finding refuge: little amal, machine dazzle, and me

Little Amal makes her way up Central Park West during NYC visit (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

When I headed out to Columbus Circle last Saturday to witness an unusual event combining a wild costume and set designer / performance artist and a twelve-foot-tall puppet, I never anticipated being as genuinely touched as I was by an inanimate object.

Since July 2021, Little Amal has been traversing the world, representing a ten-year-old girl from Aleppo, Syria, fleeing war and persecution while searching for her missing mother. “The Walk” has taken her more than six thousand miles across a dozen countries, delivering the message: “Don’t forget about us.”

For nearly thirty years, Machine Dazzle has been dazzling audiences with his way-over-the-top costume and set designs and live performances, working with the likes of Julie Atlas Muz, Pig Iron Theater, Opera Philadelphia, and, most extensively, Taylor Mac (The Lily’s Revenge, A 24-Decade History of Popular Music). The more glitz and glamour, the better, as displayed at his fab exhibit at the Museum of Arts & Design in Columbus Circle, “Queer Maximalism x Machine Dazzle,” consisting of two floors of Machine’s bold and colorful works.

Little Amal greets Machine Dazzle in Columbus Circle (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

At 1:30, Machine emerged from the museum, dressed as a glittering honeycomb with dozens and dozens of black and yellow bees attached to him. He was followed by an entourage of about a dozen worker bees; it was clear who was the queen.

Together we all proceeded to the entrance to the park, where Machine Dazzle met up with Little Amal; despite the obvious contrast — Amal, her body made of bound molded cane and carbon fiber with an open framework that reveals the person inside on stilts operating her head, torso, and hips, was dressed in a muted palette of earthy red and off-white, while Machine’s outfit and demeanor were all about the buzz — the pair became friends. (Two people walk alongside Amal, moving her arms and legs.) A small New Orleans–style marching band played music that got Amal, Machine, the bees, and everyone else dancing (when they weren’t taking cellphone photos and video).

Machine is usually the center of attention in public, but Amal was stealing the show, looking out over the crowd, shaking hands with children, and stomping those giant boots, which are even bigger than Machine’s platforms.

Soon we were all progressing up Central Park West toward Lincoln Center, Amal becoming a kind of Pied Piper, the throng of people following her growing by the minute. Every so often, she would stop, do a little dance, greet some of her minions, then continue on, complete with police escort on the route, blocking off streets to make a safe path for her.

It was a stark difference to how migrants are being treated in Texas and Florida, where Governors Abbott and DeSantis, respectively, are filling up buses and planes and sending unknowing refugees to New York City, Chicago, DC, and Martha’s Vineyard, lying to them in what just might be cases of human trafficking. Little Amal is all about human rights.

At one point I jumped on a bench to get a better shot, but the street was so packed that I had to get off, and, in doing so, almost knocked over the person handling Amal’s right side. Oh, the embarrassment if Amal had taken a spill because of my ineptitude…

A huge crowd awaited Amal at Lincoln Center, where she interacted with a troupe of young dancers. I bumped into a theater colleague of mine, Carol, and she was fully immersed in the power of Amal, calling it a spiritual experience. When I reached up to shake Amal’s hand, it was electrifying. When she looked directly at me and I snapped a photo, it was like a rock star posing just for me. Like Milky White the cow in the current Broadway revival of Into the Woods, Amal is not hiding that she is an inanimate construction, but I will swear that I could see care, empathy, concern, worry,  compassion, and love in her eyes.

And then the unthinkable happened: My point-and-shoot camera battery died, and I ran out of storage space on my smartphone. Oh no! Was any of this really happening if I didn’t have digital proof?

Carol asked if I could hold her arm as the procession started to leave Lincoln Center, on its way to the American Museum of Natural History. And I obliged without a second thought, having already put my devices away and glorying in being part of the moment. Carol and I, and dozens and dozens of others, continued up Central Park West as onlookers tried to figure out what was going on but took out their phones regardless.

Little Amal scans the crowd at Lincoln Center (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

It was a joy that there was no crass commercialism associated with the event; there were no souvenirs for sale or branded elements (although you can buy T-shirts and hoodies online). If you want to contribute to the project, there is a website where you can donate to the Amal Fund to “help young refugees like her find a more hopeful future.” (Amal means “hope” in Arabic.)

I eventually parted ways with Machine, Carol, and Amal, needing to get back to the rest of my life. But I was deeply moved by the afternoon in ways that I wasn’t prepared for; it was more than just mere spectacle. Everybody I had encountered, from Machine to Carole to what seemed to be thousands of others, had big smiles and appeared to be sincerely affected as well.

Designed by Adrian Kohler and Basil Jones, Little Amal will be in New York City through October 2, with planned stops at the Brooklyn Children’s Museum, Green-Wood Cemetery, the STREB Lab for Action Mechanics, High Bridge, the Clemente Solo Vélez Center, Snug Harbor, Brooklyn Bridge Park, and other locations in the five boroughs; her travels here are produced by St. Ann’s Warehouse, who in 2019 presented Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson’s The Jungle, which centers on a young refugee named Little Amal, who served as inspiration for the making of the puppet and this journey.

Our sanctuary city probably could have given Little Amal a parade down the Canyon of Heroes.

And I would have been there, cheering her on every step of the way.