Team members: Trina Kim, Sairi Tsang, Miguel Gil and Isabel Fernandez
I’m from a canvas
From obsidian ink and vibrant paint
I am from the city of rest:
blue, verdant, wavy…
I am from fresh eucalyptus,
the ones you can smell on the trip back home.
I’m from the amiable and the fairly high
From Ana and Javier
I’m from the readers and the dreamers
From “just follow your dreams” and “do what you really want in life”
I’m from an imposed house of God that I recently turned down.
I’m from the ocean and the rain.
My blood is the Gods’ water, malt liquor and liquid blood.
From the end of the presence of knowledge and comprehension.
The reading until the Sun wakes up.
When those letters, filled with old memories arrive,
a whole new torment of emotions arises
Because the air without the waves, because the oceans without the sandy ends,
none of them make sense without the rest.
Ruin bomb breathtaking.
Blue attack cut.
Damage dance display.
Experience escape guarantee.
Guard challenge delay.
Doubt dream cycle.
Burn, burn, burn
Ache demand act
Limit laugh. Die.
In what ways are the humans in the film dependent on, adapting to or modifying the environment?
What is the overall message about human and environmental interaction of the movie?
What real world examples are analogous to the message of the movie?
What kid of world do you suppose the writer would like to see? What barriers lie in achieving thisWhat changes could you make in your life to align yourself with message of the movie? Should we be acting in accordance with the message of the film?
Document gallery on Canada in the First World War
The shouting stopped; everyone was silent. You could hear the wind through the banners, claiming for freedom and justice.
My sweaty, nervous and shaky hands grasped my camera, finally I got to shoot.
Waiting at the subway’s entrance to those lost souls that couldn’t make it in time.
Left, right, left, right, left; I was there, surrounded by thousands of people. my heart started pumping blood as fast as it could. My brain was overflowing with different feelings. One scarier than the next one.
Everything, even my body, was happening fast forward.
Trying to calm down the adrenaline in my veins, I looked up. The sky was turning colours and a couple of purple balloons were floating away from what was coming.
The Cybele Palace was dressed in purple.
We tried to get through the enormous crowd of people and find one spot to start marching, although, that was not possible. Cars in one side of the road beeping because they didn’t cut the street effectively.
Intertwining through the vehicles, pressing the trigger button. Suddenly, we saw him: Pablo Iglesias. One of the most polemic Spanish politician, was treading through the unknown.
-“This is amazing”- I thought. Every person, every car, every piece of paper. Everything made me feel overwhelmed. Ecstasy must feel something like this. I have never felt more alive.
And it started. Step by step, everyone was moving, slowly, but drifting. The solemnly wave of people dressed in black was so unexpected.
-“Aquí estamos las feministas!” (Here we are the feminists!) Women were roaring, dressed up for the funeral of every woman murdered in the hands of a male chauvinist “human”.
Every step counted. We were furious and we wanted to demonstrate it stamping our feet on our streets, the roads we crossed every day.
-“No nos mires, únete!” (Don’t look at us, join us!) Stares were thrown from every corner, every house and car. We were being heard, finally.
-“Ante la duda, tú la viuda!” (Facing dust, you the widow!) Looking through the lens, proudly, of each of the women I was observing while they yelled every statement. You could see little women, girls with homemade placard.
Normally, I would be concerned about everything that little girl would life just because of being female, but not that day. That day I was so delighted with her being in the streets protesting, that there wasn’t space inside of me for fright.
Gran Via, probably the most crowded street of Madrid, was bouncing and dancing. She was thrilled of her being the crime scene, for something Madrid really believed in.
Madrid is beautiful. She wears her colours and souls like nobody else. but that night… I had never witnessed such beauty before. We were barely breathing. Our voices were wrecked but not silenced. Last stretch.
-“Patriarcado y capital, alianza criminal!” (Patriarchy and capital, criminal alliance!)
The adrenaline was on point.
-“Qué nos detengan, que somos feministas, malvadas y abortistas! Qué no nos pueden controlar!” (Arrest us, that we are feminists, evil and abortionists! They can’t control us!)
Minute of silence for everyone of them, fallen in combat. You will never be forgotten.
-“Hermana, yo sí te creo!” (Sister, I do believe you!)
We were doing it. We were doing it . We were making them, all those governments that kept us second in every law, regret it! Regret not believing what we were able to do. We stood up, and we will never sit down behind the man again.
I chose a really unique story and the idea of why I felt alive was well built up.
I made a very powerful narrative that talked about serious emotions.
Next time, I wish to take more time to read through and edit it more thoroughly to correct grammar and transitions.
S-T-E-R-E-O-T-Y-P-E: Canadians are nice, Italians shout a lot, Germans only drink beer and speak intense. Russians drink Vodka and admire Karl marx for his manifesto about the ideal society. The French wear a silk scarf around their neck and they are the best example of snob.
But that’s not the end. After all these hilarious jokes, one starts to target real people. Our history is full of harmful stereotypes. Just remember how black people were represented in old Disney short-movies. You would be offended too. Some might argue that it happened years ago, and that today’s society isn’t racist. But my dear privileged friend, life is easy for us because we have a band covering our eyes.
At the same moment you say White Privilege doesn’t exist, there are people being used as mascots. Sharing role with animals. And if you don’t realise it by yourself, that’s not ok.
This has a name: cultural appropriation. There are so many examples of this kind of abuse, usually practiced by white people. For example: Gigi Hadid wearing a Hijab when she is not a muslim, Kylie Jenner using black hairstyles, like braids and cornrows or putting chopsticks in your hair.
Sports teams like the Atlanta Braves, Washington Redskins and Cleveland Indians are ones of the long list that use these kind of atrocities without any punishment. But of course, those white guys that handle this world like a puppet ; they don’t recognise the issue. Like anything that does not concern them.
First Nations, one way or another, have been claiming their rights louder than our big white ego, but still, we haven’t heard them. Some have tried with poems, others with songs, and even, published articles. For example, in Rita Pyrillis’ opinion piece “Sorry for not being a stereotype”:
“Native American scholar Vine Deloria wrote that of all the problems facing Indian people, the most pressing one is our transparency. Never mind the staggering suicide rate among Native youth, or the fact that Indians are the victims of violent crimes at more than twice the rate of all U.S. residents — our very existence seems to be in question.”
And this is not the only one. They can be found everywhere; you just need to find them. Because this is a real problem and people have been knowing this for a long time.
Maybe we should stop focusing on ourselves and start hearing the screaming of the ones with the weight of our society on their backs. But, hey, it’s just an idea. Maybe we should keep doing what we do best; avoid other people’s problems and the silencing of the First Nations.
BIBLIOGRAPHY: Sorry for Not Being A Stereotype, www.manataka.org/page392.html.
“Timeline | History.” Atlanta Braves, atlanta.braves.mlb.com/atl/history/timeline.jsp.
“Really, Atlanta? Braves Bring Back ‘Screaming Savage’ Logo.” Indian Country Media Network, 28 Dec. 2012, indiancountrymedianetwork.com/culture/sports/really-atlanta-braves-bring-back-screaming-savage-logo/.
Moya-Smith, Simon. “Opinion: Native Americans: We’re not your mascots.” CNN, Cable News Network, 19 May 2014, www.cnn.com/2014/05/19/opinion/moya-smith-native-american-racism/index.html.