25 quick thoughts for Safi

Experiences from my brilliant, inspiring mother, Adeena Karasick:

1. Drank Mushroom tea at the Rainbow Gathering and tripped on Acid all week with naked revelers
2. Slept in a pool of cat-piss in a sweat-drenched Buffalo Anarchist house with no running water or bathroom in an abandoned 8 floor walk-up in Alphabet City. I am still here.
3. Read Rimbaud and Baudelaire and Voltaire while travelling to Marrakesh and Marseille, and wrote all day in Paris cafes to not only read about being a flâneuse but to live it.
4. Threw a dart on a map and travelled to Thailand in the 80’s when there were no roads. I swam naked and ate oatmeal cooked in a pot on the beach that I bought for 20 cents, and then lived in a temple in the jungles and practiced Vipassana meditation where I couldn’t speak for 10 days or make eye contact with any living thing, and was only fed once a day - all so I could get a free place to stay.
5. Almost got gang raped by three stoned Arabs in an Oujda basement
6. Got a legit. ticket for hitchhiking on the autoroute
7. Escaped from a Moroccan prison
8. The love of my life picked weeds from the side of an Italian boxcar and rolled up a pizza and called it a cake for my 19th birthday; it was the most romantic gesture ever.
9. Even though I was raised Conservative, in the early 80’s I talked my way into getting permission to study at the only Hassidic Women’s Yeshiva so I could study 13th century Jewish mysticism, historically forbidden to women, in the mountains of Tsfat, the holiest site in Israel. Once there, I convinced all the girls to sneak out at night, get drunk, smoke weed, go to movie theaters on Shabbos -- and then smuggled my boyfriend into the attic, atop 14 stacked metal bedframes. In the middle of the night, on one of the holiest holidays, we shook the beds and the building to such a degree that all the beds came crashing down and all the holy men and their prayer books came running through the halls at 3:00 am in the women’s yeshiva; we pushed ourselves out of a tiny broken window and in the middle of the night, ran half naked through the snows of Jerusalem chased by Hasids.
10. Slept on the floor of Allen Ginsberg’s 7th street alphabet city walk-up, and in the middle of the night we noticed his address book on the floor of his study where we were sleeping, proceeding to copy it all night on his cum-stained floor and then sent our first poetry magazine Anerca/Com.post: A Journal of Postmodern Poetry and Poetics to 1600 artists, musicians, renegades and madmen.
11. Planted spruce and pine trees (1000 a day) for 10 cents a tree –repopulating the British Columbian forests. Once a week we’d travel 100 miles into town, do laundry, get drunk, steal food and watch the first nations small-town strippers who wore kneepads in order to not scar their knees with their kneespins. And all the drunk and rowdy treeplanters would demand: “SHOW US YOUR KNEES!!!”
12. Harvested tomatoes and baby’s breath in glass houses in a moshav in the negev desert
13. Slept on hammocks living for 6 weeks on contraband boats from Iquitos from Belem and drank tea made from bark
14. Ate a live bird from a barbecue in Morocco when I was so starving because we had everything stolen from us on a train in Morocco
15. “Borrowed” a Moroccan man’s suitcase from an oujdan train and my boyfriend Kedrick wore his djellaba ever after
16. And his yellow banana shoes which I may still have 30 years later
17. Drove a drive-away car to the Pentagon, half naked, dirty, and high on shrooms
18. Learned to feel my breath. That my body as a pulsing mass of strong sensations – from my time living at Wat Swom Mok, a Temple in the jungles of Thailand
19. At 18 years old, and pre internet or cellphone was shown more love than I ever knew possible by receiving monthly cassettes of poetry and dedication from a tobacco farm outside Zimbabwe in the mail
20. I literally walked into a bookstore asking for a book on GO-ETTY and a woman named Maria Rilke; but realized was just a precursor to all my work in Literacy obliteracy and sound poetry
21. Though I secretly wanted to join the circus, when I was 22 I was a gypsy sound poet at The World’s Greatest show in Peterborough Ontario, alongside trapezists and sword swallowers
22. Postered every inch of my teenage bedroom, all the walls and ceiling so I was constantly surrounded by my musical and artistic and literary idols
23. While hitchhiking in central France, in exceptionally poor French, told our driver, that France was a nurse for sick travellers which got us taken care of for days in a sprawling French farmland
24. Slept in boxcars, beaches, park benches, contraband boats, the back of muebles trucks, train stations, bus stations, reminding me how we’re always in transition
25. Teaching at the Gutenberg universitat Mainz as a young, short jew-haired grad student at the height of neo-Nazism uprisings in the early 90’s. Everywhere was posted: “gieben Nazis a kleine chance,” had to constantly hide my identity, both in the classroom and on the streets. And on hot summer days had to remind myself the krematoria not a place for ice cream

And one extra...

First time I heard poetry read aloud was when bill bissett came chanting with his rattle into my first year university class led by Warren Tallman who for the whole class, drank vodka straight from his briefcase with a straw. He introduced bill as a shaman and then proceed to read this: “the first time i fistfucked someone, i lost my bracelet somewhere inside. i looked and looked… but nowhere could i find it. Every day i went back looking for it. inside…”  My life has not been the same since.

Travels

“I’m jealous,” I whine to my mom, “I never have the same kind of cool experiences as you.”

She was telling me about her many adventures, living on contraband boats from Iquitos from Belem and escaping from a Moroccan prison.

She laughed. “Sometimes when you travel, you get caught up in where you are in a way that doesn’t allow you to fully process the moment. Write down your experiences, because while they may not seem life changing in the moment, they mean a lot more when looking back.”

So the following is a brisk look back at the years and the moments that I never want to forget. And while they may only hold meaning to myself, I believe that one of the best parts of traveling is being able to share your experiences and inspire others to seek and explore, to investigate the habitat and lifestyle of the other, opening avenues of communication and tolerance.

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After exploring Ramallah on my own for several days, I got stranded on a Sunday morning when the busses weren’t running. Needing to get back to Jerusalem to catch my UNRWA bus back to Jordan and barely speaking the language, I hopped in a taxi - however, Palestinians aren’t allowed to cross the border and enter Jerusalem, leading to a very confused and stressed state when I was dropped off at a checkpoint and told that I would have to make the rest of the journey myself. Waiting in line with hundreds of people waiting patiently to cross to the other side, I was internally freaking out, seeing so many having to turn back after being denied entrance. Eventually I made my way through and immediately began sprinting from the checkpoint to the UNRWA office through neighborhoods of Orthodox Jews and Muslim merchants, stopping the bus just as it was starting to roll out of the gates.

