- Noah Drew

Set in an arctic world where war and waste are necessary and authoritarian power is the binding force of society, Except in the Unlikely Event of War is scathing satire on the politicization of art and media and the instability of truth.

Pi Theatre’s Richard Wolfe is directing the workshop and reading, which will feature performers Vincent Gale, Kathleen Duborg, Todd Thomson and Alex Ferguson.

Join us for the first public tryout of this exciting new work at 8pm on December 15 at CBC Studio 700. A discussion will follow.

Check here for more event details and info.

It’s hard to believe that it is already the last week of the run of Re:Union and its sister event The Activist City. There are just five more performances of Re:Union, and only two more Activist City Events.

Thursday at 5:30, Gail Davidson will be giving a guest lecture titled “Lawlessness at the State Level: The Activist Response”. Gail Davidson is an activist for peace and universal human rights. She writes and speaks on international law issues, is the co-founder of Lawyers against the War and the founder and director of Lawyer Rights Watch Canada. Gail received the UBC Great Trekker award and LRWC received the Renate Shearer award for exceptional contributions to human rights.

On Saturday at 4:30pm (following the matinee of Re:Union) there is a Panel Discussion: The Activist as Occupier which will be moderated by Marcus Youssef .   Panelists include author and journalist Hadani Ditmar and activists Harsha Walia and Am Johal.

We hope you’ll join us for one or both of these fantastic events!

“Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice… and moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.”

Barry Goldwater campaign button - 1964

Ironically, this oft-repeated sentence was uttered by right-wing politician Barry Goldwater as he accepted the Republican party presidential nomination in 1964. Since the topic for the panel discussion is “The Activist as Extremist”,  I think that this is an appropriate theme for us to ponder. I have no doubt that my definitions of liberty and justice would diverge from those advanced by Goldwater. And yet, when we seek freedom and justice, when we fight oppression, is it not correct to go to any length, to use any means necessary, to achieve the desired end, which is the creation of a more just and peaceful world?

There are different perspectives, for instance those that believe that the ends do not always justify the means. That is a theme also worthy of exploration, but I think it is often the one that people go to first when the idea of “extremism” is discussed. I would like to take this discussion in a different direction.

We have a stereotype, of the rabid, extreme activist, alienating others around him, only able to see his perspective, acting like a steamroller and squashing those who stand in his way, verbally and emotionally. Such an individual may inspire others to action, may be the person who “makes things happen.” But is there a hidden cost? To the families and loved ones—as I suspect Sean’s play explores? What about to those “others” in the movement for social justice, the others who make it a movement? A movement is not about one activist—it is about the masses of people taking history in their own hands, as has happened around the globe in this remarkable year of 2011, and acting, sometimes in extreme ways, to make dramatic changes.

Within such a mass movement, there is a need for those who can unify and bring folks together, who can help those new to activism make sense of events, who mentor and train a new generation. A mentor of mine once advanced a simple slogan for radical activists working in the unions and working class communities: “Mild in manner, bold in matter.” One can advance radical and bold, perhaps even extreme ideas but for everyday people to want to take them up, they must trust you. A mild manner goes a long way in building a relationship of trust—a wild and extreme demeanor is off-putting. It is when the ordinary people take history into their hands, pitch their tents in Tahrir Square, or Zucotti Park—it is then that history is made, not by individual extremists, but by the masses acting in their own interests.

Poet Stacy Sherlock at the November 2nd Poetry Reading

This poem was written by local actress/technician Stacy Sherlock when she heard about our poetry reading and vigil.

