kagablog

“Contrary to the rumors that you’ve heard, I was not born in a manger.

I was actually born on Krypton and sent here to save the planet Earth”

- Barack H. Obama

So here we are with the most handsome superhero

Who’ll save the world and catch the culprits of ground zero

But me I don’t buy this cheap and vulgar propaganda

Set up by cheaters sit in Washington and London

Nothing but answers is what I would like to obtain

To sweep away some killing doubts outta my brain

So here I come with five straight questions just for you

Please take you time and try to be for real and true:

Are you the guy who does sincerely hold the power

Or are you just another smartly dressed liar?

Are you exercising a real, effective influence

Or are you a puppet in the devil’s filthy hands?

Are you the savior of the brothers on the street

Or just the butler of the masters of Wall Street?

Are you a Moses who will lead us outta Egypt

Or, as they say, are you a big giant deceit?

Are you in the office to relieve poor people’s shoulders

Or are you there to push ahead the new world order?

King of the world is your official middle name

Although we know there’s an elite who rules the game

You said we can, you promised change, and raised our hope

But after voting what I’ve seen is just no dope

Your courteous poets praise the blackness of the banks

Barack forgive me, I’m not aligned into their ranks

Before I leave allow me just a tiny advice

One small suggestion about which you should think twice

Shut down the fed and drop the debt of your great nation

Interest-free money’s the only key to emancipation

So dear Barack of edgy queries you have a list

Answer to them and please don’t call me a pessimist

I’m just a poet with a strong distaste for tricks

So contradict me and prove I’m a just a lunatic

But till the day I’ll see capitulate the fed

I’ll stay convinced that I am not at all misled

hey aryan,

i just received a call from The Greatest. he said he heard about the zakes mda - stephen grey’s skirmish, and he called an immediate press conference. According to reliable sources, this is what he said to the journalists:

steve’s tactics was hit-and-run
he got a black eye in one

his words were slimy like glue
his face was swollen in two

gray thought him smarter than z
he threw the towel in three!

muhammad ali, “The First Heavy Weight Champion of Rap”

Abstract: Starting from Masaru Emoto’s empirical findings on the harmonising and re-balancing effects that sweet musical melodies, printed positive words and evocative photographic images have over the structure of water crystals, this paper aims at expanding the fields of applications of his theory beyond music, the written word and photography. Applying partnership theories to the comparative study of water crystals, written and oral texts, the article suggests that ‘conscious’ spoken word (an oral poetic genre which combines harmonious melodies and positive messages) could be considered an additional potential agent to promote water harmonisation, and thus self and collective healing.

Wish me love a wishing well
To kiss and tell
A wishing well of butterfly tears
Wish me love a wishing well
To kiss and tell
A wishing well of crocodile cheers

Terence Trent d’Arby

Introduction

In the course of my career as a researcher and in my personal spiritual and artistic journey, I have been most blessed to study, work and perform closely with many individuals who revere the knowledge that comes from indigenous cultures. There is no better way to express my love and gratitude to those people than making the words of Louis Stevens mine:

I’ve witnessed extraordinary healings and methods of communicating with the elements that radically challenged my university-bred beliefs about the nature of reality and gave me insight into the possibilities that I’d been trained to screen out by my traditional Western education (Emoto 2004: 185).

One of the fundamental lessons I have learned from shamans and poets like Habiba, Grand Mother Sara, Lance Henson, Apirana Taylor and Credo Mutwa is that water plays a pivotal role in their extraordinary teachings. But shamans are not the only teachers who consider water the central element in the life of our planet. Japanese scientist Masaru Emoto is acknowledged worldwide as the forerunner of the studies on the “mystical” essence and powers of water within the scientific community. It was Prof. Antonella Riem who first presented to me Emoto’s theories on water crystals, and the effects that different kind of stimulations have on the molecular structure of those crystals. In this article I will apply Emoto’s findings to my main field of research (the art of spoken word) and hence attempt to suggest that well-textured spoken word is a form of artistic oral communication with an innate power of healing. First, I will present the core principles of Emoto’s theory on the healing effects that positive inputs have on water. Next, I will look at some of the features of the so-called spoken word (or “open mic”) sessions and, on the base of Emoto’s experimental results, I will examine the possible positive influence spoken word can have over audiences. In conclusion, I will examine comparatively how the culture of partnership envisaged by Emoto and the conscious spoken word artist “resounds” with the multiversal partnership cosmological vision theorized in 21st century physics.

The healing effects of “conscious” spoken word

Starting from Dr Emoto’s theories on water, this article attempts at suggesting that ‘conscious’ spoken word art can be considered as an excellent factor to positively influence people’s mind and bodies. When one looks at a beautiful picture or landscape, listens to nice music or, as in the case under scrutiny in this article, takes part at a spoken word (or “open mic”) poetry session, one feels relieved and peaceful. He/she feels his own self purified and healed.
Emoto’s experiments show how water improves or deteriorate according to the information one offers to it. Since the human body is composed by 70% of water, Emoto agreeably argues that human beings are highly affected by the quality of the information they take in. In accordance with this vision, the aim of this article is to point out that when an individual is exposed to conscious spoken word, which provides positive information (text) and good “vibes” (music), he/she can improve his own health and state of mind.

In the pictures included in his works, Emoto shows how water displays different shapes of ice crystals: their structure changes its quality according to the information it has received.

Water samples stored in glass bottles respond to positive information – such as delicate, loving words, phrases, pictures, music – by forming beautiful hexagonal (1) crystals. In contrast, water exposed to negative inputs never forms any elegant crystal. Water seems to correctly understand and “absorb” the essence of what it is exposed to. It does not only recognize the word or the picture for its shape: influenced by the electromagnetic fields generated by the stimulating objects it understands their meanings. The corollary of Emoto’s core theory on crystals formation is that

water is sensitive to a subtle form of energy called hado. It is this form of energy that affects the quality of water and the shape in which the crystals form. […] I use hado to mean all the subtle energy that exists in the universe. All existing things have vibrations, or hado. This energy is often positive or negative and is easily transmitted to other existing things (Emoto, 2003: 21).

This statement is confirmed by Icke in his comparative study on what he calls “open-minded real science” and the knowledge of ancient civilizations:

Magnetic energy absorbs information and everything is magnetic-electrical energy […] one physical world expression of this energy is what we call electromagnetism. Some true scientists (Emoto, ndr) have suggested that water has a memory and they have performed experiments to prove it. There is no mystery in this at all, much as mainstream science is aghast to it. Water exists, it is magnetic energy/consciousness, therefore it has a memory. Everything does. It is magnetism, a vibratory resonance and attraction, that allow us to create our own reality in every moment of our lives. Like vibrations attract vibrations and like energy fields attract energy fields. (Icke, 1996: 84)

These theoretical assumptions vividly recall the findings of physicists-philosophers such as Albert Einstein and Fritjof Capra, and stand at the core of 21st century cutting-edge physics (to which I will return in the conclusive notes of this article). More significantly, they share the life views of all the major spiritual teachings of different ‘indigenous’ cultures. Hado is thus a form of energy whose basic principles are “vibration and resonance” (Emoto: 2003: 25). For Emoto the three words that fully encapsulate the power of hado are frequency, resonance and similarity (Emoto 2006: 30 – 32):

The entire universe is vibrating at a particular and unique frequency. Frequency can be modelled as waves, a fact easily supported by quantum mechanics. All matters is frequency as well as particles […] everything is vibrating, and vibrating at a unique and individual frequency. But that is still not all, for the words we speak, the words we write […] all emit their own frequencies as well. Resonance is made possible when there is a sender of hado information and a receiver of the information. A Japanese expression “aun no kokyu”, or “in-breath and out-breath”, means a state where subtle synchronization occurs when we do things together. This also refers to a relationship between a sender and a receiver. (Emoto 2006: 30 – 32, my italics).

This is actually what a spoken word session is all about. In an open mic session the aim is to create an environment of deep emotional and spiritual complicity between the performers on stage (senders of hado energy) and the audience (receivers of hado energy). Furthermore, in the African oral tradition the exchange of positive energy between the poet(s) and the audience is never unilateral (from poet to audience) but is rather a “circular dance” where audience and performer(s) meet in a feeling of intense reciprocity. In a spoken word session the active participation of the listeners (articulated in whistles of joy, moans of pleasure, loud laughs, ululations, hand clapping, screams of appreciation, etc.) is a constituent part of any performance. Unlike in Western poetry readings, with African audiences there is no emotional separation between the performer on stage and the crowd. They are actually as one, and through the “circular exchange” of hado they mutually energize each other (2). This is possible because people and the environment are all connected vibrationally and what happens to one influences them all. They each vibrate to a different “note” (wavelength), but all notes are part of the same “tune” (electromagnetic field). The ‘good vibes’ the spoken word artists broadcast, positively affect the energy field around them. When at a poetry session one says “there’s a good atmosphere”, he/she is actually using a metaphor to describe the energy field of a particular location, of an energy field created by the positive thoughts, the vibes and the words of the participants.

Many scientific disciplines (including physics and musicology) have shown that when two objects have the same frequency they resonate with each other. For Emoto: “our mind and body are affected by this, depending on what intrinsic vibration we resonate with. In human relations, we often say that we are or are not on the same wavelength with someone” (Emoto: 2003: 23). Words like these sound familiar to spoken word sessions goers who, in order to express appreciation for the art they are exposed to, often use similar expressions, such as “I feel the groove”, “There’s a good vibe” or “This guy goes with the flow”.

In other words, following Emoto’s suggestions, I argue that music and human voice (and the combination of them, as in the spoken word art) have an intrinsic wave. Due to this, when spoken word artists craft ‘conscious art’ (i.e. a when they are able to deliver a powerful combination of well-textured poetry and effective stage skills) (3), they offer the audience something that goes beyond the mere artistic performance. They actually heal the audience because they have the ability to send the right kind of “vibes” and thus correct the listeners’ unbalanced vibrational patterns.

The hado medicine practiced by Emoto utilizes the technique of cancelling the harming characteristics of a certain wave by overlaying an opposite wave shape. The application of this principle applied to music (which is one of the pillars of music therapy) has been substantiated by the experiments conducted by Yamasaki, reported in Emoto (Emoto: 2003: 26-7). When human bodies (and thus water) are stimulated with positive inputs, they undergo a process of in-depth purification: “The hado water created in this manner penetrates into the molecules, atoms and subatomic particles that make up the person’s body, and stops the disturbances of the vibration” (Emoto 2003: 28-9). Hence, felicitous words, spoken in a delightful way, have the capacity to purify water, and thus people’s body and soul: they activate the primordial energies of human body at the very subatomic level. Using a metaphor, one could say that they make the subtle matter we are made of ‘dance’ to the diverse musical rhythms of poetry (funk, blues, jazz, hip hop, dub), thus awakening the matter’s innate self-healing powers:

A human body is said to consist of 60 trillions cells. As these cells fulfil their roles harmoniously, we can live our life healthily. Not only these cells but also molecules, atoms and subatomic particles have their own intrinsic vibration. When all vibrations go well, our body, as their composite, can work as beautifully as a great orchestra. If a disturbance occurs in a vibration, it creates a discord, and we can not expect to play beautiful music (Emoto: 2003: 35-36).

Whoever has participated (either as a poet or in the audience) at a funky open mic session knows the feeling of relief, lightness and ease resulting from the exposure to harmonious poetic melodies. This is hardly to happen when you attend “rap battles” which, as the name discloses, are harsh verbal confrontations in which the contenders are more committed to destroy their opponent’s egos than to create the jazzy, smooth and relaxing atmosphere one breaths during a nice spoken word gig (4). So spoken word sessions have the ability to make audience feel at ease with themselves and their surroundings, i.e. to heal emotional and physical dis-ease which, according to Emoto, “is the result of vibrational disturbance at the subatomic-particle level, triggering the disturbance at the atomic level, which in turn causes the disturbance at the molecular level, then the cellular level, and finally at the level of organs.” (Emoto 2003: 86)

By qualifying conscious spoken word artists as “healers” one also attempts to stress the bonds that link today’s urban poets to their ancestors. As a matter of fact healers were (and are) gifted individuals deeply involved in spiritual knowledge, such as priests, shamans and poets (roles which often overlap). As their ancestors did in the past, even today’s spoken word artists can help people heal and attain peace of mind as they contribute the people’s resonance with dis-ease diminish or cease.

