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calebvanponeisen · 11 months ago

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My Unusual Christmas Kidnapping

At the end of my eighth Christmas Eve, I went to bed early like every other year. I remember that my parents always told me, “If you’re not asleep by half-past eight, you’ll get naught beneath the tree ornate.” And there’s no better deterrent than the thought of waking up with zero presents on Christmas.

There I was, nestled in the warmth of my cozy bed, dreaming of presents and candy canes, when a loud ‘thud’ woke me up. Another one followed. Gripped by fear, I hid beneath my covers. Thud. I had completely forgotten about Christmas. Thud. It had to be a burglar breaking in, which is why I dared not venture out of bed.

The door creaked open. I peeked through a small gap in my covers and saw several figures entering with a large bag. A flash of red caught my eye, and I immediately felt a wave of relief.

Tossing my covers aside, I yelled, “Santa!”

Next thing I knew, a large piece of fabric was thrown over me. I tried to scream, but no sound escaped. My breath hitched, and I was plunged into yet another slumber.

I awoke inside the bag. This time, it was loose, so I managed to wriggle around and find the light. I was inside a quaint, pastel rose room adorned with festive decorations. A few red and green boxes were scattered around, with a single red door at one end. With no other options to leave the room, I tiptoed towards the door and pressed my ear against it. Silence. I carefully turned the handle when a voice startled me.

“You can’t escape,” it shrilled. “Stay put.”

I spun around. A small man with pointed ears and a green outfit stood proudly akimbo. He was a little shorter than me but radiated authority.

“You’re an Elf!” I blurted out. “That means … I’m in Santa’s house! But- but why?”

“Ha!” he sneered. “You know very well why. You’ve been a terrible child and ended up on the naughty list.”

“I- what?” I couldn’t believe it. Me? On the naughty list? Had I really been that bad? Was it because of that one cookie I ate after mom told me not to? Or that night I secretly read comics in bed using a flashlight?

As I reflected on this past year’s behavior, I began to accept that I had indeed been a naughty boy, and it was only fair I ended up on the list.

Any attempts at conversing with the Elf were answered with a grunt. Minutes later, a metallic click unlocked the door, and the Elf shot me a nasty grin.

“Next,” yawned the Elf who entered the room.

“That’s you,” said the Elf in the same room as me. “Come on, follow him.”

The new Elf scowled at me when I hesitantly walked out. Although the place was warm, I felt a little exposed being barefoot and in pajamas. He led me through a long, vibrant hallway adorned with ornaments and paintings of reindeer. Something about the expressionist representation of the animals exuded malice. It gradually worsened the nearer we got to a comically large door at the end of the hall.

Looking up, I saw a glaring face painted on the door. It suddenly moved, baring yellow teeth with an air of disgust. “Last naughty boy of the day,” it announced.

The double doors unfurled, compelling me inside. I was greeted by a mahogany desk cluttered with documents, wrapping paper, and some broken toys. Behind it sat a bearded man in a festive red outfit.

“Santa Claus!” I cried out.

The man paused in his writing and peered down over the edge of his crescent-moon glasses.

“That is indeed me, yes,” he replied with a grandfatherly voice, sweet yet stern. “And you are -ah- Christopher. Yes, sit down, please.”

I obeyed. Santa leaned in and spoke in his commanding voice.

“Good. Now, Christopher, I see that you have been a naughty, naughty boy,” he continued, flipping through a binder. “And you know what happens with naughty boys, don’t you?” He waved a list with names. “Let’s see. What will we do with you, my poor, poor Christopher, boy.” He skimmed again, going back and forth.

A few seconds later, he continued with a loud, “Ah! Yes. You shall be an Elf from now on. Five years in the assembly line. For a start.”

My little jaw dropped, and my head tilted sideways. It was a lot to take in for an eight-year-old child.

“I don’t understand, Santa,” I managed to say.

“Oh, oh, oh! You’ll understand soon enough. Now off you go to Emgher. He’s the one who performs the magic.” Santa dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

“But, but… my name isn’t even Christopher, Santa. My name is James,” I protested.

