Two different kinds of stories

Hey folks, there’s a few exciting news things happening, and we’d love for you to hear it and share it. one is that the show My Father held a Gun, which we started playing in earnest earlier this year, is picked up by the Amsterdam Fringe. We’re playing between September 11 and September 14. Get your tickets here.

And here’s a story of a different type. Our good friend Omid Pourhashemi has made a short film, and in Omid style the film speaks without the use of words. Go on this short journey and tell us what you think:

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vdEILfVD0s?ecver=2]

Stories, stories, stories

So, I’m sitting in the Mezrab at the final Wednesday night storytelling event here before we take a summer break. I’m not hosting it myself, our good friend Marijn Vissers has that pleasure, so I’ve got a bit of time to update you about all the different story related things newsbits that have piled up. Let’s dig in:

On Thursday and Friday (June 29 and 30) the eight students of the professional storytelling course are graduating. It’s been an intense process with blood sweat and tears and we’re proud to show the result. Come and see (Friday’s tickets almost gone, but reserve your space for the four students on Thursday at Podium Mozaiek.

We’ve finished the children’s storytelling Sundays for this season in the Mezrab, but you have one more chance for family stories in the Westergas terrein. Shows from 12.30 till 17.45. Here’s a link to the Facebook event. Invite your friends!

In the summer we will not have our Wednesdays, but every single Friday there will be a storytelling event. All of them in English. So come when you feel like. We start every time at 20.30

Finally, even the Economist is picking up on the True Story Revolution world wide. Here’s a touching article on storytelling in Beiruth.

Hope some of these are to your interest!

Two new places for Stories

For a while we’ve been trying to seed storytelling in new places. To get new audiences to know our beloved artform, to let it find more and more its place in the main stream. This weekend and the next there’s two new places we can add to that list:

This Sunday (April 2nd) there’s an afternoon concert in the beautiful dome of the Nederlands Philharmonisch Orkest. They had seen my collaboration with the Nederlands Blazers Ensemble and now we’re doing a short together in the afternoon. 13 members of the orchestra will play Appalachian Spring (by Kaplan) with stories around it by yours truly (Dutch)

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The week after (April 9th) the Mezrab is invited to provide an English language story afternoon in the Jewish Historical Museum. We’ll tell stories around the theme of prejudice to connect with the current exhibit of the JHM. You get to come for the price of just a museum visit, so if you felt like seeing the museum anyway, this is the time. If you have a museum card the visit is even free!

The Herman Divendal award

A week and a half ago we were bestowed a huge honour. To get it (and I had no idea I would get it) I raced from a performance in Amersfoort to the ceremony in the Public Library Amsterdam theater where they were about to announce the short listed candidates. One of the three people who had done important work to build bridges between societies and cultures were to be awarded the very first Herman Divendal Award.

After my arrival, and to my great surprise, the writer Asis Aynan got up to read a text he had prepared for my introduction. It’s during the last lines of this text that my hands started shaking and I wouldn’t calm down until the end of the ceremony. For Dutch readers, the full text is here.

The award ceremony ended with a very emotional me being told we had received the award. Now I know some friends tell me I shouldn’t say “we” everytime I mean “I”. But honestly, to receive an honour for the Mezrab, is to be awarded something for what was from day one a team effort. From parents and my brother who were there unquestioningly, to friends who saw that our site sucked and made one, to the huge team we have today.

Whatever the next days, weeks, months or years may bring, thank you for this bit of recognition:


Sahand Sahebdivani wint Herman Divendal Award 2017

Sahand Sahebdivani is de winnaar van de eerste Herman Divendal Award. Deze jaarlijkse prijs van € 10.000 wordt uitgereikt door Stichting In den Vreemde aan een bruggenbouwer tussen verschillende culturen.

Sahand Sahebdivani is verhalenverteller, musicus, acteur en oprichter van Mezrab, een intercultureel podium in Amsterdam. Volgens de jury verbindt Sahebdivani door diverse culturen een podium te bieden: “Zo moeiteloos als hij in zijn verhalen schakelt van toon, tijd en kleur, zo moeiteloos stelt hij ook Mezrab open voor de meest uiteenlopende bezoekers – de sfeer van dat huis aan de kade, waarvan hij het gastheerschap gul deelt met zijn familie en vrienden, is even feestelijk en strijdlustig als die van zijn verhalen.”

