Handmaid's Tale - Manifesto
Para lançar a chegada da série na plataforma do Globoplay, criamos um manifesto intitulado Mostra Pra Eles, Mulher, que traz imagens emblemáticas da série acompanhadas da narração e texto da poeta Kimani, jovem da periferia do Grajaú, extremo sul de São Paulo, que ganhou o Slam SP em 2017, um dos campeonatos mais disputados do país.
"É sobre nomear dores que nem nos dávamos conta que existiam. São pessoas que ficaram silenciadas durante muito tempo, resolveram falar e tem muito a dizer”, resume Kimani.
"É sobre nomear dores que nem nos dávamos conta que existiam. São pessoas que ficaram silenciadas durante muito tempo, resolveram falar e tem muito a dizer”, resume Kimani.
Direção de criação e colaboração de roteiro: Mildredy Ventorin e Gabriela Rodrigues
Poema e narração: Kimani
Edição de vídeo: Guará Junior
SHOW THEM, WOMAN…
My body bleeds, sir. Have mercy.
How long they have determined our lives. Wearing blue or red, in the end, are we all
enemies?
I don’t recognize myself “under His eye”, or your voice. Divide and separate us is the
tormentor’s plan.
I know. Everyone knows the pain of being who they are, but who wants to walk in a woman’s
shoes?
Blessed be the fruit! Bred to serve at any cost. Reproduce, reproduce.
Since when are you concerned with what I will feel? What do you want from me, my kind sir?
When I have a price, but my job has no value. And I say
Freedom has never been a word present in our vocabulary. Women on one side, freedom on
the other, we never walked side by side.
It is clear.
We, the “fragile sex” at the household, are doormats.
My body belongs to the other,
My body is just a belonging.
The dumping room has no room for those who feel. What do they feel?
That the body quivers to another’s pleasure, that women have no rights, only the other one
has. Every day an abuse, a body stolen, and the bitter taste of being disposable.
A pattern like Offred, Ofglen. Loses the name, identity and follows her faith.
- Reproduce, beautiful girl. NO!
My fight will never be in vain.
My peers will not take long, will not be silent and I won’t lend myself to this. Show them,
woman, that simply being alive is a manifesto.
How long they have determined our lives. Wearing blue or red, in the end, are we all
enemies?
I don’t recognize myself “under His eye”, or your voice. Divide and separate us is the
tormentor’s plan.
I know. Everyone knows the pain of being who they are, but who wants to walk in a woman’s
shoes?
Blessed be the fruit! Bred to serve at any cost. Reproduce, reproduce.
Since when are you concerned with what I will feel? What do you want from me, my kind sir?
When I have a price, but my job has no value. And I say
Freedom has never been a word present in our vocabulary. Women on one side, freedom on
the other, we never walked side by side.
It is clear.
We, the “fragile sex” at the household, are doormats.
My body belongs to the other,
My body is just a belonging.
The dumping room has no room for those who feel. What do they feel?
That the body quivers to another’s pleasure, that women have no rights, only the other one
has. Every day an abuse, a body stolen, and the bitter taste of being disposable.
A pattern like Offred, Ofglen. Loses the name, identity and follows her faith.
- Reproduce, beautiful girl. NO!
My fight will never be in vain.
My peers will not take long, will not be silent and I won’t lend myself to this. Show them,
woman, that simply being alive is a manifesto.