Santa peered at me over his glasses again, a frown creasing his forehead. “You are not Christopher? Is that right?”

I nodded vehemently.

“Let me verify that,” he said.

Santa retrieved a red rotary phone from beneath his desk and dialed a number. He sounded calm, but I noticed his brows furrowing gradually.

Soon, an Elf scurried into the room.

“My deepest apologies, Mr. Claus,” the Elf squeaked with an overly deep bow. “I don’t know how it happened. We thought-“

Santa raised his hand, silencing the Elf.

“This boy,” Santa pointed at me, “is not Christopher?”

“No Mr. Claus. It’s all a mistake,” the Elf admitted sheepishly.

“Very well. To the wrappings with you,” Santa declared, and with a hand clap, the Elf vanished, leaving behind a look of horror that seemed to plead for… what exactly?

“My dear, dear, James,” Santa said as he rose from his leather chair and approached me. “I offer you my deepest apologies. Can you forgive me?”

Santa’s eyes were akin to a gentle grandfather and a dog yearning for more delicious treats.

“Of course,” I replied without hesitation. “How could I be angry at Santa Claus.” I felt so relieved I began to laugh.

“That’s very gracious of you, James,” Santa smiled. “Now, come with me. We need to send you back home.”

I followed the large, bearded man, walking through the same hall as before, except everything felt a lot more festive. Soon, Christmas songs began to resonate through the hall.

We arrived atop a vast hanger. My awe was indescribable. Hundreds of Elfs dressed in green with accents of red and gold were working relentlessly. From building presents to assembling boxes and applying beautiful Christmas wrappings. It was spectacular.

The topmost floor was full of Elfs playing all kinds of instruments, while the workers below joined in the chorus of Christmas carols. Who could’ve guessed that their shrill voices could become a melodic harmony?

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I gasped.

“And you never will as long as you’re a good boy,” said Santa. “Come now. We must get you home.”

His words struck my mind like a splinter.

“Santa?” I asked. “What happens when you’re on the naughty list?”

“Ho, ho, ho, curious little boy, are we? I guess I do owe you an explanation. But you must first promise to never tell anyone,” Santa said, and I pinky swore. “Good boy.” He ruffled my hair.

“You see all those Elfs?” he said. “All of them, without exception, were once naughty boys and girls who ended up on the list.”

“Wh- kids become Elfs?” I exclaimed.

“Yes, they do,” Santa smiled gently. “Well, those who were on the normal naughty list.”

“There’s more than one list?”

“Oh yes. There are three. The naught list, which turns you into an Elf. The naughty naughty list, which changes you into a toy component, and the very naughty list, which transforms you into a box or wrapping,” he explained.

My jaw dropped for the second time that night. I couldn’t believe my ears.

“What? The toys and… and everything are kids?”

“Naughty children,” corrected Santa. “But yes, they are.”

I shuddered at the thought of becoming a toy, or worse, wrapping paper. All the toys I’d played with came to mind. Especially those I had thrown on the floor and destroyed for fun. Have I really been hurting other kids all those years?

It couldn’t be true. There weren’t enough naughty children to make all those toys. I had to ask Santa because I couldn’t do the math.

“Ho, ho, ho,” he laughed wholeheartedly. “With Christmas magic, you don’t need an entire child for a piece of wrapping. A small piece of a finger would suffice. One naughty child is enough for a thousand toys, or ten thousand Christmas wrappings.”

My voice trembled as I asked, “Do- do you cut their fingers off?”

Santa’s rosy cheeks and fluffy beard painted the picture of a jolly old man. “It’s best not to ask questions you’d rather not hear the answer to,” he advised, placing his heavy hand on my shoulder. “Come now, we must go.”

I reluctantly followed Santa. This hangar wasn’t the magical place I had imagined. It was a slaughterhouse, akin to animals butchering their own, constantly hoping that fatter livestock would be herded quickly enough so they wouldn’t be next on the chopping block.

We descended wooden stairs, with handrails resembling elongated Christmas trees full of life. Each stair glittered with a different color, just like baubles.

