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The Moth
The Moth Radio Hour: Pole Vaulting, Comedy, and the Congo
00:55:32
A mother struggles with her son’s choice to have a religious wedding, a high schooler with a funny name becomes a pole vaulter, a social scientist commutes to war torn countries for work, and a comedian confronts a heckler.
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- [00:00]
Sponsor Voice
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- [02:09]
Brought to you by Stamps.com wouldn't it be great if the post Office was open 24? 7? You could get your mailing and shipping done on your schedule. Now you can with stamps.com with stamps.com print postage whenever you need it right from your computer and printer. Right now listeners of the Moth podcast get a no risk trial plus $110 bonus offer that includes up to $55 free postage. Go to stamps.com, click on the microphone and type in Moth. The Moth is supported by scribd. Listeners of the Moth know the value of always having a great story at hand. SCRIBD is the subscription book service that gives you access to the largest library of ebooks and audiobook there. It's like Netflix for books. They have more than a million titles, including some from Moth storytellers like Jonathan Ames, Molly Ringwald, Dan Savage and more. Go to scribd.com moth to get started with 30 days free. That's 30 days of unlimited reading and listening. That's s c r I-B-D.com moth.
- [03:14]
Dan Kennedy
Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Dan Kennedy. Have a little bit of a cold. Just got back from Telluride, Colorado, where we were doing a show in the Mountain Film Festival. While Colorado may have legal marijuana, it is almost impossible for a person to find just some plain old ice cream after 9pm in that town. So I spent the night walking around trying to find a connection, trying to find the hookup who could get me some of the sweet, sweet ice cream that's usually pretty easily attainable at that hour in most towns. But in the process, I got a cold. This week on the Moth Podcast, we have a new episode of the Moth Radio Hour. Four stories, this time from a mother, a father, a high school pole vaulter, and a comedian who has finally had it with a heckler. For all that, we're going to turn things over to the Moth's producing director, Sarah Austin Janess.
- [04:21]
Sponsor Voice
From prx. This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin Janess from the Moth, and if you're new to this show, welcome. At the Moth, we produce events where all kinds of people tell true personal stories for audiences all over the world. And we share a few of them here each week with you. We have four stories for you in this hour. A father worries about the dangers of commuting to the Congo. A misfit becomes a pole vaulter. And comedian Hari Kondambolu tells us about the first time he confronted a heckler. First up is Annie Corzin. Annie told the story at a Moth night in Berkeley, California. Here she is live at the Moth.
- [05:06]
Annie Corzin
So when my son Jonathan was little, he asked why he didn't have any brothers or sisters. And I said, we didn't need any more kids because we got the one we wanted.
- [05:19]
Audience Member
Aw.
- [05:20]
Annie Corzin
And it was true. Every time Johno left for school, for camp, for college, I felt this heartbreaking sense of loss. Because your main instinct as a mother is to hold your child as close to you as possible. The problem is that your main job as a mother is to prepare your kids to separate. It's the cruel catch 22 of parenthood. Now, we brought Jonathan up as a secular Jew after the Holocaust. My parents had turned away from the old beliefs. My immigrant mother used to say, if there is a God, I don't like him. On Yom Kippur. While the rest of our Bronx neighborhood was all dressed up and going to temple, my mother and I would sneak downtown to see a Broadway musical. Because, and I say this with Jewish pride, Yom Kippur is the easiest day of the year to get theater tickets. So we were outsiders, okay? No Passover Seders, no Purim parties, no Hanukkah Menorah, no nothing. And I brought my son up the same way. But when he turned 13, we thought he should have some kind of coming of age party. So we sent him for some lessons in Jewish culture. And we invited a bunch of friends over for lunch. And Jonathan read a paper called Jewish Values in the Modern World. And then I had this great idea. I got each guest to give Jonathan a list of their 10 favorite books and their 10 favorite movies so that he could grow up with his own personal liberal arts guide. And you have to understand, this is the way we do things in my crowd. When we get together for a party, we get creative. We do funny skits and original songs and, you know, satirical speeches. So this alternative bar mitzvah was just another offbeat party. And everybody loved it. Everybody except Jonathan. He hated it, and he accused us of being hippy, dippy cheapos. Why didn't I have a real bar mitzvah with a big party in a fancy restaurant? I would have gotten a lot of checks instead of those stupid lists. And I explained that we don't necessarily do everything that other people do. We make our own choices. Okay? So Jonathan grew into manhood, and we did become good friends. We have a lot in common. We both like comedy and ethnic food and Texas Hold'em. And we talk about books and movies, many from those stupid bar mitzvah lists. So I've got a good thing going here, and I don't want to mess it up. So when it comes to his personal life, I try to keep my opinions to myself, which I can assure you is a real challenge. Like, he announces that he's going to go and work in London for a year, and I pretend that this