Creating Spaces for Nontraditional War Narratives
by Olivia Kate Cerrone
In working to foster a more compassionate global society, we must continue to create spaces where essential voices are made accessible to a larger audience. This is a focus of my work as a writing mentor for the Afghan Women’s Writing Project (AWWP), a non-profit organization that supports and publishes the stories of women living in Afghanistan, and as an associate editor for Consequence Magazine, a literary journal focused on the culture and consequences of war. Our latest issue features the work of Israeli and Palestinian writers, some of whom I was able to personally solicit while traveling to Israel and the West Bank during the summer of 2015. This trip had initially served as a very personal means of connecting myself, an outsider, to a deeper understanding of the ongoing Conflict. During this time, George Kovach, the editor and founder of Consequence Magazine, along with fellow associate editor, Mitch Manning, shared their vision for a special feature that would present a diverse range of Israeli and Palestinian literary perspectives, some of whom are rarely heard in the mainstream media, to engage readers in a complex, multifaceted view of those who live inside the Conflict.
My experiences in the Middle East brought me in contact with an incredible range of individuals—from secular to religious, to Zionists and Palestinian Nationalists. An overwhelming majority of these people expressed much cynicism against the prospect of maintaining an open dialogue between Israelis and Palestinians. Nothing could change the shape of their lives. As one Palestinian living in the Aida Refugee Camp in Bethlehem explained, that after such peace-inspired programs between Israeli and Palestinian youths were completed, individuals would simply return to the roles that the Conflict had assigned to them without any real change taking place. Israelis would become checkpoint soldiers, while Palestinians would remain protesting in refugee camps, subsequently becoming arrested or killed.
Hate speech and violence quickly fills the void left when a dialogue between people is lost. Here is where the presence of nontraditional war narratives becomes so valuable, even in these times of heightened tensions and continued bloodshed. In the latest issue of Consequence Magazine, we publish poems, essays and short fiction that offer a rich variety of perspectives, from the voices of Palestinian women living in Israel who identity as secular and feminist, to the narrative of a former IDF soldier who spent five years serving in the Navy, to the stories of those struggling to navigate through the endless complications of life under military occupation in the West Bank. We feature the work of an Israeli Jewish poet with strong Arab roots, and also the story of a budding Palestinian-Israeli romance complicated by sudden violence. These stories retain and uphold the humanity of the people who live inside the Conflict. They penetrate through preconceived assumptions, and those fears projected by the mainstream media, along with the overwhelming personal grief and unending trauma of living in a state of constant war.
There are some who believe that these narratives should never be published alongside one another because doing so might equate Palestinian suffering with Israeli suffering, and vice versa. Yet in presenting these voices side-by-side, we strive to transcend political bias, bigotry, and hate rhetoric, and simply create an uncompromised space for these individuals to share their experiences of war, connecting readers to compelling truths, painful realities and even common ground, conveyed through the intimate reaches of language. It is essential that a larger dialogue is never exhausted, one that engages various perspectives, perhaps inspiring further collaboration and greater alternatives to violence.
Nontraditional war narratives can also offer a profound sense of empowerment and transformation. I have witnessed this firsthand as a writing mentor for AWWP, where I lead online creative writing workshops for women based in Kabul, Afghanistan. Responding to weekly writing prompts, workshop participants create poems and short essays which are discussed as a group, then revised and often published via the organization’s blog. In 2015, Grayson Books published Washing the Dust from Our Hearts, an anthology of work from AWWP writers published in both English and in Dari. In addition to these workshops, the AWWP offers the Oral Story Series, which publishes transcribed stories collected from illiterate women living throughout the Afghan provinces. The AWWP strives to create a safe, empowering space where women can share their stories anonymously with the world without the threats of violent retaliation, harsh criticism or indifference intended to silence and punish. Storytelling puts the power back into the hands of the writer, offering a more narrative coherence to one’s experiences and trauma.
My role as an AWWP mentor is to help nurture writers through producing and revising a finished creative piece. Workshop prompts directly address Afghan culture and current events, but AWWP writers are always free to write about any topic they choose. These stories reveal powerful and inspiring voices, women who express great pride in being Afghan, in being Muslim and feminist, with a desire to improve their lives and society through education. At times, the workshop also serves as a place for women to express and share their grief. In late 2014, the Taliban attacked a school in Peshawar, Pakistan, where 132 children were killed. Some of the writers working with AWWP at the time had spent time in Peshawar and went to school there after their families fled Afghanistan during the Taliban era. AWWP encouraged its writers to respond to this tragedy. In her essay, “Behind the Curtains at the Hospital” a woman named Pari depicts her difficult memories of attending a hospital for the first time where she was sexually assaulted by the very doctor who examined her. She writes: “I was very afraid that if my parents knew about this, if I told them about this doctor, that the doctor would either kill my father, or tell the Taliban that we had come to a male doctor, which was not allowed.” Despite the abuse she endures, Pari still acknowledges that she is a survivor, willing to use her story as a means to heal and illuminate the brutality of life under the Taliban. Her story, like many others, reveals a woman who remains empowered in the face of terrorism and violence, shattering the image of a silent, passive woman victimized by extremist norms.
