Sauci Bosner

I had been invited to be a guest lecturer and workshop facilitator for an international congress on Homophobia and fascism. An international assortment of young activists gathering together to explore the historical, political, psychological, and spiritual contexts of hate, exclusion, judgement, fear, stereotypes which contribute towards the oppression of individuals and groups of people. The title of my workshop was Surviving Survivors. What follows is an excerpt from my paper:
We are all survivors of survivors. The purpose of life is to LIVE, and not merely survive, nor repeat painful patterns of feeling helpless, hopeless, or powerless. Our choices of study and work are often an intuitive yearning of the Whole Self to heal the wounds and beliefs we have inherited from our families and societies. It is my intention to explore with you our individual and collective images of internalized oppression, while creating new options for releasing our memories of being a victim, sexually, politically, or religiously.

I had the unique opportunity to present my workshop three times throughout the conference, facilitating personal and group processes not only for the participants. These experiences continue to be a source of inspiration and strength for me both personally and professionally. One of the reasons I am writing about this here is to share one individual story in particular. Perhaps the most important meeting in the entire Pisan adventure…

Lunch was just completed and we were resting in the little shade that was available at 1 in the afternoon and 32 degrees. An assorted melange of women, ranging in ages from 24 to 43 years, writers, therapists, and teachers. I sat across from a Dutch journalist who was explaining in detail the particulars of discrimination against female colleagues. We listened attentively as feminist doctrine dictates. At a given moment, she began to speak about individual versus collective memory, embellishing on the fact that she is an individual and not part of a group. History begins with her. It is now more than fifty years after World War Two and still people were talking and writing about that period.
One of the Jewish women present bravely decided to speak out and share her personal story, what it was like growing up in Holland, between her mother’s nightmares and father’s silences or jokes pushing back the tears. One aunt who walked back from Auschwitz. 200 aunts, uncles, cousins killed simply because they were Jewish. No one to look up to, seek refuge with, listen to, fight with. History and its impact on individuals became actual with her story.
The journalist’s reply was: ”We all lose someone at one time or another. I know all about the Holocaust. I lived in Israel for a year.”

No one knew what to say in response. The conviction of her self-righteousness silenced even me. I stood up and walked away, searching for the appropriate response. I was filled with rage and despair. How is it possible that with a few well chosen words the experience of thousands of people, perhaps millions of people, could be negated, wiped out, as swiftly and as efficiently as then and now in countries all over this planet, at this very moment that I am sitting behind my computer and telling you my story…She didn’t speak with me for the rest of the conference and it took me quite some moments of meditation to be thankful to her for giving me that specific experience. Understanding the importance of knowing when to speak and when to remain silent. When to break and when to respect the sounds of silence.

Words are needed for inter-personal communication. Written and spoken words have an impact, are means to express that which is communicated without the limitation of form. Love, unconditional love is what it is about. Love searches for the similarities. Fear separates and fuels the differences. I choose for love, for being in connection.

Summertime and the living is easy, so hush little baby and don’t you cry….