Friday, February 13, 2015
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
ACCIDENTAL FICTION
I wrote my novel by accident.
My goal was to address a gap in Holocaust education and encourage educators to consider two rarely asked questions:
When we teach about Holocaust history, what's the best way to include—alongside Jewish Holocaust narratives—the Roma, disabled, homosexual, political, and many other victims of Nazism? And why are these victim groups so often forgotten?
When we teach about Holocaust history, what's the best way to include—alongside Jewish Holocaust narratives—the Roma, disabled, homosexual, political, and many other victims of Nazism? And why are these victim groups so often forgotten?
To address that gap, I started to create educational materials and easy-to-implement lesson plans for teachers and school districts interested in these hidden histories. But putting together an educational unit around historical data that relied on encyclopedic reports full of dry facts and figures wasn't cutting it.
After all, much of Holocaust education is taught through compelling film (Schindler's List, The Pianist, The Diary of Anne Frank, Fateless, and so on) and fiction (Number The Stars, The Book Thief, The Devil's Arithmetic, The Reader, and others), all of which humanize history through individual stories. These books and movies go beyond dates and events to underscore key concepts of human behavior in the lead up and response to genocide.
And so I began to write a series of vignettes to make the narratives of Roma, homosexual, disabled, political, and other victims of Nazism engaging and relevant to middle school and high school students. Based on historical truth, I created a handful of fictional characters—all teenagers—each of whom, through a compelling short story, would represent the central narrative of a distinct victim community.
To tie the stories together, I set the stories in Nazi-era Berlin. And I found a way to place them all in early 1943. To stress the immediacy of each narrative, I wrote each story in present tense, first person so that events were unfolding in the moment.
For example, here, nineteen-year-old Tsura, a young Romani woman, is plotting to free her family from Marzahn, a Nazi encampment for 'Gypsies' at the edge of Berlin:
Biting the skin on my chapped lips, I walk almost as fast as
the chilling wind slipping between my neck and turned-up collar.
The woolen overcoat hides the curves of my breasts and my
dark hair is tucked tight into a flat cap. I look like a man—
intentionally so—and feel stronger for it.
Surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly), as those single stories developed, they became entwined with one another.
Ruth and Alex, I discovered, are step-siblings. And Elise saves the life of street-smart Marko after they run into each other in Berlin's Hakescher Market. Elise, I realized, is a member of the Nazi Girls' League, but rarely talks about it to her best friend, Ruth. Meanwhile, Marko's sister Tsura, a member of an anti-Nazi resistance group, is over-protective of her younger cousin Kizzy who hates being treated like a kid. I also discovered that two of the characters are in love (take a guess which two!).
For example, here, nineteen-year-old Tsura, a young Romani woman, is plotting to free her family from Marzahn, a Nazi encampment for 'Gypsies' at the edge of Berlin:
Biting the skin on my chapped lips, I walk almost as fast as
the chilling wind slipping between my neck and turned-up collar.
The woolen overcoat hides the curves of my breasts and my
dark hair is tucked tight into a flat cap. I look like a man—
intentionally so—and feel stronger for it.
Surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly), as those single stories developed, they became entwined with one another.
Ruth and Alex, I discovered, are step-siblings. And Elise saves the life of street-smart Marko after they run into each other in Berlin's Hakescher Market. Elise, I realized, is a member of the Nazi Girls' League, but rarely talks about it to her best friend, Ruth. Meanwhile, Marko's sister Tsura, a member of an anti-Nazi resistance group, is over-protective of her younger cousin Kizzy who hates being treated like a kid. I also discovered that two of the characters are in love (take a guess which two!).
I was suddenly writing my first novel and it was turning into a bit of a page-turner!
I shared my first draft of TRAIN with some friends, colleagues, and members of my family who were as excited to read my book as I loved writing it. Their feedback led to a few more drafts and submissions to literary agents and a couple of publishers.
While I received flurries of rejections, a number of scholars and educators in the Holocaust education field were getting excited about the book and its accompanying curriculum.
A series of introductions and exciting moments led me to author and editor Christa Desir. Christa became my editor and, as soon as she took a look at my opening chapters, she pointed out a problem (echoed in the feedback I'd already received):
With multiple voices narrating interweaving accounts in present tense, first person, TRAIN wasn't working. The style was too jarring. And the individual voices sounded too similar. It all had to become one story.
I rewrote the first chapters of TRAIN in past tense, third person close point-of-view. The new style seemed to work. I was able to tell the story and still retain the important thoughts spinning inside the head of each central character. Here's the same scene as above, now re-written, plus a little more:
They'll never know we were here.
No sound. No impression in the dirt. Tsura had learned to keep
her head below the brick walls of the city. To become the shadows
and sidestep the light. She could recite each route by heart. Over
railway lines and through private gardens, across main roads and
public parks. But some checkpoints were impossible to avoid.
A crowd had gathered close to the U-Bahn station. Two young
soldiers blocked the entrance.
"What's going on?" Tsura asked them.
"The train station is closed," one of the soldiers said. He held
out his gloved hand. "Papers?"
Tsura handed over her identity documents for inspection. "What
happened?"
"Someone fell on the tracks."
"Why are you dressed like a man?" the second soldier asked,
rifle at his side.
