Love is how we rebel!

On Thursday 18th July, Stories of Hope and Home took to the stage at Birmingham REP theatre with our latest performance, "Love is a Rebellion". As soon as the REP told us that the theme for their community festival this year was "Love and Rebellion" I knew we would be in our element! 

Early explorations of "what is love", "what is rebellion" and "where do they come together" generated some truly incredible discussions. As we started to devise what form our performance would take it became clear that the group wanted the focus this time to be on life in the UK asylum process. Much of what was shared spoke to where people were at and what they were feeling during what has been a particularly difficult year. As we began to shape the piece, we had some exceptionally challenging, but powerfully cathartic conversations about what the home office want from those trapped in its clutches. They did not hold back, and if anyone wonders how aware people seeking asylum might be of the the intentions and impacts of home office policies, the answer is they know exactly what it is all about. But we also reflected on the many gestures that help people to survive in the face of a hostile system. We explored how, in a system designed to divide, isolate and exclude, love is an act of rebellion.

For the first time since the very first play I facilitated which precipitated the creation of Stories of Hope and Home, this was an entirely 'in-house' creation (apart from some wonderful support from the tech / stage team at the REP on the day itself). There was a bit of overlap with those involved in devising and performing last year, but it also involved many who were new to the group and who came to the fore in expected and unexpected ways. It was, importantly, very much "us." 

In the midst of many moments when it felt quite hard to see how it would all come together, little by little a structure and script emerged. It was simple and understated: but didn't shy away from the challenges the participants wanted to share. Music was added: a piece of gentle background music ... but to those in the know, the hold music for Migrant Help which all those in the system, and all those who have walked alongside them have listened to for many more hours than they'd like. We also wrote the closing song: words drawn from our shared conversations, and with thanks to our very talented young volunteer for a catchy tune. It looks set to become something of an anthem for the group. 

We played around with movement and actions. Many of the on-stage interactions reflected keenly observed reproductions of their own lived experiences. Key cast members fell into place, other roles were gradually filled and endlessly switched around. Confidence grew and people stepped up in ways they might never have thought possible, which is always a very beautiful thing to watch and be part of.  We had, probably predictably, our first full run through with the complete final cast just three hours before the performance. But carried by energy, enthusiasm and a fair amount of talent, it worked, if I do say so myself, exceptionally well. 

Our previous performances have been to audiences of school children but the timing meant that wasn't possible this year and for quite a while we had no idea how much of an audience we would have. We knew that the experience of being on stage would still be incredible for the performers but it turns out we needn't have worried, as we had a brilliant turnout. One of the most special parts was that, having reached out to as many different charities and organisations in the sector as possible, a good proportion of the audience was made up of other people seeking sanctuary, and feedback from them suggested there was something beautifully beneficial in them seeing stories which resonated with their own experiences shared and celebrated on stage. Others in the audience spoke of being given shocking and important insights into a system and its impacts that they had not realised was so cruel and destructive. We are now talking and thinking about how we find ways to take what we believe was a truly special performance to a wider audience.  

Most important of all, it was clear that, despite the sometimes challenging subject matter, everyone on stage had a huge amount of fun, both in the preceding months and on the day itself. It worked, because it reflected the lived experience of this incredible community of people: in the challenges they face, and in the community we build and the ways we are together: that love is indeed how we rebel!

20 years

20 years (and a few days) ago, I graduated from Lancaster University and got married. It marked the end, and then the beginning of hugely significant parts of my life. 

Although my degree officially took four years, if you take out the year in France and work out the maths on just how short university terms are, I actually only spent a total of 99 weeks at Lancaster University, the equivalent of less than two years ... and yet it very definitely changed who I was. I learned quite a bit about English and French, a fair amount of which I have since forgotten, but also a whole lot about life. I found my tribe, found my joy and found myself. 

I graduated and got married two days apart (because why wouldn't you do all the dressing up in one go?) My memories of graduation day are fairly hazy: of the two, the wedding was by far the more significant and memorable event. It was, if I do say so myself, a very good wedding and an incredibly special day. I am still proud of the ceremony and party we created, of the things we prioritised and included, of the parts of ourselves we put into the day. I also remain very grateful for the community of people it brought together around us. 

