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First There Was the Word, Then There Was the Fist (2 of 3)
“It’s so important for Asian poets to have a space to be
able to express themselves in ways that are both artistic and political,”
said Vietnamese American poet Bao Phi. Marian Thambynayagam explained
that, “ Coming together through art is a way to heal ourselves,
empower ourselves and challenge each other with love”. Isa Nakwazawa
talked about how “everyone’s on the same playing field”
and expressed appreciation for being on stage with artists she’s
looked up to and feeling support and community, not competition or onesupsmanship.
Summit organizer Giles Li summed up the diversity and community of the
night and week, saying, “So many different points of view –
but when it comes to supporting each other, these differences only accentuate
what’s similar”.
The appropriately named showcase event really displayed the poets’
diversity and the tangible community feeling of the summit. About 30 different
artists performed , and each was greeted with the whoops, cheers and applause
usually reserved for rock or pop stars. From the theater-like balconies
to the floor to the stage, there was much love in the Jorge Hernandez
Cultural Center on the night of the showcase.
The telling of our stories, and the power of claiming that and shouting it to the rooftops, was a continuing thread in the performances. The substance and style of these stories covered the range of our experiences. Robert Karimi and DJ D Double told the story of his mother and father coming together and produce Robert, weaving together Robert’s dancing, theatrical narrative and the jump-cutting soundtrack of D Double’s musical commentary. When 911 hit the Karimi household, Robert’s father declared Robert as “poison” and the piece becomes an in-joke/diatribe and refutation against an America that would turn all Iranians, all Arabs into “poison”, degrading their humanity. In similar fashion, Marian Thambynayagam turned the erotic/exotic typecasting of whites into a powerful, roof-raising voice with volume to match it’s exalting message, “I be rage; I be fury; I be hope …I am the poet who seeks the truth”. With her cellist’s haunting accompaniment, her arms and legs and expressively undulating body punctuating the words, Marian transformed the performance into a multi-media tone poem of word, dance and music. In contrast to the subtle ironies of other performers, Omar Tanaka went into a full-on revenge fantasy, in a sick, twisted parody of a white racist world turned around so that Asians are the tormenters. Khanh Le’s intense piece was not ironic in the least; he courageously took on the “big dick” machoisms of some male Asian spoken word artists, imploring/demanding that Asian men build our masculinity without alienating and isolating gay men and reducing Asian women to accessories to our trips. Isa Nakazawa barbed some of our current fascination with bling bling materialism and celebrity worship, reminding us that “I’m pretty sure Kanye West has copped diamonds from Sierra Leone”. Ed Bok Lee told a survivor’s tale, landing on the ground after a desire to fly from the repression and self-hatred of APIA alienation leads to drugs, pointlessness and the suicide of his friend Andrew. When Tamiko Beyer, in a piece meant to “celebrate all things gay” , says “we are coming” she is both being literal about her and her lover and declaring her/our arrival in the world. Likewise, Michelle Myers loves the fact that her little Black neighbor “proclaims: my block; my hope; my life” and celebrates the promise of young people, the “laughter of sunflower children blooming beautiful in Detroit”, the triumph of beauty by the people in a city that much of the country dismisses as blighted. Bao Phi takes this one step further, with terrifying clarity and horrible beauty recalling the image of his mother’s death. His mother “became a thousand red stars … falling”.
