 It's a cafe at the Marquisee, the Nino Center. Normally I say we are the greatest of the CUNY, but today we have the great honor and pleasure to be here at this truly legendary place where the poetry and the performance has a home. I'm sure you all know the history of this place. If you want to look it up, all the hell in Ginsburg and many, many others will hear about it. It's a fantastic spoken word place and pleased to follow them and what they offer in this community, especially here in the Lower East Side. There's exceptions, not a few places we feel left in New York that make New York, New York and Manhattan. So thank you for coming out on this kind of cold and rainy day. I know we need to get great theater, great place, but we also need a great audience. Really, thank you for coming. My name is Frank Henschka. I'm the Executive Director and Director of the Siegel Center. And together with Penn, the literary festival and the writers' organization, we created the International Planning Festival. We had contributions from Australia, from the Ukraine, from Turkey, from Brazil, Guinea and from Germany, and now we are moving to Syria. So this is a significant festival, probably the most important one in North America where we are participating with. At this moment, over 80 writers from all over the world are here in town and participating in the dialogue that was created by Solomon Rushdie, Paul Oster, Michael Roberts, and many others in the first bush years of the government where people felt America has a tunnel vision and we need to open our eyes and listen like musicians do to world music, global music, also theater. People have to listen to voices from around the world and always says, you know, the statistics say 95% of all books published in the US are from English-speaking countries and the 5% that are left to 2.5% is German or French because it's supported, so there are only two books out of 100 and it is not enough, we need to understand what is going on, we need to hear the stories to understand ourselves, but also the world, we are living into fine meaning. So what we hear today, the stories will bring us, it shapes that and I think we have a fantastic lineup. This was a very good year. We have done this now for over 10 years, so thank you for coming. The Seals and the Bridges Academy and Professionals Theater International, the American Theater. This is one of the most significant days and events and that's why I'm talking so much, I'm so excited and happy. And I would like to talk, I'd say, Brooke, our festival producer and Soria, the assistant curator, Antje Ödel, who curated with me, there's Rebecca Soria, who is the associate curator and there's Michael and Brad over here, Jolly Ara, who helped us out and Mia on and so many, many, many others, Bella from Brazil and so many people who were here with us and it's a great honor. So if you have a cell phone, please do take it out this moment is to make sure that it's all the same. And now we will hear a play by Rama Hayra, which is Desert of Life and Rama, where are you? Yes, she is, she flew in from a listed space at the moment. It was very, yes, yes, yes, yes, please. And of course, from here, here the piece I've mostly affected, but also the help, you know, the most focused office, the most illiterate office, other than where you live and what voices and lawyers have to bring on here. So it's a fantastic, a single miracle that happened that it all worked out. And it is translated by Rama in collaboration with Rebecca Magor, who's also director. Rebecca, where are you? Over there, who's also a familiar with our history. We're going to hear Desert of Life by Rama Hayra. Thank you. With light, a play in one act by Rama Hayra. The play begins with excerpts from two poems by Mahmoud Doge, a writing script. The script says I, a selfish optimist, will whisper to myself, whispers to himself. He and I are partners in one trap. And in the probability game, we wait for the rest you wrote so we can part ways by the edge of the hole, a chasm, and go to what remains for us of life and war if we are able to survive. The excerpt is from a poem by Mahmoud Doge, under sage. Here, there is no I. Here, Adam remembers his origin of clay. Desert of Light by Rama Hayra, an abolition from chaos, neatly arranged, a brutal siege. The action takes place in one of the abandoned buildings. The sounds of thawing, shooting, and combat aircraft certainly above play a central role in the rhythm of the text. They reverberate nearby and far away. A home, a couch, an unmade bed, a refrigerator, a sink full of dirty dishes. It could be a kitchen or a living room. The only life source is a ball of paint in the ceiling. God aced and silently on the couch, cried, eat, paces anxiously, tossing a ball in my hand. Man, you should have seen it. This bomb hit the ground and made a crater. We couldn't even get in there. We couldn't get close enough to drag the old man body out. At the Muhammad's corner store. The best part was his boy playing soccer in the neighborhood before the bomb landed. He kicks his ball way down the street, runs after it, then the bomb falls in the exact spot where he'd been standing. He doesn't even look back. Just keeps playing. What time is it? Sounds of bombing from afar. Fall from his feet. You've been silent for over an hour. It'll calm down now, little. The boys told me they'd help us get out. Do like everyone else did. How do you think everyone else got out? Oh, that way? It's that simple? We do like everyone else? No, man, we just sit here and wait around for the UN to save us. I hear they scraped a fleet of limousines through the checkpoint just this morning, door-to-door service. He froze the bomb forcefully at the couch, barely missing it. Tell me, how do you think you'll find me highly of yourself? Just calm yourself. I'm not in the mood to fight with you. Sounds of shelling from a distance. Followed by a round of bullets. You're scared? I can see it. Man, when I was coming here, it felt like a real live game of Counter-Strike. No other way. If we don't get out now, we're stuck here, under siege. You have any idea what that means? No, no idea. Truly, enlighten me. Let me understand. According to you, we're not under siege right now. Anyhow, let's assume we get past the sniper and the shelling. What about the military checkpoints? Oh, so now you wanna talk about the checkpoints? I thought you were a fan. You're the one always saying the camp would collapse without them. When did you ever