Tilli Franks20 February 2017
There is a village in Poland with a blue steepled church. It has a cobbled square surrounded by pastel buildings, with wrought iron lamp posts. There is a small café patronised solely by old men with greying moustaches and suspicious demeanours, and the busiest place is the Lidl just outside of the town centre. In the dead of winter, late January, it’s about zero degrees celsius on average. It’s so quiet it can’t be described as sleepy; more like comatose. They call it Oświęcim, but the Germans called it Auschwitz.
by Tilli Franks
When I was younger, and a good church-attending lass, a phrase I heard a lot was “remove the beam from your own eye, and then you will see clearly enough to remove the speck from your brother’s eye”. At the time, I thought it literally referred to my pupil, and poked myself way too many times in the eye trying to scoop it out (common sense did not come naturally to me). Now, of course, I realise it’s a metaphor for hypocrisy and self-awareness.
Right from the second I take my seat in the audience, I’m struck foremost by the stage upon which Mirror’s Edge will be performed.
Some of the best works of art make you uncomfortable.
‘History is written by the winners,’ wrote George Orwell. I would rephrase, rather, that history is written by the privileged – those who have the power to decide the ‘truth’. Often, both the ‘winners’ and the ‘losers’ are replaced by carefully cultivated narratives steeped in political agendas and the struggles they fought for are lost in the muddy waters of elitism.
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