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Contents
editorial
NEVILLE DUBE
“What shall we do with the tools?”
PALESA MOTSUMI & TARIRO MUDZAMIRI
The Impact of Covid-19 on the Arts in South Africa
Theme Africa Synthesized
CARINA VENTER & STEPHANIE VOS
Africa Synthesized: Editorial Note
GEORGE E. LEWIS
Recharging Unyazi 2005
MICHAEL KHOURY
A Look at Lightning – The Life and Compositions of Halim el-Dabh
KAMILA METWALY
A Sonic letter to Halim El-Dabh
SHANE COOPER
Tape Collage
ADAM HARPER
Shane Cooper’s Tape Collage – a living archive
HANS ROOSENSCHOON
Tape loops: Cataclysm (1980)
STEPHANUS MULLER
Hans Roosenschoon's Cataclysm: message in a bubble or mere spectacular flotsam?
SAZI DLAMINI
Composing with Jurgen Brauninger: 1989-2019
LIZABÉ LAMBRECHTS
The Woodstock Sound System and South African sound reinforcement
CATHY LANE
Synthesizer and portastudio: their roles in the Tigrayan People’s Liberation struggle - an audio essay.
MICHAEL BHATCH
Africa Synthesized: A Sonic Essay
NEO MUYANGA
Afrotechnolomagic before the internet came to town – How electrons made Africans in music zing
NIKLAS ZIMMER
Interspeller (some B-sides)
WARRICK SWINNEY
House on Fire: Sankomota and the art of abstraction
MAËL PÉNEAU
Beatmaking in Dakar: The Shaping of a West-African Hip-hop Sound
ARAGORN ELOFF
Materials of Relation: A Sonic Pedagogy of Non-Mastery
BRIAN BAMANYA
Afrorack
ZARA JULIUS
(Whose) Vinyl in (Which) Africa? A Zoom Fiasco
galleri
SLOVO MAMPHAGA
Mandela is Dead
&and
Undercommons
HUGH MDLALOSE
Jazz Speaking
IBUKUN SUNDAY
A Peaceful City
NIKKI SHETH
Mmabolela
PIERRE-HENRI WICOMB
A Composition Machine
SONO-CHOREOGRAPHIC COLLECTIVE
Playing Grounds: a polymodal essay
STELARC & MAURIZIO LAZZARATO
Parasite: A Government of Signs
JURGEN MEEKEL
The Bauhaus Loops
borborygmus
KING SV & MARCO LONGARI
The Black Condition
SIPHELELE MAMBA
Enough is enough
SEGOMOTSO PALESA MOTSUMI
Explaining racism
KHANYISILE MBONGWA
Mombathiseni UnoDolly Wam
PHIWOKAZI QOZA
Choreographies of Protest Performance: 1. The Transgression of Space
TSEPO WA MAMATU
The Colonising Laughter in Leon Schuster’s Mr. Bones and Sweet ’n Short
ANA DEUMERT
On racism and how to read Hannah Arendt
TALLA NIANG
Sembène Ousmane
MAVAMBO CHAZUNGUZA
Sacred Sonic Cosmos
GRAYSON HAVER CURRIN
The Saharan WhatsApp Series - an Experiment in Immediacy
BEN EYES
Cross-cultural collaboration in African Electronica
STEVEN CRAIG HICKMAN
The Listening of Horror
MICHAEL C COLDWELL
The Noise made by Ghosts
GABRIEL GERMAINE DE LARCH
I will not be erased
frictions
JESÚS SEPÚLVEDA
Viaje a Tánatos
KATYA GANESHI
From Beyond the World of Dead Sirens
RIAAN OPPELT
(Ultra) Lockdown
SINDISWA BUSUKU
Let’s Talk Kaffir
JOHAN VAN WYK
Man Bitch
MAAKOMELE R. MANAKA
Four Indigenous Poems
claque
KOLEKA PUTUMA
Language & Storytelling: On Zöe Modiga’s Inganekwane
LINDELWA DALAMBA
After the Aftermath: Recovery?
ATHI MONGEZELELI JOJA
Uninterrogated Phallophilia
HILDE ROOS
Sicula iOpera – a raised fist?
PAUL ZISIWE
19 Feedbacks
TSELISO MONAHENG
How to build a Scene
WAMUWI MBAO
Struggle Sounds
MKHULU MAPHIKISA
Short but not sweet: Skeptical Erections and the Black Condition
MBALI KGAME
Tales from The UnderWorld
ekaya
STEPHANIE VOS
The Exhibition of Vandalizim – Improvising Healing, Politics and Film in South Africa
MARIETJIE PAUW, GARTH ERASMUS & FRANCOIS BLOM
Improvising Khoi’npsalms
off the record
KHADIJA TRACEY HEEGER
Lewis Nkosi – treasured memory
LEWIS NKOSI
Jazz in Exile
EUGENE SKEEF
Chant of Divination for Steve Biko
BRENDA SISANE
How I fell in love with music
SAM MATHE
Skylarks
THOKOZANI MHLAMBI
Early Sound Recordings in Africa: Challenges for Future Scholarship
MARIO PISSARRA
Everywhere but nowhere: reflections on DV8 magazine
DEREK DAVEY
Live Jimi Presley 1990-1995
HERMAN LATEGAN
Pentimento
ARGITEKBEKKE
AFRIKAAPS compIete script deel 3
feedback
PHILLIPPA YAA DE VILLIERS
An urgency to action
PABLO VAN WETTEN
Sort of a ramble
the selektah
PONE MASHIANGWAKO
Artists' Prayer - A Tribute to Motlhabane Mashiangwako
hotlynx
shopping
SHOPPING
Purchase or listen
contributors
the back page
MICHAEL TAUSSIG
Unpacking My Library: An Experiment in the Technique of Awakening
© 2024
Archive About Contact Africa Open Institute
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    #04
  • borborygmus

