their eyes but they finally sit still.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqBa5hi5qI/AAAAAAAAAao/qmQsW5oOtps/s1600-h/8th+graders,+closing+eyes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqBa5hi5qI/AAAAAAAAAao/qmQsW5oOtps/s400/8th+graders,+closing+eyes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200111018870761122" border="0" /></a><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">"<i>Now take your mind to a memory where you were seen as an outsider, when you were judged or disrespected, when someone called you a name or put you down, " </i>I say slowly.<i> "And as you remember this moment, feel your emotions. What do you feel? And now, pay attention to your body and notice what happens. What is happening in your stomach, your chest, your throat, you face? Go there."<u1:p></u1:p></i><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I can see the kids wrinkling up their brows as they concentrate.<br /><br /><i>"And now take your mind to a different memory," </i>I say. "<i>This time choose a moment when you felt GREAT LOVE. And great support. Go to that love. It could be your mother, your father, your brother or sister, your teacher, your friend. It could be in prayer. Let yourself feel that love. Smile into it. And notice what happens in your body. Your stomach, your chest, your face. Feel the love. And enjoy that."</i></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">The kids are smiling.<br /><br /><i>"Now open your eyes. Well done! That was courageous. Did you feel that?"<u1:p></u1:p></i><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">They nod furiously.<br /><br /><i>"What happened?"</i><br /><br />They hesitate to share their stories. Some of them had gone really deep. Some begin to cry and the teacher comes over to hug them and give them tissues. These kids felt those moments really, really intensely, I realize. It is too much for them to share memories, so I ask them to share what they felt.<br /></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqSqZhi6FI/AAAAAAAAAeA/8309lwSsa-w/s1600-h/Listening,+7th+graders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqSqZhi6FI/AAAAAAAAAeA/8309lwSsa-w/s400/Listening,+7th+graders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200129976856406098" border="0" /></a><br /><i>"What did you feel when you were hurt and angry?"</i> I ask.<o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">They begin to shout out: </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">"<i>My stomach tightened! My heart ached! My chest hurt! My face got hot!" <u1:p></u1:p></i><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">"<i>And what did you feel when you felt the love?</i>"<br /><br />They call out:<i> </i><o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"My chest opened up! My ribs felt tingly. I felt it through my whole body, flowing through my whole body. My face started smiling!</i>"</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqHn5hi5wI/AAAAAAAAAbY/b4OSM_vYqB4/s1600-h/8th+graders,+wide.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqHn5hi5wI/AAAAAAAAAbY/b4OSM_vYqB4/s400/8th+graders,+wide.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200117839278827266" border="0" /></a><br /><o:p></o:p><u1:p></u1:p>One 7th grade-girl musters up the courage to share her two moments:<i> <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"I was walking down the street with my friends, and we were all together, and there were people sitting across the street. They were like Caucasian. And they was looking at us, like real mean. And it made me feel bad. It just made me feel bad. Like they were looking at us because were black. Because we were different. I felt it in my chest and in my heart."</i> <o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"And what was the loving moment you went to?" </i>I ask.<br /><br /><i>"I thought of going home to my sister and telling her. And I felt my sister's love. And I could see like her face right in front of me. It made me smile. And it made my heart feel better.</i>"</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqTqJhi6GI/AAAAAAAAAeI/VrwUJH8xNr8/s1600-h/Close+Up,+8th+graders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqTqJhi6GI/AAAAAAAAAeI/VrwUJH8xNr8/s400/Close+Up,+8th+graders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200131072073066594" border="0" /></a><br />Then I begin to explain to them: </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>"When something bad happens to you, it is important to feel angry and hurt. But if we stay there, then we become bitter, angry, and sad all our lives. And that doesn't do anyone any good. So we have to go the second moment. We have to go to the love. Go to your mother, your father, your sister, your friend, your God, and feel their love. That is the full picture. The world is mean and cruel, but the world is also beautiful and loving. Each of us has love in our lives. And when we go to the love, you know what we can do next? With that love, we can reach deep inside the pain and hatred, and create something out of it! We can make a poem or write a story or do a play or decide what we want to be when we grow up or start a newspaper -- or even make a film! I'm telling you this, because if I can do it, each and every one of you has the power to create anything you dream of."</i></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqJBJhi52I/AAAAAAAAAcI/INPI2-6-W70/s1600-h/6th+graders,+side.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqJBJhi52I/AAAAAAAAAcI/INPI2-6-W70/s400/6th+graders,+side.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200119372582152034" border="0" /></a><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>I have them all take out sheets of paper and make them write down three main points.<o:p></o:p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“When bad things happen to you or when you get hurt, what do you do? Number One: FEEL THE PAIN.”</i></p><u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p><i style="font-family: georgia;">“What if you can’t feel no pain?”</i><span style="font-family:georgia;"> one boy asks quietly, while everyone else is scribbling it on their paper.</span><o:p style="font-family: georgia;"></o:p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqHPJhi5vI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/_qVdv_-bqng/s1600-h/Scribbling+down.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqHPJhi5vI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/_qVdv_-bqng/s400/Scribbling+down.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200117414077064946" border="0" /></a><i>“That’s a good question. Sometimes it’s really hard. Then you take yourself away from everyone into a quiet place and you sit there with the memory like we just did. And if you sit long enough, you will be able to notice where it shows up in your body, maybe in your chest or your stomach. Because the body is feeling it even if we don’t know it. So you have to connect your brain to the rest of you to feel it. Sometimes it takes time.”</i></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“Why do we have to feel it? Why can’t we just ignore it</i>?” another girl asks.<o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“You have to feel the pain, because if you don’t it will hide in your body and show up later on. So you have to feel all of it so that it can work through your body and then let go.”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">She nods.</p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqES5hi5sI/AAAAAAAAAa4/cVf0hgW_TVc/s1600-h/Speaking+to+7th+graders,+wide.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqES5hi5sI/AAAAAAAAAa4/cVf0hgW_TVc/s400/Speaking+to+7th+graders,+wide.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200114179966691010" border="0" /></a><u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“Ready for Number Two? Number Two: GO TO THE LOVE. What does that mean?”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">They shout out: <i>“Go to your loving moment! Close your eyes and go to your happy place! Go to your sister or mother. Go to people who love you!”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>”Yes! Even if you are far away from people who love you, you can close your eyes and feel their love, just like we did. And once you do those things, now Number Three: CREATE SOMETHING OUT OF IT. Once you have felt the pain and feel the love, you now have the power to reach deep into that experience and create something good out of it. And this will not only save you. It will save other people. In fact, THIS is how you begin to change the world.”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">They are getting it. It is resonating.</p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqOw5hi6AI/AAAAAAAAAdY/eku5IzxwdBw/s1600-h/DANIEL+JOSEPH+PIERCE.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqOw5hi6AI/AAAAAAAAAdY/eku5IzxwdBw/s200/DANIEL+JOSEPH+PIERCE.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200125690479044610" border="0" /></a><i>"Do you want to know my two moments? The first was when people yelled at me on the road, and I got angry. But my loving moment was when I went all the way to <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region></st1:place></st1:country-region> to meet the widow of the man who was killed. Do you want to go there with me?”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqOlZhi5_I/AAAAAAAAAdQ/UjzAD26fBqw/s1600-h/Sodhi+Family+and+kids.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqOlZhi5_I/AAAAAAAAAdQ/UjzAD26fBqw/s200/Sodhi+Family+and+kids.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200125492910548978" border="0" /></a>They call out yes. And I show them the very end of the film, the forgiveness of the widow, the love of the community. At the end, I ask the students to remember the three things we learned together.<o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“When you get hurt or when bad things happen to you, what do you do? Number One?”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“FEEL THE PAIN!” They shout out.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“Number Two?”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“GO TO THE LOVE!”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“Number Three?”<o:p></o:p></i></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“CREATE SOMETHING GOOD OUT OF IT!”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>“Now stand up on your chairs! Everyone stand on your chairs. And stand with your shoulders back. When we protect ourselves we collapse our shoulders in, yes, like that. So we need to create space around your heart and pull your shoulders back, like your heart has wings! Yes! Now say it with me! When bad things happen to us, what do we do?”</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>1. FEEL THE PAIN!</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>2. GO TO THE LOVE!</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><i>3. CREATE SOMETHING!</i><o:p></o:p></p> <u1:p style="font-family: georgia;"></u1:p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I get chills. It is done. The kids are buzzing and they leave buzzing, and I am buzzing too.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqIR5hi5zI/AAAAAAAAAbw/cBrv3DD10Io/s1600-h/Valarie+with+6th+graders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqIR5hi5zI/AAAAAAAAAbw/cBrv3DD10Io/s400/Valarie+with+6th+graders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200118560833333042" border="0" /></a>Thank you to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ayman Fadel, Greg Davis, Narinder Malik,</span> and all the teachers and students at <a href="http://chronicle.augusta.com/stories/050808/met_198050.shtml"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tubman Middle School </span></a>for this magical day.</p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqT-Zhi6HI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/sAMGnZWOP-I/s1600-h/Tubman+Middle+School.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/SCqT-Zhi6HI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/sAMGnZWOP-I/s400/Tubman+Middle+School.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200131419965417586" border="0" /></a><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-79669302812474359892008-02-25T23:51:00.000-08:002008-03-22T16:58:03.008-07:00The Space Between - Detroit, MI<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WbdQzHLlI/AAAAAAAAAaU/Yy1KHv5caVI/s1600-h/PICT0136.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WbdQzHLlI/AAAAAAAAAaU/Yy1KHv5caVI/s200/PICT0136.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180717873387482706" border="0" /></a>In the last week of January, my co-producer <span style="font-weight: bold;">Sharat Raju</span> and I traveled with our film <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">Divided We Fall</a> around the state of Michigan -- from a screening at <a href="http://wayne.edu/">Wayne State University</a> in Detroit, to a workshop at the South Asian American Network conference at the <a href="http://www.umich.edu/">University of Michigan</a> in Ann Arbor, to a day at an all-girls Catholic high school, the <a href="http://www.ashmi.org/">Academy of the Sacred Heart</a> in Bloomfield. Our audiences were diverse, but a central theme seemed to rise throughout our visit: young people learning to own the space between.<br /><br />In my childhood, I grew up in what I call an <span style="font-style: italic;">in-between space</span>. With brown skin and a religion no one had heard of before, I did not fit in with the other kids at school in my small conservative hometown of Clovis California. At the same time, with an American name and parents who had no accidents, I became aware that I was an outsider at the local Sikh gurdwara (house of worship).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WYkAzHLiI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/wRsJrTggo-8/s1600-h/Little+Valarie+and+Sonny+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WYkAzHLiI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/wRsJrTggo-8/s400/Little+Valarie+and+Sonny+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180714690816716322" border="0" /></a><br />Not fully American, not fully Indian, not fully Sikh, not really Christian, I grew up in the space between major national, ethnic, and religious communities. And like any kid, I hated it. I imagine that it was much easier to wrap oneself in a monolithic identity than sense your own complex strangeness.<br /><br />Slowly, I learned how to see this in-between space as a source of strength, power, and creativity. I learned to own this space and speak from this space. From standing here, I could see things others could not. I could tell my stories.<br /><br />I was not alone. An entire generation of kids like me have grown up in the in-between spaces. In our increasingly multiracial multi-religious country, we are navigating multiple identities, and instead of hiding our differences as perhaps our parents needed to, we are learning how to own our strangeness in this in-between space and speak from it.<br /><br />This was clear to me during my tour in Michigan.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WAYNE STATE UNIVERSITY<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WJOQzHLQI/AAAAAAAAAXs/VJbB2XMapY8/s1600-h/Building,+Ext.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WJOQzHLQI/AAAAAAAAAXs/VJbB2XMapY8/s200/Building,+Ext.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180697824480144642" border="0" /></a>We began at <a href="http://wayne.edu/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wayne State University</span></a> in Detroit where our audience was filled with students who shared the space between many identities: Sikh, Muslim, Arab, South Asian, white, American. Some wore turbans, some wore veils, and I was reminded of the sheer diversity of greater Detroit: the largest Arab-American community resides in neighboring Dearborn, MI.<br /><br />I watched this audience and noticed the laughter was harder, the silence deeper, the tears more difficult, perhaps because many of these students related directly to the stories on the screen.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WGogzHLMI/AAAAAAAAAXM/fFGEKgcOfsE/s1600-h/Audience,+engaged.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WGogzHLMI/AAAAAAAAAXM/fFGEKgcOfsE/s400/Audience,+engaged.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180694976916827330" border="0" /></a>The first question after the film:<span style="font-style: italic;"> "People see diversity as a black and white issue. What can be done to bring America together</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> and promote true diversity?"</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WHEwzHLNI/AAAAAAAAAXU/X9OgD54dVgw/s1600-h/Diverse+Audience.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WHEwzHLNI/AAAAAAAAAXU/X9OgD54dVgw/s200/Diverse+Audience.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180695462248131794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"Diversity doe</span><span style="font-style: italic;">sn't mean uplifting certain minorities,"</span> I responded. <span style="font-style: italic;">"Diversity means all of us. It means all of us have differences and stories that ought to be recognized as part of the American Mosaic. We have all been outsiders at some point, we have all been guilty of biases, we all have a stake in the fight."</span><br /><br />Sharat went on to talk about the need for diverse stories in the media as a way to promote diversity.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"</span><span style="font-style: italic;">It's time for us to start telling our own stories,"</span> he began. <span style="font-style: italic;">"There are few South Asian Americans in the newsroom, on television, or in the filmmaking business, for example. It takes time, but our own underrepresented communities need to push the next generation into these professions."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WQaAzHLYI/AAAAAAAAAYs/ZI9-Zwq6nV0/s1600-h/Sikh+Family+in+Audience.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WQaAzHLYI/AAAAAAAAAYs/ZI9-Zwq6nV0/s200/Sikh+Family+in+Audience.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180705722925002114" border="0" /></a>At the end of the hour, <span style="font-weight: bold;">Amrik Khalsa</span>, the student who first brought us to University of Michigan last year, spoke:<span style="font-style: italic;"> "It is important to share our stories with the wider public, but we can be willing to start with their friends. It only takes one or two people to make a change. The burden is on us to speak, listen, and educate."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span>Afterward, the students in the audience wrote down their reflections and their own stories, which you can read <span style="font-style: italic;">here</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">SOUTH ASIAN AMERICAN NETWORK CONFERENCE</span><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WPbAzHLWI/AAAAAAAAAYc/q8dhbJ089xo/s1600-h/Small+Group,+Close.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WPbAzHLWI/AAAAAAAAAYc/q8dhbJ089xo/s200/Small+Group,+Close.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180704640593243490" border="0" /></a>After Wayne State, we headed into a weekend-long conference called "Catalysts for Change" hosted by the <span style="font-weight: bold;">South Asian American Network</span> at the <a href="http://umich.edu/"><span>University of Michigan</span></a> in Ann Arbor. The conference was bursting with energy. In workshops and over the dinner table, college students engaged distinguished professors, artists, and activists on issues of social justice, creative expression, and the future of our community and country.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WZVQzHLjI/AAAAAAAAAaE/dVFGj2p-7HA/s1600-h/AMARDEEP+SINGH+BHALLA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WZVQzHLjI/AAAAAAAAAaE/dVFGj2p-7HA/s200/AMARDEEP+SINGH+BHALLA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180715536925273650" border="0" /></a>Sharat and I were honored to present a workshop with our personal hero, <a href="http://www.sikhcoalition.org/Staff.asp">Amar Bhalla</a>, Director of the <a href="http://www.sikhcoalition.org/">Sikh Coalition</a> (pictured). I first met Amar when I interviewed him for the film just weeks after 9/11. He was sitting at a roundtable in a Manhattan office, working with a group of young Sikh professionals on responding to the crisis of hate violence in our community. Six years later, his leadership has resulted in the most important civil rights organization for the Sikh community: <a href="http://www.sikhcoalition.org/">The Sikh Coalition.</a><br /><br />Imagine how honored we were to have Amar introduce us at the beginning of the workshop: <span style="font-style: italic;">"After 9/11, when our community's stories were not worthy of being on CNN or NBC, these filmmakers went out and captured them. It was an amazing service to our community. Our children and your children will be watching and remembering and learning from what happened in this moment in our history."