hear me say that? You said the rebels don't know how things work. Which by default makes me a fan of the military checkpoints. You think I'm a fan of the military? And then preventing the UN relief cars from getting into the camps? Stuff, same stupid shit about how the boys don't know how to deal with the situation. Look, you start getting these things mixed up. You're fighting with me and focused on devising a way out of here. Now you're angry with me? I told you I don't wanna fight. Did you get the cigarettes? How about you ask your friends at the checkpoints for cigarettes, huh? Honest, hard-working soldiers, salt to the earth. Yeah, yeah, enough of your sarcasm. Listen to me, my friend. I'm not leaving because I'm scared for you. Scared for me? Oh, indeed. And why are you scared for me? Because they will shoot you at the first checkpoint. Oh no, my friend, don't be scared for me. Be scared for yourself. My boys have everything under control. And who are these dudes you're always talking about, your boys? Your self-proclaimed rebels. Give me a break. You put your pathetic life in their hands. My boys are up there trying to help us. They are getting the people out. But since you're such a fucking coward, you're not willing to see it. Yeah, and just how are they getting people out? Flying them out with helicopters? Your boys found some magic alternative that does not involve passing through the very same military checkpoints and standing around waiting at the camp gates? They're all taking advantage of the siege. And all we get to do is choose between these devils and those devils. We get what we need from them, and then they can go to hell. And you don't know shit about politics. You think they'll just let you go. But you didn't want to fight. That's right. I don't want to fight with you. It's tired of you. I'm bored out of my mind. These past two weeks in here, I've gotten to know you better than the 26 years we've known each other out there. You go out for four days and you come back with nothing. No answers, not one piece of useful information. And you can't come back for setting the exact same shit as before. I mean, aren't you tired of yourself? The pocket that's in his mouth. Kidding me. You go out there. You see the situation for yourself. Then you show me all the useful information you pick up. And I want to know what you learned about me. Look, I went out there to try and understand where the hell we are and find a way out. You think it was a fun time? It takes on a lighter and plays with it. So basically, I'm tired of you too. And now I want to know what did you learn about me? You lighten me and form me, Mr. Idiot man, what? I learned that you're an idiot. I learned that anyone can manipulate your mind and this whole struggle. You're just pretending, just talking. Your whole life is like this shirt. You wear it, you take it off. Now give me a cigarette. A shirt? That's right, a shirt. Doesn't matter who or what these people are as long as you get what you want. For God's sake, give me a cigarette. Okay, who lights it with the light? I'm thirsty. Let me understand. What's your plan for getting us out of here? Where's your stuff? My stuff? You can lick my stuff, piece by piece, brother. I've got nothing left. You think I'm ready to die for a bag of shit like the one you drag around your back everywhere you go? A combat playing circles. And what's in that bag of yours anyway? None of your business. The bombing continues. The sounds of shelling grow louder. Ring, ring, ring. Why don't you answer the phone? It's my mom. A combat playing circles and then there's a sudden, strong explosion everywhere you lie. The entire room seems to shake. The electricity cuts off. In a very dim light, maybe dust, maybe dawn. Phone lights up again. As soon as the bombing stops, he answers. Hi, mom. It's all good. We're good, we're good. How was everyone? Did Ammar get back? Did you get the fuel? Where's Alaa? Did he buy bread? Don't waste the battery, the boys are gonna call. Yeah, yeah, mom. No, no, there's just some kind of clash outside. Me alone, you and your... It sounded far away, yeah. As they continue to talk to his mother, he crosses to his bag and opens it. He starts searching through it, thinking through the items curiously. Several layers of paper. He unwraps the papers piece by piece until he reaches the bottle. He opens it excitedly and takes a long swig. He notices we drink with the bottle and parents. Yeah, yeah, okay, mom. Don't worry, don't worry. He traces me around the room trying to grab that bottle of water. No, no, no, don't worry, don't worry. It's in God's hands. No, no, it didn't blow up near here. Hello? Hello? Mom, can you hear me? Lost reception. Put the bottle down. I'm thirsty. That'll make you thirsty, are you clown? Put it down. Brother, I need a drink. Tell me this is the same bottle of wine from that failed New Year's Eve, 2004. You saved it? You took it with you, till now? Damn, I thought you'd have drunk it a long time ago. Truth be told, nothing bothers me more than your fear. Not your fear of the war. Your fear of losing memories. There's nothing left to lose. There aren't even any ruins for you to stand on. I'm so scared. Tell me. Give me another cigarette. Put the bottle down. I only got three cigarettes for the both of us. I couldn't get a whole pack. He offers a bottle and a cigarette. Guy A's down just for the violently. He takes a long swig that immediately lights the cigarette. He approaches the bag again. Glowering Guy A gives Guy B a silent permission to search for the bag. He takes out different items from the bag and comments on them. Books, family photos, hold it, and he sits back inside the bag. Compass. You took a compass with you? I got you. You think a compass is gonna leave you anywhere? Don't you know all our problems began with a compass? It points you in a certain direction, shows you the way, and you start walking and walking in that direction, and you keep walking and walking, and then this is one big bag of make-believe. That's what happened to us in 48. We trusted a compass, and now look where it's got us. Stick up the ass. Biggest stick of our lives. Sounds of bombing from afar. Brother, this history is not trustworthy. I'll tell you something from now on. We are the compass. The only compass. Well, it's like this. If I leave the camp now, I won't be running after any make-believe. This time I'll get to where I'm going for sure. Whatever. Take it or leave it. See how I'm holding this? Look. You