Tsura pointed at the sleeves of his jacket which didn't even
reach his wrists. "Why are you dressed like a schoolboy?"
The other soldier laughed. As he unfolded and checked her
papers, his grin widened. "Nice to meet you, Greta. We share a
birthday."
"Lucky me," Tsura said. Her fake smile matched her false
identity.
I rewrote the first chapters of TRAIN in past tense, third person close point-of-view. The new style seemed to work. I was able to tell the story and still retain the important thoughts spinning inside the head of each central character. Here's the same scene as above, now re-written, plus a little more:
They'll never know we were here.
No sound. No impression in the dirt. Tsura had learned to keep
her head below the brick walls of the city. To become the shadows
and sidestep the light. She could recite each route by heart. Over
railway lines and through private gardens, across main roads and
public parks. But some checkpoints were impossible to avoid.
A crowd had gathered close to the U-Bahn station. Two young
soldiers blocked the entrance.
"What's going on?" Tsura asked them.
"The train station is closed," one of the soldiers said. He held
out his gloved hand. "Papers?"
Tsura handed over her identity documents for inspection. "What
happened?"
"Someone fell on the tracks."
"Why are you dressed like a man?" the second soldier asked,
rifle at his side.
Tsura pointed at the sleeves of his jacket which didn't even
reach his wrists. "Why are you dressed like a schoolboy?"
The other soldier laughed. As he unfolded and checked her
papers, his grin widened. "Nice to meet you, Greta. We share a
birthday."
"Lucky me," Tsura said. Her fake smile matched her false
identity.
Today, I reached an exciting milestone. I've re-written all of TRAIN in the past tense, third person close. And I just sent the manuscript to Christa for comments.
Although anything could happen on this exciting journey toward publication, there's a chance TRAIN (and its accompanying curriculum) will be in print and online in early 2015. Stay tuned.
(Post updated in December 2014 to reflect recent manuscript edits.)
Although anything could happen on this exciting journey toward publication, there's a chance TRAIN (and its accompanying curriculum) will be in print and online in early 2015. Stay tuned.
(Post updated in December 2014 to reflect recent manuscript edits.)
Saturday, May 17, 2014
SEEING EACH OTHER THROUGH STORIES
From the front of my classroom, Anne points up at the
photograph on the screen. Twenty-five students sit shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes forward.
“Why don’t you request a bigger classroom?” my students
often ask. I tell them that I’ve taught in larger rooms before, but the additional
space seems to extinguish our energy. The smaller classroom, I find, keeps us
closer physically and perhaps emotionally. We can see each other’s responses. We
can hear each other’s whispers.
We stare at the screen on which Anne is projecting beautiful
photographs of women, and some men, from around the world. They are survivors
of sexual violence. As we look at each face captured in a bright smile or a solemn
stare, Anne recounts a story.
A white-haired elderly woman, smiling with her eyes and her
teeth, sits at a table in what looks like a café, next to a younger woman with
black hair who pushes her smiling face against the face of her friend. Anne
tells us that both women were raped by the same man. The room is silent.
Anne points to another photograph. A woman wears a kitchen
apron and smiles down at her grinning six-year-old daughter. What makes this
photograph all the more poignant, Anne explains, is that the woman had been six
years old when she was raped. She kept the secret for ten years.
My thoughts take me to my plans for this weekend.
In a few hours, I’ll be leaving my laptop at home and
traveling for a week – with a group of new colleagues and friends – to the
Dominican Republic as a Global Justice Fellow of the American Jewish World Service. We’ll be touring Santo Domingo and the surrounding area, learning
about the discrimination of minorities, the rights of women working in the sex
trade, the rights of children, and the rights of people who are transgender,
lesbian, gay, and bisexual.
In preparation for our trip, we were asked to
listen to an inspiring talk by writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie who warns about “the
dangers of a single story” (if you have a few spare minutes, watch the video
– it’s terrific).
As Anne describes the women in the projected photographs,
she tells their stories of sexual violence and I reprimand myself for
perceiving these people only through the lens of sexual violence. Yes, they are
survivors of rape, but that is only a small part of each person’s narrative.
When we come face to face with a survivor of any experience – a survivor of
rape, a survivor of genocide, a survivor of cancer – it can often be hard to
see that person beyond that trauma. It’s hard to see a survivor’s other stories.
Anne’s choice of photographs – of friends in cafés, of
parents, of medics, of business people; seemingly ordinary people – reminds us that
there’s more to a rape survivor’s story than her or his assault.
Anne Ream is the founder of The Voices and Faces Project
and author of the new book, Lived Through This. Anne and her colleagues have collected testimonies from
hundreds of survivors of sexual violence. They help real people – women and men
of different ages and from a range of backgrounds – to come forward with their
stories of violence and resilience and shame, sometimes for the first time.
By
giving the hidden victims of sexual violence a chance to speak and be seen,
Anne and her team are helping to break the silences and taboos around rape and
rape culture.
A few days later, novelist Christa Desir, visits my classroom.
Christa talks about her debut novel, Fault Line (which I wrote about here). And she tells us how her own experiences
as a survivor of sexual violence and as a volunteer rape counselor contributed
to Fault Line’s plot turns,
characters, and purpose. We learn that the events of the novel – including the
most shocking and seemingly improbable moments – are all linked to Christa’s realities.