is good news. Oh, sweetheart, that sounds wonderful. And what I'm really thinking is he's going to be looking the wrong way in traffic, get hit by a bus. He's going to get chronic bronchitis from that miserable climate and he's going to learn to think of toast as a meal. The only good thing about working in England is that the Brits know jack about Jewish culture. So whenever Jono feels like coming to LA for a visit, he just makes up a holiday. Guys, I'm going to be out next week. I have to be with my parents for the first five nights of Kishka. Oh, yes, of course, Jonathan. Please accept our very best wishes for a wonderful Kishka. Now, when Jonathan comes home, he announces that he and his New York girlfriend Elisa have gotten engaged. And once again, I have to pretend that this is good news. Oh, sweetheart, how wonderful. This is a big fat lie. I gotta tell you something. The fact is, I would be perfectly happy if my son stayed single forever. That way I would remain the leading lady in his life. I wouldn't have to share him on holidays and I wouldn't have to watch him making goo goo eyes at some trollop. But there is this nasty rumor going around that I might die one day and I don't want my child to be alone. So, okay, I'm fine with this stupid marriage. Until the following week when Jonathan calls and tells us the wedding plans. It is going to be a huge traditional black tie affair in New York when he moves back from London. And here we go again. Oh, sweetheart, that sounds wonderful. Oy. I take a Valium and get on the phone with the yenta brigade. Are they out of their minds? It's too big, it's too formal and it's too Jewish. I mean, for starters, what is this black tie nonsense? We are not the kind of people who hang out in tuxes and evening gowns. And why is there such a huge guest list? People are not going to fly to Manhattan from all over the world for a glass of champagne and some chopped liver. And then one of my girlfriends says to me, now, Annie, try and remember, this is not your wedding. And this is absolutely true. My wedding was a totally different story. No engagement ring, no bridal shower, no gift registry. My husband Benny comes from Denmark. We met on a blind date in February and we got married in April so he could get his green card. A lot of my friends were worried and they said to me that it was insane saying to marry a total stranger. Well, that was 49 years ago and there are still days when I believe my friends were right. Anyway, for our teeny tiny wedding, Benny and I managed to find a laid back rabbi, Rabbi Lenny, who agreed not to mention God during the ceremony because as I told you, I'm not a believer. Religion has too much blood on its hands. For me, being Jewish means simply honoring the time honored practices of eating out, bargain shopping and climate control. It's too hot. It's too cold. Where's that draft coming from? So the worst element for me in Jonathan's insane wedding plans is all this traditional Jewy stuff that his fiance grew up. A rabbi chanting prayers, a Hebrew marriage contract and 100 baby blue yarmulkes purchased from underthe. Meanwhile, things start to get frantic and expensive. I have to buy a gown. We have to fly to New York. Benny's huge Danish Jewish gentile family is flying in from Copenhagen. We're going to have to take them for dinner. I figure we'll do Chinese as an introduction to Jewish American culture. And then things go from frantic to insane. Now I want you to hear this carefully. Benny's brother is coming in with his two ex wives and they are all staying in the same room with one king size bed. And now you know why the Danes are the happiest people in the world. I went to a wardrobe sale at a TV studio. I found a beaded gown that still had a $1,200 price tag on it. I got it for 20 bucks and saved the price tag in case I want to resell it on ebay. Benny dug up his old tux from 1967, which still fit perfectly as long as he didn't try to button it. Much to my amazement, people actually did fly in from all over the world. Plus, I have to admit, everyone looked so beautiful in their fabulous evening clothes. And then this really strange and surprising thing happened. Rational, cynical me got a little shiver when Benny's very assimilated family put on yarmulkes for the first time in their lives. The ceremony began with four young men carrying the hoop of the wedding canopy down to the front of the room. This canopy was very simply draped with Elisa's late father's prayer shawl. And again I got this little shiver. Then the music changed and Elisa the bride entered. She was wearing her great grandmother's lace wedding veil. And when my son looked at her, I felt that same heartbreaking feeling of loss that I used to feel when he went off to school, to camp, to college. Only this time he wasn't coming back. He was marrying her and divorcing me. I had taught him to make his own choices and he was choosing her traditions over mine. He was separating. And I guess that's the way it's supposed to be. Then just like in Fiddler, Jonathan broke the glass, everybody yelled mazel tov. And we all danced back up the aisle. And we kept dancing and singing and laughing and drinking and eating the whole night long. And all the things I worried about, the formal attire, the huge crowd, the Jewish stuff, turned out to be all the things I loved most about the wedding. I am so glad that I did a mother's job and kept my big mouth shut. Thank you.
- [17:08]
Sponsor Voice
That was Annie Corzin. Annie is a woman after my own heart. She's a bargain shopper and she's written a book called Bargain Living the Good Life on the Cheap. I talked with Annie after she told this story. Annie, what was crafting this story like for you?