According to tsistsistas poet and shaman Lance Henson, a poem is of good quality when it contains at least one powerful image per verse. Thus good poetry (written and oral) is so when it is able to provide the reader/listener a well-textured sequence of touching images. This concept is a pivotal one in Emoto’s research on water and serves the purpose of proving the power of spoken word as a healing force. For Emoto: “we can expect to live our life smoothly. This can be materialized only after an image is formed. The image I am discussing here […] is a form of positive information. As we repeat the information with strong words, water will naturally help us.” (Emoto 2003: 100, my italics). Yet, repetition and parallelism are basic patterns of traditional African oral poetry and still form the textual structure of most contemporary spoken word art. This implies that not only the message contained in the poems, but also the way poems are composed and delivered to the audience, are essential features of the healing power of spoken word. Spoken word is usually characterized by the length of the poems performed: in a standard gig the poet recites (and sings) for several minutes, loudly vocalizing a harmonious flow of melodies and words, creating a solemn atmosphere around him/her. This aspect is a crucial one, since for Emoto this “gives off a stronger hado than writing [words] on paper” (Emoto 2003: 100). Evidence of the healing power of repeated, loudly vocalized chants over the mind and the body can be found in many religious praying practices, one of the most famous being the ritual mantra “Hare Krsna, Hare Krsna, Krsna Krsna, Hare Hare/ Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare” sung by Hindus before and during purification practices.

According to this vision, conscious spoken word can be seen as an adaptation of ancient, well-tested healing practices, crafted to successfully address the dis-eased masses (especially the youth) in 21st century urbanized, “globalized” world. Conscious spoken word purifies the soul of listeners and performers because of the harmonious vibes it transmits, temporarily allowing one’s thoughts to release the warped feelings and emotions (fear, grudge, anger, worry, apathy, guilt, etc.) that form a block between the spirit and the body. Taking again Veda philosophy as a subject for comparison, spoken word poetic ‘rituals’ recall the process of purification one undergoes during yoga meditation practices, whose ultimate goal is to cleanse the seven chakras (situated along the axis of human body) from negative feelings. Left aside the mystique attached to the number seven, I wish to recall that these seven chakras correspond to the seven bodily endocrines centres. As Henry writes: “an endocrine gland is one that secrets chemical substances (hormones) directly into the blood stream. Scientists have discovered that this system can be tuned to resonate at specific frequencies or tones […] This endocrine system is the ‘conduit’ between the earthly and heavenly tunes” (Henry 2003: 42, my italics). Again, the passage above seems to support my assumption that spoken word art that delivers positive flowing melodies to listeners can be conceived as an effective healing force for soul and body. In other words, during a spoken word session the spectator restores his/her imbalanced vibrational patterns by resonating with the harmonious energies produced by the spoken word artists. Balancing the essence within the spectators with the essence of conscious wordsmiths places the molecules of water which permeates the participants’ bodies (as well as the environment in which this “energetic exchange” takes place) in harmony, in scale (key) “with the flow”.

This article aims also at suggesting new fields of application for Emoto’s experiments with crystal waters. In Emoto’s works in fact one finds several references to water exposure to music (and related images), but the type of music selected for the documented experiments includes only classic and heavy metal (5). For the purpose of this article, I suggest to expand the list of music used for experiments to other genres such as, amongst others, funk, hip hop, jazz and reggae/dub. Since I believe in the validity of Dr Emoto’s theories, I presume that funk tracks like James Brown’s “I got you (I feel good)”, hip hop masterpieces such as Erykah Badu’s “I want you”, jazz melodies like Billie Holiday’s “Autumn in New York” and reggae classics such as Bob Marley’s “Natural mystic” could predictably have very positive influence on the water crystals’ structure because of the hado of their positive trait. Obviously, the list of music genres and songs which could enhance water purification is virtually endless. What I suggest is that, by extension, Emoto’s view on the healing effects of positive music and words can apply to the spoken word art since, as Molebatsi and d’Abdon point out (Molebatsi and d’Abdon 2007), spoken word is a form of artistic expression which is founded upon the inextricable interface between poetry and music. Spoken word artists are both poets and musicians and their art resides in a unique territory in-between poetry and music.

In addition to being art and providing entertainment, music has healing effects and has the ability to boost the body immune system. This statement is substantiate by scientific literature, but above all by our everyday life experience. But what makes music so powerful when it comes down to look for a cheap and easy-to-obtain medicine for our bodies and souls? For Emoto this happen because the water in our body is healed by listening to the music. Good music reaches every one of our sixty trillion cells […] In the medical field, there are more and more physicians who incorporate ‘music therapy’ into their practice. They say that having the patient listen to music accelerates the recovery process. I am a supporter of this therapy. If the music makes water happy, it must positively affect our cells, which are made up of water. (Emoto 2003: 123-4)

Emoto also reports the successful experiments of neurosurgeon Dr Shibuya, initiator of the “sound-energy therapy”, “a method to cure various diseases by using the hado of voice” (Emoto 2003: 124-5). With his therapy Dr Shibuya basically seeks, through a person’s voice, to find a sound to correct disturbed frequencies. This seems to be a scientific corroboration of the expression ‘I feel the vibe’ employed by listeners of a graceful spoken word artist in action. In other words, by absorbing the waves coming from the voice, the words and the music of a conscious spoken word artist, the water which forms 70% of the listener’s body is empowered to produce the quantum leap which generates ease (and thus purification and self-healing from dis-ease). Stimulated, as it is in the “modern world”, by negative inputs, human consciousness (and subconscious) has become repository of unresolved emotional distress, which must be healed if one is to achieve the vibrational leap that many people are currently embarked upon: the quantum jump to a new state of consciousness. The same concept of a ‘conscious’ individual (as theorized, amongst others, by Biko (6)) is a pivotal one to comprehend the above-cited notion of quantum leap. When artists qualify as ‘conscious artists’, this means that people recognize their words and music as capable of producing a leap, i.e. a positive change in listeners’ consciousness (and subconscious). This, by extension, heals their souls and body.

This notion does not come in a void but underlies, for instance, the whole ancient tradition of alchemy. Alchemic theories state that something must be activated within the human body, which will enable the individual to make oneself over into a go(l)d. This is the meaning of the myth of the Philosopher’s stone. What this tradition reveals is that one of the hidden abilities of the human biological transformational apparatus is the creation of, or ability to flow go(l)d. If correctly activated the human body can generate a field force of love, a tone, a vibration. As Fulcanelli points out:

The secret of alchemy is that there exists a means of manipulating matter and energy so as to create what modern science calls a force field. This force field acts upon the observer and puts him in a privileged position in relation to the universe. From this privileged position he has access to realities that space and time, matter and energy, normally conceal from us. This is what we call the Great Work (Johnson 1980: 263).

For the specific purpose of this article I would like to add: this is what I call a Great Poetic Work. In fact the excerpt above is nothing but a scientific description of comments one hears at spoken word sessions such as: ‘there’s a good chemistry here tonight’. It also supports what Henson says about (good) poetry, i.e. that poetry is one of the highest form of inspired knowledge because it is channelled through the poet by higher levels of perceptions. According to him and to all indigenous peoples’ traditions, poets possess the gift of accessing inspired thoughts which appear to be their own, but actually come from a higher level of consciousness, higher dimensions of themselves and reality. In order to continue to exercise this privilege, poets constantly strive to keep their spirit clean from negative influences. Conversely, one can speculate that most people have forgotten the ability everyone potentially has of accessing these higher dimensions because the mind and consciousness of “modern” individuals are often destabilized by cancerous feelings such as fear, guilt and resentment that inhibit one’s ability to fully develop spiritually and physically. During spoken word sessions the poets bridge this gap, by reconnecting people’s souls to forgotten spiritual dimensions.

Emoto dedicates several sections of his works to the healing power of positive spoken word (7). Ultimately, Emoto’s research sees purification of water(s) through written word, music and other means as a vehicle to push forward a much called-for healing of individuals, the environment and the whole planet (“perhaps pollution of the water is nothing more than the pollution of the human soul”. Emoto 2006: preface). Emoto’s is a true vision of “partnership”, as theorized by North American anthropologist Riane Eisler (Eisler 1987) since, as he claims: “we must use the power within us to keep our thoughts focused on the good around us and not on the forces of destruction” (Emoto 2006: 9). By praising love, gratitude, beauty and purity transmitted through diverse communicative languages Emoto aims at creating a clean environment, liberated from those negative energies that prevent individual and planetary evolution to fully express their innate, unlimited potentials (INSERT FIGURE 2 HERE). One of Emoto’s fundamental lessons is the need to purify our language by eliminating from our vocabulary words that bring forth negativity and confrontation (typical of ‘dominator models’) through the exclusive use of words of love and harmony (‘partnership model’). An identical process of “detoxification” of everyday written and spoken language from words of ‘domination’ is advocated by the theorists of partnership applied to linguistics and literature (Bortoluzzi 2007; Ramaswamy 2007). This process is actually set into motion by conscious spoken word artists who, in their most accomplished works and during their performances, mould texts and music around positive words and images.

In Emoto’s texts we do not found explicit references to the art of spoken word, as a 21st century urban, poetic-musical genre. However, by praising the positive effect conscious speech has over water, he indirectly substantiates the healing nature of this art, which can be considered one of the most harmonious expressions of contemporary mouth-to-ear communication:

One way to look at words is to consider them the switch for turning on or off the vibration of everything in the universe […] Humans are the only animals capable of using words, and this allows us to align our wavelength with anything and everything that exists in the universe. And it’s instantaneous. […] The ability of spoken word to give life is much more powerful than we can imagine”. (Emoto 2006: 21-23, my italics)

Making peace with water: storytelling, shamanism, peace, music, poetry and water

In a highly evocative passage in The Secret Life of Water Emoto quotes a poetic story told by an aboriginal shaman from Australia. In this tale the principle of contamination of water (and, by extension, of people, the environment and the universe) through exposure to negative feelings is magnificently expressed in the metaphorical style of aboriginal storytelling (8) (Emoto 2006: 117-120). Both the aboriginal shaman’s story and Emoto’s scientific experiments show how information is copied into water. However, so-called ‘orthodox’ scientists often ridicule researchers who recur to the words and teachings of ‘non-scientists’, like shamans, to substantiate their theories. This narrow and extremely out-to-date view is a by-product of the claustrophobic methodology of ‘official science’ which categorically labels as ‘unscientific’ (and hence unworthy of attention) all theoretical works produced outside the box of academic publishing. This conservative approach underestimate the fact that the same history of science shows that what is commonly accepted as the only acceptable ‘scientific truth’ in a given historical period, is regularly dismissed as obsolete in the periods that follow. This means that there is nothing like an ‘official truth’. I believe that the present age is one of enormous changes and transformation at various levels: this urges scientific researchers to venture more and more into territories others from ‘orthodox science’. The latter is insufficient to explain the complexities of the multi-dimensional world(s) we live in. In other words, the history of ancient civilizations (which were indeed much more technologically advanced than ours) graphically shows that not everything can be understood by mere research or ‘science’. This is nothing but the great lie lying behind the matrix of the rationalistic/positivistic Western science. The works of open-minded scientists like Emoto (and many others) and the words of shamans and poets must thus be considered as serious as any other ‘scientific’ finding. More significantly, as the collection of essays The Healing Power of Water evidences, a constructive approach to research must see all these fields of knowledge not as mutually exclusive, but rather as complementary. The combination of ‘orthodox’ and ‘alternative’ science(s) is what generates progress, not the stubborn and illogical defence of one vision at the expense of all the others (9). The overcoming of this binary methodological partition is also one of the guide-principles of partnership-oriented methodological research, and this essay is an attempt to proceed in that direction.

Like the myths and tales of other indigenous traditions, those told by Eric, the Aboriginal shaman above cited, are rich in truths about reality, the universe and the way in which we should live a fully rewarding and harmonious life:

For our ancestors, fantasy, science, and theology were all one and the same. And the way to pass on the truths of the world to future generations was through stories. Such stories were based on an understanding of the invisible laws that govern the visible world. The advanced medical practitioners were the shamans who preyed for and healed the afflicted. (Emoto 2006: 121)

From Eric’s tale we learn that “water must always flow” (Emoto 2006: 121). When the flow stops water (and thus life) gets rotten, sick and eventually perishes. This is another metaphor that fits well in the description of a spoken word session. When, as reported above, we hear someone from the audience saying “this guy goes with the flow”, we are simply told that the performing poet is creating a flux of positive energy that permeates the venue, reaching the deepest corners of the soul of the listeners. In his books Emoto insists on the fact that for water to be “in good health”, it must flow freely, unconstrained (or, if constrained by necessity, it must be healed through stimulation with positive inputs). Life is in circulation, in movement, not in stagnation (10) and when the flow is stopped negative energy is likely to take over.