But what’s also important about Fault
Line is that we get to know Christa’s protagonists so well that their
experiences of rape – as victims and witnesses – live within the contexts and beneath the everydayness of
their complicated lives.
Anne and Christa have been visiting my classroom every
quarter for over a year now. Some of my students write about how meeting Anne
and Christa and reading Fault Line has
led to a shift in their perceptions of sexual violence.
Some students explain
how listening to the stories of survivors leads to complex, overlapping
feelings of hope, sadness, and anger. Some students are struck by Fault Line’s tough ending – a
realization that, for many survivors of rape, happy endings are fantasy. Some
students express optimism after listening to Anne and Christa talk openly about
their personal journeys, of coming to terms with their survivorship, and their
activism.
Through such stories, we’re able to grasp how to respond to a
culture of rape that often seems impenetrable. We can begin to learn how to
respond to friends or family who one day might confide in us their own stories
of surviving sexual violence. And when we share stories – of our own and of
others – we give permission for others to share their stories too.
Stories are important.
Over the years, my course has grown from a class on design into
a learning experience focused on social justice. While we still study the
design of community programs in general, we explore community health and human
rights programming at the local, national, and international levels.
We learn
about addiction through the story of a close friend of mine who has struggled
with addition.
We learn about homeless youth and sex workers and their children
through the stories of my friend who worked as a case manager for Chicago
youth; for many years, she struggled against a broken system.
We learn about the experiences and isolation of survivors of cancer through the story of my friend who fought
cancer and, at the same time, created a support community of cancer survivors.
While I have a responsibility to teach theories of design,
learning, and human development, my teaching has become more and more grounded
in storytelling. Because it’s those stories – rather than statistics and
theories – that seem to inspire my students – and inspire me.
I suppose the intimacy of my cramped classroom reflects the intimacy of each story.
Stories are an
entry point into the bigger picture. Stories – multi-dimensional stories that
humanize and complicate the sometimes only visible single story – make us care
about and understand the real-life implications of policy.
I know that a single week isn’t enough time to grasp the
realities of the Dominican Republic. Our guides will no doubt share statistics,
and their critiques of social policies, and their strategies for change. But I
hope to hear stories that will inspire me to learn more about human rights
around the world and I hope to be excited and obligated to share many stories when I return
home.
Monday, March 3, 2014
GETTING TEENS TO TALK ABOUT RAPE
When my design students found out they’d be reading Fault Line—a new young adult novel by Christa Desir about underage drinking, gang-rape, and dysfunctional teen relationships—some were confused.
Christa introduced herself to my class as a writer, an editor of adult erotic romance novels, an experienced rape counselor, and a survivor of rape.
Her debut novel Fault Line is about a teenage boy, Ben, whose girlfriend, Ani, is gang-raped at a party he didn’t attend.
The students found Fault Line to be “powerful” and “eye-opening” but they also found its ending “unsatisfying.” Christa asked them to think about how high-schoolers might respond to the book. Teenagers would find the book “scary,” the undergrads. predicted; teenagers would respond by saying, “That wouldn’t happen to me.”
Writing About Rape
Christa explained why she chose to write a “rape book” from a teenage boy’s point of view. Teenage boys are the novel’s primary audience, because rape is too often framed as a women’s issue. “I wanted readers to identify with a boy. A boy who wasn’t a perpetrator. We need boys to engage with questions about rape.”
Reading About Rape
Talking About Rape
As the novel gets passed from reader to reader—perhaps often discreetly with a quiet “you need to read this”—people are starting to see this extraordinary book for what it is: Fault Line is a necessary story about the realities of rape with the potential to spark vital conversations, confront taboos, and affect real change within our culture of victim-blaming, shame, and silence.
If you read the novel—and I hope you do—keep Christa’s warning in mind: “There’s no happy ending.” She said it adamantly and she wasn’t only talking about Fault Line.
Class discussion with Christa Desir, author of Fault Line, February 27 2014.
This is the second part of a series on teaching about rape culture. Read part one, here: Laughing About Rape
Christa introduced herself to my class as a writer, an editor of adult erotic romance novels, an experienced rape counselor, and a survivor of rape.
Her debut novel Fault Line is about a teenage boy, Ben, whose girlfriend, Ani, is gang-raped at a party he didn’t attend.
The students found Fault Line to be “powerful” and “eye-opening” but they also found its ending “unsatisfying.” Christa asked them to think about how high-schoolers might respond to the book. Teenagers would find the book “scary,” the undergrads. predicted; teenagers would respond by saying, “That wouldn’t happen to me.”
Writing About Rape
Christa explained why she chose to write a “rape book” from a teenage boy’s point of view. Teenage boys are the novel’s primary audience, because rape is too often framed as a women’s issue. “I wanted readers to identify with a boy. A boy who wasn’t a perpetrator. We need boys to engage with questions about rape.”
Through her true-to-life writing style, Christa manages to confront young readers with questions they might not usually consider.
The story of Ben and Ani is messy. The rape breaks their high-school romance, in part because Ani can’t remember what happened at the party. The rumor-mill at their school catches fire and, because she was drunk that night and dancing with strangers provocatively, Ani is blamed for the sexual violence committed against her.
