Confining them to life in a concrete tank is truly unbearable for them. Breaking : When we work together, good things happen. FreeWilly pic.
Double your impact today! Now through December, your gift to Mongabay will be matched dollar-for-dollar. Your support has tangible impacts by elevating informed decision-making with improved access to timely information and actionable data. We would run before anyone else could see where we had gone, and climb up. I realized quickly that my family had more secrets than the families around me, and I needed to make sense of it. They were omissions. No one spoke about my grandmother. No one spoke about my father. When I found out that this was because he was schizophrenic, I told Mai.
The fact of schizophrenia was as unusual a revelation as the fact that I was supposed to care that some man I never knew, who existed elsewhere, had the problem. I told her in the tree, and the word, which may be outdated now, felt ugly on my tongue. Stigma was latent in the enunciation. It was a word of consonants, medicalized and complicated, with a suffix that could only mean problems, and by the sound of it should only be repeated in private.
But there were other secrets. We talked about our shared crush, who had perfect dark caterpillar eyebrows. We talked about BDSM , because I had come across the phrase in a newspaper article about a court case. We talked about our bodies. When we were up in the tree, nothing else mattered.
The football fields that ran along 76th Avenue disappeared.
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Edmonton became a set designed as a backdrop for us. The younger kids playing freeze-tag disappeared. Naomi and Lena, cross-legged behind the skating rink, playing truth or dare in Chicago Bulls caps, disappeared. Who cared that Cam White, brushing his blonde hair from his eyes like Leo in Titanic , wanted to kiss them and not us. It all faded in favor of excavating the new secret, and sharing the discovery that up until then we had been lied to.
His tenure is referred to as the Thaw because repression and censorship were relaxed. Millions were released from prisons and labor camps. Those who had died behind their walls were officially exonerated.
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In , Khrushchev held the inaugural Tchaikovsky competition. The Iron Curtain had only barely lifted, and foreign musicians were invited to compete. A twenty-three-year-old Texan Baptist named Van Cliburn won first prize. He played Rachmaninoff. The musical motifs yearned for a metaphysical Russian past. His fingering lingered emotionally on the notes.
It was not the safest way to play music at the time. It would have been discouraged in favor of precise, technically adept fingering. Van Cliburn was humble, boyish. He genuinely, unguardedly loved Russia, and for Soviet audiences it was like someone had cracked open a can, the lid peeled off, the seal broke, he had the effect of Elvis.
America’s Captive Labor by Michael Poyker - Project Syndicate
Teenagers swooned. Thousands camped outside of the concert hall in hopes of getting tickets. People risked punishment to send him tokens of their affection. He left Moscow with suitcases full of gifts. Twenty-five-thousand items: samovars, malachite cigarette boxes, silver cutlery, woodcuttings, music scores, jewelry, photographs, violins, perfume, paintings, letters, valuables that had been hidden away during the terror of the previous decades.
Second-place was shared between the nineteen-year-old Chinese pianist Liu Shikun, and the Georgian pianist Lev Vlassenko. After the competition Liu Shikun was sentenced to six years in a Chinese prison for playing Western music. The Cultural Revolution had hit a shrill pitch.
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Students from the Beijing Conservatory of Music joined the Red Guards in their denunciation of Western, and feudalist, music, beating professors and classmates with boards of nails and belt buckles. After years in the labor camp, one day a guard accidentally left a newspaper in his cell, and the pianist managed to compose a note, attaching characters ripped from the article using pieces of sticky bun as glue.
He hid the note in his prison cell until the right moment came years later. He was able to sneak it to a visitor, who then delivered it to a Party member who pardoned him. The third-place winner, Naum Shtarkman, was sent to prison for eight years after the competition, when a witch-hunt broke out against homosexuals at the Moscow Conservatory. He was arrested on his way to a concert for factory workers in the industrial city of Kharkov.
The dry, nearly fat-free cake was brown and deflated. I cut it into bite sized pieces with a butter knife, because I needed something to do with my hands, and the half-eaten lumps looked like balls of clay. Someone had put on a CD , a Quebecoise chanteuse I had never heard. She was singing from the adjoining pink living room, filling the long silences, so they were less obvious. I had the urge to get drunk. Across from me was a landscape painting. Mountains edged by a lake. I took a bite of the cake. It was dry and difficult to swallow. I washed it down with wine.
How do we understand family secrets without considering their relationship to shame? And how do we begin to consider something so murky, so complicated?
Shame is a social emotion, administered by the disapproving gaze of another. It filters our perception of ourselves. It is the feeling that who you are is wrong, that who you are must be hidden from the outside world. Etymologists suspect that the root of the word shame is from Proto-Germanic skamo , to cover, and the Greek aiskhyne , to put someone to disgrace.
The word stigma has a revealing history too. In the s, it was a physical mark scratched into skin with a pointed stick until it would leave a permanent scar, or a brand burned into skin with a hot iron. In the s, stigmata were marks appearing on the body that mirrored the wounds of crucifixion. Your email. Friend's name. Friend's email. First Name. Last Name. Phone number. Please provide more details about your request. Please log in or register to continue. Registration is free and requires only your email address. Email required. Password required Remember me? Please enter your email address and click on the reset-password button.
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