Save this article to read it later.
Find this story in your accountsSaved for Latersection.
Hijabs and keffiyehs dot the crowd.
The bold gambit of this evening is to put these two humanitarian crises in conversation.
Its indicative of a fearless emergent consciousness powered by young activists and artists both on the ground and online.
One would expect such an event to be tinged with sadness and anger.
Its important that none of us become hopeless … We are connected to every war.
We are connected to every person that dies.
And we are connected to every genocide.
Each artist performs for roughly ten minutes, and the minimalist sets are powerful and largely percussionless.
This mouth crowded with teeth?
This house wearing another house like a coat?
This white sheet, this white flag, a shroud instead of the sun?
Im tired of the numbers.
Like a bruise, they wont stop growing.
What do you say to children for whom the Red Sea does not part?
I ask Sana if she feels the countrys ongoing state of emergency has been overshadowed in the United States.
Many of us are Muslim and are so accustomed to negative representation in the media.
Its refreshing to see us cast in a positive light, even if its as victims, she says.
People you love and respect.
This shit comes up every few years, and it throws everything else into question.
But this time … in my life …
He looks around, glassy-eyed.
Youssef closes the show echoing the jacket and the sentiments of the young, unapologetic Arabic crowd Abdul represents.
In his brief, powerful set here, he encapsulates the evenings spirit of embrace.
I wish people could see the beauty in this room.
And I think were all in this spotlight now.
Im done apologizing … Im tired of them dehumanizing us.
And yeah, Im done.
Im done doing it.