Somebody said: “you don’t fight for freedom, you peace for freedom”. As a promoter of partnership I fully subscribe to this point of view. This means that on one hand one must honour the achievements of yesterday and today’s freedom fighters. Countless celebrated and unsung heroes and ‘sheores’ in world history have dedicated all their existence to the goal of culturally and socially emancipating people from mental and economic slavery. Many of them have sacrificed their own life to achieve this noble goal and must be eternally praised for that. On the other hand however, in 21st century, I believe that armed struggle is an unfruitful strategy for liberating people from today’s multilevel forms of oppression. Today is time for “freedom peacers” to keep their ancestors’ legacy alive, through new means of resistance. The lessons coming from partnership scholars, conscious artists and activists and a growing number of open-minded scientists and thinkers is that positive thoughts, actions and words (rather than gunpowder) might be the most effective tools to be adopted in today’s “peace for freedom”. This is what the recurrent expression of “quantum leap” recorded in the present essay is all about. It is about a transformation of individual and global consciousness to be pursued at personal and collective level. This transformation, this r-evolution, can not be achieved with rifles. It can be achieved only if one liberates his/her own mind, soul and everyday acting from enslaving negative thoughts such as fear, grudge, vengeance, guilt and the likes and substitutes them with love, care, cooperation and gratitude. As film maker David Lynch properly states: “if we want world peace what we need is more and more people in peace with themselves”. Scientists, shamans and conscious artists whose work is comparatively analyzed in this article are showing a possible path to follow. Once one understands this, the possibility to fully express one’s own innate talents and live a potentially unlimited life comes at hand. It becomes a matter of everyday small but extremely significant choices, which indeed could have enormous positive (or negative) repercussions on individual lives and the environment. Partnership theories state that the choice is in our hands, and has always been so, even if religions, politics, mass media and other ‘dominator’, mind-controlling, dogmatic institutions tell us the opposite. As reported in Henry, a shaman from Yucatan who had researched Mayan temples for decades describes the symbol of the black sun, “a hallmark of Mayan teaching”. In the shaman’s words the black sun “is the black mirror of humanity. In it we see our reflection and decide if we are going to use the power of our spoken word to create love […] or fear […] in our worlds” (Henry 2003: 82, my italics). This idea of “small changes which produce The Big Change” is poetically expressed both by hip hop scholar, poet and philosopher KRS One (11), and late North American comedian Bill Hicks, who describes life as follows:

It’s like a ride in an amusement park and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, round and round, it has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly coloured and very loud. And it’s fun for a while. Some have been on the ride for a long time and they begin to question: Is this real or is just a ride? And other people have remembered and they come back to us and they say: Hey, don’t worry, don’t be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride. And we kill those people. Shut him up! We’ve got a lot invested in this ride. Shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my bank account, and my family. This has to be real. It’s just a ride. But we always kill those guys who try to tell us that. Have you ever noticed that? And we let demons run amok. But it doesn’t matter because it’s just a ride. And we can change it anytime we want. It’s just a choice. No effort, no job, no savings of money. A choice right now between fear and love. (Icke: 1996: 77, my italics)

Many ‘orthodox’ scientists and literary critics dismiss Emoto’s theories and the “street art” of spoken word respectively, by labelling both as “unscientific”. As Hicks states, they attempt to “shut their voice up” by excluding them from “official scientific publications”. However, as this article attempts to show, these conservative attitudes are today questioned by a growing ‘critical mass’ of academics, conscious artists and ‘free thinkers’ who cherish the re-emergence of a subtle energy that is re-awakening human consciences, and therefore re-harmonising the communities. This re-emergence of “female” energy has been symbolised by many shamans, astronomers, human sciences scholars and conscious artists as ‘the return of the goddess’. Zulu sanusi Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa masterfully summed up this universal process of transformation of consciousnesses in the opening tale of his epic Indaba My Children, titled “The Spawn of the Dragon”. In this mythological story Mutwa recalls the legend of Marimba (12), the Goddess of Music, who was not only the undisputed and much loved guide of her people, but also a dispensator of harmony, a universal healer, creator of unity and peace and inventor of melodies and musical instruments. Literally: a creatrix of harmonies (Mutwa 1966: 1 – 47). As South African spoken word artist Napo Masheane affirms, today’s conscious poets are the living messengers of these ancestral voices (13) and, like Marimba, they too are committed in the demanding task of creating harmony(ies) through their poetry and music. This lead us to the conclusive, summarizing considerations on water, cutting-edge science and spoken word. These issues will be addressed with more precision in the paragraphs that follow.

Resonating with the Multiverse. Spoken word art and the “M” theory

In a crucial passage of his study on science, ancient symbols and world mythologies, Henry recalls that:

21st century science tell us the fundamental building blocks of reality are vibrating “strings”, an idea that the ancients appear to have been familiar with. String theory is the idea that all matter is made out of tiny loops of vibrating strings. How does this work? Atoms are made from electrons and the nucleus which if split consists of many other particles. These particles are made of quarks. In string theory quarks and electrons are nothing but tiny loops of vibrating strings. Simply put, superstring theory says that all particles and forces are manifestations of different resonances of tiny one-dimensional string (or possibly membranes) vibrating in ten dimensions. They are so small our science and technology cannot detect them. Superstring theory further postulates that there are two types of strings: strings with a clockwise vibration […] and strings with a counterclockwise vibration […]. Clockwise spirals symbolize water, power and energy. The counterclockwise spirals […] resembles a foetus. Through the vibrations of the strings the attributes of elementary particles like mass, spin or charge and the four elementary forces arise: the electromagnetic force, the weak force (radioactive decay), the strong force (holds the nucleus together) and gravitation. It is the Grand Unifying Theory of Everything. (Henry 2003: 115 – 116, my italics).

Henry refers to the studies of physicists such as – amongst others – Paul J. Steinhardt, Neil Turok (14), Brain Greene (15), Michael Duff (16) Lisa Randall (17) and Michio Kaku (18) whose studies represent the edge of contemporary ‘orthodox’ physics. Pure, simple, noble and elementary, the early “strings” and “superstrings” theories formulated by these physicists dealt with the distribution of the matter in the universe. In strings theory matter is emanated by vibrating strings, like music is. One can compare these strings to the strings of a cello, or a guitar (or even to the keys of a marimba): if one strums the string in a certain way one obtains a certain frequency, but if one shifts position on the same string one obtains different frequencies. This is how the various chords are born. According to this theory all nature is composed by small music notes played on some sort of “superstrings”. The invisible strings of this theory represent the foundation (“soundation”) of all matter of the universe. These assumptions led these physicists to speculate that the universe is a symphony and the laws of physics are the harmonies sung on a “superstring”. When Randall postulated the existence of an 11th dimension (Randall: 2005) though, strings started to transform. Physicists in fact demonstrated that the 11th dimension is a dimension populated by an infinite array of membranes of different shapes, each one of whom could be a universe of its own: this means that reality is the sum of infinite multiverses (or parallel universes). The theory of the parallel universes, also called “Membrane theory” or “M theory”, states that all matter is connected in a vast structure, an intricate membrane of energy. Hence, the multiverses that compose reality are the combination of ever-changing, vibrating membranes each one of whom is a complete universe on its own. What classic science has so far described as “uni-verse” is indeed a membrane which expands in the empty space of the 11th dimension, together with other universes-membranes. For the purpose of this article, I observe that the fascinating aspect of this theories is that they speak of an ever-changing, harmonious reality that exists within and beyond physical laws. The core message of these theories becomes thus accessible also to someone who is not familiar with the complex languages of physics. The same scientists cited above agree upon the fact that when the mathematical study of reality is pushed to its limits, it inevitably enters into the realm of what could be called “fantasy”. This is why, in their words (18), the “M” in “M theory” stands for “Membrane” but can also stand for “Magic”, “Mystery”, “Music”, “Mother” (“The mother of all energy”), “Majesty” (“The majesty of an all-embracing theory”), “Madness” (The madness a theory that defies common sense”), or “Marvel” (“The marvel of a universe founded upon coherent and elegant laws”, as advocated by Einstein). The theory of the “parallel universes” is of extreme interest because it surprisingly admits the existence of scientifically unexplainable “truths”. Indeed its relevance lies in the fact that it implicitly reconciles the most advanced Western science with ancient shamanic and mythological knowledge. In this space of ultimate cosmological “partnership” amongst elements, human life, water, music, energy, birth, re-birth and all other (good and bad) manifestations of creation are not seen as separated, accidental phenomena, but as constituently interconnected parts of borderless, multiversal “cosmic dances” of membranes in perpetual motion. In ancient times this phenomenon has been symbolically described in Hindu mystical tradition with the image of the dancing Goddess. Once physics has proved that everything in our “universe” (and in the infinite parallel ones, unperceivable by human senses) is inextricably interconnected, we can approach similarly-grounded Emoto’s theories and the assumption brought forward in this essay with a less sceptical eye. Healing takes place when we purify our body (made by 70-75% of water) and soul and thus achieve to “get tuned” with the cosmic vibrations exposed by the scientists of the “M theory”. From the beginnings of time meditation, poetry and music have been the ‘rituals’ performed by humankind to attain these goals, and shamans, poets and storytellers have been the healers charged with the crucial task of preserving them and eventually handing them down to future generations. For a researcher in the field of spoken word (specifically South African spoken word), fascinated by the physical and meta-physical scientific discoveries reported above, there is also another intriguing element of mystique attached to the whole idea of the “M theory”.

Masheane, Mazwai, Motsei, Mashile, Molebatsi, Miller, Mamabolo, Manaka, Matsetela, Mabale, Madingwane, Motsemme… This is only a selected list of names of South African ‘conscious’ spoken word artists and scholars, who are frontlining artists, thinkers and activists, fully committed in the “hip hop mission” of awakening the consciousness of their (g)local society. With their ‘conscious’ message they are thus contributing to transform their communities in a “partnership” way (d’Abdon: 2007). Interesting enough (for someone who is attempting to theorize – via Emoto – that the spoken word art can heal water through the creation of harmonies that resonate with the dancing vibes of the multiverse) their names begin all with the “M” letter… Coincidental facts like this one certainly prove nothing within the framework of a scientific study. However, they strengthen my belief – at least at a sub-conscious level – that the melodies, the music, the written and spoken words that these conscious individuals are creating for themselves and their communities are somehow resounding with the dancing membranes in which the multiverse float. As a researcher, but also as a spiritual individual, I can not prevent myself to perceive this “Mysterious” piece of evidence as a manifestation of the joyous, partnership spirit of the Goddess at play.

Conclusion

In this “experimental” critical essay I have examined the theories of Dr Masaru Emoto on the capability of water to retain both positive and negative information. I have argued that conscious spoken word art could be a potential factor of water (and thus self, environmental and global) healing, and I have attempted to substantiate my statements through a comparative analysis of texts and theories that belong to different domains of knowledge. I am… conscious that the assumptions advanced in this article are challenging ones. Emoto’s theories might seem bizarre to the eyes of ‘orthodox’ science, and even more so when they are applied to text-oriented literary criticism. Nonetheless, the case of Dr. Fumihiko’s publication (Emoto 2003: 89-90) but especially the essays included in The Healing Power of Water, indicate that we are probably at the dawn of a new stage, even in scientific publications. Compartmentalization among different fields of knowledge seems to be fading away and a balanced interdisciplinary approach among diverse disciplines seems to be emerging. The present article is an attempt to venture into such unexplored but extremely intriguing territory.