“That’s what happens in the real world,” Christa told us. Teachers and the media and parents have become fixated on warning girls to wear the right clothes and say the right things and act a certain way. And what’s the hidden message? Girls, if you break the rules, if you wear the wrong outfit, flirt with boys, and talk about sex, then getting raped is your fault.
Reading About Rape
“It’s not enough just to teach our boys not to be rapists. Kids need to be responsible for every person at a party.” We need to teach young people to look out for each other. To speak up if they see something that’s getting out of hand and, if necessary, call the police. “For some reason, teenagers are not stopping this,” Christa said.
With a well-meaning young man as its protagonist, Fault Line explores male perspectives of rape culture. Ben wants to help the girl he loves, but he doesn’t know how and, despite his good intentions, he makes some mistakes. Ani is broken and there’s nothing Ben can do. In this way, Fault Line leads readers to “think about how we can help or harm survivors after rape.”
“We lose survivors sometimes.” Christa shared with us the true story of a rape survivor—a friend of a friend—who disappeared. “Nobody knows what happened to her.” In Fault Line, “the ending is left open, so we have the possibility that we lose Ani.”
But real life isn’t always what people want to read, Christa told us. The hard-hitting truths at the heart of Fault Line make the novel unattractive to high-school teachers who worry about introducing their students to taboo topics like rape and sexual violence and consensual sex. As if teenagers aren’t already exposed to all that. As if teenagers don’t need guidance and trusted adults to talk to.
But real life isn’t always what people want to read, Christa told us. The hard-hitting truths at the heart of Fault Line make the novel unattractive to high-school teachers who worry about introducing their students to taboo topics like rape and sexual violence and consensual sex. As if teenagers aren’t already exposed to all that. As if teenagers don’t need guidance and trusted adults to talk to.
Talking About Rape
Fault Line represents a gap in social programming for teenagers. The book reminds us that we need to design and promote programs that help young people stand up against a culture of “victim-blaming” and “slut-shaming.” Programs that help survivors of sexual violence to speak out about their experiences and break the taboos that allow a culture of rape to continue. Programs like The Voices and Faces Project, which led Christa to write Fault Line. (Christa donates 50% of her royalties from Fault Line to support Voices and Faces writing workshops for survivors of rape and sexual assault.)
Fault Line has some solid, steady sales, but the very taboos that the novel confronts may be preventing it from becoming the massive hit it needs to be. Fault Line doesn’t deliver a tidy moral message of right and wrong all neatly tied up in a positive, hopeful ending. But that’s what makes the book so important.
As the novel gets passed from reader to reader—perhaps often discreetly with a quiet “you need to read this”—people are starting to see this extraordinary book for what it is: Fault Line is a necessary story about the realities of rape with the potential to spark vital conversations, confront taboos, and affect real change within our culture of victim-blaming, shame, and silence.
If you read the novel—and I hope you do—keep Christa’s warning in mind: “There’s no happy ending.” She said it adamantly and she wasn’t only talking about Fault Line.
Class discussion with Christa Desir, author of Fault Line, February 27 2014.
This is the second part of a series on teaching about rape culture. Read part one, here: Laughing About Rape
Sunday, January 26, 2014
LAUGHING ABOUT RAPE
Can laughing about rape change rape culture?
Reality Check
“I’m a very special Holocaust survivor. I was in the camps with my wife and my girlfriend; and believe me, it wasn’t easy.”
Jack Polak recites parts of his Holocaust testimony with a cheeky smile across his face. Jack—a young, Dutch, married, Jewish man—had fallen in love with Ina—the other woman. And even deportation to a Nazi camp couldn’t get in the way of their passionate affair.
Jack and Ina’s story is the heart of the documentary Steal A Pencil For Me. I teach the film because it reminds us that the Nazis and their collaborators didn’t commit atrocities in a vacuum; the Nazis persecuted and murdered ordinary people who were trying to live ordinary lives. As Jack grins, we smile along and sometimes laugh gently at the complicated reality of his Holocaust experience.
So when I first watched the short film Meet My Rapist (you can watch it here) by director-writer-actor Jessie Kahnweiler, my uncomfortably-amused response felt comfortably familiar.
Confronting Rape
Interested in how we can engage young people and the public in questions about human rights—which includes confronting rape, sexual violence, misogyny, and rape culture—I invited Jessie on a video date. And she said yes!
It was your usual chatter. Y’know... filmmaking, humor, rape, “Holocaust survivor speed-dating,” that sort of thing.
I asked Jessie about using comedy to draw attention to rape culture. “What feels natural to me is using comedy to trick people into giving a shit,” she explained. “I wasn’t like 'I wanna make a rape comedy, like let’s really stir it up,' I wanted to fucking deal with my rape and this is how I deal with it.”
So the film is a form of testimony? I asked her.
“It had been eight years since I’d been raped. And I felt like I’d done everything I was supposed to do. Therapy, y’know—. You could supplement any other kind of trauma or skeleton or stuff people don’t wanna deal with. The film is about me confronting my own denial, and how I’ve moved through all these steps of healing. In this effort to be this strong feminist chick, I forgot to just be.”
