WHY WHY WHY can’t I change these insides?
sometimes stereotypes runs so rampant that they become your own
personal private facts
the fear gets inside your skin
Oh you can’t just relax
I saw them last night
or was it five years ago?
or was it
damn
it might’ve been the day I was born
shit I don’t know
even if I didn’t see ‘em
I mean they had to be there
it’s like this surgical dream team that can get
inside of your head
without touching your hair
then they split without stitches
taking nothing but leaving this semblance of
systematically inherent fear
come on, really?
you didn’t see ‘em?
your brain is so untouched you boast
well then why didn’t you vote for those gay rights?
oh I don’t know it’s gross
oh man but I have millions of gay friends
let ‘em homo up and down their houses
as long as they don’t hit on me
WELL SHIT, that sucks, and I want my brain back
but what’s one enlightened me
and maybe a couple million more gonna do
that simply won’t suffice and now I want
your brain back too
but I digress…
‘cause as I have my bony finger pointed
instructing you to pick up the slack
well, I just must not have noticed those other
three pointing right back
sayin’
you don’t admit it to yourself, but let’s be real man
you still see black
and there’s been battle inside my body and I will
FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT
but somewhere deep inside that battle camp
well those three fingers might be right
because I’ve witnessed this war waged
I’ve seen my heart throb
but there’s some secret subtle place in my cerebrum
those FUCKING surgeons did their job
Because WHY WHY WHY
when I’m walking down the street
I see my EYE
catch a man of different color who in thirty seconds
will walk BY
and I fight with my PRIDE
to not be an ignorant pussy and cross the street to
the other side
and I step out into my mind and see that
blinking red sign whispering
danger
somewhere on the inside
I see the perfect placement
so the surgeons must’ve got it right
because my inner arm’s about to break and
I still can’t turn out that light
so the battle blazes on
but I put my paper on peace and love
because fear’s the easy path
subtle individual acceptance
well that shit’s tough
but if you see them while you’re sleepin’
or you wake up and they’re still workin’
well you take that fuckin’ scalpel
and you kick out that subtle surgeon
---
Jonathan Sands is a graduate from Ohio University in Athens, Ohio, where he started his career as a performance writer in the oral tradition of beat poetry with strong influences from the world of hip hop. The goal remains intact to continue producing thought provoking poetry while continuing to rock your freakin’ socks off.
The book from which this poem is taken, In It’s Own Imaginative Engine, can be purchased online at www.jkpublishing.org or at Follett’s Bookstore or from CJ of JK Publishing Tuesday nights during Designated Space at the Donkey cafe, 9 p.m.
Feb 25, 2008
Being radical, active and free - Activist spotlight: Erika Hedin
In the last installment of Fall Quarter’s Athens Activist Spotlight, Ashley Ante and Damon Krane of The InterActivist spoke to Erika Hedin. This month we chose Erika because we thought it was time to give credit to one of Athens’ very own radical activists. She was excited to be spotlighted in this issue and her interview proves to be genuine and honest. If you’d like to catch up with Erika you’ll be sure to find her volunteering at The Wire or gracefully riding her bike around town.
The InterActivist: How did you first become involved in social justice activism here in Athens?
Erika Hedin: Activism became a major part of my life shortly before the war in Iraq “began.” [Though severely underreported in U.S. media, the U.S. continued to bomb Iraq from the end of the first Gulf War in 1991, throughout the Clinton years, right up to the Bush Administration’s invasion of Iraq in 2003, in what amounted to the largest U.S. bombing campaign since the Vietnam War. –ed.] I wasn’t just involved with anti-war activism though. I became involved with Positive Action and Feminist Coalition, which were two groups that were working towards redefining the world and the ways in which people interact. Most of the work I was doing was anti-authoritarian, pro-feminist, anti-capitalist, and environmentalist organizing.
IA: Has growing up in Athens influenced your activism?
EH: Growing up in Athens has definitely had a huge impact on my political and social beliefs, and the experiences that I’ve had. Athens, being a hub for radical activism since the 1960’s, provided me with so many awesome people and events to learn from.
There wasn’t really any one moment when I realized I had to change things. I was raised with values that were obvious; that no, it is not okay to oppress other people. No, it’s not okay to take more than what you actually deserve.
There are definitely people who influenced my life and decision making. Jaylynne Hutchinson was definitely, and still is, a huge and awesome part of my life. She’s really involved in the program I’m doing in school now.
There are a few events that were definitely very influential for me. Attending the Institute for Democracy in Education’s annual conference in Athens when I was still in high school was a defining event. I attended as a pre-service teacher, which was a pretty awesome experience as a student and as a future teacher.
The Second Annual DIY (Do it Yourself) Fest in 2002 was a really big changing experience for me as well. The DIY Fest didn’t happen the past couple years, but we’re resurrecting it this year, which I’m really excited about because it was such a big part of my life. It’ll be happening this upcoming spring, and it’s going to be hosted by a new group called the OU DIY club. The OU DIY club is a group that is pretty much bottom lining that project and other types of workshops and activities around DIY culture, beliefs and values.
The DIY festival focuses on the idea that you should be able to do things yourself; the idea that everyone has the capabilities, or should have the resources and the knowledge, to be able to provide for themselves. Everything from being able to fix your own bike, brew your own beer, heat your house with solar power, sew your clothes, and make your own food. Our culture is taking those things away from us and teaching us that we should just consume. DIY is an idea that we should do it ourselves or do it together.
IA: What kinds of issues, campaigns, and projects have you been involved with since then? Which ones have been successful? Unsuccessful?
EH: I’ve worked with groups to try to stop the Marathon Ashland Pipeline in Ohio, to save Dysart Woods from being undermined, to attempt to make Athens a more bike-friendly community, to open The Wire and on a variety of other projects that have been both small and large.
The campaign against Marathon Ashland Pipeline was in a lot of ways unsuccessful because they ended up putting the pipeline through the route we thought was the most destructive. It was the route we were most opposed to. It was really effective in the sense that it brought a group of people together in Athens, and for most of us it was our first experience doing radical environmental work. Most of us had done environmental work from more of a mainstream perspective, but we had never really considered the options of direct action. I actually didn’t do any direct action during that campaign because the weekend we were having the direct action training was also the same weekend they cut out a huge path for the pipeline. It was really one of those moments where you feel like you lost. However, it was the first time that such a solid group of people got together, and it was an awesome opportunity for networking and building a sense of community. In that respect, it was really successful. It’s import to recognize that just because you haven’t met all of your goals for a project there are often times underlying benefits to it.
People are still fighting to prevent mining under Dysart Woods. It’s a real struggle because it’s been ongoing for so long. In that respect, it’s really hard to find hope in it; that’s what the companies are doing – the tactic of drawing things out.
The Wire is a really awesome project that is doing amazingly well. We’re moving forward. We’ve come a really long way in the past three and a half – four years. There are really only two of us that have been involved from the very beginning and there are about three or four people who have been involved for a long time. So now, it’s really a huge group of new people. Projects like that, that can have new people but keep the same values, are definitely a sign of success.
IA: What are you currently focused on?
EH: Right now I’m mostly working on The Wire, volunteering in the bike shop and coordinating volunteers. I’d really like to get Hock-Hocking Earth First! back on it’s feet here in Athens. Athens is definitely in need of a radical environmental group with a “no-compromise” mindset. Riding bikes is also super important to me, and I want to see more people in Athens riding and feeling confident and safe on their bikes.
IA: Do you identify with any particular worldview or ideology? Are there certain basic values that motivate you? In the long-run, what exactly is it that you’re striving for?
EH: I am an anarchist. I want to live in a world that is free from hierarchy. I don’t believe in electing other people to make decisions for me but would rather work with people in small groups and make decisions by consensus. I think that everyone can bring valuable thoughts to the table, and it is important to hear all of those voices. I believe that civilization is destroying the earth, and is destroying itself, at an ever quickening pace. In order to live sustainably and healthy—both physically and mentally—we all need to work towards dismantling the gears of civilization.
Civilization is not only Western Culture but the existence of government and institutions that rely on hierarchy. It is also the empowerment of some people and the disempowerment of others. I think a lot of people aren’t really willing to say they’re “anti-civilizationists.” Although I would say I am an “anti-civilizationist,” I think it’s important to say that I don’t see this civilization falling in my lifetime. I would love to see that happen, but I don’t think it’s going to. However, at the same time I think it’s important to acknowledge that civilization is not something that I find value in or that I find to be a good thing for the earth or humanity. If we acknowledge that it’s not necessarily a good thing then we can step back from our role within civilization and look at it with more of a critique. In order to dismantle civilization, we need to do whatever is possible to work against it by creating relationships with each other, with the environment and with our non- oppressive and non-controlling allies as much as possible.
Even though I am for the dismantling of civilization, civilization is destroying itself. It’s obvious when you look around, and you see how much is happening everyday – the statistics about global warming and about the climate change. There’s going to be a point of no return and eventually civilization is going to collapse on itself. We’re getting closer and closer to that point. The fall is going to come much more so from natural disasters. Events like Hurricane Katrina and all the other earthquakes and natural disasters proves that. The people that were hurt from those disasters the most are the minorities. We, as activists, need to help civilization fall, but we also need to help those who are going to be hurt by the fall the most.
IA: Has your outlook on the world changed in response to your experiences as an activist?