We walked slowly,
but with certain and steadily paced footing.
Your heart beat faster than the steps required.
It made me nervous
I clung with a tightened grip
small fingers wrapping round layers and layers and layers of fabric.
we walked slowly.
the air swept my lungs bringing warm scented meals from the streets around
a nostalgia for a childhood serving of comfort I would never know you to make.
as the affectionate spices faded into wafting warm breads baking
I examined a little boy and his mother happily grasping newly purchased sweet buns
you smiled watching me watching them
we walked slowly
you started to hold on tighter, so I did too.
we walked slowly
for a long time
The leaves were falling in our rhythm
They knew something I did not.
bright flashes flew past and vivid beauty of fall hugged the ground
we walked slowly
crunching, heavy foot crunching, intension crunching, crackle crunching.
we walked slowly
just as quickly as we arrived i was no longer yours.
Your warmth rushed to meet my face.
Fall consumed your entirety.
The colors which embraced the ground became uplifted
they rose inexplicably back to try and meet the trees.
to compromise.
You were caught in between natures negotiation.
a mediator between two sides of up and down.
the colors died out with your warmth.
the leaves fell down to once again meet the ground
all that used to be was the same
but there was a slow ripple of change
my fingers were wrapped around layers and layers and layers of
of.
a structure.
of.
of.
of newly woven fabric which would never smell of you.
we walked slowly
we continue to walk slowly
its hard, but we still do.
And I remember you.

Norman Morrison was an American Quaker who sacrificed his life by self-immolation at 5:20 pm on November 2, 1965, in a act of protest over the Vietnam War.  As an act of witness that inspired and catalyzed a nation into protest, his life and death inspired poets across the world to attempt to capture his mysterious final act.

As part of our outreach series The Activist City, Horseshoes & Hand Grenades wishes to commemorate the memory of Norman Morrison’s action with a reading of several of these poems, including “Chautauqua” by Hugh Ogden and “Emily, My Child” by Vietnamese poet laureate To Huu. We appreciate the participation of Kaitlin Gordon, Thai-Hoa Le, Stacy Sherlock, Aslam Husain, Diane Tucker and Evan Frayne (who plays Norman Morrison inRe:Union).

Following the poetry reading, we are very proud to present our special guest speaker Dr. Jerilynn Prior, who will present  “The Spiritual Activist: A contemporary Quaker talks about conscientious refusal to pay military taxes.”

Doors Open 5:10pm / Candle Lighting 5:20pm / Poetry Reading 5:30pm / Special Guest Talk 6:00pm / Suggested Donation $5 / a performance ofRe:Union will follow at 8:00pm

It’s a useful coincidence that Re:Union opened in the midst of one of the largest social/political movements this century – born in the Arab Spring, translated for the North American context by Vancouver-based AdBusters, developed by activists in Zucotti Park (aka Liberty Square) and now flowering in town squares around the globe. As Colin Thomas noted, the current context makes the play especially relevant. It asks each of us, what are you willing to do in the face of injustice?

After marching for various causes over the past 20 years, I have become lazy – an arm chair activist, clicking away at Avaaz links, sending occasional Amnesty International letters, and disseminating voting information to my students in a conscientiously non-partisan way. The last federal election results took the wind out of my sails. Why aren’t people voting? And why don’t I know anybody who is voting on the other side of the political spectrum? The designer search-engine algorithms that cater invisibly to our tastes had convinced me that my political analysis was common, widespread, that it was only a matter of the electorate reading the news, and change would come. When the momentum I felt with my friends proved to be a ripple, and not a wave, I didn’t know what to do. I continued the regular arts advocacy that is a part of all our jobs, and stewed.

The Occupy Vancouver protest outside the Vancouver Art Gallery. Photo Credit: Unknown

So it was with a sense of excitement and expectation that I made my way over to the Vancouver Art Gallery lawn on October 15^th. I had the day off from rehearsal, and managed to run into some other theatre makers in the large crowd gathered under sunny skies. We had a critical discussion about how the organizers were using the site and the pros and cons of using amplification. While we learned the hand signals through which we could participate in the group decision-making, I had a conversation that gave me hope. A guy standing beside me asked what was going on – what was this longwinded process happening on the steps of the art gallery? I explained that the consensus model was being explained and adopted. He suggested that they should just get to the issues. While the decisions were collectively made for how to administer a speaker list, how long speakers would be given to talk, and so on, I learned some more about my fellow protester.