<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WM2wzHLTI/AAAAAAAAAYE/nFwrONufNAo/s1600-h/Amar+and+Valaire+Addressing+Group.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WM2wzHLTI/AAAAAAAAAYE/nFwrONufNAo/s400/Amar+and+Valaire+Addressing+Group.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180701818799729970" border="0" /></a>It nearly choked me up. Six years ago, we simply shared the desire to do something about the injustice happening around us, and now we stand with what that desire has produced: a feature-length film, a civil rights organization. It became clear to me that anyone who owns their own voice can act on their desire to do good -- and the impossible becomes possible.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WQ8wzHLZI/AAAAAAAAAY0/BmaGJ_qaBWg/s1600-h/Students+Listening.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WQ8wzHLZI/AAAAAAAAAY0/BmaGJ_qaBWg/s200/Students+Listening.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180706319925456274" border="0" /></a>We showed our audience of mostly South Asian American college students clips from the film and asked them to tell one another their own stories. As I walked around the room, I heard many different voices blending together:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"When 9/11 happens, I was a freshman..."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I was a New Yorker."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"It was the first time in my life that..."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I saw myself as an object."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"People saw me as an enemy."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"And I got off the bus and felt the stares."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I no longer feel comfortable flying."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"There are so many stories, I don't know where to start."</span><br /><br />We ended with asking what gave people hope. One student looked up, face shining, voice steady, and said: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Ours is not the silent generation. Our parents were, we are not. Everyone in this room, gives me hope."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WOWQzHLVI/AAAAAAAAAYU/9EPkLkBaNro/s1600-h/Amar+and+Valarie+Watching+Discussion.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WOWQzHLVI/AAAAAAAAAYU/9EPkLkBaNro/s400/Amar+and+Valarie+Watching+Discussion.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180703459477237074" border="0" /></a>We are <span style="font-style: italic;">speaking</span> -- with our in-between voices, from our in-between spaces -- and this is what is changing the future.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WPxwzHLXI/AAAAAAAAAYk/ZgHv4_fP9Dw/s1600-h/mandvi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WPxwzHLXI/AAAAAAAAAYk/ZgHv4_fP9Dw/s200/mandvi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180705031435267442" border="0" /></a>This was confirmed that night at the conference banquet, where I heard <a href="http://www.aasifmandvi.net/">Aasif Mandvi</a> of <a href="http://www.thedailyshow.com/">The Daily Show</a> fame, perform his spoken word pieces. Deftly exploring identity, confusion, pilgrimage, longing, his storytelling resides and flourishes in this space between -- a space we are all beginning to share.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ACADEMY OF THE SACRED HEART</span><br /><br />Our last stop was at the <a href="http://www.ashmi.org/">Academy of the Sacred Heart</a>'s, an all-girls Catholic high school, just outside of Detroit in Bloomfield. A teacher had invited me to present the film and speak on the school's Diversity Day. Before I knew it, I was standing on the stage of a high school cafeteria before several hundred 14 to 18-year-old high school girls, hearing their bubbly conversations quiet down as their teacher introduced me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WSCAzHLaI/AAAAAAAAAY8/DIhI6aQs_u0/s1600-h/Valarie+on+Stage.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WSCAzHLaI/AAAAAAAAAY8/DIhI6aQs_u0/s400/Valarie+on+Stage.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180707509631397282" border="0" /></a><br />I told them I was honored to be here for a high school Diversity Day, a first in the history of the film tour. I sat down as the film began and wondered what impact it would have on these young women with mostly white, Christian, middle-class upbringings. They watched quietly, attentively. After the film, the applause shook the cafeteria.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WSwAzHLbI/AAAAAAAAAZE/eTRoaA2sMcc/s1600-h/Audience.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WSwAzHLbI/AAAAAAAAAZE/eTRoaA2sMcc/s400/Audience.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180708299905379762" border="0" /></a><br />When I took the stage, the hands wouldn't stop going up. Question after question, the students wanted to know what it was like to be young, a woman, scared, and pursue a dream.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WUFgzHLcI/AAAAAAAAAZM/SfkeuyJ7Idc/s1600-h/Student+Asking+Question.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WUFgzHLcI/AAAAAAAAAZM/SfkeuyJ7Idc/s200/Student+Asking+Question.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180709768784195010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"What is it hard for you and your cousin?"</span> asks Kassandra.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Did you ever want to give up and go home?" </span>asks Elayna.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"What was it like the first time you got in your car to do the first interview?" </span>asks Emma.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Were you scared when you were talking to the bigoted man in the train station?"</span> asks Alex.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WVbAzHLeI/AAAAAAAAAZc/AXZg-od51Ow/s1600-h/Student+in+Grey.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WVbAzHLeI/AAAAAAAAAZc/AXZg-od51Ow/s200/Student+in+Grey.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180711237663010274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"How did your parents feel?"</span> Chelsea wants to know.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Did you feel at home in India after seeing all the racism here?" </span>asks Casey.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"This is the first time I've heard of the Sikh religion."</span> says Hayley. <span style="font-style: italic;">"Why?"<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WUowzHLdI/AAAAAAAAAZU/A4Jtxxba98Q/s1600-h/Student+in+Orange+Asks+Question.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WUowzHLdI/AAAAAAAAAZU/A4Jtxxba98Q/s400/Student+in+Orange+Asks+Question.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180710374374583762" border="0" /></a><br />I share with them how I learned to own my voice and urge them to do the same. Afterwards, the girls surround me and give me hugs. And here is when they tell me their own stories.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"My grandmother used a whites-only bathroom when she was a girl," </span>a young African-American student tells me, <span style="font-style: italic;">"and she was afraid that her brother would be hung if anyone found out. Now I'm thinking I need to tell my family's stories."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I have a plain name and nondescript identity,"</span> a young white student tells me, <span style="font-style: italic;">"but I feel like I'm in-between, because I don't feel part of the larger culture, and I don't belong to any other culture."</span><br /><br />These young women could respond to my story so personally, because even though they do not share my same skin color or religion or upbringing, they know what it is like to figure out who you are. They too have been thrown into identities that may not be able to hold them, and when they question their surroundings, they find themselves nestling into the spaces between, like me. Here we craft their own identities, find own own voices, as young women terrified and courageous enough to be ourselves:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WWGwzHLfI/AAAAAAAAAZk/hnJEapQmJpg/s1600-h/Group+Picture+with+Girls.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WWGwzHLfI/AAAAAAAAAZk/hnJEapQmJpg/s400/Group+Picture+with+Girls.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180711989282287090" border="0" /></a><br />We can be born into this in-between space between, we can choose it for ourselves, but once we are here, it becomes a borderland -- a meeting of ideas and stories and questions, a community of storytellers, saying the unsayable, one breath at a time. It is a space where we can recognize one another. Let there be no limit to who stands here with us. For this is where we can learn to speak our own truth and stand as one.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Special thank you to </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Amarinder Kaur</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> and the Sikh Student Association of </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://wayne.edu/">Wayne State University</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> (pictured below at dinner), the entire organizing team at the SAAN Conference, and </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Chaise Ewert-Meyer</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> at the </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.ashmi.org/">Academy of the Sacred Heart</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> for hosting an incredible Michigan tour!<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-Wb5QzHLmI/AAAAAAAAAac/ngtGHpRbvvI/s1600-h/With+SSA.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-Wb5QzHLmI/AAAAAAAAAac/ngtGHpRbvvI/s400/With+SSA.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180718354423819874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><span><span style="font-style: italic;">And finally, a sign that hangs in the hallways of Academy of the Sacred Heart:</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WWpwzHLgI/AAAAAAAAAZs/yko9KyUmCkU/s1600-h/Sign+in+School.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R-WWpwzHLgI/AAAAAAAAAZs/yko9KyUmCkU/s400/Sign+in+School.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180712590577708546" border="0" /></a>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-14434796056629636672008-01-23T14:28:00.000-08:002008-01-24T08:31:24.776-08:00Dr. King and I - Ann Arbor, MI<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158896352390790434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gU5kVPvSI/AAAAAAAAAWE/kt26yCOffqE/s200/U+of+M.JPG" border="0" />On the celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, it was snowing in Michigan. Like most schools, the <a href="http://www.umich.edu/"><strong>University of Michigan</strong> </a>had given its students a day-off. Unlike most schools, it had created an ambitious <a href="http://www.mlksymposium.umich.edu/">month-long symposium in honor of Dr. King</a> so rich and impressive, that even the snow couldn't keep more than 300 people from packing the auditorium to standing-room-only to watch <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Divided We Fall.</span></a><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158898787637247330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gXHUVPvWI/AAAAAAAAAWk/3lvDRf3NJg0/s400/Audience,+close.JPG" border="0" /><br /><a href="ttp://dwf-film.com/crew.html">My director and I </a>take the stage to thank everyone, especially our hosts the University Libraries, for choosing to reflect on Dr. King's message through our film. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">"He would have been here to support you, "</span> one woman tells me.<br /><br />As the film plays, I stand in the back and think of Dr. King leading the bus boycotts, standing up to the fire hoses, and sitting in the Birmingham jail learning to love his jailer. I think of him standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and speaking of his dreams. I see my professor Linda Hess in the crowd, a white Jewish woman who believed in him because she knew that her freedom was bound up with what he stood for.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gew0VPvZI/AAAAAAAAAW8/cCHLXRX15ac/s1600-h/SherSingh.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158907197183212946" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gew0VPvZI/AAAAAAAAAW8/cCHLXRX15ac/s200/SherSingh.jpg" border="0" /></a>At that moment, I see <strong>Rachael Neumann</strong> on the big screen, a white woman my age speaking about struggling with her own prejudice. Like Linda, Rachael knew that her freedom was bound up with the destiny of <a href="http://www.pluralism.org/news/article.php?id=2003">the turbaned man sitting in front of her on the train on Sept. 12, 2001.</a> She saw him wrongfully arrested, ducked when the guns loomed over him, pretended that he must have been guilty for being treated the way he was. This is why she needed to apologize to him: <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">"I want to apologize for making him not-a-person in my head for a year and a half."</span> And this is why <a href="ttp://valariekaur.blogspot.com/search?q=the+best+and+worst+of+america"><strong>Sher Singh</strong></a> <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(pictured)</span> accepts her apology: <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">"I wish her the best in life."</span><br /><br />Our freedom is inextricably tied up with the freedom of those next to us. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere,"</span> said Dr. King. I feel proud that so many people are here in this auditorium on a snowy Monday supporting us in his name.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gUr0VPvRI/AAAAAAAAAV8/7YNpJ8TPVKQ/s1600-h/Sharat+telling+Story.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158896116167589138" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gUr0VPvRI/AAAAAAAAAV8/7YNpJ8TPVKQ/s200/Sharat+telling+Story.JPG" border="0" /></a>After the film, the audience asks about the negligance of the media, the possibility for dialogue with those who seem unreachable, and the reactions of my own family. Sharat and I give answers and tell stories (his are more funny than mine).<br /><br />And then a woman stands up:<br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gTDUVPvLI/AAAAAAAAAVM/tDYv8pJLnCA/s1600-h/Gurpreet+Kaur.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158894320871259314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gTDUVPvLI/AAAAAAAAAVM/tDYv8pJLnCA/s200/Gurpreet+Kaur.JPG" border="0" /></a>"I am a Sikh woman who lives and works here in Ann Arbor," </span>says <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Gurpreet</span>. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">"I remember going to the Sikh gurdwara </span>(house of worship)<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> after 9/11 and seeing American flags on all the cars, almost out of desperation to say 'we are American too.' And I remember how afraid I felt, even here in Ann Arbor. I was afraid to leave my house."</span><br /><br />Gurpreet's story is an example of the many invisible consequences of the aftermath of 9/11 -- a lost sense of home that affects what we do and how we relate. Stories like hers make the issues in our film local and present.<br /><span id="formatbar_Buttons" style="DISPLAY: block"><span onmouseup="" class="on" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);" id="formatbar_CreateLink" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" title="Link" style="DISPLAY: block" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);"></span></span><p><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gTWkVPvMI/AAAAAAAAAVU/Vehy-_PuKNg/s1600-h/Angad+Singh.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158894651583741122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gTWkVPvMI/AAAAAAAAAVU/Vehy-_PuKNg/s200/Angad+Singh.JPG" border="0" /></a>At the very end, <strong>Angad Singh</strong>, a Sikh student who helped bring our film to <a href="http://www.umich.edu/">U of M</a> last year, comes to the stage. He thanks everyone for all the support he's received and offers his support to anyone in return.</p><p>It is the truest expression of solidarity.<br /><br />And it represents the hard-unity that <a href="http://www.barackobama.com/2008/01/20/remarks_of_senator_barack_obam_40.php"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Senator Barack Obama</span></a> spoke about in <a href="http://www.barackobama.com/2008/01/20/remarks_of_senator_barack_obam_40.php">his speech </a>at Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta earlier in the day. </p><p><a href="http://www.barackobama.com/2008/01/20/remarks_of_senator_barack_obam_40.php">The hope captured in this speech</a> lies at the heart of my experience on the road with this film. (For this reason, I invite you to <a href="http://www.barackobama.com/2008/01/20/remarks_of_senator_barack_obam_40.php">read it</a> no matter what your politics). It shows up in the exchanges between our audience members, the dialogue that rises out of a recognition that we all have a stake in the struggle for recognition, that my freedom depends on your freedom. You can see it in the <a href="http://dwf-film.com/responses/reviews.html">response cards </a>we gather from our audiences, stories that speak to that shared human experience, <a href="http://dwf-film.com/responses/reviews.html">stories we post <em>here.</em></a><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gTgkVPvNI/AAAAAAAAAVc/FdvwE_kECfo/s1600-h/Pocket.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158894823382432978" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gTgkVPvNI/AAAAAAAAAVc/FdvwE_kECfo/s200/Pocket.JPG" border="0" /></a>After the screening, we finally tumble out onto the streets and share a huge dinner with the <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Sikh Student Association</span> and my friends from college who are visiting for the long weekend. My circle of college friends, lovingly named the Pocket, have sustained me with their support and friendship through this entire journey into the whirlwind, keeping the bitterness at bay with their love. <em>(At right: Irene, me, Irene, Jess, Shannon. At bottom: SSA members with us). </em>All these festivities come after a beautiful catered lunch organized just for us by the university library staff earlier in the day. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158895733915499778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gUVkVPvQI/AAAAAAAAAV0/TvQV2wwjPJg/s400/Group+at+Dinner.JPG" border="0" /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gVTEVPvTI/AAAAAAAAAWM/7B6vpalpDu8/s1600-h/Conversation+in+Library.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158896790477454642" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gVTEVPvTI/AAAAAAAAAWM/7B6vpalpDu8/s200/Conversation+in+Library.JPG" border="0" /></a>The next day, Sharat and I lead a dialogue workshop for library staff in a ballroom as it snows and snows outside. The staff shares their own hopes and doubts about race, religion, and identity and leave feeling a little more hopeful, a little more connected with one another. We then head to the library for a formal conversation with students and faculty during the lunch hour, where we explore ideas of future projects with a wonderful group of people <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(at right).</span><br /><div><div><div><div><br /><div><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gV60VPvVI/AAAAAAAAAWc/mEO-EkEfhpw/s1600-h/Fireside+Chat.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158897473377254738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gV60VPvVI/AAAAAAAAAWc/mEO-EkEfhpw/s200/Fireside+Chat.JPG" border="0" /></a>And in the evening, we lead a 'fireside chat' in the East Quad for two hours with a group of students from the dorm <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(at left).</span> We talk about our journey in making the film, the ups and downs, and share our insights on working for social justice. Our stories really seem to resonate and we leave feeling that we have had exchanges whose ripple effects will grow.<br /><br />We want to thank <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Helen Look</span> (below) and all the organizers at the university for hosting our incredible visit. And also thank you to <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">John Cady</span>, who drove us around in the snow, shared stories about Ann Arbor, took many of the pictures posted here, and extended his personal support to the film. We feel lucky to have made such great new friends.