De jury bestond dit jaar uit het bestuur van Stichting In den Vreemde aangevuld met de vrouw van Herman Divendal, Marianne Mooij, en zijn broer, Leo Divendal.

De twee andere genomineerden, Ramin ‘Firoez’ Azarhoosh en Janine Toussaint, ontvingen ieder € 2.500.

Stichting In den Vreemde beheert de nalatenschap van schrijfster en activiste Mies Bouhuys (1927-2008). Hiermee worden kunstenaars, activisten, journalisten en academici ondersteund die onder druk staan vanwege hun werk en overtuigingen. Ter ere van de eerste voorzitter, Herman Divendal (1948-2015), reikt In den Vreemde deHerman Divendal Award uit. Hij was als directeur van AIDA Nederland een steunpilaar voor vervolgde en gevluchte kunstenaars. De uitreiking van de prijs vindt jaarlijks plaats op 8 februari als een in memoriam aan de sterfdag van Herman Divendal. In 2017 was de eerste editie.

Nederland,Amsterdam, 2017
Herman Divendal award 2017
Foto: Bob Bronshoff

(photo by Bob Bronshoff)

The Storyteller dies…

Though the romantic story of how I got into storytelling is that my father inspired me, there’s another storyteller who played a part almost as large. I simply knew him by the name The Storyteller. A series created by Jim Henson (the Muppet Show, Labyrinth, etc.) which told the old European fairy tales with great writing, amazing visuals and above all, a master teller that glued it all together. I saw and re-saw them, first on TV, later on tape and DVD. The first stories that I told were the ones that appeared on this show. Sadly a second season of the show (featuring Greek myths) was cancelled mid season as parents thought it was too gruesome. It pissed me off: these were stories that mattered, not like the cleaned up happy meals that Disney gave us.

Sadly the original Storyteller, John Hurt, passed away last week. Good sir, we’ll keep listening to your stories and we’ll keep telling them:

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnVd8FrEK80&w=640&h=360]

Mezrab @ Frascati / Storytelling @ Theater

Last night we finished our four day collaboration Other Stories with the Frascati theater. It was an experiment to see if audiences would appreciate more storytelling in theaters, how we can expand the notions of storytelling, and how the curated shows explore themes of (cultural/political) identity.

While we still have to digest a packed four days here’s three (Dutch language) reviews that appeared today in the theaterkrant.

Ogutu Muraya’s Fractured Memories (****)

Sahand Sahebdivani’s The Idea: Retold (****)

Jaha Koo’s Lolling and Rolling (***)

 

The good and evil of Storytelling

So, here’s a little artist migrant’s conundrum that I feel. I love that storytelling is a respected art in my country of origin, and I’m incredibly happy that it has a yearly festival devoted to it. The national culture and education organisation for children and youth (Kanoon) hosts it in Tehran and every year they send out an invite to international artists to join. My mentor Anne van Delft has been in the past and came back with great stories of meeting local tellers and listeners. Good right? Well, look at this year’s invite:

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This has got to be the most condescending invite I’ve seen for any art event in the world. For instance: The instruments applied should be appropriate to the audience and the story? What does that even mean? When is an instrument inappropriate to the story? Or the audience for that matter? The content and the performance of the story should not be modified after sending the videos and the text of the stories. Ah, there we go, we need full control over what you bring and how you bring it. We shouldn’t forget that Iran is still a dictatorship that needs full control over all aspects of life. Especially the cultural ones.

I don’t know why this fact, that I know so well, keeps stinging me every time I encounter it. Maybe because storytelling, even more than the other more known artforms, is so dear to my heart. Maybe because I want my colleagues to go, despite the obvious insults in the call for application. Because every single time a storyteller goes there’s a chance for connections and exchange of ideas that the childish rules of the application cannot limit.

And of course they are absolutely right, storytelling is a very dangerous profession. I enountered it myself again when two weeks ago I was asked to give a workshop in Utrecht. Of my ten high school students four were Muslim girls who had a hard time with most of the activities I gave them. They were not comfortable moving, they could hardly raise their voice, and when I asked them to tell me about simple events in their lives they could hardly bring up anything interesting that had happened to them. I’m ashamed to say I had more or less given up on them and coached two Dutch girls to tell their story in the presentation.