raphael d’abdon

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Notes

1. Emoto points out that water has a unique structure which we do not find in other elements in nature. He claims that water came on earth from other planets, and all ancient traditions agree indeed that the origins of this fascinating element are enveloped in a veil of deep mysticism. The fact that the harmonious water crystals of Emoto’s experiments show an hexagonal shape is one of the facts that give support to his mystical speculations. As we learn from ancient Chinese tradition: “six […] is the number of everything. Six is the universe’s number. The four compass points plus the zenith and the nadir are six. There are six phoenix notes and six high, six world environments, six senses, six virtues, six obligations, six classes of ideographs, six domestic animals, six arts and six paths of metempsychosis (Hong Kingston 1975: 75). A thorough scientific analysis of this topic is presented by Glas in his essay “Snow, It Has Six Edges” (Emoto 2004: 95 – 106).
2. When poetry sessions are improvised on the streets they are called “ciphers”. This definition comes from the symbol of circle in African cosmology, but I believe that its meaning resides also in the unique experience of spiritual mutual, “circular” interpenetration that happens between wordsmiths and audiences in performing poetry.
3. The definition of ‘conscious artist’ comes from the hip hop culture. It defines artist who focus on social issues without being necessarily overtly political. Themes of “conscious hip hop” music and poetry include (among others): religion; aversion to violence, leading a healthy life; the spiritual and educational advancement of the communities; the global elite, economics and politics; the history of African people(s); depictions of life in the poorest urban areas to honour the everyday struggles of ordinary people. Even though I do not like to label artists and acknowledge that the this definition can sometimes be a controversial one, for the purpose of this article I see it necessary to focus my attention only on those ‘conscious’ artists who promote a culture of partnership.
4. Through cathartic at times, since they too canalize psychophysical energy (and therefore suppressed emotions) into words, and are entertaining, rap battles are a form of oral performance often characterized by aggressive vocal tones and body gestures and rude physicality, which hardly fit into the realm of “partnership”.
5. Water exposed to classic music always show images of beautiful crystals, while water exposed to heavy metal reveals in incomplete, disharmonious crystals. In this regard, I assume that this happens for two reasons: first, because from a melodic point of view heavy metal is a kind of music characterized by a harsh juxtaposition of bombastic sounds, highly amplified distortion, penetrating guitar solos, emphatic beats and overall loudness; second, because from the point of view of the textual message, heavy metal’s lyrics are often extremely controversial. Nonetheless, unlike Emoto, I am prudent in categorizing heavy metal as an overall inappropriate music genre. I believe that labelling heavy metal as an intrinsically negative music underestimate the ‘good vibes’ transmitted by heavy metal ballads (which, on the contrary, often display lyrics of love and lovely musical harmonies). I therefore advance the hypothesis that exposing water to songs such as Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing”, Guns n Roses’ “Don’t cry” or Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” could possibly result in the creation of well-shaped crystals.
6. Steven Bantu Biko (1946-1977), South African thinker and political activist, initiator of the black consciousness movement. For an outlook on his theories see his classic I Write What I Like.
7. See for instance the chapter “The Relationship Between Words and Water” (Emoto 2007: 1 – 12).
8. One can find a magnificent visual example of the art of aboriginal storytelling in the 2006 Rolf de Heer’s movie Ten Canoes.
9. This interdisciplinary collection of essays edited by Emoto include the contributions of individuals coming from various fields of knowledge: intuitive healer Miranda Alcott, writer Richard Beaumont, meditation master William Bloom, physician Petra Bracht, spiritual teacher Maril Crabtree, mineralogists Maximilian Glas, kinesiologist Carrie Jost, homeopathic healers Dolly Knight and Jonathan Stromberg, dowser Sig Lonegren, sociologist of religion Elizabeth Puttick, theologian Rustum Roy, music therapist Sayama, educator Rivkah Slonim, engineers Cyril W. Smith and William A. Tiller, environmental activist Starhawk, psychotherapist Josè Luis Stevens, clairvoyant doctor Virtue, priest Alan Walker, holistic healer Darren R. Weissman and artist Terri Windling.
10. Crystals of stagnant waters (like dams’ ponds, artificial lakes, etc.) always show deformed shapes. The same happens to water and rice grains stored in bottles and ignored. For Emoto stagnation and indifference are the most devastating conditions for water. Water exposed to foul words and expressions seem to deteriorate at a slower pace than water that is ignored. For Emoto this means that we must always respect water and nourish it with positive stimulations.
11. “KRS One on Obama”. n.d. www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnCYyGih3PA&feature=related. (Consulted on 31-05-2009).
12. Marimba are traditional folk instruments of Southern Africa (xylophones and drums) named after the Goddess (Mutwa 1966: 35).
13. “I have learned to listen/to the solidness of my ancestors’ voice” (Bila, 2005: 190-191).
14. Steinhardt Paul J. & Turok Neil 2007. Endless Universe: Beyond the Big Bang. New York: Doubleday.
15. Greene Brian 2005. The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time, and the Texture of Reality. New York: Vintage Books USA.
16. Strings 2000: Proceedings Of The International Superstrings Conference University Of Michigan, Usa 10-15 July 2000. Duff Michael J., Liu James T., Lu Jianxin (eds.) 2000. Hackensack: World Scientific Publishing Company.
17. Randall Lisa 2005. Warped Passages: Unraveling the Mysteries of the Universe’s Hidden Dimensions. New York: Harper & Collins.
18. Kaku Michio 2008. “M-Theory: The Mother of All Superstrings” in Riffing on Strings: Creative Writing Inspired by String Theory. New York: Scriblerus.
19. “Universi Paralleli”. Documentario. n.d. www.lamentemente.com/universi-paralleli (Consulted on 31-05-2009).

Bibliography

Bortoluzzi, Maria. 2007. Language and Partnership in David Malouf’s An Imaginary Life. In Riem Natale, Antonella, Camaiora, Maria Luisa and Dolce, Maria Renata (eds.). The Goddess Awakened. Partnership Studies in Literatures, Language and Education. 83-97. Udine: Forum.
d’Abdon, Raphael. 2007. The Partnership Spiritual Voice in The Poetry of Lebo Mashile, Natalia Molebatsi and Napo Masheane In Riem Natale, Antonella, Camaiora, Maria Luisa and Dolce, Maria Renata (eds.). The Goddess Awakened. Partnership Studies in Literatures, Language and Education. 171-190. Udine: Forum.
Eisler, Riane. 1987. The Chalice and the Blade: Our History, Our Future. San Francisco: Harper and Row.
Emoto, Masaru. 2001. The Hidden Messages in Water. Hillsboro: Beyond words.
Emoto, Masaru. 2003. The True Power of Water. Healing And Discovering Ourselves. Hillsboro: Beyond Words.
Emoto, Masaru (ed.). 2004. The Healing Power of Water. Witkoppen: Hayhouse.
Emoto, Masaru. 2006. The Secret Life of Water. Hillsboro: Beyond Words.
Emoto, Masaru. 2007. The Miracle of Water. Hillsboro: Beyond Words.
Johnson, Kenneth Rayner 1980. The Fulcanelli Phenomenon. Jersey Channel Islands: Neville Spearman.
Henry, William. 2003. The Cloak of The Illuminati. Kempton: Adventures Unlimited
Icke, David. 1996. I Am Me I Am Free. The Robot’s Guide to Freedom. Cambridge: Bridge of Love.
Masheane, Napo. 2002. Shikamoo. in Bila, Vonani and Nghalaluma Wisani (eds.). Timbila 2002. A Journal of Onion Skin Poetry. Elim Hospital: Timbila Poetry.
Molebatsi Natalia and d’Abdon Raphael. 2007. From Poetry to Floetry. Music’s Influence in the Spoken Word Art of Young South Africa. In Muziki. Journal of Music Research in Africa. Volume 4 Number 2: 171 – 177.
Mutwa, Vusamazulu Credo. 1966. Indaba My Children. African Tribal History, Legends, Customs and Religious Beliefs. London: Kahn & Averill.
Kingston, Maxine Hong. 1977. The Woman Warrior. Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts. London: Picador.
Ramaswamy, Sampatur. 2007. Raja Rao’s Tri-Lingualism: A Study in Linguistic Partnership. In Riem Natale, Antonella, Camaiora, Maria Luisa and Dolce, Maria Renata (eds.). The Goddess Awakened. Partnership Studies in Literatures, Language and Education. 125-132. Udine: Forum.

Webliography

“KRS One on Obama”. n.d. www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnCYyGih3PA&feature=related. (Consulted on 31-05-2009)
Official Masaru Emoto’s website. www.masaru-emoto.net (Consulted on 31-05-2009).
“Universi Paralleli”. Documentario. n.d. www.lamentemente.com/universi-paralleli (Consulted on 31-05-2009).

…why does anyone want him to go on working? I am trying to go beyond the immediate economic cause, and to consider what pleasure it can give anyone to think of men swabbing dishes for life. For there is no doubt that people – comfortably situated people – do find pleasure in such thoughts. A slave, Marcus Cato said, should be working when he is not sleeping. It does not matter whether his work is needed or not, he must work because work in itself is good – for slaves, at least. This sentiment still survives, and it has piled up mountains of useless drudgery. I believe that this instinct to perpetuate useless work is, at bottom, simply fear of the mob. The mob (the thought runs) are such low animals that they would be dangerous if they had leisure; it is safer to keep them too busy to think. A rich man who happens to be intellectually honest, if he is questioned about the improvement of working conditions usually says something like this:

‘We know that poverty is unpleasant; in fact, since it is so remote, we rather enjoy harrowing ourselves with the thought of its unpleasantness. But don’t expect us to do anything about it. We are sorry for our lower classes, just as we are sorry for a cat with the mange, but we will fight like devils against any improvement of your condition. We feel that we are much safer as you are. The present state of affairs suit us, and we are not going to take the risk of setting you free, even by an extra hour a day. So, dear brothers, since evidently you must sweat to pay for our trips to Italy, sweat and be damned to you.’

This is particularly the attitude of intelligent, cultivated people; one can read the substance of it in a hundred essays. Very few cultivated people have less than (say) four hundred pounds a year, and naturally they side with the rich, because they imagine that any liberty conceded to the poor is a threat to their own liberty. Foreseeing some dismal Marxian Utopia as the alternative, the educated man prefers to keep things as they are. Possibly he does not like his fellows very much, but he supposes that even the vulgarest of them are less inimical to his pleasures, more his kind of people, than the poor, and that he had better stand by them. It is the fear of a supposedly dangerous mob that makes nearly all intelligent people conservative in their opinions.

Fear of the mob is a superstitious fear. It is based on the idea that there is some mysterious, fundamental difference between rich and poor, as though they were two different races, like negroes and white men. But in reality there is no such difference. The mass of the rich and the poor are differentiated by their incomes and nothing else, and the average millionaire is only the average dishwasher dressed in a new suit. Change places, and handy dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Everyone who has mixed on equal terms with the poor knows it quite well. But the problem is that intelligent, cultivated people, the very people who might be expected to have liberal opinions, never do mix with the poor. For what do the majority of educated people know about poverty? In my copy of Villon’s poems the editor has actually thought it necessary to explain the line “They see bread only behind windows” by a footnote; so remote is even hunger from the educated man’s experience. Form this ignorance a superstitious fear of the mob results quite naturally. The educated man pictures a horde of submen, wanting only a day’s liberty to loot his house, burn his books, and set him to work minding a machine or sweeping out a lavatory. “Anything “ he thinks “any injustice, sooner than let that mob loose”. He does not see that since there is no difference between the mass of rich and poor, there is no question of setting the mob loose. The mob is in fact loose now, and – in the shape of rich men – is using its power to set up enormous treadmills of boredom such as ‘smart’ hotels. To sum up. A dishwasher is a slave, and a wasted slave, doing stupid and largely unnecessary work. He is kept at work, ultimately, because of a vague feeling that he would be dangerous if he had leisure. And educated people, who should be on his side, acquiesce in the process, because they know nothing about him and consequently, are afraid of him. I say this of the dishwasher because it is his case I have been considering; it would apply equally to numberless of other types of worker. These are only my ideas about the basic facts of a dishwasher’s life, made without reference to immediate economic questions, and no doubt largely platitudes. I present them as a sample of the thoughts that are put into one’s head by working in a hotel.

George Orwell, Down and out in Paris and London, 1933

(dedicated to the miners murdered in the eland shaft. and to all those who are able to imagine what those miners were thinking about before the lift started to descend)

we are the ones
who wake up with the humming songs of morning sparrows
the fat burps of sleek retiring rats
the hammering hoots
of vociferous ventures
hunting the roads
like voracious vultures

we are the ones
who walk the road without the company
of our own shadow
to get to woebegone train stations
and hang like the thread of a tampon
between the thighs of cold coaches

we are the ones
whose regular breakfast is qota, boiled eggs or magwenya
munched in a haste
in dusty street corners

we are the ones
who are screamed at by stinking bosses
and must say ya baas to old school racists
and yebo sis to new guard fascists

we are the ones
who earn
1-2-3-4
hundred rand a week
but are still expected to say
dankie dear madiba
amandla cosatu
nyiabonga mr boshoff

we are the loxion workers
the circulating system of this sick body we call home
the beating heart of this
and many other
shadow ghosts
our precious bones are buried alive in the hidden truths of the new south africa
adorned with gold and diamonds jewels

we are the sunrise runners
knockin-off bandits
and busy street dogs
are our journeymates
we don’t see each other’s faces
since our backs are bent
under the load of a life
we did not choose
for ourselves
our mothers
fathers
and children

in trains and taxis monotonous rock
we move our heads
from shoulder to shoulder
as if figuring things out

03 june 2009

being mugged
is a curious situation to experience
it happened to me twice
same spot
my hood (sunnyside – tshwane – africa – planet earth)
both times
on my way back from the petrol station

the funny thing
when you gaze at that scintillating blaze
is that there’s place for one thought only in your stoned brain:
are these four kids surrounding me
really ready to stab my broke ass
for 35 rand, an ice cream and a pack of rizla?
the puzzling thing
is that you’ll never know the answer

“When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left, I buy food and clothes.”

- Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam

“i am without hope. i am without fear. i am free.”