see that? It's pointing down to the ground. It's a piece of shit, compass. Tell me, idiot. Your father never told you how to hold a compass. He throws the compass on the ground. It shatters, playing circles above. A bomb explodes, bearing air by. That was loud? That's it. Give me the bag. Why did you open the bottle without asking me? How many times have you opened the bottle? All private stuff. Look, this here bottle now is common property. Or do you want us to die before you open this? Yeah, I wish you'd dropped dead before you opened it. Joe, you're the king of failed relationships. The king of many, no, no, no. The king of new beginnings. Another faraway bombing. You know what? Fuck the motherfucker who put me under siege with you. Speaking of the siege, Lena got out. He takes the bottle from me and takes a long drink. The mask is? He snatches the bottle. Yeah? Most likely? Why are you telling me this now? With whom? Whom? With a husband? He grabs the bottle, takes it deep, and closes it and sits with the bottle tightly. Sit down. Tell me what you know. What do you want me to tell you? Give me the bottle. How'd they get out? What about the shelling? And the checkpoints? And the sniper? Pass the damn bottle. A pass of the bottle. How'd they get out? I helped them. I talked with the boys. He opens the bottle and sips from it. He stands and snatches the bottle from him. Lie to me, and I'll kill you. He gets up and crosses to one of the open covers. Brothers and nothing to eat here? He closes the bottle tightly. He rewraps it in the papers and places it in the bag. He rewraps the belongings in the bag. There's salt. Eating the salt with a creamy smile. Salt is nice. You want some salt? Listen, you gotta tell me, is Lena all right? Did you see her? She's scared. I mean, what did she talk about? I mean, did she ask about me? Whose house is this anyway? If this house were in, what house is it possible they left nothing? How'd she get through the checkpoint? Brother, I told you. I talked with the boys. And what did you talk with them about? Don't you trust me? And this shit about putting on a shirt and taking off a shirt? You think I'm messing around? Give me a cigarette. Give me a cigarette. Last one, man. How's the last one? There's two left. There's two, bitch. Unbelievable. And those last two are mine. It takes up room. Show me your lighter. This is mine. Give it back. They struggle over the lighter. All right, fine. It's yours. Everything is yours, brother. Take it all. Let's get out of here. A sits down. Yesterday, I jumped out, was walking in the old neighborhood. It was night, but the street lamps were working, which was weird. And I saw my father walking towards me from far away. He took hold of my shoulder, turned me around to face the horizon. And as I was turning the buildings around us were falling, some were burning, time returned to sunrise, maybe sunset. The whole world transformed into green mountains. There was this powerful, blazing light. And he said, in formal Arabic, behold, the desert suddenly, I was a little kid again, sitting in our first grade classroom. And my father was giving us an Arabic grammar lesson on how to build a sentence, subject to a predicate. And he was writing on the board, the sky is clear, the moon shines. Your father was a son of a bitch. Every time I messed up on one of his Arthur's speech worksheets, he hit me with that ruler. It was fucked up. You remember that time he called me and I spoke in the old neighborhood and he said, hey, hey, hey, hey. I tried to invite him in the dream, but suddenly there was coffee flooding the stairwell and it was drowning the whole neighborhood. And there was this gigantic poster of Yassid Arafat, you know, the great revolutionary leader, Yassid Arafat. And he was holding a cup of coffee and smiling. Shelling from afar and nearby punctuated by mother. Lena was scared, truth be told. But as good as she got out, at least she left the shithole behind. I can't understand how somebody finally gets the hell out of here and starts waxing nostalgic for this place. Like, with some heaven on earth, she was sad too. She was looking at the camp from a distance, like it was a piece of her heart. Her husband couldn't get through the checkpoint and she stood alone for a while on the other side, five feet between them. Her husband was killed, a sniper. She ran away. Where'd she go? God damn it, don't ask me stupid questions. How am I supposed to know where she went? And now it's a million times more dangerous for us to try to get out. Fuck this life. Where did she go? What happened to her? Yo, don't lie to me. I'm not lying to you. Why are you so in love with make-believe? Fine, do what you want, man. I'm leaving. Make-believe? What make-believe are you referring to? Man, if you're lying to me, I'll kill you. What make-believe? What make-believe? Like she stayed in the camp, like any minute, you might come knocking on that door asking to see you. Your whole life is make-believe. Like you think you're gonna live through the season and become some kind of hero? Like you make-believe this whole revolution thing is gonna work out? You're make-believe revolution of birds under siege. I thought she'd be better off without me. I thought she'd be happier. She's definitely braver than you. She got through the checkpoints. You can't even get through that door. Wake up, man. That's why she left you here. You couldn't, she couldn't bear your philosophy of nothing. I have this feeling that she's not okay. What happened to her? What were you thinking when you left her to face this fucking life alone, huh? You promised to never leave her. Shut the fuck up, man. I don't wanna hear it. Man, don't mess with me right now because I can't stand you anymore. First chance we get, we fly. Get the hell out of here. You follow me? That's the most important thing now. Severing gear's grinding in your head. What good does it do you, being so stubborn? If you're that upset about it, why don't you get out now? I can't leave while the road's still closed, can I? Besides, I'm waiting for a call. Don, you get out by yourself because I'm not leaving. I'm done with this. Pull it in my back so they can call me a martyr. I am no martyr. And if I ever did wanna become a martyr, then it wouldn't be like that. No way. I don't even know what we're doing here. Oh no, man, don't start that shit, that whole speech about how us being Palestinians and how we've suffered a whole lot and how suffering has made us a strong people. I'm