It was to attend Voices for Bethlehem--the Palestine Solidarity Campaign's annual Christmas concert. It was at Bloomsbury Central Baptist, near Denmark Street, and it was cool.
I was a little concerned as to whether I'd find the place okay, as I'd never been there before and it was late and crowded. I shouldn't have worried, as the row of shouting protesters were very helpful to that end.
Their abuses included such grown-up phrases as "You're just like Hitler," "Shame on you, Baptist church," "This is a Nazi act," "You want to kill us all," and "Israel is for God's chosen people." Several protesters approached me for some mild proselytizing, but a quick "I'm here as an arts student" rendered me worthless to their cause, so I was eventually left at peace.
The reason we came to this event was because Caryl Churchill was going to be there, and had agreed via e-mail to meet with us at intermission to have a quick chat about our project. We'd brought our notebooks and cameras, and were ready to take notes from the moment we sat down. But it was a Christmas concert event, and as I'm a bit of a do-gooder I opted to sing along with the crowd, even though it made me feel like a phony.
The first speaker was a professor at Bethlehem University who made a slideshow plea for financial assistance to keep the school going and keep allowing students from Gaza to get in the doors. She wasn't the best persuader, and used "happy Palestinians!" "Sad Palestinians" imagery and pithy phrases like "They're even keeping some Christians out--the town were Jesus was born and they're keeping out Christians!" to evoke some outrage from the crowd. It wasn't hugely effective--indeed, it was a bit simplistic. But no matter.
The choir was good and the speakers and readers were brilliant. A Christmas story about boots read by David Calder held my rapt attention--what a voice! Then a few more group sings--who knew that the tune for "Away in a Manger" was so different over here? and it was intermission.
Caryl was pleased to meet us and quickly gave us a run-down of her show, Seven Jewish Children, that had caused all the hubbub (and the protest outside)--she'd been getting more and more personally invested in Palestine over the years as she made friends from the area. After attacks in Gaza this January she finally broke and decided to make a statement about it. She wrote a play in under a week. It was 8 minutes long and formless--only a collection of lines that could be read by anyone--and she decided it would be free, any donations would be given to Medical Aid for Palestinians. She submitted it to the Royal Court the following Monday. They approved it by that Friday, began casting the next week, began rehearsals shortly thereafter, and started a run of the show on February 6. Overnight she was labeled an Anti-Semite by a significant number of publications and the Royal Court was protested and boycotted in response by pro-Israeli organizations. (the Royal Court loved the publicity, but did have to issue a statement declaring it a criticism of the Israeli government, not her people or religion.) She mentioned that other theatre-makers had been putting it on around the world--one street-show in Tel Aviv was actually directed from under house arrest via Skype--and she was excited to see the different stagings it had taken on. A show was run very quickly on the street in Israel (it was, predictably, banned in that country) and student groups were taking up the cause in several countries. We chatted for another few minutes, thanked her warmly, and returned to our seats red-faced and giggling with excitement.
Caryl went on to read an essay entitled "Life Here is Worth Nothing" by a Palestinian, and later, "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost, probably just to liven the mood a bit. More song, then a thank-you to Caryl and the other speakers ("without you some people might not have been able to find the place!") and then free mince pie (my first--not bad) and chocolate cake for the walk to the train. The protesters had cleared out, barring one nutter with a sandwich board indicating that the existence of the nation of Israel was a sign of the end of days. I got lost only once on the way to Charing Cross Station and made decent time home from there. It was, all told, a grand way to spend a Tuesday.
You freaking met Caryl Churchill? I am jealous.
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