On the ground floor I noticed that no Elf was smiling even though they were singing. Some forced a smile when Santa walked by, others cowered away – one of them even bumped into me. What exactly had they done to deserve such a harsh punishment?

“How do you even get on the naughty list, Santa?”

Santa raised one of his fluffy white brows. “Why ask? You wish to become an Elf?”

“Er, no. It’s just that, you know, your Elfs mistook me for a naughty boy, and I remembered many bad things I did this past year,” I explained.

“I see,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you what naughty children do, James. If I did, a good boy like you could become a naughty boy. We don’t want that to happen, do we?” The intonation on the last two words sounded like a threat, so I simply nodded and followed the Claus.

We reached the end of the Hangar where several Elfs opened large, paired doors painted in red and marked with white initials “SC”. A glacial gust made me instantly shiver.

“Oh, ho,” Santa chuckled like the jolly old man he was. A finger snap was enough to cover me with warm boots, pants, a coat, a shawl, and a hat.

“Thanks, Santa,” I beamed. It was so comfortable inside that I had forgotten I was still barefoot and in pajamas. I wondered how he could snap fingers with gloves on, though.

“You’re very welcome, James, my boy,” said Santa. “Now, if you will excuse me, I still have much work to do. It’s Christmas after all. My Elfs will lead you to the reindeers so you can fly back home.”

I was so overwhelmed that I could only utter a small “thanks” before Santa wobbled back inside.

The Elfs guided me though the blizzard. We would’ve been in complete darkness if it weren’t for them.

They were glowing like green candles.

“Are you walking lamps?” I asked curiously.

One of the Elf looked at me crossly and sighed. He immediately averted eyes and marched on. Minutes later I began to quiver. Even Santa’s clothes couldn’t protect me from that cold.

“Wh-where are w-we g-g-going?” I stammered.

No answer.

“P-p-plea-ease. I-I’m co-old.”

Still nothing.

When I thought I’d never meet my parents again, we entered an ice cave. One of my guides knocked on a nearly imperceptible door in the back. I couldn’t believe my ears when he said, “Stinkin’ Santa’s Stupid Selfish”.

The door popped open, and a female Elf hurried us in. Once inside, the door slammed shut and vanished completely.

“Woah,” I gasped, not only at the door, but also at the room I was in.

You know that satisfying feeling when you return to the warmth of your home after spending hours playing in the snow? It was the same feeling, except it was soothing, lulling even. Every part of my body had magically warmed up, and Santa’s clothes tattered away in a sparkle of glitter dust. I was yet again barefoot and in my pajamas.

Dozens of Elfs were sitting, reading, playing, some working. That room was the true heart of Christmas. The smell of cookies and hot chocolate was delectable. Ornated trees, music to melt the coldest hearts, and a green-purple flamed hearth. With so much festive clutter around, it was a miracle nothing went ablaze.

“Amazing,” I uttered, gaping and smiling so widely it hurt.

“Yes, yes, you don’t have time for this,” one of the Elfs said. “Give me the talisman.”

“Huh?”

She rolled her eyes and stuck her hand in my pajama’s pocket.

“Hey, what are you– What’s that thing?”

She had taken a small ceramic Christmas ornament that looked like a present. Red letters glowed on the side.

“Our ticket to freedom and exposing Santa. Once we open it in your world, our revenge will be complete and cause widespread panic,” she explained as she dragged me to the top of a chimney protruding from the floor.

“Wait, I–“

“Your house has a chimney?” she asked.

“N-no,” I said. “What’s this thing? Does it lead to the reindeers?”

“Ha!” she snarked. “Those child-eating monsters, you mean?”

I looked at the others, hoping someone would drag me away from this crazy girl, but they simply stared back.

“What do you mean? What’s the chimney for?”

“It’s to deliver presents,” she said. “You go in, and it sends you to the home you wish to visit. It also makes you fireproof.”

“So that’s how Santa delivers presents!”

She shook her head. “No, silly. That’s one of the ways. You don’t have a chimney, remember?

