On June 4th, 1989 I graduated from high school and really had very little to show for it. A few hours earlier tanks had rolled down Chang’an avenue in Beijing, China and fired into Tian’anmen square, killing unarmed student protesters and shocking the world. This affected me greatly for a very mundane reason. I was scheduled to leave for Beijing on June 9th, and now it seemed I could not.

The whole high school situation was bittersweet. I was relieved to be finished, relieved I had not been expelled — uh someday I will explain, after I get permission from my very respectable parents whose other children were angels, more or less — but was being packed off to Beijing, where my father worked for UNICEF and therefore could keep an eye on me. The freedom I so craved was eluding me yet again. I had felt hemmed in at boarding school, too many rules; too many authoritarians dictating how I should live. And now I would be living at home at 18, with my mommy and daddy who were genuinely baffled at how a Bangali girl from a decent law abiding family could have turned out to be such a hellion.

When the dean of students sat me down in her office and asked me essentially the same question I replied,

“I want freedom.”

“You have that here, Sharbari.”

I remember looking around at the oak paneled office with the tall windows and the green wing back chairs arranged nicely around the fireplace and said, “Uh, I don’t think so.”

Everything about the room smacked of tradition, stifling, old, and stagnant. Though very elegant and well appointed now that I think about it.

“No,” I argued. “I have a curfew. I have to be indoors by ten o clock!” I nearly spat those last words out. To this day I have an abiding dislike of being told that I have to be home by a certain time, even if I have every intention of returning at a reasonable hour. “And I don’t understand why certain areas are off limits at certain times,” I added, suddenly filled with misguided bravado.

“Would you be referring to the boy’s dorms, Sharbari?”

I had the decency to blush, as that was precisely what I meant but was still dare I say it? Traditional enough to back peddle rapidly.

“No, I mean the gazebo behind the library.”

The dean looked at me, understanding everything. I still get embarrassed when I think about that conversation. Anyway, moving on. I failed pre-calculus because I never showed up to class and therefore could not get into college at once. I also had no desire to go to college as I was convinced that one did not need higher education to become a brilliant writer. So imagine my parents’ dismay. It was decided that I would enroll in Mandarin immersion classes and attempt to get into college after a year.

I loved Beijing as my father had been working there a while and would visit it every winter and sometimes in the summer, but the thought of being under the parental thumb really worried me. Filial piety — the Confucian tradition of honouring one’s elders even if your addled teenage brain believed they were stifling you — was not something I prescribed to.

I managed to convince my parents to let me at least stay in the dorms at the school I was enrolled in, Beijing Shirfan Da Shueor Beijing Normal University. So while I was bemoaning my fate in a spacious dorm room — a double given to me as a single — and access to the foreign student’s cafeteria and various other amenities, local students had died fighting for better living quarters and food service. And the freedom to study without restriction.

The school I had been enrolled in, some said, was the epicentre of the student protests in Tian’anmen Square. It was at Beijing Shirfan Da Shue, that Wierakaixi, Chai Ling and Wang Dan, the alleged leaders of the protest attended school.

The students said that reprehensible conditions were what led to the protests and strikes. In the room I had been given as a single, eight Chinese students would be packed in. In their cafeteria food left out and rotting in the heat, would be served to them. In our cafeteria food was made fresh daily and a variety of juices and fruits were available to us.

When I arrived in Beijing, a month after the student killings, a pall had settled over the vibrant city. People walked with their heads down and shoulders hunched. It was generally believed (according to the Xinhua news agency and state run media outlets) that the CIA was behind the student uprising and the makeshift “Statue of Liberty” that was put up as a symbol of their protest in the square.

Therefore, I, as well as the other American students, were under close scrutiny and it was difficult to make Chinese friends.