EH: My activism and my experiences in traveling the U.S. have only reconfirmed and strengthened my beliefs. I’ve gone and seen so many awesome community projects. Some are very similar to The Wire, and some are really different. I’ve gotten to see how those groups have been successful and how they’ve failed. A lot of times, people feel that Athens is a bubble and that we’re the only ones that feel this way, but if you look around there are people all over the place doing the same thing, even people in southeastern Ohio. Meeting the people in West Virginia, during my time with the campaign against mountain top removal (Mountain Justice Summer), who were also, in their own way, “anti-civilizationists,” gave me the sense that I’m not alone. There’s an amazing community bike shop in Tucson, Arizona, Bicas. I would love to see The Wire’s bike shop learn from projects like that one.
IA: What inspires you as an activist? What depresses you?
EH: Seeing new people becoming involved is one of the things that excites me and inspires me the most. Seeing my friends who brought me into radical activism get burned out and leave activism is one of the most depressing things for me. When people drop out, they’ve said that they need to work to make their personal lives as sustainable and as healthy as possible. Although they might not be as active in the larger community, they’re still doing amazing work by creating relationships with their families and close knit communities. They’re still being completely radical in their concepts even thought they might not be as active. Maybe their politics have changed a little in what they view as most important.
I took a year off and lived in Detroit for a year, learning how to grow food with my friends and neighbors. But still the underlying message for me was I wanted to be an activist. I still have time to burn out, but I’ve taken an active enough role that I learned I can take little breaks. Burning out is not something I want to do.
Riding my bike is my favorite thing to do when I’m feeling stressed. A friend and I went on a bike trip this summer from Detroit to southwestern Virginia. It was one of the most rewarding vacations from activism that I’ve ever had, and yet I was still doing something that I think is important. Wouldn’t it be amazing if someday there were no more cars and all of our travel was human powered?
IA: You’ve left Athens for an extended period of time and then returned. How has that transition been?
EH: Leaving Athens and coming back has been one of the best things I’ve ever done. I love Athens with so much of my heart, but there are so many other things in other places that I’m so glad I’ve gotten to experience and learn from. It’s been so awesome to return and put all of that learned material into action in a place that is so important to me.
IA: How has being a woman grassroots organizer affected your issues, campaigns and projects?
EH: I guess it has affected the way that I perceive the world and the issues that are most important to me. I used to work blatantly on events and programming that was meant to empower women, and now I’ve more so brought feminist politics into all of my organizing. I think it’s important to look at the work that we do; to look at how it may be leaving out others, or be harder for women, people of color or other underrepresented people.
IA: What would you like to see happen in the local progressive community that’s not happening now?
EH: I’d like to see groups working together better on projects. So often I’ll be flyering for an event and see a flyer for another event on the same night on a similar topic hosted by another group. Athens is a small town. I don’t think that it should be as hard as it has been to keep from double booking the radical community.
I’d like Athens to be more open to political theory. A lot of times we move away from terminology that might be frightening to people. But I think it’s important to use terminology such as “radical,” “anarchist,” “feminist” and “anti-civilizationist.” They’re strong terms, and it’s important to understand what they mean to individuals. It’s important to use words and language because it strengthens our community so we can push ourselves further.
At the same time, I’m really interested in making spaces comfortable for everyone. The Wire is not an anarchist space. A lot of people have that misconception because some of the volunteers call themselves anarchists, but not everyone is, and that’s not the intention of The Wire. The intention is to be a community space for progressive thought and progressive politics. Just as you can be a multi-issue activist, you can be a multi-perspective person.
I think people are worried sometimes about labeling themselves for fear of getting put in a box. I worry about that too, but at the same time it is important for me to openly acknowledge that I’m a feminist, anarchist and environmentalist. Using labels can create a community. People who have the same thoughts and politics hear those words and then have a way to talk about those thoughts, along with another person’s face to go with the labels. It’s the realization that there are other people that are trying to live similarly. I don’t think many people realize that Athens hosted the North American Anarchist Convergence in 2004. There are a bunch of people in Athens who I would never have expected to come out for that. Community members came out, and they were definitely blown away about what that word may mean to individuals. It was really awesome to be an organizer for the Convergence and have a bunch of people come up to me and whisper in my ear and tell me, “Hey, I think I might be an anarchist.” •
The InterActivist: How did you first become involved in social justice activism here in Athens?
Erika Hedin: Activism became a major part of my life shortly before the war in Iraq “began.” [Though severely underreported in U.S. media, the U.S. continued to bomb Iraq from the end of the first Gulf War in 1991, throughout the Clinton years, right up to the Bush Administration’s invasion of Iraq in 2003, in what amounted to the largest U.S. bombing campaign since the Vietnam War. –ed.] I wasn’t just involved with anti-war activism though. I became involved with Positive Action and Feminist Coalition, which were two groups that were working towards redefining the world and the ways in which people interact. Most of the work I was doing was anti-authoritarian, pro-feminist, anti-capitalist, and environmentalist organizing.
IA: Has growing up in Athens influenced your activism?
EH: Growing up in Athens has definitely had a huge impact on my political and social beliefs, and the experiences that I’ve had. Athens, being a hub for radical activism since the 1960’s, provided me with so many awesome people and events to learn from.
There wasn’t really any one moment when I realized I had to change things. I was raised with values that were obvious; that no, it is not okay to oppress other people. No, it’s not okay to take more than what you actually deserve.
There are definitely people who influenced my life and decision making. Jaylynne Hutchinson was definitely, and still is, a huge and awesome part of my life. She’s really involved in the program I’m doing in school now.
There are a few events that were definitely very influential for me. Attending the Institute for Democracy in Education’s annual conference in Athens when I was still in high school was a defining event. I attended as a pre-service teacher, which was a pretty awesome experience as a student and as a future teacher.
The Second Annual DIY (Do it Yourself) Fest in 2002 was a really big changing experience for me as well. The DIY Fest didn’t happen the past couple years, but we’re resurrecting it this year, which I’m really excited about because it was such a big part of my life. It’ll be happening this upcoming spring, and it’s going to be hosted by a new group called the OU DIY club. The OU DIY club is a group that is pretty much bottom lining that project and other types of workshops and activities around DIY culture, beliefs and values.
The DIY festival focuses on the idea that you should be able to do things yourself; the idea that everyone has the capabilities, or should have the resources and the knowledge, to be able to provide for themselves. Everything from being able to fix your own bike, brew your own beer, heat your house with solar power, sew your clothes, and make your own food. Our culture is taking those things away from us and teaching us that we should just consume. DIY is an idea that we should do it ourselves or do it together.
IA: What kinds of issues, campaigns, and projects have you been involved with since then? Which ones have been successful? Unsuccessful?
EH: I’ve worked with groups to try to stop the Marathon Ashland Pipeline in Ohio, to save Dysart Woods from being undermined, to attempt to make Athens a more bike-friendly community, to open The Wire and on a variety of other projects that have been both small and large.
The campaign against Marathon Ashland Pipeline was in a lot of ways unsuccessful because they ended up putting the pipeline through the route we thought was the most destructive. It was the route we were most opposed to. It was really effective in the sense that it brought a group of people together in Athens, and for most of us it was our first experience doing radical environmental work. Most of us had done environmental work from more of a mainstream perspective, but we had never really considered the options of direct action. I actually didn’t do any direct action during that campaign because the weekend we were having the direct action training was also the same weekend they cut out a huge path for the pipeline. It was really one of those moments where you feel like you lost. However, it was the first time that such a solid group of people got together, and it was an awesome opportunity for networking and building a sense of community. In that respect, it was really successful. It’s import to recognize that just because you haven’t met all of your goals for a project there are often times underlying benefits to it.
People are still fighting to prevent mining under Dysart Woods. It’s a real struggle because it’s been ongoing for so long. In that respect, it’s really hard to find hope in it; that’s what the companies are doing – the tactic of drawing things out.
The Wire is a really awesome project that is doing amazingly well. We’re moving forward. We’ve come a really long way in the past three and a half – four years. There are really only two of us that have been involved from the very beginning and there are about three or four people who have been involved for a long time. So now, it’s really a huge group of new people. Projects like that, that can have new people but keep the same values, are definitely a sign of success.
IA: What are you currently focused on?
EH: Right now I’m mostly working on The Wire, volunteering in the bike shop and coordinating volunteers. I’d really like to get Hock-Hocking Earth First! back on it’s feet here in Athens. Athens is definitely in need of a radical environmental group with a “no-compromise” mindset. Riding bikes is also super important to me, and I want to see more people in Athens riding and feeling confident and safe on their bikes.
IA: Do you identify with any particular worldview or ideology? Are there certain basic values that motivate you? In the long-run, what exactly is it that you’re striving for?
EH: I am an anarchist. I want to live in a world that is free from hierarchy. I don’t believe in electing other people to make decisions for me but would rather work with people in small groups and make decisions by consensus. I think that everyone can bring valuable thoughts to the table, and it is important to hear all of those voices. I believe that civilization is destroying the earth, and is destroying itself, at an ever quickening pace. In order to live sustainably and healthy—both physically and mentally—we all need to work towards dismantling the gears of civilization.
Civilization is not only Western Culture but the existence of government and institutions that rely on hierarchy. It is also the empowerment of some people and the disempowerment of others. I think a lot of people aren’t really willing to say they’re “anti-civilizationists.” Although I would say I am an “anti-civilizationist,” I think it’s important to say that I don’t see this civilization falling in my lifetime. I would love to see that happen, but I don’t think it’s going to. However, at the same time I think it’s important to acknowledge that civilization is not something that I find value in or that I find to be a good thing for the earth or humanity. If we acknowledge that it’s not necessarily a good thing then we can step back from our role within civilization and look at it with more of a critique. In order to dismantle civilization, we need to do whatever is possible to work against it by creating relationships with each other, with the environment and with our non- oppressive and non-controlling allies as much as possible.
