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CREATED:20161024T193000Z
DESCRIPTION:11/19 SF Special Premier Screening of\nIron Moon: The Poetry of Chinese 
 Migrant Workers\nA documentary film directed by Xiaoyu Qin and Feiyue Wu  
 followed by a discussion with the directors and reading by poet  Chen 
 Nianxi (陳年喜), who is a demolitions worker and poet for 16 
 years\nSaturday November 19, 2016 7:00 PM\nILWU Local 34\n801 2nd St. San 
 Francisco\n\nSponsored 
 by\nLaborFest\nwww.laborfest.net\n(415)642-8066\nlaborfest@laborfest.net\nFor 
 reservations contact LaborFest\n\nAbout the documentary film:\n\nAn 
 assembly line worker in an Apple factory who commits suicide at the young 
 age of 24, leaving behind 200 poems of despair—“I swallowed an iron 
 moon…..”; a guileless lathe operator who is rebuffed at every turn, 
 living in the world of his poetry; a female clothing factory worker who 
 lives in poverty but writes poetry rich in dignity and love; a coalminer 
 who works deep in the earth year round, trying to contact and make peace 
 with the spirits of his dead coworkers through his poetry; and a goldmine 
 demolitions worker who blasts rocks several kilometers into mountainsides 
 to support his family, while writing poetry to carry the weight of his fury 
 and affections—“My body carries three tons of dynamite….” They 
 could be any of the 350 million workers in China, and yet these five are 
 also poets. Using poetry as a tool to chip away at the ice of silence, they 
 express the hidden life stories and experiences of people living at the 
 bottom of the society. This is one story behind the sudden rise of China, 
 and a mournful song of global capitalism. \n\nIron Moon: The Poetry of 
 Chinese Migrant 
 Workers\nhttps://www.kickstarter.com/projects/963482307/iron-moon-the-poetry-of-chinese-migrant-workers/description\n\nLunpeng 
 Ma\n\nCrowdfunding Synopsis\n\nThis documentary film follows the lives of 
 workers behind the rise of Chinese manufacturing. Their stories and poetry 
 affect us all, and with your help, we can bring this important film to the 
 US and publish a corresponding poetry anthology.\n\nWhat does "IRON MOON" 
 mean?\n\nFew of us have stopped to consider the lives of the workers who 
 manufacture the objects that make up our daily lives. I’m typing this on 
 my Mac, with an iPhone at my elbow. We use these objects without knowing 
 anything about the Foxconn plants in which they are made, or even where 
 these factories are located, let alone who works in them. One such worker 
 was the young Chinese poet Xu Lizhi, who, at the age of 24, jumped out of a 
 building not far from where he worked at the Foxconn factory in Shenzhen. 
 After Xu’s death in the fall of 2014, the international media got a hold 
 of the story and recognized its importance as a symbol of our time. Time 
 Magazine put out an article titled “The Poet Who Died for Your Phone,” 
 and the largest daily German newspaper, Süddeutsche Zeitung, published an 
 article claiming that global companies were taking advantage of less 
 developed countries like China and India, producing products under 
 exploitative conditions and taking the vast majority of the profit. Before 
 he died, Xu Lizhi wrote a powerful poem from which the title of the film 
 and anthology is taken:\n\nI Swallowed an Iron Moon\n\nI swallowed an iron 
 moon \n\nthey called it a screw\n\nI swallowed industrial wastewater and 
 unemployment forms \n\nbent over machines, our youth died young\n\nI 
 swallowed labor, I swallowed poverty \n\nswallowed pedestrian bridges, 
 swallowed this rusted-out life\n\nI can’t swallow any more \n\neverything 
 I’ve swallowed roils up in my throat\n\nI spread across my country a poem 
 of shame\n\nAbout the Documentary Film\n\nThe poem above speaks for many 
 workers who find themselves “screws” in the machine, or just cogs in 
 the larger global production system. There are a shocking number of these 
 workers, and a few of them, like Xu Lizhi, manage to write about their 
 experiences in deeply moving ways. Iron Moon follows five of these 
 worker-poets through their daily lives, showing the pressures of their 
 work, and the poverty in which many of them survive. And certainly, not all 
 of them are factory workers. 