GABRIEL GERMAINE DE LARCH

I will not be erased

On the 6th of June, Harry Potter’s J.K. Rowling launched herself at the transgender community. Her tweets, pictured here,

GABRIEL GABE DE LARCH 4

were a sarcastic response to an article speaking about “people who menstruate”, a term that includes transgender men and non-binary people assigned female at birth. The tweets and her subsequent essay explaining her thoughts have since sparked outrage from the transgender and cisgender community, fans of Harry Potter and non-fans alike. Some have responded that they will burn their Harry Potter books. I won’t be doing that, because, these worlds, these characters, this magic, was loaned to her. They were not her creation. She can’t take the magic away from me.

I grew up in the days when you could enter the magical world of a book, crawl between its pages and live there. I grew up in the days when authors were just the small name on the cover. When they weren’t people because they weren’t real. Not as real as the friends I made in that book. Because there was no internet. Because authors didn’t have their own stories. Who knows the story of Carolyn Keene, Franklin W. Dixon? How many of you even know who they are? But if I said Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys you remember those girls – Nancy, George and Bess – and those boys – Frank and Joe – because they were your friends. You loved them. They took you to places you’d never been. You did things you’d never done before with them. You felt things you’d never felt before then with them. Their dreams, heartaches, triumphs were yours. Their safe world where the baddies got what was coming to them made your world where the baddies were your neighbour, your friend, your parents, made that topsy-turvy world of yours more bearable because you could leave it. It wasn’t Keene or Dixon who did that. It was Nancy, George, Bess, Frank and Joe.

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So imagine a world where one of those baddies is the creator of your favourite friends, your preferred world, a people and place that made you feel safe in an unsafe world.

I was abused at the age of three. I had a mother who was too broken to nurture. I lived in a house where I was not wanted or loved until I could speak. I had a father who was an alcoholic and a womaniser, and a man who had no boundaries when it came to loving his little girl. So those peoples and places where baddies were conquered made my world livable.

The topsy-turviness of my world followed me into my adulthood. I was abused seven or eight more times. My mother’s brokenness became entrenched in newfound ways to actively non-nurture me. My father’s Christianity-fuelled sobriety lapsed and his boundariless loving became more enmeshed with my body. A whirlwind of depression that has stormed for 23 years or more blew me down to the point where I had to be hospitalised 14 times in the horrorshow that is public psychiatric healthcare. I had to come out as lesbian, then genderqueer, then transgender, then pansexual and then gay because the world doesn’t have enough narratives to make coming out a moot point. I have had to deal with micro- and macro-aggressions for my sexuality and gender instead. Parts of me have been raped. Parts of me have been maimed. Parts of me have been mutilated. Parts of me have been murdered. 

You could, I suppose, attribute the murders to the fact that I stopped believing in fairy-tales. The slack-jawed, gaping-eyed sense of wonderment and awe at the prince and the princess and the pea and the apple and the witch were replaced by a more sophisticated lexicon of adulthood consisting of the vocabulary of disillusionment, the words of negation, the morphemes of cynicism and the phonemes of pain. But I’d like to think I suspended disbelief. I continued to read. I continued to want to believe in a world where everything was right side up where the baddies got what they deserved. And I found that world in Harry Potter. 

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I was working in the children’s section of Exclusive Books when Harry and his friends joined the world, and I saw the 100s of authors inspired by Harry who have written books that I wish had been written when I was young. But I revelled in these stories and worlds and characters even as an adult, especially as an adult. Here again was a world that I could believe in. The raped, maimed, mutilated and murdered parts of me started to heal because of the ability those books had to transport me back to my childhood and that childlike awe and wonder and, above all, safety.

Hogwarts was a non-topsy turvy world. The baddies didn’t always get what they deserved. The baddies were in some cases actually goodies. The baddies had backstories that enabled you to empathise with them. And the power of love always won out. Hogwarts remained a safe space despite these complexities. Hogwarts became for me, like adulthood, a place where the complexities of the interrelationship between badness and goodness were seen, acknowledged and celebrated. The baddie is sometimes a goodie; the goodie is sometimes a baddie. This is fucking healing. This is magic.

So while the author of this magic lacks the imagination to hold these complexities in her mind, I will not let her erasure of me as a person who menstruates, a person who mourns because our trans lives are being raped, maimed, mutilated and murdered, stop me from accessing that magic, that healing. Because I will not be erased. And neither will the magic.

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