“I happen to agree with the Russians, for you know…” “What do you mean?” “You know, their Russian identity, border and stuff,” says a casual stranger at a local dive bar we frequent when we don’t feel like cooking. Young engineer at a local environmental cleanup company, college educated, seemed bright. That was before I learned from him that the world is owned by Rothschilds and one is apparently included in the “We, the Americans” if one has, “you know, legal, assimilated, learned English and stuff.” Through more inquiry, I learned that did not include Native Americans because, you know, “they lost,” and “we won.” Who are we again?

I want to talk about the toxic nationalism re-contaminating millions of young minds and how only person-to-person stories have a chance of making one pause and consider the possibility that your English roots may just lead you to Kazakhstan. I grew up in a place where the love for your motherland smothered us into submission.

International festivals like Edinburgh and Avignon were started in the wake of World War II to turn our minds away from nationalism and toward the recognition of our shared humanity on a global scale. Today, still hundreds of festivals across the planet continue on this thread: Aurillac in France, FiraTàrrega in Spain, MASA in Côte d’Ivoire, Adelaide Fringe, Australia, Rochester Fringe, GlobalFest, US; Carrefour and Luminato in Canada.

Today I find myself at Carrefour in Québec City absorbing theater, dance and parkour, and the many conversations—in French, English, Spanish—many revolving around identities.

On the way here, I stopped in Burlington, Vermont and was so fortunate to witness the magic of The Flynn’s Jazz Fest: Jason Moran conversing with Savion Glover and Chris Dave – a conversation told with sound and rhythm, unforgettably and powerfully. Big shout out to colleague Jay Wahl for making this happen.

The most powerful thing we can do is bring more stories of our interconnectedness to our neighbors, adversaries, politicians and technicians. International programming is more important than ever if you ask me—however difficult. The strongest global connections are often formed through person-to-person told, sung, tapped and banged… stories, you know.

Yesterday at Carrefour, I had lunch with 20+ mostly French-speaking artists and festival organizers, talking about their work, all of which stemmed from a deep need to tell their story or the story of their neighbors. Camions by Mélanie Binette—a show I am about to see—invites the audience to follow a kid with a remote-control truck down the street while listening to stories from the 2022 Freedom Convoy protests in Ottawa, testimonies from all ages and political horizons, each with their own vision of social justice and democracy. What if the path to reconciliation was revealed by a child behind the wheel of a small remote-control car?

Later that afternoon, a conversation “by the fire” between authors Alexia Bürger and David Geselson touched on their work. David spoke about his initial reservations sharing his grandfather’s story. A Jew fleeing Lithuania in 1932 arrives in Israel. Then come questions of Palestine, Iran, Europe, the United States. One life. Many borders. One family story. Half the world.

Some of the most meaningful experiences emerge from person-to-person exchanges of shared experiences. Histories are told through the journeys of our families. Even my dumplings here have bok choy with “a little” beluga in them today. We need more of that, please.

Baro d’evel’s Qui Som? (Who Are We?). Plasticiens Volants’ Stranger. Elephants Laugh’s Muljil. Juhyung Lee’s C’est par là. Kamchàtka. Gandini Juggling’s Smashed. The Haudenosaunee Creation Story told through the craft of Peter Jemison and Plasticiens Volants in an extraordinary collaboration between two nations—Turtle Island—now setting off on a tour of Native American territories all share in the conversation; all rely on a process that engages neighbors, volunteers, interns, students and local artists.

I cannot think of a stronger method of persuasion. I will wait for your call.

Photo: Camions by Mélanie Binette, Carrefour Festival