power to the peacemakers

Took a busline pilgrimage (by way of Venice and Fairfax) to see musician Michael Franti’s first film, I KNOW I’M NOT ALONE. The human-sized, home-movie focuses on our global family dysfunction – or more directly – a chance to see how our brothers and sisters in Baghdad and beyond are dealing daily with this stupid, selfish brutal war bred in Washington.

Topical Heat
A brave and amazing thing to do for a conspicuous 6’ 5” American with dreadlocks – walk down sniper alley in Iraq armed with nothing but an acoustic guitar and a question or two. This is no naïve hippie minstrel here; this is a man on a mission and vis-à-vis, we all take the trip with him …get to see the other side of a television war, the other side of “terrorists” and Muslims. Get to see ourselves reflected back at us. Get to see in a passing flash of the camera the truth caught in a gap-toothed smile, a tear. The fear of an eye. Watching these faces of civilians and soldiers, absolutely light up to the simplest of music in a war-torn world or cracking under the chaos of blackouts and bombs.

After the film, Michael took the stage for a thought-full Q + A, the art of listening on full display as every time we asked a question, he took a full and conscious pause before answering. Not a reflexive, defensive utterance to be heard – maybe the White House press secretary should take note. Or take up a guitar.

Speaking of which, Michael eventually segued from the film festival Q + A format into an hour-long acoustic celebration of the moment at hand, sharing old songs and new anthems and hearing us echo some simple, heartfelt, choruses back.

The new songs, perhaps from the about-to-be-released YELL FIRE, were pure Franti: born of simplicity, heart-sprung and giving us all a Here Hear Ear Now Wow goodie.

Or giving us (as he likes to ask/shout, arms open wide, smile mega-watted on maximum) a chance to answer “How you feelin’?!”

Babylon By Bus
Despite the invites from friends we ran into at the screening, we wanted to let the night sink in in private, so it was onto public transportation where the irony increased. After a pony-tailed Filipino American helped us find our bus stop (note to MTA: How the hell do you expect us to see out of these blacked-in, scratched-up windows?), we got off the 217 together and he recognized an old acquaintance of his, a wound-up ex-actress with old plastic surgery and barettes in her pushing 50, dyed-blonde hair. Somehow they get into a loooong War & Peace debate, triggered by his offhand declaration that the war in Iraq was wrong. I, a not so innocent bystander, admit I enjoyed watching her throw up her ludicrous defenses, her “I-on-the-other-hand-have-an-open-mind” posturing quickly killing all of his good intentions to have an honest dialogue. Single-handedly she stalled all negotiations of civility between them and the film came back to me again. Here were another bunch of strangers, on different trips but the same eventual ride and all of us just waiting….waiting…waiting for connections

Mucho thanks to KCRW and Laemmle for creating the opportunity to experience the magic of the film and the music. May habibi become our national anthem!

Shalom.