even bored with that, too. The only person making believe here is you, not me. Today, tomorrow, someday over the rainbow, they'll open the roads and there'll be a truce. Brother, make your own decision. Take matters into your own hands for once in your life and don't let anyone manipulate you, manipulate us. Will you still find a way out? Sit with me, sit with me, talk with me. This very moment. If you could be anywhere, where, where would you be? In the desert, things we think about. Northern Morocco. A whole life, I've dreamt of living there, man, fresh culture, strong identity, good, honest people, good, honest weed. What do you think about Northern Morocco, then? Or maybe the Moroccan Sahara. Let's do it. Let's go to Morocco. We can buy a horse. Yeah, we can get ourselves a horse. And go galloping over the sand. No noise, silence all around. And we roll ourselves a fine, fresh joint. And we smoke it. Oh yes, indeed, we do, we smoke it. Zoom. And maybe you start like feeling a little thirsty. Right? And I see an oasis in the distance. The music stops. Of course, Morocco will never take us in. It's not even an option. I'm only talking about Morocco because I have this picture stuck in my head like the stuff we used to imagine when we were kids back in the day. And quit messing with me. Were we wasting our time for pictures in your head? Morocco back in the day? Do you want to get out or not? Basically, it's not up to you. I'm going to force you out. Do you think this is a game? The second they call us, we're out of here. Look, I'll let you in on a little secret. There'll be no more talking around here until you're well on your way. Now I'm scared. So what, I'm supposed to shut up until, so that's it? This is how you give up on our dreams? Man, you sound like you're breaking up with a girl. Bombing, followed by silence. Getting out is not a choice, all right? I'm not willing to become a refugee yet again. I can't handle losing my identity. I mean, isn't that clear? What identity? What bullshit? This camp has become our identity. Wake up, man. Get off your trip. The world's your fucking oyster. Yeah, for sure. Where are you off to then? Denmark? Wherever these legs will come. It's like I told you. I don't want to discuss or talk about anything. You're scared of the checkpoints. So don't bullshit me about back in the day and pictures in your head. Sure. You say that because you know I'm right. Thought you didn't want to fight with me. Where's the bottle? You're an idiot and you're wrong. Truth be told, if I was, I was an idiot. We're coming back here to find you, but thinking for sure you're wised up by now. Turns out you're more stupid than before. Brother, it only takes a little purge. It only takes a little courage. Was it courage that got us here? Was it our freedom? Or resistance? Or Israel? Bombing, followed by silence. So now you're gonna stage yourself a protest? And you think that all the people who've stayed in the camp are just like you? Yeah, that's right. All the people who've stayed in the camp are just like me. Sounds and bombing, very close, very loud. All those motherfuckers out there are making a killing off our siege. They stick us in the shit and come up smelling roses. So now what are you on about? I mean, can you imagine us becoming refugees twice over? I mean, you think the UN's got some five-star accommodations planned? No, man, this time we'll be deeper in the shit and more grateful for it. Because living under siege is better, right? What life experience are you talking about? Going to another camp? Same circle, same papers, same organizations, same old generation of refugees, my cup running over. What are you gonna drop me? Just let me go. It's the best thing for you, go, live your life. Get out of here, go. Starts and starts smoking. Give me a cigarette. We'll have a cigarette out of his pocket. Thank you, brother. Smoke, you take everything? Blame everyone else? Sure, brother, because you're the target, the victim of a conspiracy. Hope, blessed be our savior son, without whom our whole camp would collapse. This place is a curse. Camps are a curse. Here, take your fucking lighter. What's wrong with me? Can't shut up with five fucking minutes. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm super. I just gotta go change my shirt. He starts breaking things. It's your boys. He rises. He lights the last cigarette as he crosses to the phone. Hey, brother. Are you serious, man? For real? No, no, no, we'll come down. We're coming down. Wait for us. You wait. We're coming, bye. He crosses to the bag and takes up the bottle and drinks most of it. Get out of here. Forget about me, go. It was cool. Stay by yourself like a stray dog. Enjoy yourself. The door, he has a piece. The building next door is down. There's still a sip of wine, man, if you need it. I miss them. The boys are gone. You wanna know about Lena? Lena ran away, but they followed her. I could hear her from a distance screaming. If I tried to follow her, they might have killed me. They came back, gave me cigarettes and promised they'd let you and me out of here. They told me that Lena's still alive. What'd they do to her? And you standing there, whole time? Put your tail between your legs. I told you she's alive, but you throw a wrench into every plan for nothing. We're stuck in this hell hole and you think you're a chagra bar? We don't call the shots. That's the situation now and that's how it's going to be because these motherfuckers need their charity case. They advocate for our inalienable right of return and restitutions and reparation and all that bullshit and make us live a giant lie. Now we're sitting here bearing the brunt of that lie and you can't see this. Then you have a serious problem with yourself that you gotta solve before you die. Not gonna start a revolution. You're gonna starve to death because no one gives a shit about you. It grabs it and smashes it to pieces. Now you're a hero. Yes, I am. I am the man, whether you like it or not. And you know why? Because I stay here. I know what I'm about. Not like you, you vacillating son of a bitch. You're everywhere and nowhere. I, the man. I'm the man and I stay here. You're one hell of a liar. And you can't bear to admit that this is how your toxic fate plays out. This fate, this curse. It'll cling to you no matter where you go. You think you'll survive? You're fooling yourself. I'm not leaving here not because I'm a hero. I think you could provoke me into leaving. I'm staying here in the camp. Here