In the Masai Mara on safari, a pack of lions circled our car after being chased out of the shade of a tree by an elephant wanting a nap, sniffing out the warm breakfast we had packed in the back. My father was terrified, but I kept asking the driver to slow down so I could take pictures.

In Zarqa I lived with an Arab family during Ramadan, every night eating with the entire family, going house to house to visit children, grandchildren, uncles, nieces. Sometimes they would all crowd in one of the tiny houses, eating giant dinners filled with mansaf and dates, with fifteen children giggling while using all the English they could muster. Sometimes, the little ones would even put a hijab on me, begging their parents to take pictures. I was the only Westerner in the area, stubbornly walking to work every day in the awful summer heat, inspiring confused stares everywhere I went. Once I happened to be walking through one of the refugee camps for home visits on the last official day of school, getting to see children of all ages bursting out of the classrooms onto the streets, throwing their papers into the air and enjoying the new sense of freedom. The young boys would shout at me asking for my Snapchat, while the girls would shoot me bright big smiles.

Eastern Europe with Genevieve was filled walking and coffee shops; vlogging and exploring; nesting at restaurants for hours and hours. We travelled through the mountains by busses that were so hot they nearly gave us fever dreams, being the only girls surrounded with old men who’d spend every break smoking while I danced outside in the frozen tundra without any shoes in order to cool down.

And while I’ve previously written about my DPRK experience, I may have ignored some of the bits including snake vodka, Icelandic chewing tobacco, illegally filming military checkpoints, binging on North Korean beer, some wild karaoke, smuggled currency, nearly being stuck there forever, and many, many jokes about stealing children.

In Erbil, I would wander out into the weekend markets, crowded with men trying to buy cheap shoes and goods for their families. I decided to take a shared taxi to Dohuk, having to pass through the outskirts of Mosul on the way. Once the other passengers left, the driver was worried about me gallivanting through Dohuk on my own and decided to accompany me through the streets. While giving me a tour of the area, he recounted wild stories and showed me pictures on his phone of his time in the peshmerga, brandishing a huge gun as well as a proud smile. When a few boy gave me some trouble on the side of the street, my peshmerga guide threatened to hurt them if they kept talking, leading to a few pushes that luckily got stopped short before an actual fight began. “Arabs,” he said, shaking his head, “they’re all terrorists.” Eventually, we began the drive back to Erbil, stopping midway to full up the gas. We ducked into a dingy building in the middle of a desert, miles away from any semblance of civilization. In this little hut were maybe twenty young men, playing decades old arcade games and screaming at each other over FIFA games on miniature tvs. We played, and although I was horribly losing, my new friend let me win a couple matches in order to save my dignity. Eventually we got back on the road, after a couple hours of me trying to figure out if I was actually going to be taken back to Erbil or if this was my new life. With no phone service or way to get back otherwise, I was completely at the whim of my Kurdish driver. I didn’t have an ID with me, so I was stopped at a checkpoint near Mosul and almost forced to get out of the car and return to Dohuk, the authorities not believing that I merely forgot my passport at my hostel. Luckily, they let me through after some intense begging, and I returned to my bed just as sunset hit.

Sometimes my adventures are even more impulsive – in Muscat, I jumped off the side of a 20-meter sinkhole and nearly fractured my lower spine, not being able to walk for a week.

In Bagan, I rode around on motorbikes and scaled the sides of temples; I got food sickness from delicious coconut rice while watching the sunset, and talked to locals about the refugee crisis. In Inle Lake, I got stuck in the pouring rain while out on a tiny boat in a floating village. I biked miles to a vineyard to go wine tasting, before celebrating New Years Eve on the rooftop in remote village and then in a tiny local restaurant with live music and kids singing while using tables and pots as percussion. I rode on the back of a pickup truck overnight through the rain on my way to the airport, crying at the thought of leaving.

I walked around the Vatican at midnight, drunkenly singing panjang umurnya to my best friend during a surprise weekend full of day-time mojitos and corny jokes for her birthday.

In the middle of a field in Dusseldorf, I took the most beautiful pictures of Sonia, with sun sparks piercing the frame as her green eyes blended in to the world behind her - potentially due to the synthetic mushrooms we had just taken. Later, Sonia left me in Paris for two days to spend time with her close friends because she thought I would harsh her vibe, leaving me to traverse the city, visiting every museum, garden, monument, I possibly could. I went on Tinder, not to find myself a boy to hook up with but rather for a tour guide, and soon I had myself a Sorbonne-going Parisian boy to whisk me around the city on his vespa to every classic site, zipping under the Eiffel Tower and to the hole-in-the-wall gems kept secret by the locals. And at the end of the day, he dropped me off at my hotel with a kiss on the cheek, wishing me a good conclusion to my Euro adventure. At one point Sonia and I paid a visit to Vienna, guided by my friend Nils. In the dead of night, we ventured into a local fair where I excitedly ran to a towering pendulum ride, being the adrenaline junkie I am. At the top, with the hot summer air whizzing past me and sparks of rain hitting my face, I had literally never been happier.

And while camping out in the desert during a hike to Petra, I danced with bedouins swinging swords until the sun rose.

I traveled to Amsterdam to see my friend from years back, and after tripping (literally and figuratively) through the Van Gogh Museum trying to figure out how Van Gogh created that wiggly effect on his paintings, we hid out in the Apple Store afraid of the outside world and genuinely weeping out of happiness at how far away we were from our toxic high school.

When I was much younger, my mom and I visited Turkey, bringing along pool floaties to make our cheap overnight ferries to Greece more comfortable. My first memories were filled with strange men in colorful markets making passes at my mom, along with some accusations of her stealing a small blonde child (herself easily passing for Middle Eastern). “Do you want a donut?” someone once asked us, a temptation no small child could ever resist. I begged my extremely resistant mother to follow him, willing to go anywhere for a free sweet. When we finally got there, I remember seeing the panic in my vegetarian mom’s eyes as we realized that he meant donar, not donut, nearly running away at the sight. There were a lot more memories from that trip that are placed at the back of my mind, including my mom taking us from hotel to hotel in order to escape from skeevy men, serving as a warning to my future self to stay aware, “woke” and careful.