In the days leading up to the final terrible day, June 4th, Premier Li Peng, Deng Xiao Ping’s, the head of the Communist Party’s right hand man, did something unprecedented, he agreed to meet with the student leaders. I still see clearly the image of the young, bedraggled Weiracaixi (he had been on hunger strike) wagging a finger at the Premier and accusing him of not taking the needs of the students into account. The whole scene was shocking to me, ironically, because I knew how much the Chinese prescribed to the idea of filial piety. Li Peng’s face was impassive. A few days later thousands of students (according to various student organisations) were gunned down. The world called it the Tian’anmen massacre, the PRC called it the June 4th Incident. On June 5th, a lone man in a white shirt, carrying two shopping bags, calmly stood in front of a line of tanks rumbling down Chang’an avenue and created an image that will always be one of the definitive symbols of courage. Incidentally Chang’an means eternal peace and is actually where the majority of the killing took place.

I loved Beijing. It is where I grew up, literally, and started the process of understanding what it meant to actually fight for freedom. Until then I was just a spoiled kid who simply did not appreciate the opportunities I had been handed. Something my parents tried very hard to explain to me.

The Beijing I knew in my youth is no more. It is now a shiny, metallic place that has whole-heartedly embraced Western capitalism and is energetically attempting to find a balance between two incredibly disparate doctrines. The dreaded Americans, including our witless–sorry I meant, fearless, leader President Bush, have descended en masse on their beloved city for the Olympic games, in the wake of yet more violence in this case the appalling, insupportable treatment of Tibetan protesters–and discord. The Americans take their medal standings very seriously, as do the Chinese. The rivalry is deep. (Naturally I am talking mainly about basketball here).

And the rub is this: both countries have a very distinct notion about the meaning of freedom, the only difference being that one makes no bones about the fact their government will determine the degree of freedom the people will be allowed, and the other, well the other does the same thing and just pretends that her people are free. It appears that freedom continues to elude me.

What can I say? The most tame thing I can say is that it was a life altering experience! On the first day Beth Janson, the amazing director of the program stated in her address to us that the most valuable connections to be made were not just the industry ones but the people, the fellow journeymen and women who were in the room with me. The filmmakers, artists, writers and producers who had been accepted into this year’s program. I must say, I expected to meet wonderful people, say one or two. This exceeded my expectations in ways that I could not have imagined. I did not get a chance to get to know every single person in the program but I certainly got to know more than one or two. Try more than thirty! Here is a mere sampling. A documentarian from Spain named Gemma who is making a film about the first professional female matador in the country. Alka, my lovely wondrous Alka, who is making a film called The Conquerer about a little boy who must become a man before he is ready because he has to avenge the death of his parents. The setting is a breathtaking Himalyan valley. Kade and Nathan who wrote a film called Heavy Metal Indians about the bittersweet experiences of a 17 year old Native American boy. Aleem, my half Bangladeshi brother who knows exactly how to tell a story - in this case about a tentacled monster who takes an entire town hostage - and lest I forget, Gareth’s story, MudPuppy, about a special relationship between a man and his movements. In this lot there were time machines, Andalucian Lesbian Teen Vampires (the Producer of this Larisa Andrews and I bonded the very first day.) and the Creole Mafia. The last day I met Darius who is the director of the documentary Evolution of a Criminal and bonded with him at once, as well as his friends. The display of creativity, imagination, talent and tenacity was a sight to behold. I am sure every year Beth and Tamir pick at least a few geniuses, but these are my geniuses, my Tribeca Tribe and forgive me if I will always feel that they are just a bit more special. I felt like I came home, like I had been finally claimed. I am not saying that we will all be BFF’s or that we won’t get busy and lose touch. That will most assuredly happen every now and again and somebody is going to win some accolade (Hey Leigh, Moira, Alka, Pete, Kade, Terry, etc, can you say, “We’d like to thank the Academy?) and their gatekeepers may not let me get close enough to shake their hands. But this past week was magical. It restored my faith in what humans can accomplish and how powerfully seemingly disparate people can connect. Tamir Muhammed, a baby faced old soul, championed me from last year, along with Beth Janson, whose passion for TAA and for us was utterly moving.