is where we ended and here is where I stayed. I can't bear people staring at me again like I'm an alien, like I'm unnatural, abnormal, a freak. Man, I'm a human being. Charity from anyone. I left my UN refugee card at home. Went up in flames along with the rest of the house. My only cremated, no memory of me remains. There are no memories. There are no people who know you or me. I refuse to be a foreigner, a stranger. Where are you from? Palestine. Oh, Palestine. Were you born in Palestine? No, no, no. We left in 48. I'm a refugee, a Palestinian refugee twice over. And then they look at you with that stupid intensity and they smile, that fake-ass smile. And if they really, really care, they ask you about your people. I write my people's testament above the clouds. My people, when they abandon time as they do their coats at home, my people who raise each fortress they build and pitch on its ruins, a tent, nostalgic for the beginning of palm trees. My people, the tray, my people in wars over salt. Man, have you ever considered writing play? So now you're worried about our people? It's not the story. You think it is. They don't ask you where you're from. You tell them, switch with it. None of this business. You like some girl, you tell her you're Palestinian. That's normal. Me, my friend, that's why I'm free. I'm a free man whether you like it or not. I'm the man, I'm the man whether you like it or not. How can I write in time as they do their coats at home, my people who raise each fortress they build and pitch on its ruins, a tent, nostalgic for the beginning of palm trees. My people, the tray, my people in wars over salt. The shelling is on top of them. It shakes the building and shatters the windows. The electricity flashes on and off and then cuts out. The shelling continues for a long moment. They continue speaking in complete darkness. I'd like to congratulate you on this ending. I'd like to congratulate you. You've graduated with me for what? The lights rise and the door opens, enters followed by two other armed men and varieties of civilian dress. The armed men do not look at A or B nor do A and B look at the armed men. They are in the room together but they do not pay attention to one another. I'd like to congratulate you for your whole garbage life and your rusty way of thinking. How do abandon her and let them do that to her and get out of there and defy this whole war? Man, if you knew, if you knew this whole time, why didn't you come out and protect her? Why are you hiding in the house, sitting here hiding like a fucking mouse? Our proficient hostility, they divide between armed civilians and others with military camouflage. Me, you stop spying with A. Guy A moves frantically around the room attempting to make order at the chaos. He follows her. Why do you carry this thing around thinking it's worth something? How can you shame yourself like that? Don't you want to live? You're a coward. You're a nihilist. You're hiding behind a cause because you're scared. You're scared to face a life full of failures. Scared to face a failed love story, scared it's your own fault. You obsess over the details, like it all happened yesterday and this pathetic little home we've suffered long and hard to build is now demolished. The camp is a good place because you'd rather stay oppressed. You'd rather die thinking you're a hero. You'd rather play the part of the hero and that's abnormal. That's unnatural. Because there are no, there is no truth because nothing's real, even you aren't real. You don't exist. Nobody sees you. You're not even somebody's charity case. There are no more charity cases. The camps are land-filled. Hear yourself? Because you're starting to sound like me. You hold the empty bottle of wine. See, I'm protesting against you. Yeah, against you. Against everything. Against myself. I'm protesting because it's my right to protest. I'm protesting because there's nothing left to protest. Because after all, man, we are all living in a big camp. This park breaks everything you see. He stands up suddenly in a taxi, snatching the bottle from his hands and smashing it. He points the jacket edges at the bottle toward A and unmistakably savage intention to kill darkness. That sounds abominable. Nobody wants to talk about that. In this high society. Yes. Can you all hear, by the way, is it on? A little bit louder, perhaps. Can you speak a bit louder, maybe? Okay, so I wrote it in 2015 when I was in Lebanon. And I had friends who were living in and they were on the beach. So the characters are not really characters, but I imagined this because I was thinking a lot about them. And I didn't want it to be very poetic or unnatural. Is this one of your first plays, or what does it fit in your work as a playwright? I really focus on thinking about whole tragedy, whole catastrophic. A play that's called Exile, it's about the move too. But this play was more, the first one was very poetic and very romantic. So I decided to protest against myself and write this one to change this. Tell us a little bit. You live in a space at the moment. You also study directing, playwriting, but how did you end up there? How does that feel, and how did that happen? What do you mean? To, in Spain, how was your journey? Well, I left, I left Syria in 2012. I went to Lebanon. I lived there for one year. I was my first draft of Visit of Life in Lebanon. I finished, I'm studying right now directing and dramaturgy in Madagascar, Spain. And I finished writing and applied through this three years. And the audience knows what Yarmouk is. It's a, you wanna tell them? I told them. So Yarmouk is, I guess we would call it almost like a suburb of Damascus. And it's called the Yarmouk camp. It's where a very large population of Palestinians live. And when we say the word camp, we think about tents, but actually Yarmouk, at least, was before the war. It was a very vibrant and important Palestinian neighborhood. There were buildings there and restaurants and theaters. And this was the area that was under siege that's under siege in this play. And it was, in large part, destroyed in 2012. It's when you left. So we were, it's with your personal experience where you were under the siege. I lived in Damascus, but I have lots of family and lots of friends who were there. And how far was it? How far is it, like a mile, a kilometer? We have also with us here Professor Marvin Carlson, who's also a colleague at the Greater Center. Cuny, a professor of theater history, much more than most, one of the