<br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158895428972821746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gUD0VPvPI/AAAAAAAAAVs/ZCxX8JPLJQU/s400/Helen+and+Valarie.JPG" border="0" /></div><div><br /><em>We are heading to Wayne State today, then the SAAN conference, and then the Academy of Sacred Heart in the coming days -- all in Michigan! Check out our <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour/tour.html">tour schedule</a>! </em><em><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158913807137881506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R5gkxkVPvaI/AAAAAAAAAXE/jyu5DISH38M/s400/Poster.JPG" border="0" /></em></div></div></div></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-30361893550135240352008-01-16T23:21:00.000-08:002008-01-23T14:27:12.723-08:00To Be Afraid of Hope<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48Ds5pxKVI/AAAAAAAAAUk/Nqhg5xCPMaM/s1600-h/Kalsi+Brothers.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156344168287643986" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48Ds5pxKVI/AAAAAAAAAUk/Nqhg5xCPMaM/s200/Kalsi+Brothers.jpg" border="0" /></a>The new year begins in blood. <a href="http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2007/news/kenya.violence/">Kenya </a>is seized by violence. <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/asiapcf/12/27/pakistan.bhutto/">Benazir Bhutto </a>is assasinated and Pakistan is consumed by riots. <a href="http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2003/iraq/forces/casualties/">More soldiers</a> are killed in Iraq. And here at home, terrible news spreads through the <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh </a>community -- <a href="http://www.insidebayarea.com/search/ci_7830447?IADID=Search-">two Sikh brothers are shot to death at their restaurant in Richmond, California:<br /></a><br /><em>Two men shuffled down San Pablo Avenue on a wet December night. They passed a burger joint and doughnut shop before pausing at the door to Sahib Indian Restaurant.<br /><br />One banged on the window. "You open?" he mouthed to his quarry inside. </em><br /><br /><em>It was a few minutes past 9 on Thursday night. Ravinder Kalsi, who owned the place with his brother, had locked up minutes earlier. Perhaps hoping to hear better, he turned the lock.<br /><br />Opening the door became his last act in life.<br /><br />The killers shot the 30-year-old dead in the doorway. They stepped past him and moved quickly. They touched nothing, said nothing. They found 42-year-old Paramjit Kalsi in the kitchen and shot him.</em><br /><br /><em>- <a href="http://www.insidebayarea.com/search/ci_7830447?IADID=Search-">from Inside Bay Area, Dec 28, 2007</a></em><br /><br />The Kalsi brothers came to Richmond from Patiala, my mother’s hometown in India. They had run their restaurant for five years.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48c9JpxKYI/AAAAAAAAAU8/-5VAor4isA0/s1600-h/Taxi+Drivers+in+Richmond.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156371935251212674" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48c9JpxKYI/AAAAAAAAAU8/-5VAor4isA0/s200/Taxi+Drivers+in+Richmond.JPG" border="0" /></a>Over the years, <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/richmond-cabbies.html">I had spent time in Richmond filming interviews for <em>Divided We Fall</em> after other Sikh shootings.</a> It began in June 2003 when two <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh </a>cab drivers <a href="http://news.asianweek.com/news/view_article.html?article_id=fb18f405b56b8f44c31c6dd77a670645&this_category_id=172">Gurpreet Singh and Inderjit Singh</a> were shot in Richmond within three days of each other. The morning after Gurpreet's murder, <a href="http://www.sikhmediawatch.org/news/newsdetail.asp?newsid=459">his fiance in India, devastated by the news, committed suicide</a>. Inderjit Singh was shot in the face and survived. Nothing was stolen from either cab.<br /><br />Weeks later, another turbaned <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh </a>cab driver <a href="http://www.metroactive.com/papers/metro/11.06.03/sikhs-0345.html">Davinder Singh</a> was murdered across the bay in Redwood City. Taking into account the murder of <a href="http://www.aclunc.org/911/backlash/sodhi.html">Sukhpal Sodhi</a>, brother of <a href="http://www.rediff.com/us/2001/sep/17ny1.htm">Balbir Sodhi</a>, there were <a href="http://news.ncmonline.com/news/view_article.html?article_id=a5df86f3b625bfca9e3815f58ddfc14d">four shootings (three fatal)</a> of turbaned <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh </a>cab drivers within one year in the San Francisco Bay Area alone. None of these were classified as hate crimes.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48caJpxKXI/AAAAAAAAAU0/ec0Q1ujwsHo/s1600-h/Gurpurtap.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156371333955791218" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48caJpxKXI/AAAAAAAAAU0/ec0Q1ujwsHo/s200/Gurpurtap.jpg" border="0" /></a>On Christmas morning 2006, <a href="http://www.contracostatimes.com/mld/cctimes/news/obituaries/13492638.htm">Gurpartap Singh <em>(pictured)</em> was murdered in his cab in Richmond, California</a>. He was a <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">turbaned Sikh </a>cab driver, <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/richmond-cabbies.html">the fifth to be shot in the San Francisco Bay Area since 2002</a>. The police called the murder an attempted robbery; local Sikhs saw it as part of a <a href="http://dnsi.org/blog">pattern of violence against their community since 9/11</a>. (I wrote about Gurpartap <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/01/murder-memory-and-mourning.html">here</a>.)<br /><br />And now almost exactly one year later, <a href="http://www.insidebayarea.com/search/ci_7830447?IADID=Search-">two brothers have been killed in the same streets</a>. What makes these murders different is that their killers sought them out in their restuarant without a clear motive. <a href="http://inhome.rediff.com/news/2008/jan/08hate.htm">The FBI is now investigating the murders as hate crimes.</a><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48cPZpxKWI/AAAAAAAAAUs/nXqzidC0IJs/s1600-h/IMG_0854.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156371149272197474" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48cPZpxKWI/AAAAAAAAAUs/nXqzidC0IJs/s200/IMG_0854.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/richmond-cabbies.html">Driving from interview to interview in Richmond</a>, I remember coming across stop signs riddled with bullet holes. The Kalsi brother killings pushed <a href="http://www.insidebayarea.com/search/ci_7830447?IADID=Search-">Richmond's annual homicide total to 47, highest since the early 1990s.<br /></a><br /><em>"Something has to be done. If the police can't capture the monsters who did this, they should just dissolve the police department and let people fend for themselves,"</em> <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/12/29/BA3SU67U7.DTL&hw=restaurants&sn=025&sc=226">Gurman Bal, the brothers' former roommate in Berkeley, told the San Francisco Chronicle.</a><em> "It's nearly like that now - lawless."</em><br /><br />This is how the new year begins -- in blood. And I think about what the news does to us. When we hear about car bombs and coffins coming home, civil war and acts of terrorism, or the latest murders in our own community, the world feels like that -- <strong>lawless</strong> -- the sense that no one is controlling the situation, that no one can. It is a debilitating feeling.<br /><br />And yet it is a new year. It is meant to be a time of hope. A new beginning.<br /><br />How then do we listen to the bad news? Do we ignore it? become numb to it? pretend not to despair when we see the bloodstains on the ground?<br /><br />As I listen to the presidential candidates speak the word 'change' these days, I feel the cynicism rise up from the part of my heart that is tired-- the part that is afraid of hope.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48dKJpxKZI/AAAAAAAAAVE/PD_Yx70Zh-Y/s1600-h/MLK.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156372158589512082" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R48dKJpxKZI/AAAAAAAAAVE/PD_Yx70Zh-Y/s320/MLK.jpg" border="0" /></a>And yet hope is the only way the world has ever changed in the past. Hope is what made Martin Luther King, Jr. organize and fight and speak of his dreams. It is how women won the vote, Gandhi won a country, and <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/coming-home-to-clovis.html">my turbaned grandfather </a>won the right to be a legal citizen of the United States.<br />A baseless radical impossible hope that envisioned <em>that it could be otherwise</em>. It is the only way anything has ever gotten done. It is how I have come this far in <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2008/01/why-do-we-fall.html">my own healing.<br /></a><br />Change can only happen if we first believe that it is possible.<br /><br />And so somehow, I must hold onto my hope that brown faces will one day be recognized as equal Americans and live their faith without fear. I must continue to hope that our country can become a moral leader in the world, for it cannot be done without that vision. And I have to hope that what I do in response to the news, however small, counts for something.<br /><br />I am afraid of <strong>hope</strong>.<br /><br />And that fear is a sign for me to sharpen up all my critical thinking and -- in the spirit of <a href="http://www.sikhiwiki.org/index.php?title=Chardi_Kala"><em>chardi kala</em> </a>-- surrender to it absolutely.Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-11584695805549204632008-01-08T10:24:00.000-08:002008-01-08T17:49:04.401-08:00Why Do We Fall?<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PWM5pxKDI/AAAAAAAAASA/bDCZ1WMgzcE/s1600-h/Valarie+in+front+of+hill+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153197915764762674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PWM5pxKDI/AAAAAAAAASA/bDCZ1WMgzcE/s200/Valarie+in+front+of+hill+2.JPG" border="0" /></a>It has been nearly a year since I wrote here last, and yet <a href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs076/1101865578764/archive/1101867243209.html">2007 </a>was my most public year yet. I <a href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs076/1101865578764/archive/1101867243209.html">traveled the country on a national film and speaking tour</a>, living out of my suitcase, moving from city to city, encountering stories and people and ideas like never before. If writing is my primary way of understanding my experiences, why did I not write? I was asked over and over again, and now in this new year, when I'm returning to myself and the world, I feel I must come clean.<br /><br />It begins with a <a href="http://www.mindfully.org/Reform/2004/RNC-Arrest-NYC7sep04.htm">story</a>, as it always must.<br /><br />On August 31, 2004, I stood on a sidewalk in New York City with a camera in hand, taping a protest at the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/08/nyregion/08convention.html">Republican National Convention</a>. I was there as a legal observer, taping in order to protect against police brutality. The police came in with great force and bloodied people up in the street. When they saw my lens, <a href="http://www.mindfully.org/Reform/2004/RNC-Arrest-NYC7sep04.htm">they arrested me too</a>. The handcuffs cut the blood from my hands. When I asked for them to be loosened, an agitated lieutenant twisted my hands and arm, slicing my body in pain. He walked away to make an example out of me. <div><div><div><div><br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153187135396849682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PMZZpxKBI/AAAAAAAAARw/i0fAvL2jL1c/s400/Arrest+1.jpg" border="0" />I was detained behind bars for 16 hours. My arm was wrapped in a cast in the emergency room upon release. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/08/nyregion/08convention.html">I was one of more than a thousand arrested that day.</a> <em>(For more, click here for </em><a href="http://www.mindfully.org/Reform/2004/RNC-Arrest-NYC7sep04.htm"><em>my full story </em></a><em>and </em><a href="http://dir.salon.com/story/opinion/feature/2005/05/28/harvard_abu_ghraib_play/"><em>my op-ed in Salon</em></a><em>.)</em> </p><p><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PqPZpxKNI/AAAAAAAAATQ/Co9fZVxwv0Y/s1600-h/Injury,+Close-Up.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153219948946991314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PqPZpxKNI/AAAAAAAAATQ/Co9fZVxwv0Y/s200/Injury,+Close-Up.JPG" border="0" /></a>A few days later, I started graduate school at <a href="http://www.hds.harvard.edu/">Harvard</a>. Instead of seeking therapy, I threw myself into philosophy as a way to think about human cruelty. While books steadied my mind, they could not reach the trauma burned into my body.<br /><br />For the most part, I ignored my injury when making <em><a href="http://dwf-film.com/">Divided We Fall</a></em>. By the time the film <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/09/end-is-beginning-phoenix.html">premiered </a>and began <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour/tour.html">touring</a>, the injury worsened into a severe chronic pain condition and brought my body to a halt last year. </p><div>I could not lift a toothbrush, let alone write an e-mail. I could not sleep for the pain. In the night, I would cry for my arm to be sliced off. I had made it my cause to stop violence against others, yet it was so easy to do violence to myself. I liked to scream at my body. It was the only way to say <em><strong>this is not of me.</strong></em> I prayed for someone to fix me - heal me - save me.<br /><br />I stopped writing, not just for the physical pain that cut through my right side, but because a part of me had died. It was the part of me that trusted in the universe and my own ability to accomplish anything I dreamt -- the part that dreamt of <strong><em>flying</em></strong>. My wings had been cut, and I had to come to terms with my own fragility. I had <strong>fallen</strong> into a life of pain and prepared a graveyard for my ambitions.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>I became a master at covering up my pain on stage. I held the mic and told stories and listened to people's lives. It wasn't that my smile wasn't real, but that I learned how to create <strong>two selves</strong> inside of me: the public self who spoke and shone, the private self penetrated in pain, stripped of voice. It is taxing to tear yourself in two and live both lives. Fortunately for me, it is also unsustainable.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PbIZpxKHI/AAAAAAAAASg/_S8WUc6iD2k/s1600-h/PICT0042.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153203336013490290" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PbIZpxKHI/AAAAAAAAASg/_S8WUc6iD2k/s200/PICT0042.JPG" border="0" /></a>I knew I had to move. I headed west until I hit the ocean and made a home there. This is where a circle of friends and healers put me back together. They did not take away my pain; they taught me how to own it. I learned how to <em>sit inside my pain and still speak</em>. I learned not to hide it like some shameful thing but to honor it. <a href="http://www.elise.com/quotes/a/rumi_guest_house.php">I learned how to treat my pain as a guide.</a> And it has become my teacher. It is teaching me to love my body as I love others, to live balanced days, to recognize the pain that others hide. And each day, it takes me to the ocean and makes me listen. </div></div><div><div><br /><div>On my last walk to the ocean, the setting sun burned the sky a blazing orange, as if someone had taken a match to the horizon. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153216959649753282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PnhZpxKMI/AAAAAAAAATI/hI3hlwCJS3Q/s400/Dagoba,+2007+561.jpg" border="0" /> A man sat with his guitar. <em>"You just had to run to the edge of the world, didn't you?"<br /></em><br /><em>"Yes, I did,"</em> I said, astonished at his knowing.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PXuJpxKFI/AAAAAAAAASQ/2jrPTEh35HI/s1600-h/Footprint.JPG"></a>Suddenly a fin appeared and disappeared in the water. Something inside me woke up. <em>“It was nice talking to you.”</em><br /><br /><p><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PaKZpxKGI/AAAAAAAAASY/Uoq3arE13i4/s1600-h/Footprint.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153202270861600866" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PaKZpxKGI/AAAAAAAAASY/Uoq3arE13i4/s200/Footprint.JPG" border="0" /></a>I was running before I knew I was running, the sand beneath my feet disappeared, and I leapt into the ocean to meet the <strong>dolphins</strong>. They were gone. I waited there, thick silvery water holding up my broken body. <em>"Come back!"</em> I cried out to them. <em>"Come back to me! You are beautiful!"</em> A beat.<br /><br />And they came back.<br /><br />Swimming swift and strong around me, their smooth backs silhouetted against the orange, I could see their eyes. And I was laughing and laughing and shrieking, ecstatic. My mouth moved before my mind:</p><p><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153211646775208114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PisJpxKLI/AAAAAAAAATA/L-0ljPnu4Ec/s320/PICT0012.JPG" border="0" />“The universe loves me!”</em> </p><p>And looking around there was no one, so I yelled again: </p><p><em>“The universe <strong>loves </strong>me!... </em><em>And I am in love with the universe!”</em> </p><p>Laughing at myself, I took in the silver water, orange sunset, dark heaving ocean, sparkling stars deepening into the blue dome, and for a moment felt myself held within the infinite. </p><p><em>“So you sent the dolphins as your messenger. </em><em>To give me the message of your love."<br /></em><br />Walking home soaking wet, I was alive. </p><p>There is an aspect of the universe that can kill you -- bind your hands, beat you down, bleed your heart. </p><p>But there's another aspect of the universe that is loving – it can redeem your pain with love. It depends on how you read it. The sea can drown you; the sea can return you to yourself. People are the same. I am the same. I have returned myself to myself.<br /><br />We have this power inside us. (We are inside this power.)<br /><br />So a new year begins. This year, unlike any other, I felt the earth turn and even wept when the clock struck midnight. It is a new beginning. And although we bring with us our past pain, I have come to see that <em><strong>pain itself</strong></em> can be the path to our new beginning.</p><p>We fall so that we can swim with the dolphins. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153210160716523682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4PhVppxKKI/AAAAAAAAAS4/BhMoRXHxMqk/s400/PICT0020.JPG" border="0" /><em></em></div><div><em></em></div><div><em>Thank you for reading. For an excellent review of my journey</em><a><em> with </em></a><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><em>Divided We Fall</em></a><em> in 2007, check out</em> <em>our</em> <a href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs076/1101865578764/archive/1101867243209.html"><strong>YEAR-IN-REVIEW.</strong></a> </div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></em></div><div><em>I’m using voice activated software to write again and will continue to blog <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/">here </a>on my <a href="http://dwf-film.com/">travels with the film </a>and in life.</em></div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></em></div><div><em></em></div><div><em>And -- yes, I have a case against <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/02/08/nyregion/08convention.html">the city of New York</a>.<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R4Pg4ppxKJI/AAAAAAAAASw/FGnn69ae8mo/s1600-h/PICT0012.JPG"></a></em></div></div></div></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-56526046093648565532007-12-16T21:36:00.000-08:002008-01-08T17:24:27.146-08:00Here I Am<a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RyrE3nDkPcI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/jsePe8yBVWE/s1600-h/PICT0228.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128127585370521026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RyrE3nDkPcI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/jsePe8yBVWE/s200/PICT0228.JPG" border="0" /></a>A wrist and arm injury has kept me from writing for a better part of the year. This has made me very sad. Especially because I have so much to say. I have traveled with <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><strong><em>Divided We Fall</em></strong></a> to <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour/pastscreenings.html">fifty different cities around North America</a> since we <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/09/end-is-beginning-phoenix.html">premiered last September</a>. It has been an astounding journey. I have encountered remarkable stories, experienced rich and brave dialogue, and have gained deep insight into what we all share in common - a longing to be seen for how we see ourselves and to live in a world better than the one we have.