I hesitated for a while whether to report on the theatre workshop held on Monday, November 9, as part of Dancing on the Edge, was offered to Syrian refugees by Koon Theatre. During the workshop, the refugees prepared a short presentation to be given on Friday, November 13, prior to the theatre performance Above Zero, will be shown at Stadsschouwburg Utrecht.
The reason I find it exciting is that the coverage of Syrian refugees is so variable that sometimes you don't know what to believe. I myself read NRC Next, which focuses on the dangerous journey the refugees are facing and the overwhelming enthusiasm of Dutch people volunteering at refugee organisations. My friend, on the other hand, reads more 'right-wing' news sources and tells me that, according to those sources, it is mostly young men seeking economic gain and sometimes men planning to rape non-Muslim women. I refuse to believe that, but the idea scares me nonetheless.
So it is with slight nervousness that I walk to the Horse Cathedral in the rain on Monday evening in the dark. There I am taking shelter with a photographer from Dancing on the Edge for ten minutes, when four boys come cycling by. They look Western and it is only from the poor Dutch of three of the boys that I can deduce that they are refugees. I greet them but don't know what else to say. I still feel uncomfortable. We smile kindly at each other.
"Totally settled in!" I blurt out enthusiastically, but immediately want to beat myself up. Is such a remark appropriate?
It soon transpires that we are at the wrong location. When one of the boys discovers that I am the only one on foot, he offers that I can hitch a ride on the back of his bike. I accept the offer and sit down. The boy turns out to be an accomplished cyclist and without wiggling he kindly asks me if I am sitting correctly. I marvel at how naturally it goes and how safe I feel with him. "Totally settled in!" I blurt out enthusiastically, but immediately want to beat myself up. Is such a remark appropriate? Again, the boy smiles kindly and asks me what I do. I tell him I am a journalist writing an article about the workshop. I also want to ask him questions, but don't know where to start. Silently we cycle on.
Once I arrive at the Cutting Room, I take a seat on a chair at the edge of the floor. The rest of the participants are already there and the workshop starts right away with a warm-up. The instructions are in Arabic, but the movements are recognisable. First, moving the body in a circle, loosening up and warming up. Then walking through the space and filling in the gaps, but gradually walking faster and faster in the process. The longer I look at the bodies performing the exercises so familiar to me, I no longer see 'refugees', but people.
After a loud hand slap from director Osama Halal, the boys fall to the ground. Like corpses, they remain lying down. Someone goes around the group and tickles the boys. Whoever is laughing is finished and gets up to revive the others while tickling them. This is followed by a game where, one by one, the boys have to take a white chair and portray something else with it. For instance, the chair becomes a car, a rowing boat, a gun, a toilet and a bed. Are these moments from their flight to the Netherlands?
Then the boys take turns introducing themselves to each other. They tell about themselves, how long they have been in the Netherlands and what their hobbies are. The boys line up in front of me with their backs to me. The introduction is done in Arabic. Only occasionally do I catch a familiar word: rap, breakdance, instagram, internet, video, hip hop, skateboard. This is how they must usually feel, I think to myself: an outsider. Whereas before I could still 'read' the moving bodies, now I can only rely on facial expressions, because I don't understand the language. How difficult that must be, I think to myself. That frustration because of the language barrier that I now feel for only an hour, they experience all the time.
Finally, the boys prepare a short presentation, with rap, drama and breakdance. Where I first saw a group of adolescent boys, I now see different personalities. Observing how my attitude towards the boys, and refugees in general, has shifted from ignorance and suspicion to compassion and understanding, it dawns on me the power of theatre. Newspapers do disseminate information, but the distance from the subject remains. In theatre, during this workshop, I come face-to-face with the Syrian refugees and all fear disappears.
The workshop concludes in a circle, with everyone holding hands. The director's wife translates his beautiful words: "He wishes for you to follow your dreams, to have nice things in life, and peace for all."
Would you also like to form your own opinion? Then come to Stadsschouwburg Utrecht on Friday 13 November at 20.30 for the multidisciplinary theatre performance Above Zero by Koon Theatre. Based on the stories and poems of Bertolt Brecht, makers from diverse disciplines and backgrounds search for answers to life's questions during times of war. Beforehand (at 20:00), there will be a presentation by the talented refugee youth from Utrecht.
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