New Pearl. No Plan.

It is important to consider the culture of the person who created the piece, absolutely; but the different perspectives offered by the viewers is fascinating in and of itself and does not always detract from the message.

As an example, when I was younger, I watched Schindler's List. This movie is famously shot in black and white except for one section, concerning a little girl in a red coat. The camera follows her until her eventual death.

I am Turtle Island Indigenous and I was always taught that the only color spirits could see was red, because it is the color of life and blood.

So the second the girl in the red jacket came on screen, something inside me chilled with fear.

The only color in the movie was that red. At some point, I, the viewer, had died.

I remember sobbing at the sight of the burning human piles that were shown, convinced I was buried in there somewhere. The reason I had only seen red on the girl was that my death was recent. I was the ash in the air mistaken for snow. I had died before her and had followed her, helplessly, until she followed me.

The message I got for that was maybe not what the creator had intended: that there was no "being clever enough" or "good enough" or "kind enough" that would shield or protect you from such a massive tidal wave of evil.

You are not exempt from tragedy, that red jacket whispered. You are not special.

When I told some of my white friends about my experience with viewing Schindler's List, some were shocked and the rest just out-and-out mocked me for my "media illiteracy".

"it was just a filming trick to make you feel something," I remember one saying, which terrified me. How had he not felt anything even before she showed up?

But why does all this matter? Is something going to happen for which I will be required?

it was at summer camp, where this happened, and it's funny reflecting on the ways summer camp has interacted with the concept of love in my life. when i was a kid at camp, I was taught by this boy and his friends that i was unlovable. i had my first kiss at that camp with someone else: totally closed-lipped, and when I kissed him, I don't know if I felt anything, or if i did it because I liked the person I was kissing or because I was trying to prove something to myself.

years later, in college, I worked at a different summer camp. I met someone there who would become one of my dearest friends. 8 years later (3 years ago,) I asked them out. 8 months ago, they asked me to marry them. i love them with my whole being, and they make me feel so loved too.

they run a different summer camp now, and I'm here at their camp spending the summer with them. one of their co-workers is a boy i had a crush on in middle school (who I have always liked but haven't liked since I was like 14)--the first person I ever asked out, and who very kindly turned me down--who I hadn't thought about in years.

the camp had a bonfire, and the kids were singing the song "Take Me Home, Country Roads" by John Denver, a song that they sang at the summer camp where I was bullied as a child. For so long, I had such sad memories tied up in that song, so much of the feeling of feeling unlovable tied up there.

but I had a moment tonight of hearing that song with my fiancé next to me holding my hand, feeling totally loved. I almost felt like I was reaching back through time to my ten-year-old self, like I was holding her hand, kissing her forehead, telling her it gets so much better for her, even if she can't see it or believe it, cliche though it sounds

Rest in peace to the incredible Anthony Stewart Head (20th February 1954 - 1st June 2026)