- [17:28]
Annie Corzin
Well, actually, the story originally was developed for a theater group that I'm a member of, Jewish Women's Theatre of Los Angeles. And we were doing a show with a theme of oh, Mother. And so that's where we started. But then when I brought it to you, you had a different take on a lot of it. So we actually reshaped the story for the moths.
- [17:48]
Sponsor Voice
And then wasn't there a point, Annie, when you said you hated me?
- [17:53]
Annie Corzin
Yes, Sarah, I hated you because as a writer, you know, I consider myself a humorist. I like getting laughs. And I thought you kept taking out my laughs. And so, yes, I kept telling, oh, this horrible woman is the wall. She's taking out everything funny.
- [18:13]
Sponsor Voice
And then I said, well, Annie, the story is seeming very performance y. It just seems very big and we have to talk about that. And what happened, you kept saying, you.
- [18:28]
Annie Corzin
Know, it shouldn't sound acted and it shouldn't sound written. And I said, well, but the thing is, I'm an actor and a writer. So what you're really saying is I'm going to have to pretend to be a real person. And that's what we decided on. That's what we did. We just, we made believe I was a human.
- [18:47]
Sponsor Voice
And thank you for that. Thank you for going there, Annie. To see a photo of Annie Corzin and her family, go to themoth.org while you're there, you can find extras related to any of the stories you hear on the Moth Radio Hour. Coming up next, a high school pole vaulting team with three members, their names, Jack Daniels, Jimmy Dean and Matthew Dix.
- [19:30]
Sarah Austin Janess
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by prx.
- [19:39]
Sponsor Voice
The Moth is supported by Northwestern University School of Professional Studies. If you're looking for ways to become even smarter, more interesting and worldly, consider Studying the humanities. Feed your brain by exploring the human condition and perspectives that shed light on today's challenges. You'll also learn to better analyze, question and communicate ideas. There's a way to get all this and keep your day job. Check out the range of evening degree and certificate programs offered at Northwestern. Go to sps Northwestern. Edu Humanities. For more, this is the Moth Radio hour from prx. I'm Sarah Austin. Janess. Our stories in this hour take place in New York, Edinburgh, the Congo. And our next story, a pole vault pit. Matthew Dix told this story at an open mic Moth story slam with the theme Ego. The early part of this story is about the difficulties of growing up with his last name, if that would bother you. Tune in again in a few minutes. Here's Matthew Dix live at the mall.
- [20:44]
Matthew Dix
All right, so it's the spring of 1986, and Coach Cronin has decided we need two more pole vaulters for our high school track team. We have Jimmy Dean. He's our 1 pole vaulter, and Jimmy is a senior, and he's a stoner, but he's the best pole vaulter in all of Massachusetts in 1986. He can vault 17ft and win every meet. But some meets are called relays, and in those meets, you need to have three competitors. And all of those competitors in the pole vault need to score opening height or nothing counts. Opening height is 7ft, 6 inches. And so at every one of those meets, throughout Jimmy's entire career, we've never scored any points. So Coach Cronin decides he's going to fix it. He's going to find two new pole vaulters. And so he takes all the mediocre sprinters and all the mediocre long jumpers, and I qualify both times. And he brings us all down to the pole vault pit to have us pole vault. Now, pole vaulting is an interesting sport. It requires strength and speed and precision. But mostly, you just have to be crazy. You take a pole about 12ft long. You hold one end of it at the end of a Runway. You run as fast as you possibly can for 18 steps. During the last three steps, you raise the pole over your head. You jam the other end of the pole into a metal box set into the ground. You throw your feet directly into the air. You throw your head directly to the ground. You pull back on the pole, and theoretically, it throws you over the bar. I did not vault that first day. I went left, wrenched my knee, and literally ended up in a gully. But the pole was still in my hand, I had not let it go. And therefore I became a pole vaulter. Two of us didn't let it go. And so that day, the pole vaulting team, probably the best name pole vaulting team ever, of Jimmy Dean, Jack Daniels and Matthew Dix was born. And so, fast forward to the first relay. I've been practicing for about six weeks with Jack, and I'm occasionally reaching opening height. And I know all the pressure's on me. Jack is a year older than me, and I want to be good. Because the real secret to team sports is you want to beat your opponent. But what you really want is your teammates to like you. And the only way you can get them to like you is to either perform at a very high level or to perform higher than the mediocre people on your team. I cannot perform at a high level. So my goal is to beat Jack and hope that he is mediocre. And I don't like Jack to begin with. He's better looking than me, he's faster than me, and his name is Jack Daniels, and my name is Matthew Dix. And people look at me and go, oh, D, I X. And I go, no, it's like more than one penis. And I like to complain about my name, but my father, hand to God, is named Leslie, and he goes by Less Dicks. And I have two. I have two Uncle Harolds, and they both go by Harry Dicks. So I don't complain about my name very often. However, in pole vaulting is a lot of waiting. You wait to vault, and so they need to let you know because there's donors like Jimmy who aren't paying attention. And so the way they let you know is they, the official will announce, smith up, Jones on deck, Peterson in the hole. And so for me, I would hear, dicks up, Dick's on deck, Dick's in the