Bubble Wrap
I told Jessie why I thought her film works so well as an educational device. In one scene, Jessie brings her rapist home to meet her parents. In another, Jessie’s rapist gatecrashes a job interview and distracts her by popping a sheet of bubble wrap. At the heart of the film is the reality that rape and the aftermath of rape are ever-present. “Will you stop it?! Just stop it!” Jessie snaps.
Moments within the film are so jarring, and the script is so embarrassingly funny, that the viewer is forced to consider how we, collectively, think about and talk about rape and sexual violence. “I was like raped, but I wasn’t like raped,” Jessie smiles apologetically.
“You laugh because you’re uncomfortable,” Jessie explained to me. And I was reminded of teenagers who laugh at photographs of open mass-graves and naked women about to be shot. Laughter indicates surprise and shock and the failure of expectations—and learning.
The 'R' Word
As the film builds, its unexpected scenes reveal questions that survivors of rape rarely ask out loud, in part because our culture of “first-world rape” (as Jessie put it) and victim-blaming and misogyny force survivors to keep their memories and trauma hidden from view. “What’s my rapist doing now?” Jessie wondered out loud. “And does he remember me? And how the fuck am I gonna get over him?”
Rape is taboo.
I toured Auschwitz last summer, I told Jessie, and an employee of the museum told us that Auschwitz tour guides are explicitly discouraged from talking about sexual violence in the camp.
In Meet My Rapist, Jessie Kahnweiler does the opposite. The film’s genius lies within Jessie’s bravery and audacity to say out loud what we’ve been trained to keep silent. “No one here wants an angry woman,” the interviewer warns her. “Because honey,” her therapist smirks, “Nobody wants to marry a rape victim.”
Responses
I asked Jessie about the public’s response to the film.
“I’ve gotten both positive and negative feedback. Some people just don’t get it,” she said, accepting that the film doesn’t speak to everyone. “What I’m most interested in as a filmmaker is how people think the way they do and why they believe certain things. In terms of rape culture, people are like, 'Rape is really bad.' But we’ve gotta open up the conversation. The fact that people are offended by the title Meet My Rapist—now that’s a fucking problem.”
When Jessie talked about the thanks she continues to receive from other survivors of rape, it became clear that the power of Meet My Rapist has even surprised its filmmaker.
“I mean, you wanna talk about the greatest moment of my life? The email from a rape victim. Or the guy who is a father of three who had been molested. I’m being honest about my shit, and it connects with people and helps them heal. As personal as it is, it feels like this issue is so much bigger than me.”
Throughout our conversation, it was obvious that Jessie doesn’t have a particular message or specific agenda. “I don’t have any of the answers. But in my work, the fun is in asking the questions.” Jessie wants people to think and reflect. “I don’t wanna tell you how to feel about the film. That’s your job, to be honest,” she said with a smile. “Sit with it. Be uncomfortable. Do some work.”
Interview with Jessie Kahnweiler, director of Meet My Rapist, December 3, 2013.
This is the first part of a series on teaching about rape culture. Read part two, here: Getting Teens To Talk About Rape
Reality Check
“I’m a very special Holocaust survivor. I was in the camps with my wife and my girlfriend; and believe me, it wasn’t easy.”
Jack Polak recites parts of his Holocaust testimony with a cheeky smile across his face. Jack—a young, Dutch, married, Jewish man—had fallen in love with Ina—the other woman. And even deportation to a Nazi camp couldn’t get in the way of their passionate affair.
Jack and Ina’s story is the heart of the documentary Steal A Pencil For Me. I teach the film because it reminds us that the Nazis and their collaborators didn’t commit atrocities in a vacuum; the Nazis persecuted and murdered ordinary people who were trying to live ordinary lives. As Jack grins, we smile along and sometimes laugh gently at the complicated reality of his Holocaust experience.
So when I first watched the short film Meet My Rapist (you can watch it here) by director-writer-actor Jessie Kahnweiler, my uncomfortably-amused response felt comfortably familiar.
Confronting Rape
It was your usual chatter. Y’know... filmmaking, humor, rape, “Holocaust survivor speed-dating,” that sort of thing.
I asked Jessie about using comedy to draw attention to rape culture. “What feels natural to me is using comedy to trick people into giving a shit,” she explained. “I wasn’t like 'I wanna make a rape comedy, like let’s really stir it up,' I wanted to fucking deal with my rape and this is how I deal with it.”
So the film is a form of testimony? I asked her.
“It had been eight years since I’d been raped. And I felt like I’d done everything I was supposed to do. Therapy, y’know—. You could supplement any other kind of trauma or skeleton or stuff people don’t wanna deal with. The film is about me confronting my own denial, and how I’ve moved through all these steps of healing. In this effort to be this strong feminist chick, I forgot to just be.”
Bubble Wrap
I told Jessie why I thought her film works so well as an educational device. In one scene, Jessie brings her rapist home to meet her parents. In another, Jessie’s rapist gatecrashes a job interview and distracts her by popping a sheet of bubble wrap. At the heart of the film is the reality that rape and the aftermath of rape are ever-present. “Will you stop it?! Just stop it!” Jessie snaps.
Moments within the film are so jarring, and the script is so embarrassingly funny, that the viewer is forced to consider how we, collectively, think about and talk about rape and sexual violence. “I was like raped, but I wasn’t like raped,” Jessie smiles apologetically.