“I work in that building right there,” he said, pointing to the HSBC tower glistening in the sun behind us. “They’re laying off 30,000 people. The system isn’t working for us either.”

And then we marched through the streets, and got excited about where it all could lead.

Photo Credit: VAUGHN WARREN

Time will tell if the Occupy movement will survive the attempts to move tent cities from public spaces in the name of fair use or public order. The Vancouver Sun reported today that both mainstream mayoral candidates want the movement to move out. The election on November 19^th may buy some time for the tenters. But in the meantime, I suggest we all read what a consensus-guided group of disparate people have written: a work in progress, like a play, made from ideas colliding between living people in a shared space. These are people who are giving up their comfort, their daily lives, to ignite a conversation for all of us. It’s a political theatre set that is open to whomever is willing, if we take the time out of our busy lives, to play a part in a collective action that might change our given circumstances.

The full text of the Occupy Vancouver statement is at this link, but there’s one line that takes me back to Re: Union, back to Norman Morrison, and what it means to be a person of conscience:

Injustice anywhere is injustice everywhere.

Ten years passed from the time of Norman Morrison’s death to the end of the Vietnam War. Do the intervening years make his act null and void? If corporate profiteering at the cost of social and economic justice doesn’t end by Christmas, are the Occupiers wrong?

We don’t need to borrow issues from Wall Street or the Arab Spring. We have plenty of injustice to own here on Coast Salish land, while glossy condo towers shed light on people sleeping on the street. I feel like I’ve been called to find my own actions, by two dramatically different experiences – a night in a dark theatre, and a day in the sunny street.

Injustice anywhere is injustice everywhere.

Heidi Taylor
Dramaturg
PTC

The Norman Morrison stamp referred to in Re:Union

Serendipity can be a wonderful and awesome thing. If you’ve seen Re:Union, you might recall that there’s a scene that includes mention of a postage stamp issued in 1965 by North Vietnam. The stamp bears Norman Morrison’s image, since he became an instant folk hero in that country. To this date, we’ve only ever seen this stamp online. But read below how some stamp collectors in Vancouver have a rare connection to Re:Union and Norman Morrison.

October 26, 2011

Dear Mr. Devine,

My name is Bob Ingraham, and I’m the Past President of the BC Philatelic Society. Yesterday I attended a meeting of the executive of the society. The president handed me a postcard advertising your play, Re:Union, knowing that I would be interested. Our vice-president, Trevor Larden, who also has an interest in the subject of your play, also got a card.

Trevor could tell his story better. In a nutshell, he travelled briefly with Norman Morrison and his wife in the eastern Mediterranean in the early 60s, and has a photograph he took of them.

Trevor and I were attending a “Show & Tell” meeting of our stamp club one night, when I happened to show a North Vietnam stamp commemorating Norman Morrison’s self-immolation. I don’t recall Trevor’s exact (and loud) words, but they were along the lines of “Good God! I don’t believe it!” He had not previously been aware of the existence of the stamp. He went on to explain how he had travelled briefly with Norman Morrison and his wife, and that he had a photograph of them which he had taken.

Bob's postcard with the Norman Morrison stamp.

Since that time, I have obtained a North Vietnam Red Cross cover posted to the South African Red Cross [which has] one of the Norman Morrison stamps. It’s probably not a rare cover, but it’s certainly not common, either. I’ve attached it to this email.

A note about my political background. When I joined the U.S. Navy in 1962, I naively thought that the world was at peace. I was almost a “born again anti-communist,” having been effectively brainwashed by my teachers and by a Catholic priest who held public anti-communist rallies.

I am a Vietnam veteran. I served as a hospital corpsman with the U.S. Marines in Quang Ngai Province from Jan. 28, 1966, until March 5th of the same year, when my company was ambushed by elements of an NVA regiment. My platoon commander was the first casualty, although he was not killed. By the end of the battle, my company counted 10 killed and 20 wounded. I was one of the wounded; early in the battle, an NVA bullet hit me above my right knee and nearly tore off my leg.