significant theater historians on planet Earth. So Marvin, one of his many fields of study is Arab theater. Marvin, this play, what do you think, what does it fit in and what? Well, it, generally, in the West, when you use a term like Arab theater, they think there's some kind of monolithic or more less monolithic kind of theater. And the very first thing you must say about the era of theater is you must say about the era of world and media as a whole is that this is a very, very large culture that countries in it. And so I can't talk about this play as an era of play. I mean, I know what an era of play means. This is, it seems to me, however very distinctly of how it's been in the era of play. But that also, we must like say, it's a French play, or a German play, or an American State's play. The Palestinian theater is a much more recent theater than, let's say, the Egyptian theater or the Syrian theater. It is a theater that more than any other theater in the era of world has been a theater created in crisis and siege and under pressure. And one thing you can see generally about the era of theater is that it is much more frequently concerned with social and political questions than the Western theater, I mean, it's a comparative matter. But just to be able to do the era of theater in general is particularly true in the Palestinian theater. The theater in every culture must address the concerns that are occupying the people of that culture. It's hard to imagine that the Palestinian theater would not be a theater that is a theater, continually dealing with, dealing with how do you deal with the continuing and extreme, obviously, display, it deals with that. It does seem to me that very frequently in modern plays from, how was the line from, good here in the Middle East, they very frequently are two-character plays. I think that's an interesting thing to think about. Why is that? Well, partly because in their practical matters, it's much harder to do a 20-character play when you're working in very limited theatrical conditions. But also, this really strips things down to the plays being almost internal monologues. And I think that's very much true at this point. It is almost as though here we have a contemporary Palestinian consciousness that's enormously conflicted within itself. And often feel the characters call them rich places. They balance off each other, again, like somebody arguing internally. And I would say that the key question of applying and this also seems to be very typical if you're speaking generally about modern Christian ideas, where do I find a ground upon which to stand? What am I, what is a Palestinian, where am I, what am I as a human being, what can I do? The characters realize that a lot of this in contemporary Israeli drama as well as what we've been, we've taken this position, we've taken that position, but now we suddenly realize that we've been manipulated all along. This is, at one time we believed in this rhetoric or that rhetoric or whatever. And that is now collapsed. And we don't know where to replace it. And it seems to me that the exploration of that anxiety is really at the heart of the play. And of course, overlaid with the container of pressure of the bombing, the shooting and so on. And of course, the fact that they are cracked. It's very theatrical in the sense that one of the great things that theater does is show it crackling. Theater loves to show it crackling. That's one reason why so many plays take place in movies, people can't get out of it. It's insidious, we all, we love to watch people who can't get out with this, we just go down the list. And what could be a worse entrapment than the entrapment of the semi-tune with bullets flying over it? They like to talk to you. Don't worry about it. Thank you very much. And it's true, and it's also the way looking for the exit as we have the design here, like in all literature, okay, what is it? What could be one? Rebecca, you and we talked about the Penball Voices Festival. Which in this play is something you really have to do, Rama King. Why do you think this is such a strong voice with a global theater? So I'm interested broadly in theater protest and political theater. And I'm interested in theater that's really trying to question entrenched power structures, so these deeper structures that are controlling these character's lives, for example. And I'm also interested in pushing our contemporary conversation in the US. So whenever I look for a play to translate, I'm also looking for a play that I think can provoke the US audience. Because for me, it's not only about this Palestinian story. I mean, obviously it's very vividly about these two Palestinian characters and about them being under siege. But for me, more broadly it's about many people around the globe who are born into incredibly oppressive situations under poverty, living in violence. They don't choose this situation. They didn't choose to be living in this area. They don't choose to be suddenly trapped inside of a war. Or even, if I may be so bold to say, trapped in a violent poverty-ridden neighborhood in this country. Or kind of part of that prison pipeline that we have here. And I'm interested in the ways in which this kind of drama can both tell us about another culture and also force us to understand what we have in common and the things that we need to examine in our own society. And that's in particular why I was interested in this play. And that's just on a political level. But then, of course, I'm also looking for are the characters interesting? Is the dialogue sharp? What's the rhythm of the play? And I felt like this had all of those things at the heart of this piece. And I'm also particularly interested in a play in which I think is when we are given or when we see images of Palestinians, it's usually very a kind of dichotomy between either a terrorist or a victim or someone who's totally Western and secular or totally reactionary and Muslim. So we have these dichotomies that we're constantly presented with by the mainstream media. And these characters, and Marvin touched on that, they're incredibly complex and in some ways confusing. And they're not embodiments of these strict political ideologies. They're a full-fledged human beings. And that's another reason that I think that we're interested in any kind of drama. That it's getting at that core of that central, like that internal conflict of the character. So it has all of these elements to it. And also it was the person who introduced