“You laugh because you’re uncomfortable,” Jessie explained to me. And I was reminded of teenagers who laugh at photographs of open mass-graves and naked women about to be shot. Laughter indicates surprise and shock and the failure of expectations—and learning.
The 'R' Word
Rape is taboo.
I toured Auschwitz last summer, I told Jessie, and an employee of the museum told us that Auschwitz tour guides are explicitly discouraged from talking about sexual violence in the camp.
In Meet My Rapist, Jessie Kahnweiler does the opposite. The film’s genius lies within Jessie’s bravery and audacity to say out loud what we’ve been trained to keep silent. “No one here wants an angry woman,” the interviewer warns her. “Because honey,” her therapist smirks, “Nobody wants to marry a rape victim.”
Responses
I asked Jessie about the public’s response to the film.
“I’ve gotten both positive and negative feedback. Some people just don’t get it,” she said, accepting that the film doesn’t speak to everyone. “What I’m most interested in as a filmmaker is how people think the way they do and why they believe certain things. In terms of rape culture, people are like, 'Rape is really bad.' But we’ve gotta open up the conversation. The fact that people are offended by the title Meet My Rapist—now that’s a fucking problem.”
When Jessie talked about the thanks she continues to receive from other survivors of rape, it became clear that the power of Meet My Rapist has even surprised its filmmaker.
“I mean, you wanna talk about the greatest moment of my life? The email from a rape victim. Or the guy who is a father of three who had been molested. I’m being honest about my shit, and it connects with people and helps them heal. As personal as it is, it feels like this issue is so much bigger than me.”
Throughout our conversation, it was obvious that Jessie doesn’t have a particular message or specific agenda. “I don’t have any of the answers. But in my work, the fun is in asking the questions.” Jessie wants people to think and reflect. “I don’t wanna tell you how to feel about the film. That’s your job, to be honest,” she said with a smile. “Sit with it. Be uncomfortable. Do some work.”
Interview with Jessie Kahnweiler, director of Meet My Rapist, December 3, 2013.
Monday, January 6, 2014
A SECRET MAP
For the last couple of years, I’ve been working on my first novel, TRAIN, a historical thriller for young adults, based on real events.
Lost In Berlin
A while back, eager for honest feedback, one of my readers suggested I do a better job with the novel’s “logistics of space.”
Lost In Berlin
A while back, eager for honest feedback, one of my readers suggested I do a better job with the novel’s “logistics of space.”
The Roma and Jewish teenagers at the heart of TRAIN are fleeing their homes. They crawl through the back gardens of Berlin and cower in damp basements. But, in an earlier draft, I hadn’t yet painted a clear picture of those houses, streets, and hiding
places.
Despite chases across the city, I’d left out journey times across Hitler’s capital. I was depriving my characters—and my readers—of directions, times of day, proximity to key landmarks.
I’d paid lots of attention to character arcs and plot, and I’d ensured historical accuracy, but I hadn’t provided enough details of Nazi Germany to make those ten days in early 1943 come alive.
Writing From Photographs
I needed to get to know the geography of Berlin. But during the early writing phase, I was nervous to read beyond what was necessary for historical research, mostly because I didn’t want the descriptive prose of other writers to influence my own writing style or my characters’ voices.
Despite chases across the city, I’d left out journey times across Hitler’s capital. I was depriving my characters—and my readers—of directions, times of day, proximity to key landmarks.
I’d paid lots of attention to character arcs and plot, and I’d ensured historical accuracy, but I hadn’t provided enough details of Nazi Germany to make those ten days in early 1943 come alive.
Writing From Photographs
I needed to get to know the geography of Berlin. But during the early writing phase, I was nervous to read beyond what was necessary for historical research, mostly because I didn’t want the descriptive prose of other writers to influence my own writing style or my characters’ voices.
First, I browsed photographs. Online searches brought up vivid black and white images of
Berlin’s monuments and parks. Tram tracks embedded in the cobblestones crisscrossed and split, weaving themselves between grand buildings from which
Swastika banners hung, dead, in the winter air.
I got the hang of describing the novel’s spaces. But I still needed to include journey times and directions for my characters’ routes of escape.
Finding My Way
I’d visited Berlin once before, but only for a week or so. I didn’t have a good sense of the city. There was no map in my head.
I got the hang of describing the novel’s spaces. But I still needed to include journey times and directions for my characters’ routes of escape.
Finding My Way
I’d visited Berlin once before, but only for a week or so. I didn’t have a good sense of the city. There was no map in my head.
I searched online for precise directions—by foot—from the Moabit neighborhood to Charité Hospital; then directions—by car—from the Jewish Community Center on Rosen Street to Marzahn, the site of a Nazi camp for Roma families.
From my laptop screen
to my head and into my manuscript, my characters began to find their way.
I created a single online map. On the map, I marked every event of my novel’s plot. And every home and workplace belonging to my central and minor characters. Every front step. Every meeting place. Every escape path, from Hackesher Market to St. Hedwig’s Cathedral, from Gestapo-raided homes to improvised hiding places.
I downloaded an up-to-date satellite image of the terrain; the ultimate bird’s-eye view of Berlin.