hole. Breaks your concentration when you're getting ready to halt. So I had a lot going against me that day. So Dicks was up. He was at the end of the Runway. And by some miracle of miracles, I made opening height on my first vault. And at that moment, I realized I was going to be Mr. Dependable. I was going to be better than Jack no matter what. And when Jack missed his first vault, I can't tell you how good I felt. And then Jack missed his second vault. And for a moment, I thought the sun had come out and shined upon me. And then I realized that if Jack makes his third vault, he becomes Mr. Clark. And Mr. Clutch is damn well better than Mr. Dependable. This son of a bitch. I believed at that moment had set it up so that all the drama and all the attention would be on him. And on his third and final attempt, he would achieve opening height, stealing my win, not allowing me to be better than mediocre. And so Jack ran down that Runway, and I begged, I pleaded with all my mental energy. I just hoped that Jack would lose. I didn't hope that the pole would break because then he would have an excuse. I wanted a bad plant. I wanted something bad to happen. And it did. On his way up, Jack's foot kicked the bar and he failed. And I was happy. And then something terrible happened. My team won the meet, and they won by, like 50 points. And Jack missing the pole, missing the bar, it didn't matter anymore. Nobody cared because we beat the team by 50 points. What I wanted was for us to lose by one point. I wanted to step onto that bus being the guy who cleared opening height and everyone staring at Jack and knowing that I was better than Jack. But because we had crushed the team so badly, nobody paid any attention to me. And so I learned three very important lessons that day. Number one, although the world does revolve around me, not everyone notices. I'm sort of trapped. Like, I'm like the sun in this pre Copernican world where everyone refuses to acknowledge that it revolves around me. And I'm just going to have to accept that. Number two, I learned that while I've got all my little mind games going, trying to become better than mediocre, everybody else has a mind game, too. And some of them actually have noble mind games. Like, I want to win, and I want our team to do well, and I want to support our teammates. And while they're doing all that crap, nobody pays attention to the rest of the mind games. So while you're thinking that the world is revolving around you, it really is only revolving around me, and everybody else isn't paying attention. And the third and really the most important lesson is you don't get attention in life by being the best of the rest. You really need to be the best of the best. And that day, and for many, many subsequent days, I was not. Thank you.
- [27:22]
Sponsor Voice
That was Matthew Dix. This story marked his first time at one of our story slam open mic competitions in New York, where we partner with public radio station wnyc. And he won. He told us he was absolutely terrified, but once he took the stage, he said, all of my fear disappeared. And as of this recording, he's told over 40 stories at our open mic nights and he's won 15 of them. Next up, a story from Richard Matthew, a social scientist who commutes to the Congo and other war torn areas. Richard was introduced to us by the World Science Festival and that's where his story was recorded. Here's Richard live at the mall.
- [28:16]
Richard Matthew
I was in a hotel in Goma, which is in the Congo, with a couple of Swiss friends of mine, people who have spent a lot of time working in that area. We're sitting, having coffee and all of a sudden the door bursts open and six people come into the room and they're wearing bandanas over their face and they're carrying weapons. And they come up to us and they say, what are you doing in our country? Why are you here? We don't want you here. Now. Goma's a pretty tough place. It's full of rebels and uprooted people and soldiers and humanitarian workers and so on. And there's a lot of anger and frustration in that city. And things can spiral out of control very quickly. And so I was trying to figure out who these guys were and what they were doing. The thought came to me, if this goes badly, if things don't work out and I don't get home, this is going to crush my family. I have three young children. I say they're not ready to have their father die thousands of miles away in another country. I'm a social scientist and I work on environment and war zones. I look at whether things like drought can lead to conflict. I look at things like how diamonds get embroiled in conflict. I look at what happens to the environment during a war and how when a country's coming out of war, we can help it gain the capacity to manage its resources so it can deal with new stresses like climate change. And I work in the field, so I spend a lot of my time in war torn countries in South Asia and Africa. I usually work with conservation organizations or I work with UN agencies. I've worked on a lot of UN missions in sub Saharan African countries over the years. So when the opportunity came up for me to join the team that was going to do some work in the Congo, I was really excited about that. I thought this is a really interesting place to be able to go and see and observe. And I felt, I knew it was risky. There was a war going on and I knew it was a risky place. But I experienced a lot of risks in my life. The normal ones that you meet in war zones, tropical diseases, sort of crazy Unregulated traffic, very, very young soldiers waving their weapons around, those sorts of things. I felt I was pretty prepared for that. But I had never in my life experienced a group of people angry at me, so angry at me. And these people became more and more agitated. Their voices got louder and louder. And when you have a group of people angry at you, it's a very unnerving experience. Luckily, in that case, some of