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128125321922756002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RyrCz3DkPaI/AAAAAAAAAQA/f85x1l3mAhI/s200/PICT0329.JPG" border="0" />I want to begin setting my journey to the page again, but first I must focus on healing. And so I'm spending a year by the sea in between touring with the film. You can follow the film screenings and my travels under <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour/tour.html"><strong>TOUR</strong></a> at <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><em>www.dwf-film.com</em></a>. You can also check out stories about us on CNN, NPR, and the BBC, among others, under <a href="http://dwf-film.com/news/inthenews.html"><strong>IN THE NEWS</strong></a>. Check back here in a while when the chronicles begin to flow again, and in the meantime, please explore the wealth of archives!<br /><br /><a href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs076/1101865578764/archive/1101867243209.html">Click here for our 2007 <strong>YEAR-IN-REVIEW</strong> for <em>Divided We Fall.</em><br /></a><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128126584643141042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RyrD9XDkPbI/AAAAAAAAAQI/rLg5rsTJlJ8/s400/PICT0012.JPG" border="0" />Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-44353928790987137052007-02-09T23:40:00.000-08:002008-01-08T16:52:59.854-08:00ECAASU at Yale - New Haven, CT<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m0Xo5UekI/AAAAAAAAARA/zulJC3n9cMw/s1600-h/Yale+Tower+Against+Sky.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141338767827958338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m0Xo5UekI/AAAAAAAAARA/zulJC3n9cMw/s200/Yale+Tower+Against+Sky.JPG" border="0" /></a>We have been invited to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.yale.edu/">Yale University </a>to screen as part of the annual <a href="http://www.ecaasunational.org/"><strong>ECAASU Conference</strong> - the East Coast Asian American Student Union</a>. It is a cold February night as two hundred students gather in a theater to watch the film and talk. This particular audience is all about the connections...<br /><br /><em>"Did Sikhs think there would be an internment like in World War</em><span style="color:#000000;">?"</span><br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span><br /><em>"I see parallels between the Sikh and Jewish experiences. Is there a theology of martyrdom for Sikhs?"</em><br /><br /><div><div></div><div><em>"I am half-Japanese and my family lived through internment. I see the parallels now like never before. Discrimination in times of war impacts Sikh and Muslim Americans the same way it has affected me!"</em></div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></em></div><div></div><div>The questions were compelling, and Sharat and I did our best to share our notes from the road. Afterward, a seven-year old Sikh girl named Tejpal comes up to me, <em>"I really liked your movie."</em> <span style="color:#000000;"><em>"Which part was your favorite?"</em> I ask. <em>"All of it,"</em> she says.</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141337384848489010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1mzHI5UejI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/CjwzEcnYw6M/s400/With+Eachother+On+Stage.JPG" border="0" />The conversation continued the next day as students met in our workshop.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><em></em></div><div><em></em></div><div><span style="color:#000000;"><em>"There is a difference between news and stories. Until I heard the stories and saw the tears, I never realized the extent of the pain,"</em> shares Carie.</span><span style="color:#ffffcc;"><br />-</span></div><div><em></em></div><div><em></em></div><div><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141344050637732450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m5LI5UemI/AAAAAAAAARQ/NvAda7K_BuQ/s320/Valarie+and+Sharat+on+Stage.JPG" border="0" />"What ways have stereotypes impacted your own lives?" </em>I ask.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div><em>"When I was young, people assumed I was 'the model minority,'"</em> says Tina. <em>"Other kids would borrow my homework, counselors didn't help me, and I didn't seek help because that would break the stereotype. I was drowning under the myth!"</em></div><div><em></em><br /><em>"Yes, there are two extremes,"</em> adds Tricksey. <em>"We are the lotus flower sex symbol or the nerd. We can't be both. It wasn't until college that I saw my experience as part of the Asian American experience. The culture is shaping you and you don't even know it until later on!"</em></div><div><br /></div><div><em>"I see how stereotypes actually benefit those who want to go to war,"</em> begins Willie. <em>"It was useful for those in support of war in our government and media to hold up a picture of the enemy to us. We were already primed to see our Middle Eastern men as terrorists and call them enemies instead of our brothers and sisters fighting the same problems. It becomes harder to launch into war when you see them as people."</em></div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">- </span><br /></em><em>"So how should our communities respond?" </em>I ask Willie.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div><em>"I want people to remember the strength of the black community,"</em> he says. <em>"And how much that strength has to teach others in this country how to fight for social justice. I lived in Tucson when Balbir Sodhi was murdered and remember that pain. All our struggles are not disjointed - it is ONE struggle that is divided."</em></div><div><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m6b45UenI/AAAAAAAAARY/AI1G33Rlj_M/s1600-h/Talking+to+People+Afterward.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141345437912169074" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m6b45UenI/AAAAAAAAARY/AI1G33Rlj_M/s200/Talking+to+People+Afterward.JPG" border="0" /></a>Willie's conviction makes me think of a story that a Sikh man told me after our screening the night before: <em>"Growing up in St. Louis, I put up with racism on the subway all the time, but since moving to New Haven, I run into 13 and 14 year olds who call me bin Laden! One morning, a group of black high school kids surrounded me on my way to work. They were about to jump me, when I asked them, "What if I called you 'n--'"?</em></div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></em></div><div></div><div>Perhaps the great trick of racism is that all of us our guilty of it - even those of us who have gone through it ourselves. It blinds us from seeing that common struggle that Willie describes. Remembering this solidarity - our shared experience of racism and our common struggle against it - was the theme of our visit at ECAASU.</div><div><em></em></div><div><br /></div><div><em><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m8aY5UepI/AAAAAAAAARo/0bgTQv8yWfw/s1600-h/Setting+Up.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141347611165620882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m8aY5UepI/AAAAAAAAARo/0bgTQv8yWfw/s200/Setting+Up.JPG" border="0" /></a>"I'm leaving the film and our discussion feeling hopeful,"</em> Tina concludes. <em>"We feel empowered to go back to our campus and do something - because now we know we're not alone."</em></div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></em></div><br /><br /><strong><em><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/responses/connecticut_newhaven.html">You can read all the stories and reflections from our audience at ECAASU here.</a></em></strong><br /><div><br /></div><div>Thank you to <a href="http://research.yale.edu/aacc/staff.htm"><strong>Saveena Dhall</strong>, Director of the Asian American Cultural Center, </a>Nancy Liang, and all the students who made our visit to ECAASU at Yale possible! I took a final wistful walk across campus before leaving... </div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141346661977848450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1m7jI5UeoI/AAAAAAAAARg/kNtPqV_zw7I/s400/PICT0062.JPG" border="0" />Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-58129771662471360152007-02-06T23:04:00.000-08:002008-01-08T16:54:02.473-08:00A Sea of One Thousand at UConn - Storrs, CT<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp66jdnDjbI/AAAAAAAAAPo/T7u-CirnKKU/s1600-h/Audience+as+We+Walk+on+Stage.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088709747381865906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp66jdnDjbI/AAAAAAAAAPo/T7u-CirnKKU/s200/Audience+as+We+Walk+on+Stage.JPG" border="0" /></a>I blink. There are one thousand people in the audience, but the stage lights blind me, and all I can make out is the roar of applause coming from a dark moving sea of people. This is our largest audience yet, and <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">they are giving us a standing ovation</a>. I send a smile of gratitude over to our host <a href="http://www.asacc.uconn.edu/"><strong>Angela Rola</strong>, Director of the Asian American Cultural Center</a> at the <a href="http://www.uconn.edu/">University of Connecticut</a>. Sharat and I take a deep breath and then the Q&A begins.<br /><br /><em><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141329649612388882" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1msE45UehI/AAAAAAAAAQo/Wq6kYVs5WMo/s200/Polish+American.JPG" border="0" />“My grandparents are from Poland,”</em> one student begins. <em>“They were immigrants and faced the same kind of discrimination when they came.”</em><br /><br /><em>“I remember how Palestinian students at my liberal arts college experienced hate crimes after 9/11,”</em> shared another. <em>“It happened everywhere.”<br /></em><br /><em>“There is an unspoken American lexicon that ‘American’ equals ‘white,’”</em> another student added.<br /><br />At this, I wanted to be sure that the problem wasn’t reduced to white verses people of color. I wanted to show how all of us – <em>every single one of us</em> – have experienced a moment where we haven’t been seen for how we see ourselves and where we failed to see others the way they wish to be seen. I told my own story.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1mtBI5UeiI/AAAAAAAAAQw/Etu4UPCYKiE/s1600-h/Us+Between+Heads.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141330684699507234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1mtBI5UeiI/AAAAAAAAAQw/Etu4UPCYKiE/s200/Us+Between+Heads.JPG" border="0" /></a>In my senior year of college, after returning from the road with hundreds of stories after 9/11, I was writing my senior honors thesis about <strong><a href="http://www.mtholyoke.edu/offices/comm/csj/092404/steele.shtml">stereotype threat</a></strong> – the idea that stereotypes are embedded into our social landscape and we can’t help but react to them, even if we don’t support them. I wrote as if my job was to inform other people of their own stereotypes. <em>“Surely, I am not guilty of such racism,”</em> I thought.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1mq-45UegI/AAAAAAAAAQg/QNmjCOKnHmY/s1600-h/Audience+Close+Up,+Side.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141328447021545986" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1mq-45UegI/AAAAAAAAAQg/QNmjCOKnHmY/s200/Audience+Close+Up,+Side.JPG" border="0" /></a>That afternoon, I was walking home from school when a black kid walked toward me on the street. <em>And I crossed the street.</em> I pulled my bag closer and my stomach tightened. For the first time in my life, I noticed it! I asked myself, <em>“Why is my body reacting this way before my mind has said a word?!”</em> I thought back to all the episodes of COPS I watched in my childhood where the ‘bad guy’ was a young African-American male. I realized that those images were so powerful that my body couldn’t help but absorb them - just as the images of the turbaned bearded terrorist were so powerful than many of us couldn’t help but feel anxious when they saw Sikhs and Muslims on the street. <div><div><div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1mqDo5UefI/AAAAAAAAAQY/_NmRzExpEb4/s1600-h/PICT0030.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141327429114296818" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/R1mqDo5UefI/AAAAAAAAAQY/_NmRzExpEb4/s200/PICT0030.JPG" border="0" /></a>We are all guilty of this, and since we are all guilty, our guilt cancels out. It is not the first moment we are responsible for. It is the second moment. In the second moment, we can decide whether to give in to our body’s unthinking anxieties or whether we use our minds to evaluate: <em>“Why am I reacting this way? What is the difference between protecting myself and actually harming another? What other stories and images can I draw from to undo the anxiety in my body and create a response of recognition?”</em><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp67AtnDjcI/AAAAAAAAAPw/80vXI9y3_RE/s1600-h/African+American+Woman.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088710249893039554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp67AtnDjcI/AAAAAAAAAPw/80vXI9y3_RE/s200/African+American+Woman.JPG" border="0" /></a>When I told this story, an African-American female student stood up in the very back of the theater and said, <em>“I want to thank you for sharing your story. Just as you saw my brothers on the street as dangerous, I saw your brothers as enemies. We can change how we see one another’s brothers. I can begin to see your brothers as my own, just as you can see mine as your own – if we share these stories.”<br /></em><br />Her response nearly made me cry. I wanted to reach out across the sea of people through the darkness of the theater and hug her. </div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088708411647036834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp65VtnDjaI/AAAAAAAAAPg/--ui2TUmErw/s400/Audience+with+Blank+Screen.JPG" border="0" /> After the Q&A, people swarmed us and the stories kept coming.<br /><br /><em><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp67mtnDjdI/AAAAAAAAAP4/tVnCYSFdNHM/s1600-h/Man+Asking+Question.JPG"></a>“I was born in Berlin, and I have been a student in four different countries,”</em> a student named Robert tells me. <em>“I was beaten up in Paris because I was seen as an immigrant. I know people who have never talked or touched a person who was different from them. Through traveling, I have come to understand how to cross this line of fear. And how important it is. Your film does that for people.”<br /></em><br /><em>“</em>I<em> am the ignorant one!”</em> a Sikh college student Maninder tells me. “<em>I’m Sikh, I knew this was happening, and yet I haven’t done anything yet.”</em> After we left, Maninder vowed to begin the first-ever Sikh Student Association at UConn.</p><p><em>“I was twelve when 9/11 happened,”</em> says Corey, a high school student at East Bolton High. I hadn’t realized there were high school students in the audience. <em>“I grew up in an Anglo-Protestant town where there wasn’t much diversity. There are no Muslim kids or black kids at my school. I never had the opportunity to make sense of 9/11 or discuss it. When I saw the other side of the story in your film, it made me embrace as an American citizen the reality of the ignorance that still exists. That human civilization has been around for this long, and yet people can still hate you for having different skin color, a different god! It’s impetus to do something! Our generation can get any message out there. We have youtube. We can actually do something about it, not like twenty years ago, instead of just sitting back.”<br /></em><br />His friend Dave adds, <em>“This should be taught in every civic class. It’s part of our history and still going on now. We need to be talking.”</em></p><p>The next day, our dialogue team - <strong>Tommy Woon</strong>, Dean of Multicultural Life at Macalester, <strong>Jessica Jenkins</strong> and <strong>Tracy Wells</strong> - pioleted the workshop we had been designing for months called <strong><em>Crossing the Line</em></strong>. A group of students came together in a circle to experience powerful, courageous dialogue about how the stories of the film related to their own life and their relations with one another. Here we are: </p><div><div><div><div><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp648NnDjZI/AAAAAAAAAPY/06URfyH2wq8/s1600-h/CTL+in+Wide+Circle.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088707973560372626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp648NnDjZI/AAAAAAAAAPY/06URfyH2wq8/s400/CTL+in+Wide+Circle.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div>Thank you to <strong>Angela Rola</strong> and everyone at UConn who made our visit a highlight on our film tour<span style="color:#000000;">!</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div><strong><em><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/responses/connecticut_storrs.html">You can read all the stories and reflections of our 1000 strong audience members at UConn here.</a></em></strong></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-51223224569830660922007-02-05T23:57:00.000-08:002008-01-08T16:55:52.592-08:00Winter at Dartmouth - Hanover, NH<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp18h9nDjPI/AAAAAAAAAOI/lpOgcRYONL8/s1600-h/Green+Trees+in+Snow.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088360076914429170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp18h9nDjPI/AAAAAAAAAOI/lpOgcRYONL8/s200/Green+Trees+in+Snow.JPG" border="0" /></a>On all sides, endless white snow. The snow-draped trees stretch to the horizon as far as I can see outside my car window. I have never driven through New England in February, and now <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/crew.html">Sharat Raju</a> and I make our way between snow falls to<a href="http://www.dartmouth.edu/"> <strong>Dartmouth College</strong></a> for <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><em>Divided We Fall’s</em> </a>New Hampshire premiere. The road is long and the winter is breathtaking.<br /><br />Somewhere nestled in the snow, we find the small town of Hanover. A population of 6,000 people, the town’s Main Street is one block long. It leads to the smallest of the Ivy Leagues <strong><a href="http://www.dartmouth.edu/">Dartmouth College</a></strong>, grand white and brick buildings standing tall and isolated. I wonder what it is like to be a student here.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2F_NnDjVI/AAAAAAAAAO4/6xleMrU58XM/s1600-h/Valarie+Walking+in+Snow.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088370475030252882" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2F_NnDjVI/AAAAAAAAAO4/6xleMrU58XM/s200/Valarie+Walking+in+Snow.JPG" border="0" /></a>We are warmly greeted by our host <strong><a href="http://thedartmouth.com/2007/02/20/news/japanese/">Nora Yasumura</a></strong>, Assistant Dean of Student Life. She has our schedule planned to the hour – classroom visits, press interviews, lunches and dinners, and the film screening itself. As we are nudged from one discussion to the next, I soon discover that Dartmouth students come from all parts of the country and world and bring a wealth of experiences with them, not all of them easily shared at a place that can feel more both isolating and intimate.<br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088367228034977058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2DCNnDjSI/AAAAAAAAAOg/1Di_ua75_34/s320/Brick+Building.JPG" border="0" /> </div><div>We have lunch at Dartmouth Medical School, and the students discover that each of them had radically different experiences after 9/11: <em>“I was an undergrad at Montreal College and had to defend America against people who said we deserved it!” </em>says Nick. <em>“I was in Buffalo, New York and had to watch the Muslim community defend itself,”</em> says Nadine. <em>“That fall, I flew to Dartmouth to start college and was isolated from what was happening in the rest of the world, including all the hate violence,”</em> says Natalie. <em>“And I felt guilty.”<br /></em><br /><em>“I was in Indonesia when 9/11 happened,”</em> begins Raj. <em>“I went to an American high school where half of the American students came from families associated with the oil industry. They became bullies after 9/11. People said that America deserved it, and the school broke out into fights, the lockers of Muslim students were vandalized, kids got expelled. And I was in the middle of it! I wasn’t American, but as an Asian, I knew what it was like to be from a country targeted by terrorism. There was little middle ground for someone like me. My school in Indonesia was a microcosm of what happened in America.”<br /></em><br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2FUtnDjUI/AAAAAAAAAOw/ZLJVPRwtW7k/s1600-h/Valarie+and+Sharat+Speaking.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088369744885812546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2FUtnDjUI/AAAAAAAAAOw/ZLJVPRwtW7k/s200/Valarie+and+Sharat+Speaking.JPG" border="0" /></a>I begin to wonder whether Dartmouth students felt divided. I ask the audience this question after the film screens in the Dartmouth Screening Hall, where <a href="http://www.dartmouth.edu/~towardsfreedom/">Martin Luther King gave the speech <em>Towards Freedom</em> in 1962.