another way

it's a wet t-shirt.
it's red.
it sticks to the skin of a three year old boy.
face down
a camera clicks
still (a)life?
it's a wet t-shirt.
share it.
it's a red wet t-shirt.
tweet tweet tweet
it sticks to the skin of a three year old boy.
an unnamed child washed ashore?
#KıyıyaVuranİnsanlık*
shocking.
15 likes
MeLikeThatYouShareNotThatItHappened
10 comments
MeSoSad! in various versions
2 shares
MeWillCheckBackLaterMaybeThereWillBeMore
scroll down.
cute puppies!
scroll down - a
nother poke from my friend - an
other party invitation ano
ther request to play Farmville -
a not he
a not here
keep scrolling
keep scrolling
keep scrolling
like your life depends on it for
if the image didn't stop you
nothing will.


Rest in Perfect Peace Aylan Kurdi
We are working on another way.




(*humanity washed ashore)

Kwaheri Nzitu...

Nzitu Mawakha 1973-2014

The best piece of advice I ever heard Nzitu giving someone was to “pay attention to the small details…”

„Achte auf die kleinen Dinge!“ hat sie gesagt, und lächelte geheimnisvoll dabei.

My friend Nzitu Mawakha is extremely good at paying attention to the small details.

She’s the one, for example, who introduced me to sparkling wine with pomegranate seeds – Sekt mit Granatapfelkernen schlürfen - believe me, it’s the only way to drink it.

Es gab auch nie einen Roadtrip oder Sleepover ohne Wärmflaschen, Schlabberhosen, dicke Socken und Schokolade. Nzitu versteht viel von der heilenden Kraft von Schokolade, weil sie gerne Harry Potter gelesen hat.

Hadija has already mentioned Nzitu’s ability to listen to the silences, the pauses, the information between the words. In this way she often knows better than you know yourself, how you are really feeling.

Dirk and I once gave her the nickname “Oracle” because of her infinite wisdom, her calm aura, her welcoming manner, her deep insight. We had a beautiful welcoming ceremony for our – at the time – unborn baby. Vielen Dank nochmal liebe Mirjam, dass du uns dieses wunderschöne doch intime Fest im kleinen Kreis am Tag vor Elijahs Geburt organisiert hast! Das gehört zu meinen schönsten Erinnerungen…

We sat in a small circle and told each other our wishes for the baby.Wamilika, du hast gehofft, dass Elijah ein Mädchen wird, bist aber von Yosime and Nayan überstimmt worden, wisst ihr noch? The adults wished very worthy wishes: health, happiness, love, peace, safety, Geborgenheit, Liebe, eine starke Community um sich… until the round reached Nzitu and she said: “I wish that the baby will be cheeky. Frech soll das Baby sein. Your wishes are boring. Wenn das Kind so wird, wie ihr euch wünscht, werden wir gar keinen Spaß haben…”

Yeah Nzitu. Thanks for that.

Manchmal saßen Nzitu und ich in ihrer von Tina schon so wunderbar beschriebenen Küche bis tief in die Nacht, und haben – sage ich diplomatisch - das Verhalten von bestimmten Menschen kritisch kommentiert. Nzitu lachte dann immer von Herzen und sagte: „Oh Sharon, wir kommen nicht in den Himmel!“

Dear Nzitu,

You sometimes laughed and told me “oh Sharon, we are not going to heaven!” when we were alone and sharing our – let’s say – observations on relationships, family and life in Germany.

But I think if heaven is a place in our hearts, then you have been there the whole time.

In Dankbarkeit & Liebe...Daima
Sharon

(a gentle nudge)*

But of course I would have come!

I even think I could have come if…

Well the point is that I tried, right?

No, really! I did.

Because I thought about trying and while I thought about it

I imagined how pleased you would have been, and

That made me feel incredibly warm inside.

Special and important too. For just a few minutes:

I stood right there - my feet immovable -

I stood right there - my one hand held yours
I stood right there - my other hand, a fist in the sky
I stood right there - my head bowed down 
in celebration and commemoration

- and I would have stood right there, of course!

I would have held your hand, no doubt!

I would have if

I would have come.

But you know that already, right?

/…/

You would know that, you say?

Ah, I suppose you would be right if I was

the kind of person who never came

but I would have come. So that’s different.

It really is.

