Living in the Spaces: A Reflection on Never Fall Down
Dear friends,
This is a second reflection from one of our summer 2014 fellows, Sandrayati Fay. As research for our Cambodia project and in organizing the Indiegogo campaign, many of the fellows read Patricia McCormick’s book Never Fall Down, which chronicles Arn Chorn-Pond’s life when he was a child solider in the Khmer Rouge.
“A good book is the precious life blood of a master spirit” – Milton.
Milton speaks to me as I peer out the window and read his words engraved in an old museum across the street of the Global Art Corps office here in New York City. These words resonate relevance today. I’m new to New York. I find that here, more than anywhere else I’ve been I’m effortlessly traveling through worlds. The city speaks many languages, body and tongue, and as a global nomad myself, I blend in a comforting awareness of diversity. When I arrive in the office I am in a space that is working to articulate the significance of diversity in the light of reconciliation and the power of the unification through art.
In my commute to work the past week, I’ve been reading Never Fall Down, the story of a Cambodian child soldier in the Khmer Rouge. The world I travel into through the writing grounds me in this chaotic city. Not that it is comforting, but it magnifies the reason why I am here today. It’s easy to feel small and purposeless in the concrete forests and the dense population here, and Never Fall Down traced me back to the reason why I am present in this city for the story relates to Global Arts Corps project in Cambodia, making it more real and urgent.
Arn’s life story exposes and confronts the extreme layers of conflict and amplifies the power that art and storytelling has in advancing individual as well as communal reconciliation. His ‘life blood’ articulated through his Cambodian English accent reveals a rare honesty in the darkness of war from a perspective and transformation of innocence. The light that he found in the darkness of his experience amplifies the significance of the work that GAC does. By confronting the pain of his past Arn has been able to move into a future where he is inspiring people to find peace with in their own lives. The significance of stories that have never been told is now heightened and I can relate this to parts of myself as well.
I grew up in Bali, Indonesia where only 50 years ago was the battleground of genocide. I only learnt about this in my later years of high school and when the bliss of ignorance was broken I was overwhelmed by how foreign I felt in my homeland and a weight was suddenly present. I felt disconnected from a place I thought I knew and started to become fearful for the future. The fear came from the unknown. The gap of not knowing how something as violent as genocide suddenly became beautiful touristic Bali was uncomforting and questionable especially because it is a taboo to speak about what happened. How is one supposed to confront something like this?
Reading Arn’s story magnified the significance of communication between generations and how much power lies in the simple act of sharing a story. It made me realize that, when dealing with the aftermath of genocide, the only way to be unafraid of what is to come is to know and confront what has happened and move away from cyclical decisions that may lead us back there. We can create dialogue this through art and that is where theatre and storytelling is key.
It is exciting realize that our generation can be connected the action of confronting the past. Our stories are similar, which amplifies the reason why we need to face them. Arn’s honesty has awakened these connections and speaks towards a movement that is forming in our present generation, a movement that will lead us into an honest and peaceful future.
I grew up on the same landthat only 50 years agowas battleground of genocide.
Bali is Paradise.Step off the crooked plane steps,welcome, speaks the dense wave of heat radiating runway pavement.flowing with a river of beings seeking bliss.sun caresses skin and the scentof frangipani flowers blended with incense dancein the wind. Welcome, speaks the island.
In child eyes, we were drawn to the ridesof waterbom slides and skimboarding tides.shaded by the white lies, of white shadows that they rely.
In present eyes, Bali breathes alive, the spaces still in sunshine.Like Wongaya Gede at the foot of Mount Batukaru,Pura Luhur pulses the awakening of ritual. Andthere is no gap between art and life- we live in the spaces.
But what kind of space do we stand with?What kind of life does this land know?What kind of death.The ground is wide with wounds that are invisible today.Deep, deep, deep under.
But we are cloaked with the enchantmentof carefully carved wooden penis bottle openers,inhaling bintang beers,burnt shoulders,and hot sand perfectly shaping backto fit into the ground through the stripped hotel towel.The same sand that holds bodies hostage beneath you.
1965 blood was shed.From lines of the people who surround you today.The lines on the old mans face under the motorcycle helmet,are scars carrying weight unspoken.Present and heavy holding.Our young new minds don’t know, for stories are silenced.But their bodies know, for they don’t know where they are going.Where do we go from here?
Always telling stories!In dance, in gamelan, in ritual!But never the storyof the killing.
Beautiful Bali,your secrets are dangerous.Wake up, wake up.Then maybe we can seek bliss togetherin our bloodstained rivers.
-Sandrayati Fay