Category: Lifting Voices

REVIEW: A Prison, a Prisoner, and a Prison Guard : An Exploration of Carcerality in the Middle East and North Africa

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Featured Image: Marc Nelson (left) is an Illinois-based artist whose work documents the war crimes, and human rights violations occurring in Syria, Yemen, Myanmar, and the United States, and is featured in the exhibition. He is pictured with his friend and martyr of revolution Mazen Al-Hamada, whose verbal and visual testimony are also featured. Mazen was forcibly disappeared and later murdered in the “slaughterhouse” prison of Saydnaya in Damascus, only days before the toppling of the Assad regime.

CW: Depictions of Torture (Illustrated) and Discussions of Carceral Violence, Torture, and Death

The notion of human nature implies certain universalities amongst all people, suggesting an intangible connection between everyone who has ever lived, everyone alive now, and everyone who has yet to live. The tangible products of creative expression that we call art could be described as the physical manifestations of human nature. Thus, an artist’s humanity and identity become immortalized by their act of creation.

But what about those who cannot create art freely? Whose voices are silenced by carceral institutions designed to dehumanize and disenfranchise? Human nature does not simply vanish, and neither do those who are incarcerated.

A Prison, a Prisoner, and a Prison Guard: An Exploration of Carcerality in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) is only the second exhibition I have encountered dedicated solely to incarcerated and prison-impacted artists and communities, a troubling reality I believe reflects the overwhelmingly negative Western and global attitudes towards incarcerated people.

Curators Susan Aboeid and Sumaya Tabbah of The Hafathah Collective, with organizational collaboration from U-M Students Organize for Syria (SOS), in partnership with U-M Library, and with support from the U-M Arts Initiative, have created one of the most poignant traveling exhibitions I have ever had the privilege of viewing. The geographic coverage of the MENA region is extensive, with prison art from Algeria, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Palestine, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen, effectively revealing the devastatingly similar carceral realities of these countries. The exhibition, however, resists exceptionalism by asserting that prisons in the MENA region are not bad because the area is bad, but because the prisons and those who run them are detestable. Untitled by Unknown, Undated, Yemen is a visual testimony smuggled out of prison by an unknown artist, depicting methods of systematic mass torture implemented in UAE-run prisons in Yemen. This piece grapples with the exhibition’s tension of understanding prison art as testimony versus aesthetic, the former allowing the works to transcend carceral geographies and speak to the visitors, who in turn, speak to each other. Thus, the gallery becomes a space for those who have survived these prisons but can’t go back, a chance to reconcile their experiences and emotions.Another work, Broken Oaths by Razaan Killawi, 2021, Syria, depicts former Syrian president Bashar al-Assad atop excerpts from his inaugural address, “…a speech laced with assurances of unity, reform, and national pride — words that starkly contrast the realities of oppression, fear, and violence experienced by Syrians” reads the object label. Much like Assad weaponized language to legitimize injustice and oppression, the prison experience is carefully designed to legitimize the disintegration of communities under the false notion of “protection”. What is truly protected within these prisons is the truth — the truth about the unbearable reality so many people experience, which they can only later describe as “being suspended between life and death”.

Whether we are separated by oceans and borders, language and culture, walls and bars, or armed guards and authoritarian regimes, we remain forever connected to our family and friends on the inside. This heart-wrenching exhibition, which will remain open until March 30th at the Hatcher Library at U-M, reminds those of us on the outside that those inside are still with us. I implore everyone who is able to take the opportunity to be with these artists through their immortal testimony, and hear their voices which will not be silenced.

REVIEW: Sasha Velour in the Big Reveal Live Show

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The historic stage of the Michigan Theater sits sparse, except for a comfortable cyan lounge chair, a cozy floor lamp, a vintage two-knob TV, and a dainty desk with Sasha Velour’s The Big Reveal: An Illustrated Manifesto of Drag neatly atop it.

On screen behind them, a prerecorded Sasha Velour dangles a disco ball from an elegant, silver finger. As Jennifer Lopez’s Waiting for Tonight begins to play, Sasha caresses the disco ball with her other hand, and as a spotlight appears on the cyan lounge chair, the audience waits with bated breath.

