Goodbye my comrade, teacher, my pishimoni

We have now said our goodbyes Comrade.

Our fists raised, pointing to the skies, we say our goodbyes, our heads held high, so immensely proud of the journey you have traversed. In gratitude that we traversed some of this journey together, that you taught me the first lessons of performance work.

Lessons you taught us will stay forever, deep in our hearts.

Lessons of justice. Lessons of change. Lessons of the transformative power of culture work.

In the working class struggles, in the feminist struggles of women within the Left, in the street theaters and revolutionary plays, in the echos of the songs of change, you will forever stay.

That revolutionary song that we so often performed with "the waves will rise, the prisons will break" will forever seed the hopes of a revolutionary future.

That you were my pishimoni, my aunt, my teacher, the anchor to my journey in performance work, will stay with the journey ahead. 

Your teaching, "the difficulty does not matter, justice must always be pursued" will invite future generations of performers to imagine new possibilities.

I was lucky to be shaped by an aunt who was forever a committed party worker, the soul of the cultural landscape of our moffussil town, the advocate for those that struggled at the margins.

Your commitment to the poor, to their voices, and to finding the spaces for articulating justice will stay as a lifelong lesson for performance workers. 

For many that struggled at the margins, you remained a comrade, placing your body alongside these struggles.

That performance is a weapon for seeking justice will be a lesson that will continue to proliferate in its presence in the protest songs, street plays, and revolutionary theater. That power must be disrupted through the work of the aesthetic will be the soul of performance work.

Here's to many revolutionary futures.