our Congolese friends came in. They explained what was happening, things calmed down, we were able to finish our work, and a few days later, I was back on a plane heading home. But as I was going home, I was thinking to myself, these guys raised some interesting questions and some familiar questions, important questions. How much do I really know about their country and what am I doing there? And can I really be sure that I'm doing things that are important and valuable, that I'm not really just meddling and making things worse? How can I be sure about that? But they'd also triggered a different sort of question, one that I'd never thought of before, and that was, am I taking on risks that might impose huge costs on my family, and am I doing it irresponsibly? I'm so attracted by the sort of work I was doing. Was I putting my own family in a position that was simply not responsible? So I was thinking of this. I get home, I sort of recount a little bit about my experiences in the Congo, and I tend not to talk a lot about these things. But a few days later, I'm putting my son to bed. He was five at the time. He looks at me and he says, dad, he says, when you're in one of your trips, when you're really far away, dad, could you ever die? And that really took me by surprise. I had never imagined that he was having this sort of thought. I'd always thought I kept these two worlds really nicely separated, you know, so that what went on in one wasn't affecting the other one. I thought I was sort of a master at that, at keeping things balanced and separated. And there had been a little turbulence in my work world, but I was completely unprepared for a little turbulence at home. I'm a social scientist. So very quickly I shared a few statistics that put risk into perspective for him and showed that actually it wasn't as bad as he might think. Now he looked at me and he sort of reframed the question. He said, dad, sometimes when I go to bed, I have this dream. I have this dream that you go to Africa and something horrible happens and you never come home. He says, dad, I don't want that to happen. Now, when I heard that, my first instinct was to say to him, you're right. I'm not even sure what I'm doing is that valuable. So of course I'm going to stay with you. But the fact is, I already had tickets for my next trip, and it was back to the same region. So I knew I wasn't going to be able to reassure him right then and there. Anyways, a few weeks later, I'm back on a plane. I'm heading back to the Great Lakes region of Africa, and I'm still thinking this through in my mind. Is it really worth it? Am I being irresponsible this time? I'm part of a UN mission, and my role in that mission was to assess the circumstances in refugee camps. So I went from one refugee camp to the next. I remember going to one camp, and I was going to interview a young woman. So I go into her. She's in this very, very small dwelling. I go inside. It's very hot. It's very tight. She's sitting on the floor in a blanket. She has three children sort of crowded beside her. And the place is completely empty. There's a couple of milk jugs lined up against one wall. Handmade milk jugs. Otherwise, it's empty. And the woman shares her story with me. She said, a few years ago, she and her husband, they were farmers, learned that the rebels were approaching their village. So her husband said to her, it's time. You've got to take the children and cross the border, get to a camp. And that's a very difficult situation. If you stay too long, it can be horrifying. But if you leave too early, you can lose everything unnecessarily. So he said, you go. He said, I'm going to stay here and find out what happens, and in a little while, I'll come after you. He said, I'll find you. I'll find, get you. We'll be back together. We'll start anew if we have to. So she went. She took her kids. She crossed the border. She got into a transit camp. She got shuttled to a permanent camp. And the years passed. And she said to me, someday I know my husband is going to show up here and he's going to come and he's going to say to me, it's safe to go home now. And she said, we're going to have cattle again. We're going to be farming again. My Kids are going to drink milk from these jugs again. She said, I know that's going to happen. So anyways, I thanked her for the interview, and I left. And I was being escorted around the camp by a young refugee woman who was on the administrative council for the camp. As we were leaving, she said to me. She said to me, that woman's husband has remarried and resettled in another country. She doesn't know, but he's never going to come back. And she said, it's not that unusual. Things happen in Warmen don't always come back. Sometimes they make promises, but things happen. And she said, that woman's going to be alone forever. Nobody's ever going to remarry her. When I heard that, that sort of settled it for me. I knew I would come back. People who are uprooted by war and disaster, who have lost everything, those are the people whose needs are the most real and the most acute. And they're the people who need other people to rally around and help them. I have a friend, James Rubinski, and he calls humanitarian work an imperfect offering. And I don't know anybody in the world who's done more humanitarian work than he has. And he means there's never enough. Never enough resources to help. And sometimes you do the wrong thing, and sometimes you don't understand things fully, but you still have to do something. Now, I'm not a relief worker, but I know that I have a role to play that I can try to bridge places that have lots of resources to places that have very real and acute needs, and that's something I can do. And I decided then that I had to continue doing it. So a few weeks later, I left Rwanda, and I'm flying back home. And I felt sort of comfortable that I decided, okay, this was imperfect but important. But I also figured