Even though I am for the dismantling of civilization, civilization is destroying itself. It’s obvious when you look around, and you see how much is happening everyday – the statistics about global warming and about the climate change. There’s going to be a point of no return and eventually civilization is going to collapse on itself. We’re getting closer and closer to that point. The fall is going to come much more so from natural disasters. Events like Hurricane Katrina and all the other earthquakes and natural disasters proves that. The people that were hurt from those disasters the most are the minorities. We, as activists, need to help civilization fall, but we also need to help those who are going to be hurt by the fall the most.
IA: Has your outlook on the world changed in response to your experiences as an activist?
EH: My activism and my experiences in traveling the U.S. have only reconfirmed and strengthened my beliefs. I’ve gone and seen so many awesome community projects. Some are very similar to The Wire, and some are really different. I’ve gotten to see how those groups have been successful and how they’ve failed. A lot of times, people feel that Athens is a bubble and that we’re the only ones that feel this way, but if you look around there are people all over the place doing the same thing, even people in southeastern Ohio. Meeting the people in West Virginia, during my time with the campaign against mountain top removal (Mountain Justice Summer), who were also, in their own way, “anti-civilizationists,” gave me the sense that I’m not alone. There’s an amazing community bike shop in Tucson, Arizona, Bicas. I would love to see The Wire’s bike shop learn from projects like that one.
IA: What inspires you as an activist? What depresses you?
EH: Seeing new people becoming involved is one of the things that excites me and inspires me the most. Seeing my friends who brought me into radical activism get burned out and leave activism is one of the most depressing things for me. When people drop out, they’ve said that they need to work to make their personal lives as sustainable and as healthy as possible. Although they might not be as active in the larger community, they’re still doing amazing work by creating relationships with their families and close knit communities. They’re still being completely radical in their concepts even thought they might not be as active. Maybe their politics have changed a little in what they view as most important.
I took a year off and lived in Detroit for a year, learning how to grow food with my friends and neighbors. But still the underlying message for me was I wanted to be an activist. I still have time to burn out, but I’ve taken an active enough role that I learned I can take little breaks. Burning out is not something I want to do.
Riding my bike is my favorite thing to do when I’m feeling stressed. A friend and I went on a bike trip this summer from Detroit to southwestern Virginia. It was one of the most rewarding vacations from activism that I’ve ever had, and yet I was still doing something that I think is important. Wouldn’t it be amazing if someday there were no more cars and all of our travel was human powered?
IA: You’ve left Athens for an extended period of time and then returned. How has that transition been?
EH: Leaving Athens and coming back has been one of the best things I’ve ever done. I love Athens with so much of my heart, but there are so many other things in other places that I’m so glad I’ve gotten to experience and learn from. It’s been so awesome to return and put all of that learned material into action in a place that is so important to me.
IA: How has being a woman grassroots organizer affected your issues, campaigns and projects?
EH: I guess it has affected the way that I perceive the world and the issues that are most important to me. I used to work blatantly on events and programming that was meant to empower women, and now I’ve more so brought feminist politics into all of my organizing. I think it’s important to look at the work that we do; to look at how it may be leaving out others, or be harder for women, people of color or other underrepresented people.
IA: What would you like to see happen in the local progressive community that’s not happening now?
EH: I’d like to see groups working together better on projects. So often I’ll be flyering for an event and see a flyer for another event on the same night on a similar topic hosted by another group. Athens is a small town. I don’t think that it should be as hard as it has been to keep from double booking the radical community.
I’d like Athens to be more open to political theory. A lot of times we move away from terminology that might be frightening to people. But I think it’s important to use terminology such as “radical,” “anarchist,” “feminist” and “anti-civilizationist.” They’re strong terms, and it’s important to understand what they mean to individuals. It’s important to use words and language because it strengthens our community so we can push ourselves further.
At the same time, I’m really interested in making spaces comfortable for everyone. The Wire is not an anarchist space. A lot of people have that misconception because some of the volunteers call themselves anarchists, but not everyone is, and that’s not the intention of The Wire. The intention is to be a community space for progressive thought and progressive politics. Just as you can be a multi-issue activist, you can be a multi-perspective person.
I think people are worried sometimes about labeling themselves for fear of getting put in a box. I worry about that too, but at the same time it is important for me to openly acknowledge that I’m a feminist, anarchist and environmentalist. Using labels can create a community. People who have the same thoughts and politics hear those words and then have a way to talk about those thoughts, along with another person’s face to go with the labels. It’s the realization that there are other people that are trying to live similarly. I don’t think many people realize that Athens hosted the North American Anarchist Convergence in 2004. There are a bunch of people in Athens who I would never have expected to come out for that. Community members came out, and they were definitely blown away about what that word may mean to individuals. It was really awesome to be an organizer for the Convergence and have a bunch of people come up to me and whisper in my ear and tell me, “Hey, I think I might be an anarchist.” •
Up in Arms - Group Spotlight
October was a busy month for one of OU’s newest progressive groups, Up In Arms. The group wrote, directed, and produced its own politically-charged performance, “Burlesque for the Body Politik.” Despite the time consuming nature of putting on a production of this scale, performers Manda Leigh Martin and Kat Primeau, and technical director Liz Eggert, were able to say a few words about this new and exciting campus group.
The InterActivist: What is Up In Arms all about?
Manda Martin: Up In Arms is a network of activists on campus and throughout the Athens community working together to promote progressive awareness, action, and change through art and media. That’s our official tag line. What does that mean? We want to enable the voice of what has become a very large body of dissatisfied and questioning members of the community, by connecting them to like-minded people and facilitating the production of politically-provocative art, music, dance, film, theater, etc.
IA: What prompted you to form a group like this?
MM: Last year a group of students within the School of Theater got together to try and produce a production of Tony Kushner’s “A Bright Room Called Day,” which is about German artists and intellectuals during the rise of the Third Reich and their varying responses to it. Unfortunately our busy schedules prevailed and we never produced the play, but the conversations that happened around reading that script led a lot of us to want to create more political work. Then when Kat Primeau and I studied abroad in London for spring quarter, we were seeing a lot of political theater, and our conversations continued, until we got back to Athens and decided to really establish something. So we pulled the Bright Room group back together and put the word out among our friends outside of the School of Theater, and Up In Arms was born. The group became official just this quarter, getting University group status at the end of September.
Liz Eggert: Well, I got involved this summer while talking to some girls that are present members. It sounded like a really great chance to do some of the stuff we have all wanted to see done for a long time. Members of the group started playing around with the idea of the burlesque around this time… and from there it turned into a show that a lot of really great people were involved in.
Kat Primeau: I can’t even count the number of times I have found myself in a conversation with complete strangers about what could/should be produced on a campus with as many progressive, talented, motivated students as OU has to offer. With Manda, I finally found someone willing to put in the legwork and get it organized. It feels good to stop philosophizing and start working.
IA: Tell us a little bit about your recent performance, “Burlesque for the Body Politik.”
MM: “Burlesque for the Body Politik” was our first production and fundraiser. We began the night with music from Daniel Schwartz and some of the members of the Princes of Hollywood, Fokushima, and other local musicians. The burlesque show itself was song and dance numbers featuring members of Up In Arms and sketch comedy from Black Sheep Inc., a spin-off group from Lost Flamingo Company. All of the acts were satirical, and addressed a range of national and election issues. We also screened Chris Coogan’s “Why Vote?” video, which was a series of interviews with students around campus; we displayed the artwork of Bill Anderson around the Blue Gator; and representatives from InterAct, People Might, Planned Parenthood of Southeast Ohio, College Dems, and The Wire were all available with voter information and literature on election issues.
LE: Each girl who proposed a song got to pick a theme for that song, and had the chance to express opinions on matters that were important to her, and her group. As a whole, it was a very collaborative process, everyone had a say as to what they wanted the show to look like, sound like and feel like, which was extremely important to all of us involved.
IA: Are there any future shows planned as of yet?
MM: Right now we are developing a production of “My Name is Rachel Corrie,” which will be produced by The InterActivist’s own Kelsey McCoy, and directed by Kat Primeau to go up in March for the anniversary of Rachel’s death. In addition to that, we’re also developing a political poetry group, a t-shirt campaign, and possibly another play for next quarter as well. The wonderful thing is that we have so many people within our network that we have the ability to produce a lot of work.
KP: Theatre may not be able to change the world, but witnessing the passion and eloquence of a woman [Rachel Corrie] who, had she not been killed by a bulldozer in Palestine, would be considered my peer, will undoubtedly remind audience members of their own drive to change the ways of the world.
LE: Most everything is still in the works, but we are working very hard to make these things happen. Keep posted, it will be a trip to see what we come up with next. To me that is the whole fun of the process.
IA: It’s really exciting to see politically-charged performances in the forefront of the Athens art scene. What is your opinion on the importance of the artist’s voice in the realm of politics?
LE: Politically-charged art reaches a crowd that is creative and interested. This is why it is so important to create this kind of art so that that crowd can be involved as well. Art attracts a younger crowd as well, which is also extremely important. Political art is important to me because it seems to broaden the political audience. We should all be aware of our surroundings and our world, and if we can help educate people interested in this medium then we have widened the political audience, and I can say that we have done our jobs.