Chimneyless homes require the Sleigh. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, yes it does,” I erupted in laughter. “How do you even go around every house with so many presents?”

“Look, we don’t have time to–”

“Just tell him, Zoe,” another Elf chimed in from the back.

Zoe gave him a nasty grimace and ordered me to sit near one of the tables. “That’s all I’m answering, ok?” she warned. “After that, you listen because we have to go.”

I opened my mouth to protest. She quickly made a sign to zip it, and my mouth was zipped close. I stood up panicked, touching the zipper that had become my mouth. There was no slider.

“Elf magic. I’ll unzip it if you settle down, sit, and listen, ok?” Zoe said irritably. I darted around. The other Elfs were calm, so I relaxed and heeded.

“Good,” she said. “Firstly, we’re in another world deep underneath the North Pole. When Christmas starts, every second that passes in Clausland equals to one day in your world. The Sleigh transports us to chimneyless houses, and Elf magic lets us in. When we’re in your world, time is almost frozen in place for us. Got that?”

I nodded, but she didn’t unzip my mouth yet.

“Good,” she nodded like a teacher after scolding a bad student. “Onto the reindeer. Those monsters solely exist to devour extra naughty children and unruly Elfs. Gruesome death I would wish to no one but to Santa.” She unzipped my mouth and smirked. “Questions?”

“Er,” I hesitated, reluctant to have my mouth shut again. “Is Santa–”

“Yes,” she blurted out. “He’s evil. That’s all you need to know – for your own sanity. Now, take these.” She handed me polar clothes. “And this. We have a long way to walk.”

“Why do I need a long sugar cane?”

“It’s a magical sword. Hope you won’t need to use it.”

We were about to leave the room when I dared to say, “I’ll freeze to death if we walk too far. I almost–”

“Died because Santa purposefully gave you magical clothes that look warm, yet retain no heat,” she interrupted. “He always does that to spare his reindeer a lengthy chase for their meal. Let’s go.”

I returned to the blizzard. This time I was surrounded by many Elfs, Zoe in front. All wielded a long sugarcane and a rectangular shield resembling a Christmas present.

We walked and walked, but not once did I feel cold. Even my face seemed magically shielded. I was about to thank Zoe when a horrible cry resonated from behind. An Elf was missing.

“Run!” Zoe shouted.

We hurried into the void. Another scream to my left. A quick glance revealed thin gnarled hands with countless fingers grabbing one of the Elfs into the nothingness of the storm.

“Aaaah!”

Another Elf had been taken, this time right in front of me. The Elfs rushed to his rescue, stabbing and cutting with their sugar canes. I cowardly hid between two Elfs.

A horrible screech followed by something landing at my feet. I jumped when I saw… a bleeding branch? Two Elfs were thrashing a snowman. Purple blood oozed from its wounds until it gargled and melted completely, leaving a black hat and a carrot behind.

Zoe yanked my arm, leading me ahead. We passed the body of an Elf, whose face was unrecognizable.

“Isah, Brendan, cover for us,” she shouted over the howling wind. The voices of the two forsaken Elfs became one with the blizzard.

Every so often, I dared to peak over my shoulder, trying to discern the snowmen’s needle-toothed grin through the storm. If they were nearby, I couldn’t identify them amidst the noise akin to an old television’s static noise.

“We’re at the Grim Grotto,” said Zoe.

We entered another ice cave. Zoe chanted in an unfamiliar language, causing a sudden gravelly noise. A wall jutted out of the ground and shut the entrance close. There was no way out. Complete silence. I felt cut off from the rest of the world, even more than before.

“Where are we?” I puffed, tired from the long trek.

“Don’t you have ears, silly?” Zoe wheezed. “It’s the Grim Grotto. We’re near the Subsidiary Sleigh. The other ones are in a room we can’t access without Santa knowing.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Zoe noticed.

“That was the easy part,” she scowled. “Remember the reindeer? They’re guarding the Sleigh, and it won’t be easy to reach. Break’s over. Stand up. The snowmen might alert Santa.”

“What were those things?” I asked.

