Bhopal: Play Review

Our intrepid intern Henry Moorhead reviews the US production of Bhopal, and outlines his hopes for audiences around the globe.

On the 18^th of November in New Brunswick NJ, Epic Actors’ Workshop and Bond Street Theatre merged to create a play on the effect of this catastrophic disaster of Bhopal.  The play tells the story of December 3^rd 1984, when a pesticide plant exploded in Bhopal, India, leaking over 40 tons of methyl isocyanine gas and killing over 2,000 people instantly and many more as the toxins reached the human bodies.  Years later children were born deformed or physically impaired due to the direct impact of this tragic disaster.  Today the effects are still felt, and Bhopal demonstrates the level of impact one incident can have on the entire world. 

The play opens as the police in Bhopal try to convince Dr. Sonya Labonté (played by Anna Zastrow) to leave the slums of Bhopal and go back to her native Canada.  The relationship that Dr. Labonté develops with her patients (women in the slums of Bhopal) is so authentic, it shows the reality of what it was like during the disaster.  Ms. Zastrow lights up the stage with her captivating presence as she tends to the women who have suffered. 

The chorus (who play the woman of Bhopal) represents the essence of the world in Bhopal. The physical and vocal choices they make pull the audience in closer and allow the piece to build.  They demonstrate the core of the play, as they are the ones who are affected the most.   

Jaganlal Bhandari, Chief Minister of State in Bhopal (played by Sajal Mukherjee), dives deep into his character as a misguided and corrupt driven man and creates conflict with his stubborn views. 

Throughout the play the themes, dialog, and interactions exemplify how difficult it is for first world counties like the United States and third world countries like India to work together. Given the laws, culture, and methods of operating are so different; it takes immense effort and perseverance to make an impact individually.  Dr. Labonté epitomizes this on many levels.  As the play deals with such heart wrenching and severe issues, the moments of comic relief heighten the essence of the play.  For example, Pescale Suavé (played by Shai Lendra Khurana) retorts, “There are so many laws, it is impossible not to break a few.”  The audience chuckles and it gives them a chance to relax. 

After premiering in New Jersey in the United States, Bond Street takes Bhopal across the globe to tour in Nepal and India.  I hope the audience comes away how essential it is to make sure the necessary precautions are set in order to prevent future environmental catastrophes from happening.  Bhopal is a prime example of a play that continues Bond Street’s mission of “Creating Peace Through Theatre.”

Afghan Update: Bamiyan

Getting ready to go to Bamiyan… it’s a bit dicey because we are driving. There are two routes: the southern way (paved) goes through Wardak which is definitely to be avoided if you are foreign or Hazara since it’s Pashtun and thus potential Taliban territory. The northern route (unpaved) bumps along through mountain passes on roads of rubble and sheer cliffs, but passing only has one danger area, the Pashtun villages in the Ghorban valley. This is not a road really; this is a rugged path carved by hundreds of years of donkeys patiently hoofing their way through the precipices, head down, loaded with every sort of tradable item. These donkeys are relentless, dauntless. We are passing them continuously on the path – they nimbly trot through the rubble as we go bouncing along, rattling teeth and brains. What do donkeys think? Do they think? No matter how huge the load, they just keep walking.

The dangers on this precipitous journey run from robberies to kidnappings, and we aren’t too keen on either. So the entire ride with our non-English speaking driver we are asking if we are approaching, in, or leaving this notorious Ghorban valley. Nothing like a 7 hour scary ride to improve one’s language skills, and my Dari is improving daily. I’ve learned khatar = danger, and checkpoint which has a long name but everyone knows ”checkpoint.”

Passing through one town in the long ride to Bamyan, we pass a sheep being slaughtered, its head severed, still shaking and quivering – still alive. A man stands by casually. Sheep are food; sheep are life. Death is a casual event. Meat hangs in front of every butchery, a gory decoration to me, a vegetarian, but even a bit too vivid for meat-eaters who are used to packaged pieces of animals. A wheelbarrow full of hoofed feet stands by with another row of feet all neatly lined up fill the store window. Without the sheep, people could not live. I hear it’s really tasty, this mutton, so fresh, so tender!