MM: As an artist and a politically-driven person, I know the obligation I feel to communicate my opinions and understanding of where we are as a county through my art, and I think a lot of the members of the group can empathize with that, which is why we’ve come together to support one another’s voice. I’m of the conviction that art reaches people on a different level than just watching the news or reading a newspaper, especially when people’s distrust of media bias is at an all-time high.
KP: For me, performance is the best medium for expressing my frustrations and concerns for the state of American affairs. I love Fine Arts and have faith in the communicative power of live performance, so a pre-election show seemed only logical.
IA: Do people have to be artists or actors to join Up In Arms?
MM: No, not at all. We depend on a wide-range of people and their abilities to produce our work, and beyond that we value and thrive on a variety of perspectives, opinions, and ideas.
LE: If art or theater is something that you enjoy, but don’t avidly participate in, you have every invitation to feed us your opinions. That to me is what this is all about, getting people to think in creative ways. If this is something you could become interested in then by all means please contact us. •
For more information or to volunteer for one of its productions, contact Up In Arms at upinarmsgroup@hotmail.com or join their facebook group “Up In Arms.”
The InterActivist: What is Up In Arms all about?
Manda Martin: Up In Arms is a network of activists on campus and throughout the Athens community working together to promote progressive awareness, action, and change through art and media. That’s our official tag line. What does that mean? We want to enable the voice of what has become a very large body of dissatisfied and questioning members of the community, by connecting them to like-minded people and facilitating the production of politically-provocative art, music, dance, film, theater, etc.
IA: What prompted you to form a group like this?
MM: Last year a group of students within the School of Theater got together to try and produce a production of Tony Kushner’s “A Bright Room Called Day,” which is about German artists and intellectuals during the rise of the Third Reich and their varying responses to it. Unfortunately our busy schedules prevailed and we never produced the play, but the conversations that happened around reading that script led a lot of us to want to create more political work. Then when Kat Primeau and I studied abroad in London for spring quarter, we were seeing a lot of political theater, and our conversations continued, until we got back to Athens and decided to really establish something. So we pulled the Bright Room group back together and put the word out among our friends outside of the School of Theater, and Up In Arms was born. The group became official just this quarter, getting University group status at the end of September.
Liz Eggert: Well, I got involved this summer while talking to some girls that are present members. It sounded like a really great chance to do some of the stuff we have all wanted to see done for a long time. Members of the group started playing around with the idea of the burlesque around this time… and from there it turned into a show that a lot of really great people were involved in.
Kat Primeau: I can’t even count the number of times I have found myself in a conversation with complete strangers about what could/should be produced on a campus with as many progressive, talented, motivated students as OU has to offer. With Manda, I finally found someone willing to put in the legwork and get it organized. It feels good to stop philosophizing and start working.
IA: Tell us a little bit about your recent performance, “Burlesque for the Body Politik.”
MM: “Burlesque for the Body Politik” was our first production and fundraiser. We began the night with music from Daniel Schwartz and some of the members of the Princes of Hollywood, Fokushima, and other local musicians. The burlesque show itself was song and dance numbers featuring members of Up In Arms and sketch comedy from Black Sheep Inc., a spin-off group from Lost Flamingo Company. All of the acts were satirical, and addressed a range of national and election issues. We also screened Chris Coogan’s “Why Vote?” video, which was a series of interviews with students around campus; we displayed the artwork of Bill Anderson around the Blue Gator; and representatives from InterAct, People Might, Planned Parenthood of Southeast Ohio, College Dems, and The Wire were all available with voter information and literature on election issues.
LE: Each girl who proposed a song got to pick a theme for that song, and had the chance to express opinions on matters that were important to her, and her group. As a whole, it was a very collaborative process, everyone had a say as to what they wanted the show to look like, sound like and feel like, which was extremely important to all of us involved.
IA: Are there any future shows planned as of yet?
MM: Right now we are developing a production of “My Name is Rachel Corrie,” which will be produced by The InterActivist’s own Kelsey McCoy, and directed by Kat Primeau to go up in March for the anniversary of Rachel’s death. In addition to that, we’re also developing a political poetry group, a t-shirt campaign, and possibly another play for next quarter as well. The wonderful thing is that we have so many people within our network that we have the ability to produce a lot of work.
KP: Theatre may not be able to change the world, but witnessing the passion and eloquence of a woman [Rachel Corrie] who, had she not been killed by a bulldozer in Palestine, would be considered my peer, will undoubtedly remind audience members of their own drive to change the ways of the world.
LE: Most everything is still in the works, but we are working very hard to make these things happen. Keep posted, it will be a trip to see what we come up with next. To me that is the whole fun of the process.
IA: It’s really exciting to see politically-charged performances in the forefront of the Athens art scene. What is your opinion on the importance of the artist’s voice in the realm of politics?
LE: Politically-charged art reaches a crowd that is creative and interested. This is why it is so important to create this kind of art so that that crowd can be involved as well. Art attracts a younger crowd as well, which is also extremely important. Political art is important to me because it seems to broaden the political audience. We should all be aware of our surroundings and our world, and if we can help educate people interested in this medium then we have widened the political audience, and I can say that we have done our jobs.
MM: As an artist and a politically-driven person, I know the obligation I feel to communicate my opinions and understanding of where we are as a county through my art, and I think a lot of the members of the group can empathize with that, which is why we’ve come together to support one another’s voice. I’m of the conviction that art reaches people on a different level than just watching the news or reading a newspaper, especially when people’s distrust of media bias is at an all-time high.
KP: For me, performance is the best medium for expressing my frustrations and concerns for the state of American affairs. I love Fine Arts and have faith in the communicative power of live performance, so a pre-election show seemed only logical.
IA: Do people have to be artists or actors to join Up In Arms?
MM: No, not at all. We depend on a wide-range of people and their abilities to produce our work, and beyond that we value and thrive on a variety of perspectives, opinions, and ideas.
LE: If art or theater is something that you enjoy, but don’t avidly participate in, you have every invitation to feed us your opinions. That to me is what this is all about, getting people to think in creative ways. If this is something you could become interested in then by all means please contact us. •
For more information or to volunteer for one of its productions, contact Up In Arms at upinarmsgroup@hotmail.com or join their facebook group “Up In Arms.”
Faces from Darfur
A single face—sometimes that’s all it takes. Sometimes we get so lost in all the numbers and the statistics that we forget we are actually hearing about real situations, real people and real lives.
We have all heard about the atrocities that have occurred, and are still occurring in Sudan; the innocent lives lost, women and children raped, civilians misplaced from their homes, and even children abducted into slavery.
But how much are we actually concerned with these people suffering half-way around the world? Sure, we can donate $10 here and $20 there. Maybe we could even spare a couple hours to help raise funds for Save Darfur or Amnesty International, or write petitions to our congressmen and women to take action. But until we really see the people who are suffering, until we actually hear their personal stories and the suffering they have individually encountered, the problems in Sudan will remain just that—in Sudan. It takes a face and a person to bring these problems home.
After reading Slave: My True Story by Mende Nazer and Damien Lewis, and Escape from Slavery by Francis Bok, I was completely blown away by their experiences. I had always been interested in the Sudan genocide and the slavery that was occurring, but the complete devastation of the whole situation never really clicked in my mind until reading their stories.
Although Nazer and Bok’s enslavement mainly took place during the ’90s, similar situations are still occurring today in the Darfur region. Also, some slaves abducted at the same time as Nazer and Bok still remain in bondage today.
First meet Nazer from the Nuba tribe of south Sudan’s Nuba Mountains. After 12 peaceful years of childhood, her family awoke one night to Arab raiders burning their village and killing their fellow people. Nazer was separated from her family among the panic and terror, and was forced by an Arab to join 30 other Nuba children in the forest. One boy told her how the raiders slit his mother’s throat and then killed his twin baby sisters in front of him, just before they dragged him away.
During the raid, Nazer saw Arabs pin down Nuba women and girls, and rip off their clothes. In her autobiography she said, “Thinking back on this now, if the guards had just raped me that night and left me behind in the forest, that would have been a good thing compared to what really happened to me.”
The men on horseback took Nazer and the other children away and began to sexually molest and assault them. “He [the horseman] started to force my legs apart. Each time I tried to push them together again, he hit me hard around the face…I felt my flesh tearing…” Nazer said.
Many of the other Nuba girls had also been raped and were in more pain than Nazer was. She had learned Arabic in school and could understand the men laughing with one another and saying, “I enjoyed it so much. I wish it could go on for ever and ever!”
Nazer was sold as a domestic servant to a woman in Khartoum, Sudan’s capital. She slept very little and was in charge of caring for the woman’s children, cleaning the entire house daily, cooking all the meals, and doing the dishes and the laundry by hand. The woman called her, “Yebit,” an Arabic insult that translates to “girl worthy of no name.” When Nazer accidentally broke a vase while dusting, her master slapped her and exclaimed, “This one vase is worth more than your whole filthy tribe!”
Nazer’s master beat her many more times for other small infractions, and often for no reason at all. One time after making a mistake, her master began screaming at her and punched her so hard that she fell back and deeply cut her leg on the corner of a table. Nazer had to be taken to the hospital, where her master told her to lie and say she was a servant and was being paid for her work.
Nazer was Muslim, like her master, but she was found praying, her master said, “So, now you’re trying to copy us, are you? Do you really think prayers are for people like you?” After that incident, her master would always try to prevent her from praying and would tell her that Islam wasn’t for black people.
“After all those years, [my master] had completely destroyed my sense of my own identity and my own self-worth. I believed that I was no longer valuable as a human being. I believed that I didn’t deserve to be paid for my work. I lived in a state of complete terror of her. And I was still only a child. To rebel against the woman whom I called ‘master’ and who called me ‘slave’ had become unthinkable,” Nazer said.