“You’ve seen them. Abominations. Created by Santa himself to patrol the boundaries. Lucky we didn’t meet the Snow Angels or we’d all be dead.”

Zoe seemed to be out of breath each time she spoke. I soon realized why.

“You’re bleeding,” I blurted.

“Oh, you’ve finally figured out this isn’t part of my festive outfit?”

“You need a doctor,” I said naively.

“That’s not how things work here. The only one capable of healing us is Santa, and he won’t budge for me, that’s certain. Either it’s a superficial wound and I’ll be fine, or it’s not and I’ll bleed out. But now is not the time to worry, we must get you back home.”

She zipped my mouth again. I protested with… unrefined hand signs, which were duly ignored. I wasn’t angry, just frustrated I couldn’t help the little girl.

The grotto’s unexpected brightness guided us around. It resembled dim sun rays piercing through a thick layer of ice. Zoe seemed to know her way in this labyrinth of forking tunnels.

We arrived at yet another fork. A nauseous mixture of bad breath, rot and manure made me feel sick. I tried to speak but all it accomplished was a muffled mumble.

“Is it important?” hissed Zoe. I nodded and she released the zipper.

“What’s that smell?” I asked.

“The reindeer,” she said. “They’re near.”

She entered the tunnel with the pungent odor, followed by the unconcerned Elfs. I looked back, thinking of returning to the entrance. Then I remembered the flesh-eating snowmen, and thought I’d rather take my chances with the unknown that lay ahead.

Zoe stopped behind a boulder, signaling me to approach. The tunnel had expanded into a large cave.

“Shush now. Look,” she gestured at something far below.

I spotted a magnificent sleigh. It would fit the exact description of “Santa’s sleigh”. She noticed my awe and nudged me, pointing towards something else nearby. It was a reindeer. And another one. Then a few more. At least a dozen of them, surrounded by many bones.

“What now?” I asked.

“We climb down the stairs.”

The ‘stairs’ she spoke of was a narrow and sharply steep path down the precipice.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights?” she smiled.

Zoe went first, followed by the other Elfs. I was paralyzed by fear, convinced that I’d slip and fall to my death.

“Want me to shove you off?” the last Elf smirked. “Maybe you’ll grow wings before the big splatter.”

Being pushed forward, I descended one step at a time, clutching onto the rocks to my right. A dozen or so steps later, I became a bit more comfortable and progressed a little faster.

Near the bottom was a landing carved inside the cliffside. It was a good vantage point to observe the Sleigh in all its glory, guarded by the ferocious reindeer, who were trotting aimlessly, fighting each other, even wounding one another. Worst of all, their injuries healed almost instantly.

One stood by, anticipating another reindeer’s charge. When the assailant was close, both their mouths expanded significantly, exposing rows of jagged, pointed teeth. Their entire bodies grew into a veinous mass of muscles, fighting antlers and hooves.

“You think we’ll make it?” one of the Elfs asked Zoe.

“Bad timing for cowardice, Kevin. There’s only one way out,” answered Zoe.

Looking at Kevin was like seeing myself in the mirror. I found it weird that an Elf would be scared, until I remembered he was a child, just like me.

“What’s next?” another female Elf asked.

Zoe glanced at me before she said, “We stick to the plan. I go first, followed by James, then you, Kevin, and the rest. When I say ‘run’, we sprint to the Sleigh.”

Everyone agreed. Zoe went first, and Kevin pushed me forward. We carefully made our way down the stairs, brandishing weapons and shields. Zoe’s was fingering something in her pocket, her candy cane sheathed.

The instant her curled shoe touched the ground, every reindeer swiveled their head towards us, like a missile locked on its target. Zoe pulled her hand from her pocket and threw mistletoe berries far ahead, yelling, “RUN!”

Every reindeer clomped in our direction, each stride dislodging stones from the ground. No way any of us could get to the Sleigh. Those things were supernaturally fast.

One of them touched one of the red berries. Bang! The reindeer was startled as the berry abruptly expanded like a rising tablecloth, capturing the animal, and sealing it with a green ribbon.