<br /></a><br />The hall is quiet until one student says:<em> “The students here definitely feel segregated.”</em><br /><br />Nora elaborates: <em>“We know that 9/11 deeply affected the students and faculty here – the son of one of our professors was badly beaten in a hate crime – but it’s very hard to get people out of their comfort zone.”</em><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp19Q9nDjQI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/93mvyiH8eww/s1600-h/Sodhi+Uncle+at+Q&A.JPG"></a>At that, a man with a tall turban and long beard stood up in the audience:<em> “I would like to invite everyone here to attend our Sikh services every Friday in Hanover.”</em> This man’s name is also <strong><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/sodhi-family.html">Sodhi</a></strong>. He has been a long-time resident in Hanover. <em>“After 9/11, I was in Alaska, and a group of Alaskan Inuit kids were chasing me and calling me ‘Osama.’”</em> </div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088371626081488242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2HCNnDjXI/AAAAAAAAAPI/JIm8HHzqxOY/s400/Sodhi+Uncle+at+Q%26A.JPG" border="0" />After the film screening, <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/crew.html">Sharat </a>and I have dinner with the South Asian Students Association on campus. We sit in a circle, balancing hot plates on our laps, listening to these kids’ stories into the night – Kapil’s dad was told by a school principle that he was a terrorist and should leave the country, Anoop saw Sikh kids cut their hair and friendships broken, Yuki’s dad was told to go home when he worked at a gas station in Arizona, Sindhura saw Muslims in France take up Muslim identity as a response to the discrimination they already faced, and Nadia learned something about her father:<br /><br /><em>“When I was five years old, I remember helping my dad tape up our car window,”</em> says Nadia, who is half-Indian Muslim and half-white. <em>“After 9/11, I asked him about that broken window for the first time, and he said that someone had thrown bricks into the car; that was during the first Gulf War. My dad then got out a big American flag. </em>‘This is our insurance,’ <em>he said.”</em><br /><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088373271053962626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2Ih9nDjYI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/L29WoYK0x8k/s400/Sharat+Speaking+with+Students.JPG" border="0" /></div><div></div><div>At the end of the night, the room slowly empties until I am sitting with just one student. Her eyes are beautiful and sad, and she says, <em>“How do you hold these stories and not get discouraged?”<br /></em><br />Her eyes break, and she begins to cry into her hands. And I wonder what stories she has held, alone. I remember the times when the stories would burn me in the night, alone, burning me on the inside, because I could not get them out. I could not turn the curse into a gift for the world. It was because I was alone.<br /><br /><em>“You are not alone,”</em> I tell her. You can change it, but not alone.<br /><br /><em>“I am at the point of becoming bitter,”</em> she says.<br /><br />My mouth moves, but I do not know what I say. I say things, all kinds of things, anything to keep her from accepting that bitterness as the logical conclusion of fighting the good fight.<br /><br /><em>“You won’t win. We never win,”</em> I say mindlessly, <em>“But the fight itself is meaningful, the courage to make life better for one another, with one another. And sometimes we are graced with a tiny glimpse of the impact of what we do.”<br /></em><br />I feel the warmth of her hug, and it is enough. We gather our coats, wrap our scarves tightly around our necks, and step back out into the cold.<br /></div><div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088364505025711378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rp2AjtnDjRI/AAAAAAAAAOY/rPZK60RzLBw/s320/Tracks+in+Snow.JPG" border="0" /> </div><div><em>We are grateful to <strong>Nora Yasamura</strong> for inviting us and arranging our visit with such care and attention. Thank you for creating a space for deep and honest conversation at <span style="color:#000000;">Dartmouth, Nora! We continue to the University of Connecticut and Yale University on our New England Tour...</span></em></div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></em></div><div></div><div><em></em></div><div><strong><em><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/responses/newhampshire.html">You can read all the stories from our Dartmouth audience here.</a></em></strong></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-13794272080539414112007-02-01T23:19:00.000-08:002007-03-03T11:22:35.034-08:00Courageous Dialogue at Delta - Stockton, CA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekRS2CVtMI/AAAAAAAAAKM/KFqQ6oiYt1Y/s1600-h/PICT0011.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekRS2CVtMI/AAAAAAAAAKM/KFqQ6oiYt1Y/s200/PICT0011.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037576673631253698" border="0" /></a>I am blinking in the stage lights. I can barely make out the faces of the nearly 400 people who have filled the plush red seats of the enormous theater. There are tiny beams of light in the back of the theater - ushers dressed in black and white attire using flashlights to show people to their seats. I take a deep breath and welcome everyone to the Stockton premiere of <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Divided We Fall</span></a> at <a href="http://www.deltacollege.edu/">San Joaquin Delta College</a> in our most elegant venue yet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekSyWCVtNI/AAAAAAAAAKg/ffrC81y4cbk/s1600-h/PICT0108.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekSyWCVtNI/AAAAAAAAAKg/ffrC81y4cbk/s400/PICT0108.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037578314308760786" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.deltacollege.edu/">Delta College</a> is a community college nestled in California's San Joaquin Valley - a few hours north of where I grew up. The screening was sponsored by <span style="font-weight: bold;">Delta College's Gay-Straight</span> Alliance and their advisor <span style="font-weight: bold;">Vicki Marie</span> in a gesture of true solidarity. After a flawless screening, I take the stage for questions. The discussion that follows is nothing short of courageous dialogue - students of the valley asking the hard questions.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekUTmCVtPI/AAAAAAAAAKw/8tzloALDczo/s1600-h/PICT0175.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekUTmCVtPI/AAAAAAAAAKw/8tzloALDczo/s200/PICT0175.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037579985051038962" border="0" /></a>The first man says, <span style="font-style: italic;">"My friend is African-American and she thinks that they put us in the back of the restaurant because of her race. But I can't ever be sure! What do you make of that?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"The ambiguity of racism too is a problem!" </span>I exclaim.<span style="font-style: italic;"> "The waiters could be acting on bias - or they could not - but the fact that your friend suspects and feel anxiety indicates the larger problem - that racism is a constant part of our social landscape. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">This happens to many people who are part of marginalized groups - did we not get the job because of our race? gender? religion? That we even have reason to question indicates the need for social change."</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekU32CVtQI/AAAAAAAAAK4/leEF2jhrWwE/s1600-h/PICT0128.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekU32CVtQI/AAAAAAAAAK4/leEF2jhrWwE/s400/PICT0128.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037580607821296898" border="0" /></a><br />One Latino student stands up and speaks with an edge in his voice, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Maybe the problem is the</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> meaning of 'American.' Why should we try to be more 'American?' Why should we let go of our own culture? Take yourself for example: Do you speak like that because you're trying to assimilate? Do you have your hair tied up because you cut it? Do you wear those clothes because you're trying to fit in? Why should people of color have to assimilate?"</span><br /><br />It is an impressive statement spoken with the conviction and indignance of someone who has felt the pressure of social norms that keep us from being who we really are.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekXDmCVtSI/AAAAAAAAALY/NNiHVblpZzw/s1600-h/PICT0184.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekXDmCVtSI/AAAAAAAAALY/NNiHVblpZzw/s200/PICT0184.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037583008708015394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"You're right,"</span> I respond. <span style="font-style: italic;">"We should not have to let go of our culture to be American. In fact, I want to break open and expand the meaning of 'American' so that it's not the assimilationist norm but a circle that includes all of us - in all of our differences. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">We shouldn't make choices to fit into what other people think we should be - even our own cultural communities. Every choice we make about how to present our</span><span style="font-style: italic;">selves in the world should be true to our most authentic selves. For example, I keep my hair long in <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh tradition</a>, but I don't have a traditional <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh</a> first name. I speak English like this because it's my native tongue, but I have an accent when I speak Punjabi. I keep my hair long and don't cut it, but I often dress in</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> American clothes because I like it. I definitely felt pressure to fit into one norm or the other</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> when I was a kid, but I finally have the courage to be who I am."</span><br /><br />A student takes the mic: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Yes, I agree. I am a Pakistani Muslim American and I want to maintain my culture as a Muslim but also as an American. So I wear my hijab with American jeans. And both things are me. Thank you so much for showing the diversity of the Muslim culture in your film."<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekTX2CVtOI/AAAAAAAAAKo/7GbLPs9JqsU/s1600-h/PICT0120.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekTX2CVtOI/AAAAAAAAAKo/7GbLPs9JqsU/s400/PICT0120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037578958553855202" border="0" /></a><br />One girl admits, <span style="font-style: italic;">"I often feel shame and guilt about my ‘white-ness’ even when I was watching the movie, but then I felt really proud when the whole community came together in Phoenix. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">How do you feel about your ethnicity?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I feel the same way!" </span>I exclaim. <span style="font-style: italic;">"I felt shame and guilt when people in my community pointed their fingers and said 'we are not Muslim' immediately after 9/11, but then I felt proud that many <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikhs drew from Guru Nanak's vision of oneness</a> to stand together in solidarity. We have to fight for the stuff that makes us proud."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekduWCVtWI/AAAAAAAAAME/mvxKC5yJres/s1600-h/PICT0006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekduWCVtWI/AAAAAAAAAME/mvxKC5yJres/s200/PICT0006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037590340217189730" border="0" /></a>Another student of the Gay-Straight Alliance Clare stands up: <span style="font-style: italic;">"I look at you and you are beautiful and you have made something beautiful - it's just amazing. I could never do that."</span><br /><br />I'm completely caught off-guard. I see a bright and passionate college student in front of me: <span style="font-style: italic;">"There's not such a difference between you and me! When I was in college, I never thought I c</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ould ever make this film. I didn't start the journey because I thought I was the best person for the job but rather because I could not be whole in</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> the world without trying. I think all of us are presented with moments when we must choose whether to cross our fear and do something risky but important - or turn away and stay comfortable."</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekgEmCVtXI/AAAAAAAAAMM/6it6qKEHUgg/s1600-h/PICT0074.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekgEmCVtXI/AAAAAAAAAMM/6it6qKEHUgg/s200/PICT0074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037592921492534642" border="0" /></a>It is an intensely rich discussion. Afterward, the students of the Gay-Straight Alliance hold a reception for me and my parents. On the way out, I thank our ushers, including Juanita (who poses for a picture with me). And the conversation continues over cookies and punch.<br /><br />A woman named <span style="font-weight: bold;">Roxanna</span> comes up to me and says, <span style="font-style: italic;">"I wasn’t going to talk to you, because I was afraid that I would offend you."</span> I ask her to keep going. <span style="font-style: italic;"> "As a white person, I’m discriminated against too! People assume that I'm a racist. But I lived in Michigan after 9/11 where there’s a large Muslim population, and the media just put the fear into us! I had prejudice, and I felt guilty that I had it - just like Rachael in the film. Everyone has prejudice. As a little girl, I had prejudice against Japanese Americans, but I stopped once I figured out</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> that it was because of the images I saw in the movies!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Racism affects all of us,"</span> Roxanna continues. <span style="font-style: italic;">"I have two white sons and also a half-Philipino half-white daughter. I worry whether my boys will get jobs because they’re white, and I worry about how my daughter will be treated because of her dark skin! I wasn’t going to tell </span><span style="font-style: italic;">you this, but I remembered what Joseph said at the end of the film: You have to talk about it!”</span><br /><br />Roxanna's story crystallizes how all of us - no matter what our skin color - are struggling to be seen for who we are. She wants her own past prejudices to be understood, and she wants people to treat her children with respect - her dark-skinned daughter <span style="font-style: italic;">and</span> her white sons. All of us have a stake in this fight - in the struggle for recognition.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekYcmCVtTI/AAAAAAAAALg/61FvOnY6Gjk/s1600-h/PICT0038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekYcmCVtTI/AAAAAAAAALg/61FvOnY6Gjk/s200/PICT0038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037584537716372786" border="0" /></a>I turn to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Vicki </span>to thank her for hosting us and creating a space for this brave new dialogue when a group of students begin telling me stories. A Latina student named <span style="font-weight: bold;">Andrea</span> starts,<span style="font-style: italic;"> "One time, at the restaurant, this white woman refused to sit next to me. And it made me feel so bad."</span> She begins to cry. <span style="font-style: italic;">"How could she treat me that way, like I'm not a person!"</span><br /><br />I hold Andrea as she cries and wonder about all the people who carry these hurts around inside of them - hurts that are never expressed until someone asks. Her friends <span style="font-weight: bold;">Dawna, Danae</span>, and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Be</span> comfort her and tell her she's not alone.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dawna</span> says, <span style="font-style: italic;">"I come from a small community called Westin Ranch in Stockton. It's mostly African-Americans and Hispanics - I was one of nine white people in my high school. After 9/11, people put up Nazi swastikas and graffiti on <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Sikh</a> houses and threw eggs at their windows. My best friend is Sikh, and when my classmates found out, they shot paintballs at her house and broke my car window. They were like, 'Why are you her friend?' I can relate to <a href="http://www.rediff.com/us/2001/sep/18ny11.htm"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Robin Clarke</span></a> in the film. I stood up for her, but her parents didn’t like me because I was white! They wouldn’t let me in the house. People think my ancestors enslaved them, but my family is from Slovakia! It's not me! All our ancestors came here as immigrants and struggled and faced oppression – people forget how hard it was for their families."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“I get it from</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> all sides,"</span> says <span style="font-weight: bold;">Danae</span>. <span style="font-style: italic;">"I’m Mexican and Native American, and anytime I visit my aunt's family in Fresno, I feel displaced. They only speak Spanish, and I don't. They tell me, 'You're not Mexican then.' I'm like, whatever. I don't let things touch me because it gives them power. If you’re not pretty enough, not skinny enough, everyone gets picked on for something!”</span><br /><br />Their friend <span style="font-weight: bold;">Be</span> says, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Smile at your enemy! That's what I do! Smile!"</span> And they all laugh.<br /><br />Another student <span style="font-weight: bold;">John</span> approaches me,<span style="font-style: italic;"> "I have friends who are Sikh and Muslim, and whenever we go to restaurants or bars, they always get looked at. We only go to places where they’re friends with the owners, because those are the only places that are really safe. Your film brought all that out. Thank you.”</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekbH2CVtUI/AAAAAAAAAL0/67KvxZtlD6M/s1600-h/PICT0088.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekbH2CVtUI/AAAAAAAAAL0/67KvxZtlD6M/s200/PICT0088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037587479768970562" border="0" /></a>The reception winds down, and I speak with one last student <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wayne</span>. He tells me his story: <span style="font-style: italic;">“I was a junior in high school when</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> 9/11 happened. We lived in Lodi, California, and I remember everyone in my neighborhood stepping out onto the street and looking up into the sky. We were all afraid, and the media thrusted the picture of the enemy into our face: </span>FEAR this turban and beard because THIS will destroy your family. <span style="font-style: italic;">There have been white, Hispanic, and Muslim farmers in Lodi for decades, but when 9/11 happened, those with turbans became the enemy. I thought, 'I have Middle Eastern friends. Who do I trust now? This is scary. Were they in on this?'</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My dad and I went to the gas station we always go to," </span>continues Wayne.<span style="font-style: italic;"> "The man who runs it is a Sikh man named Paul; he's like a staple in our community. When we got gas, he was</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> just quiet. He later confided to my dad that he was terrified that week, because people had come in to threaten him. His entire family sat with him behind the cash register, huddled together. They probably thought if they were together, nothing bad would happen. I thought, 'Will we ever get over this? What’s going to happen in five years?'<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekdW2CVtVI/AAAAAAAAAL8/Tg-TZbMMDhM/s1600-h/PICT0021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekdW2CVtVI/AAAAAAAAAL8/Tg-TZbMMDhM/s200/PICT0021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037589936490263890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">"This documentary</a> puts a face on an entire community that was disregarded in the aftermath. In the last year, there have been many forums at my college on 9/11 and terrorism, but they’ve all been very left- wing, just people yelling at each other from either side. Thank you so much for coming."<br /><br /></span>I leave carrying all these new stories. And <span style="font-weight: bold;">Vicki Marie</span>'s deep warmth and care - she organized one of our finest screenings yet <span style="font-style: italic;">(we are pictured above with the one who mastered the tech for the screening).