Best regards,

Bob

Playwright & Co-AD of Horseshoes and Hand Grenades, Sean Devine

Notes from playwright Sean Devine on RE:UNION.

I came across the life of Norman Morrison and his brave and mysterious act of sacrifice while researching Robert McNamara and Vietnam War-era politics for another play. I read a biography that focused on five individuals whose own lives served as political allegories for McNamara’s life and times. The chapter called ”The Burning of Norman R. Morrison” has since been read dozens of times, with more text underlined than not. Simply put, I was astonished at the mythical improbability, the unimaginable sense of mission, the surging and conflicting emotions that propelled a young husband and father, level-headed, somewhat reserved but always passionate, to get inside his car and drive off with his infant daughter to do what he did. For the sake of a nation of humans half a world away, none of whom he’d ever met, seen or spoken to. I’ve since been inside my own car with either of my two young children and tried to imagine how such a thing could be possible in a father’s mind: to say goodbye to your family forever, let alone to risk bringing your youngest child into the fire with you. I don’t know how he was able to do it, but I still feel only admiration for what he did. I can only use the word admiration because I’ve been told by Norman’s wife and daughter Emily that, without a shadow of a doubt, they remain proud of his choice and action on that day. 

Although I’m not sure if he coined the phrase, Norman Morrison once said that “Without the inspired act, no generation resumes the search for love.” The generation that Norman Morrison inspired emboldened themselves with a conviction of love for all humanity that helped topple unstoppable forces. It’s a beautiful concept to imagine that the power of love, light and courage can always outlive hate, darkness and fear.

Sean Devine

Sean:

I was deeply moved by your manuscript – it was both subtle and powerful; better, it made Norman, McNamara, and Emily real. The reenactment/practice scene with Emily and the pillow was particularly overwhelming.

These many decades later, those people matter more and the issues seem inconsequential. Perhaps it’s age and the waning of testosterone, or whatever chemical drives men (mostly) to acts of war, terror, heroism, self-sacrifice, stupidity, politics. Or perhaps it’s a certain cynicism – wisdom? – about the human prospect, now that I’ve lived long enough to see that the same errors, absurdities and cruelties go on forever, as Vietnam becomes Iraq / Afghanistan / Pakistan / Libya and as the Republican Party replays its role of the 1930′s by attempting to destroy all social reforms from the New Deal to the present, as witness the rise of the “Tea Party” and the debt limit gangsterism.

My cynicism/wisdom has not made me an apostate from liberal causes; I imagine myself with Eugene Debs, A.J. Muste, Norman Thomas as a radical to the end, unlike so many of those execrable neo-conservatives like Podhoretz, who dedicate their lives to proving Churchill’s aphorism about young abandoning their stupid hearts and socialism at 40 to assert their older but wiser brains.

If we live long enough, even old radicals may, as I have, find ourselves with a pleasant house in a forest, a couple of golden retrievers, a happy family, friends, hobbies, and perhaps enough Social Security and pension pittance to get to the end of our life expectancies reasonably comfortably. The idea of dying to stop arrogant shitheads from bombing or looting other presumptive shitheads seems ludicrous; violent idiocy is the ground of our being. Tend your own garden and rejoice that Robespierre or McNamara didn’t get you.

And yet…there were in my lifetime a New Deal and a Great Society; successful movements for black, gay and female rights; an end to the draft; a United Nations. Lots of decent people were crucified in the battles; to expect easy progress is childish and irresponsible; worse, it cedes the fight to the bad guys, who because they have guns and God and gold expect to win everything always.

So my heart wishes Norman were sitting on my back porch, looking out over the rural scenery he loved so much, bullshitting about the Good Struggles we had, while my head (and remaining testosterone) says no – we require heroes to call us to duty, to remind us that the sky is falling and the Visigoths are ascendant and that ass needs kicking, not sitting on.

Perhaps your play will provoke a few people to grapple with all of that. Hell, send Obama copy – maybe under the gauzy rhetoric and brainy calculation, there’s actually a heart. Or at least a bit of testosterone.

John Roemer