Fast forward maybe 8 years to the era of college visits, when I got flown to the UAE to visit NYU Abu Dhabi. Establishing a little group on my first night, we would stay up literally all night, surviving off caffeine pills and waiting until the morning when the coffee machines would start working again. Trapped in our little dorm buildings covered with cameras in order to regulate the gender specific floors, we discovered a secret room in the lobby where we would hide out from the disapproving supervisors, our jokes growing more and more hilarious as our sleep deprivation increased. From taking mini-naps during the info-sessions to getting scolding for posing for pictures in the Sheikh Zayed Grand Mosque in my burqa, from sand surfing during a feast made by bedouins to riding on camels through the desert, it was a complete blur. I remember everyone putting on beautiful dresses and suits for the final ceremony, a huge banquet dinner, and falling asleep while standing up while everyone was dancing and learning to sing a traditional song.

On a visit to Yale-NUS a year later, I pulled the same stunt, not sleeping for the entire school visit. Having already decided to attend a different program for university, I wanted to make the most of my time, finding a student in a similar situation and exploring Singapore together instead of sitting through the tedious organized sessions. Hiding throughout the campus to avoid supervisors, we walked 20 miles a day (partially due to being stranded downtown after the metro shut down), sneaking into huge malls after closing horus through construction sites and staying there until they opened again. Chinatown at 3am, truth or dare on rooftops, singing in the Butteries, messily dancing in Clarke Quay, and buying way too many Chomsky books at the beautifully oversized bookstores: with no sleep to break up the days, Singapore will similarly stuck in my mind as a glorious stream of adventures that could have easily all been a dream.

Recently my dad visited my school in the south of France, whisking my friends away on a road trip through France to Andorra for my birthday. The entire car hungover, we magically maneuvered through the mountains during a blizzard, thinking that at any moment we would skid off the side into the abyss below.

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I am extremely lucky to have experienced the things I have, being provided with immense privilege in being able to go to all these far away places. I often find myself defensive of my adventures, why I travel so often and where I choose to go, creating internal dialogues full of self-criticism and reassuring explanations. And often even more important than the places I visit are the people I travel with, and it’s a sad thing in my life that I haven’t traveled with many people I’d like to, such as my grandmother before she passed away or my best friend Vy. But no matter what, I’m fantastically appreciative for the experiences I have had; whether negative or positive, they’ve left an impact on me and changed the way I look at the world; ushering me into new ways of thinking and being and ways that i impact my environment as much as it impacts me.

"He was my whole life, I lost my life."

Photo of interviewee's young daughter, Ibtissam, as she did not want to be photographed 

An excerpt from an interview with a Palestine refugee in Zarqa:

"He would have turned 14 in thirteen days. We would always go and come together… But he’s in a better place now, next to God… A car hit him. We would always go out together. Me and him. That day, he wanted to go out and help his dad but he wouldn’t let him come. So he turned to me, and I told him go, I gave him a banana and an apple to eat on the way. Whenever one of my children is leaving the house I always remind them: be careful of strangers, don’t let them talk to you… But what can I do. It was destiny, grace to God. 

The insurance company gave us 20,000 JD but for what? What is it gonna get me? All these tiring and exhausting nights, all these sleepless night, all these comings and goings…  Let them take anything. Everything. But please please bring back my son… If only he could be brought back. They took my son. 14 years old… I mean, I mean… Only God knows how much I struggled to raise him during all these years. I think about it and get sad and helpless all over again. I’d die a thousand deaths just for him. 

Since he died, his father hasn’t been the same. He’s not normal anymore. He has been going crazy since his son died. He was the best of his children. He used to do everything. He was so helpful. He used to accompany me to the market. He’d say « Come on Mom! Let’s go together… I won’t let you go there on your own, it’s full of men ».  It’s as if I lost a piece of myself – personally I lost my heart. I can’t feel my heart anymore… You know, he was only in Grade 10. 

You know what he used to say? During Ramadan, he would serve at the mosque. He’d tell me « Mom, I’m going to stay at the mosque for three days, I don’t want to go to school ». He wanted to help clean the mosque, the make it ready for the festivities of the month. He was truly exceptional. He would help and take care of the mosque, of the hospital, of the ladies. He was loved by everyone. He would help everyone. He used to tell me « Mom, someday I’ll take you to do the holy Hajj and pilgrimage». I’d tell him to shut up, how would he be able to take us to Hajj and pilgrimage? But he would insist he was going to take us… And now he’s gone… May he rest in peace.

Since he died, I haven’t left the house and I don’t have he courage to do so… I’m done… I can’t leave the house anymore… Sometimes I go sit right outside the house, but I’m unable to go further than that… and then right away I go back inside… because of my young daughter, Ibtissam, I can’t…

He was my whole life, I lost my life.

In the morning, before sending the kids to school, I always started by remembering him. I always start by shouting out his name, calling him to help me with the younger ones… It’s only afterwards that I remember that he isn’t here anymore."

The Wall

There is a 708 kilometer long concrete barrier running through Bethlehem acting as the division between Israel and Palestine, with large towers every few meters filled with Israel soldiers monitoring the world down below. However, this line does not act in accordance with the official Green Line borders as articulated in 1967 in Resolution 242, which in fact is around 18 kilometers away.

The Wall is said to be there for safety, to protect the Israelis on the other side from Palestinian terrorism. However, it acts more to dishearten and destroy the hope of Palestinians who will always dream of attaining the right of return and going back home. This is especially clear when you see Israeli settlements scattered around the West Bank, some imbedded even within the cities such as in Hebron – these settlements also have a barrier to maintain their safety, however it is not made out of concrete but rather an electric fence. These help maintain the sense of freedom that the Israelis have and feel they deserve to have, while the Palestinians in Bethlehem face a large wall looming over them every day, reminding them that they are nothing but captives in an outdoor prison.

The towers along the wall are equipped with the normal methods of attack or ‘protection,’ with launchers for tear gas and rubber bullets, but also for chemical ‘skunk’ water that is occasionally dosed over the land below without any true purpose, with people having to scatter, passed out bodies being dragged home by their families. The soldiers in the towers don’t go the washroom, rather urinating into bottles and throwing them out the windows with the rest of their trash into the Palestinian side of the wall. While this is disrespectful in itself, there is a tower just above a cemetery filled with Palestinian graves, now covered completely in rotten food and Israeli piss.

