This series of fiction letters were written in response to discussion and mid quarter self evaluation assignment, and were included in my mid quarter self evaluation packet, but I thought I would share them here as well. This is a series of three fictionalized communications from a character to different people, highlighting how past experiences, perspective, and circumstance change experiences and change how people recount those experiences. Some of it comes from my the feeling I have myself that I can talk a lot about what happened and how it happened and why it happened and how it connects to all the other things that happen, but I can’t create, in a sense, a unified theory that can be used to formulate what actions should be taken to address what happens. (This ‘happening’ could be anything from a protest to a personal event to a program lecture, it doesn’t reference any particular event.)
Hannah Baby,
How is your wrist? I heard from Mackie that you hurt it, was it really from playing Go Whistle? How did you manage that?
I’ve got a lot to tell you this week, a lot’s happened here. A lot to go over. There’s been so many events they seem to blend together, and it’s only been a week. I know I must’ve said that every week these past two months, but it always seems true.
They grabbed the mic from their hands. They were told it was assault. They said it wasn’t the right time that it wasn’t their place they told them to go away. Their words weren’t welcome here. They were accused of having a knife. They were told the mic wasn’t on later, that it couldn’t be used, but it probably just meant no one wanted to take the chance it would happen again. Only a few people stayed, only a few people listened, and out of those who listened, only few talked about their meaning. Most talked about the way they said what they wanted.
Should they have taken the mic? Should they have been so aggressive? They should’ve followed procedure, of course, protests must follow procedure.
All of that happened, or it didn’t. It depends on who you ask, now.
It’s really frustrating. Even if I haven’t been to all the events, I could tell you everything that happened, or nothing that happened at the same time. Each time, the same words go around. The same words, the same rhetoric. It’s always around the politics of who has the microphone, and it’s little wonder, the microphone is a source of power. It physically gives peoples’ voices the volume to carry to many people. Who has the mic, who has the power to turn it off, or on, the dynamics of that relationship is incredibly important and pivotal in so many of the things that have happened this week.
The protest will be dismissed because of it’s methods, but when the correct methods are used, the protest is ignored.
I wish they talked about the content. It’s so hard, to figure out how to deal with what methods to take, what outcomes to hold out for and what increments to take. I wish we could discuss things, and have conversations that didn’t dissolve into name calling and arguing over semantics or definitions or blaming each other person and rehashing every mistake anyone has ever made, instead of trying to find progress and what forward is.
It’s so frustrating to be around, but even when there’s so much doubt and hurriedness, pain and triggering retrauma, there is some generative aspects. With the first pieces of doubt, pain and trauma, it’s hard to find the generative parts, or be able to take advantage of it when it happens.
I am lucky and I am distanced.
I am grateful and I wish I could more fully understand at the same time.
I am very glad you are not here. I’m glad that your place hasn’t been touched by the upheaval, that your community already joined together to support and drive away the disconnect between its people. I’m so glad. I hope I can join you as soon as I’m done here.
You are so good to me, for letting me rant to you and tell you these things. I appreciate you and your presence.
I hope your wrist heals soon, and tell Juno I saw one of their artworks in the museum a few days ago.
With love,
F.