me actually to both of the playwrights who went to the next playwright as well and said, Rama is an extraordinary young talent and you should read her work. It's good to listen to friends and colleagues. And Ra, has the play been done in Syria, in Spain, and Lebanon? What is the production history so far of it? And in general? Yes. Well, in Syria right now, a bit louder, if you please. In Syria right now, things are a little bit crazy. Of course. With what we've seen art, I mean it's very radical to the government to build cultural art inside the country. You know what I mean? But outside the country, there's lots of automation for this experience of war. How much of a network is there of Arab artists, theater artists outside the era of war? I realize there's now a very large expatriate community. I know a woman who runs an Arabic theater. I know there's work in Germany, of course. Are you connected with other expatriate artists in any kind of form or in a formal way? What kind of communication is there or is there about it? To build our own association or organization of theater and Syria and Arab residents, first we are facing very difficult moments with living. It's a challenge to live. It's a challenge to take papers or to see if you are. We are focusing now on being stable. Survival. Survival. Then we will try to be connected with this kind of... Before we come to audience questions, who do you refer to? Who are your writers that inspire you? Who are your references? What writers? I pretty much like to read for UNESCO. UNESCO? Yes. Observe theater still play. Actually, I was trying to mix between realism and absurd. I don't know if I am obsessed with that, but I like that it's not absurd, but it's real. You know, especially with what's happening. I think the great traditional absurd theater in Eastern Europe came because the reality was so absurd. If you would show on stage something that makes sense or was logical, you would say that's absurd. You know, that's not how things work. It's a way to reveal this with terrible, dramatic events and a disaster and life-threatening presentation where, as we all know, the refugee crisis, which is hitting Europe in a little way, also in America, especially also in Europe. So far, people walking for over hundreds of miles and being on ships, trying to cross. What is your hope for using this theater? Is it a poetic poetry, painting, or the like? Why do you believe in that art form and that expression? I mean, I believe in taking a stand through art, express, and be part of this kind of expression to maybe change something. Well, we do have some time, right, to take a couple of questions or just comments. It doesn't have to be a question or something. We'll have to speak a little bit louder here. I thank you very much for this. I'm wondering, I think I'm going to ask what culture would you experience in Syria? Was there any kind of painting, poetry, music, or theater that you experienced in the audience that helped you and gave you some experience in relation to these conversations? I studied in the Manchester, who are trying to be out of this bubble of the leadership that we're living in, because you can't really express too much. You can talk about you want it. So, but what's happening is to bring, to read, and to participate in theater festivals and bring theater festivals and bring theater ensembles from all over the world. And that was, for example, in Damascus Capital of Culture in 2008. We experienced lots, lots of interesting plays and contemporary theater. Because of the huge debate that now is going on in Europe about immigration, how do you leave your condition as a refugee in Europe? With all of the debates that's going on, and basically, there's like European people who would like to just shut the doors, whoever, and stuff here, and people who are welcome from, you know, from Damascus. I mean, I would like to just say that you should, this is what the play is talking about. And just to refer back to Ron's work, because I think one of the perspectives that I get from this play very much, which we really do not get from the mainstream media, is that they don't want to be foreigners for the love of God. There is no sense that these two characters want to leave. There already have been refugees. I mean, they were born in Syria. The Palestinians were born in Syria. But they have somehow created some home there. They do not want to leave and be foreigners twice over. So I think that that perspective, I think whenever we, when a lot of times when I hear reporting on refugees, on the refugee crisis, there's this notion that these people are trying to come to the US and that they want to be here. No, they want to be in their homes. And they want to be where they're not foreigners, and they want to be where they have an identity, and they have their own language, et cetera. And I feel like that's very strong in this piece. And that it's an important perspective of the drama in which two characters have no good choices. There is no, they could stay in this abandoned house that they're hiding out in and die. They could try to escape and die. So that's, I think, the perspective we really, I hope, hits home with this piece. Yeah, and that's why we're really interested in your personal experience, because, you know, I guess you really could. Maybe we could do another question. Hi, thank you very much for your time. So I noticed that the two main characters were male and the only two female sort of mentioned one was like gangway, I guess, and the other was the mother. So I was wondering how would the play have been different if the two main characters were female, or was there, sorry? No, no, this is a question, it's so interesting. So the question for those of you who've been here is what would happen if, you know, it's really interesting, Rama is just a woman playwright and she's writing about these two male characters and the female character that we hear about, she's great. So where is the female voice here and what would happen if the two characters were actually two women? Who said that women should write about women and men? No, I don't think they assumed that. How would it happen to you? Yeah, I know, sorry. If there were two women, there would be no drama because they will leave. And the very first time, they would leave. Women are mothers, they have that, I'm not saying anything, but it's real. Women are mothers, they have this sense of surviving and protecting things, you know? And men like to