Eventually though, Nazer was sent to work for her master’s sister in London and was able to escape with the help of another Nuba there. She is one of the fortunate few south Sudanese that has escaped and can tell her story of slavery.
The second author who gives a face to Sudanese slavery is Bok. His story begins similarly. He had a peaceful childhood growing up in a Dinka village about 60 miles from the river separating northern and southern Sudan.
At seven years old, he and some friends were abducted during a raid at a nearby market. The Arab raiders killed every Dinka man and captured the women and children. The children were loaded on a donkey carrier and scared to silence, except for two sisters who were crying incessantly. A militiaman tried to shake one to silence and when she just cried harder, he shot her in the head. After that, the other sister began to cry harder and another militiaman sliced off her leg with a sword. Bok said, “A large fear sat on top of us with so much weight that we were unable to utter even a sound.”
One of the raiders took Bok home, where the raider’s children began dancing around Bok, beating him with sticks and chanting, “abeed, abeed!” (slave). Eventually, Bok herded 200 goats and sheep every day for his master. If he ever complained, his master would threaten to chop off his legs, which had happened to another young local Dinka slave.
Bok’s master forced him to become Muslim, made him say prayers with the family, and gave him a new name. Although most of the time, his master called him, “jedut,” which Bok later learned means maggot.
One day Bok asked his master, “Why does no one love me?” and “Why do you make me sleep with the animals?” His master beat him, yelled at him and replied, “Because you are an animal.”
After 10 years of slavery and two unsuccessful escape attempts, Bok prepared for one last try. In his book he said, “If someone caught me, I vowed to tell them to kill me. I would fight them to make sure they killed me, because I could not be a slave again. And if they didn’t kill me, I would kill myself. I refused to live as a slave any longer.”
Finally, he escaped successfully to Matari, the largest town in the area, where he went to the local police. Instead of receiving help after his 10-year enslavement, the Matari police made Bok their own slave until he escaped again, a few months later.
This time Bok ended up in Jabarona, a refugee camp in Khartoum, where he was arrested 11 days after arrival because the police said, “You have been saying you are an escaped slave; making antigovernment statements.” The Arab raiders who had abducted Bok had been supported by the Sudan government.
After seven months of imprisonment, Bok was released after an official met with him and said, “You will not say bad things about the government again.”
After escaping his first enslavement of 10 years, escaping his enslavement from the local police and suffering through imprisonment and torture for speaking about his enslavement, Bok finally made it to freedom. He now works for the American Anti-Slavery Group in Boston and has literally become a face for the anti-slave movement in Sudan.
Nazer and Bok represent two of the thousands of children and innocent people who have been abducted into slavery in Sudan, and the many who are still being abducted in Darfur. However horrible Nazer and Bok’s stories may be, they are actually the lucky ones—they got out.
Their autobiographies help to shine a light on the slavery problem in Sudan by allowing people like us—sitting comfortably and freely in our own homes or college dorms half-way around the world—to realize and understand the severity of the problem and the lives that are being torn apart.
I have only covered a minimal part of Nazer and Bok’s incredible stories. There are a lot of political circumstances surrounding each of their escapes to freedom that are not mentioned here, but are definitely worth reading about.
With winter break quickly approaching, I urge you to add both of these books to the top of your reading list. They will make you weep of despair, scream of frustration, cry for justice, and most importantly think of the faces beyond the numbers. •
We have all heard about the atrocities that have occurred, and are still occurring in Sudan; the innocent lives lost, women and children raped, civilians misplaced from their homes, and even children abducted into slavery.
But how much are we actually concerned with these people suffering half-way around the world? Sure, we can donate $10 here and $20 there. Maybe we could even spare a couple hours to help raise funds for Save Darfur or Amnesty International, or write petitions to our congressmen and women to take action. But until we really see the people who are suffering, until we actually hear their personal stories and the suffering they have individually encountered, the problems in Sudan will remain just that—in Sudan. It takes a face and a person to bring these problems home.
After reading Slave: My True Story by Mende Nazer and Damien Lewis, and Escape from Slavery by Francis Bok, I was completely blown away by their experiences. I had always been interested in the Sudan genocide and the slavery that was occurring, but the complete devastation of the whole situation never really clicked in my mind until reading their stories.
Although Nazer and Bok’s enslavement mainly took place during the ’90s, similar situations are still occurring today in the Darfur region. Also, some slaves abducted at the same time as Nazer and Bok still remain in bondage today.
First meet Nazer from the Nuba tribe of south Sudan’s Nuba Mountains. After 12 peaceful years of childhood, her family awoke one night to Arab raiders burning their village and killing their fellow people. Nazer was separated from her family among the panic and terror, and was forced by an Arab to join 30 other Nuba children in the forest. One boy told her how the raiders slit his mother’s throat and then killed his twin baby sisters in front of him, just before they dragged him away.
During the raid, Nazer saw Arabs pin down Nuba women and girls, and rip off their clothes. In her autobiography she said, “Thinking back on this now, if the guards had just raped me that night and left me behind in the forest, that would have been a good thing compared to what really happened to me.”
The men on horseback took Nazer and the other children away and began to sexually molest and assault them. “He [the horseman] started to force my legs apart. Each time I tried to push them together again, he hit me hard around the face…I felt my flesh tearing…” Nazer said.
Many of the other Nuba girls had also been raped and were in more pain than Nazer was. She had learned Arabic in school and could understand the men laughing with one another and saying, “I enjoyed it so much. I wish it could go on for ever and ever!”
Nazer was sold as a domestic servant to a woman in Khartoum, Sudan’s capital. She slept very little and was in charge of caring for the woman’s children, cleaning the entire house daily, cooking all the meals, and doing the dishes and the laundry by hand. The woman called her, “Yebit,” an Arabic insult that translates to “girl worthy of no name.” When Nazer accidentally broke a vase while dusting, her master slapped her and exclaimed, “This one vase is worth more than your whole filthy tribe!”
Nazer’s master beat her many more times for other small infractions, and often for no reason at all. One time after making a mistake, her master began screaming at her and punched her so hard that she fell back and deeply cut her leg on the corner of a table. Nazer had to be taken to the hospital, where her master told her to lie and say she was a servant and was being paid for her work.
Nazer was Muslim, like her master, but she was found praying, her master said, “So, now you’re trying to copy us, are you? Do you really think prayers are for people like you?” After that incident, her master would always try to prevent her from praying and would tell her that Islam wasn’t for black people.
“After all those years, [my master] had completely destroyed my sense of my own identity and my own self-worth. I believed that I was no longer valuable as a human being. I believed that I didn’t deserve to be paid for my work. I lived in a state of complete terror of her. And I was still only a child. To rebel against the woman whom I called ‘master’ and who called me ‘slave’ had become unthinkable,” Nazer said.
Eventually though, Nazer was sent to work for her master’s sister in London and was able to escape with the help of another Nuba there. She is one of the fortunate few south Sudanese that has escaped and can tell her story of slavery.
The second author who gives a face to Sudanese slavery is Bok. His story begins similarly. He had a peaceful childhood growing up in a Dinka village about 60 miles from the river separating northern and southern Sudan.
At seven years old, he and some friends were abducted during a raid at a nearby market. The Arab raiders killed every Dinka man and captured the women and children. The children were loaded on a donkey carrier and scared to silence, except for two sisters who were crying incessantly. A militiaman tried to shake one to silence and when she just cried harder, he shot her in the head. After that, the other sister began to cry harder and another militiaman sliced off her leg with a sword. Bok said, “A large fear sat on top of us with so much weight that we were unable to utter even a sound.”
One of the raiders took Bok home, where the raider’s children began dancing around Bok, beating him with sticks and chanting, “abeed, abeed!” (slave). Eventually, Bok herded 200 goats and sheep every day for his master. If he ever complained, his master would threaten to chop off his legs, which had happened to another young local Dinka slave.
Bok’s master forced him to become Muslim, made him say prayers with the family, and gave him a new name. Although most of the time, his master called him, “jedut,” which Bok later learned means maggot.
One day Bok asked his master, “Why does no one love me?” and “Why do you make me sleep with the animals?” His master beat him, yelled at him and replied, “Because you are an animal.”
After 10 years of slavery and two unsuccessful escape attempts, Bok prepared for one last try. In his book he said, “If someone caught me, I vowed to tell them to kill me. I would fight them to make sure they killed me, because I could not be a slave again. And if they didn’t kill me, I would kill myself. I refused to live as a slave any longer.”
Finally, he escaped successfully to Matari, the largest town in the area, where he went to the local police. Instead of receiving help after his 10-year enslavement, the Matari police made Bok their own slave until he escaped again, a few months later.
This time Bok ended up in Jabarona, a refugee camp in Khartoum, where he was arrested 11 days after arrival because the police said, “You have been saying you are an escaped slave; making antigovernment statements.” The Arab raiders who had abducted Bok had been supported by the Sudan government.
After seven months of imprisonment, Bok was released after an official met with him and said, “You will not say bad things about the government again.”
After escaping his first enslavement of 10 years, escaping his enslavement from the local police and suffering through imprisonment and torture for speaking about his enslavement, Bok finally made it to freedom. He now works for the American Anti-Slavery Group in Boston and has literally become a face for the anti-slave movement in Sudan.