In an instant, the chair blanket is yanked back to reveal…

Sasha Velour…inside the chair…and I was gagged by possibly one of the best live reveals I’ve ever seen.

Her ruby lips gleamed unobstructed through a face-sized hole, as she began to lip sync sections of Kylie Minogue’s futuristic In My Arms, Dionne Warwick’s forever cherished A House is Not a Home, and Brandy’s *perfect* rendition of In My Own Little Corner.

As the chorus of Britney Spears’ Stronger begins, Sasha sheds the chair from which she came, only to become…

Sasha Velour…the chair, again…I was gagged again.

She struts in a brocade gown of the same cyan fabric, cream tassels on her shoulders and hips, and chair arms accentuating her tightly-corseted waist…a hybridized perfection of camp, glamour, and humor on full display to close act one.

As the energy in the room quells, Sasha reflects on her grandmother Dina, who came to America from China as a Jewish immigrant during World War II and, “would always encourage me [Velour] to channel my inner diva.” Showing videos of herself as a child, Sasha cherishes these moments aloud on stage, gushing about how Dina’s love and enthusiasm shaped her as a child, and now as a performer.

In one of a series of hilarious video skits, Velour switches between various personas, who comment on drag’s significance across communities: a medium of history, of fun, of revolution. Velour asserts that drag can be anything, for anyone, and this fundamental freedom affords drag infinite power.

But what happens when this freedom is at stake? Unafraid of asking the difficult questions, Velour challenges the audience to both revel in the privilege of being able to attend her show and share in her sense of growing urgency towards collectively understanding what these next few years will bring, not just for the queer community, but for everyone the Trump administration seeks to erase.

Drag is not dangerous for children, and helps to embolden those who need creative outlets of expression… “I have always been Sasha Velour…drag has a spiritual mission to give each other the biggest gift in life — to be seen and documented as we really are…to write our own stories”. The Big Reveal is everything a drag performance should be: It acknowledges what drag has been, what it is now, and everything it can be, while somehow completely exceeding the expectations of any audience member or Sasha Velour fan in the audience.

Even if you didn’t have a chance to see Sasha Velour, supporting your local drag scene helps to contribute to the parts of her show that still sit within me as I write this — drag is more than just a performance, it is the establishment of ones’ identity in relation to themselves and their community. It is a way of surviving, thriving, and ultimately, existing in the world in a profoundly beautiful way. A way of life that has always existed, and will continue to thrive in spite of those who seek to refute it.

REVIEW: Culture Night- A Journey Through Tradition

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I didn’t know what to expect when I decided to attend Culture Night at Kochoff Hall. Sure, I’d read about the performances—a mix of traditions from around the world—but I was curious about how it would all come together. As someone from a different cultural background, I was eager to see how the evening would speak to me.

Photo credit: IGSA

The first act, a South Asian classical dance, immediately set a high bar. The dancer’s precise movements were mesmerizing, but what really struck me was her storytelling. Without speaking a word, she pulled the audience into a narrative that felt deeply emotional. I found myself leaning forward, completely absorbed in the graceful yet powerful choreography. It was the kind of performance that made me forget where I was for a moment.

Then came the African drumming ensemble, and the energy shifted completely. The beats were loud and unapologetically bold, reverberating through the hall. I couldn’t help but tap my foot and clap along. It wasn’t just music; it was a heartbeat that seemed to connect everyone in the room. I caught myself smiling at strangers during this performance, feeling an unspoken sense of unity.

The third act—a modern spin on European folk music—was surprising in the best way. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about blending traditional violin with electronic beats, but it was a perfect harmony of old and new. It made me think about how cultures adapt and evolve while staying true to their roots. That realization felt personal, like it was challenging me to think about my own heritage in a new light.

Photo Credits: IGSA

The evening’s final performance, a Polynesian dance, was my favorite. The dancer moved with a grace that felt effortless, their body swaying like waves. I could almost hear the ocean and feel the island breeze through their storytelling. The vibrant costumes and the way they seemed to embody the spirit of their culture left me in awe. It was peaceful yet powerful—a perfect way to close the night.

But Culture Night wasn’t just about the performances. The energy in the room made it special. People from all walks of life were there, clapping, cheering, and sharing in the experience. The decorations and the warmth of the audience added to the magic, making the hall feel like a celebration of not just cultures, but community.