I must add here, that ALL the industry reps I met with were amongst the nicest, warmest most genuine people I had ever encountered professionally. Even some of the big guns. Their collective intelligence and enthusiasm for Raisins Not Virgins was gratifying and soul filling. Okay, where was I, the biggest, most important by product of this experience was not just the industry contacts (I can totally pitch a movie now by the way!) or the amazing friends I made, but the fact that after years of not fully trusting my own instincts, and listening to an ex producer of mine who told me that I wasn’t good at pitching and feeding me lines about how the industry worked (Their justification for leaving me out of meetings, sending the script to Universal behind my back and then stating that the exec there thought the script was no good and not letting me talk to them) TAA restored me to myself. It brought me back to who I really am. And I learned what true professionalism is. Granted The Weinstein Company sent two lovely young men (younger than my son) to hear about a complex romantic comedy about jihad. Well they’re not younger than my kid, they were just very fresh faced but they ended up asking all the right questions so one should not judge a greenish book by its cover I learned. On the whole, however, I was amazed by the warmth and sincerity of everyone on the other side of the table. I also met a production co-head who was an alumnus from my high school Northfield Mt. Hermon and that was a blast and a half! I am now more convinced than ever that there is no such thing as a coincidence–there were so many such magical happenings. SO now whatever happens–not a single co may bite–but I am fully ready to get this film made in the best possible way and that is because of Beth Janson, Tamir Muhammed, the resilient, wonderful, adrenaline charged staff of TAA and the brilliant Tribe of Tribeca All Access 2008. This filmmaker’s heart is full. To those of you hesitating to apply or are discouraged take heart from what I have said. There is a whole world of good intentions out there in Filmland. These people have proven that ten times over.

I did it! I got in! I am so happy and I can’t believe it! I read the summaries of the other projects and they all sound like films I would pay to watch. So original and relevant and quirky. My project Raisins Not Virgins is also in contention for the Creative Promise Awards. I don’t have a rat’s chance in hell of winning - p.s. what does that phrase mean anyway? Does it mean a rat cannot survive in hell? I would think that hell, moist and, well, hot, and leaning towards those who who tend to steal, live in filthy conditions and feed off the innocent and vulnerable would be a rat’s idea of a Balinese spa. Anyway, maybe rats get a bad rap and it is the year of the rat…okay so Raisins is in contention for awards but the other projects have to be written brilliantly well to have been selected and I don’t know, I am not the kind of gal who wins awards. There is literally a certain type of person who wins things and accolades and others who labor away but don’t get recognized on that level. Look, it’s 2:41 am in Dhaka, Bangladesh where I am at this moment and I am jet-lagged, elated and suddenly nervous about getting into the All Access program. Today i saw way too many children on the street, begging, picking through garbage or clinging precariously to their mother’s emaciated hip while she peered into cars stopped in traffic and pointed to her mouth. And again it made me wonder at my fate. At the time the stars aligned when I was born–right after the Pakistani Army attacked the capitol city of Dhaka and murdered anyone who crossed their path - somewhere a decision was made for me to escape this kind of a life. In Bangladesh there is no aristocracy, just a bunch of people who made a ton of money exploiting the poor and still do. They live rarified lives behind walls topped with broken glass and barbed wire to keep the pungent masses out. My father left and got an international education and was also instrumental in changing my fate. I do not come from a rich family. If the war and my father had not determined the course of my life…well let’s just say I can’t help but feel that there is not much separating me from that woman begging at my car window today. And now Tribeca and an opportunity to get my work out there. My goodness my cup runneth over! It also proves what I have said all along to those of you aspiring filmmakers out there, if I can do it, anyone can!

So, a mere one day after I post a blog about the hypocrisy of the US’ stance on Chinese human rights abuses, China murders 80 people protesting for Tibet. Fires right into a crowd without so much as a by your leave. Just like 1989 and the Tian’anmen Square incident. China does not care how they are perceived by the international community, though they tried to polish up the image for this summer’s games.  The chairman of the Olympic Committee opposes a boycott over Tibet.  This is a very sticky situation.  The Dalai Lama has stated that “a cultural genocide” is taking place in Tibet and I do not think that is an exaggeration.  What is so threatening to the PRC about Tibet?  Is it simply because of religion or that these are people who won’t follow the Communist line and be controlled?  I guess it must be scary to a Superpower to have one group of people who are not afraid of it.  Their innate sense of individual freedom might spread to others and China is so vast, it may impossible to contain.

