Speak Truth to Power: Voices From Beyond the Dark

Alison Louder, actor and activist, invites you to a special night of human rights theatre.

Dear friends,

The ongoing struggle for global equality is too often forgotten in our comfortable Montreal. Please come support art made in the name of positive change! "Speak Truth To Power: Voices From Beyond the Dark" exposes the true stories of fifty prominent activists, spokespersons and defenders of human rights from around the globe.
While these impassioned individuals bravely recount the details of their involvement in the worldwide struggle for justice and truth, they are relentlessly confronted by The Man, an omnipresent figure of fear, apathy and political corruption, who threatens to destroy their spirits. At times saddening, at times funny, Speak Truth To Power is a triumphant look at what amazing things can be accomplished with enough courage, stubbornness, and hope.

Based on the book "Speak Truth to Power: Human rights defenders who are changing our world" by Kerry Kennedy, and adapted for the stage by award-winning playwright Ariel Dorfman, the play seamlessly weaves original script with actual quotes from the book into a tapestry of voices.

Featuring:
Daniel Esteban, Nina Marie Fillis, Jessica B. Hill, Heather Huff, Patricia Manessy, Ian McRoberts, Emily Quaile, Saro Saroyan, Jordan Van Dyck and Heidi Waters

Directed by Bruce Lambie, assisted by Alison Louder
Choreography by Allison Elizabeth Burns
Stage Managed by Andrew Leeke
Presented by Scotch and Cookies Theatre

August 26, 27, 28 & 29 - 8PM
@ St George's Anglican Church - 1101 Stanley
(corner de la Gauchetiere, metro Peel/Bonaventure)

15$ - General admission
12$ - Students, seniors, QDF & PWM members
10$ - groups of 10+

Reservations & info: 514-756-8951 or speaktruth09@gmail.com
ALL PRE-SOLD TICKETS 12$!!! CALL TO RESERVE TODAY!!!

www.speaktruth.org

Report from Honduras: Searching for truth

Helmut Peter Enns, a Canadian on an accompaniment trip to Honduras, reports on the situation there.

Thursday, August 13 2009, 8pm

CNN is broadcasting a very distorted report on Wednesday's March. They say first some protesters pushed the vice-president, threw water at him and kicked him. Then the military felt obligated to respond with tear gas. End of story.

We were there. We saw what happened, not in five minutes but over five hours. But how did this all start? This morning, members of an International Human Rights Delegation arrived at the University in time for the march to the Congress. It was an orderly, peaceful, group. The atmosphere seemed positive. We followed young lovers, arms around each other. Grandma chanting with her granddaughter. A father with his little rascal, so proud that his baby was with him to witness this historic event. Music blared from two large speakers, dwarfing the white VW bug carrying them. Garifuna drummers, vendors, flags, banners, and marshals, lots of marshals maintaining order.

When we were a few blocks from the congress, the army appeared. From nowhere, row upon row of plexi-glass shields, metal batons and guns descended on us. The crowd spread down the side streets, but the army was now behind and beside us. The largest crowd was now in a plaza, in front of a church. The forces stopped about 100 yards from us. Did the rock throwing or the tear gas come first? Volley after volley of tear gas landed in the crowd. But this was nothing new to them. Many bombs were thrown back towards the police. Others were doused with water. Luckily I had an extra bottle of water. Then the army advanced, and the crowd retreated. Rocks started flying back at the crowd, as well as tear gas. We got a phone call ordering back us to return to the COFADEH office, about 10 blocks away. We headed back, and down the streets we faced rows of military in formation, shields up, expressionless.

Reports came in of 20 or so young men being savagely beaten at the Congress. A group of six of our group accompanied Honduran human rights workers to attempt to gain access to these men. Feelings obviously ran very high here, the supposed seat of democracy, which now looked more like an army fortress. That is when a congressman was kicked by protesters. We did not witness the vice-president being roughed up, but we did see young men dragged behind police lines, and another row of partly clad men being lead out a side exit.

CNN may give you a video clip, but discovering the truth takes more than a few seconds.

CNN also didn't mention that the military used illegal metal clubs, that three members of the press had their cameras smashed, that 6 people have still not been accounted for, and who knows what other human rights infractions were committed.

Report from Honduras: Fighting for justice

Helmut Peter Enns, a Canadian on an accompaniment trip to Honduras, reports on the situation there.

Wednesday, August 12 2009, 5:48pm

The sun is no longer on the hills across the valley, on the far side of Tegucigalpa. The city looks quiet.

Here, at the gates of the Cobra Special Operations Base we wait. This place is the Cuartel General de Las Cabañas, an infamous torture center from the 70’s and 80’s. It leaves the feeling that the military is stuck 25 years back in history; that they believe that they can continue to act with the same kind of impunity that they enjoyed back when. Others were allegedly taken to another death squad outpost in the Colonia 21 de Octubre. Human rights activists, a congressman, and distraught friends and family of the 26 people taken here from the march. A lady in a black business dress and high heels rushed here straight from work when she got the news that her 65 year old father was being detained. He made the mistake of coming to the aid of a man being beaten. Another man’s 50 year old sister, an engineer, is inside. One of those rounded up is a 67 year old man.

I have an image in my head of a pack of wolves preying on the old, the weak, the stragglers, whoever is easiest or most convenient to round up, intimidate, beat, confine. I’m told that this round-up is in retaliation for the damages done yesterday. The bus burned, a fast-food restaurant torched, and window broken in chain restaurants like Burger King. Someone, anyone had to be punished.