The invaluable presence of nontraditional war narratives challenges our assumptions of what it means to live in societies compromised by war. They both empower and humanize, allowing readers to engage in richer dimensions of the unique, complex truth of others. Such humanity is reflected in the brilliant work of a powerful young Afghan woman named Shogofa Az, with whom I had the privilege of working with through the AWWP. Her poem “My Beautiful and Lovely Kandahar” was later published in Washing the Dust From Our Hearts.
My Beautiful and Lovely Kandahar
by Shogofa Az
I love the fresh fruit, the dry fruit: pomegranates,
raisins, figs. I love the kohl, henna and bangles,
the clothing, pottery, flowers, gardens. I remember
the village girls fighting, reconciling. I remember
wedding parties for our dolls, paper ships rising
on rainwater. I miss the stories from grandmothers,
handmade embroidery, the early morning birdsong.
I miss collecting wheat, miss flavors. I have questions
for the enemies of my city. Why do you plant poppies
instead of pomegranates? Why do you draw blood
instead of henna on the hands of girls? Why do you
put chains instead of bangles on our wrists? Was it
our fault? Is that why we have these coffins? I want
back my happy homeland, my smiling faces. I want
God to erase all this violence, these screaming mothers,
this sky of smoke. I am not weak and small anymore.
I will not let them destroy my city. I have speech
for those who would silence speech. My heart burns
to explain these problems, this terror, with honesty.
People are scared of losing their fingers if they vote,
scared of losing their sons if they work in the government,
scared of going outside. The Taliban will throw acid
in our eyes. Don’t think that I don’t see. You grow
narcotics in the yard, make us busy with them, sick
and useless. How will you hide from judgment?
You will not. I will work hard for my city. I will love
you until the end of my life. My beautiful and lovely
Kandahar, I will not let the hearts inside our people break.
Olivia Kate Cerrone’s Pushcart Prize-nominated fiction won the 2016 Jack Dyer prize from Crab Orchard Review. Her stories have appeared in various literary journals, including New South, The MacGuffin, and War, Literature and the Arts. She serves as a regular contributor to The Rumpus, as an Associate Editor for CONSEQUENCE Magazine, and as a writing mentor for the Afghan Women’s Writing Project.
by Olivia Kate Cerrone
In working to foster a more compassionate global society, we must continue to create spaces where essential voices are made accessible to a larger audience. This is a focus of my work as a writing mentor for the Afghan Women’s Writing Project (AWWP), a non-profit organization that supports and publishes the stories of women living in Afghanistan, and as an associate editor for Consequence Magazine, a literary journal focused on the culture and consequences of war. Our latest issue features the work of Israeli and Palestinian writers, some of whom I was able to personally solicit while traveling to Israel and the West Bank during the summer of 2015. This trip had initially served as a very personal means of connecting myself, an outsider, to a deeper understanding of the ongoing Conflict. During this time, George Kovach, the editor and founder of Consequence Magazine, along with fellow associate editor, Mitch Manning, shared their vision for a special feature that would present a diverse range of Israeli and Palestinian literary perspectives, some of whom are rarely heard in the mainstream media, to engage readers in a complex, multifaceted view of those who live inside the Conflict.
My experiences in the Middle East brought me in contact with an incredible range of individuals—from secular to religious, to Zionists and Palestinian Nationalists. An overwhelming majority of these people expressed much cynicism against the prospect of maintaining an open dialogue between Israelis and Palestinians. Nothing could change the shape of their lives. As one Palestinian living in the Aida Refugee Camp in Bethlehem explained, that after such peace-inspired programs between Israeli and Palestinian youths were completed, individuals would simply return to the roles that the Conflict had assigned to them without any real change taking place. Israelis would become checkpoint soldiers, while Palestinians would remain protesting in refugee camps, subsequently becoming arrested or killed.
Hate speech and violence quickly fills the void left when a dialogue between people is lost. Here is where the presence of nontraditional war narratives becomes so valuable, even in these times of heightened tensions and continued bloodshed. In the latest issue of Consequence Magazine, we publish poems, essays and short fiction that offer a rich variety of perspectives, from the voices of Palestinian women living in Israel who identity as secular and feminist, to the narrative of a former IDF soldier who spent five years serving in the Navy, to the stories of those struggling to navigate through the endless complications of life under military occupation in the West Bank. We feature the work of an Israeli Jewish poet with strong Arab roots, and also the story of a budding Palestinian-Israeli romance complicated by sudden violence. These stories retain and uphold the humanity of the people who live inside the Conflict. They penetrate through preconceived assumptions, and those fears projected by the mainstream media, along with the overwhelming personal grief and unending trauma of living in a state of constant war.