that I had to say something to my son to reassure him. And my son, he was very sensitive when he was young, and words mattered a great deal, and he would remember things forever. So I had to choose the right words for this kid. I didn't want to screw it up and say the wrong thing and have the kid get sort of more anxious. I didn't want to be the cause of a series of nightmares. So I get home, and I haven't figured out what to say to him. So I don't say anything. A few days pass, few weeks pass, I think, to be honest with you. And I still haven't broached the subject with him. Maybe he's forgotten it. One day he comes back from school, and he's got a project. He says, dad, we did an interesting project at school today. He said we had to write about somebody who we thought of as a hero. And he said, I chose Thomas Edison because I think Thomas Edison has helped people all over the world. And then I thought, actually, it should be Abraham Lincoln, because Abraham Lincoln was the most important American. I said, that's a good choice. And he handed me the folder, and I opened it up and said, my idea of a hero is my dad, because he takes really good care of the family and he helps people in wars. And I thought to myself, that woman in the Congo who I'd met, she had clarified my thinking, convinced me that I needed to continue it. But my son put the seal of approval on it. I still do that work. I still go there. I truly believe it's imperfect, but it's important. I know there's risk involved, and I know the statistics are in my favor. I think that the risk can be managed. At least that's what I tell myself. Thank you.
- [38:55]
Sponsor Voice
That was Richard Matthew. Richard still works as a social scientist, and he now brings his family to Africa with him from time to time. To see a photo of him and his wife and kids in Rwanda, go to themoth.org after our break. A comedian at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival reaches his limit and lashes out.
- [39:20]
Sarah Austin Janess
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the Public Radio Exchange prx.org.
- [39:32]
Sponsor Voice
I'm Sarah Austin Janess, and you're listening to the Moth Radio Hour. Our next storyteller joined us at a Moth Night produced with the annual Aspen Ideas Festival in Colorado. When our directors are developing Moth Director we ask people to identify a moment of change in their lives. And comedian Hari Kondabolu made a bold choice in deciding to tell this story. He'd never told it before. Here he is live at the mall.
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Audience Member
So I grew up in Queens, New York, which is the most diverse place in the world. And I went to college in Maine, which is less so. I remember the admissions office telling me, don't worry, hurry. There'll be a surge of diversity when you get to campus this year. I didn't know I was the surge they were talking about. It's very strange. And I spent four years in Maine, and, you know, there was some tension at times regarding race, and I felt awkward, but generally it was fine. But I did have this one terrible incident my senior year when I was walking home off campus and it was raining and it was dark and all of a sudden, three white dudes I'd never seen before chased me down a street and cornered me. And the one guy put his arms around my throat, and they asked me what I was doing there. What are you doing here? Why are you here? What are you doing here? Over and over for, like, 10 minutes. And they finally let me go, and they started laughing, and it was awful. And I think what was as terrible as that was what happened the next day when I told my friends in the dining hall, people I had known for three years at that point who were white, I saw a lot of people trying to avert their gaze and trying to change the topic and feeling really awkward about it. And I remember telling one friend, I can't believe this happened to me after all this time in this town. I was a victim of a hate crime. And I remember my friend saying, well, you don't actually know if it was a hate crime. I mean, did he use slurs? Did they use slurs? I'm like, no, they didn't actually use any slurs. Well, then it's not actually a hate crime. I don't think it's fair that you're accusing them of a hate crime. And I was shocked because I didn't know he was their defense attorney. It was very strange. And then I realized, no, he felt guilty for being white. It had nothing to do with me. And race really colored a lot of my experiences going to college and definitely impacted who I am today and definitely impacts my work as a standup comedian, which I do for a living, which might be surprising to some of you at this point. Right? But I talk about race a lot in my act. Like both big R racism, like colonialism, slavery, Right? And then little R racism, like when people come up to me and say, where are you from? Which I hate. Where are you from? I'm from Queens, New York. No, I mean, where are you really from? Which is code for no. I mean, why aren't you white? I noticed your skin was a different color than mine. Why? Why this? I noticed it with my eyes. You have pigment. Yes, you have pigment. Look, I'll reason with you. I'm a race detective, and I'm here to solve the case of what the fuck are you? I say white a lot in my act. Like, whenever I talk about people in my act, I try to name them if they're white. So I was hanging out with this white guy, and I'm friends with this white woman, and this white dude showed up, and I always say their race of the white. I try to, because I think white people generally don't have the race name. They just get to be American or people. People of color. We get named all the time in stories. So I try to be intentional in that way and. And poke and be political during my set. And that comes with consequences, right? Because I'll be on stage and I get heckles that a lot of maybe my white comic friends don't