When I had a few minutes to kill between the workshop and their presentation I decided to tell them a story about how my parents had met. I told them of my mother at fifteen (their age) from a very conservative and religious background who despite the protests and strict rules of her own mother used her singing voice to seduce the bad neighbour boy (a drinking communist). After persevering for a year she managed to make him fall in love, overcame her parents who stalled the wedding for years and made that boy become my father.

Now normally I’m quite diplomatic when I tell that story, the one religious figure in this story (my grandmother), is obviously the antagonist. But I tell the girls how proud I am that my mother fights all that, and between all the stories of men chasing women I love this one story of a young girl chasing an older boy.

When it was time to do the presentations the two most conservatively dressed girls came up to me. One was (at 15!) wearing black flowing robes that only left a small part of her face uncovered. They begged and demanded for me to share this story with the other students. They wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when I explained that the point of the presentation was for the students to shine, not for the teachers to take the stage. In the end I told the story, all the while looking at the beaming faces of these girls. I think something clicked with them that day. Maybe it’s clear to them what it is, maybe it still has to develop, but this is the clearest example of why we do what we do.

Now, what would be an inappropriate instrument to tell this even better?

Sahand, Amsterdam

You sneaky little Jew! (and other insults)

You sneaky little Jew, I found myself shouting during a show. And again: You sneaky dirty lying little Jew. It’s probably the hardest lines I’ve ever said on stage. Not because I’m a big censor of words. I don’t think art shouldn’t hurt. Sometimes it’s needed to wake the audience, look at the same stories from a place of discomfort to create some change.

The guy I spit the lines out to is one of my best friends. He’s Israeli and, yes sometimes with glee, I compare him to an IDF soldier kicking in the door of a poor Palestinian. It’s usually after he tells me my solution to difficult situations is to shout Allahu Ackbar and blow myself up. We have fun with it and only rarely do we cross the subjective invisible borders that turn a provocative joke into a vulgar stab.

So, why is this remark so different? Maybe it’s because I remember walking down the street of Prague with my friend. Two struggling artists in a city that displays the history of its disappeared Jews for tourists to consume. In the shops we saw little figurines of happy Rabbis for sale. Between the ones playing instruments and clapping their hands we saw a few clasping a big bag of money. In another we saw the statue of the devil, a squat little man with a pot belly, a bald head and a big hook nose. If they hadn’t put the horns on his head he would have simply been the charicature of the greedy Jew of Nazi propaganda. Scratch that, I’m sure there’s more than a few images of the Jew with horns. That day ended with us having a kabab in an immigrant shop. When the owner asked us where we were from I answered with a cheerful Iran and Israel. The Iran he was happy to hear, but he made sure to tell me my Israeli friend has a million Euros tied to each finger of every hand. I tried to make a joke out of it, what we don’t have money for a proper meal when we perform but all this time you have been hoarding a secret treasure? My friend simply looked at me with a tired look in his eyes.

In that trip I could joke about the IDF and my friend could denounce Israeli policy or hit me back with the politics of my own native country, I could mock extremist Rabbis and my friend would point at the Ayatollahs, or simply distance himself from this or that cult. But if I would call him a sneak with his hidden money, manipulating the world, simply for being Jewish, that would be an accusation he could never run from. Because that’s what a sneaky Jew would do, right? Every one knows it. It’s in their blood. It’s a taint that will forever follow him.

I knew that if on stage I would call my friend a sneaky Jew an intelligent audience wouldn’t see it as an insult to him. They would find me the pathetic one. That’s what we wanted in our piece, in one moment I became a weak coward and very little of what I would say after that comment could be taken seriously.


The same night of my performance a comedy show was happening in the Mezrab. I always regret not being present at one of our nights. I like to see the success and the struggles of the artists, the mood and enjoyment of the crowd. I like to see what works and what can be improved. Especially when something big happens. And oh boy did something big happen this night. We where visited by a rowdy group of female visitors. The host in his frustration called them out a few times and finally said he’d like to put his dick in their mouth, just to shut them up. From there it escalated. The comedian after added similar choice words and what could have been a night of thought provoking humour ended in frustration on the side of the visitors, the staff and the performers.

Now, anyone who’s been on stage has said things they’ve regretted. You try to be edgy, but fall on your face from time to time, especially when you say something from a place of frustration. We check our inner compass and try to do better next time. The Mezrab audience is a pretty forgiving one, especially when the performers come with intelligent material. They give beginners a chance without giving them a hard time. But they also expect a performer not to shut up a black heckler by shouting in frustration that he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit if the niggers just went back to their coloured-only clubs and left us in peace, or a Jewish heckler by telling him you’d wished they’d gassed just a few more of them. Yes, the shifty boundaries of comedy are unclear, but subconsciously the performers of today know that would cross a line.