</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekQgWCVtLI/AAAAAAAAAKE/32qycGizkzo/s1600-h/PICT0037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekQgWCVtLI/AAAAAAAAAKE/32qycGizkzo/s400/PICT0037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037575806047859890" border="0" /></a><br />Vicki ushers my parents and I out on the road so that I can reach the airport in time for our next week of screenings in New England...Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-50359570231164996922007-01-31T23:17:00.000-08:002007-03-05T21:14:53.204-08:00Stanford & Berkeley Homecoming - SF Bay, CA<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red3kcDDAoI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/c4IGOpl44cI/s1600-h/Valarie+in+Stanford+Halls.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037126176125158018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red3kcDDAoI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/c4IGOpl44cI/s200/Valarie+in+Stanford+Halls.JPG" border="0" /></a>This week, I came home. On Sunday night, we screened <em><strong><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">Divided We Fall</a></strong></em> at <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/">Stanford University </a>and then crossed the San Francisco Bay on Wednesday night for a screening at <a href="http://www.berkeley.edu/">UC Berkeley</a>. Although these two schools are divided by the bay, not to mention decades of rivalry, I crossed the bridge between them more times than I can remember as a college student: my weekdays were spent on the sun-drenched Stanford campus (pictured) and my weekends in the down-to-earth streets and cafes of Berkeley.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red4ocDDApI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ITVS-z2ZQxk/s1600-h/PICT0046.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037127344356262546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red4ocDDApI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ITVS-z2ZQxk/s200/PICT0046.JPG" border="0" /></a>Nearly four years after graduating, I returned to <a href="http://stanford.edu/"><strong>Stanford</strong></a> to share the film that began as my senior honors thesis. Stanford had given me the initial grant to get on the road, the <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/dept/relstud/">Religious Studies department</a> had supported my research, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bijak-Kabir-Linda-Hess/dp/0195148762"><strong>Linda Hess</strong></a> (<a href="http://www.stanford.edu/dept/relstud/faculty.html">Professor of Religion</a>, pictured with me) was my main advisor, <a href="http://news-service.stanford.edu/news/2003/june18/goldenfirestone-618.html">my thesis won a prize in the humanities</a>, and I spoke about my journey as <a href="http://news-service.stanford.edu/news/2003/june18/bac-618.html">graduation speaker for my class</a>. The film began with Stanford money and mentorship, and now I was able to show them the fruits of their investment: <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">the first feature-length film on hate violence in the aftermath of 9/11.</a><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><br /></a><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red8YcDDAqI/AAAAAAAAAIg/XThMUH-zg1M/s1600-h/PICT0082.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037131467524866722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red8YcDDAqI/AAAAAAAAAIg/XThMUH-zg1M/s200/PICT0082.JPG" border="0" /></a>On Sunday night, <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Linda </span>welcomed nearly 200 people in Annenburg Auditorium – students, professors, local Sikh community members – and introduced <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><a href="http://dwf-film.com/crew.html">Sharat Raju</a> </span>and me with her wonderful warmth and humor. As we watched the film from the back, I began to think of certain people in the audience – advisors, mentors, and family who made the film possible: <a href="http://graddiversity.stanford.edu/globals/contact.html"><strong>Joseph Brown</strong></a>, my social psychology advisor who is fantastic in the film – <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/~reich/"><strong>Rob Reich</strong></a>, an advisor who made me believe my scholarship could affect the public good – <a href="http://www.sikhfoundation.org/comprof1204.asp"><strong>Mandeep Dhillon</strong></a>, a Sikh activist and lawyer in the film who set me on a path to law school – <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/dept/relstud/faculty.html"><strong>Carl Bielfeldt</strong></a>, director of the Religious Studies department who supported all my untraditional projects – <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/dept/relstud/faculty.html"><strong>Linda Hess</strong></a> of course, the life-long mentor who set me on the road with the words <em>enter the whirlwind</em>. <strong><br /><br /></strong><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RenFFGCVtfI/AAAAAAAAAN4/R3cZbu01IJI/s1600-h/Mommy,+Jagi+Auntie,+and+Neena.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037774349501052402" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RenFFGCVtfI/AAAAAAAAAN4/R3cZbu01IJI/s200/Mommy,+Jagi+Auntie,+and+Neena.JPG" border="0" /></a><strong>My</strong> <strong>parents</strong> were also there, and<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"> Jagie </span><strong>Auntie</strong> and her daughter <strong>Neena</strong> who gave me a second home at Stanford<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> (pictured with my mom before the show). </span>Two of my <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/~reich/spi.htm">past philosophy students</a> who now attend Stanford, <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Jennifer Wolochow</span> and <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Alyssa Martin, </span>also made it <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(below in the second row). </span>And <strong>Rachael Neumann</strong> was there, seeing the film for the first time <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(you can find her sitting in the middle of the audience)</span>. Her interview is one of the most powerful and transformative in the film.<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037142514180752130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReeGbcDDAwI/AAAAAAAAAJg/ja6PV84QpMA/s400/PICT0077.JPG" border="0" /><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">The film</a> screened perfectly and we had a serious exchange with the audience afterward, focusing on one man’s question, <em>“How do we prevent our natural response to divide the world into ‘us’ and ‘them’?”</em><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red9YsDDArI/AAAAAAAAAIo/BcobmzFnWC4/s1600-h/PICT0126.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037132571331461810" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Red9YsDDArI/AAAAAAAAAIo/BcobmzFnWC4/s200/PICT0126.JPG" border="0" /></a>A Muslim man (pictured) shared, <em>“I came to this country decades ago thinking that America was for equality and freedom, but then I faced discrimination – ever since the Iran crisis. How do we change this?”</em><br /><br /><em>“There are two Americas,”</em> another said. <em>“We need to show this to the other America, the one in the middle.”</em><br /><br /><em>“Yes, there are two Americas,”</em> I reflected, <em>“but they are not simply divided by geography. Both of these Americas exist here locally in every city and oftentimes within the same person. One embodies the commitment to equality and</em><em> respect and the other runs on the fearful impulse to exclude others. We can’t force change upon others, but we can allow the stories in the film to make us aware of this natural conflict inside all of us and help us expand who</em><em> counts as one of us.”</em><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekrkmCVtdI/AAAAAAAAANg/ptF7yoi1AQs/s1600-h/PICT0156.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037605565876254162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekrkmCVtdI/AAAAAAAAANg/ptF7yoi1AQs/s200/PICT0156.JPG" border="0" /></a>We carried the conversation across the bay to <a href="http://www2.blogger.com/www.berkeley.edu/"><strong>Berkeley</strong></a> where nearly 200 students filled the auditorium on a Wednesday night, sitting in the aisles, standing in the back, buzzing with noise and excitement. <strong>Jaideep Singh</strong> – long-time friend and older brother figure, now a professor at <a href="http://www2.blogger.com/www.psr.edu/">the Pacific School of Religion</a> – had organized the screening. He introduced me gracefully with of course the mandatory ridiculing of my Stanford degree. I welcomed the audience and the film began.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekjzWCVtYI/AAAAAAAAAMk/sePT4Va5NOU/s1600-h/PICT0055.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037597023186302338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekjzWCVtYI/AAAAAAAAAMk/sePT4Va5NOU/s400/PICT0055.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />From the first moment, the audience was alive – I could hear laughter, exasperation, tears throughout <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">the entire film</a> – the soundtrack to an emotional journey. It was one of the best audiences we’ve ever had. The audience applauded hard when I took the stage. One man yelled, <em>“Thank you for making this film!”</em> and another woman followed, <em>“Tell people to bring tissues!”<br /></em><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekkdmCVtZI/AAAAAAAAAMs/E8eouC5rri8/s1600-h/PICT0093.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037597749035775378" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekkdmCVtZI/AAAAAAAAAMs/E8eouC5rri8/s200/PICT0093.JPG" border="0" /></a>A man from the Punjabi community (pictured) asked the first question: <em>“I work at a gas station and after 9/11, I told our Sikh employees to be careful –</em><em> to keep low and dis</em><em>tinguish themselves from Muslims. During World War II, Chinese</em><em> Americans wore buttons that said, ‘We hate Japs</em><em> more than you do.’ They tried to distinguish themselves from <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/japanese-american-memories.html">Japanese Americans</a>. Should Sikh Americans do the same? Do you think that’s counter-productive or necessary?”<br /></em><br /><em>“T</em><em>his response deeply troubles me,”</em> I began, <em>“because while I understand the immediate reaction to defend oneself, I see the danger and violence in placing blame on another innocent community.”</em> I went on to reflect on the pressing need for solidarity across communities in responding to the ongoing aftermath.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekmBmCVtbI/AAAAAAAAAM8/By0iNmBOsxw/s1600-h/PICT0105.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037599467022693810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekmBmCVtbI/AAAAAAAAAM8/By0iNmBOsxw/s200/PICT0105.JPG" border="0" /></a><em>“I’m so glad you said that,”</em> said a woman in the audience (pictured in green). <em>“My name is Shirin, and I’m a Musli</em><em>m</em><em> lawyer. I worked with <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/sikh-coalition-vs-new-york-city.html">the Sikh Coalition</a><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/sikh-coalition-vs-new-york-city.html">, including </a><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/sikh-coalition-vs-new-york-city.html">Amar Bhalla</a>, on hate crime cases. In my present job at the <a href="http://www2.blogger.com/www.apa-politics.org/">Asian Pacific American Caucus</a>, I continue to work on </em><em>these cases everyday </em><em>– and yet I cried during the film! Even though this is the work I do every day, these stories deeply moved me. Thank you so much for your solidarity with the Muslim community.”<br /></em><br /><em>“So you are a warrior,”</em> I realized, <em>“you are out there fighting the good fight. Every day. What gives you hope?”</em><br /><br /><em>“Things like this – when people come together,”</em> she said. <em>“That gives me hope.”<br /></em><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReklgmCVtaI/AAAAAAAAAM0/-IzV9vFZ8oQ/s1600-h/PICT0081.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037598900087010722" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReklgmCVtaI/AAAAAAAAAM0/-IzV9vFZ8oQ/s200/PICT0081.JPG" border="0" /></a>The questions continued. <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/richmond-cabbies.html"><strong>Harpreet Sandhu</strong></a> (pictured), a leader in the local Sikh community <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/richmond-cabbies.html">who appears in the film</a>, asked, <em>“You’ve been around the country with this film. What sort of</em><em> responses</em><em> have you had? Has it been as energetic and warm as this?”<br /></em><br /><em>“Yes, it’s </em><em>been phenomenal. That’s what most surprises and overwhelms me. From <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/09/i-see-no-stranger-nyc.html">New York</a> to <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/11/my-first-sikh-conference-miami.html">Miami </a>to <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/11/roxie-san-francisco.html">San Francisco</a> to <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/10/what-is-solidarity-illinois.html">the middle of Illinois</a>, we have been received with such warmth. At <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/10/what-is-solidarity-illinois.html">our screening in Bloomington, I</a>L, where there was perhaps one Sikh in the audience, the entire audience stood up. An African-American man pointed to his braids, and said, ‘My braids are my turban.’ This gives me hope in the power of these stories.”<br /></em><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rem8PGCVteI/AAAAAAAAANs/je4-oC9Oigc/s1600-h/PICT0114.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037764625695094242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rem8PGCVteI/AAAAAAAAANs/je4-oC9Oigc/s200/PICT0114.JPG" border="0" /></a>A Berkeley Sikh student said, <em>“I’m a freshman here, and I just can’t believe someo</em><em>ne in o</em><em>ur community has done this! I had no idea. It inspires us. That this is possible for us.”</em><br /><br />There were of course a handful of people in the audience part of this whole filmmaking journey. I thanked them for believing that such dreams could take flight: <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/richmond-cabbies.html"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Harpreet Sandhu</span></a>, Sikh activist <a href="http://pindgagan.wordpress.com/2007/01/30/sikh-elected-to-city-council-in-california/">recently elected to Richmond City Council</a> - <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Sharon Gibson</span>, the film's story consultant and family member - <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Karuna Tanahashi</span>, my jewel of a friend who shot footage for the movie - <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Kulwinder Dol</span>, long-time friend and supporter - <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Jaideep Singh</span>, a role model who I've known since I was sixteen when he came to my house with footage on Sikhs in World War II and made me think, "<em>so, we can make movies too."</em> My brother <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Sanjeev Brar</span> was also there - he shot the most important scene in the film, my visit with the widow in India. And my <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">parents Dolly and Judge Brar</span> of course.<br /><br />We spent the rest of the night celebrating our Berkeley-Stanford premieres. Here I am with <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Jaideep</span>, holding flowers that another <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/~reich/spi.htm">past philosophy student</a> <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Ashveer Singh</span> handed to me:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekmhmCVtcI/AAAAAAAAANE/IHCdmpuO5zE/s1600-h/PICT0130.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037600016778507714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekmhmCVtcI/AAAAAAAAANE/IHCdmpuO5zE/s400/PICT0130.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And here is our illustrious director <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Sharat Raju</span> with lovely <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Linda</span>. We may have had a little too much fun, but what are homecomings for?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RekjzWCVtYI/AAAAAAAAAMk/sePT4Va5NOU/s1600-h/PICT0055.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037139396034495218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReeDl8DDAvI/AAAAAAAAAJY/PeRNcKbE1do/s400/Sharat+and+Linda,+Laughing.JPG" border="0" /></a>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-55343303473927031792007-01-19T23:21:00.000-08:002007-03-05T21:13:28.126-08:00Teacher for a Day - Cambridge, MA<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReEMhiYOBII/AAAAAAAAAH8/lY-GDYfFczg/s1600-h/Scot+Teaching.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035319628680529026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReEMhiYOBII/AAAAAAAAAH8/lY-GDYfFczg/s200/Scot+Teaching.JPG" border="0" /></a>The doors of the classroom swing open and thirty middle school kids tumble in, talking, giggling, tugging at each other, bouncing with energy.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I am nervous.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><strong><em>Divided We Fall</em></strong> </a>has never been shown to junior high school students – we had aimed the film for colleges and high schools, but when <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2007/01/night-at-fayerweather-cambridge-ma.html"><strong>the Fayerweather Street School</strong></a> invited me to teach their seventh and eighth grade class for a day, I was curious.<br /><br />I've planned to show the movie in the morning and discuss in the afternoon. Now, standing in the back next to <strong>Scot Oxholm</strong> the mathematics teacher (pictured in action above), watching the students noisily find their seats, I wonder if their attention spans will even hold the film.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd-AiiYOA5I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/4adBUIP8NQI/s1600-h/Scot+and+Students+Listening.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034884239255798674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd-AiiYOA5I/AAAAAAAAAEQ/4adBUIP8NQI/s400/Scot+and+Students+Listening.JPG" border="0" /></a>I couldn’t have been more mistaken.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The kids sit still the moment the film begins and watch the entire movie in riveted silence.<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic;font-size:78%;" > </span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(Pictured from right to left: Scot the teacher, Oriana, Leo, and Gabe).</span> By the end, there are kids with tears in their eyes.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>As they file out of the classroom for lunch, they smile at me and say, “I really like your movie.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd-AHSYOA4I/AAAAAAAAAEI/1vk7wszmrOk/s1600-h/Webbing,+Classroom.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034883771104363394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd-AHSYOA4I/AAAAAAAAAEI/1vk7wszmrOk/s200/Webbing,+Classroom.JPG" border="0" /></a>While the class eats lunch, Scot and I make plans for our afternoon discussion, and then before I know it, they pour back in.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Scot introduces them to a silent webbing activity that has them respond to three questions: <em>(1) What parts of the film resonate with you?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>(2) How do you connect the film with other things you’ve studied? and (3) How do you respond? What’s next?</em> </p><p class="MsoNormal">The students take colored markers, silently write their responses on three gigantic sheets of paper on the whiteboard, and reach each other’s responses. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(Pictured from right to left: Kelsie and Ayanna).</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd929SYOAyI/AAAAAAAAADY/gYHIXabf-9U/s1600-h/Webbing,+Student+Close+Up.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034873703701021474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd929SYOAyI/AAAAAAAAADY/gYHIXabf-9U/s400/Webbing,+Student+Close+Up.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">I sit in the back and watch the students fill the white pages with their own images and reactions.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The film lives in each student's head, imprints each with different images, and inspires a thousand different outcomes.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>My throat closes as I realize that I will never know how the film lives inside each person who experiences it.