The other beasts stopped in their tracks as they observed the red bag bulging from every angle, hearing a muffled screech coming from within. I was so stunned by what had happened that my feet were rooted in place. The other Elfs weren’t, though. Zoe had arrived near the Sleigh, frantically hitting an invisible wall with her candy cane.

I got back to my senses and ran. So did the reindeer. From behind, I heard bang after bang, but the sound of hooves was rapidly approaching. I peeked over my shoulder for one second and saw one’s mouth in all its glory. It was far worse than the snowmen.

My feet kept moving but I closed my eyes because I knew I was dead. My own stupidity is what saved me; I stumbled on a rock and fell, the reindeer jumping over me to maul the Elf ahead of me. I leapt up and passed the gruesome scene, crying, screaming. Most other Elfs were frantically bashing the wall when a shattering sound told me they got through.

Next thing I knew, Zoe kicked Kevin toward one of the reindeer and rushed to the Sleigh. His last moments were too horrible to describe.

I kept running, trying to ignore the bangs and the reindeers galloping like mad. Two more Elfs were holding the beasts at large by shooting baubles from their candy canes. I didn’t even know they could do that, but it was pretty efficient. Each bauble shattered into clouds of glitter, electrocuting the reindeer as the smoke came down.

Meanwhile, Zoe was already in the Sleigh, handling something.

“Don’t leave without us,” a girl Elf shouted. That moment of inattention had cost her life.

I took my candy cane by the rounded handle and pretended it was a gun. Baubles shot from its end, hitting the reindeer in front of me, clearing the passage. I fired a volley of baubles behind me, partially incapacitating the pursuing monsters.

Only one other Elf remained. He slowly backed away, struggling to keep the biggest reindeer down.

“Stop,” Thump! “getting,” Thump! “up,” Thump! “you,” Thump! “piece of,” Thump! Thump!

His left side was clear. I sprinted past the convulsing reindeer and hopped onto the Sleigh, only to be pushed back by Zoe.

“What are you doing?” I yelled.

When I looked up, she looked like a maniac.

“Empty. I gotta go,” the shooting Elf said, leaving his weapon behind as he jumped into the Sleigh.

I tried to reenter, but she repelled me with such force that my elbow broke as I shielded my fall. I gripped my broken arm, crying. Zoe stared and laughed. The Sleigh began to glow bright red.

“There’s a reason I was on the naughty list, silly,” she grinned. “Enjoy Christmas hell, James.”

Before I could get up, the Sleigh had vanished in a flash of red. I immediately turned to my left to see… no reindeer. They were also gone. The only thing remaining on the ground was a glowing red cube.

“The present!” I gasped, pocketing the small ceramic ornament, and stood up. I had completely forgotten about it.

Behind the Sleigh’s former location was a nearly imperceptible door. I turned the handle and entered, only to discover another sleigh made of wood. It was simple, aged, but slightly damaged. I clambered in and found a washed out set of instructions, barely legible.

HOW TO USE

Sit tight.

Pronounce the place name out loud and clearly.

Close eyes.

Open eyes when hearing jingle.

A crashing jingle echoed from beyond the room. Through the open door, I barely recognized the Sleigh that had returned. It was cracked and toppled over, covered in gore with two reindeer feasting on… I didn’t want to think about it.

“I want to go back home,” I sobbed.

One of the reindeer hurtled through the doorway. I instinctively closed my eyes. Next thing I knew, I heard a jingle and peeped through my eyelashes.

“Home!” I cried, jumping out of the sleigh.

I looked around, incredulous. Snow graced the ground without blizzard, meat-eating snowman, or monstrous reindeer. I tried to enter, but I was locked out. Of course, I was. Everyone was fast asleep inside.

I shivered as I ran down the side path. My warm clothes had disappeared. All that remained was my good old pajamas.

Using my left hand, I opened the toilet window. Mom always left it unlocked in case someone forgot the keys. I was too short to climb through, but luckily, there was a small stepladder in the garden. I squeezed in and crashed down. Excruciating pain surged from my fractured elbow.