- Nikos Kazantzakis

(a motivational speech freely inspired by poet tony d’amato)

i don’t know what to say, really.
we’re a few steps away to the biggest challenges of our lives…
they say: cosmological changes are at the door.
when will these changes take place?
well, sincerely, i don’t have a clue.
geophysicists say before 2030.
the mayan calendar says in december 2012.
fifa and mzansi’s media say in june 2010.
as for me, the only thing i know is that when it comes to personal and cosmological changes,
it all comes down to today. to now.
and either we heal, now, as a community, or we’re gonna crumble.
word by word, poem by poem, song by song.
till we’re finished.
we’re in hell right now, brothers and sisters. believe me.
and we can stay here, and get the shit kicked out of us.
or we can sing or write our way back… into the light.
we can climb outta hell, one word at a time.
now, i can’t do it for you.
i’m too old, and too untalented.
i look around, i see this young poets, and i think:
i mean, i’ve made every wrong choice a 35-year-old man can make:
i pissed away all the little money i had, believe it or not.
i have mistreated anyone’s who’s ever loved me
and lately,
i cant even stand the face i see in the mirror.
you know, when you get old in life, words get taken from you.
well, that’s part of life.
but you only learn that when you start losing words.
you find out life’s a game of words… and so is poetry.
because, in either game, life or poetry, the margin for error is so small…
i mean, one half a syllable too long, or too short, and you don’t quite make it.
one half pitch shift too low, or too high, and you don’t quite catch it.
the words we need are everywhere around us.
they’re in every atom of the universe, everywhere, everytime.
on this community, we dream for those words.
on this community, we love ourselves and everyone else around us to bits for those words.
we cry, we smile, we claw with our fingernails for those words.
because we know, when we head up all those words, that’s gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing.
between living and dying.
i’ll tell you this: in any struggle, its the guy who’s willing to die ,who’s gonna find those words.
and i know that if i’m gonna have any life anymore, it’s because i’m still willing to fight and die for those words!
because, that’s what living is!
those small, fleeting letters, in front of your face!
now, i can’t make you do it.
you gotta look at the brothers and sisters next to you, look into their eyes.
you’re gonna see a guy who’s willing to die with and for you, for those words.
you’re gonna see guys who will sacrifice themselves for this community,
because they know that when it comes down to it, you’re gonna do the same for them.
that’s onelove, brothers and sisters.
and either we heal now, as a community, or we will die… as individuals.
that’s poetry, guys.
that’s all it is.
that’s all it is.

I mean, I like Lebo Mashile. Well, we all do, I guess. She’s a brilliant writer, a phenomenal performer whose gigs leave you breathless, a ‘wordsmith extraordinaire’ whose written and sung words often make you fly into spiritually endless journeys. Plus, she constantly reinvents herself, she’s a people’s person, and she’s outspoken (as I could personally witness at a recent pro-Zim concert at the Bassline in Newtown, Jozi). Together with sister artists such as Napo Masheane, Simphiwe Dana, Mak Mamabolo, the Mazwai sisters, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott, India Arie (and, fortunately, many more) she incarnates the prototype of a ‘post-Western shero’, a woman and an artist fully emancipated from all the nonsensical Western ideals about what “beauty” is (or, rather, should be). Like all those sisters she is independent, confident, politically and poetically conscious, but also equipped with a positive “I-don’t-give-a-shit” attitude that clearly warns whoever wants to invade the sacred space she and her sisters have created for themselves (and for all of us): “Watch your step dude! You don’t wanna mess with me!”.

For these reasons, it’s natural for me to pick up a Mashile’s book (or a Badu’s cd) when I feel down or over-thoughtful about this schizophrenic world of ours. In particular, when this blues knocks at the backdoors of my soul, I read (or listen to) one of my all-time favourite poems: I’m talking about Mashile’s “Style” (if I read the paper version in In a Ribbon of Rhythm, or listen to the audio shot in Live!, it depends exclusively on my more or less contemplative state of mind at the given time).

Some verses of this poem, like those that follow, are simply well-tested, all-natural medicines, whose reinvigorating effects are comparable only to those of a smooth spliff smoked under a full moon light (or, as in Mashile’e fortunate personal experience, with JC).

It is the very liquid soul that oozes from these pores
To light the sidewalks with our magic beyond the distant shores
It is the joy from which the laughter of the dying is drawn
Style is the essence of my people

We walk tall in every creed and shape and language known to man
We walk tall and touch the God with every step upon this land
We walk tall into our futures burning our memories into the sand
Because style is in the bodies of my people

And when we move to any groove we shake the earth around the sun
Ask for the tricks that dip our hips we’ll tell you rhythm makes blood run
Back to the source African booties know the answers and when I’m done
I’ll tell you style is in the movement of my people
…
But we know the force that rules the world
Derives its power from our dance
When my people express their beauty
The whole world goes into a trance
When we create we shape the planet
It’s only through voice that we have a chance
Because style is in the music of my people
So wear your colours with pride
Sing your spirits unplugged
We’ll use the hands that built our art
To build ourselves with love
Always remember that you carry your style in your blood
Because style is in the survival of my people (In a Ribbon of Rhythm, pp. 3-4)

But, apart from being a fan of Mashile’s poetry , I am also a fanatic of Prince (“The Artist”, “The Symbol”, the everything)’s music. So, more often than not, after reading (or listening to) Mashile’s poem, I feel the urgent desire to complete the soul-healing therapy with Prince’s own electro-funk version of “Style”, as recorded in the 1996 album Emancipation. To fully appreciate the lyrics and the groove of this mesmerizing track, one deserves a private session, a stereo pumping loud, headphones well-placed on the ears and of course, at one’s own discretion, a sweet j.
Obviously, nothing can replace the feeling of self-intimacy of a stereo playing for yourself exclusively. And certainly the confused notes of a freaky writer don’t serve the purpose. But anyway, for now, in the temporary absence of a sound system, let me humbly remind some of the most enchanting lines of Prince’s masterpiece, verses full of subtle and witty messages:

Style is not something that comes in a bottle
…
Style is not a logo that sticks 2 the roof of one’s ass
Style is like a second cousin 2 class
…
Style is not lusting after someone because they’re cool
Style is loving yourself ‘til everyone else does 2
Style don’t get drunk on a Saturday night
…
Style don’t get married then break the vow in a year
Style is keepin’ a promise

Style is not biting style when U can’t find the funk
Style is the face U make on a Michael Jordan dunk
Style ain’t the jeep U bought when U know your broke ass got bills
…
Style is a gold-tooth smile with an attitude
Style is a peaceful wild postin’ the rude
Style is growing your own food
Style is a non-violent march
Style is an accurate account of what’s inside every heart
…
Style is not a lie
…
Style is buying your moms a house
Style is a clean mouth
Style is puppy breath
Style is no fear of death
…
Style is hailing a cab
Then U know, givin’ ‘em the finger when they pass your ass!

Style is a soul new power
Style is when all black men are free
Style is U and me

And, here are my favourite ones:

Style is lettin’ your lover drive while U talk on the phone and chill ☺
Style is a man that cries
Style is Ali’s jab (nothing beats that!!!)

… and, last but not least:

Style is the glow in a pregnant woman’s eyes

Wow… don’t they give you goose bumps???

So Prince and Mashile’s ultimate message is that style is the best (or probably the only) means of mass survival at our disposal, in an idiotic shitstem which lies under the weight of the Damocles’ swords of weapons of mass destruction and media of mass distraction. Their words definitely help coping with the mass hysteria that is typical of the utterly styless local and global world we live in.

Where do I see stylessness around me? Well, basically everywhere I turn my eyes! Looking at my everyday life from a bottom-up perspective, here come some few examples: from the taxi driver who rapes a woman whose only “fault” is to wear a miniskirt, up to the corporate geek wearing a vulgar Italian suit and talking at the cell while driving his ultra polluting SUV, and further up to our puppet politicians and those who pull the strings upon them, these are all individuals without a single drop of style in their obtruded, cholesterolic veins!!! (and the list of the styless ones is, unfortunately, virtually endless).

So the lesson that comes from the dynamic, super-stylish duo Mashile-Prince is: guys, get rid of all the political, ethical, aesthetical, theoretical, religious, and blah blah blah bullshit they are feeding your mind and soul with! Stand up and say: Me i’ve got value! I a human being, dammit! And one with tons of style!

In my humble view, once you’ve come down to this self-evident conclusion, nobody will never ever be able to bring you down anymore.
But maybe all this abstract talking about style (when people need more material stuff like food, shelters, hospitals, schools) it’s just nonsense. Maybe. Or maybe acknowledging the uniqueness of our own style it’s the key to have access to a new, more sustainable, spiritual approach to our fucked up realities.

As for me, I have no answers to offer, but only questions to raise. And, indeed, I think I have already spoken too much. It’s time for me to pick up In a Ribbon of Rhythm from my shelf, put disc 3 of Emancipation in my stereo, and light up one.
To come to the end of this story: let me greet you the way Mc Don Cornelius used to greet the funky guests of his show “Soul Train” (the most stylish tv programme ever created)… with just a slight variation, i.e: Peace, Soul… and Style!

(dedicated to my brother, father, mentor and dog souldier lance henson)

a cool wind blows with solemnity
as sun has moved to dusk
quiet
from the suffering green silence

rain over a letter
written in autumn
where the past is scattered
like a butterfly
struggling
on a dusty road

ravens sleep
while the ark resurrects
from ancient ashes
and a storm of birds
sad like yellow leaves
flies clueless
in a sky of blues

clouds whisper words in my ear
words that slide down onto me
like rivers on a rocky cave
and gently
timidly
disappear

sun is awake no more
and with clenched hands
i salute the rising
maternal
moon

comforted
by the placid tranquillity
of a sleepy mountain
lulled
by the timid whispers
of a drowsy stream
inebriated
by the soothing fumes
of a puffing skunk
i cherish
the bracing caress
of the yawning grass

elevated
into soaring heights
i drift alone

high by nature
blindfolded by the raising sun
i am set to receive
the ancestral call

at the dawn of a new era
i am ready to perceive
what the gods
and goddesses
have in store for us

I thus throw my shells
and bones
and stones

which draw a clear symbol
a letter
a “b”

“it’s the man-cursed initial
of the venomous bee
the threesome bedfellow
of both ‘a’ and ‘c’”!
(the voice of the ancestors
loud thunders to me)

an ominous vision starts hence to storm up

of hooded torchbearers
of a secret legacy
reptilian mimicries
of white supremacy
and the pre-planned fall
of a fong kong currency

and for my people?

a cheerless blowback to intellectual infancy
out-tuned songs of factitious militancy
and droppin’ figures of life expectancy

indaba, my beloved children
for better times for y’all
I shall continue
to enlighten up
meditate
pray
and
see

at regular times
a natural phenomenon
more spectacular
than any boreal aurora
is visible
from dawn til dusk
and for one day only
over the soil
that once
belonged to Afrikans

every five years
colourful
silent
endless
curveous lines
materialize
over the fatigued back
of mzansi’s
usually grey landscape

redrawing it
resuscitating it
for one day only
from its comatose state

a nation in motion

slow
like Julunggul
the Great Rainbow Snake

wise
like Roni
the Giant Anaconda
the Feathered Serpent Goddess

strong
like Da*
the Afrikan Snake
whose three thousand five hundred coils
support the sky
and the cosmic ocean
in which Mother Earth floats

a Serpentine Divinity who
from time to time
leaves her warm underground shelter
enchanted
by the intriguing sound
of a magic flute
to manifest Herself
quite sleepy
on cold Mother Earth’s surface

(by the way:
when does this magnificent mythological phenomenon take place?
did i say
every five years?
maybe it’s four,
maybe ten.
anyway,
in the dreamtime
this doesn’t make any difference
to the thoughtful, astonished poet)

unfortunately
for the sensitive
dawdling
brightful
Snake Goddess
the magic penny-whistler
is not a trustworthy sister
but a well-trained trickster
who drives Her
into false journeys
that lead
to arid lands
of broken dreams
and choked hopes
or
more probably
just nowhere

this until the day
when the Triune Goddess
Julunggul-Roni-Da
will finally wake up
fully
from her long sleep
and reclaim
with a roar
what once
was Hers

only then
Her shining walkabouts
will end up
in once well-known
lands
of truth
prosperity
peace

* not a political party, but the name of a West-African Snake Divinity!!!

The out-of-tempo indignation of a liberal: a semi-serious deconstruction of André Brink’s “Glad to be alive”

It must have been hard for renowned author André Brink to keep locked inside his heart all the resentment and the grudge against the “ignorant” and “swaggering” individuals who have occupied the seats of power in post-apartheid Mzansi. Yet, short before migrating to safer shores in Australia, fellow writer J.M. Coetzee had made the very effort to write a whole book to subtly warn his homies: “Leave, buddies, before it is too late. The barbarians are coming”. Message left unheard by brave Mr Brink who, unlike smart Coetzee, decided to stay, because – he writes: “this is the place of my birth and my ancestors, and I happen to love it”.

