The 2nd Annual APIA Spoken Word Summit gathered over 150 talented Asian/Pacific Islander spoken word artists from across the country for a stretch of workshops, community building challenges, and showcases.
"Then there was the first."
Both nights, poets pulled my emotions between laughter and tears. From the moment Bay Area crew Proletariat Bronze opened the stage with their powerful words, I sat in awe. Mango Tribe, a collective of APIA women who perform as well as facilitate related workshops, did vinettes of their work combining theater, spoken word, singing, dance, and multimedia/visuals to addressing issues of military and sexual violence in our communities, here and globally. Golda Supanova (8th Wonder, Full Blown Soul) soulfully serenaded us with Denizen Kane (I Was Born with Two Tongues, Typical Cats) on the guitar. [Tangent: these ridiculously amazing artist activist couples like Denizen & Golda and Marlon & Anida (both from 2Tongues) give me so much hope.]
We witnessed generations come together. Youth groups like Philly's GenerAzian Next (who accented their spoken word stories with choreographed poses) and Chicago's YAWP (Young Asians With Power) represented with their stories of growing up as an API in America. Elders blessed us: Nobuko (who recorded A Grain of Sand in 1973 Chris Ijima and Charlie Chin) and Genny Lin connected our current work to building community to living histories of struggle and creation.
All the storytellers and poet griots amazed and inspired, including/ especially one woman who shared her story in a particularly painful and powerful way.
She turned 21 that day.
The MC said, "We don't mean to embarass you, so don't cry. Or cry if you want to, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU..." And the family sang.
Then she read her poem. And the family cried.
last night the city cried with us
our sister's strength opened our hearts
we create infinite circles to center our souls and see each other
breathe slow - let tears evaporate into sunshine
- collective group verse written in golda's songwriting workshop the next day
A sister read a piece about being sexually abused as a child. Her wrenching truth enraged and pained, stunned and numbed, triggered many survivors, and shocked and disconnected others. Her courageous honesty inspired even as it challenged and pushed our community to collectively support each other and process that pain.
This echoed an eerily familiar moment for me at Art in Action. Perhaps I could hear what this sister said at Sunday night's poetry showcase because of what happened the prior Sunday in Santa Cruz. Had I not seen a collective of artists activists come together as a family to create a healing space, had I not walked into the labyrinth with the intention to heal and out with the intention to release past pains, had I not purged and wrenched through my own emotions... I would have been too numb or floored to react, like many of us at the Summit were.
After some time, one of the hosts stood tottering at the mic, lost. He asked us to take a moment of silence, no one really knowing what to do next. All I could think was, we have to stop this for a moment. We need to let people sit by themselves if some of us need to, we need a space to circle for facilitated processing if some of us need to, we need trained crisis counselors among us to step up if some of us feel we can, we need to collectively acknowledge the moment.
We did. And after some time, everyone re-gathered, three winding incomplete circles crammed onto the stage. An elder led a meditation, invited people to call out what they release and what they are thankful for. The power of our community coming together in such a loving way changed the lives of most everyone in the circles. Many individuals, including/especially me, really pushed themselves to stay with the community to collectively heal, despite instincts to run away and want to be alone.
So much pain anger hurt, so much strength (malakas) and beauty (at maganda) and love (isang mahal), in that space. I count myself among those who feel forever changed for it.
I am eternally grateful for the strength of women sister friends who helped us heal and for men brother friends who cried with us.