show that they are strong and that's why there's this big question that one of the characters are always questioning. Should we leave or should we leave? Question, should we be heroes or should we be normal person? I'm telling you, they will find their way. They will, I don't know, they won't be in this kind of absurdity kind of situation. By the sense, their dialogue reflects your thoughts. So you do have to learn. Yeah, I have these thoughts. But the practicals, you have. Not thoughts, actually. It's questions. Thank you. There's a question that's playing in this Rachel Corden. It's the voice of a sort of Palestinian view but it's done by American young people. What is the word, what is it about to instigate a sort of process like that? Rachel Corden's perspective, just actually, in an American perspective, or a perspective of a young person who's trying to take from thoughts. And I just wondered what you thought of, you're trying to tell us stories in Korean, thank you. All right, let me just say a word about it. It seems to me that the Rachel Corden, although it's a play that I like very much, I think it's a very important plot, because it isn't important. You said that, I would say that, yes, you're quite right to say it is very much an American play. And it seems to me that the Rachel Corden position occurs in this play as something in the past. That is, this is a position which talks about, they talk at some length about the feeling sorry for the Palestinian going back to 1948 and how they've been betrayed and how much they've suffered and all that. All of that is now rhetoric. It's all part of a structure that, in fact, has just been used to manipulate them. Now, that's clear Rachel Corden yields. And I think that the characters in this play are years beyond that and not in a good way. That is, they're just feeling old of the Palestinians are being oppressed. You've got to go up and stand in front of the tanks. They're beyond that. They're beyond gestures. That's sad, but that's where they are. It would be like, again, like you went to the characters waiting for Godot when you said, don't you admire the guy who stood up at the tanks in Canada in the square? What would the guys who went for Godot say? What's that? I mean, even if they knew what it was, it's just an ideal character doesn't get a situation even though it is dealing with the same geopolitical problem. That is one of, and this goes back to what Rebecca said. One of the reasons why it is so important to have voices, and this goes to the pan and world of others, is that important as the Rachel Corden story is and truly it is very important. It is equally important to realize there are many other perspectives on the same problem. And one of the best places to find analogies with the withdrawal of this. Just to come sit right here. Well, I have a question about, one I have one more question for you guys. This is a piano play, and they start dreaming for a moment of a time together with Morocco. I was just curious about that. This man that you were speaking to, they're not dreaming about, you're at the wedding night, they're dreaming about a place they know. And I'm just curious about that. I mean, it's not something that I would have, there's a lot of curious things about. Why in Morocco? Why in Morocco? What that means to you? A spot. Can we have one last? Roma, so. Is it a bit louder? Yes, I assume you wrote this originally in Arabic. And you've seen it read in English. How much of this translation do you think is true to what you, and I'm not clear about the translation, of course, but I wanna know if there are things in your original Arabic that got lost in translation, which you saw everything come out when you hear it in English. She's a very decent translator. And with any problems with finding dialects? What would you say is different? I'm trying to see if there's something that doesn't come out in another language, not just English, but is specific to this play in Arabic? The personality of every character. Every, because it's a language that helps you to know the personality of a person. One just quick question, kind of connect the poem that is recited. Is that a colloquial Arabic or is that a formal Arabic? In the original? No, that's what the poem that's recited in the play is a Mahmoud Darwish poem. And it's in Fussha. It's in formal Arabic, yeah. Because they mention the importance of formal Arabic once in a play and it occurs to me that this is always a challenge for a translator. How do you get across that because of the way, when they move into... Well, I mean, in this particular play, Mahmoud, it's interesting because the English is actually very colloquial. And I think one of the drama I translated it together and so one of the things that we're talking about is that we, and it's a challenge because these guys are, they're very smart in the way they're auto-died acts. They're educated, but they've also been kind of rough guys, you know. They're not kind of urban intellectuals who are sitting in an ivory tower. And I think that it's very important. So when you're translating, I think one of the really big challenges is how do you translate, in a sense, class? How do you translate someone's coming from a background where they need to be tough and they need to sound tough and they need to be able to speak in a kind of brutal way sometimes. How do you translate that into English and how do you find that equivalent? And so that's something I'm very interested in. And I think that in particular, we're going from the very colloquial language that we use into the Mahmood Garwish poem. It means suddenly he's reciting this beautiful poetry and so in that sense, in this particular translation, I felt like it actually was quite a jump and it worked in a similar way as the Hussar Namiya would work. Well, I do think that play does really show us that many, many levels, the complexities and the contradictions, you know, of a live human existence, but also a very, very special experience of a displaced person, displaced one more time in another place. And who knows what your next step will be and if you would like to thank you for traveling here all the way for coming. We should not just talk about the monistin and about the refugee crisis, also listen to them, hear their voices and understand their reality. And I think this is why you're such places and also thank you for coming. You're also staying for the next one. Everybody here, but again, thank you so much. Thank you all.