I witnessed hundreds of Muslim Palestinians attempting to visit Jerusalem to pray in their holy areas during Ramadan. This is supposedly a kind gesture by the Israeli government, allowing Muslims over 40 years old to enter what used to be their home – however, this is not necessarily true, as even as I watched so much people try to enter Jerusalem, I saw maybe half be turned back. The main reason for this was because they had previously been imprisoned, but in Palestine, nearly everyone either has been imprisoned or has had one of their friends or family be thrown in jail for very minuscule acts of resistance, either physically or politically, or sometimes for no reason at all. Even those who I have talked to in Jordan who may have the option to return to Jerusalem after leaving during the Nakba would not risk it; after hearing so many stories of Arabs being shot at simply because they were too close to Israeli trucks, they do not want to put themselves in danger. Whenever I tell people that I am going to visit the West Bank, I see a mix of excitement and sadness on their face: they want people to see how lovely their home is, but heartbroken that a stranger can visit when they will never be able to.

After the Nakba in 1948, when most (or at least many) Palestinians left/were forced out of their homes (the narratives differ), they locked their doors and brought their keys with them. Now, you can see refugees with keys to their old homes hung above their beds, or handed down to their children, as a symbol of the right of return. These keys represent the hope that Palestinians have of one day returning to their homes in Jerusalem or elsewhere in modern day Israel. Large murals and statues can be found across the West Bank, especially within refugee camps in a way to not give up home.

Murals are incredibly powerful in these areas, ensuring that people do not forget their history of the atrocities that have been committed. Murals commemorating those who died during the 1st Intifada, of the children who were killed recently in Gaza, of those who participated in the hunger strike protesting prison conditions and the lack of prison visits allowed. Looking in awe at walls filled with inspirational quotes from Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, I was told by a local: “it doesn’t matter what religion you are from, we can get inspiration from anyone. Muslim, Jewish, Christian – our issue isn’t between each other, it’s with Zionism.”

Some of these murals or posters have been removed, after being shot at by rubber – and real – bullets multiple times by the soldiers in the towers along the Wall. Entrances to UNRWA schools and windows have been moved due to constant shooting, with large fences constructed out of wire and concrete to protect the students, creating a complex largely resembling a prison. Due to water often being cut off by the Israeli government, water is stored in huge black barrels on top of every building to ensure that they will not be without water. If you look out to the settlements, you will not see these barrels; they do not have the same fears. It is necessary to acknowledge these difficulties in order to one day improve them – simply ignoring these realities will create a world where things will never be able to progress, Palestinians never able to stop living as refugees in their own land. 

#DignityIsPriceless

UNRWA is facing a budget crisis of proportions never witnessed before, due to the withdrawal of funds from the United States.

In January 2016, the US had contributed $368 million to UNRWA, which initially made up one-third of the agency’s budget. The decision to stop providing funding created “the most severe funding crisis in the history of the agency,” according to spokesperson Chris Gunness. Over half of the population of Gaza is reportedly reliant on UNRWA’s programs, with many more in Lebanon, the West Bank, Syria and Jordan depending on the agency’s health, education, protection, emergency, and legal services.

Before delving into the negative aspects of the cuts, let’s begin with the advantages it has brought, such as the fact that UNRWA funding is not longer conditional on the basis of Western satisfaction, and thus not subordinate to certain political or diplomatic concerns. In 2017 during UNRWA, I worked with education specialists to remove any semblance of aggression, non-neutrality, and gender inequality in textbooks in Lebanon, the West Bank, Gaza, Jordan, and Syria in order to gain approval from the United States and other Western countries who disapproved of the original textbooks of the nation. Of course this upset the local governments who believed their personal histories were being erased, that the plight that they went through and issues such as the Nakba and the occupation of various Palestinian territories were being suppressed by international agents. UNRWA is forced to negotiate between these two parties, wanting to recognize the difficult past of Palestine refugees while also ensuring an unbiased (debatable pro-Israeli) education for the students. Most of UNRWA’s actions prior to the budget cuts were highly mandated by the politics of the US. However after President Trump announced that he would cease funding UNRWA, many of the political restrictions were dropped, allowing UNRWA schools to maintain a peaceful curriculum while also teaching about their history, no longer constrained by Western agendas.

However, changes in conditions since the budget cuts have been dramatic, with mass lay-offs across UNRWA’s programs. This is especially clear in education facilities where many students are left without qualified teachers, and when children are denied an education it is harmful to the entire community. While working in Zarqa area, the difference in the cleanliness of the camps was drastic, with the traditionally cleanest areas nowru being covered in litter and grime due to need to cut back on sanitation workers in the camp. The cuts have only worsened the horrible conditions in the Palestine refugee camps, with UNRWA workers threatening to protest and add to existing anger within the camps and general Palestinian communities ever since Trump moved Israel’s capital to Jerusalem.

Most of the fields and area offices are extremely understaffed due to austerity measures and the lack of funding to train and hire new workers. In Zarqa refugee camps, there are 1,300 families, and 900-100 families in the South Amman camps, with families typically including five to nine members; however, there is only one protection caseworker assigned to each of these camps (while other camps have none), with over 25 new cases assigned to protection caseworkers each month. They receive no training on psychosocial support or protection, provided instead with only one introductory training course on case management. The protection department in UNRWA was established around 2012, dedicated to cases involving Gender Based Violence (GBV), denationalization, lack of documents, fake documents, and childhood protection, nowadays typically involving Palestinian Refugees from Syria (PRS) who fled to Jordan and neighboring Arab countries due to the civil war in Syria. 

When in charge of providing necessary programs to five million refugees, with many of them living in poorly constructed houses made out of scrap material with entire families (5-9 people) sleeping in a single room, with many fathers being imprisoned, killed, or simply absent, there is simply not enough funding to provide for these refugees. Conditions have worsened greatly since the civil war began in Syria in 2014 and since the US budget cuts in 2017, however there is hope for a better future. Further, with so much energy now being used just to find funding to keep UNRWA’s programs functioning at even minimal capacity, less attention is going into creating and implementing new opportunities to assist Palestine refugees in improving their future conditions. If governments, organizations, and individuals take responsibility and make up for the failure of the United States to provide necessary support, UNRWA will be able to create a sustainable and strong future for the refugees with education opportunities and stable careers, with the goal of having them one day not be reliant on UNRWA.