When I left Kochoff Hall, I felt different. I’d come expecting a show, but what I got was a deeper sense of connection—to the performers, to the audience, and to the idea that art transcends borders. Culture Night wasn’t just entertaining; it was a reminder that no matter where we come from, we can find common ground in celebrating the beauty of our differences.

REVIEW: As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow – The Play

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On December 6th, at 5 PM, the Ford Collaboratory in the Mardigian Library became a portal to war-torn Syria through the powerful stage adaptation of Zoulfa Katouh’s As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow. The story, which follows Salama Kassab’s heartbreaking journey through the Syrian civil war, was beautifully translated into a theatrical experience

The play centered on Salama (played by Leila Haddad in a standout performance), a former pharmacy student turned volunteer medic. Leila captureed Salama’s internal struggle with raw, unflinching authenticity. Her portrayal of guilt, hope, and despair—especially in moments of silence—felt like a masterclass in restraint. Haddad’s ability to convey emotion, especially in the quieter, more introspective moments, was mesmerizing.

Image Courtesy: Leila Ghaznavi

However, where the play truly shone was in its staging. Director Amira Shafiq, President of the Theater club, created an intimate, immersive experience that makes the audience feel as though they’re walking alongside Salama in the ruins of Homs. The use of minimalist sets striked a balance between realism and surrealism. The lighting design deserved special mention, with its stark contrasts between the warm glow of past memories and the cold, unforgiving present.

One of the play’s most intriguing choices was the personification of Khawf, Salama’s manifestation of fear. Actor Omar Darwish gave Khawf a chilling yet oddly sympathetic presence. His interactions with Salama—at times antagonistic, at times comforting—perfectly captured the inner turmoil of living through unimaginable horrors. These scenes, while impactful, occasionally slowed the pacing slightly, but they were essential in depicting her mental and emotional state.

The dialogue, much of it drawn directly from the book, was both poetic and raw, though some lines feel better suited to the page than the stage. While some of Salama’s reflections felt a bit expository when spoken aloud, they still carried the emotional weight of her journey.

“Perhaps this could have been remedied with more physical storytelling or additional silences to let the weight of the words sink in,” added Alexis Mohammed, a student at the University of Michigan Dearborn.

The supporting cast also delivered heartfelt performances. Yasmin Agha brought warmth and strength to the role of Layla, Salama’s pregnant best friend, though her limited stage time left her arc feeling somewhat underexplored. Karim Al-Rashed, as Salama’s brother Sami, offered moments of levity and hope, with his final scene leaving the audience in stunned silence.

One of the play’s most powerful moments was the climactic hospital scene. The chaos of wounded civilians flooding in, enhanced by overlapping shouts, frantic movement, and a pulsing soundscape, left both Salama and the audience breathless. It was a visceral reminder of the relentless toll of war.

That said, the play did struggle to capture some of the novel’s nuance, especially in depicting Salama’s quieter moments of healing and growth. The ending, while emotionally charged, felt slightly rushed, leaving the audience including myself, yearning for a deeper exploration of Salama’s transformation.

As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow is a story that demands to be told, and this stage adaptation did justice to its poignant message. With stellar performances, innovative staging, and a deeply personal tone, the December 6th performance was more than a play—it was a call to bear witness, to empathize, and to remember.

REVIEW: The 5th Annual Pass The Mic

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On October 23 2024, “Pass the Mic” invited everyone into a space full of real emotions, honesty, and a bit of magic. Hosted by the Hopwood Program, this yearly event brought students from all over the University of Michigan to share their writing—poems, stories, and essays.

Throughout the night, we heard all kinds of stories, each one reflecting the writer’s unique life and feelings. There were poems about deep loss, struggles with mental health, and even the simple sweetness of peaches and plums. Listening felt like getting a glimpse into each person’s world, as they opened up and shared real pieces of their lives.

From the Dearborn campus, Vincent Intrieri shared a powerful story about his own life experiences. From open-heart surgery, his time in the Navy, and moments in a hospital room with his girlfriend and nephew, he crafted his life into lines that made up his living. His words felt raw and genuine. “Living felt worth it again and I eventually found my voice,” he said. For him, that was his way to heal and reclaim his story. We were right there with him, almost reliving it.