Pulling into Bamyan is a little shock after Kabul. Most small cities (or large towns) are clusters of mud walled lanes shielding homes inside from prying eyes, punctuated by alleyways between them, and a few streets lined with rows of small, open-front shops. Bamiyan has one long street of bazaar that welcomes you into the town. It is the town. There are a few cross streets and a lovely river traversing the town, and then endless farms and mud walled enclaves – all in a flat sprawl between the mountains.

But the most prominent feature in Bamyan is that amazing rocky façade of mountain dotted with caves across its impossibly sheer face, and the two huge empty arches where stone Buddhas once towered until the Taliban blew up these treasured statues. There it stands, the huge wall of caves and niches, right there, visible from anywhere in the city the minute you enter, and right there at the end of my block. It’s not hidden, or a bus ride away, or behind a fence – it’s there – the biggest thing in town. It defines the town in more than reputation but in situation. The wall is omnipresent. Farmers are busy at its base tending to crops just as they’ve done for centuries; herds of sheep or goats traipse along looking for edibles oblivious to this majestic masterpiece of nature and man.

So what did the town do as the Taliban destroyed the Buddhas that stood watching over them for a millennium? Did they all come out to watch? Did they have a protest? Chain themselves to the mountain? No… because before the Taliban blew up the statues, they proceeded to massacre most of the Hazara in the area, going door to door and killing every male, and causing a mass exodus of families over the snowcapped mountains. Babies froze, the elderly faltered, men dressed in burqas, women carried their children until they dropped. Who was left in town to dispute the slaying of statues?

Bamyan is the safest province in Afghanistan (once you get there) and one of the poorest (hence our presence here). The locals feel that, since this is the homeland of the Hazara, the government ignores them and isn’t sending them the money for teachers, schools, training programs, etc. Sounds familiar. So the new idea in Bamyan is eco-tourism. Several key development organizations are assisting in staff training and hotel building, and establishing tour groups and media to bring in tourists. Perhaps in a year or two a kiosk selling souvenirs will open at the mountain base, and then a few more, and then a billboard… but, then again, you can’t keep a valley alive selling ladies fingers (aka okra or bamya in Dari).

I hope that tourism won’t bring those elements that plague Kabul: too many cars, unfettered pollution, pickpockets, beggars, high prices, random dangers for foreigners, etc. Already, we were accosted – or jubilantly surrounded – by a swarm of kids as we passed a makhtab (school). The second they saw us, they ran at us screaming like we were Santa Claus. But there was savvy behind the mania. The children (girls and boys) mimed putting on lipstick – clear message: give me lipstick. And they cling, and pinch, and grab your hat and bags, and yell “qalam” (pen) and “bakhshesh” (gift or tip). Someone has been giving children lipstick and pens. Children are the most needy, the least able to survive… but the mass attack was unnerving. We have experienced this before: after a show in a refugee camp in Macedonia during the Kosovo war, I was literally carried off by the sea of excited kids, as I waved madly at Michael who was similarly being swept away in the other direction. We were suddenly the candy they never tasted.

Speaking of Santa, I see Christmas trees here and there – decorated with shiny balls and all – right here in Afghanistan. “We like Christmas here,” they tell me. Of course, why not? The Christmas event is noted in the Quran along with the virgin birth and angelic visits.

One more word on Bamiyan… the province – the only one with a woman governor – is not as well served by humanitarian organizations as are the areas besieged by war. Many in Bamyan suggest that it would be a better strategy to improve the safest areas, such as Bamyan and Badakhshan, to serve as models for the other provinces. Give Bamyan good schools and hospitals, provide services in the mountain villages, improve agricultural methods and transportation, and let the other provinces get the message that peace attracts aid, not violence. Of course, the counter arguments are many. Every battle-weary village in Ghazni, Qandahar, Helmand or Wardak wants peace. Only the handful of troublemakers that are bought and paid for by another handful of wealthy outsiders who profit from war want its continuance. What family in Uruzgan wants a life of fear and insecurity for their children? None. Some of the most conservative areas may share traditions with their Talib cousins, but no one wants bombs at their son’s wedding or daughter’s school. Families are alike the world over and bemoan their lost children.
 
from Joanna's Afghan journal

Dust Storm

A dust storm kept us from performing at the orphanage today. We will have to try again tomorrow. It was like being in a white out—except a little dirtier. You could feel the grit in your teeth and on your tongue. All the day the sky was orange and then it began to snow sand!