Courageous Mr Brink stayed. And he gutsy endured almost silently the barbarism of the “New South Africa” for more than a decade. Until something too outrageous to be handled by his bullet-proof liberal heart happened. One last drop fell on the vase, making it to overflow. This forced Mr Brink to hold his pen and burst out on paper all the anger accumulated in these years. Finally. Once and for all.

The above quoted and the following excerpts are taken from an article published by Rome-based liberal newspaper La Repubblica in 2006, maliciously translated into Italian with the title “This is how South Africa has betrayed Mandela’s dream” from André Brink’s original article “Glad to be alive” (http://www.finistere.se/blogg/entry.asp?ENTRY_ID=469)

Though a little outdated, it’s a story worthy to be read:

A story that goes like this :

It’s “late in the evening on a quiet weekday night”, and Mr. Brink’s daughter Sonja and her husband Graham are having dinner in a “small restaurant in a peaceful suburb in the town of Somerset West, near Cape Town”. They are “discussing their two small children and how to occupy them during the winter holidays which have just begun; and reminiscing about the reception at the French embassy earlier in the evening”, where they had met “the members of the French rugby team”. The world – continues Mr Brink – “seems to be a pleasant, relaxed and generous place”.

NOTE 1: This is the set of Mr Brink’s story, which immediately makes me – an immigrant living in a township – wonder: what are we exactly talking about here?!? But it’s too early to drop the newspaper in the dust bin, and curiosity pushes me ahead. So – I think to myself – let’s give Mr Brink a chance.

Proving to be a navigated poker player, in this first part of the story Mr Brink plays the first good card in his hands, “the children card”, which is always a good one to capture the reader’s sympathy. Poor Mr Brink’s bored grandchildren… Let us imagine the hypothetical conversation:
“Graham, my darling, Sakhile hasn’t yet cleaned the swimming pool. I asked him to come over two weeks ago and he said there was no transport… Plus, the Playstation is at the shop for repairs, and kids have already been to the US during last winter’s holiday. How are we going to keep them busy this year?”

Already at this point, I can’t stop thinking about Ntate Nhlanhla and Ma Agnes (who live in the squatter camp 500 mt far from my section in Tembisa) and their sleepless nights, for they don’t know how to put three meals together for their kids the next day…. How unpleasant, unrelaxed, and ungenerous place the world must be for them…

But then again, at least I know from the very incipit of the story that Mr Brink is speaking about someone whose world is a pleasant and generous place to live in… someone who definitely belongs to a South African elite.
Still driven by curiosity more than any other sentiment, I am determined to read further.

The couple’s carefree conversation is violently interrupted by a “sudden commotion”, the bursting of “five men, armed with pistols” who “start shouting, in a cacophony of voices, orders and instructions which are at first quite incomprehensible”. In the next minutes, some of the people in the room are “attacked, beaten to the floor and savagely kicked in the face”. Then (and here comes the climax of the first part of Mr Brink’s painful story) “everybody is ordered to strip themselves of rings and jewellery, watches, cell phones, wallets”, while. “ the manager is forced to hand over the keys to the safe; the cash register is smashed”.

NOTE 2: I figure out that the set of voices seems to be “cacophonic”, and the given orders and instructions “incomprehensible” because, most probably, they are spoken in one of the (allegedly) nine South African official languages which the diners are unable to speak (unlike their domestic workers, their gardeners and the waiters serving at their tables who, I bet, are all fluent in at least three of them ).

There’s a racist innuendo in the description of the robbery but, whatever the case, Mr Brink, as the Latins said: Dura lex, sed lex (“A tough law, but a law”). You got to know it the hard-knocks way, but at least now you know that South Africa is a country where it’s seems quite hard to enjoy a dinner. In fact, it’s hard to enjoy it if you get assaulted between a filet and a mousse au chocolat, your diamonds gets stolen and the Italian wine you were sipping stains your silk dress. But it’s even harder when papa has no job, mama is sick and there’s no food on the table. Yes Mr Brink, bejewelled people do find hard to enjoy their dinner sometimes. But don’t forget that many times poor people don’t have dinner at all.

“Apart from a single paragraph on an inside page of the small local newspaper” – the story goes on – “the incident will not even be reported in the press: it is too insignificant, too banal, too commonplace in the New South Africa. No-one has been killed, no-one raped. It will not even rate as a statistic”.

NOTE 3: I guess the incident will not be reported because, amongst the thousand crimes committed on a daily base in the New South Africa, the theft of a few cellphones and gold rings, though disturbing, is indeed a totally irrelevant or, as you called it, “insignificant” and “banal” piece of news, given the socially troubled situation of the country. I guess that most readers (not to mention “the everyday people”, those who can hardly afford to buy newspapers) simply wouldn’t care.

Nevertheless, I also have a small daughter, and the Goddess knows how much I, as any other conscious parent, care about her safety. In a glimpse of parental solidarity, I feel pity for Mr Brink’s preoccupations. I can actually visualize him.

Genuflected, clasped hands, in front of an altar with a giant effigy of Rudolph Giuliani, “the sheriff of NYC”. The one who, when the mayor of the Big Apple, with his “Zero Tolerance” doctrine, “cleaned the streets” of the city by targeting micro-crime. In other words, by throwing into jail thousands of people (mainly black, latinos, or, to cut it short, poor people), while leaving untouched the “white collar crimes” which, on the contrary, flourished in the same years. As they say in Italy: strong with the weak ones and weak with the strong ones… “Ah, Rudy, if you were here, instead of that useless…”

Then the story takes a sudden turn. A new character appears in the texture of Mr Brink hot-hearted story. Now the issue is no more daughter and son-in-law’s indigested dinner. The target has shifted to “the large, beaming, bearded face of the Minister of Safety and Security, Charles Nqakula” whom from now on becomes the scapegoat character of the story’s dramatic plot. Scary individual indeed, Mr Nqakula is depicted as a vulgar, gross brute with “a singularly unremarkable career as a politician”, who displays an “almost criminal indifference” towards the “complaints against violence” and holds a bizarre grudge against “people (mostly whites) who ‘winge’ about the level of violence in South Africa” who – Nqakula declared, “would do better to leave the country”.

NOTE 4 : The narrative construction of a monster-figure has started, and goes on in a crescendo of anger and disgust which flow from Mr Brink’s outraged and enraged pen.

Poker player Mr Brink plays then card number two, “the apartheid card”, to induce a sinister subliminal concept.

Mr Nqakula is emphatically equated to ancien régime “Minister of Justice Jimmy Kruger” who, in a notorious, “infamous remark” claimed that “the murder of Steve Biko by Security Police in September 1977, ‘left him cold’ ”.

NOTE 5: According to Mr Brink’s fuzzy logic, Nqakula and Kruger are as one. They are both insensitive towards the tragedies that occur to their people; therefore they belong to the same family of monsters. Yet, Mr Brink forgets to remind that Kruger’s commented the heinous murder of one of the most brilliant revolutionaries of Mzansi’s history, while Nqakula was speaking about minor crimes. Unless Mr Brink wants to put the assassination of Steve Biko and the “Somerset West restaurant incident” on the same level. But I am sure that’s not his intention.

At this point the story has already turned into a tragicomedy, but at least the picture starts getting clearer, as I start wondering to myself: isn’t that the futile story of Sonja and hubby is being used to convey another, between-the-lines message? In fact, it sounds to me as the agenda Mr Brink’s has (unsuccessfully) tried to keep hidden, is finally starting to surface.

As a matter of fact, the whole central part of the article is occupied by Mr Brink’s vehement anathemas against Mr Nqakula and his colleagues of the ruling political class. “One expects, of course, lapses of intelligence or plain common sense in politicians” writes Mr Brink “And experience in recent times has revealed in Mr Nqakula both a limited capacity for understanding and an unlimited capacity for arrogance. He does not seem to consider that his professed ignorance about the unlamented Kruger implies also an ignorance about the life and death of Biko: surely the one memory cannot exist without the other. And this may be a key to the full scandal of Nqakula’s attitude. He is ignorant about his own history.”

NOTE 6: I was starting to miss the part where the civilized liberal lectures the savage native about the latter’s own history. But here it is. It’s only a coincidence that it was Biko himself who warned about the patronizing attitude of liberals when it comes down to “educating” “the Native”. A very sinister coincidence, indeed.

“[I]n the process” Brink goes on “he [Nqakula] betrays everything the ANC has for so long claimed to stand for… In one callous, off-the-cuff remark, he has betrayed the legacy of Mandela”.

NOTE 7: Here we are! We had to wait for 51 (fifty-one) lines before poker master Mr Brink played card number three, the most powerful one in his astute hands: the “Mandelaring-card”— which is always an “Ace takes all”!… But he finally did it! Great move… worthy of the most expert of players.

“Of course not all members of the power establishment are like [Nqakula]” concludes Mr Brink, “[t]here are other members of the government who are humane and generous and understanding, and dedicate their considerable talents to realising Mandela’s dream”.

NOTE 8: Ok. Can someone please tell me once and for all what is this so-called “Mandela’s dream”? Please, Mr Brink, tell me, because I still don’t know what’s all about. I will not say, as Trevor Ngwane did, that Mandela was the one “who sold out the country”. Mtate Trevor has definitely gone too far. But then again: what was this beloved Mandela’s dream? Was it to build, as Rachel Donadio has confusedly stated: “a multicultural democracy (sic!) where the leadership is black, money is mostly white (sic!!!) and the line between power and exploitation extremely thin?” Was it to set up a country where the townships and the “informal settlements” (which are, according to Sabata-Mpho Mokae “of all the results of apartheid and colonialism […] the most hard-to heal and deepest of wounds” ) have not only disappeared, but rather mushroomed? Was it to found a new nation where the rich get richer and the poor poorer?

And it’s always funny to see how liberals like mandelaring these days! (For further documentation on the recurrent issue of “Mzansi’s white iberals and Madiba” I suggest also “Happy Birthday Saint Mandela; Long-live White Privilege!” In Mphutlane wa Bofelo’s Bluesology & Bofelosophy, pp. 147 -149). Maybe it’s because his so-called “dream” fits so well into their picture of a dream. A dream in which their privileges are left untouched. Where the “previously advantaged” have remained “still advantaged” and the “previously disadvantaged” keep being… “still disadvantaged”. Why I don’t hear you and your liberal folks, Mr Brink, calling out so often Sobukwe’s dream for example, or Hani’s dream, or Biko’s dream? They also have been betrayed, haven’ t they? The point is (and we both know it, Mr Brink) that, historically speaking, Mandela (in part), but especially his curious successor, have been the architects of a country which has charmingly put into practice the principle so well expressed by fellow writer Tomasi di Lampedusa in his masterpiece The Leopard: “If you want everything to stay as it is, everything must change”. Speaking in an out-of-fashion lexicon: at superstructure level important changes have taken place in post-apartheid Mzansi. Nonetheless, at a structural level the ANC-led so called “revolution” has been a leopardesque one so far..

If the concept is not clear yet Mr Brink, please read what Aryan Kaganof has to say about this in his clarifying poem Previously dissed (with particular attention to the last stanza):

Brothers and Sisters
You still getting dissed
That didn’t stop
Except for window dressing
And a few name changes
Not even that
Piet Retief is still
Piet Retief
And this poem is in English
Not exactly a language
You could call native

And what about the elections?
You can stand in a queue
All day every five years
But the land is still theirs

[…]

Previously dissed
My point
That you might have missed
Is that amandla lost the plot
When democracy got the vote
Instead of nonkululeko
Nowadays it’s all the Yiddish white folks
Going “Viva Nelson Mandela”
With their fists in the air

After almost fifteen years of “model democracy” this, Mr Brink, seems to me, very unfortunately, the heritage of “Mandela’s dream”. But most probably I am misled. And, as it seems you’re able to interpret better than me and anybody else Madiba’s sleeping thoughts, please keep enlightening us in the future.

In the next, epic, crime scene, Mr Brink’s j’accuse against the new power élite continues, in an apotheosis of rancour against grotesque “members of parliament” vandalizing the road in a “rogue car”, as well as the usual suspect Nqakula, who is here freely linked to them for being “a worthy follower” of these bully MPs’ “footsteps”. “Among the new power-élite in South Africa” Mr Brink explains “[Mr Nqakula]’s attitude appears to be gaining ground, in direct proportion to the escalating violence of the country.