</p><p class="MsoNormal">The discussion opens and everyone wants to speak!<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The students are eager and the energy is palpable, eyes sparkling, wheels turning, each comment inspiring another. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">(Pictured from right to left: Daniel, Caleb, Jeffrey, Tucker, Sam, and Grace).</span><span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034869571942482674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd9zMyYOAvI/AAAAAAAAADA/8ehzon8sxfE/s400/Discussion,+Close+Up.JPG" border="0" /></p><p class="MsoNormal">What parts of the film resonate with them?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>An endless stream of film images: <em>“When Daman cried about missing his uncle – when Amrik finds the plane tire and gets chased – when Rachael apologizes for trying to forget about Sher – when the little boy is called names during recess – when the man in prison wouldn’t talk to you – when the men in the train station told you to ‘go home’ – when the US congressman said that racist thing – when the man had to take off his turban at the airport – when you and your cousin talked about what the turban means to you – when the widow forgives everyone – when the memorial at the end makes you realize that not all people are prejudiced.”</em></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035317464017011810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReEKjiYOBGI/AAAAAAAAAHs/Ep2EmOeL6B0/s400/Web,+Stories+that+Resonate.JPG" border="0" />The conversation turns to simple profound reactions: “<em>You know<b> </b>you hear news about all the hate in the world – war in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:country-region><st1:place>Iraq</st1:place></st1:country-region>, genocide in <st1:place>Darfur</st1:place> – but when it’s close to you, it feels more powerful,”</em> says Corie.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><em>“Even the Sikh doctor who worked at Ground Zero got yelled at!<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>How can someone have that much hate?”</em> <p class="MsoNormal"><em>“The terrorists wanted this to happen – they wanted us to single out people.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>When we hate each other, we’re letting them win,”</em> says John.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><em>“Samir was called bin Laden after 9/11 and now he’s called Sadam,”</em> says Pauly.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><em>“It’s a change but not really a change at all.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Even though 9/11 is over, there’s still discrimination.”</em><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><em>“Yeah, even the kids are feeling it,”</em> says Abby.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It suddenly strikes me that the kids in the movie are their age – 13 and 14.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReELgCYOBHI/AAAAAAAAAH0/IFnjio0RTmc/s1600-h/Valarie+and+Scot+Watching.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035318503399097458" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/ReELgCYOBHI/AAAAAAAAAH0/IFnjio0RTmc/s200/Valarie+and+Scot+Watching.JPG" border="0" /></a>Out of curiosity, I ask, <em>“How many of you knew about Sikhs?”</em><span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Three hands go up.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><em>“How many of you have seen men with turbans walk around <st1:city><st1:place>Boston</st1:place></st1:city>?”</em><span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Nearly all the hands go up. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><em><o:p>"</o:p>I didn’t know anything about the Sikh religion before watching the movie,”</em> says Tucker.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city><st1:place>Charlotte</st1:place></st1:city> raises her hand: <em>“Yeah, after 9/11, when people thought of terrorists, they thought of people with turbans and beards.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>And the media made all of us think that way.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Even I thought that way.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>And now – I don’t.”</em></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’m speechless for a moment.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It’s that simple.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><em>“If Rachael in the movie can change, then I feel that anybody can change – any of us can change,”</em> Daniel adds.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city><st1:place>Adrian</st1:place></st1:city> boldly declares, <em>“This is the best documentary I’ve ever seen.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Well, I’ve only seen like ten, but it’s still the best.”<o:p> </o:p><br /></em></p>I can’t help but laugh – I love the simple insights, profound truths, and honest claims that come from minds not yet held back by rules and assumptions about the world.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><o:p></o:p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd9zxSYOAwI/AAAAAAAAADI/_ZW3ut2xdZY/s1600-h/Valarie+Speaking+with+Jim.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034870199007707906" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd9zxSYOAwI/AAAAAAAAADI/_ZW3ut2xdZY/s200/Valarie+Speaking+with+Jim.JPG" border="0" /></a>At the end of the day, my fellow teacher Scot turns to me and says, <em>“This was one of my proudest moments with them.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>People ask me why I teach middle school math, and sometimes it’s hard but – this is why I do what I do.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This is a highlight in my career.”<o:p></o:p></em></p><p class="MsoNormal">As I head home to finish finals, holding rolls of the students’ colorful webbing under my arm, I realize that <em>this</em> is why I do what I do too.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>For days like this – that make all the headache and heartache of ongoing injustices worth facing and changing.</p>Thank you to <a href="http://www.fayerweather.org/"><strong>the Fayerweather Street School</strong> </a>for <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2007/01/night-at-fayerweather-cambridge-ma.html">hosting the film last night </a>and bringing the discussion into the classroom today! And thank you to my wonderful fellow teacher for a day <strong>Scot Oxholm</strong>.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-86621261687262093162007-01-18T23:16:00.000-08:002007-12-07T13:56:26.905-08:00A Night at Fayerweather - Cambridge, MA<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_qaSYOBBI/AAAAAAAAAGs/-34nOR0BD0I/s1600-h/Valerie+Courville.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035000645754422290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_qaSYOBBI/AAAAAAAAAGs/-34nOR0BD0I/s200/Valerie+Courville.JPG" border="0" /></a>Sometimes magic happens. Last fall, through a series of coincidences, I met a woman named <strong>Valerie Courville</strong>. <em>“My name is inside your name!”</em> I told her. We took it as a sign. Valerie (pictured) introduced me to her 9 year-old son <strong>Dylan</strong>, an old soul with light in his eyes. They both grew close to my heart. It wasn't long before they offered to bring <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><em><strong>Divided We Fall</strong></em></a> to Dylan’s school – the <a href="http://www.fayerweather.org/"><strong>Fayerweather Street School</strong> </a>in Cambridge, a private pre-K to 8 school that focuses on social justice, creative exploration, and ethical citizenship.<br /><br />Tonight, we had our first screening of the new year in Fayerweather's school gymnasium. The <strong>Fayerweather Diversity Committee</strong> transformed the gym into a theater: they set out rows of chairs and a large projector screen, hooked up speakers, brought down the lights, and soon nearly 150 people filled the room sharing tea and brownies.<br /><p></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035002398101079090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_sASYOBDI/AAAAAAAAAHE/MkFAr8u4PLs/s400/Audience+from+Side,+Low+and+Blue.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>The principle of the school <strong>Ed Kuh</strong> welcomed the audience of parents and neighbors, including my friends from <a href="http://www.chhandika.org/">kathak class</a>, and affirmed the school’s commitment to diversity and dialogue. Valerie then warmly welcomed me on behalf of the school’s diversity committee. As I introduced the film, I could see Dylan in the very back, sitting eagerly, pushing away his long brown hair, bright eyes sparkling – he was so excited. They had worked so hard to make this night happen.<br /><br />The film began. I had not watched it in more than a month. Since<a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/12/house-divided-washington-dc.html"> our last screening at George Washington</a>, I had been buried in my books struggling to get through my last final exams at <a href="http://www.hds.harvard.edu/">Harvard</a> and thus complete my masters degree. My greatest excitement was doing <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/images/inthenews.gif">two radio interviews with the <strong>BBC</strong></a>. Tonight, I realized that I am most in my element when in the life of the movie.</p><p><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_oLCYOA9I/AAAAAAAAAFc/H5YyD3jjO9U/s1600-h/Dylan.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034998184738161618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_oLCYOA9I/AAAAAAAAAFc/H5YyD3jjO9U/s200/Dylan.JPG" border="0" /></a>This time, I sat next to Dylan to try to see through his 9 year-old eyes. He watched with tremendous attention and calm. The stories came alive, became fresh, turned anew when I imagined what they showed him about the world.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_wdyYOBFI/AAAAAAAAAHg/E7M0kZlf7No/s1600-h/Valarie+and+Shil.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035007302953731154" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_wdyYOBFI/AAAAAAAAAHg/E7M0kZlf7No/s200/Valarie+and+Shil.JPG" border="0" /></a>When the lights came up, the audience applauded hard. I thanked my dear friend <strong>Shil Sengupta</strong> who had watched the complete movie for the first time tonight after reviewing countless rough drafts last year (he also played photographer tonight - except for our picture). Then I opened for questions. Absolute silence. No one moved. After a moment, a hand went up – and then another and another and it wouldn’t stop. </p>One parent in the audience <strong>Laurie</strong> spoke with tears in her eyes: <em>"<a href="http://www2.blogger.com/www.dwf-film.com">The film</a> impacted me deeply. It was so powerful that I think I need several days to process it all. Right now, we just feel speechless. The more personal the stories, the more universal your journey became.” </em><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034996458161308578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_mmiYOA6I/AAAAAAAAAFE/Twk8SHEPp-o/s400/Audience+with+Question.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>A teacher at the school <strong>Joanie</strong> shared: <em>"I'm African-American and I've always felt different – my community has felt different for a very long time. Whenever something bad happens, we're prepared for racism. I was so happy that you included the <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/japanese-american-memories.html">segment on the Japanese American Internment</a>, because it shows how racism has impacted many people in our country's history. I'm also very happy that you talked about the power of storytelling! I believe that too, and that's what I have my kids doing in class."<br /></em><br />Joanie’s comment launched me into a reflection on how storytelling can change people more than rational argument. I shared <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/racial-profiling-and-james-oddo.html">my encounter with New York City Councilmember <strong>James Oddo</strong> </a>as a testament to the common ground possible through stories.<br /><br />A parent then asked, <em>"How do we get this film to a wider audience? How do we make a difference?"</em> I shared our hope to secure distribution and the power of word-of-mouth and <a href="http://dwf-film.com/donate.html">grassroots support</a> in getting these stories to mainstream America. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035002093158401058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_ruiYOBCI/AAAAAAAAAG8/7RTRBse4DxI/s400/Audience+from+Side,+Wide.jpg" border="0" /><br />A woman in the front row offered: <em>"My name is Cecilia, and I'm a foreigner. The focus on ‘who counts’ as American troubles me. Maybe the problem is identity itself. Do we need identity?"</em> It was an important question.<br /><br /><em>“After 9/11, who we counted as American in this country equalled who we counted as human – who we gave full rights, recognition, and respect.”</em> I responded<em>. “Since erasing identity is impossible, I think we must expand who counts as one of us to include diverse identities, so that America’s metaphor of</em> the melting pot <em>which absorbs identity is replaced with</em> the mosaic <em>which values and celebrates identity – and includes all of us. Every multicultural nation faces this same struggle.”</em><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_uaiYOBEI/AAAAAAAAAHU/U8Wbf8bFL6s/s1600-h/Valarie+and+Corey.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035005048095900738" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_uaiYOBEI/AAAAAAAAAHU/U8Wbf8bFL6s/s200/Valarie+and+Corey.jpg" border="0" /></a>Another hand went up. It was someone I knew. <strong>Corey Davidson</strong> was my student at <a href="http://www.stanford.edu/~reich/spi.htm">a high school philosophy program at Stanford</a>, and now he’s in college. I hadn’t seen him in three years (our reunion pictured). He shared his love for the film and reflected, <em>"The images in the media are just so powerful – they are everywhere - and they keep reinforcing the stereotypes in our minds. On the television show <a href="http://www.tv.com/24/show/3866/summary.html">24</a>, the terrorists are Middle Eastern men with Russian accents! It's crazy. But I still watch it. It takes a lot not to absorb these stereotypes… It was this kind of misinformation that made us go to war in Iraq.”</em><br /><br /><em>“Do you feel empowered in the face of such overwhelming forces? Do you think you can change it?”</em> I asked.<br /><br /><em>"No, I don't. I don't know what I can do."<br /><br />“There is reason for hope,”</em> said the man next to Corey. <em>“The results of the recent election makes me hopeful. People can come together to make a difference." </em></p><p>A mother in the back raised her hand: <em>"What I found remarkable is that <a href="http://www2.blogger.com/www.dwf-film.com">the film </a>shows how we are all the same. This makes me hopeful. We have our differences but beneath everything, we are human. <a href="http://www2.blogger.com/www.dwf-film.com">These stories </a>show that, and my hope is that more people are able to realize that."</em> The little girl she was holding in her arms began to imitate her hand gestures, trying to say what her mom was saying. <em>“</em>You <em>are the hope!”</em> I laughed.</p><p>After the Q&A, the audience was buzzing. A man approached me and said, “<em>I was an observer to the film, a bystander, until <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/sodhi-family.html"><strong>Gary Gietz</strong> said, ‘We should all put on turbans for a week… standing together.’ </a>That made me realize that it isn't enough to recognize difference – we have to embrace it."</em></p><p>I chatted with Shil, Corey, and<strong> Brian Rothschild</strong> a new friend I met on a plane ride (he had already heard about the film<a href="http://www.boston.com/ae/movies/articles/2006/05/07/kaurs_divided_we_fall_documents_post_911_hate/"> in the Boston Globe </a>when I told him about it!). Then Dylan handed me a heart made of marizpan, and we all took pictures. </p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034996668614706098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_myyYOA7I/AAAAAAAAAFM/9f7mv7kYzrk/s400/Valerie,+Valarie,+and+Dylan.jpg" border="0" /><br />Later Dylan quietly reflected on the film, <em>“You expect these things to happen many years ago but not so recently, not now.”</em> I wonder about how he will one day decide to respond to the violence he is now beginning to understand.<br /><br />At the night’s end, I read through the audience comment cards. One was written by the only turbaned Sikh man in the audience. When he got up after the movie, a little girl smiled at him. <em>“That’s the power of this film,”</em> he realized, <em>“the power of these stories.”</em><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_pPCYOA_I/AAAAAAAAAFs/NUooHUnQP6M/s1600-h/I+Care.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034999352969266162" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/Rd_pPCYOA_I/AAAAAAAAAFs/NUooHUnQP6M/s200/I+Care.JPG" border="0" /></a>It is the smallest gestures that can be the most powerful responses. Dylan and this little girl – and children like them – already know that.<br /><br />They are my reasons for hope.Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-65778271545801802442006-12-02T23:18:00.000-08:002007-02-21T17:43:44.797-08:00A House Divided - Washington, DC<a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYeFnE-uBiI/AAAAAAAAACk/fxeFEfcL3QQ/s1600-h/Discussion.JPG"></a><div><div><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYcy-k-uBXI/AAAAAAAAAAc/4lkG8lwbwN0/s1600-h/View+From+Balcony,+Washington+Memorial.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010029161132983666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYcy-k-uBXI/AAAAAAAAAAc/4lkG8lwbwN0/s200/View+From+Balcony,+Washington+Memorial.JPG" border="0" /></a>The view from the seventh floor is dazzling – sunset behind the Washington Memorial, water shimmering around Jefferson, city lights coming alive. I am looking out from the City View Room in a building at <a href="http://www.gwu.edu">George Washington University</a>, where we are about to hold the DC premiere of <em><a href="http://dwf-film.com">Divided We Fall</a></em>, our last screening of the calendar year, hosted by the <a href="http://studentorgs.gwu.edu/merlin-cgi/p/so_printRegisteredOrgDetail/d/500">GW Sikh Student Association </a>and the <a href="http://www.apa.si.edu/">Smithsonion Asian Pacific American Program</a>. I have a moment to take in the view before it all begins.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYd7UU-uBfI/AAAAAAAAACE/tZWibsGmxxA/s1600-h/Lincoln+Memorial.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010108699632338418" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYd7UU-uBfI/AAAAAAAAACE/tZWibsGmxxA/s200/Lincoln+Memorial.jpg" border="0" /></a>I spot the Lincoln Memorial. I remember coming to Washington, DC every summer in high school for the annual <a href="http://www.nationalhistoryday.org/">National History Day</a> competition. In the early evenings, my family would visit the National Mall, and I’d sit at the feet of Lincoln, imagining what would lay in store for me. Lincoln is remembered to say, <a href="http://historyplace.com/lincoln/divided.htm"><em>“A house divided against itself cannot stand.”</em> </a><br /><br /><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/how-film-began.html">Since September 11, 2001, I have witnessed how racism, fear, and self-preservation can divide a nation.</a> The borders that divide us today are invisible, perpetuated in myth and media, erected in the mind and heart, separating “us” from “them.” Lincoln waged a war to save the union; now those of us who have come of age in 9/11’s aftermath take up our pens and turn on our cameras to fight for recognition in that union. The stories in the film are part of that fight, I realize, as I return to Washington, DC with <a href="http://dwf-film.com">the first feature-length film on hate violence in post-9/11 America</a>, my new <a href="http://www.nationalhistoryday.org/">History Day </a>project.</div><div><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYc5Nk-uBcI/AAAAAAAAABQ/VQH1rUhfUtU/s1600-h/DWF+Postcard,+White.