The FAE and roller coasters

So after a few weeks of a vacation of sorts, my spoken word adventure is back in action, and things are, dare I say, back on track. After a few emotional set backs which have yet to prove themselves more useful (because, hey, as Taylor Mali says, "if it ain't broke, it don't need fiction!") than painful and depressing, I think things are finally starting to look up. By sticking it out and fighting off my instincts to just pack up and run away from my problems, I think I"m growing a lot. After all, hearts are muscles too, and when they've been over worked or stretched to a limit, they ache. But that's always a sign of building strength. And maybe I could use a more inner strength, who knows. Then again, dropping everything and flying to spain sounds absolutely delicious right now... hmm....

Anyway, I’ve had the unique and great opportunity to be spending a lot of time with poet Miles Merrill the past few days, and assisting him in the somewhat daunting task of planning australia’s first festival dedicated soley to spoken word. But for those of you who know me, and possibly those who don’t, there is no event organizational task too daunting for me. Give me a mountain of press releases and by god I will get through them all. Which is a great attitude to have at the moment, considering I do have a mountain of emails and press releases to send. But it’s a great cause and also really interesting work for me to be doing. I’ve been craving some activity like this, to help out organizing something in a fundamental way, even if it is basic intern stuff. Because from my own past in events organizing, I’ve realized that without people to help do the crappy intern work, nothing would get done.

After a hard days work staring at a computer screen all day, we went out to an pub. Its really great hanging out with another american, especially another american with a global sense of self like mine (an american but-“well, not really”- american, just like me), because I can explain to him my questions and concerns about understanding poetry in this new culture. Because don’t think for a second australia is like anything I’ve seen before. And it’s vast differences had been, perhaps, for the first time most blatantly revealed to me at the slam last Tuesday.

Traveling around the world as an American in these times is a strange experience. You’d think it wouldn’t be so much of an issue, hoping that people are both educated and mature enough not to judge someone based off of an accent or a passport. But as we all know, sadly, this is not true. I’ve met people here who have refused to talk to me once they hear my accent. I’ve had people act differently or misinterpret my behavior, just because of where I’m from. Even amongst friends, in just the past few weeks, I’ve had the “fact” brought up to me numerous times about how “all americans are fat, lazy and stupid”. Putting the simple asinine nature of this comment aside (ie: I don’t think someone like, oh, Thomas Jefferson or Malcom X or Emma Goldman would appreciate those comments), to make such a sweeping generalization of a culture that one has only known through news media and movies is both disgusting and sad. But as quick as everyone seems to be to point out all the “fat lazy americans” no one wants to turn the mirror on themselves (I am referring to the fact that australia is right in a close second place for the most obeise population). And so, it is the fundamental attribution error at work, the error that almost every human suffers from on a daily basis- the mistake in pointing out the faults in others and attributing them to a personality flaw, and refusing to see the own faults in ourselves.

I guess it would be best to start with the events of the night of the slam. And no, this is not a “woe is me, I got an average of 5.5 score or whatever” story. Because, as I previously noted, I really don’t care about scores. I had the pleasure of being interviewed for some radio program here in sydney. The reporter wanted to know all about my trip around the world, and what I’ve found so far. What are the differences between spoken word scenes? And so I emphasized my findings between Mexico and Canada- sure there are differences, but there are similarities too. Like who would’ve thought that a country like Mexico and a country like Canada would have such similar thematic elements? But the reporter, of course, wanted to know what I thought of the Australian poetry scene, and how that fit in with my pattern (it doesn’t). It’s difficult, you see, to really examine a scene while you’re immersed in it. And of course, it’s almost impossible to generalize. But to do exactly that, I’ve noted some amazing poetry, amazing theatrical elements with bits of comedy or a great love story thrown in, and –unlike canada or mexico- a general aversion to anything political.