NOTE 9: Curious criminological theory which associates crime and escalating violence to the “attitude”, the good or bad manners, of the ruling class of a country. After Lombroso’s, this is definitely the most interesting theory to appear in the criminological academic scenario. According to a vast literature, crime is mainly generated and fuelled by social and economic inequalities. In a country like ANC’s South Africa, where redistribution of wealth is virtually inexistent, and the gap between rich and poor gets larger and larger, crime will continue to expand. That’s the real reason, not Mr Nqakula’s and the MP’s rudeness. Otherwise, according to your theory, it would be sufficient to elect Don Juan de Marcos as the next President (though, given the latest vicissitudes inside the ANC, it looks like it won’t be so), and crime will vanish from the streets like morning dew on a summer day…

Tuning down a bit, but still on a dramatic mood, Mr Brink explains once more how much he feels in danger in the South Africa of the Nqakulas (“[i]n the present state of the country, I may meet that death sooner rather than later”) But tougher than leather, and stronger than any Nqakula, he is determined to follow daughter Sonja’s wise advice (“as Sonja said the morning after her ordeal, ‘I refuse to become a victim.’ ”)

NOTE 10: Something to agree with you, Mr Brink. Although this entire article smells of victimization from its very beginnings…

In the following lines Mr Brink explains how he “refuses to become a victim” because he will not allow his country to be left in people like Nqakula’s hands. He will stand face-to-face against the true problems of the country: (“The problem is that while such incidents [with all the emotional and mental scars they leave behind them for months, for years] characterise the present evolution of South Africa, the real suffering of our new democracy is not addressed”)

NOTE 11: Your daughter’s very unfortunate incident is as serious as cancer, no doubt about it, Mr Brink. But, haven’t you gone a little bit too far? The “real suffering” of Mzansi’s sluggish democracy is certainly not the loss of a few sumptuary goods…

Closed the brief but sentimental parenthesis on the emotional downsides caused on daughter’s mind by the robbery, Mr Brink goes back to his favourite leisure game, the MP hunt:

“The swaggering Jacob Zuma […] takes a shower after unprotected sex to counter the danger of AIDS; Charles Nqakula washes his hands of rape and murder. Nqakula pretends that the only ‘squealers’ are previously advantaged whites who cannot adapt to democratic change. For him it is easy to deny the plight of innumerable victims, black and brown and white, who live in townships and informal settlements, and whose clamouring for help over the years also fall on deaf ears”.

NOTE 12: As a prophet of liberal culture, Mr Brink here speaks in the name of others. And becomes the spokesperson not only of the “innumerable white victims”, but also of poor, “plighting” township residents. But, in embarking such noble cause, Mr Brink gets downright slack. He speaks about “innumerable victims, black and brown and white, who live in townships, informal settlements and squatter camps”. What’s that??? I live in a township and the only white faces I see around belong to obese tourists on bus tours, casual guests, or random Telkom technicians playing a toccata e fuga… This only in the townships. Since there is scarcity of formal electricity, telephones, and no tar roads to drive through, no traces of white faces in the squatter camps you mention, without even knowing what you’re talking about. And, by the way: what is this “black and brown” distinction? Are you drawing distinctions between black people Mr Brink? Is this yours updated, liberal version of the “pencil test”?

I learned from illustrious genetists and anthropologists, but above all from my everyday life experiences, that there is only one race, the human race. But if, in this sclerotic, globalized, post-modern, postcolonial, post-everything world, we still have to categorize people, then I think that a black person is a black person, regardless to the tonalities of their skin. Looking forward to further explanations, Mr Brink.

“What is lost is not only a generation of the murdered and the maimed and the deprived, but the opportunity to set up our democracy as the example to the world it was once claimed to be”.

NOTE 13: I think South Africa lost the chance to build an “example” democracy when the democrats you extensively talk about in your article decided to set into practice the neoliberal agenda imposed by today’s neocolonial powers (i.e. the IMF, the World Bank and other “democratic” institutions). And building that Garden of Eden for foreign corporations which is today’s Mzansi. Hence, turning their back on the people who had elected them.

‘At least,’ Sonja wryly said after the event, ‘we should be grateful that we are still alive’. In a curious way that remark was what angered me most. What kind of a country is this in which life is not a normal given, a norm, a status guaranteed (by our admirable constitution among other things), but something exceptional and remarkable, a privilege so extraordinary that it deserves special consideration and gratitude?

NOTE 14: Out of the blue Mr Brink gets “angered” because he finally finds out that people of this country wake up and are “glad to be alive”. He eventually opens his eyes to the fact that “life [in South Africa] is not a normal given, a norm, a status guaranteed, […] but something exceptional and remarkable, a privilege so extraordinary”. It sounds like if it weren’t for daughter Sonja’s unfortunate experience, Mr Brink would have never discovered such terrible truth! Yet, it would have been sufficient to live a couple of months in a township to be aware of it! In this mysterious place you prove not to know at all, people around you keep passing away because of hunger, hiv/aids, crime, etc. Life for them deserves “special consideration and gratitude” because it’s an everyday achievement, not something one can take for granted.

And then, turning poker-player again, Mr Brink plays the “constitution card”… another ace up his sleeve. C’mon, Mr Brink, you’re not a naïve, undergraduate student. I am sure you are fully conscious of the fact that, if not put effectively into practice, even the most socially advanced constitution is dead letter, don’t you? You don’t agree with me? Well, re-read Soviet Union’s 1936 Constitution and think about how “admirable” it could have been for Russian citizens living under comrade Big Moustache Joseph. To my experience, I come from a country which, like South Africa, has produced one of the most progressive constitutional charts ever written. And so what? Millions of my fellow-citizens (especially the younger generation and migrants) are struggling to pay their rent, their purchasing power keeps falling resulting in the inability for average families meeting the rising cost of living. A progressive Constitution does not protect anybody from being vulnerable and insecure. In other words: from being poor.

“[t]his ‘insignificant’ episode – Mr Brink bitterly whispers in the following lines – “marked as it was by the minister’s apocalyptic arrogance, has become a watershed in my own thinking about the New South Africa”.

NOTE 15: At least, some ground in common: the “insignificance” of the episode, given South Africa’s innumerable other, much more urgent, problems.

The story continues. From Mr Brink’ accounts of his speeches around the globe we find out he “feels [him]self left in the lurch” because people like Nqakula, “have now begun to define the image of the ANC”. Due to this aesthetic reason (and not to other reasons like, for instance, ANC’s neoliberal policies and “frustrated reforms” , the most striking one being that of the land) Mr Brink’s optimism has evaporated (“[I]n recent years, whenever on my travels I have been asked about the many ills that beset the New South Africa […] I have taken pains to insist what a dramatic change there has been in the country, and that there is good reason to be essentially, if cautiously, optimistic. I can no longer do that. It would be a betrayal of the most important values I believe in, and which were once, in a dream, exemplified by the ANC”).

So desperate is Mr Brink about the future of the country that he envisages the ultimate national catastrophe at the horizon (“One wonders for how long FIFA can continue to contemplate sending its soccer teams in 2010 to a World Cup presented in a country that has lost the ability to guarantee the safety of players, officials and spectators, turning what should be a world-class spectacle into a potential massacre which could make the Munich Olympics of a few decades ago look like a picnic outing”).

NOTE 16: Again, the game of associating current South African issues to historical facts does not produce convincing narrative results. Because of Mr Nqakula and some tsotsis the World Cup is to become “a potential massacre which could make the Munich Olympics look like a picnic outing?” Please, let’s not be ridiculous…

Fast forgotten Mr Brink’s drama queen predictions, I can’t prevent myself, once more, to think about the real nightmares troubling Mr Brink’s nights:

“If these distressing rumours about the 2010 World Cup being held in a country other than SA will come true, no dinner at the French embassy with Thierry Henry and Michel Platini! Oh my God! Oh my God, Oh my God!!!…”

In the final part of the story, while humbly recalling his own contribution in the struggle (“[d]uring the years of darkness under apartheid […] I saw it as part of my mission as a writer to explain what dared not be spoken openly by the silenced, to speak what was forbidden - in order to ensure that the truth could be brought into the open”), Mr Brink blatantly undermines Mr Nqakula’s (“[He] can, of course, not care less [about… ]. He has paid his price in the Struggle, hasn’t he?”). And, as in the aforementioned case of Biko’s murder, he plays the trick of crime-to-crime comparison. Going, once again, in utter confusion. According to Mr Brink in fact, Mr Nqakula’s personal experience under Kruger (“When others were tortured and killed, he, too, suffered. He was hit by a banning order, remember: persecuted, on a piece of paper, by the man who was left cold by the death of a fellow human being”) is comparable to that of “the people (mostly white) who ‘winge’ about the level of violence in South Africa” (“just as Nqakula himself is now left cold by the suffering and death of innumerable fellow South Africans, whose only desire was to enjoy the blessings of a generous land in a model democracy”).

For my sadness, the story slowly and tiredly came to an end, not without one final blitzkrieg against the political class: (“Like his colleague, the Minister of Health, Manto Tsabalala-Msimang, who babbles incoherently about curing AIDS with wild garlic and herbal concoctions, the Honourable Minister of Safety and Security is concerned only with assuring the prosperity of a small group of associates and confidants built on the suffering and deprivation of a huge majority”.)

NOTE 17: What you’re talking about here, Mr Brink (“assuring the prosperity of a small group of associates and confidants built on the suffering and deprivation of a huge majority”) has nothing to do with the bad behaviour of the ruling class of this country. It is called capitalism. That undisputable, unquestionable economic system which allows those like Mr Nqakula, as well as the radical chic, to keep prospering and enjoying life at its best. Are you perhaps, in the moving final lines of your story, questioning the accountability of capitalist societies?

No, he’s not. As these closing considerations seemed to make my faith on Mr Brink’s objectivity resurge, the umpteenth sudden twist on the plot brings me back to square one. The ending of the story is, inevitably, another disappointment (“We can still salvage those human and African values that have shaped the New South Africa – not the values that brought forth monsters like Nqakula or Zuma or Tsabalala-Msimang, but those that have produced a Mandela or a Tutu. But there is not much more time to lose”).

NOTE: 18: What are these vague “human and African values that have shaped the new South Africa”? Those thanks to which “62 000 white families still own 80% of the land, […] good education is still unattainable for poor families and […] economic power still resides in white hands”? Those due to which “democracy in South Africa had turned into a democracy ‘for those who have’ ” ?

Even in these conclusive, populist remarks, capitalism is not questioned.
It’s really time to drop the newspaper in the dust bin.

NOTE 19 (CONCLUSION): While I certainly agree with the sentiments expressed by Brink, when they are viewed against the brutality of criminals and the arrogance of politicians, his statements become hollow and hypocritical.

When he urgently takes his pen and pad to denounce the sad story of a tranquil bunch of diners being assaulted by an unruly gang of thugs, he should make an equal amount of noise about the crimes (the “petty” street crimes, but also the “grand”, economic crimes) committed against those who are really left behind: the poorest and often voiceless people who are busy in the everyday struggle for survival.

On the contrary, Mr Brink has proved to be ready to jump from the chair only when what is in danger is his daughter’s life (or, more probably, her jewellery). Let ‘s be clear: crime is a curse for all societies, at any latitude. Whenever, wherever. I am scared of hijacks and robberies too, and I too believe thugs are a serious menace to the peaceful living of our communities. With regards to this, Mr Brink, you must not feel alone. We are on the same boat. But then again, as you seem to be so concerned about it, but above all thoroughly determined to DO something about it, I want to read articles of yours for each and every crime that is committed in South Africa. I want a pamphlet of yours – at least as passionate as this, memorable, one – each and every time a child is raped or a mother dies of aids in the township, or a worker is buried alive in a mine. I repeat, Mr Brink: each and every time. If you believe this is a commitment too demanding fine. I understand. But if so, then don’t write at all about “Mandela’s (?) betrayed (?) legacies (?)”. Please. You know, whatever these legacies are, they are betrayed so many times, on a daily base, in this funny “model democracy” of Mzansi, Mr Brink, that if by any chance you tried to embark on the noble task of writing about them ALL, you would find yourself stuck 24-7 in front of your brand new laptop. And in that case, bye bye Friday’s tea at the yacht club and bye bye wine-and-cheese at the French embassy. As I stated earlier: a nightmare I surely do not want you to go through.