Not so when it comes to shutting up a woman apparently. I’ve heard more than a few comedians defend the remark. Because not defending it apparently means giving in to the ills of political corectness leaving us only with boring feel-good material. The guests who objected where told this is what you can expect from a comedy show, just grow a thick skin. Or stay home.

Well, no. If there’s anyone who needs to grow a thick skin it’s us performers. If the audience doesn’t like what you do they can stay home and leave you with an ever more homogenous echo chambers that adore your work. Or they can engage in discussion with you, which will hurt, but can lead to understanding and more intelligend material. If only because you understand how to communicate with audiences you don’t agree with, not just the ones you do.

The reason Dick-in-Mouth was objected to was not because it was simply too vulgar. It was because it reduced the audience member to the one thing they can’t run away from, the gender they were born with, and because of which they have likely experienced sexual intimidation or objectification. I’d like to put a dick in your mouth is at best reducing someone to a piece of meat and at worst a threat of rape. It’s also, and this is the cardinal sin for any artist, a lazy cliché. It’s not a joke made up on the spot to deal with a situation, it’s the brain finding the trope that’s been used almost as often as teenage boys telling women to “go make me a sandwich”. Just google the words, here’s what comes up:

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(many more at the bottom of this post)

If this spooky political correctnes many people fear creates boring art it will not be in the Mezrab. We’ve never been afraid to shock and try new things. We’ve had comedians talk about sucking off multiple dicks in a Turkish bath house. We’ve spent a whole night watching hardcore porn while Mama Mezrab served soup. We had an artist convince the audience he was an immigration officer and talk about the inventive ways he kills the dreams and ambitions of newcomers. We’ve invited a missionary on stage even though audience members where afraid of him and listened to him call us to the one true religion of the god most of us didn’t believe him. We objected to his story, not because of the content, but because he thought his story was more important than the other ones told that night.

Art in the Mezrab will also not be boring because we will not tell any artist to censor him or herself. No one will be excluded from the line up. But we will call performers out on material if it’s racist or sexist. We will engage in discussion about how the pieces are received and wether they hit the mark or not. Discussions on why if today we’re not ok with casual racism, why we give casual sexism a pass. We will flirt with the line of course, which means that we are absolutely ok with someone writing scathing poems about Turkey’s Erdogan, because he’s becoming a totalitarian ruler, while at the same time we find it intellectually lazy to call him a goat fucker. At the same time we’re not ok with calling Sylvana Simons a monkey and we see there’s a difference there.

Yes, it does take a thick skin sometimes to enjoy comedy in the Netherlands. As a result some people have simply stopped going to comedy shows. If you think that’s something to be proud of then consider the Mezrab audience: it’s grown tremendously in the past twelve years, and it’s the most diverse audience in age, gender, sexuality, religion and race of all the audiences in the Netherlands. Why would anyone not want them as an audience?

Maybe because there’s the fear that performing for such a diverse audience means you can’t cause offence. Wouldn’t that go against the words of our performing heroes such as Louis C.K. and Stephen Fry, who have beautiful quotes on the need to offend people?

stephen

louis

It’s in the spirit of the these performers that we want our performers to offend. With material that’s so intelligent and well crafted that the one who feels offended comes out looking like a fool. It’s comedy that attacks institutions, outdated social norms, our hypocricies. It punches up rather than down. It’s not material that makes you stop listening to the performer, like after the moment I made my stinking Jew remarks.

I very much doubt they’d tell a dick-in-mouth joke to shut a woman up. I also suspect they’d love to play a Mezrab audience.


More Dick-in-Mouth:

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And finally, some internet advice on what to do with a woman who doesn’t shut up:

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(post was slightly edited for clarity on 7-11-2016)

The Beyond…

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Two years ago, around the same time we where crowdfunding the move of the Mezrab, I was an avid reader of Andrew Sullivan’s blog the Daily Dish. The man was an incredibly prolific blogger. He wrote, with the help of a dedicated team, about American elections, health care, the struggles in Iran, religion, the American invasion of Iraq (which he first supported and later came to regret), anything you could care about really. His blog was innovative, and he had managed to collect over one million dollars from his supporters, in essence becoming one of the biggest innovative media projects, fully sponsored by the readers.