#FundUNRWA at unrwa.org/donate
 

For more information on UNRWA, look at their website here:
https://www.unrwa.org/who-we-are
https://www.unrwa.org/who-we-are/frequently-asked-questions

Sex, Harassment, and Aziz Ansari

The current question of Aziz Ansari is an extremely polarizing topic; everyone seems to have an opinion. For those who are not familiar: Aziz Ansari went on a date with an anonymous girl, henceforth referred to as Grace. After dinner, they went back to his house where, according to her, he pressured her into sexual behavior that she did not feel comfortable with, which she fought back against with both verbal and non-verbal cues. Several months later she talked to a reporter from babe.net where the story was released, which resulted in a controversial debate across the internet.

To start, let’s speak about the journalistic integrity of the piece. While these types of articles afford women sexual liberty in being able to include this in discourse, when dealing with matters of sexual abuse or violence, this is not the best place for this kind of piece – on the same page as this call-out for feminist action, you can find a list of how to give the best blowjobs. Further, the author was extremely inexperienced, and only provided Ansari with less than six hours to respond with a comment, on a Saturday during awards season and the holidays, when the industry standard is 24 hours to respond. The article purposefully depicts Ansari in a very negative light, without a sense of neutrality on the subject, offering her own input every so often.

The journalistic standards and the platform in particular are an issue, especially the way the author chose to sensationalize the issue and cash in on this larger cultural #MeToo moment. But the fact remains that there exists a whole ethos where guys both “don’t have to pick up on non-verbal cues”, but can also be incapable of picking up on them – as they have no cognizance of such a vocabulary due their own social programming. The present imbalances in gender power dynamics cut both ways – in a best-case scenario, males are not equipped with the skills because they are not expected to develop them. That’s the status quo, but it doesn’t mean that it’s the way things should be. If anything, it’s about changing the conversation around expectations and behaviors during intercourse. Consent isn’t just about a hard yes or no (although Grace explicitly said no to Ansari), especially considering the power dynamics in these situations. This idea isn’t even remotely new to feminist and sexual health literature, and popular culture, as was pointed out by one of the many NYT articles on the subject.

The content of the article has deeply divided feminists and the current #MeToo and TimesUp movements focusing on sexual harassment, sexual abuse, and consent in general. The question was posed: what constitutes sexual abuse? What is sexual harassment? At what point are our uncomfortable experiences just “bad sex?”

I personally believe that the situation can be classified as sexual harassment, although I also see how it can be considered otherwise as just “bad sex”. Sexual assault is defined by the Department of Justice as “any type of sexual contact or behavior that occurs without the explicit consent of the recipient,”. However the term ‘abuse’ is more typically used when more physical violence is constituted. We need to use this term carefully and critically, if we start using it for less extreme situations, we will desensitize the term and dilute its importance. This also crosses into legal implications, because sexual harassment and physical abuse have different consequences. While some may argue that this situation does not constitute sexual harassment due to it crossing from implications to actions, harassment does not necessarily need to be verbal – physical coercion can be included under this definition as well. If nothing else, Ansari’s actions were gross, offensive, and left someone feeling violated. We should all be able to agree on that.

One debate that has sprung up in the aftermath of the article is one regarding what constitutes “bad sex,” as it means different things to everyone, especially between men and women. Most typically, men consider “bad sex” to be sex that is unsatisfactory, short, non-adventurous, etc. Studies show that with women the same complaints still exist, but the more common response is description of painful, forceful, or manipulative sex; they have become so used to this kind of behavior that they simply categorize it as an unfortunate, yet normal part of life.

They also aren’t mutually exclusive experiences – sexual assault is always ‘bad sex’ whereas ‘bad sex’ is not necessarily always sexual assault

There are many shades of grey regarding consent and sexual misconduct, which is partially why this topic is so controversial and difficult to talk about. Sexual assault and “bad sex” are not the only binary options, there are many intricate aspects to this and everyone may categorize such situations in different ways according to their own experiences (they also aren’t mutually exclusive experiences – sexual assault is always ‘bad sex’ whereas ‘bad sex’ is not necessarily always sexual assault). The concept of this account “trivializing” other women’s experiences makes me uncomfortable; while this interaction between Ansari and Grace was not as extreme as other forms of sexual harassment or abuse, it should not be simply written off. If we just say, “it could have been worse,” then substantive progress will not be made in this field, and we will continue to permit men to take advantage of women in sexual situations.

However, the lack of a traditional mold of what is considered sexual misconduct doesn’t matter in this situation; what is more important is the perception and safety and overarching themes of men believing themselves inherently deserving of sex and women being conditioned to not only accept this, but suffer at the hands of it.

There are power dynamics inherently present in this situation, not only because Aziz Ansari is a man of some influence in society, but also because he is a man in general. Social programming condition both men and women such that there are certain expectations going into any social or sexual situation. These expectations usually mean there is some discomfort or awkwardness when women are put in positions to refuse men. Couple this with inherent and real fear that women experience and one can see how the power dynamics lend themselves to constrain women’s behaviour, unbeknownst to men involved in these very situations. Although Ansari may have never directly articulated that she had to comply with his sexual desires, women are socialized to believe that they cannot refuse sex without some sort of retaliation. The prioritization of male pleasure over female comfort is something many women have experienced, and most have this in mind when they engage with men. This is, in some ways, a nonverbal cue that women have been forced by these situations to understand and to worry about. Maybe men should take a page out of their book on the subject of nonverbal cues. Cognizance of the cultural power dynamic is important for men so that they reduce this sense of entitlement going into any sexual or romantic relationship. However, to expect these invisible constraints on women’s behaviour as being the impetus of solely the men is exactly the mind-reader concept that these articles refer to. Men should be made aware but it is negative reinforcement to take it far by saying that it is the onus of men to only recognize these nonverbal cues. It takes both men and women to communicate this explicitly using both a cognizance of non-verbal cues but also direct verbal ones.

I do not mean to infantilize the woman in question or say that she did not have agency over her own actions. We cannot blame her or any woman for feeling that she did not have the opportunity to say no or to just leave. While she made various other decisions that day that led her to Ansari’s bed, she did not deserve what happened. No matter what you think about nonverbal versus verbal consent, entering an apartment is not consent. We can discuss and contemplate what happened inside that apartment, but entering it was by no means consent to what happened inside.

While people have criticized responses to the article which attack Ansari’s sexual desires, such as him putting his fingers forcefully in the woman’s mouth, this leaves out the crucial aspect of consent. Of course we should not kink-shame, whatever people choose to do in their own beds is their own business. However, we cannot simply attribute the complaints of Ansari’s actions to it being “strange” to the general public. If the woman did not consent to Ansari’s behavior, aggressive, kinky, or otherwise, she has every right to be uncomfortable.