Lights flashed on, and I screamed, not from pain, but from fear. Fear that another Elf had returned to drag me back to Clausland. When the toilet door opened, and mom and dad’s familiar faces loomed above me, warm tears streamed down my cheeks.

Seven weeks later, I was completely healed. My injury was in fact a hairline fracture. Mom and dad had been livid that I’d been ‘playing’ outside in the middle of the night. It goes without saying that they didn’t believe a word of my grisly experience.

We went to the ER and returned home after sunrise. Although my parents were angry, they let me open my presents before tucking me in my safe haven. I can’t recall what I received that day, but what I do remember is that I didn’t rip off the Christmas wrapping like I did every year. Instead, I delicately unfolded it without leaving a single tear, and stored them in a drawer. The piles I accumulated over the years still remain at my current home.

Of the toys I took utmost care. Even though Zoe had shown her true colors at the end, I can’t imagine that every naughty kid was as bad as her. Even she didn’t deserve to go that way.

I must admit that imagining children’s remains as toys was strange at first. As for everything, you get used to it. Except for one thing. Every Christmas, even as an adult, I stay awake or party till dawn, fearing an Elf might bring me back. It marked me so much that I decided not to have any children in case the Claus awaits his revenge – if he ever found out.

As for the ceramic ornament, I never opened it. Something rattles inside, and when Christmas nears, bright red letters appear, forming “SLU CA NATAS”. I never found out its meaning, but I vividly remember what Zoe said. Whatever that revenge may be, this little Pandora’s Box will remain sealed for years to come.

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divdevdump · 3 months ago

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A group of almost 70 Palestinian filmmakers — including two-time Oscar nominee Hany Abu Assad, acclaimed director Elia Suleiman and recent BAFTA winner Farah Nabulsi — have signed a strongly-worded letter in which they accuse Hollywood of “dehumanising” Palestinians on screen over decades, a factor they assert has helped enable the ongoing devastation in Gaza.

The letter — also signed by the likes of multiple-award winners including Michel Khleifi, Mai Masri, Najwa Najjar and the 22-strong list of directors behind the compilation of shorts “From Ground Zero,” Palestine‘s current submission to the Oscars — also expresses outrage and what it described as the “inhumanity and racism shown by some in the Western entertainment industry towards our people, even during this most difficult of times.” The letter marks the first collaborative initiative by Palestinian filmmakers since the horrific events of Oct. 7, in which terror group Hamas — which rules Gaza — killed more than 1,200 Israelis and took more than 250 hostage, and the ongoing retaliatory attacks on Gaza by Israel, which have killed more than 40,000 Palestinians (according to the Palestinian Health Authority) and led to a humanitarian crisis in the territory. Despite its fierce criticism of Hollywood, the letter does thank the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences for “standing up to pressure and insisting on freedom of expression,” by refusing attempts to disqualify a Gaza-focused documentary from the 2024 Emmy nominations.

The Peabody Award-winning “It’s Bisan From Gaza and I’m Still Alive,” by Palestinian journalist, activist and filmmaker Bisan Owda and chronicling her family’s plight as they flee bombardment of their home in by Israel, is nominated for the News and Documentary Emmys for Outstanding Hard News Feature Story: Short Form. However, there were calls by a U.S.-based pro-Israel group for the nomination to be rescinded, with a letter signed by the likes of Debra Messing, Sherry Lansing, Rick Rosen and Haim Saba accusing Owda of having ties to the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), a United States-designated terrorist group.

In response, NATAS president Adam Sharp said that Owda’s nomination would not be rescinded, writing in a letter that the organisation had been “unable to corroborate these reports” of Owda’s alleged involvement and “found no grounds, to date, upon which to overturn the editorial judgment of the independent journalists who reviewed the material.”

See the letter by the Palestinian filmmakers list of signatures below:

We, Palestinian filmmakers, appreciate and thank the National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences (NATAS) for standing up to pressure and insisting on freedom of expression by upholding Bisan Owda’s 2024 News and Documentary Emmy nomination for the documentary, “It’s Bisan From Gaza and I’m Still Alive.”