*(dedicated to those who will at some point in the future say, they were going to visit their local sites of non-citizen resistance but sadly didn't make it before the protests ended - victoriously or otherwise)

A Conversation Between Equals.

I love being a mother for many reasons (I won't idealise it though. Sometimes I really think about tearing my hair out, dreadlock by dreadlock). One of the reasons I love being a mother is that everyday my children give me the chance to see the present through the eyes of the future - if I make time to stop and listen that is.

OK - Sometimes I blow it. My children getting to school on time or them picking up dirty washing from their bedroom floor becomes - for reasons even I do not really understand - more important to me, than them telling me their latest ideas for saving the environment or reciting a made-up joke. But sometimes universe intervenes and blesses me with the gift of patience, clarity and time all at the same moment. And when that happens, miracles can occur.

One morning, my 11 year old son tentatively asked me if he could tell me a theory he was forming. We were alone at the breakfast table because everyone else was still asleep.

"Of course" I said. "Go ahead..."

"I think white people make Black* people Black" he said. Then he looked at me like he expected me to think he was talking nonsense. "Do you know what I mean?"

I asked him to carry on talking.

A Letter to the Village

Published in The African Courier (August/September 2013 issue, printed version) 

Dear Elders,

You may already know that I am legally required to send my sons to school because we live in Germany and home education is not permitted here. In this country, all children are taught a curriculum designed with only white children in mind. A quick flick through most standard school atlases will reveal stereotypical images of “Africans,” many science books still teach that “Menschenrassen” or biological human races do exist. Those rare examples of German texts which do portray Black people will use degrading imagery and vocabulary to describe them - as if the sheer absence of images of healthy, happy Black children, women and men was not insult enough.

In a lesson about evolution, one of my sons had to endure being teased by his classmates: the prehistoric woman looked “just like his mum!” Another of my children informed me that his teacher had used the word “Negerkuss” several days in a row. She took away his mobile phone, accusing him of calling me during the school day to inform me, when I wrote her an email about it. One of children’s friends was called “nigger” by his teaching assistant. The man first denied it, but eventually – only after many children came forward as witnesses – apologised for the “misunderstanding.”

(Ab)using Fadoul and Elisio: Unmasking Representations of Whiteness in German Theatre

Based on paper presented at the Symposium "Blackface, Whiteness and the Power of Definition in German Contemporary Theatre", 16th October 2012 [i]
Also published on Textures. Online Platform for Interweaving Performance Cultures, 27th May 2014

White people have not always been “white,” nor will they always be “white.” It is a political alliance. Things will change.
(Amoja Three Rivers)

Whiteness[ii] is created and perpetuated in a myriad of ways, through tiny and massive interactions on a micro and macro level every single day. The “Blackface debate,” initially sparked in Berlin early in 2012 through the public advertising of Schlosspark Theater Berlin’s production of Ich bin nicht Rappaport, featured many examples of this: the use of blackface by Joachim Bliese, the white actor cast in the role of an African-American man was merely the tip of the iceberg, indeed the use of blackface is a demonstration and celebration of whiteness. In this article, I focus on how whiteness is represented in modern German theatre, using Michael Thalheimer’s 2012 production of Dea Loher’s play Unschuld (engl. “Innocence”) as an example. Unschuld was another target of criticism for the use of blackface and the site of the first in-theatre protest by the then newly-formed activist group Bühnenwatch (engl. Stagewatch). As is typical of most German theatrical productions, the non-racialised characters in Unschuld are all white by virtue of the fact that their whiteness is uncommented: it is self-evident, a matter-of-course. Loher (a white woman) and Thalheimer (a white man) obviously believe that this underlines the universality of the play’s message, but it is in fact the first clue to a problematic understanding of who, in their theatrical world, is “in” and who is “out.” Who “belongs”? Who is “othered”? The answers to these questions can be found, in part, through a closer examination of the characters Elisio and Fadoul.

But Some of Us Are Brave: The Legacy of Black Female Activists in Germany

Deutsche Übersetzung (gekürzt) erschien in Missy Magazine (Printausgabe, Mai 2013) und wurde auf der Webseite der Initiative Schwarze Menschen in Deutschland veröffentlicht.

Change is coming to Germany.