Nazer and Bok represent two of the thousands of children and innocent people who have been abducted into slavery in Sudan, and the many who are still being abducted in Darfur. However horrible Nazer and Bok’s stories may be, they are actually the lucky ones—they got out.
Their autobiographies help to shine a light on the slavery problem in Sudan by allowing people like us—sitting comfortably and freely in our own homes or college dorms half-way around the world—to realize and understand the severity of the problem and the lives that are being torn apart.
I have only covered a minimal part of Nazer and Bok’s incredible stories. There are a lot of political circumstances surrounding each of their escapes to freedom that are not mentioned here, but are definitely worth reading about.
With winter break quickly approaching, I urge you to add both of these books to the top of your reading list. They will make you weep of despair, scream of frustration, cry for justice, and most importantly think of the faces beyond the numbers. •
The Darfur genocide: not on my watch
“What happened then is one of the world’s biggest regrets. Many members of the international community have apologized to me and stated that they did not know the horrendous atrocities that occurred. I responded, ‘If you know now, then what are you doing in the Congo? Darfur? Somalia? The whole of Africa, which is burning?’”
Does this quote sound familiar? Last year at the Templeton-Blackburn Alumni Memorial auditorium, a man named Paul Rusesabagina said these words as he recalled personal experiences of surviving the Rwanda genocide. Though looking regretfully into the past, he came with the purpose of motivating students to act to change the present, specifically aiming at the genocide that has been occurring for the last three years in Darfur, Sudan.
The Darfur region in Western Sudan is home to one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world. Like most African nations, Sudan has been politically, economically, and socially unstable for decades. It was not until February 2003 though, that the violent outbreak of what is now known as the first genocide of the 21st century erupted. The victims are African tribal groups or non-Arabs, and these people have long been discriminated against by the Arab-dominated government.
An uprising against government officials by Africans resulted in the unleashing of a group called the Janjaweed. Meaning “lawless person” in local dialect, the Janjaweed is an Arab militia of around 20,000 men, mainly on horse and camel. The militia was sent to systematically destroy the lives and homes of the Africans. Men and boys are killed first automatically, women and girls are raped and abducted, villages looted and burned, water sources poisoned, and any means of agricultural production is torn up. Cattle are looted, and fruit trees cut down. The Janjaweed will stop at nothing.
Depending on who you talk to, the statistics of this situation vary greatly. Some say only 70,000 have been killed so far, some say 100,000 die every month. The number that seems to be the most accepted is 200,000, though calculating the death toll is almost impossible at this point, with much of Darfur inaccessible to aid workers and researchers. Another controversial figure pertains to the displacement of people, but 2.5 million is the number most commonly accepted. Most of these refugees have fled to Chad, Sudan’s neighboring country. Refugee camps have been set up there and all around Darfur.
It must be understood that these camps are not so much of a safe-haven from the conflict, but rather an even bigger target, or a weaker prey for the brutal predator. Inside, the victims suffer from overcrowding and severe food, water, and shelter shortages. There is always the risk of an outbreak of waterborne diseases such as cholera and dysentery, along with malaria. Outside, the Janjaweed patrol. Men are almost never sent to look for firewood or more water; upon leaving the camps they are either castrated and left to bleed to death, or simply killed. The women have taken it upon themselves to walk for miles every day to find water, knowing that that they will be raped, but at least not killed. This is the daily life and struggle for a Darfurian refugee.
“I was sleeping when the attack on Disa [a village] started. I was taken away by the attackers, they were all in uniforms. They took dozens of other girls and made us walk for three hours. During the day we were beaten and they were telling us, ‘You, the black women, we will exterminate you, you have no god.’ At night we were raped several times. The Arabs guarded us with arms and we were not given food for three days,” a female refugee from Disa recounted.
“When we tried to escape they shot more children. They raped women; I saw many cases of Janjaweed raping women and girls. They are happy when they rape. They sing when they rape and they tell that we are just slaves and that they can do with us how they wish,” another female refugee recounts.
What is being done to help the people of Darfur? The United States has been the most generous contributor of humanitarian assistance, and there are few agencies with aid workers throughout the region, but in general the government of Khartoum, Darfur’s capital, refuses the entry of most agencies, both governmental and non-governmental. It is a difficult situation for the international community, specifically for America. The Bush administration is stuck in their efforts to end Sudan’s north-south war that has been going on since the early 80s, and to secure intelligence on terrorism (Bin Laden has strong connections with the Sudanese government, run by the National Islamic Front). There is a widespread reluctance to push Khartoum too hard on the Darfur issue, while in the final steps of a supposed peace of the on-going conflict between north and south Sudan.
A peace deal between one of the three main African rebel groups and the government was signed in May of this year, but ironically the violence only escalated afterward. In recent months the United States and other members of the international community have been pressuring Khartoum to allow a UN peacekeeping force to take the place of some 7,000 African Union (AU) troops. The AU is known for their inability to secure the situation and to protect the people, due to lack of funds and equipment. Providing a group of 20,000 UN peacekeepers was an idea proposed to assist, if not take the place of the AU troops; however, as previously mentioned, the Sudanese government has repeatedly refused access to areas in dire need of assistance, and the entry of humanitarian aid.
Activism for this issue is on the rise. After over three years, people are realizing that the Darfur genocide is really happening and more importantly, that it is only getting worse. In the last few months alone, there have been several rallies at the local, national, and international level, and the US government seems to be listening. Pressure on Khartoum is rising every day, and members of Congress and the UN are speaking out more on the issue.
By sheer luck, coincidence, and the ever-surprising phenomenon of timing, a few months ago I had the opportunity to speak with President Bush on the matter. I thanked him for his efforts and tried to be positive by mentioning the progress we’ve made. He however, immediately counter-acted my enthusiasm with emotionally crinkled eyebrows and a stern face, and assured me that there is still very much to be done. After stressing the importance of this issue he thanked me for my concern.
Our voices are being heard, on both small and large scales. This is something that’s not going to end on its own. It is our obligation to admit that without humanitarian assistance in the near-future, the people of Darfur will only be subjected to more torture and hatred, and when the time comes that the world discovers the absolute truth of all the atrocities and injustice that is occurring, we will find ourselves lost in the large number of the death toll. Last year at the TBAMA, Rusesabagina recalled his personal experiences of surviving the Rwanda genocide, and was quick to point out another absolute truth. “This is a shame to mankind. And the whole world is standing by observing.” •
Does this quote sound familiar? Last year at the Templeton-Blackburn Alumni Memorial auditorium, a man named Paul Rusesabagina said these words as he recalled personal experiences of surviving the Rwanda genocide. Though looking regretfully into the past, he came with the purpose of motivating students to act to change the present, specifically aiming at the genocide that has been occurring for the last three years in Darfur, Sudan.
The Darfur region in Western Sudan is home to one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world. Like most African nations, Sudan has been politically, economically, and socially unstable for decades. It was not until February 2003 though, that the violent outbreak of what is now known as the first genocide of the 21st century erupted. The victims are African tribal groups or non-Arabs, and these people have long been discriminated against by the Arab-dominated government.
An uprising against government officials by Africans resulted in the unleashing of a group called the Janjaweed. Meaning “lawless person” in local dialect, the Janjaweed is an Arab militia of around 20,000 men, mainly on horse and camel. The militia was sent to systematically destroy the lives and homes of the Africans. Men and boys are killed first automatically, women and girls are raped and abducted, villages looted and burned, water sources poisoned, and any means of agricultural production is torn up. Cattle are looted, and fruit trees cut down. The Janjaweed will stop at nothing.
Depending on who you talk to, the statistics of this situation vary greatly. Some say only 70,000 have been killed so far, some say 100,000 die every month. The number that seems to be the most accepted is 200,000, though calculating the death toll is almost impossible at this point, with much of Darfur inaccessible to aid workers and researchers. Another controversial figure pertains to the displacement of people, but 2.5 million is the number most commonly accepted. Most of these refugees have fled to Chad, Sudan’s neighboring country. Refugee camps have been set up there and all around Darfur.
It must be understood that these camps are not so much of a safe-haven from the conflict, but rather an even bigger target, or a weaker prey for the brutal predator. Inside, the victims suffer from overcrowding and severe food, water, and shelter shortages. There is always the risk of an outbreak of waterborne diseases such as cholera and dysentery, along with malaria. Outside, the Janjaweed patrol. Men are almost never sent to look for firewood or more water; upon leaving the camps they are either castrated and left to bleed to death, or simply killed. The women have taken it upon themselves to walk for miles every day to find water, knowing that that they will be raped, but at least not killed. This is the daily life and struggle for a Darfurian refugee.
“I was sleeping when the attack on Disa [a village] started. I was taken away by the attackers, they were all in uniforms. They took dozens of other girls and made us walk for three hours. During the day we were beaten and they were telling us, ‘You, the black women, we will exterminate you, you have no god.’ At night we were raped several times. The Arabs guarded us with arms and we were not given food for three days,” a female refugee from Disa recounted.
“When we tried to escape they shot more children. They raped women; I saw many cases of Janjaweed raping women and girls. They are happy when they rape. They sing when they rape and they tell that we are just slaves and that they can do with us how they wish,” another female refugee recounts.
What is being done to help the people of Darfur? The United States has been the most generous contributor of humanitarian assistance, and there are few agencies with aid workers throughout the region, but in general the government of Khartoum, Darfur’s capital, refuses the entry of most agencies, both governmental and non-governmental. It is a difficult situation for the international community, specifically for America. The Bush administration is stuck in their efforts to end Sudan’s north-south war that has been going on since the early 80s, and to secure intelligence on terrorism (Bin Laden has strong connections with the Sudanese government, run by the National Islamic Front). There is a widespread reluctance to push Khartoum too hard on the Darfur issue, while in the final steps of a supposed peace of the on-going conflict between north and south Sudan.