But how did this all start? This morning, Shawn, Miguel, Pablo and I arrived at the University in time for the march to the Congress. It was an orderly, peaceful, group. The atmosphere seemed positive. We followed young lovers, arms around each other. Grandma chanting with her granddaughter. A father with his little rascal, so proud that his baby was with him to witness this historic event. Music blared from two large speakers, dwarfing the white VW bug carrying them. Garifuna drummers, vendors, flags, banners, and marshals, lots of marshals maintaining order.

When we were a few blocks from the congress, the army appeared. From now where, row upon row of plexi-glass shields, metal batons and guns descended on us. The crowd spread down the side streets, but the army was now behind and beside us. The largest crowd was now in a plaza, in front of a church. The forces stopped about 100 yards from us. Did the rock throwing or the tear gas come first? Volley after volley of tear gas landed in the crowd. But this was nothing new to these protesters. Many bombs were thrown back towards the police. Others were doused with water. Luckily I had an extra bottle of water. Stay upwind. Breathe through a wet bandana, even if it’s not the Che one. Then the army advanced, and the crowd retreated. Rocks started flying back at the crowd, as well as tear gas. Ironically, right behind the army came the vendors, selling Eskimo pies. Shawn got a phone call ordering us back to the COFADEH office, about 10 blocks away. We headed back, taking one detour to get a picture of them back in formation, shields up, expressionless.

At the COFADEH office, reports were flooding in of arrests, beatings, murders. About 6 of our group accompanied the local official human rights workers to the Congress, where we heard about 20 young people had been beaten, and were being held. Military columns blocked all access, but Mary from COFADEH got us past one line, only to find there was another line ahead. There was no getting any further. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of bodies on the tile floor, totally surrounded by police and soldiers. Eventually a line of minimally clad young men were led out an exit far from us.
From there we enquired about wounded at a nearby hospital. We were not given any information, and no one was allowed in. This may have been a good thing. Sometimes the wrong people want access to the wounded, and this is not a good thing.

That almost completes the day, since I started at the end. It’s now 11:00. I started writing in my journal, using the hood a car as my desk, and finished back at the hotel, during the debriefing session, which was mainly in Spanish.

I was there as an observer. I don’t know anyone beaten or imprisoned. My children are safe. Soon I‘ll fly back to Canada. Where I fight for democracy with a coffee in my hand, seated in a comfortable chair in front of the computer. Here justice, democracy, and a better life for your children takes on a whole new meaning. Could I pay that price?

More images from the Honduran coup

Report from Honduras: Marching for dignity

Helmut Peter Enns, a Canadian on an accompaniment trip to Honduras, reports on the situation there.

Tuesday, August 11 2009, 6:45pm

This morning our entire group joined one of the marches approaching Tegucigalpa from the North. This was the smallest group, and therefore the fears were that it would be targeted by the police and army. We joined the walk at 9:15, finding about 500-800 men and women resolutely heading for the capital. Many had been walking for a week. A blind man, his hand on his young daughter's shoulder had done the whole trek. A teacher, who showed Normas the bruises where the police had beaten her. A mother of four, and candidate as vice-president (not for one of the two main parties) in the hoped for election. Tom asked her if she was afraid of being attacked. She said her fear was not for herself, but for her children, one home from University in Cuba and carrying a flag in the accompanying picture. We stayed with the group for 3 and a half hours, getting well into the city, past the obvious point of police intervention. After an hour of rest, we rejoined the group, where they seemed to have come to a stop, facing a solid line of police in full riot gear.

What we only learned later after we had left the march was that the other groups of marchers started arriving around 10:00 a.m. Therefore the series of speeches by union leaders, by President Zeleya’s wife and daughter, and others was over by the time we arrived with our small, more vulnerable group. We had been in the right place, accompanying those in danger. Being present at rallies is not our main purpose in being in Honduras.

For an hour or two, the crowd waited patiently, and then turned around. Despite warnings and protests from the marshals of this walk, the frustrated younger members took to rock throwing, shattering many of the windows in a Pizza Hut and a Burger King. The crowd dispersed, and the police slowly moved forward. We felt our role as observers was over. And perhaps our role as protectors, as we were eyes and ears of the U.S. and other countries, was over so we hailed taxis and headed back to the hotel. On the way, Tom, Sidney and Patty, heard that possibly someone in the march had been shot from a bus, and subsequently protesters burned the bus, so they headed for the union hall where much of the protest is organized.

Watching the news on TV back in the hotel room, it's obvious that there were other acts of vandalism, frustration, or provoked retaliation. Shots of the burning bus and of a torched fast food joint are featured regularly.

So what was today about? First of all as a foreigner, a Canadian, it was a day of experiencing what true commitment look like. Once again it showed the unfaltering determination of the people to return Honduras to a state of democracy. It demonstrated a people fed up with having their country run by 10 or 12 wealthy families, a people deciding it was time they had a say in running the country. There was no doubt that we were witnessing a passion for justice. Justice for every man, woman and child of Honduras. A passion for dignity, not just for those with most of the money, but for those risking their jobs and lives by being part of this movement, those with no jobs, but willing to join this walk, having faith there would be food, water, and perhaps a floor to sleep on as they journeyed to the capital. A passion for a better future for their children, Honduras' greatest asset. A passion for a life where peace, respect, and equality are no longer only dreams.