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010036015900788162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYc5Nk-uBcI/AAAAAAAAABQ/VQH1rUhfUtU/s200/DWF+Postcard,+White.JPG" border="0" /></a>The premiere is about to begin. More than 200 people fill the lobby and wait for the doors to open. Inside the banquet room, GW students are adding the finishing touches: they cover the tables with white cloth, center the flower arrangements, place postcards on the tables, light the candles, and suddenly the doors open. It is magical. Hundreds of people flood the room and take their seats. People are standing in the back and sitting on the floor. The room is buzzing, everyone is excited, the energy palpable, and in the very back, I turn to my director Sharat and ask him to remind me that there is no reason to be nervous. We’ve done this nearly a dozen times in the last few months, traveling from city to city across America. And yet, the butterflies take over my stomach before every screening. </div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010027438851097938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYcxaU-uBVI/AAAAAAAAAAM/1H6PAdTkZmQ/s400/Full+Audience.JPG" border="0" /><br />We are introduced by <a href="http://studentorgs.gwu.edu/merlin-cgi/p/so_printRegisteredOrgDetail/d/500">President of the GW Sikh Student Association</a><strong> Shana Narula </strong>(pictured below). She presents the film as part of the organization's annual dinner in honor of <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/explaining-sikhism.html">Guru Nanak, the first Sikh teacher</a>. </p><p><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYd7p0-uBgI/AAAAAAAAACM/_cn1sM4ACuk/s1600-h/Shana+Narula.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010109068999525890" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYd7p0-uBgI/AAAAAAAAACM/_cn1sM4ACuk/s200/Shana+Narula.JPG" border="0" /></a>As the film begins, I notice the different kinds of people in the room – students from the university, locals who get Smithsonian news, members of the Sikh community, people who work at the FBI, our friends and their colleagues, and many more. A truly diverse audience. As the journey goes deeper, the audience comes alive – their laughter is loud, their silence is deep, and before the credits are even over, they applaud and rise to give us a standing ovation.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYc27k-uBZI/AAAAAAAAAA4/QM78CplU11I/s1600-h/Valarie,+Sharat,+and+Shana+in+Q&A.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010033507639887250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYc27k-uBZI/AAAAAAAAAA4/QM78CplU11I/s200/Valarie,+Sharat,+and+Shana+in+Q%26A.JPG" border="0" /></a>Sharat and I are deeply moved when we take the stage for the Q&A. We talk about the process of making the film, the stories we didn't include, the possibilities for change. A Sikh doctor shares his experience with racism. Another man wants to know how to ask someone about their identity with respect. A woman brings up the need to show this film in France, where <a href="http://www.pluralism.org/news/intl/index.php?xref=Ban+of+Religious+Symbols+in+French+Public+Schools&sort=DESC">a ban against wearing religious articles of faith is keeping Sikh and Muslim children from public schools</a>. Another discusses how minority communities can get stories like this into the mainstream. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010027988606911842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYcx6U-uBWI/AAAAAAAAAAU/qUDRyrV44kA/s400/Audience+During+Q%26A.JPG" border="0" /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYc3zk-uBaI/AAAAAAAAABA/veEkRz36iCk/s1600-h/Muneer+and+Students+at+Table.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010034469712561570" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYc3zk-uBaI/AAAAAAAAABA/veEkRz36iCk/s200/Muneer+and+Students+at+Table.JPG" border="0" /></a>After the discussion, Shana presents us with flowers and gifts, and dinner is served. Everyone continues the conversation over hot plates of delicious Punjabi food. But I don’t eat a bite. I am talking to people, one after another – a group of lawyers who reflect on the power and limits of law, a French woman who wants to bring the movie to Paris, an African-American Sikh woman who has followed our work for years, individuals at the FBI who want to help get our film seen, and law students who invite us to a follow-up discussion at their university. <a href="http://www.wcl.american.edu/faculty/ahmad/">Muneer Ahmad </a>comes up to congratulate us. He is the professor at <a href="http://www.wcl.american.edu/">American Law School </a>who <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/08/best-and-worst-of-america.html">provides some of our best analysis in the film</a>, and I am grateful and relieved that he too loves the movie. It is a stunning night in the life of the film. </p><p><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYeEM0-uBhI/AAAAAAAAACc/KSZvwICwFWc/s1600-h/Amna.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010118466387969554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYeEM0-uBhI/AAAAAAAAACc/KSZvwICwFWc/s200/Amna.JPG" border="0" /></a>A few days later, Sharat and I visit the law school at <a href="http://www.american.edu">American University</a> for a follow-up discussion. We were invited by <strong>Amna Arshad,</strong> <strong>Hanan Idilbi </strong>(pictured) and a handful of law students who attended the screening. As the conversation deepens, we realize that nearly all the students at the round-table chose to pursue law degrees for the same reason: to gain the power to respond directly to social injustices. While the interests varied - from domestic violence to immigrant struggles - we were all committed to working toward... a more perfect union. It is inspiring to imagine a generation of students like this.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010120506497435186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYeGDk-uBjI/AAAAAAAAACs/KfxCiGZRu_Q/s400/American+Law+Discussion.JPG" border="0" /></div><div><p>What now? Now we rest for a few weeks before we are swept up once again in our now <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour.html">international tour - from Boston to Mumbai to Berkeley to Omaha</a>, we have adventures in store in the new year. We hope that this energy will propel the film to ever-wider audiences and continue to deepen the dialogue about who we are and who we want to be.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5010038485506983394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_AsBGHk4u5F8/RYc7dU-uBeI/AAAAAAAAAB0/pXHlw1RbKv0/s200/GW+SSA.JPG" border="0" /><em>Thanks to Shana Narula and all the members of the Sikh Student Association at GW for an incredible night. Thanks also to the Smithsonian for co-sponsoring our premiere! And of course what would we do without <strong>Jessica Jenkins</strong>, our director of research, who traveled from New York City, to help make our Washington, DC premiere a fabulous success.</em></p></div>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-15970337018493176462006-11-14T23:24:00.000-08:002008-01-08T16:58:36.426-08:00A Golden Premiere - Sacramento<img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/885334/Red%20Seats.jpg" border="0" /><a href="http://www.ltg.ca.gov/images/home/about_cruz.gif"><strong>Lieutenant Governor CRUZ BUSTAMANTE</strong></a> hosted the formal California premiere of <em><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">Divided We Fall</a></em> a few steps away from our state capitol tonight. Beneath the great dome of the Secretary of State building, hundreds of people mingled, holding plates of Indian food, waiting for the doors to open for the premiere. The <a href="http://www.ltg.ca.gov/images/home/about_cruz.gif">Lieutenant Governor </a>came to welcome us and express his excitement about <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">the film</a>. <em>(Spot us in the crowd...) </em><br /><br /><div><div><div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/400/297297/Audience%20from%20Up%20High.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/search?q=sneak+preview+california+bustamante+cruz">We had first met Cruz Bustamante last October at the Spinning Wheel Film Festival in Los Angeles.</a> There he had seen <a href="http://dwf-film.com/images/trailer1ba.jpg">our film trailer</a> and promised to do everything he could to get <a href="http://dwf-film.com/"><em>Divided We Fall</em> </a>to audiences. One year later, thanks to the skillful organization of <strong>Ravi Kahlon </strong>and <strong>Kiranjit Kaur</strong> in his office, he was hosting our California premiere.</div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2882/1765/400/Meeting%20the%20Lt%20Governor.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div>Once the theater doors opened, we flooded into the auditorium. There were rows of plush red seats and a stage with blue curtains that parted for the movie screen. More than 300 people filled the seats, stood in the back, and sat on the steps. </div><br /><div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/Audience%20Finding%20Seats.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/2882/1765/200/Audience%20Finding%20Seats.jpg" border="0" /></a>The <a href="http://www.ltg.ca.gov/images/home/about_cruz.gif">Lieutenant Governor</a> took the stage to recognize the sponsors of the event and then give us a glowing introduction – he commended my courage for <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/how-film-began.html">beginning the journey</a> and <strong>Sharat Raju’s</strong> talent and vision as a filmmaker for finishing it. He also honored my parents - who were in the audience - for supporting our project, even when it took us into danger. It was the most incredible introduction Sharat and I have received on <a href="http://dwf-film.com/tour.html">our film tour</a>.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/831350/Bustamante%20Presenting%20Resolutions.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/907679/Bustamante%20Presenting%20Resolutions.jpg" border="0" /></a>He then presented both of us with a Resolution he had passed on the floor of the legislature - one that formally recognized the film and its message. I felt so deeply honored that for once I found myself speechless when the microphone was handed to me. I found the words to thank him.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div>The resolution made out in my name read:<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/660271/Bustamante%20Introducing%20Us.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/156721/Bustamante%20Introducing%20Us.jpg" border="0" /></a><em>Whereas, I am delighted to honor and commend Ms. Valarie Kaur for her tireless efforts in creating <a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/">the documentary film </a>of the plight of Sikh Americans post 9/11 living in the United States; and<br /></em><br /><em>Whereas, the film </em><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><em>Divided We Fall </em></a><em>follows Ms. Kaur’s journey as she drove across the country in the immediate aftermath of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, documenting stories of hate violence and discrimination towards Americans; and<br /><br />Whereas, </em><a href="http://www.dwf-film.com/"><em>Divided We Fall </em></a><em>is the first feature documentary film to address hate crimes and hate violence in the aftermath of September 11, 2001; and<br /><br />Whereas, Ms. Kaur has additional works that focus on stories of Sikh Americans, including her thesis, “Targeting the Turban: Sikh Americans in the Aftermath of September 11,” which won the Golden Medal in Humanities and became Ms. Kaur’s first written work on the experience of misrecognition in the aftermath of 9/11; and<br /><br />Whereas, Ms. Kaur has written extensively about her experience and lectured at more than fifty conferences, film festivals, and community events around the country; now, therefore be it<br /><br />Resolved, that I, <a href="http://www.ltg.ca.gov/images/home/about_cruz.gif">Cruz M. Bustamante, Lieutenant Governor of the State of California</a>, do hereby recognize and applaud the important contributions that Ms. Valarie Kaur has made to our Golden State and the nation in her efforts to educate the public about the Sikh Community.</em> </div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/293853/Sharat%20and%20Valarie%20Speaking.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/714915/Sharat%20and%20Valarie%20Speaking.jpg" border="0" /></a>It was a true honor for me to have the film recognized by the state of California, especially in a time when our stories are ripe for discussion in the mainstream American public.</div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div></div><div>After the film screened, the audience rose in a sudden heartfelt standing ovation. We thanked those in the audience who had seen the film to completion: <strong>Gurprit S. Hansra</strong>, who speaks about his meeting with President Bush in the film and believed in this project in the very beginning at a time when I was receiving little support. <strong><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/search?q=pargat+singh+richmond">Harpreet Singh</a></strong>, a leader in the El Sobrante community who has worked hard to secure protection measures for local Sikh cab drivers. <strong><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/search?q=pargat+singh+richmond">Pargat Singh</a></strong>, a wise elder in the Sikh community who told me his compelling life story, including the loss of fellow cab drivers in hate murders. <strong><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/search?q=basim+lodi">Basim Elkarra</a></strong>, the Sacramento director of <a href="http://www.cair-net.org/">the Council of American and Islamic Relations (CAIR)</a> who helped me understand the problems facing local Muslims. </div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/365413/California%20Seal.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/992506/California%20Seal.jpg" border="0" /></a>The Q&A began with a question from a little girl in the front – how were you before you made the film, and how were you after? It was the most difficult question I had to answer, one that I’m still figuring out. Never had I imagined that the film would be recognized by officials and policymakers as vital to the discussion on diversity and respect in my home state.<br /><br />As the discussion continued, we heard voices from the Japanese American, Native American, Muslim and Sikh American communities, all drawing connections between one another’s struggles. Many people pointed to the ongoing violence - including the <a href="http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/local/16004781.htm">recent murder of an Afghan Muslim woman <strong>Alia Ansari</strong> in Fremont</a>, whom many speculate <span style="color:#000000;">was targeted for her veil.</span></div><div><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><div><strong><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/13258/Basim%20Elkarra.jpg" border="0" /></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong><a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/search?q=basim+lodi">Basim Elkarra</a></strong>, Sacramento director of <a href="http://www.cair-net.org/">CAIR</a>, offered his deep-felt support for the film and its message. <em>“I believe that your film will save lives. It has the power to change peoples' hearts and minds. The Koran says, if you save one human being’s life, it is like saving all of humanity.”</em></div><div><em><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></em></div><div></div><div></div><div>It was an unforgettable night.<br /><span style="color:#ffffcc;">-</span></div><div></div><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/400/643283/Kiranjit%2C%20Ravi%2C%20and%20Satinder%20with%20Us.jpg" border="0" /></div></div><p><em>Thank you to <strong>Ravi Kahlon</strong>, <strong>Kiranjit Kaur</strong> at <a href="http://www.ltg.ca.gov/images/home/about_cruz.gif">the Lieutenant Governor's office </a>for their incredible hard work. Also to Satinder <strong>Singh</strong> for his support! (Pictured left to right: Kiranjit, me, Ravi, Sharat, and Satinder).</em></p>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14461762.post-10617977264755908972006-11-12T23:24:00.000-08:002006-11-28T17:29:16.244-08:00The Roxie - San Francisco<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/848444/Roxie%20Sign.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/678130/Roxie%20Sign.jpg" border="0" /></a>It was like coming home. Our San Francisco premiere at <a href="http://www.thirdi.org/festival/images/spons-wells.gif"><strong>the Third I Film Festival</strong></a> was our first screening in California, and looking out into the packed audience in the city’s famous <a href="http://www.roxie.com/"><strong>Roxie Theater</strong></a>, I was overwhelmed by the image of my parents, cousins, friends, professors, interviewees, and strangers standing up together to applaud our film at the end. It was our fifth standing ovation – and the tears couldn’t help but come.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/237998/Parents%20in%20Audience.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/799536/Parents%20in%20Audience.jpg" border="0" /></a>We had just flown through the night from <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2006/11/my-first-sikh-conference-miami.html">Miami the night before </a>to make our Sunday morning premiere in San Francisco. We were tired and barely made the screening on time, but we were energized the moment we stepped into <a href="http://www.roxie.com/">the Roxie </a>and took in the audience. <strong>Kulwinder Dol</strong>, long-time friend and supporter, introduced us and the film began. It was one of our best screening to date – the image and sound quality of the film were superb, the audience was alive, and afterward we felt the outpouring of warmth.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/72952/Valarie%20Speaking.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/638551/Valarie%20Speaking.jpg" border="0" /></a>The post-film discussion was hosted by <strong><a href="http://www.saja.org/">the South Asian Journalists Association</a></strong>. Sharat spoke about the making of the film. People in the audience discussed the need for <a href="http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/local/16004781.htm">solidarity movements </a>and ways to build strong ties between the community and media. We received several more invitations for screenings in the Bay Area, including one at <a href="http://www.stanford.edu">Stanford University </a>in the spring. A woman who made the trip from Atlanta expressed her pride and gratitude for “the best film she’s ever seen.”<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/1600/960939/Nitasha,%20Valarie,%20and%20Sharat.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/475368/Nitasha%2C%20Valarie%2C%20and%20Sharat.jpg" border="0" /></a>Then there was the long list of thank-yous. Sharat and I were able to recognize the handful of remarkable people in the audience without whose support, the film would not have been possible. We began with people <em>in</em> the film. <strong><a href="http://www.stanford.edu/dept/relstud/faculty.html">Linda Hess</a></strong>, my Stanford advisor, now mentor and friend, whose words set me off “into the whirlwind.” <strong><a href="http://www.law.stanford.edu/directory/profile/55/Jayashri%20Srikantiah/">Jayashri Srikantiah</a></strong>, Stanford law professor who provides some of the film’s best analysis. <a href="http://valariekaur.blogspot.com/2005/07/sikh-lawyer-nitasha-sawhney.html"><strong>Nitasha Sawhney</strong> </a>(pictured with Sharat and me), a Sikh lawyer interviewed in the film and our dear friend. And <strong><a href="http://www.sikhfoundation.org/comprof1204.asp">Mandeep Singh Dhillon</a></strong>, a Sikh lawyer who appears in the film leading a rally on the steps of the California state capitol.<br /><strong></strong><br /><a href="http://www.sikhfoundation.org/comprof1204.asp"><strong><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/200/156633/My%20Brother%20Sanjeev.jpg" border="0" /></strong></a>Then there were people who helped make the film. <strong>Andrew Chung</strong>, the first person who worked with me on editing the film, credited as production consultant, but who I’ve deemed as life manager. <strong>Karuna Tanahashi</strong>, a friend and artist in her own right who filmed Linda’s interview. <strong>Sanjeev Brar</strong>, who filmed the last moving scene with the widow in India (he’s also my brother, pictured.) <strong>Kathy Jennings</strong>, production assistant and dear family friend. <strong>Sharon Gibson</strong>, the film’s story consultant.<br /><br />And finally my parents – <strong>Dolly and Judge Brar</strong>, who saw the film for the first time that morning. I continue to be astounded and deeply grateful for their unending support.<br /><br />Afterward, we celebrated.<br /><br /><p><strong><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/2882/1765/400/780926/Family%20and%20Friends.jpg" border="0" /></strong></p><p><em>Pictured left to right: Sanjeev Brar (my brother), Sharmila Gill (my cousin), Sharat Raju (DWF director), Sharon Gibson (DWF story consultant), Kathy Jennings (DWF production assistant), Ravi (friend), Dolly Brar (my mother), John Tebbets (long-time friend), me and my father Judge Brar</em>.</p><p>Thank you to <strong>Ivan Jaigirdar</strong> and all at San Francisco's <a href="http://www.thirdi.org/festival/images/spons-wells.gif">Third I Film Festival </a>for hosting an incredible screening!</p>Valarie Kaur - Filmmaker, Lecturer, Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16231746770800652607noreply@blogger.com0