We spent summers where my maternal roots are, the lower Nicola Valley in B.C. There I learned I already knew people who had first hand experience with having a child plucked from the universe. This place I regarded as idyllic and friendliest toward children - a cluster of Indian Reserves in the interior - was the crime scape for that greatest of horrors. I felt the world shift beneath my feet, and an obsession planted.
ES, I signed my name to that letter. I hesitated at first. It can be so thankless on the business side of the biz, I didn’t want to burst anyone’s bubble. I’m also not certain awards matter that much. Besides, I’m no longer entrenched in the business. Sure, I’ve won Jessies, lost some, and been ignored plenty of times as well. I’ve felt all the ups and downs of that ego train. In the end, I liked the letter and the point it was making. The punches were graceful like Mohammad Ali.
What is the point of doing these quickly thrown together works? What actual good is placing our political questions onto a stage? What is the actual point when there are people who directly and actively work to address injustice? Maybe Wrecking Ball is not for anyone else but our community. Maybe it is simply our time, our space to say fuck you.