So there is this major outcry about the numerous human rights abuses China is guilty of and people are calling for an Olympics boycott.  Steven Spielberg resigned (to much applause) from the Olympic planning committee.  Andy Roddick, champion tennis player will not be going to China, etc, etc.  This is all understandable.  China is very guilty for deplorable human rights standards and abuses and should be censured.  But the irony and hypocrisy is that the US is just as guilty of human rights abuse.  Has everyone forgotten the photographs of prisoners at Abu Ghraib?  Or the detainees languishing–in between torture and interrogations–at Guantonomo Bay without legal representations.  Was it not Rumsfeld who described the rules of the Geneva Convention as “quaint”.  QUAINT???!!!!!!  The US government knows a little something about genocide, slavery, and apartheid, having fully engaged in all of them for hundreds of years.  America was built on the backs of Indians and slaves.  It is what it is, an empire, because of the suffering of others.  And people take China to task???  Rendition anyone???  WHo invented that practice?  Not the Chinese.

China is guilty but so is the US.  By the way, has the US signed the international human rights bill  put forth by the UN???  Last I heard, we were one of the few superpowers who has refused lest we be left open for scrutiny and investigation.  Sometimes the hypocrisy is so thick that I find myself choking on it.

I knew it was only a matter of time before Obama’s opponents started going at him with both barrels blazing. They are only going to let a black man get so far. Ferrero’s remarks about his anointed affirmative action status are so ludicrous and very disappointing from a fellow Democrat, not to mention a possible harbinger of the Dems inability to make a cohesive and right decision. I am very, very worried that they will give Clinton the nomination EVEN if Obama has more delegates. I really think they will. I think something is afoot…that is my dire prediction because folks, if Clinton gets the nomination we are looking at another ten years in Iraq, Iran being bombed, and the country in perpetual orange high alert. President Mcain will see to it. We will have another war mongering Republican in the White House if the Dems give her the nomination, for sure. Why can’t they see that????? You know why? They are too busy hiring 4,000 dollar hookers!

So today I had my finalist interview for the Tribeca Film Festival All Access program. It is a wonderful program that is held during the annual film festival for aspiring minority and underrepresented filmmakers. I submitted my screenplay Raisins Not Virgins for consideration. This is my second time. Obviously the first time I did not make it. At that time, I had insisted that I needed to be the one to direct it (having had no feature film directing experience). They loved the script but I think ultimately decided that I was not a viable investment. Last year I was devastated. This year I made a short film called Aimee Undercover about a beautiful Muslim convert who is struggling with her decision and her alcoholic mother. Not exactly feel good I know, but there is a funny moment where an ardent admirer is outraged by the fact that the hot Aimee is covering herself up. She is also a lifeguard, you see and well endowed. Anyway, making this little film was a challenge and a half and taught me so, so so much. Everyone I worked with was so wonderful and I feel more confident now, however, I need to be pragmatic and let Raisins Not Virgins be helmed by someone else. I have a brilliant producer now and finally feel like yes, this is going to happen! Okay i digress…where was I? Oh yes! So I recommend that any of you reading this and are filmmakers and screenwriters who are underrepped apply to Tribeca All Access and let the chips fall where they may. Everyone there is very supportive and nice and straight forward and seem committed to telling real stories. Please keep fingers and toes crossed for me and hope that I can be granted an opportunity to pitch my script at the film festival this year.

I wrote a short story titled A Boy Chooses to Go to the Moon that was published in a now defunct journal called SALT. It is based on a true family story that was handed down by my mother to me. I feel it is timely because right now the three front running candidates for the Democratic and Republican Presidential nominations are all trying to out do one another about their stance on the space race. McCain appears to be the most maverick, wanting to go to Mars. I say maverick, what I meant was imperialistic, heh, heh. Remember the other imperialistic maverick who wanted to own the galaxy? I believe his first name was Darth? Though my kid insists he was misunderstood. Anyway, the story is posted here. I hope you like it.

Welcome to my new site! I will be posting my thoughts, rants, and happenings regularly. Eventually (sooner than later) there will be links to sites that I find interesting. I will also have up my latest filmic (not sure if that is a word but sure do like it) attempt, Aimee Undercover and various writings, fiction and non. I want and welcome your comments and hope that you find this site edifying and entertaining.

Thank you!

Sharbari