Then, a poet from the Flint campus shared a love story in a different kind of way. Peaches and Plums, it was called. Each stage of the relationship was tied to the stages of eating a peach or a plum—like the sweetness of a peach when you first bite into it to the tartness of a plum halfway—capturing the ups and downs of love. The poem ended on a bittersweet note, capturing love’s simple but complicated beauty. While the author explained they did end up staying friends, a love story is a love story, even if it’s between friends. It was like “unraveling a love story through the sweetness and messiness of fruit.”

Finally, from Ann Arbor, another author shared a piece about loss and nature. Their words felt like a quiet tribute, with landscapes that mirrored their sadness. “I rest my head on the hook of your neck mother.” You could feel the weight of the words the more they spoke. The poem felt dreamy and light, as if they were letting nature carry their grief. Losing someone is a natural process, and the poem was a gentle reminder that it would all be okay. Trees grow back!

By the end of the night, I felt like I’d been part of something special. “Pass the Mic” was more than just an event; it was a space for people to share their stories and connect. Each voice mattered, and each story—no matter how different—was heard. It was a night to remember.

REVIEW: Stop Kiss

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Rude Mechanicals completes their 2023-24 season with the 1999 play by Diana Son, Stop Kiss. Seeing this play was a new experience for me, and quite a beautiful one.

Set from Stop Kiss in the Arthur Miller Theater.

The play follows two young women, Callie (Emilia Vizachero) and Sara (Victoria Vourkoutiotis), who meet in New York City and begin to have feelings for one another. One evening, they share a kiss in the West Village, and it results in a terrible hate crime leaving Sara with a life-altering injury. The play follows a non-linear storyline, jumping from Sara and Callie’s first interaction to weeks after the attack.

 

I am not cultured on much queer theater, so I haven’t been exposed to many pieces where characters are actively discovering their sexual identity during the show—rather many pieces I’ve encountered have characters come in with their sexuality seemingly decided. I enjoyed this piece’s honest and sincere exploration of queerness.

I was immediately struck by Audrey Tieman’s beautiful onstage set when I walked into the Arthur Miller. It brought me directly into the moment of the show with an ornate pink apartment—the 1990s, young, and within a metropolitan city. The major part of the set was far upstage, juxtaposing the thrust space. This left the apartment scenes feeling more presentational than personal, counteracting the intimacy of a thrust. All of the scenes outside the apartment were on the thrust, such as the detective’s office or moments when characters were strolling through the streets of New York City. An interesting choice, that sometimes led me out of the detail of the world that was created in the embellished apartment set.

Emilia Vizachero and Adam Rogers delivered individually exquisite performances. Rogers is effortlessly charming as Callie’s undefined partner, George, and Vizachero brilliantly leads us through a journey of Callie’s many complex emotions over two timelines—one I would be happy to experience again. Vourkoutiotis also played a sweet and gentle Sara, with wholesome chemistry alongside a witty Vizachero.

 

Emilia Vizachero as Callie.

Direction (by Reese Leif) was cohesive and thorough. Scenes and dramatic moments felt naturally paced, at times skimming on hyper-realism, making the play’s brutal contrast of content duly apparent to the audience.

 

The illuminating kiss that closes the play leaves a fully realized portrait of Callie and Sara’s relationship. This perfectly placed scene becomes charged over the duration of the play due to the revelations about what lies behind and ahead of these beloved characters. It was an unforgettable (and titular) moment of the piece, yet left my heart aching for the two women.

 

 

Leo Kupferberg (a fabulous and frequent SMTD Dramaturg) made a beautiful point in his dramaturgy note about the “in-between” of the piece, which I left the theater pondering. This show revels in the lack of certainty, unwavering bravery, and messiness many women navigate through. Stop Kiss can feel limited to its darkness and crucial messaging of the tumultuous experiences of many LGBTQ+ relationships, but Leif brings out the beauty in such darkness, reminding us that love always prevails.

 

 

 

 

 

April 20th, 8pm. Arthur Miller Theater. Images thanks to @umrudes on Instagram.