Is that a reflection of Australian society? To be honest, I have no idea. I will be the first to admit that I have not worked hard enough to understand this culture to make a statement like that. Working that hard would involve years and years of field experience. But what I will tell you is a story about my experience as an outsider in this society, an experience that followed this interview on Tuesday night that made me think long and hard about who I am and where I come from, and how that’s shaped the type of person I am.

We were walking along a dark street corner in a working class neighborhood, just after the slam. The people in front of me brushed past a woman with darker skin, obviously drunk, and she fell to the ground. Everyone I was with kept walking, without even looking back. But I looked back. I don’t know why I stopped, she didn’t cry out. But there she was, back flat on the street, arms flung out on the wet ground. So I helped her up. It took about 3 minutes for me to even help her get into a seated position (she was that inebriated) but after seeing her all sprawled out like that, I couldn’t just leave her. And so I helped her get her bearings, told her to be careful and have a good night, and caught up to the 4 other people, all staring at me like I was a lunatic. “People like that can’t be helped” said one of them. “She was perfectly capable of helping herself back up.” Said another. “she has no self respect” Comment after comment, attributing her alcoholism to a personality defect instead of, what seems obvious to me to be a reaction to being a marginalized character in society. Of course she has no self respect- she’s been raised in a culture that hates her, has taught her to hate herself and she wants to die. But it doesn’t mean that she is a bad person and that she deserves to be treated like a dog. But all that aside, even if you’re a white full blooded australian male, don’t you get drunk sometimes and fall over? And if I saw a white full blooded australiam male sprawled out on the street , or even in a bar or even anywhere where he needed help, I’d help him. Because that’s the human thing to do. And I’ll tell you one thing for sure, if that woman who fell was white, people would’ve raced to help her. But because she was a stereotype, because she was marginalized and “typical” for someone “like her”, it somehow becomes acceptable for people to just roll their eyes and walk away.

I guess it just really bothered me, it’s been bothering me until I spoke to Miles about it. It’s good to have another american here who has been here way longer and can explain things like this to me. Why do people just stereotype and move on, saying “oh no there’s no problem, except for THOSE people. If it weren’t for THOSE people things would be fine. But there’s nothing we can do about THOSE people”? Even though we all know that’s not true, that there are many current social issues that effect all people in this country, including the social issue of aboriginal rights and cultural genocide. I can ask miles these questions and he can throw them back at me. It helps me put it in perspective, so I myself don’t commit the FAE. And so I’ve thought about it and come to the conclusion that those people I was with aren’t bad people just because they didn’t help her. Perhaps they too are just a product of what they’ve been exposed to. It’s all about society. It’s all about what they’ve been taught in schools, what they see on tv and their own personal experiences. And of course, there are the exceptions. The lovely beloved exceptions to every observation. The exceptions that I hope aren’t actually exceptions but the rule, that perhaps I’ve just been exposed to a slightly embittered side of sydney culture, and that maybe there are more people who are aware than those I’ve met thus far. I do not know, but I hope this is true.

So what’s this all got to do with poetry? I’ve been spending a lot of time with miles, typing up the “People’s poem” , the world’s largest poem written by random people of australia. And man, the FAE is silly. It’s really silly. There are a lot of silly, light hearted, somewhat ridiculous lines in that People’s Poem. There are also so many burdened and painful lines (mostly the ones written at the Australia/Survival day concert… written by aboriginal peoples or their allies). But most of all, there are some lines that haunt me. The ones about tolerance, and not just stereotypical “love everyone” hippy-dippy stuff. I’m talking about lines that put up a fight with words, lines that aren’t angry or embittered or loving, just educated and aware. Lines that are well thought out and beautifully carved like a big bold sign “thou shalt not kill” (because we all know there’s more than one way to kill a person). Yes, a line of poetry can do a lot of things. Just one line can change the whole tone of the piece, and open a “fat lazy stupid” american girl’s eyes to the deeper issues plaguing this society, issues so deep that no one will talk about them, and no one wants to hear about them. Issues so deep that they’re allowed to be flung out on dark wet streets, back flat against wet pavement. Yes, I’ve learned that just one line of poetry can push back.