This debate is a good challenge to the current movement bringing attention to sexual assault and harassment. While some have argued that the babe.net article divides the movement and takes attention away from the larger picture, I believe that we ought to be conscious of all forms of sexual misconduct, from small gestures and unintended coercive tactics to rape and other forms of extreme sexual assault.

We cannot write off these small moments because there are “bigger things to handle.” That being said, the quality of the article does not adequately address the issue at hand. As I have said before, men are often unaware that their actions are hurtful, especially in a context where consent seems to be implied, such as on a date. Ansari has been lauded as a feminist and as someone who stands up against sexual harassment and such issues, which is exactly why this story is so controversial – if a male feminist can also commit sexual assault, who can’t?

Was it Ansari’s responsibility to recognize Grace’s actions and stop pursuing his sexual acts, even though she was not actively saying no? Should men be checking in every so often to ensure that the woman wants to continue? This seems difficult if not impossible to do consistently, and could certainly “ruin the mood.”

According to the original babe.net article, Grace had sent a message to Ansari the day after the incident saying, “I just want to take this moment to make you aware of [your] behavior and how uneasy it made me.” Ansari responded apologetically saying that he misread the situation. While I do not condone his behavior and believe that he acted poorly, I still respect Ansari for apologizing to Grace once he was confronted with his actions and do not believe that his career should be ended because of this incident. Men need to be held accountable for their conduct, but in the situations where they obviously were not aware of how harmful their actions were, it is much more useful to start a conversation and explain why it was inappropriate instead of merely attacking them, and we can start by creating a recognizable vocabulary to arm ourselves as both men and women for what may be perceived as an uncomfortable discourse.

Nonverbal cues are as important as they are confusing: was it Ansari’s responsibility to recognize Grace’s actions and stop pursuing his sexual acts, even though she was not actively saying no? Should men be checking in every so often to ensure that the woman wants to continue? This seems difficult if not impossible to do consistently, and could certainly “ruin the mood.” As many critics of the babe.net article have suggested, men should not be expected to be able to read their partners’ minds in order to achieve consent.

Sex should be enthusiastic, as consent is not simply agreeing to actions being forced on them; if someone is begrudgingly agreeing to participate in sexual acts, they are not truly agreeing. If they only consent after being begged or pressured repeatedly, then perhaps one should stop pushing and realize their partner does not want it.

Ansari should have stopped once he realized Grace was not enthusiastic, and sex and sexual acts should always be conducted by choice without intense encouragement from the other party. If you have to tell the other person to go down on them or forcefully move their hand such as Ansari moved Grace’s hand towards his penis, and if the other person resists with comments such as “Whoa, let’s relax for a sec, let’s chill,” as Grace said to Ansari, then perhaps it is not consensual. There needs to be mutual understanding of the situation with equal participation, or else it is not just “bad sex,” it is harassment.

While the journalistic integrity of the article is questionable to say the least, that doesn’t change what the woman’s testimony said. I don’t know about ruining his career – but I definitely will never look at him the same way or consume his material after reading what was written, especially since I personally have had similar experiences. The #MeToo movement isn’t about a witch hunt against men; it’s not about the punitive measure but rather accountability. There’s a subtle difference between the two. Punishing men who have aggrieved women in clear ways surely deserve it. But, it is in this conversation that we realize so many men do not fall in this clear category. Rather they are simply products of their social programming, of cultural expectations of masculine behaviour and sexual behaviour.

Ansari’s humiliation is the humiliation of all men who have in some way perpetuated this culture. To call Ansari’s actions reprehensible is to critique the social programming and the institutions that enable these vacuous spaces to be filled with disgusting behaviour. That’s what we should fight for and in my opinion, what the moderate interpretation of the #MeToo movement is. That is why, babe.net with its sensationalism undercuts the momentum of social reform and progress for feminism. Ansari has just become the scapegoat for a larger paradigm shift – that this social programming is wrong. It is not a personal indictment of Ansari but an indictment of all men (and women) who will continue to act according to this social programming where consent and cues are not considered, evaluated and then acted upon through clear and open communication.

Read the original article here.

Myanmar From a Different Perspective

In the Western media, the Rohingya crisis seems to be a clear-cut moral issue: the military is conducting ethnic genocide of the Muslims of Rakhine State. The basic narrative regarding the conflict is agreed upon by both sides: Bangladesh Muslims emigrated to Myanmar, settled in Rakhine State, requested citizenship, and began to call themselves Rohingya in an attempt to assert their own ethnicity and achieve political recognition.

This, however, is where the narrative changes. According to some sources, such as the BBC, terrorist organizations such as a group called Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA) emerged from these Rakhine Muslims, and frustrated by their lack of representation began to attack the military in an attempt to gain political power. The military, in part due to a general fear of Islam in Southeast Asia, responded with extremely harsh attacks on the Muslim communities. This is a different narrative than what is covered in the West, which is best exemplified by a CNN article explaining who the Rohingya are: “They have been raped, tortured and killed. They have been crowded on boats and ping-ponged between nations that don't want them. They have been forced into labor and have no rights to their land. Rohingya Muslims are among the most persecuted people in the world, and once again, they find themselves running for their lives.” The reports of the conflict from the Myanmar government have been proven to be enormously dishonest, as while the military and government denies their killing and raping of civilians, evidence collected by the UN and other agencies seem to prove otherwise. The government has tried to account for these differences, saying that the Rakhine Muslims were burning down their own houses and villages. As one Bagan local, named Christopher described, “It’s frighteningly similar to George Orwell’s, Animal Farm. Some people may think that something’s true, but nobody really knows if something is true or not.” 

However, speaking to people in the country exposes a much more skeptical perspective. Outside of Rakhine State, educated locals admit that there are attacks going on in the western part of the country, although they maintain these attacks are not as extreme as is often being reported. Christopher explained, “I don’t want to say I can’t believe it, but I can only believe one part. People say that their child was killed, but you would not throw a three-year-old child into a fire for no reason; it’s hard to believe. If you write about it, you need to have something behind it. I don’t want to say I don’t believe it, but people have their doubts.”