(this is the actual color of the sky)

Living in Afghanistan

The workshops have started well and we are more than busy: the theatre group in the morning, the ‘magic box’ children in the afternoon, and a class for older male students some evenings, as well as performances of “A Tale of Two Kites” at local schools and orphanages.

We were finally able to leave the Mediothek compound on foot today. It was an amazing experience to step outside the calm compound walls into the bustle of five o’clock commerce. The city is a sensory overload. The streets are busy with horse and donkey drawn carts heaving heavy loads of fruit and flour. The horses are decorated with colorful, decorative baubles and fake flowers adorn their harnesses. Bright blue, ornately decorated three wheeled rickshaws bear burqa clad women to work or to shopping, the rickshaw framing the half light of this very bright and dusty small city. The metal working shops are next to the fruit stands are next to the water pumps. Long quiet streets stretch away from the main drag, lined with trees. We achieve unisex roles when performing, but truth be told, there are not a lot of foreign women in Kunduz-- and the attention we get when we step out on the streets actually stops traffic. The scene is fascinating - we attempt to take everything in and yet somehow not create a stir.

At around the same time of our evening walk, there was what the news is calling a “major suicide attack” in the Baghlan Province, a neighboring district. The initial reports are that several important Parliamentarians as well as civilians and children have been killed, including Mostafa Kazemi, who was “a great man doing good things for Afghanistan” according to our friends here. We heard the news as we sat down to dinner. Everyone at Mediothek is shocked and saddened. Suicide attacks are a recent phenomenon in Afghanistan, giving a new edge to the violence here. “During the day we are smiling, but inside we are sad” Bibimah tells us of the Afghan sentiment about this attack.

...and many happy returns.

I can count the days left on my fingers as this very long journey begins to wind down. Currently, we are in Afghanistan, working with an organization called Aschiana that runs soup kitchens and day centers for street working children all over Afghanistan, as well as a vocational training facility for older youth.

We are in Mazar-i-Sharif, a city to the north that is famous for a very large and very blue mosque claiming to be the final resting place of Mohamed’s son-in-law Ali. The mosque is painted with ornate decoration while fake plastic palm trees in various florescent colors line the marble courtyard and surrounding park. At night the whole mosque, including plastic palm trees is lit up like the Vegas strip.

The scene is enhanced by the always striking image of women beneath white burqas huddled in the few places of shade. Mazar is famous for the white burqa, while Kabul for the sky blue. I must say, despite myself, that the burqa can be visually stunning against the subdued hues of brown cobbled streets and unpainted houses.

The streets in Mazar are paved in sections of bumpy roads and then smooth concrete. The streets are lined by walls and long passageways that lead to more walls and doors. Colors are sparse, and after being India, they look tastefully simple. We are in a tall building, so we can peak into the courtyards surrounding us. Otherwise, life here is lived behind closed doors for the most part.

We performed a cut down version of the show we were doing for children in INDIA, as our group has gone from nine to three. We are performing in schools, orphanages, the Aschiana centers, and on Saturday the kindergarten! The children seem to really respond here, although you can tell they do not really know how to watch a show. Audience participation like clapping, etc is just not part of their socialization. Neither are some of the most basic things we take for granted like forming a line. The basic education classes attempt to instill these ideas while also focusing on literacy. Because the children work on the street for the most part and do not go to school, they can only spare an hour for education class. The extra enticement of a hot meal everyday gets about 120 children in the classroom for even a limited amount of time, a great accomplishment in my eyes.

Teaching workshops has been particularly noteworthy here because, right away, you can see the value in theatre games for teaching and improving coordination and listening skills. If given the time, space and consistency of a long term program, games with rules like “when I say 1:touch the wall, 2: touch the floor, 3: get in a circle 4: dance with a friend”, can decidedly help the everyday development of these children. In addition, we taught some of the vocational kids the games before hand so they could be the trainers when working with the children. It was so rewarding to see one woman take the class over and teach a game I had forgotten I had shown them.

