Samira Thomas

 

This week’s work is an incredibly touching series of individual experiences, responses, statements, stories, and reflections. Deeply personal and often hopeful, these messages offer an interesting link for those connected to tsunami, both locally and from a distance.

One of the most powerful components of this work for me was the use of single words as titles: Relief, Pajamas, Overwhelmed, OK. Each of these titles actually convey a message in themselves.

When I relate this to the question of the work I hope to do with the children in Japan and Afghanistan, I feel that my word is “voice”, but to concisely convey this to the children will be difficult. Given the language and translation challenges, and my hope to connect children visually rather than through language, I wonder how this same power can be conveyed through images. A single word comes with a host of connotations and impacts, but a picture, as they say, is worth a thousand words. Can the same coherence be offered through children’s images that are often filled with much more content and imagination than they seem to at first glance?

Distant Suffering

 Posted by Samira Thomas on March 6, 2012
Mar 062012
 

This piece raised several important questions for me in relationship to this class and the concept of “disaster at a distance”. First, with the concepts of pity in contrast to compassion and the definitions that the author takes for each. It appears that in order for pity to be distinguishable from compassion, it must be care that one person offers another without the potential for generalization: compassion is individualized. How can individualization happen when considering disaster at a distance, when virtually only generalized experience and data is available to us?

Ultimately, it seems the answer rests somewhere in chapter 3 as the author discusses the idea of imagination. This, then, begs the question for me as I approach my creative response for the Japanese context, how can this imagination be shared with others, and with the power of the constructed imagination, how can the individual be drawn out of the generalized circumstance?

I was also struck by the concept of the ideal spectator – one who is the “spectator of oneself and one’s own conduct.” Although many of our creative responses are not aiming to necessarily dictate a specific response in our audience, there is something to be said for the paths we choose: the response necessarily “says” more about ourselves than our audience, and for me it is increasingly important that the voice of this work is not only my own, but is joined by (perhaps a cacophony of) other voices.

Feb 142012
 

Children in disasters around the world are understood to be one of the most vulnerable segments of the population. Many of us are vaguely, if not deeply, aware of the current situation in Afghanistan, and approximately half of Afghanistan’s population is made up of children, and they are considered to be some of the most at-risk children in the world. Continued war and violence has led to increased exposure to the elements, and limited access to social services, leaving the children of Afghanistan vulnerable to innumerable hazards. Most recently, this has left children living in camps exposed to the harsh winter. Coupled with malnutrition, the impact of the cold has been exacerbated, and the death toll of this protracted war has risen once again.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/04/world/asia/cold-weather-kills-children-in-afghan-refugee-camps.html

Young children in particular are vulnerable to the legacy that the war has left – Afghanistan has one of the highest mortality rates in the world for children under five years old. Of the over 450,000 internally displaced people, more than 54 per cent are children. Landmines continue to be a problem; only 27 percent of areas with landmines have been cleared. Particularly tragic, many mines were embedded in toys in order to target children specifically who would be drawn to the toy. In this environment, it is heartbreaking, but unsurprising to learn that on average, two children per day die in Afghanistan as a result of the ongoing conflict.

These statistics and the documentary only give half the story: while there are incredible challenges that these children face, there is something more there; something that can be learned from these children. Like children around the world, those in Afghanistan are aware of their surroundings and understand the challenges that they face. However, my experience with these children as refugees in Canada, Pakistan and in their home communities in Afghanistan over the last thirteen years has taught me a great deal about their strength in the face of conflict and disaster. It lies in their ability to hope. Whether it is turning a muddy hill into a slide or putting on a painted mask, in the midst of the challenge of being born during a time of war, the children of Afghanistan have been able to find joy and comfort.

Children at Art School in Kabul

Children attend World Circus Day in Afghanistan

Children Playing at World Circus Day

This ability is not unique to children in Afghanistan. Indeed, in Japan in the wake of the 3/11 disaster, it seems the same is true. The potential for hope is everywhere.

Understanding Disaster

 Posted by Samira Thomas on February 9, 2012
Feb 092012
 

From a young age, the word “disaster” never evoked images of our natural environment rising up against (or playing an integral role in) human settlements, livelihoods, and cultures. Having grown up in Vancouver, we had always heard about “the big one” that was coming – an earthquake which is expected to reach magnitudes beyond what has been experienced in Vancouver in recent memory. However, year after year, “the big one” never arrived, and resulted in a sense of false security that perhaps it never would, or that somehow the danger had been averted.

I grew up learning at the side of my parents – both trained as eye specialists who spent whatever time they could (often during our school holidays) in various parts of the world, training doctors and nurses, and providing eye care to some of the most marginalized communities in the world. These experiences from my early childhood alerted me keenly to the man-made disasters we see today: policies that failed to provide enough food for the population, schooling that limited human potential, and war and the many challenges that are associated with it. Nature did not enter the equation, in my mind at least.

It was not until the winter of 2005 that I realized the absolute reliance that we have on our natural environment. I was working in Khorog, Tajikistan, in the mountains of the Pamirs. One night, after a trip to Dushanbe, we were driving back to Khorog (a 14 hour drive), along treacherous mountain roads. As we drove, the roads behind us were closed by avalanches. Indeed, an avalanche fell just in front of our car about two hours from Khorog. We had the option to dig and continue driving, or spend the night in a nearby village to continue driving in the morning. We decided to pass, opting for getting home rather than imposing on a family for the night. After a great deal of effort, and several close calls with an almost continuous stream of avalanches onto the road, we arrived in Khorog.

The next morning we discovered that many of the surrounding villages were cut off from the rest of the country, and that would be the case for the next month. Food became scarce, homes were destroyed, lives were lost. This experience, was my first, and most immediate, realization of the true magnitude of natural disasters, particularly in mountainous regions.