A Secret Map
But I had a problem. I’d superimposed Nazi-era history onto a contemporary landscape. My manuscript and I were full of doubts.
Did certain streets and public parks even exist in 1943? Had the West German or East German governments in post-war Europe moved a road? A bridge? Which neighborhoods had witnessed war up-close? Which buildings had the British warplanes destroyed?
I created a single online map. On the map, I marked every event of my novel’s plot. And every home and workplace belonging to my central and minor characters. Every front step. Every meeting place. Every escape path, from Hackesher Market to St. Hedwig’s Cathedral, from Gestapo-raided homes to improvised hiding places.
I downloaded an up-to-date satellite image of the terrain; the ultimate bird’s-eye view of Berlin.
A Secret Map
But I had a problem. I’d superimposed Nazi-era history onto a contemporary landscape. My manuscript and I were full of doubts.
Did certain streets and public parks even exist in 1943? Had the West German or East German governments in post-war Europe moved a road? A bridge? Which neighborhoods had witnessed war up-close? Which buildings had the British warplanes destroyed?
When I noticed Google Earth’s “historical imagery” icon, I literally
gasped and danced around my living room.
As if uncovering the key to a hidden passageway, caught in a sudden Internet-trance, I found myself sliding the years back to 1943 and staring in amazement at an aerial photograph of war-torn Berlin.
As if uncovering the key to a hidden passageway, caught in a sudden Internet-trance, I found myself sliding the years back to 1943 and staring in amazement at an aerial photograph of war-torn Berlin.
Comparing the
modern-day map with this digitized historical artifact (the 1943 aerial photograph was likely taken from a British fighter plane), I discovered redirected
streets and old buildings. I zoomed in on strange unfamiliar shapes. To figure
out what they were, I compared search engine results with old-fashioned
printed books in my home library.
I found that I’d placed the secret meeting place of two central characters, Alexander and Marko, close to a Nazi watchtower. I’d positioned the home of Elise and her fragmented Nazi family within walking distance of The Fountain of Fairy Tales. I realized that the British had bombed St. Hedwig’s Cathedral on the same day as a key turning point of my story.
Altered Fates
Just as some roads and houses of Berlin had been moved and rebuilt over seventy years, the plot of my historical thriller began to shift.
I found that I’d placed the secret meeting place of two central characters, Alexander and Marko, close to a Nazi watchtower. I’d positioned the home of Elise and her fragmented Nazi family within walking distance of The Fountain of Fairy Tales. I realized that the British had bombed St. Hedwig’s Cathedral on the same day as a key turning point of my story.
Altered Fates
Just as some roads and houses of Berlin had been moved and rebuilt over seventy years, the plot of my historical thriller began to shift.
Tsura, a young Roma woman and anti-Nazi dissident, must now avoid certain cross-streets for fear of running into German soldiers.
Ruth, a Catholic girl dreading the deportation of her Jewish stepbrother, now becomes exhausted and pessimistic after a long trudge uphill as she passes bombed landmarks and houses that are still burning.
In moments of fear and reflection, the teenagers are now drawn to places of their childhoods. My rewriting of the story to reflect the nuances of history altered my characters responses, their decisions, and ultimately their fates.
While the key historical events of TRAIN stand in place, its fictional teenagers
have become more real, their actions more credible. The precise
moments, movements, and twists of the story are now more satisfying, more authentic, more
compelling (to me, at least!).
As I work to finish editing my manuscript, I expect to discover a few more secrets of Holocaust history that, I hope, will surprise my future readers and, I know, will surprise me, too.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
"IS THERE A CANOPY IN STORE FOR ME?"
What do the fictional characters of Fiddler On The Roof think about same-sex marriage?
On Tuesday, speaking during the Illinois House of Representatives debate on marriage equality, State Rep. David Harris summarized the acclaimed musical Fiddler On The Roof. He then used its plot points to argue against equal rights for people who are gay or lesbian. Eager to know what others thought of his confusing analogy, I tracked down the residents of the Russian shtetl of Anatevka. The villagers’ comments (translated here from the original Hollywood-accented Yiddish) were surprising and insightful:
On Tuesday, speaking during the Illinois House of Representatives debate on marriage equality, State Rep. David Harris summarized the acclaimed musical Fiddler On The Roof. He then used its plot points to argue against equal rights for people who are gay or lesbian. Eager to know what others thought of his confusing analogy, I tracked down the residents of the Russian shtetl of Anatevka. The villagers’ comments (translated here from the original Hollywood-accented Yiddish) were surprising and insightful:
Do You Love Me?
“I’m flattered and honored,” kvelled milkman Tevye (who did not provide his last name). “To be referenced by Illinois State Rep. David Harris has been a lifelong ambition of mine, right alongside escaping persecution and building a dream-home for my wife, Golde. And not only that—David Harris said my name on the House floor and he almost pronounced it correctly. What a mensch!”
As she watched the marriage equality debate, Tevye’s wife Golde paid attention to the politicians who explained that her heterosexual marriage was under threat. “After 25 years of cooking Tevye’s meals, cleaning his house, and milking his cow, I was worried that the gays and the lesbians would ruin everything for us. Would our marriage last another 25 years? Would Tevye still love me? But, after the bill passed, my Tevye reassured me that our healthy bickering and kvetching about each other would continue until one of us dies. Thank God. So, now my only fear is that I’ll be expected to invite these newly married gays and lesbians for Shabbes dinner all at once. I mean, where would they all sit?”