Until he stopped.

Simple as that. One day he announced writing his blog for thirteen years had taken its toll. He couldn’t be caught any longer in the cycle of never ending reading and writing. And even though he had a team, they decided not to continue the blog without him. The entire project stopped, and the money raised was returned to the readers.

Losing my favorite blog made me think of our storytelling scene. We’ve seen the rise and disappearance of great festivals. My own mentor Anne van Delft was the director of one in Amsterdam. After running it for ten years she handed over the keys to the enterprise to her team. The first year she was not involved the festival it fell apart. The Storytelling festival in Maastricht stopped when the director quit after fifteen years. Two weeks ago I played the 20th edition of the storytelling festival in Aachen, only to hear the director is quitting, and no one could tell me what that meant for its existence.

With very little exception all the story projects we know are the love children each of one dedicated fool who, despite the lack of appreciation and funding for the art form, gives his or her everything. A great type of person to start new ventures, but horrible in terms of sustainability. When do you trust other people to do what you created with your blood, sweat and tears?

So I decided to do the one thing I never thought I’d do. After 12 years of running the Mezrab storytelling nights, not remembering the last weekend I’ve had when I didn’t perform, have I decided to stop hosting my own night. It will be interesting to see the night from behind the bar, not butting in. Or possibly I’ll spend an evening with my family, see a show outside of the Mezrab, accept an invitation to a Shabbat dinner.

It means there’s someone who can take the night and make it his own. Michael Jäger is not only a loved storyteller on our stage, he’s started and has ran his own nights in different venues around the city. He was always the first go to person when I needed someone to replace me. Now I’ll be the guy who will replace him when he can’t run one of the nights. The night itself has been redubbed the Original Mezrab Storytelling Night. Original for both it being the night that started everything, but also the one that tries to be innovative.

It also means that I accept an idea runs beyond the effort and existence of one person. And don’t worry, it also means I can redirect focus on some of the other nights that need the dedication and creativity of a dedicated fool.

Come and enjoy the Original Storytelling nights with me, let’s see where this will take us.

The Storytelling Revolution

pinko bear

Last week I posted a simple message on my personal facebook:

“Twelve years ago we started a monthly storytelling night in a tiny teahouse. There wasn’t anything like it. The result is an actual storytelling revolution. Festivals, performances, classes.

So, who wants to join this revolution? Get involved in storytelling, spread its benefit? whether you’re a complete amateur, a professional, or simply someone who has an interest in the artform, send me a message! (or leave a note here)”

The result was overwhelming, 250 people liked it and left over 80 comments. Also my inbox was flooded with private messages. I had never expected such a huge response. Though I’ve started to write most people personally, here’s some general thoughts about my cri de coeur.

The revolution is already happening. We don’t want to start anything new, just make sure that the latest growth in storytelling (all the interest in amateur nights, storytellers being invited for non storytelling festivals, etc) is not a passing fade. Storytelling is still not seen as an “adult” art form next to theater, dance, or even Dutch cabaret and Stand-Up comedy. So let’s keep at changing it!

To sustain this growth it’s of course important that more and more people come to Storytelling events, wherever they are organized. We will try to create different formats and have them at the Mezrab. But if you have ideas to start a storytelling night, let us know how we can help you out! Yes, you read that right, if you and a group of people want to practice telling stories in your house or in a bar, let us know. We’ll give you advice and point you to people looking for a group.

– Apart from getting “new” people into storytelling, this artform will flourish a lot if performers of other disciplines find their voice in storytelling, or at least a way to incorporate storytelling in their art. We’re talking theater makers, dancers, slam poets, etc. Do you know anyone in this discipline? We’re offering a FREE course during our storytelling festival. Connect them to us. Send them to our site. Or take them to the talk we’re organising on the same day. (PS, the regular shows are pretty good too).

– We have been developing a huge amount of workshops (from three day ones to a MASSIVE 12 week daily full time course) we can keep sending it to people in our own network, but we’re looking for an intern to help us out to spread the message beyond. Do you know anyone who wants to intern for a few months? Send them our way!

– Apart from the “open” nights we’re starting to programme more artists that we want to give a solo show. We try to visit as many artists as we can. But if you know of any artists that we don’t know and you feel they deserve a spot, please let us know!