Advocating for Peace: Supporting activists in shaping their
stories
by Noa Baum
I am sitting in a small room of a
modest apartment on the upper west side of New York City, listening to Israelis
and Palestinians. The accents are heavy, speech often halting as the teller searches for the correct English phrase or
word.
A young Palestinian woman tells about being 9 years old,
seeing her beloved friend lying on the ground with a red stain of blood
spreading on his blue school uniform. He is 12 years old, and the pride of the
school, shot by Israeli soldiers. Filled with rage and grief, she picks up a
stone and throws it at the soldiers. She is terrified and confused, “I’m a good
girl. I don’t throw stones”.
Why is this happening? Why did they
kill her friend?
A young Israeli man, who grew up
like me, proud to serve and defend his homeland, tells about being 19 years old
in his active army service. He has orders to “extract” a man from his house and bring him in for
interrogation. It is well after midnight, he is carrying a large gun and feels
powerful, but his heart is pounding with fear. After banging on the door with
his gun, a woman opens it and starts crying. He is pointing his gun and sees
the terror in her eyes. He completes his mission, drops the man at the
detention center but never finds out if he was returned to his wife. The terror
stricken eyes haunt him. He is tormented and confused. He was raised to believe
he is the good guy. Why is he feeling like the bad guy?
These are just snippets of the
stories I hear in that room from five members of Combatants
for Peace (https://cfpeace.org/), a grassroots group of people who grew up amidst the
violent Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
They all saw family members and
friends die. They were soldiers and stone throwers, they spent time being tortured or torturing,
been in jail or guarded prisoners, they were freedom fighters and protectors of
their homeland.
But one-by-one renounced violence put their
weapons down and chose to work together, Israelis and Palestinians, to end the
cycle of violence and occupation. Today they tell their stories to build
bridges of hope, understanding and peace.
My job is to help them shape their
stories for advocacy and get comfortable presenting them to American audiences.
I share my own story: growing up an
Israeli Jew in Jerusalem, my friendship with a Palestinian woman and journey of
discovering “the other” through the power of story, and how I use storytelling
to build bridges of understanding and compassion with a live performance and a
memoir I wrote: A Land Twice Promised: An Israeli Woman’s Quest
for Peace.
I ask them to identify what makes
an oral story compelling and we discuss the components of spoken language, I
spend the rest of the day working individually with each one of the five
members.
I am faced with many challenges:
How to help trauma survivors tell
trauma-laden stories without re-triggering the trauma?
How to choose from dozens of
experiences those that can be shaped into a coherent story arc?
How to be truthful to the pain and
violence of the stories, convey the message and capture the heart, without alienating
or overwhelming listeners?
How to create a message of hope
about an ongoing conflict when a peace resolution seems farther away than it’s ever been?
There is no formula and I don’t own
the “Your Advocacy Story in Five Easy Steps” magic manual. I approach each individual story
as a journey of exploration.
One teller needs to figure out how
to talk without crying. Another needs to figure out how to put emotion in his
voice when his instinct is to protect himself from the pain by talking in
monotone.
And for everyone, the challenge is to
learn the language of images:
Can listeners see/imagine my story? Am I showing: describing the scene with sensual details? Using dialogue to give information
and/or help bring each character to life? Or am I summarizing?
There are sound principals to the
art of Storytelling but Coaching is not an exact science. I tread carefully, ask
lots of questions, and offer examples and suggestions. I worry that it’s
too hard for them.
But then, one of them retells his
story after the morning suggestions. We invite our host, the apartment owner,
to listen.
I watch the magic of teller
energized by listener. I hear the emotion in his voice but he’s in charge, not collapsing.
The story comes alive, our host is clearly moved and confesses that as an
American Jew she had never heard this perspective.
It can be
difficult to see the relevance of storytelling in the face of the growing conflicts, divisions and
hateful rhetoric, the plight of refugees and the collapse of climate stability.
Pete Seeger said, “The key to the future of the world is
finding the optimistic stories and letting them be known.”
The stories of
the courageous people who are caught in conflict and suffer but choose to reach
out to each other, hold that optimism for me.
Poet Wislawa Szymborska, writes,
Four billion people on this earth,
But my imagination is as it was.
It doesn’t cope well with big numbers.
It’s still moved by singularity.
We need the stories. Let’s help
people tell them.
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