Buddhists in Rakhine State argue a more extreme narrative, claiming that the Rohingya were originally Bengali Muslims brought to the area by the British in order to fight against the Rakhine and to work the rice fields. Now, hundreds of thousands of Muslims have come over the Bangladesh border illegally and are now referring to themselves as Rohingya, while raping and attacking villages in the area. The issue as explained by these locals is not that the groups are simply Muslim, but that they are terrorists demanding citizenship and political rights that the government will not agree to. Some even argue that the military is in fact defending the Rakhine Buddhists, and that though the Rohingya were offered an opportunity to become citizens, they declined, demanding further independence.

The Washington Post recently published an article addressing this local anti-Rohingya mindset, blaming new technology for spreading “fake news” fueling ethnic hatred against the Rakhine Muslims. As the article explains, “an endless stream of provocative photos and cartoons claim that there is no “ethnic cleansing” against Burma’s Muslim Rohingya minority. Instead, according to the posts, international news and human rights organizations are falsely accusing the military of carrying out atrocities against the Rohingya to help terrorists infiltrate the country, kill Buddhists and carve out a separatist Islamic province… A recent study found that 38 percent of Facebook users in Burma got most, if not all, of their news on the site. And news feeds in Burma are rife with anti-Rohingya posts, shared not only by ordinary people but also by senior military officers and the spokesman for Burma’s de facto leader, Aung Sang Suu Kyi.”

There is truth to both sides of the conflict, and it is extremely important to consider all available information (which is quite limited). Western media definitely has a bias to it, as seen with the constant usage of the term Rohingya, which carries much more significance and meaning to it than is recognized in most sources. As explained by a Myanmar local, “we have eight major ethnic groups and 135 minor ethnic groups in the country… Rohingya Muslims believe that by naming themselves they can create their own ethnic group and their own state as a Muslim territory. That’s not how it works.”

Further, it is necessary to note the differences in why the conflict arose in the first place, as while it definitely seems like a “textbook example of ethnic genocide” in an attempt to rid the area of Muslims, it was also a reaction to small militant groups. Of course, it was an extremely disproportional and extreme reaction on the part of the military, carried out on a much larger scale than the original small group which conducted the original attack(s).

The treatment of the Rohingya is unacceptable, no matter what the context.

I did not write this to excuse the military’s behavior or the mass killings that are being systematically conducted against the Muslim communities in Western Myanmar. However, it is necessary to understand the mindset of the people on the ground, and to analyze ways in which information about the issue is being transmitted; propagating only one version of the narrative and offer a multiperspectival approach to a highly complex and volatile situation.

It is also crucial to consider Aung Sun Suu Kyi’s role in the Rohingya conflict. She has been consistently attacked in Western media for not defending the persecuted Muslim population, however there is uncertainty as to what this would actually achieve. The military has an incredibly strong rule over the country, and her speaking out against their actions may lead to her being removed from power, further hurting the democracy of the nation instead of fixing the humanitarian crisis in any manner. Most locals continue to support her as one of the sole protectors against the military rules, “I always supported Aung Sun Suu Kyi and I still believe in her, and I think she is going to do her best on the crisis. She doesn’t care about the religion, she cares about the country, and she’s going to make the country good. I never liked the military government, and if they take power again for some reason I will try to get out of the country as I don’t want to risk my child if they take power again.” Alleging that while she could be doing more to defend the Rohingya, it is perhaps politically shrewd for her to negotiate with the military behind closed doors. We do not know if she is fact attempting to do so, but it is potentially unfair to write her off already as disrupting the democracy that she previously worked so hard to achieve.

It is also interesting to note the similarities between this conflict and that of Israel-Palestine, with much of the same language being used in regards to an ethnic minority being displaced and systematically killed under the guise of being labeled as terrorists. However, when the West has less reliance on the country being called into question or political and economic care in the matter, it seems we are much quicker to call out genocide and mass murder.

Further reading:
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-42595275
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/25/opinion/sunday/myanmar-aung-san-suu-kyi-rohingya.html
https://www.mmtimes.com/opinion/12452-rohingya-or-bengali.html
https://www.economist.com/blogs/economist-explains/2016/12/economist-explains-19

Eyes and Obedience in Pan’s Labyrinth

Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth is an exploration into the life of a young girl, Ofelia. Ripped from her home and forced into the world of her stepfather, Captain Vidal and the Spanish Civil War, she hides herself away in her books and fairytales. When she is told by a Faun that she is the Princess of the Underworld, she immediately leaps at the chance to prove that she’s not mortal in order to distract herself from the patriarchal and violent world around her. Every character in the film must decide what part they play in her story, whether they will obey their superiors or create their own path, whether they will see beyond their instructions or blindly follow orders. Symbolism of eyes and sight appear everywhere, guiding the audience through the film and raising questions about what it really means to see. In Pan’s Labyrinth, only those who are able to open their eyes and not blind themselves with rage and make decisions beyond what they are expressly instructed to do are able to succeed. 

The film begins with a fantastical story about a Princess who lives in the Underworld realm who dreams of joining the human world. She escapes her captors, but as soon as she breaks out, the brightness of the sun blinds her. This is the first reference to both sight and obedience, as the Princess loses her sight as soon as she goes against her orders, and in doing so she loses her memory, suffers, and quickly dies. By introducing the viewer to the main story with a fairytale, this scene immediately sets the fantastical tone for the rest of the film, as well as making the audience aware of the themes of eyes and the cost of disobedience. 

The movie then abandons the fairytale format and formally begins the story of Ofelia, the protagonist. While on the ride to Captain Vidal’s house, Ofelia's mother Carmen tells her daughter to stop looking at her fairytale books. Soon after, Carmen stops the car due to pregnancy nausea, and although Ofelia is instructed not to wander, she takes the opportunity to explore the nearby area. She comes across a statue, decrepit and somewhat hidden within the greenery surrounding it. Ofelia finds a stone eye on the ground and fits it into the statue, as if it was a puzzle piece. This action begins her fantastical journey, as it brings forth an insect that appears from the statue, an insect which later morphs into a fairy and guides her to the faun. This unexpected and life-changing incident would never have occurred if Ofelia followed directions and stayed by the car. She disobeys, which may end badly as it did to the Princess in the prologue, but for now it is merely driving her story forward. Ofelia’s returning of the eye references the myth of Horus’ eye being restored by Thoth in ancient Egypt. The right eye is associated with factual information and logic, normally seen as the male side of the brain, while the left eye of Horus distinguishes the spiritual and mystical, noted as the female side of the brain. By returning the left eye (left to the audience and Ofelia), Ofelia is inserting her female and mystical presence into the male dominated world that she is currently living in, achieving the important balance that is needed to begin her journey and eventual transformation. 