It is your right, or rather your duty, as a citizen, honest taxpayer and writer to vindicate for you and your family the right to live a Gatsby-style life in peace. But don’t get angry if your storytelling sounds to the street person as the maimed “whines” of a petty liberal. I feel it also my duty as a fellow citizen of yours to ask you, Mr Brink, not to speak in the name of the ones you do not represent (and surely don’t know). I have tried to talk frankly, Mr Brink. You know, I and the everyday people of this country are probably quite… insensitive about what happens – good or bad – in your leafy, “peaceful suburbs”. Don’t get me wrong, Mr Brink. I am not saying I am not trying. In fact I try and try to be moved by the terrible tragedies of the bejewelled ones but, for as hard as I try, I simply find it hard to empathize with them. You know, Mr Brink, poor people have tragedies of their own to deal with. It is not a matter of hierarchies. I wouldn’t like to see other people cry. I wouldn’t want to see anybody cry from an offence. My eyes, like yours, are full of tears. But I have so many reasons to cry that my eyes get emptied very quickly. And when it’s time to shed a tear for the unfortunate bejewelled ones, my tears-tank is empty and dry. I am sorry…

Your Glad to be alive, Mr Brink, is not a South African story. To put it simple, it is just the story of a few rich, privileged guys, living in a country where most people around them have to struggle to get by. And the privileged ones are the same, everywhere. When their Rolex is stolen or their Hermès bag snatched, when their private companies are nationalized or their land confiscated, they start weeping “This is outrageous! It’s the end of democracy! Tyranny! Dictatorship! Help! Help!”

If you used your story as an occasion to express your anger against the hooligans and the corrupted politicians who, in different ways, terrorize this country, then I am on your side. Well done, Mr Brink. I’ll sing in choir with you “Down with corrupted politicians! Down with the hooligans!” But if you wrote this story to catch the solidarity of the (poor) majority of South Africans, I think that you chose the wrong set and the wrong characters to develop your plot. Regardless of the fact that you agree or not with my semi-serious comments, Mr Brink, you will at least agree with me that this is quite a pedestrian mistake for a renowned novelist like you. Isn’t it?

Yours unbegrudgingly,

raphael d’abdon
January 2008

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The “Domiziana” is a no-man’s land between Naples and the Garigliano that does not appear on tourist brochures: a 29-Km-long waterfront split in two by the Volturno river, whose desolate landscape is shaped by a conglomerate of concrete buildings, little villas and corrugated iron shacks erected clandestinely by local mafia chiefs, surrounded by illegal dumps and polluted sea. This post-modern urban nightmare is the undisputed kingdom (as Roberto Saviano has masterfully described in his book Gomorrah) of the family of Camorra boss Francesco “Sandokan” Schiavone: a diversified criminal empire built, amongst other, over the lives of the “wretched of the earth” who migrate in this uncelebrated area of glittering Europe to be enslaved in the multi-billion business of the tomato industry (aka “the red gold”). Most of these slaves employed in the seasonal (July-August) tomato industry are undocumented immigrants coming from Africa.

It was in the dantesque inferno of Domiziana, in the so called “Ghetto of Villa Literno” that, on 25 August 1989, Jerry Essan Masslo, a South African asylum seeker who had arrived in Italy to find refuge form apartheid, found death by the hands of a local gang of tsostis who murdered him after robbing the shack where he was living with some fellow migrant workers. This shocking execution raised a wave of popular indignation throughout the country, and the following month the biggest antiracist march against racism ever made in Italy took place in Rome, in the name of Jerry Masslo. This event marked a watershed in the history of immigration in Italy, a history marked, indeed, by ruthless exploitation, xenophobia and violence.

In an essay titled Science, Liberty and Peace Aldous Huxley far-sightedly wrote: “The collective mentality of nations – the mentality which reasonable adults have to adopt, when making important decisions in the field of international politics is that of a delinquent boy of fourteen, at once cunning and childish, malevolent and silly, maniacally egotistical, touchy and acquisitive, and at the same time ludicrously boastful and vain”. Much water has flown under the bridges since Jerry Masslo’s assassination in 1989, but the attitude of Italian politicians and institutions towards a pivotal political and social issue like immigration has remained very much similar to that of Huxley’s political leaders and Jerry Masslo’s killers: one of “delinquent boy-gangsters”. In fact, in Italy as well as in all other countries of the EU, the immigrant keeps being conceived as a “take-away” object, a sub-human form of life to be used when the markets needs extemporary cheap manpower and dumped when industrial production decreases (a sort of guinea-pig for experimental practices of “social toyotism”…). The case of undocumented immigrants sums up well the European leaders’ approach to immigration issues. The individuals who migrate in Europe equipped with great expectations – but no papers, are in fact systematically imprisoned in so-called “Detention Camps for Immigrants” (DCI), the European Union’s home-grown Guantanamo camps which dot the map of the continent (to see shocking map check Migreurop: http//:pajol.eu.org; www.fortresseurope.org). These ethnic prisons are nothing but “social dumps” where detainees regularly undergo torture, harassment, humiliation and, sometimes, death. The sub-terrestrial world on the shadow of the DCI is the quintessential symbol of the so-called “Fortress Europe”. Far from being a romantic epitome of human and civil rights, the EU is rather a rational political system which enforces racism and segregation: a system that French sociologist Etienne Balibar defines as “European apartheid”.

Notwithstanding the bleak scenario depicted above, the history of immigration in Italy is also one of inspiring experiences of self-organization, self-affirmation and resistance. The most adamant example of such innate capacity of migrants to constantly renew their strategies of physical and cultural survival is given by the migrant writers.

In the last 30 years Italian “indigenous” literature and culture have suffered a progressive – and ongoing – decline in terms of originality, inventiveness and creativity. Beached in the sinking sands of post-modernism, intimism and self-reliance, Italian literature has stopped producing serious civil writers (the above-mentioned Saviano represents a pleasant exception, though). An apparently unstoppable tidal wave of decadence which started being put under scrutiny in the 80s, with the arrival of the first immigrants who, coming from every corner of the planet, started writing, in Italian, about their “brave new world”. Since then, the number of migrant writers has constantly increased, and so has the quality of their artistic works. In other words, the advent of these “outsiders” in the Italian cultural scenario has been, so far, one of the main factors of positive, transformative renovation within today’s Italian culturally polycentric society. Within the pluriversal category of the “migrant writers”, Africans are certainly frontrunners of this cultural (r)evolution. The list of African migrant writers is a long one but most importantly, as hinted before, a constantly growing one. Amongst them, a few names of accomplished authors are worthy to be mentioned since, for different reason, they have been able to attain a prominent position within contemporary Italian literature.

The first of this kind is certainly Algerian Amara Lakhous, the first “non-Italian” winner of prestigious national literary prizes “Ennio Flaiano” (2006) and “Leonardo Sciascia” (2006) with the novel Scontro di civiltà per un ascensore a Piazza Vittorio [Clash of Civilization for an elevator in Vittorio Square]. Lakhous’s masterpiece, definitely on of the best novels of Italian post-war literature, has sold 25.000 copies so far and has been printed 8 times. In addition, it will be soon translated into English in by New York-based Europa Editions, and a film based on it will be produced starting form next June.

Alongside with Lakhous, Somali Garane Garane deserves a special place in the history of Italian migrant literature since, as Prof. Armando Gnisci states, his Il latte è buono [The milk is good] (2005), is the “first Italian post-colonial novel, i.e. a novel written in Italian by a son of the soil of an ex-Italian colony”.

Third name on the list is Togo-born Kossi Amékowoyoa Komla-Ebri. Author of short stories, novels and essays, member of the board of El-Ghibli (one of the most important national journals on migrant literature. www.elghibli.org) and panellist in several national and international conferences and festivals (he was one of the guests at the “Time of the writer” festival in Durban in 2005), Komla-Ebri has established himself as one of the most popular and original migrant writers of Italy. Apart form the artistic value of his stories, Komla Ebri’s case is particularly relevant for his commercial success. His most notorious works Imbarazzismi. Quotidiani imbarazzi in bianco e nero [Embar-racism. Daily embarrassing in black and white], and Neyla (the latter translated into English and published by Farleigh Dickinson University Press) have sold an amazing 65.000 and 40.000 copies each, even if they are published and distributed by small publishing house Dell’Arco, whose books are sold exclusively on street corners by young African vendors.

Psychiatrist, poet, actor and sublime performer Eritrean Hamid Barole Abdou is an eclectic artist, whose literary and social activity is “inspired by the spirit of Frantz Fanon”. He is the winner of two important prizes: the “Satyagraha” prize, which he won with his collection of poetry Akhria. Io sradicato poeta per fame [Akhria. I, poet uprooted by hunger], and the “Multiethnicity and Interculture” prize, sponsored by the City of Rome, Caritas and the International Organization on Migrations granted for his fully bilingual (Italian-English) book of poetry and short stories Seppellite la mia pelle in Africa – Bury my skin in Africa. The important aspect of this book is that it lacks the parochial dimension which sometimes characterizes the works of its canon, since it has been published to be fruited not only in the local market, but also in the Anglophone one. Moreover, this collection is the result of the collective work of Barole and the “Traduttori e traduttrici per la pace” [Translators for peace], and the money resulting from the sales has served to finance a project for the children living on refugees camps of Sudan.

Together with Barole and other fellow African writers like Moroccan Mohammed Lamsuni, Berber storyteller Karim Metref is another writer for whom civil commitment stands at the core of any artistic activity. Film maker, pedagogue and activist in the field of intercultural education Metref is the winner of the 2006 prize for migrant writers “Lo Sguardo dell’Altro” [The Other’s Stare] (short stories section), and a perfect incarnation of Gramsci’s ideal of “organic intellectual”. For Metref in fact field research and direct involvement with the community must go hand-in-hand with both fictional and non-fictional writing. This is why alongside with his brilliant literary publications Baghdad e la sua gente [Baghdad and its people] (2005), Caravan to Baghdad (2007), Tagliato per l’esilio [Cut for the exile] (2008) Metref has produced powerful documentaries such as Il Ritorno Degli Aarch - I villaggi della Cabila scuotono l’Algeria [The return of the Aarch – the villages of Cabilia shake Algeria] (http://www.carta.org/rivista/video/index.htm#Aarch) and …E Il Tigri Placido Scorre… Istantanee dalla Baghdad occupata […and the Tigris flows tranquil… Pictures from occupied Baghdad] (www.tdhitaly.org).

Last (but not least) in this necessarily limited list of migrant writers is Ethiopian-Italian Gabriella Ghermandi. Born in Addis Ababa, she moved to Italy aged 14 to live in Bologna, the northern city where her father comes from. Winner in 1999 of the “Eks&Tra” prize for migrant writers, Ghermandi’s works have has published extensively in many anthologies, collections and journals. Her biographical journey is very significant since it represents a back-to-the-roots experience. A master on the art of metaphorical speech typical of the Ethiopian tradition, Ghermandi is one of the best spoken word artists of Italy. Her novel Regina di fiori e di perle [Queen of flowers and pearls] is the winner of 2007 “Popoli in Cammino” [People on the move] prize: an enchanting story set in Ethiopia in the times of Italian colonization. In a country where the debate on colonialism is virtually absent, Ghermandi’s book certainly shines out as one of the most important works in the history of modern Italian literature. In fact, even if very few historians (like Angelo Del Boca) have shown how Italian colonialism was as much ferocious and barbaric as other colonialisms (sometimes even more barbaric: let’s just remember, for instance, that Mussolini’s was the first army to use illegal chemical weapons against civilians – the infamous hyprite – long before the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings), all politicians, both the conservatives of the right and the “reformists” of the “left”, remain on denialist positions. They simply avoid to discuss the topic, which remains covered by a veil of silence. And literature makes no exception, for writers have paid no attention to this shameful page of Italian history. In fact, before the publication of Ghermandi’s novel, the only remarkable book on the colonial experience written by an Italian was Ennio Flaiano’s Tempo di uccidere [Time to kill], published in 1947.

And what about the migrant writers from Mzansi? So far, apart from Italian-South African Valentina Acava Mmaka’s remarkable novel Cercando Lindiwe [Seeking Lindiwe], no noteworthy text has been published by South Africans. Nonetheless, a few of them have started coming out of the closet: Durban-born writer (and tenor) Masa Mbatha-Opasha is the winner of a minor local prize in Rome and Sowetan sis Lerato Phiri had one of her poems included in the introduction of I nostri semi – Peo tsa rona, an anthology of spoken word artists translated into Italian, published by Mangrovie.

It is said: “cultural diversity is as necessary for humankind as biodiversity is for nature”. The seeds of African word have been planted in the soil of Italian cultural desert, and they have started blossoming. Despite the provincial attitude of the political class and the media, which keep denying it, the creolization of Italian (and European) literature, culture and society is a historical process that can not be hushed up or stopped. Not today, not tomorrow. For now we, the readers, are enjoying the sweet taste of African migrant writers’ words. Words that are paving the path for a called-for Africanization of self-centred, decadent Europe.

Copyleft: this work of art is free, you can redistribute it and/or modify it according to terms of the Free Art license. You will find a specimen of this license on the site Copyleft Attitude http://artlibre.org as well as on other sites.

raphael d’abdon
Tembisa, March 2008