The photo of the 300+ people who helped us celebrate, which includes many, possibly even most, of those who formed our communities at the time, is still on my wall, and still brings a smile to my face. There are quite a number of people in the picture who remain hugely important to me, as well as many from whom I have drifted apart and some who are no longer with us. In many ways, it still seems strange to think just how many of those I now count among my community don't feature in it: although I suppose it should be no surprise that in twenty years so many more people have come to be part of the many overlapping circles in which I mix. I am still adapting to a much newer reality that we both now have people who are really significant to us who are complete strangers, unknown to the other.

The day itself holds a special place in my heart, but, of course, it was always about much more than just that. For many of the years between then and now, my marriage shaped the places I (we) went, the things I (we) did, the adventures I (we) had, the causes I (we) fought for, the families I (we) are part of, the friendships I (we) built, the communities I (we) created, the lives I (we) lived ... the person I have become. There were challenges too, for sure, but there are very few regrets. I stand by my belief that my marriage enriched my life in immeasurable ways, something for which I will always remain grateful. 

Life has moved on, in all sorts of ways, since 2004. I am not the person I was then, although firm foundations for who I would become had certainly already been laid. Probably 20 years into the future, I will be just as different from who I am today. Society has long since left behind the days when people's lives might have mostly looked very similar twenty years on: with the same 'job for life', in the same locality, amidst the same friendships and community. I, and many of those I know, have lived in different places (including different countries), I have had multiple jobs, I have lost contact with people who mattered to me, just because our lives have drifted in different directions, I have been welcomed into or helped create new communities around me. I've attended different churches, been part of different social groups, explored different interests, developed different skills. 

Almost every aspect of the life I live looks different: and for the most part that is widely accepted and even celebrated. The 'what comes next' doesn't devalue the 'what came before'. I love Birmingham, but I am glad I have had opportunities to live in Paris and the Philippines and on the stunning coast of Northern Ireland before landing up here (for now). I describe my current work as a vocation, but see / saw teaching as a vocation too. My new friendships don't detract from the previous ones. These aren't necessarily things I walked away from easily or painlessly, but I accepted life was taking me in new directions. It has taken me time to accept that it is ok to see changes in relationships, even married ones with binding vows, in the same way too. 

Even though I am now well settled into another new phase of life, and even though a few short paragraphs could never hope to sum up everything my marriage gave me over many years, it feels appropriate to note and mark the passing of such a significant anniversary.

Dancing in the storm

With my previous blogpost having been entitled "after" the tsunami, you may notice that with this one I'm referring to being back in the storm. It is not a mistake: because although though that specific wave has subsided, I don't think it would be appropriate to suggest that the storm has passed for those subject to the hostile environment.

They, we, are still in the storm. But they, we are still dancing in the midst of it. 

The week before last was refugee week.

For a number of years it has been one of the busiest weeks of my year. This year, I would say, in terms of busy-ness, it stood out less. Not because it was any less busy, but because the previous weeks had been equally full-on, and the next few are looking relatively hectic too! 

What did set it apart though, was the sheer joyfulness of it. 

Don't get me wrong: the challenge and struggle were never far away. We did three school visits, all of which involved the sharing of difficult stories. We did three performances which didn't hold back from acknowledging the reality of the hostility faced by people seeking sanctuary in the UK. I still spoke with lots of individuals struggling with specific issues. There were still tears.

But there was also laughter.

And there was poetry and song, and the confidence of standing on a stage and knowing that your voice is being heard. There were reasons to celebrate, and excuses for parties with plenty of good food and friendship. There were signs of support and solidarity, in the sunshine and in the rain!. There was the building of community, the sharing of time. There was forgetting about it all and having a bit of fun.

And thus, in the midst of the storm, we danced! 

I reached the end of the week tired, but reminded that, joy, too, is a form of resistance, and, just as we said and sang: love is how we rebel*.

I did intend to write this more than a week ago, and therefore before the election which has perhaps also given us reasons to be tentatively hopeful, so this post really isn't about that, although there may be others to follow that are!  

* Love is a Rebellion is our performance at Birmingham REP this year, written and performed by Stories of Hope and Home it promises to be a wonderful show and if you are in Birmingham (or nearby), and would like to join us, you'd be most welcome! https://www.birmingham-rep.co.uk/whats-on/stories-of-hope-and-home/