2. revolutionary suicide
on the unspeakable ships—those
floating mass graves—do I have
the right to speak? of them? who
will give me license or sustenance?
a jew? on the unspeakable trains—those
thundering transports to mass graves coming
from showerheads hissing like promises…
the stamp in my passport (mine!): nationality:
jewish. a license to grieve? was it born with me,
or like the stamp in my passport, did I acquire it
by growing wonder? I open my heart and it leaps
out. to get back to the ships and the ghosts,
“we evolved from ghosts.” there was a woman. a man,
a child, tossed overboard. those whose names have been
drowned, leaped, souls into the water—an act of courage—
sharks traveled guarding the sides of the ships, knowing
the feeding would come regularly as the dead, the sick,
and the old were discarded at noon when they came
on deck for one hour a day and were sprayed with
hoses to wash off fiecies, piss, vomit in which they
lived, twenty-three hours a day
for three months to America!
selections happened twice a day as they lined up
before and after work and the officers separated
the sick and the old
from the rest and led them, too tired to do anything
but follow, to showering gas. quietly, sometimes, they took
off their clothes….
--instead of escape. can you imagine—a suicide
as an act of courage, and not an escape?
when Sethe chopped Beloved’s head off, that
two year old neck, instead of letting her baby’s
legs be counted, incapable of allowing her daughter
to become a slave, killing the innocence of herself
what name are we prepared to give her act?
can you imagine infanticide, as an act
of resistance, and not murder?
or, is it suicide, the final act of blame?
on the unspeakable ships—those
floating mass graves—do I have
the right to speak? of them? who
will give me license or sustenance?
a jew? on the unspeakable trains—those
thundering transports to mass graves coming
from showerheads hissing like promises…
the stamp in my passport (mine!): nationality:
jewish. a license to grieve? was it born with me,
or like the stamp in my passport, did I acquire it
by growing wonder? I open my heart and it leaps
out. to get back to the ships and the ghosts,
“we evolved from ghosts.” there was a woman. a man,
a child, tossed overboard. those whose names have been
drowned, leaped, souls into the water—an act of courage—
sharks traveled guarding the sides of the ships, knowing
the feeding would come regularly as the dead, the sick,
and the old were discarded at noon when they came
on deck for one hour a day and were sprayed with
hoses to wash off fiecies, piss, vomit in which they
lived, twenty-three hours a day
for three months to America!
selections happened twice a day as they lined up
before and after work and the officers separated
the sick and the old
from the rest and led them, too tired to do anything
but follow, to showering gas. quietly, sometimes, they took
off their clothes….
--instead of escape. can you imagine—a suicide
as an act of courage, and not an escape?
when Sethe chopped Beloved’s head off, that
two year old neck, instead of letting her baby’s
legs be counted, incapable of allowing her daughter
to become a slave, killing the innocence of herself
what name are we prepared to give her act?
can you imagine infanticide, as an act
of resistance, and not murder?
or, is it suicide, the final act of blame?
posted by irreme seshat at 10:09 AM
3 Comments:
Sethe's act was a desperate courage, or, as Rabbi Jay Holstein (my professor for "Literature and the Holocaust" at the U of Iowa in the late 80s) would call it "a choice without choice." There can be no blame when one has no power, no true agency, no consent.
We must speak of such things and yet, somehow, keep hope. As Gandhi is said to have said: "Whatever you do may seem insignificant, but it is most important that you do it."
Do something beautiful for yourself today, my (Jewish) friend. Abi gezunt!
SOmething beautiful. for myself. i think we all have power. not simply rhetorically, but nonetheless Sethe's act was a choiceless choice. Yet, Sethe's act was a fiction, as well. And as such, a story of power.
I wish we could go for a cup of tea.
The group you're thinking of: Arends, and who else? And then, Benjamin, the one who shot himself, have you read any of his stuff? I'd really like to! I've only looked at some of his work. He writes much about violence and non-violence. My next real reading project is anarchism. I think i'll start with Emma Goldman. I was talking with Socket, a wise person from the Mountain, and ze said that anarchism is not no rules, but no rulers! Wow, i thought, that's exactly what my work has been striving for all along: to think through the potentiality of nonhierarchy....
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