A peace deal between one of the three main African rebel groups and the government was signed in May of this year, but ironically the violence only escalated afterward. In recent months the United States and other members of the international community have been pressuring Khartoum to allow a UN peacekeeping force to take the place of some 7,000 African Union (AU) troops. The AU is known for their inability to secure the situation and to protect the people, due to lack of funds and equipment. Providing a group of 20,000 UN peacekeepers was an idea proposed to assist, if not take the place of the AU troops; however, as previously mentioned, the Sudanese government has repeatedly refused access to areas in dire need of assistance, and the entry of humanitarian aid.
Activism for this issue is on the rise. After over three years, people are realizing that the Darfur genocide is really happening and more importantly, that it is only getting worse. In the last few months alone, there have been several rallies at the local, national, and international level, and the US government seems to be listening. Pressure on Khartoum is rising every day, and members of Congress and the UN are speaking out more on the issue.
By sheer luck, coincidence, and the ever-surprising phenomenon of timing, a few months ago I had the opportunity to speak with President Bush on the matter. I thanked him for his efforts and tried to be positive by mentioning the progress we’ve made. He however, immediately counter-acted my enthusiasm with emotionally crinkled eyebrows and a stern face, and assured me that there is still very much to be done. After stressing the importance of this issue he thanked me for my concern.
Our voices are being heard, on both small and large scales. This is something that’s not going to end on its own. It is our obligation to admit that without humanitarian assistance in the near-future, the people of Darfur will only be subjected to more torture and hatred, and when the time comes that the world discovers the absolute truth of all the atrocities and injustice that is occurring, we will find ourselves lost in the large number of the death toll. Last year at the TBAMA, Rusesabagina recalled his personal experiences of surviving the Rwanda genocide, and was quick to point out another absolute truth. “This is a shame to mankind. And the whole world is standing by observing.” •
Up close and personal with College Republicans
I recently had a thrilling encounter with the rare and beautiful campus conservatus at a College Republicans club meeting in Baker’s 1954 room.
I entered to find the club’s Executive Board addressing the meeting from a front desk. I made a quick head count; 40 students and maybe two or three others. It was the largest gathering of campus conservatus I had ever witnessed.
The meeting focused on local campaigns and the work the club would do for them. Jokes and comments kept the meeting lively.
My attention soon began to wander, and after about 10 minutes, I was wondering what actually went on at the post-meeting socials everyone kept referring to. That’s when I got the secret message.
“You should be more careful next time you try to practice espionage,” the voice whispered as several clipboards with volunteer sign-up sheets plopped on my lap. I looked up to find myself face-to-face with a very serious campus consvervitus.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about man,” I stammered. “I’m just a freelance journalist. Here, do you want to look at my notes?” He glanced down, apologized, and returned to his seat. My heart raced as I recorded the encounter in my notes: “conservatus thinks I’m a spy!” At the end of the general meeting I made a break for the door. My campus conservitus followed me out.
“Get some good notes in there?” He asked.
“Nothing too juicy,” I replied. We introduced ourselves and left Baker to talk on the street. My new friend was freshman Dennis Normile. He had recently looked into military service, but decided to come to OU and work for the local Republicans.
“We are very paranoid,” he said during our lengthy discourse. Apparently there had been Democratic infiltrators at previous meetings, and it would be a mistake to let, “The Enemy,” as he called them, get their hands on any campaign plans.
I decided to track down this “Enemy” and get some answers. I found him disguised as an R.A. in Bryan Hall. He is Mark Gaffney, president of the College Democrat’s statewide organization and former president of the OU Democrats.
“There has never been a spy component to our plan,” Gaffney told me. “What kind of information could we get from their meetings?”
Gaffney pointed me in the direction of current College Democrats Executive President Rob Dorans, who agreed with Gaffney, saying spying doesn’t usually occur on the local level like it does at the state or national level.
“It basically comes down to rumor and innuendo, and in this business that can mean fact,” he said. “The College Democrats and Republicans are more like rival fraternities who tear down each others signs and go over each others chalk on campus.”
Both Gaffney and Dorans said they never suspected that Republicans spy on them, though they each mentioned that the College Democrats have had to identify and remove College Republicans members on their e-mail list-serve.
So according to the Democrats, given that they can be trusted, Republicans have no reason to worry about spies. So why did I startle them so much? I decided to take my question to the top of the ladder; College Republicans President Jordan Carr, the most powerful of the campus conservitus. I tracked him down on his home turf after another College Republicans meeting.
“Everybody knows each other,” Carr told me. “There are very few secrets in campus politics.”
So, why mistake me, a college kid with a notebook, for a spy?
“Democrats have come to our meetings,” Carr said. “We have had, you know, a spy, someone who’s obviously not a Republican.”
What, do I look like Elton John or something?
Gaffney suggested the paranoia of campus conservatus may be due to their hostile environment. I agreed, after all it can’t be easy to survive in a habitat full of liberal intellectuals, pot-smoking college kids and wild-eyed lefties calling for peace and lunacy. Perhaps the Republicans have just adapted to Athens.
Then again, what does Gaffney know anyway? Partisan leaders don’t give straight answers; they say what benefits their party the most. No wonder the stories didn’t add up. The only person who was genuine with me was Dennis, even if he did think I was a spy. I decided to call him up and let him have the last word.
During my second conversation with Dennis, we discussed this piece a bit, but there was much more to talk about. We talked issues, continuing a conversation we had started after our initial misunderstanding. Together we remembered growing up Catholic and joked about partisan bickering. We dissected the drug war and neo-conservatism. I changed my mind.
Dennis, I never told you that I was anti-Republican for most of my life. I never told you that I’m an anarchist because I figured “libertarian” sounded less scary. As it turns out, none of that matters. We are just two people figuring out our world, and when we talk, I feel that the borders drawn between us vanish. Dennis, I never told you because you already knew. Thanks. •
I entered to find the club’s Executive Board addressing the meeting from a front desk. I made a quick head count; 40 students and maybe two or three others. It was the largest gathering of campus conservatus I had ever witnessed.
The meeting focused on local campaigns and the work the club would do for them. Jokes and comments kept the meeting lively.
My attention soon began to wander, and after about 10 minutes, I was wondering what actually went on at the post-meeting socials everyone kept referring to. That’s when I got the secret message.
“You should be more careful next time you try to practice espionage,” the voice whispered as several clipboards with volunteer sign-up sheets plopped on my lap. I looked up to find myself face-to-face with a very serious campus consvervitus.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about man,” I stammered. “I’m just a freelance journalist. Here, do you want to look at my notes?” He glanced down, apologized, and returned to his seat. My heart raced as I recorded the encounter in my notes: “conservatus thinks I’m a spy!” At the end of the general meeting I made a break for the door. My campus conservitus followed me out.
“Get some good notes in there?” He asked.
“Nothing too juicy,” I replied. We introduced ourselves and left Baker to talk on the street. My new friend was freshman Dennis Normile. He had recently looked into military service, but decided to come to OU and work for the local Republicans.
“We are very paranoid,” he said during our lengthy discourse. Apparently there had been Democratic infiltrators at previous meetings, and it would be a mistake to let, “The Enemy,” as he called them, get their hands on any campaign plans.
I decided to track down this “Enemy” and get some answers. I found him disguised as an R.A. in Bryan Hall. He is Mark Gaffney, president of the College Democrat’s statewide organization and former president of the OU Democrats.
“There has never been a spy component to our plan,” Gaffney told me. “What kind of information could we get from their meetings?”
Gaffney pointed me in the direction of current College Democrats Executive President Rob Dorans, who agreed with Gaffney, saying spying doesn’t usually occur on the local level like it does at the state or national level.
“It basically comes down to rumor and innuendo, and in this business that can mean fact,” he said. “The College Democrats and Republicans are more like rival fraternities who tear down each others signs and go over each others chalk on campus.”
Both Gaffney and Dorans said they never suspected that Republicans spy on them, though they each mentioned that the College Democrats have had to identify and remove College Republicans members on their e-mail list-serve.
So according to the Democrats, given that they can be trusted, Republicans have no reason to worry about spies. So why did I startle them so much? I decided to take my question to the top of the ladder; College Republicans President Jordan Carr, the most powerful of the campus conservitus. I tracked him down on his home turf after another College Republicans meeting.
“Everybody knows each other,” Carr told me. “There are very few secrets in campus politics.”
So, why mistake me, a college kid with a notebook, for a spy?
“Democrats have come to our meetings,” Carr said. “We have had, you know, a spy, someone who’s obviously not a Republican.”
What, do I look like Elton John or something?
Gaffney suggested the paranoia of campus conservatus may be due to their hostile environment. I agreed, after all it can’t be easy to survive in a habitat full of liberal intellectuals, pot-smoking college kids and wild-eyed lefties calling for peace and lunacy. Perhaps the Republicans have just adapted to Athens.
Then again, what does Gaffney know anyway? Partisan leaders don’t give straight answers; they say what benefits their party the most. No wonder the stories didn’t add up. The only person who was genuine with me was Dennis, even if he did think I was a spy. I decided to call him up and let him have the last word.
During my second conversation with Dennis, we discussed this piece a bit, but there was much more to talk about. We talked issues, continuing a conversation we had started after our initial misunderstanding. Together we remembered growing up Catholic and joked about partisan bickering. We dissected the drug war and neo-conservatism. I changed my mind.