get, right. People say things like, oh, I didn't know Apu did stand up, right? Or like, oh, God, oh, anyone else smell curry in here? And the worst things are stuff that people say in the front row. Because people in the front row are always terrible. No offense, but like, they're. When you're at the front row in a comedy show, it's like, why do you want to be in the front row? You want to be terrible, terrible. And talk to me. And when people don't like my act because of the racial elements of it, like, I'll hear people whisper things at me, like, loud enough where I can hear it, but not loud enough where everyone else can hear it, because they're cowards, right? And they'll like, yeah, this sucks. You suck. What are you doing here? What are you doing here, Muslim? What are you doing here, Muslim? And, you know, I'm actually Hindu, but I don't think they're worried about the nuance. And it's terrible because they whisper it, right? So not everyone hears it. And I have to choose whether I want to address these jerks in the front row or whether I should just do the show that people paid to see. People paid for babysitters, they paid ticket prices, they paid for two drinks to see me do an hour of stand up comedy. And why should I derail it for some idiots? So I eat it. I just eat it every time. And I don't say anything because there's bigger things to discuss right now. I know I'm talking about my art form in this negative way, but I've actually had a great career. I've traveled all over the world to do stand up comedy. I was in Denmark a few years ago at the Aarhus Comedy Festival, and I got heckled in a way that had never been heckled before. A man got up in the middle of my show and actually yelled, go back to America. Which is incredible because I've been told to go back to so many countries, never to America. I've been told to go back to Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, whatever country our nation is bombing. I'm told to go Back there at, like, the least opportune time to go back. So it was nice to finally hear America, a privilege to travel all over the world to do comedy. And 2011, August of 2011, I was asked to perform at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival at Edinburgh, Scotland. And I was excited about this, the big international festival. And at the same time, I was nervous, right? Because it's a month of doing stand up. It's very intense, and most of the audiences are white, made up of mostly white people. And I was nervous because it'll be okay. Most of the audience is white. I'm brown. The sky is always gray. And that's what Edinburgh, Scotland's like. It's always overcast, and it's just white, brown, gray, white, brown, gray, white, brown, gray. Every day for a month, right? It's like Groundhog Day. It's the strangest thing. And the shows went okay, right? There was a lot of up and downs. You know, I never really crushed it. I always was. I was fine. It was awkward. And you could tell there was audience members that didn't understand that what I was doing was comedy, right? Why do I talk about race so much? It's confusing, right? And there was definitely a lot of that. And one night I was hanging out with my friend who was a black comic who was also at the festival and was having similar frustrations with his audiences and them not understanding what he was doing. And we were hanging out, and all of a sudden this white man walks up to him and says, what's going on, my brother? And tries to give him a high five, like talking in that jivey way. And my friend just ignore. Ignores him, and we walk away. And then 20 minutes later, a white woman walks up to him and pulls his beard, just touches his hair, thinks it's okay to just touch him, that she has ownership over him. It's disgusting. And 20 minutes after that, at a party when we're just trying to drink and just forget this all happened, another white woman comes up to him and says, kevin, Kevin. And his name isn't Kevin. And he tells her that. And then she says, okay, because you look just like my friend Kevin. And it's fair to assume at this point that Kevin is black. I think it's also fair to assume Kevin does not look like him. And my friend is frustrated and walks away. And I'm furious. I'm furious that he's dealing with it. I'm furious. The shows have been terrible, and I'm confused why I'm here. A few days later, in the middle of the fourth week, right towards the end, everyone's losing their minds a little bit. I'm on stage 10 minutes into a 20 minute set. There's four comics on the bill. I'm in the middle and it's actually going well. Ten minutes in, I'm actually crushing, I'm killing every joke. It's hitting the way it is supposed to hit. It is amazing. I'm feeling great. All of a sudden I start setting up this joke about the fact we've never had a female president in America. And a lot of that has to do with sexism. And I'm in the middle of setting up that joke. I'm about to get to the punchline when I hear a voice in the back of the room yell, palestinian power. And I'm confused. And then I start thinking, oh, it's because I'm brown. And it's another ridiculous, stupid, ironic, racist thing. And somebody decides to interrupt me and I'm so angry and I say, palestinian Power, why don't you come up here so I can kick your teeth in? And it is the most, the angriest and harshest thing I've ever said to another human being on stage or in real life. And it's weird, honestly, for me to say it right now in front of all of you. It is so weird that I said that and I meant it in that moment. I was so angry, like, why do I have to be targeted just because I'm brown? Why do they have to say, why do they have to interrupt my show? Why do they have to make me feel bad? And I said, why did you say that? Why did you have to say that? Is it because I'm brown? Why did you say that? Then all of a sudden I hear someone in the audience say, that's not what she said. Now, the first thing