Motions is a story that is female-oriented, a story that sheds a light on the harsh reality of many women around the world. Motions highlights the topic of human trafficking and contemporary slavery. It begins with sounds in the background, like a train is starting to move. I wondered to myself, does this story focus on the motions of a moving train taking the passenger to an unknown destination? Or is the motions of a changing destination? Of not having a home, or family bound with blood? Or the motions of a racing heartbeat, an anxious and fearful mind? Throughout the story, “ant-world post colonialism” was being explained in the background of the story. However, I accidentally went back in the story instead of forward and I was met with different content; changed content based on my previous reading of the same page. The words were altered; again, the sense of motions. These slaves were forced to work against their will; battered, beaten, bloodied. “It is their country but it is not their country, Bystanders not participants, Serving from sunup to sundown, For a family not their family.” They are held hostage and working for the economy of the country, like London or Melbourne but they are bystanders in their workplace, not participants. Made to be part of a family that treats them worse than an outsider.
All these women became “only a statistic.” They would get $20,000 for organs, an offer that made them believe that it was better than begging; at least they would be rich enough to buy off starvation. These slaves had the worse choices given: “This deal is the nearest you will ever get to paradise. If you stay here you could starve. Decide today.” What should they decide? Be beaten to death or starve to death? It’s not a question that provides an easy answer. The sense of motion was constantly emphasize with the use of moving images in the story. And this was carried on into a line that I found very powerful, “One thought above all others plagued you…you could have avoided it…That there was no one you could blame: you had brought this upon yourself.” It’s still their fault. They are their own reason for creating a hellish present for themselves. No one is else to blame; only the slaves. And eventually, the mood was changed with an accompaniment of music that had a very Mediterranean/Middle-Eastern. Not something I expected; something I could not make sense of. It wasn’t only women though, and I learned this through a little passage about child football players. Any age; they can be fooled, they can be tricked, they can be taken for a ride. A ride emotionally, a ride on a train. Children or women were constantly being compared to slave ants. Humans being compared to bugs. Who would have thought? It’s not like the slaves didn’t ask for help. They tried to escape, but all they could do was bang on the door. But “the banging was purely rhetorical.” It was just put out there, not meant to be answered, be heard. It was for the slaves to vent out their frustration, their anger at fate. It was rhetorical, not meant to be cared for. So no, don’t worry about it. There was a repetition of lines, but were hard to read against the black background. The black background, as if an abyss; a never-ending abyss where the slaves jumped in and were taken to the unknown. And then, towards the end: “What will the ending be: suicide or escape? When do we start to re-board the beginning?” Nonsensical music, instruments and notes jumbled up. It asked the question: kill yourself or attempt for freedom and maybe be killed by another’s hands? No sense, no easy way out just like the music. Do we start to re-board? Re-board what? The train that started this journey, setting food in London or Melbourne…or life?