Dennis, I never told you that I was anti-Republican for most of my life. I never told you that I’m an anarchist because I figured “libertarian” sounded less scary. As it turns out, none of that matters. We are just two people figuring out our world, and when we talk, I feel that the borders drawn between us vanish. Dennis, I never told you because you already knew. Thanks. •
A land mine of sorts - Dispatches from the holy land
About a month ago, while living on a kibbutz at the northern tip of Israel’s Negev desert, I had my first frightening encounter with Israeli racism. It was only a matter of time.
It started when my friends and I met a group of Israeli Arabs staying on the kibbutz while they butchered meat in an area slaughterhouse for the upcoming Jewish holidays. Israeli Arabs are citizens of the state who live within Israeli territory, primarily in segregated villages where infrastructure and educational needs are bureaucratically ignored by the Israeli government. Theoretically, Israeli Arabs possess full and equal rights, though this is not the case in practice.
Having assumed that the kibbutz would be completely segregated, we were surprised to find the workers living nearby and decided to make friends. Many of them were around our age and were extremely welcoming. We drank coffee and smoked cigarettes in their room, speaking in Hebrew about Nazareth, Israeli women, etc. For a bunch of inexperienced young American Jews, this was an interesting and unexpected social interaction.
Our third visit, however, wrought significant drama. After leaving the workers’ room, one of my friends realized that she had left her cell phone inside. When she tried to retrieve it, they denied that the phone was there and refused to return it. When another friend tried calling the vmissing cell phone, no one heard a ring as it had apparently been shut off and hidden.
Though only a petty theft, the aftermath of this incident embodied some of the volatile tensions in Israeli society. My friend–extremely irritated–reported the stolen phone to the kibbutz manager, a college-educated young woman who responded with alarming fury. Such a theft was intolerable; she insisted that the entire group of a dozen or so workers be kicked off the kibbutz and their employer never again house butchers there. She sanctimoniously informed us that this is what we get for befriending the workers because this is what Arabs do: They lie and cheat and steal. She apologized for not calling the group Israelis, but to her, “They are only Israelis on paper, they are not real Israelis.”
Fearing lost wages if kicked off the kibbutz, our more familiar acquaintances quickly spoke up and offered to cover the cost of the phone. It became clear through our conversation that one individual was primarily responsible for the theft, and that forcing the entire group off the kibbutz was an unfair collective punishment.
Ultimately, their employer fired the responsible worker so that the rest of the group could stay through the duration of their employment. Yet the whole saga remains profoundly unsettling. The irrational rage that the kibbutz manager unleashed reflects an Israeli social order that breeds fear and hatred and refuses to acknowledge, among its Arab neighbors, the legitimacy of working for one’s livelihood. She instantaneously labeled every Arab guest as guilty, reflecting the hypocritical application of judicial ethics: Any principle of due process applies only to Jews.
Furthermore, my friends and I spontaneously came to possess an absurd amount of power over the lives of people we knew absolutely nothing about. As a group of privileged American post-graduates spending a year abroad for our own edification, we found several much older men–laboring for their own and their families’ subsistence–begging us to allow them to stay. As guests of the Israeli kibbutzniks, we were allied with the authoritative party, so should we have persisted in our outrage, the kibbutz manager would have kicked out the entire group. Since we were tepid with our blame, she decided to be lenient.
The overall lesson is a depressing one: It is practically impossible for Jewish Israelis to integrate Arab Israelis into their midst with any shard of equality. The workers were on the kibbutz to fill a labor void and to bring revenue to the kibbutz; they were allowed to stay only out of paranoid and reluctant pragmatism. When the tiniest of crises reared its head, the response of the Israeli woman in charge was pathological. As her guest, she expected us to adopt such a tic ourselves. •
Sidebar:
Israeli demographics
According to the CIA World Factbook (https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook) the total Israeli population is 6,352,117. 74.6% (approximately 4.74 million) of the population is Jewish, 23.6% (1.5 million) Arab. Some segments of the Jewish population live in areas that the international community does not recognize as Israeli territory: about 187,000 Israeli settlers in the West Bank, about 20,000 in the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights on the Syrian border, and about 177,000 in East Jerusalem.
The Arab population can be divided into three categories: Israelis with citizenship (above), residents of Israeli territory that do not have citizenship, and citizens of territory governed by the Palestinian Authority in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. It is not clear how Arab residents of Israel who do not hold citizenship are counted in these statistics. Territories controlled by the Palestinian Authority: 1,428,757 Arab Muslims in Gaza, and 2,460,492 in the West Bank.
----
Kibbutzim
The kibbutz (plural: kibbutzim) is an important installation in Israeli society. Kibbutzim were founded around the time of Israeli independence in the 1940s and 1950s as experimental socialist farms, driven by an ideology of Jews connecting with their land through manual labor. In the decades since their founding, kibbutzim have become progressively privatized and now employ many foreign laborers, primarily Thai, as well as Israeli Arabs, to perform the more undesirable labor. Currently, approximately 3 percent of the Israeli population lives on kibbutzim.
It started when my friends and I met a group of Israeli Arabs staying on the kibbutz while they butchered meat in an area slaughterhouse for the upcoming Jewish holidays. Israeli Arabs are citizens of the state who live within Israeli territory, primarily in segregated villages where infrastructure and educational needs are bureaucratically ignored by the Israeli government. Theoretically, Israeli Arabs possess full and equal rights, though this is not the case in practice.
Having assumed that the kibbutz would be completely segregated, we were surprised to find the workers living nearby and decided to make friends. Many of them were around our age and were extremely welcoming. We drank coffee and smoked cigarettes in their room, speaking in Hebrew about Nazareth, Israeli women, etc. For a bunch of inexperienced young American Jews, this was an interesting and unexpected social interaction.
Our third visit, however, wrought significant drama. After leaving the workers’ room, one of my friends realized that she had left her cell phone inside. When she tried to retrieve it, they denied that the phone was there and refused to return it. When another friend tried calling the vmissing cell phone, no one heard a ring as it had apparently been shut off and hidden.
Though only a petty theft, the aftermath of this incident embodied some of the volatile tensions in Israeli society. My friend–extremely irritated–reported the stolen phone to the kibbutz manager, a college-educated young woman who responded with alarming fury. Such a theft was intolerable; she insisted that the entire group of a dozen or so workers be kicked off the kibbutz and their employer never again house butchers there. She sanctimoniously informed us that this is what we get for befriending the workers because this is what Arabs do: They lie and cheat and steal. She apologized for not calling the group Israelis, but to her, “They are only Israelis on paper, they are not real Israelis.”
Fearing lost wages if kicked off the kibbutz, our more familiar acquaintances quickly spoke up and offered to cover the cost of the phone. It became clear through our conversation that one individual was primarily responsible for the theft, and that forcing the entire group off the kibbutz was an unfair collective punishment.
Ultimately, their employer fired the responsible worker so that the rest of the group could stay through the duration of their employment. Yet the whole saga remains profoundly unsettling. The irrational rage that the kibbutz manager unleashed reflects an Israeli social order that breeds fear and hatred and refuses to acknowledge, among its Arab neighbors, the legitimacy of working for one’s livelihood. She instantaneously labeled every Arab guest as guilty, reflecting the hypocritical application of judicial ethics: Any principle of due process applies only to Jews.
Furthermore, my friends and I spontaneously came to possess an absurd amount of power over the lives of people we knew absolutely nothing about. As a group of privileged American post-graduates spending a year abroad for our own edification, we found several much older men–laboring for their own and their families’ subsistence–begging us to allow them to stay. As guests of the Israeli kibbutzniks, we were allied with the authoritative party, so should we have persisted in our outrage, the kibbutz manager would have kicked out the entire group. Since we were tepid with our blame, she decided to be lenient.
The overall lesson is a depressing one: It is practically impossible for Jewish Israelis to integrate Arab Israelis into their midst with any shard of equality. The workers were on the kibbutz to fill a labor void and to bring revenue to the kibbutz; they were allowed to stay only out of paranoid and reluctant pragmatism. When the tiniest of crises reared its head, the response of the Israeli woman in charge was pathological. As her guest, she expected us to adopt such a tic ourselves. •
Sidebar:
Israeli demographics
According to the CIA World Factbook (https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook) the total Israeli population is 6,352,117. 74.6% (approximately 4.74 million) of the population is Jewish, 23.6% (1.5 million) Arab. Some segments of the Jewish population live in areas that the international community does not recognize as Israeli territory: about 187,000 Israeli settlers in the West Bank, about 20,000 in the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights on the Syrian border, and about 177,000 in East Jerusalem.
The Arab population can be divided into three categories: Israelis with citizenship (above), residents of Israeli territory that do not have citizenship, and citizens of territory governed by the Palestinian Authority in the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. It is not clear how Arab residents of Israel who do not hold citizenship are counted in these statistics. Territories controlled by the Palestinian Authority: 1,428,757 Arab Muslims in Gaza, and 2,460,492 in the West Bank.
----
Kibbutzim
The kibbutz (plural: kibbutzim) is an important installation in Israeli society. Kibbutzim were founded around the time of Israeli independence in the 1940s and 1950s as experimental socialist farms, driven by an ideology of Jews connecting with their land through manual labor. In the decades since their founding, kibbutzim have become progressively privatized and now employ many foreign laborers, primarily Thai, as well as Israeli Arabs, to perform the more undesirable labor. Currently, approximately 3 percent of the Israeli population lives on kibbutzim.
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