We hope that they will take this into their lives in some way and more importantly that we can come back here after some time away. What a gift it would be to come back and see our trainings incorporated into their curriculum. Even to come back just to give them a smile would be such a blessing.

Life here feels very every day, a concept that is so hard to convey through emails and blogs. It’s hard for many to believe that a place that we hear about so frequently in the news can be a place of such normalcy. Of course, I am in the north, and look out of my bedroom window in the mornings to a rose garden. This place is of infinite wonder and contradiction to me, a place I would like to return to and a place I will never fully understand. Nor they me.

Ultimately, we hope that our work and our presence here has given people an alternative view to that they see on the news or in their streets. That there are Americans coming with roses in hand, instead of guns. I imagine that is what cultural exchange is all about; connections and questions, uncertainties and optimism, beginnings and hopefully many happy returns.

On to Bihar

We left Calcutta and are now in Bihar, known as one of the poorest and most lawless places in India.... and we are having a great time! We are in West Champaran in a town called Betiah. Every day we travel to a tiny and exquisitely beautiful village outside Betiah; poor but it is impeccably neat with tidy mud homes, thatched roofs and animals roaming everywhere. It's stunningly peaceful contrasted to the wet, nasty, crowded poverty of Kolkata.

Betiah is wild and noisy with tiny horses pulling carts, people, bicycles, cows, goats, dogs -- it's truly a zoo. The cows really do roam freely, wandering casually across traffic at their leisure.

We are working with women from the village who come to this small school for training in sewing. They are so modest and shy that they would hardly do the most simple of exercises. Thankfully they are beginning to open up, and they all came back after the break so we didn't completly scare them away.

We are working with a mask company that does a series of plays for UNICEF and their training is very simple. Our job is basically to teach them everything -- just "blow their minds" our UNICEF representative said. And so far they are loving it.

From here it’s off to Hyberdad, more to come!

Holy Cow! BST in INDIA

From an email from Michael 7 November 2006
Greetings my many friends from Delhi, India. I have some time in the internet cafe so I have composed some thoughtson our trip thus far. I realize some of you may be surprised to hear from us in Delhi, India, but I suspect you have come to suspect this kind of thing of us by now.

My expectations of India were totally informed by my 4th grade social studies class, so all this time I am expecting Maharajahs riding elephants, thousands of beggars roaming the streets, and slinky Bollywood starlets going in and out of technicolor temples to gods with 16 arms and legs. But as our plane lands and we taxi into Delhi I find:New York City, with no blonds. No elephants, no starlets, no beggars-- a few, but not so bad. What a let down. But it is Delhi, and we were hanging in the biz sections, buying a cellphone and meeting Embassy and NGO types.

But Calcutta-- or Kolkatta as it is now spelled-- that is more like India! Still no elephants, but they got some cows. They are quick to say that they are Bengalies (like New Yorkers saying we are New Yorkers-- its not to be confused with American!). So this is going to be home for the project.

There is one NGO, Banglanatak, promoting street theatre for social good. It is, get this, run almost entirely by university trained engineers. The leader gave up a profitable software career in Silicone Valley to return to native Kolkatta to set up an organization that gets contracts from NGO's that want to reach the masses, say with an AIDS awareness campaign. They go into the town or district, identify the issues and the environment, and hire the local theatre company to do short theatre pieces on the topic. If there is no local company they form one.The idea is that the positive message comes from artists that live in the community. And if they can also mix in local theatrical traditions all the better.

It's hard to believe, but in one district in one province of West Bengal alone, Amitava claims there are 640 street theatre companies . Just street theatre. And they've been forming more. The idea is that the local organizations can continue to use the local groups and their techniques to get more information to the masses. And it becomes a job. Mind you, this is what we are told, but I am pretty interested in getting more of the story when we return next year.

There are some NGO's we could partner with in Delhi as well, working with street children around the train station. In addition to basic literacy programs and health attention they teach the kids theatre techniques to build self esteem and also perform social issues. Their theatre director is a former street kid himself.

These are some of the findings so far. Still have a bit more time to go. Will be back in NY on the 19th. God, this is exhausting work, and we haven't even touched our toes yet.

Hope all is well with you all in your worlds.
Much love, Michael and Joanna