About twenty participants from the region had selected to participate in a “jam session” as their last workshop for the first ever Asia Playback Gathering the 6-9th of August, 2005. I brought my 8 year old son Cameron along to watch and play with me.
Kayo, of Japan's "Playback AZ," was an impressive leader as she got us started with a game and began conducting the first of the afternoon’s stories. I liked her style. She drew us in, and drew the stories out with her warm, confident, and shepherding personality. After a few fluid sculptures she suggested we allow actors to perform in their own languages. Some of them were wonderful actors and we weren’t getting a chance to see them shine when they were limited by trying to speak in English.
We tried it. A woman from Taiwan shared a story, with English translation, about saying goodbye to her 4 year old son at the airport, and realizing that he was growing up. A group of Japanese actors played the story back for us, in Japanese. It was a clever, artful, touching improvisation. We all understood it because we’d heard the sweet story only minutes before.
Next a group of Chinese from Hong Kong, Singapore and China got up to play a new story back, They were going to use a mix of Mandarin and Cantonese. A Filipino participant, Edward, decided to share a story he said he’d been saving for 2 years. He’d been waiting for the right time to share it and felt this was the setting.
The group became a little uncomfortable as he shared about planning to go to the International Playback Gathering in Japan 2 years ago. He told us about his Filipino grandfather’s strong words, “Why would you want to travel to that country, with all those awful people? Why would you want to spend your time and money in a country with the Japanese?” He replied, “Never mind the Japanese, Grandfather. If I want to learn more about Playback Theatre, I have to go there. I’ll go just for the playback; not for the people.”
Cameron, my son, and I were the only non-Asians in the room. However, I’ve been living in Asia 7 years. That is long enough to learn that the hatred and racism toward the Japanese people is pervasive in this region. Japanese soldiers inflicted unspeakable horrors on Asia during World War II; occupations, mass killings, torture. Many from the generation who experienced these things are still alive, and they have shared their unrequited bitterness with those of us who have come after.
As we listened, Edward went on to tell his story. It turned out differently than it started. It turned into a story about the Japanese “angels” who helped him when he was alone in the train station having missed the last bullet train; the "angel" who had returned to him important belongings he’d inadvertently lost; the "angel" who had welcomed him to the conference when he finally arrived very late on his first night. He finished by saying that he’d learned that the Japanese are kind, friendly and good people. No matter what happened in the war, it is wrong to have such predjudice against the Japanese today.
Wow. We all looked to the Chinese group who’d volunteered to be the actors. If any group hates the Japanese it is the Chinese, but this group did a touching improvisation of Edward's story. It was too bad that the Japanese sitting next to me couldn’t understand the language of the actors as the story wrapped up. It ended with a hug and the actor playing Edward saying in Chinese, “My grandfather was SO wrong.”
The actors all quietly looked to Edward when the piece was finished. It was their offering to him. To us. We let the offering linger in the air for a moment until a Japanese woman broke the silence.
“I’d like to share a feeling,” she said.
She told us how the Japanese playbackers had met before this conference and had anticipated what might happen when Asians got together to share important stories from their lives. “We were prepared for people to hate us. We were prepared for stories that might tell how terrible we are.” They had talked ahead of time about how they should be prepared for racism against them. “Yet, this is the first time in the whole weekend that the issue has come up, and instead of saying how awful we are, you have called us ‘angels.’ We are so relieved and thankful.”
I see a few eyes getting moist as the conductor asks the Chinese group of actors to play this feeling back as a fluid sculpture.
Kayo, the original conductor, also speaks.
“I feel I must say something too. Our people did terrible things to your countries during the war. Even though it was many years ago, and even though it was not my hands that did it, I want to apologize for the things my ancestors have done in the past. I want to say that I am sorry for the things the Japanese people have done to your people in the past. I apologize on behalf of my people.”
The Chinese actors are still standing in front. All of them are openly crying as they play back this apology as a new fluid sculpture.
Astounding. I am a privileged witness of an amazing emotional healing taking place before me in the room. I am not crying. I am too stunned. I am joyfully in awe. I’m quite sure my mouth is hanging open. My hands are holding my heart. It is about to burst. I’m standing in the midst of what feels like a miracle.
Asians are notorious for keeping their feelings inside, for never talking openly about hurts or joys, rarely do they openly showing displays of affection. We once had a Japanese student live with us. She said she loved that we hugged her as she’d never been hugged by her parents. One Chinese friend once told me that they are like a thermos; cold on the outside, but hot on the inside. Yet, on this afternoon in Singapore, as this group decides to sit in a circle to process what has just happened, there are grown men of different Asian races openly weeping and hugging one another.
Different people around the circle share what they are thinking and feeling. One thought she didn’t have any prejudice until that afternoon, and as soon as she realized that there was a corner of her heart that was hateful toward the Japanese, it had disappeared.
Why don’t I have any tears? It’s because I am so filled with hope for the future. I am seeing first hand how easy it is to build bridges of peace and reconciliation with a few genuinely spoken words. I decide to share with the group now sitting in a circle.
We are all one or two generations away from the atrocities of World War II, and yet there has remained, knowingly or subconsciously, a racism that has been inherited from our parents or grandparents. As our generation learns to reconcile like this, we learn that we can live in peace, harmony and genuine friendship.
In my home country of the USA, the races that have the most reason to hold a grudge with American Whites are the African Americans and the American Indians. My adopted son Cameron, who is an ethnic mix of all three of these races, has grown up in Asia. Today he has witnessed everything we’ve all just seen and heard. Yet, despite this, he turned to me in the middle of all the tears around us and said, “Mommy, why are they all crying?”
In his heart of hearts he can’t imagine any reason why this group would be anything other than a bunch of friends from different countries getting together to play and have fun.
THIS IS TANGIBLE HOPE. Our generation has the opportunity to raise the next generation with Cameron's genuine heart of unity and brotherly love across cultures.
We closed our circle time sweetly stumbling through an old song recently recorded by Vince Gill. I just took a moment to look up the lyrics online. They are worth memorizing again.
Let there be peace on earth
and let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth
the peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father
brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
in perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me
let this be the moment now.
With every step i take
let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment
and live each moment
with peace eternally.
Let ther be peace on earth,
and let it begin with me.
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