that hit me was she, it was a woman. Did I just say the worst thing I've ever said in my life to a woman? I felt horrible, but I tried to stand my ground. I said, no, I heard what they said. And then the audience in unison says, no, she didn't. And then someone said, she said, men are in power. Which is not a necessary thing to say. It is kind of relevant, but definitely does not deserve a kick in the tee. And I felt terrible because I was wrong. And I've never been wrong before about this. I have never been wrong about race. I have never been wrong. I've been on stage so many times and have ate so many terrible things and friends have come up to me after the show and said, do you hear what that woman said to you? Do you hear what that man said to you? Did you hear, like, yeah, of course I heard it. Of course I heard it. And I ate it because there was a show to do and I ignored it. And this time, someone said something, but they didn't actually say it. It was awful. So I start apologizing, which audiences never want to hear, like, I'm so sorry. I am so sorry I said that. You don't know what it's been like. I misheard it. And people say all these racist things to me, and I just thought it was another one of those things. And my friend had these terrible racist things happen to him the other day. And I just. I heard that, and I didn't hear it, and I'm so sorry. And then all of a sudden, someone in the audience yelled out, it's okay, keep going. So the show turned into an intervention at this point. And so I start going again. I start the next show, and then a guy in the audience yells out, too sensitive. And I say, no, not too sensitive, just sensitive. And then someone else yells, it's okay, just keep going. Either because they care about me or they just want this to be over with. So I finish the set, it goes fine. And people clap, maybe politely. And I get off stage, and the host goes up and does a few jokes to stall for time and to cleanse the collective palate. And I'm anxious about what the other comics are going to say to me. What are the white people backstage going to say when they seem. Because I've had enough experiences, right? And the next comic who was about to go on stage was a man from Northern Ireland named Paul Curry. His last name, very ironic at this point, was his last name trying to hurt me. And Paul gives me a hug, and he says, you did well up there. I'm like, no, I didn't. Like, we both saw what happened. It was terrible, Paul. I was terrible up there. You don't need to say that. And Paul says, no, you were great up there. All right? That was an honest moment. You gave them an honest moment. And people never get honest moments, right? And look, yeah, what you said was wrong, and it was awkward, but it was real, right? It was honest. That's how you feel. And you explain to them why you felt that way and what you went through, and they would never have heard that otherwise. They don't know what it's like for you to be a brown person in this country doing your act. And what you do and what you they don't know that. And you let them know that. And it was important that you did that. It was honest and you should be proud of that. You did good up there. I thought a lot about that and I still think a lot about what Paul said because it was an honest moment. It was raw and it was real and it was genuine. And it's the strength that I drew from that set. It's that strength which allows me to tell this story to you. Now, an audience full of mostly white people. Thank you very much.
- [53:27]
Sponsor Voice
That was Hari Kanabolu. Hari, as you now know, is a stand up comedian. He's been on Comedy Central and Letterman. And we've posted a link@themost.org to his set from John Oliver's New York stand up show from a few years back, which has three of the jokes he told in Edinburgh. He says the only unfortunate part of this set is his mustache. And a pitch to you, our listeners. We want to hear your story. Tell us a short version of a big change in your own Life by calling 877-799-MOTH. That's 877-799-6684 or go to themoth.org and record it right on our site. That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time.
- [54:22]
Sarah Austin Janess
Hour was Sarah Austin. Janess Sarah also directed the stories in the show. The rest of the Moss directorial staff includes Kathryn Burns, Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson and Meg Bowles. Production support from Whitney Jones, thanks to Tracy Day and Brian Greene at the World Science Festival, and Kitty Boone and Tricia Johnson at the Aspen Ideas Festival. Most stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City supervised by Paul Ruest. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from Croca, Aramis, Ibrahim Hamadiko and Felix Laban. You can find links to all the music we use at our website. The Moth is produced for radio by me, Jay Allison with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. This hour was produced with funds from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the John D. And Catherine T. MacArthur foundation, committed to building a more just, verdant and peaceful world. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by prx. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org Another.
- [55:38]
Dan Kennedy
Episode of the Moth Radio Hour right here on the Moth podcast. We had stories there from Annie Corzin, Matthew Dix, Richard Matthew and Hari Kondabolu. Thanks for listening. We hope you have a story worthy week.
- [55:52]
Sponsor Voice
Dan Kennedy is author of the books Loser Goes First, Rock on and American Spirit. He's a regular host and performer with the Moth when he's not on Twitter.
- [56:02]
Dan Kennedy
Moth events are recorded by Argo Studios in New York City, supervised by Paul Rueest. Podcast audio production by Whitney Jones. The Moth Podcast and the Radio Hour are presented by prx, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx. Org.