Windows of displacement - Toussaint To Move 2019

I had the chance to finally see Windows of Displacement at Tara Arts theatre on January 18. Toussaint to Move's solo work was housed in this quaint space interestingly resembling a throne room. The spacing, the red brick walls, the square stage with red velvet-like seats on its three sides. It all felt as if we, the audience, were summoned. Summoned to witness something of grave importance. 

And important it was. Akeim Toussaint Buck, the solo artist in question, tells a poignant, at times humorous, and semi-autobiographical story of migration, settlement, and assimilation – or the lack thereof. Akeim intertwines song, dance, spoken word, auditory and visual stimuli, and the former of his talents spoke volumes of his ability to acknowledge and place his audience at the core of his efforts. 

Any search into Akeim and Windows of Displacement will lead you to this memorable and catchy song. Akeim is a master of audience interaction (perhaps interaction is too detached a word). He has a very honest, open, and welcoming air about him as he explains the origins of the song. The captivating plantation song, born out of Jamaica, is "our war cry" to galvanise and strengthen one another as it once did decades ago. And through this impassioned call-and-response, Akeim does just that. With little effort, he brings us together as one audience rather than individuals awaiting an entertaining piece of theatre.

"When problems of the past exist in the present, how can we say we are working together for a better future?"


The past is exhibited in many ways. Leaning on a poetic script, embellished with fluid and physical movement, Akeim tells his personal migration story travelling from Jamaica to the UK at a young age. And after having arrived, his ordeal with the Home Office, jumping through hoops and shelling out thousands of pounds to gain citizenship and finally assimilate. ("If only that was all it took", he later jests in the post-show talk). This is sadly a very common migration story. I've experienced this also. And it seems that, if the Windrush scandal says anything to us, this experience will continue to occur.

Akeim traverses these stories with a new addition to the theatre experience – beatboxing. Although visually arresting – there were beautiful moments of beatboxing coupled with staccato and capoeira inspired movement – I feel it didn't drive the story forward as well as it could have (especially after learning more about his inner process with beatboxing and movement over the development period of his next work). There is a lack of clarity in its purpose, causing for a cautious viewing.

This caution is not uncommon, however. I recognise the tendency as an audience to react to the new and unknown with caution – look to the very history of hip-hop theatre for example. (It’s now the exciting trend to indulge in, but I digress). Perhaps with time and a more elaborate approach, this can evolve into as strong a medium as his movement and storytelling.

I've been aware, for some time, of an intergenerational trend of placing trauma on stage by theatre makers and artists of the Afro-Caribbean diaspora. (Perhaps an unavoidable trend due to our history). Think Spoken Movement's Obibini (2018), Ffion Campbell-Davies' Womb Paves Way (2018), Alesandra Seutin's Boy Breaking Glass (2018), and even Boy Blue's Blak Whyte Gray (2017) in terms of recent works. They all place a type of trauma on stage and navigate them in their individual ways. That's to say Windows of Displacement fits a trend. A distressing one. But what Akeim does brilliantly is offer a unique type of release and healing through the breaking of the fourth wall; he offers a catharsis we can all partake in rather than empathise with at a distance. 

I found myself smiling at various moments of the piece, recognising this genius and the simplicity of it. He wrestles with the heavy and dark themes at play, recounts many distressing stories, exhibits physical and harsh movements. And, much like the Jamaican plantation workers of decades past, returns to the rallying song as a catharsis. This cycle occurred time and time again. The song became (and perhaps was all along) a safe, calming home he could return to, and us, his welcoming family and community.  

I can only suggest you go and see Windows of Displacement for yourself. It's heartfelt storytelling theatre as delicate as it is visceral in its telling of black history and global migration. It emanates a message of hope, of survival through harsh times, of building communities not just to survive but to thrive, of empowerment. The Windows of Displacement social media hashtag is proof of that. There is a movement brewing.