This film is narrated by the award-winning and inspiring 25-year-old Palestinian journalist, Bisan Owda, who has risked her life to share with the world reports and stories about the resilience, resistance and survival of ordinary Palestinian families in the face of Israel’s ongoing, livestreamed genocide in the occupied Gaza Strip.

Trying to censor Bisan’s voice is only the latest repressive attempt to deny Palestinians the right to reclaim our narrative, share our history, and in this case bring attention to the atrocities our people are facing in the hopes that we can bring an end to them. We well understand the power of image and cinema, and for far too long we have been outraged at the inhumanity and racism shown by some in the Western entertainment industry towards our people, even during this most difficult of times.

Through our films, we have tried to present alternative narratives, depictions and images to reverse the stereotypical, dehumanizing “worthless, disposable beings” image which enables the whitewashing and/or justification of the crimes perpetrated for decades against Palestinians. But why must we always put on our “boxing gloves” to defend our art against ruthless censorship that targets us merely on the basis of our identity, not our creativity?

We wholeheartedly welcomed the nomination of Bisan Owda’s film for an Emmy as an indication that, after so many years of Israel’s apartheid and settler-colonial rule over the Palestinian people, the relentless, decades-old dehumanization of Palestinians on small and big screens in the U.S., in Hollywood in particular, was beginning to give way to a more ethical stance. The censorship attempt against the film, though, was a reality check of sorts. We must still contend with and fiercely challenge the anti-Palestinian and generally anti-Arab racist propaganda that remains all too prevalent in Western entertainment media.

Although we are deeply concerned at how this dehumanization is a danger to our very existence as Palestinians, we are cognizant of how it also puts many racialized communities around the world, including in the West, at risk of a similar fate as the “might makes right” credo prevails.

We call on our international colleagues in the film industry, visionaries for the kind of world we would like to live in, to speak out against this genocide and the erasure, racism and censorship that enable it; to do everything humanly possible to stop and end complicity with this unspeakable horror; and to stand against working with production companies that are deeply complicit in dehumanizing Palestinians, or whitewashing and justifying Israel’s crimes against us.

This has to stop. Now.

Signed:

Michel Khleifi

Mai Masri

Hany Abu Assad

Najwa Najjar

Elia Suleiman

Rashid Masharawi

Farah Nabulsi

Mohammad Bakri

Maha Haj

Mahdi Fleifel

Raed Andoni

Kamal Aljafari

Saleh Bakri

Mohanad Yaqubi

Tarzan Nasser

Arab Nasser

Ossama Bawardi

Rakan Mayasi

Khadija Habashneh

Leila Sansour

Khaled Jarrar

Rula Nasser

May Odeh

Adam Bakri

Iyad Alasttal

Amer Shomali

Carol Mansour

Muna Khalidi

Mohamed Jabaly

Salim abu Jabal

Suha Arraf

Firas Khoury

Randa Nassar

Yasmine Al Massri

Wisam Al Jafari

Ismael El Habbash

Muayad Alayan

Sawsan Asfari

Kamel el Basha

Rozeen Bisharat

Nadia Eliewat

Ward Kayyal

Maryse Gargour

Amer Hlehel

Ziad Bakri

Aws Al-Banna*

Ahmed Al-Danf*

Basil Al-Maqousi*

Mustafa Al-Nabih*

Muhammad Alshareef*

Ala’a Ayob*

Bashar Al-Balbeisi*

Alaa Damo*

Hana Awad*

Ahmad Hassouna*

Mustafa Kallab*

Kareem Satoum*

Mahdi Karirah*

Rabab Khamees*

Khamees Masharawi*

Wissam Moussa*

Tamer Najm*

Nidaa Abu Hasna*

Nidal Damo*

Reema Mahmoud*

E’temad Weshah*

Islam Al Zrieai*

#gaza #palestine #israeli occupation #palestinian media #Palestinian filmmakers #Hollywood #NATAS #fighting Zionism #letter #Variety

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