When the car finally arrives, both the audience and Ofelia are formally introduced to Captain Vidal. With a fixation on timeliness, anger about Ofelia shaking with the wrong hand, and specific shaving rituals, he is a man who is obsessed with rules. Late one night, his soldiers bring him two men who they suspect of spying, while they claimed to be mere rabbit hunters. Vidal pierces the eyes of the younger man with a bottle, blinding and then killing him. This is especially ironic as rabbits were found in the man’s bag after it was searched, making it so that Vidal was literally blind to the rabbits and to the truth, and because of his stubbornness, murdered an innocent as well. This scene explains who Captain Vidal is to the audience: he is a man who acts before he sees, a man who takes away the sight of others in fear of losing his power or respect, a man who values obedience over truth or what is “good.” 

Despite Captain Vidal trying to enforce his ideals and rules on Ofelia, she begins her journey for the faun to prove her place as royalty. In one of her tasks, she must visit the Underworld and take a knife from a room filled with red food and a gruesome creature with eyes on his hands. She was given express instructions not to eat anything, but she ate a few grapes anyway, awakening the “Pale Man.” The Pale Man is most likely designed after the Japanese legend of the Tenome. Tenome was a blind man who was murdered by a mugger and became an angry ghost--so furious that he lost his eyes, but new ones grew back on his hands. He sought revenge on his murderer, killing everyone that he could lay his hands on, without even seeing who it is. Tenome’s intense anger rendered him forever figuratively blind (Scary for kids). The Pale Man is the fantastical reflection of Captain Vidal, a man who will kill whoever gets in his way in his quest for ultimate power and triumph, with an indifference towards children and the innocent. This is another example of how only those who are open to seeing the world around them, those who are not trapped in their own obedience and rules, will be successful. Ofelia breaks the rules, but it is her ability to create her own path and escape from the Underworld that allows her to triumph over the Pale Man in this situation, while he stumbled through the corridors, literally following her blindly.

The imagery of Ofelia running away from the Pale Man is repeated later in the film, the the doctor Ferriero disobeys Captain Vidal’s orders and walks away from him. Ferriero euthanizes a rebel soldier that Vidal has captured, helping the captain realize where his allegiance really lies. Vidal turns to the doctor and says, “I don’t understand, why didn’t you obey me?” Ferriero responds saying, “To obey without thinking, just like that, that’s something only people like you can do.” With that, the doctor walks away, and Vidal shoots him in the back as he walks. Before he collapses, Ferriero takes off his glasses. Ferriero’s glasses can be seen as a metaphor for his character, as they hide his eyes, and therefore his true self, as he pretends to be a loyal friend to Captain Vidal while secretly working for the rebels. As well, his glasses act as a physical barrier between Vidal and himself as well as a protector of his eyes, which Hamilton believed to be “the windows to the soul.” When Ferriero is shot, he remains calm and collected, accepting his fate and not giving into the blinding anger that Vidal and the Pale Man possess. The act of taking off his glasses symbolizes that he no longer needs to maintain the illusion of obedience, and finally everything is honest and his eyes are clear. The Captain is similarly shown wearing glasses at point, although his glasses are sunglasses, making it so they obscure rather than illuminate. His vision, just like his behavior, is disruptive and effectively self-destructive. 

When the film is nearing its end and everyone is exposing their true selves, Ofelia is given the most difficult task of all: taking blood from an innocent, her baby brother. She steals him from Captain Vidal and takes him into the labyrinth with the knife from the Pale Man’s room in the Underworld. Ofelia drugs Vidal, so as he chases her, he literally cannot see. His vision is blurred and he cannot cannot make his way through the maze; his violent behavior and obsession with rules and obedience has blinded him. This time, Ofelia is directly involved in the removal of sight. As the labyrinth twists and turns letting her through, she makes it into the center, where the Faun is waiting for her. Vidal follows her there, but he cannot see the Faun. Again it is clear that Ofelia is the only one with perfect sight, which gives her the ability to make the “right” choices. Instead of taking the blood of her brother, she sacrifices herself. Her blood spills into the Underworld portal due to the bullet that the Captains shoots her with, and she is finally made the Princess that she dreamt of being. She is rewarded for her innocent disobedience by clarity.

All the characters who disobey eventually triumph, even in their death. Ofelia becomes Princess of the Underworld, Mercedes (Vidal’s housekeeper) has the Captain killed, and the doctor Ferreiro helps the rebels and grants a peaceful death to his friend. Vidal, the man who believed in a strict following of orders, is the only man who is truly defeated. With his wife dead, child stolen by the rebels, soldiers shot, home-base bombed, and life taken, he has nothing. Ofelia, on the other hand, is the prime example of the opposite. She follows through and completes all the tasks that the Faun gives her, but what makes her different is her ability to do them in her own way. The balance that she creates in the beginning through the eyes of the statue, the harmony of logic and dreams, realism and fantasy, masculinity and femininity, stays with her through the movie, allowing her to be the only character that has the ability of true sight. She perceives everyone for who they truly are, forging her own path, and is literally the only character who sees both the violent world of war-ridden Spain and the mystical world of the Faun and the fairies. Ofelia lives up to the words inscribed above the labyrinth, “in your hands, lies your destiny,” as she refuses to follow the orders of anyone--her mother, Mercedes, Vidal, or the Faun. She creates her own destiny, something that is only possible with clear eyes, something that the anger of the other characters doesn’t make possible for themselves. 

Ophelia’s eyes allow her to see things both visible and invisible, real and unreal, which starkly contrasts with the fascist villain, Captain Vidal, one who punctures the eyes of others and believes not in what cannot be physically seen. Pan’s Labyrinth is a film of moral struggles, where each character is faced with the question of whether or not to follow orders directly, of whether or not to give into their anger and rage, of whether they can find a healthy balance of fantasy and reality. The issue that the film finds with sight is, how can one know if something is real if only they see it? Is Ofelia’s fantastical journey to becoming a Princess just in her imagination? Does it matter? Still, Guillermo del Toro demonstrates how dangerous it is to blindly follow directions, and how important it is to always be watchful, as the answers can be found by those who have the eyes to see. As the last line of the movie states, everything is visible “to those that know where to look.” (Pan’s Labyrinth, 1:52:11)