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Golde’s friend Yente, the local matchmaker, was incredibly excited when the marriage equality bill SB10 passed with 61 votes to 54. “Oy, it’s vonderful!” she clapped. “All the boys and boys, and all the girls and girls I can now set up together! They have vebsites and smart phone apps. for hook-ups, I know, but you just can’t beat a good old fashioned shidduch [arranged marriage]. To be honest, with a same sex-marriage, I’m not sure vhich side of the family will need to pay the dowry, but, as I’ve said before, even the vorst husband, God forbid, is better than no husband, God forbid.”
Newlyweds Motel and Tzeitel Kamzoil were somewhat apathetic to the passage of the bill. Motel, a tailor and rising fashion designer who is rumored to appear on Season 82 of Project Runway, explained: “All these Illinoisans are running around calling the vote a wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, but Tzeitel and I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It doesn’t make a difference to us.” Tzeitel, Tevye and Golde’s eldest daughter, added: “It doesn’t affect us, true, but we’re still delighted that every person in the Land of Lincoln will soon be able to find and catch and marry her or his own perfect match.”
Tradition!
With Tevye and Golde’s fourth and fifth daughters still unmarried, Tevye acknowledges that marriage equality could now double each daughter’s chance of finding a husband or wife: “I’m all about TRADITION!—as David Harris reminded us—but my children and grandchildren come first. As my son-in-law Motel once told me, even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness.”
“Representative Davis Harris doesn’t get it,” Tevye’s son-in-law Perchik snapped. Perchik is known for his modern interpretations of biblical texts and for insisting on dancing with his girlfriend, Hodel (now his wife), at a family wedding. Perchik argued, with passion in his voice and a camp skip in his step, “David Harris failed to understand that the story of Anatevka is about the history of antisemitism, the roots of prejudice, and the struggle of social minorities to live in freedom and without fear.”
“Exactly!” Hodel agreed, speaking over Skype from Siberia, far from the home she loves. “The central point of the musical is that traditions change over time. As we danced at my sister’s wedding, Russian thugs, encouraged by the authorities, set the venue on fire. Yet David Harris has the chutzpah to use the historically-inspired 1905 story of our Jewish family’s struggle to justify the contemporary discrimination of another minority group that simply wants to live and love in peace.”
“Exactly!” Hodel agreed, speaking over Skype from Siberia, far from the home she loves. “The central point of the musical is that traditions change over time. As we danced at my sister’s wedding, Russian thugs, encouraged by the authorities, set the venue on fire. Yet David Harris has the chutzpah to use the historically-inspired 1905 story of our Jewish family’s struggle to justify the contemporary discrimination of another minority group that simply wants to live and love in peace.”
Sunrise, Sunset
Tevye’s daughter, Chava, was also unhappy with Rep. David Harris. “I’ve been awake from sunset to sunrise thinking about what he said,” Chava sighed. David Harris cited Chava’s quarrel with her father over her marriage to Fyedka, a Christian man, as an example of tradition stretched too far. “At first, Papa didn’t approve of my marriage to a non-Jew,” Chava explained. “But at the very end of our Tony Award winning play and Academy Award winning film, Papa gave me his blessing. 'May God be with you,' he called out to me. I know it’s a three hour film, but it’s available on YouTube, for goodness sake; there’s just no excuse for misquoting the plot.”
“And on top of that,” Fyedka chimed in, “David Harris seems to not realize that in the United States it’s perfectly fine to marry someone of a different faith. So his analogy was as unstable as...” His father-in-law Tevye interrupted: “You could say his analogy was as shaky as a fiddler on the roof.”
“And on top of that,” Fyedka chimed in, “David Harris seems to not realize that in the United States it’s perfectly fine to marry someone of a different faith. So his analogy was as unstable as...” His father-in-law Tevye interrupted: “You could say his analogy was as shaky as a fiddler on the roof.”
A Blessing On Your Head
On hearing the news of the passing of the marriage bill, a number of shtetlfolk were overjoyed. “To life, to life, L’Chayim!” shouted local butcher and business owner Lazar Wolf and he pledged one month’s profits in support of defending the bill from lawmakers who may try to repeal the new law.
Even voices from beyond the grave shared their elation: “A blessing on your head, Mazal Tov, Mazal Tov,” sang Golde’s late mother, “To see a daughter wed, Mazal Tov, Mazal Tov.” Tevye, who heard her voice in his dream, found himself changing his mind on equal rights for gay and lesbian people: “I’m now certain that her blessing was a sign that full marriage equality will become a new tradition for all of us. As my sweet, gentle child Chavaleh once told me, the world is changing. In fact, if I were a rich man, I’d consider moving to Illinois and running against David Harris in the Republican primaries, biddy-biddy-biddy-biddy-bum.”
Tevye had to cut his interview short. But as he ran off to deliver the last milk cans to his neighbors before dragging his cart home before dinnertime, he called back with a final thought. “You know, there’s a bigger lesson here,” he said, looking up at the beautiful, autumn sunset. “As the good book says, thou shalt not cite a Broadway musical when arguing against gay rights.”
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