This time last year, the Berlin-based Deutsches Theater had just decided to stop using Blackface in the Thalheimer production of Dea Loher’s Unschuld. This historic event followed weeks of campaigning by outraged critics, concerned theatre-goers as well as other Black, of color and white activist members of the then newly-formed anti-racist initiative Bühnenwatch. Now, just one year later, a similarly heated debate has broken out over the use of racist vocabulary in children’s literature. Emotions are running high and the terrain feels strangely familiar: angry blog posts, heated public debates, furious Facebook discussions and incensed Tweets. White media commentators speak of “censorship” and “political correctness” but in reality the battle is about power: who should have the final say about the representation of Black people and people of color in German culture? Until now, white Germans have claimed this right for themselves. Yet slowly but surely, this privilege is slipping through their fingers. For many this just doesn’t feel good.

“Without a vision, every social change feels like death”

Their concern is well rehearsed. Childhood books are to be treasured, not revised! Cultural traditions are to be preserved, not criticised! And the word “racism” should only be reserved to describe the most heinous of crimes – those involving Nazis or right-wing extremists! And yet, for increasing numbers of Black Germans and Germans of color, these “truths” are inadequate. The everyday lived experience of those of us who are often not recognised at first sight to be German is typically marked by exoticism, contempt or fear – and sometimes all three. The idea that one can tell who is not German simply by assessing the skin colour is ridiculous but pervasive. It allows some people to question others about where they come from, or to congratulate them on their accent-free language skills or to demand to see their identity papers. Audre Lorde, an African-American lesbian, feminist, poet, activist, scholar and mother who was instrumental in igniting the recent Black German political movement in the 1980s, identified the need for Black people in general and Black women in particular to support each other. It is Lorde who wrote: “without a vision, every social change feels like death.”[1] In order to create a vision of the future in Germany, it is necessary for us to revisit the past.

Correct me if I am (politically) wrong: “Real” Art, Elitism and White Delusions of Grandeur

Deutsche Übersetzung erschien in Bildpunkt und auf Linksnet  (März 2013)

As much as it is ridiculed in the wider public, political correctness is clearly still a concept that Germany cannot ignore. The debate currently raging in the German media (national and international, TV, radio, print and social media) about the removal of the N-word from children’s books is testament to this fact.  White [1] cultural producers react emotionally to any perceived threat to their “artistic freedom” and, in their fury, give little consideration to the opinions, knowledge and expertise of those of us who have experienced living in Germany as young Black people; those of us who are raising and educating Black children in this country; those of us who are anti-racism activists; or those of us who have made a profession in the field of anti-discrimination. Indeed, while observing their curious behaviour, the words of May Ayim come to mind:

…alle worte in den mund nehmen

egal wo sie herkommen

und sie überall fallen lassen

ganz gleich wen es

trifft… [2]

White cultural producers are fighting to retain their privileges: to date they still occupy dominant positions in the German art industry and therefore presumably experience the mere existence of political correctness as a threat. White cultural producers typically consider their own artistic productions to be of universal relevance and importance (and in consequence, the art of marginalized groups is considered to be less relevant for the white German population). These cultural producers are usually completely unaware of their own whiteness and of the constraints this will have on their perspectives, their creative work, as well as on their (potential) audience. For example,white German theatre practitioners who wish to explore themes of integration, immigration and discrimination through their artistic productions do not call on the wisdom of Black feminists, but instead choose to continue employing tired, outdated and often offensive stereotypes in a weak attempt to provoke and challenge the society within which they themselves have such a comfortable position. And most ironically of all, when these same theatre practitioners are challenged concerning their poor practice, they rarely seize the moment as a learning opportunity to reflect upon their own discriminatory practices but instead deny the credibility of their critics with a vehemence that belies the neutrality they claim to possess (see Otoo 2012). Political correctness is for them, at best, a pesky inconvenience - and at worst? As of this moment, most white Germans who comment on the removal of the N-word from children’s literature speak in melodramatic terms of the prevalence of censorship, the threat of 1984 scenarios and the death of artistic freedom. One pundit even resorted to using blackface to make his point [3]. It is as if these white Germans only grudgingly accept the existence of Black people in Germany, apparently believing the development of Germany into a (visibly) migratory society to be only a recent phenomenon (forgetting or repressing any knowledge of Germany’s violent colonial history), and therefore - so the assumption goes - these new Black populations fundamentally misunderstand what German culture is.