There are some who believe that these narratives should never be published alongside one another because doing so might equate Palestinian suffering with Israeli suffering, and vice versa. Yet in presenting these voices side-by-side, we strive to transcend political bias, bigotry, and hate rhetoric, and simply create an uncompromised space for these individuals to share their experiences of war, connecting readers to compelling truths, painful realities and even common ground, conveyed through the intimate reaches of language. It is essential that a larger dialogue is never exhausted, one that engages various perspectives, perhaps inspiring further collaboration and greater alternatives to violence.
Nontraditional war narratives can also offer a profound sense of empowerment and transformation. I have witnessed this firsthand as a writing mentor for AWWP, where I lead online creative writing workshops for women based in Kabul, Afghanistan. Responding to weekly writing prompts, workshop participants create poems and short essays which are discussed as a group, then revised and often published via the organization’s blog. In 2015, Grayson Books published Washing the Dust from Our Hearts, an anthology of work from AWWP writers published in both English and in Dari. In addition to these workshops, the AWWP offers the Oral Story Series, which publishes transcribed stories collected from illiterate women living throughout the Afghan provinces. The AWWP strives to create a safe, empowering space where women can share their stories anonymously with the world without the threats of violent retaliation, harsh criticism or indifference intended to silence and punish. Storytelling puts the power back into the hands of the writer, offering a more narrative coherence to one’s experiences and trauma.
My role as an AWWP mentor is to help nurture writers through producing and revising a finished creative piece. Workshop prompts directly address Afghan culture and current events, but AWWP writers are always free to write about any topic they choose. These stories reveal powerful and inspiring voices, women who express great pride in being Afghan, in being Muslim and feminist, with a desire to improve their lives and society through education. At times, the workshop also serves as a place for women to express and share their grief. In late 2014, the Taliban attacked a school in Peshawar, Pakistan, where 132 children were killed. Some of the writers working with AWWP at the time had spent time in Peshawar and went to school there after their families fled Afghanistan during the Taliban era. AWWP encouraged its writers to respond to this tragedy. In her essay, “Behind the Curtains at the Hospital” a woman named Pari depicts her difficult memories of attending a hospital for the first time where she was sexually assaulted by the very doctor who examined her. She writes: “I was very afraid that if my parents knew about this, if I told them about this doctor, that the doctor would either kill my father, or tell the Taliban that we had come to a male doctor, which was not allowed.” Despite the abuse she endures, Pari still acknowledges that she is a survivor, willing to use her story as a means to heal and illuminate the brutality of life under the Taliban. Her story, like many others, reveals a woman who remains empowered in the face of terrorism and violence, shattering the image of a silent, passive woman victimized by extremist norms.
The invaluable presence of nontraditional war narratives challenges our assumptions of what it means to live in societies compromised by war. They both empower and humanize, allowing readers to engage in richer dimensions of the unique, complex truth of others. Such humanity is reflected in the brilliant work of a powerful young Afghan woman named Shogofa Az, with whom I had the privilege of working with through the AWWP. Her poem “My Beautiful and Lovely Kandahar” was later published in Washing the Dust From Our Hearts.
My Beautiful and Lovely Kandahar
by Shogofa Az
I love the fresh fruit, the dry fruit: pomegranates,
raisins, figs. I love the kohl, henna and bangles,
the clothing, pottery, flowers, gardens. I remember
the village girls fighting, reconciling. I remember
wedding parties for our dolls, paper ships rising
on rainwater. I miss the stories from grandmothers,
handmade embroidery, the early morning birdsong.
I miss collecting wheat, miss flavors. I have questions
for the enemies of my city. Why do you plant poppies
instead of pomegranates? Why do you draw blood
instead of henna on the hands of girls? Why do you
put chains instead of bangles on our wrists? Was it
our fault? Is that why we have these coffins? I want
back my happy homeland, my smiling faces. I want
God to erase all this violence, these screaming mothers,
this sky of smoke. I am not weak and small anymore.
I will not let them destroy my city. I have speech
for those who would silence speech. My heart burns
to explain these problems, this terror, with honesty.
People are scared of losing their fingers if they vote,
scared of losing their sons if they work in the government,
scared of going outside. The Taliban will throw acid
in our eyes. Don’t think that I don’t see. You grow
narcotics in the yard, make us busy with them, sick
and useless. How will you hide from judgment?
You will not. I will work hard for my city. I will love
you until the end of my life. My beautiful and lovely
Kandahar, I will not let the hearts inside our people break.
Olivia Kate Cerrone’s Pushcart Prize-nominated fiction won the 2016 Jack Dyer prize from Crab Orchard Review. Her stories have appeared in various literary journals, including New South, The MacGuffin, and War, Literature and the Arts. She serves as a regular contributor to The Rumpus, as an Associate Editor for CONSEQUENCE Magazine, and as a writing mentor for the Afghan Women’s Writing Project.