 \n\n<9b44b234c48ac368eb7f67761b508955_h264_high.jpg> PLAY\n-The day before 
 the National Day, 24-year-old Xu Lizhi jumped out of a building. He was 
 working on Foxconn assembly line, the world’s largest Apple manufacturing 
 factory. He left behind a volume of painful poems of the highest 
 quality.\n\n     \n\n<844bbf6f028a7b855b8ac4b9a1c44894_h264_high.jpg> 
 PLAY\n-Lucky (Chen Nianxi), demolitions worker for 16 years. His daily 
 routine is used to blow up rocks and dig mines for miners. By lonely, deep 
 mountains, he writes poetry filled with a fighting spirit. Learning that 
 his mother is ill with terminal cancer, he chooses to stay in the mountains 
 and continue doing this dangerous work rather than returning home. He uses 
 his own life’s energy to help continue hers.\n\n      
 \n\n<17e65fd3c354f8bf6b64d3c2134c277e_h264_high.jpg> PLAY\n-Old Coalminer 
 (Lao Jing), coalmine worker for 25 years. The taciturn worker-poet Old 
 Coalminer perches in an 800-meter-deep coalmine. His poetry takes shape in 
 this difficult, dark environment. His poems speak with the center of the 
 earth, speak with the coal beds. After a fatal mine disaster, his poetry 
 can also speak with the dead.  \n\n    \n\n PLAY\n-Dawn (Wu Xia), a worker 
 since age 14. The garment factory worker Dawn is a "pearl surviving at the 
 bottom." She loves sundresses, and she keeps many cheap, beat-up sundresses 
 in her wardrobe. Even though her life is difficult, she keeps up her 
 spirits and love of beauty, writing poems that explore the strength of the 
 human spirit.\n\n   \n\n PLAY\n-Blackbird (Wu Niaoniao), unemployed 
 assembly line worker. In Blackbird’s hometown hospital, he cuts the 
 umbilical cord of his second child, whose birth is illegal under the 
 one-child policy. Just a month before, he won an important poetry award for 
 his unique style, and he feels doubly blessed. When he loses his job and 
 must go back to the city to find a new one, however, everything begins to 
 fall apart. \n\n   \n\nThese are the people who make up the documentary 
 film, and whose work has been anthologized in the book Iron Moon. \n\nIn 
 our inexorably globalizing and interconnected world, these stories are 
 essential to understanding not only others, but basic elements of our own 
 lives. The shoes we wear, the electronics we use, the food we eat, the 
 materials that make up our homes, are produced by others, and frequently 
 those others live across the world from us. Their stories form a 
 significant of our own stories.\n\nLooking Toward the Future\n\nIron Moon 
 is the first in a series of three documentary films and three corresponding 
 anthologies of poetry that will continue the stories of the first. Iron 
 Moon has already won major film awards in China and Taiwan, and been shown 
 more than 700 times across 130 cities. In online forums and messaging apps 
 alone, discussion of the film has reached more than 80 million people. 
 It’s fair to say that with their first film, and without the support of 
 major distribution or box office profits, filmmakers Qin Xiaoyu and Wu 
 Feiyu have created a true cultural phenomenon in 
 China.\n\n<129693069842285394d5491fc265d0fd_original.jpg>\nThe next step is 
 to bring the film to the United States. The American premier of Iron Moon 
 will take place in early November, and the ultimate dream is to make it to 
 the Oscars. The filmmakers will travel to the States to show the film in 
 NYC and Los Angeles, as well as at major universities across the US, and to 
 join in active discussions with viewers, students, and anyone interested in 
 these incredible stories. The poetry anthology will be published by the 
 prestigious literary publisher White Pine Press at the same time.\n\nBut 
 all of these plans require financing, and as part of a small independent 
 film company, the filmmakers can use all of the help they can get. If you 
 think these voices should be brought into the larger international 
 conversation, if you’re interested in Chinese culture and poetry, or if 
 you use an iPhone, buy products that are made in China, or understand that 
 globalism is effecting all of us, please consider supporting this film and 
 poetry anthology. \n\nAll funds will go toward: \n\nThe translation and 
 publication of the Iron Moon poetry anthology; \n\nTransportation and 
 accommodation for the film team on their US tour, including showings and 
 discussions in New Haven, Boston, New York, Durham, San Francisco and Los 
 Angeles.\n\n\n The 
 Team\n\n<320f3fec42c8db6904e964d7048c0228_original.jpg>\nEleanor Goodman, 
 translator of Iron Moon. Goodman is a Research Associate at the Fairbank 
 Center at Harvard University, and spent a year at Peking University on a 
 Fulbright Fellowship. She has been an artist in residence at the American 
 Academy in Rome and was awarded a Henry Luce Translation Fellowship from 
 the Vermont Studio Center. Her first book of translations, Something 
 Crosses My Mind: Selected Poems of Wang Xiaoni (Zephyr Press, 2014) was the 
 recipient of a 2013 PEN/Heim Translation Grant and winner of the 2015 
 Lucien Stryk Prize. The book was also shortlisted for the International 
 Griffin Prize. Her first poetry book, Nine Dragon Island, was a finalist 
 for the Drunken Boat First Book Prize.  \n\n"As a poet and translator of 
 Chinese poetry, I’ve spent a lot of time interacting with Chinese poets 
 and bringing their work into English. Poetry at its best is the most 
 profound form of communication, a multifaceted mirror that first and 
 foremost shows us to ourselves. It is also a tool by which we can gain an 
 understanding of lives that are different or distant from our own. With 
 that in mind, I’m very excited to be part of a project that is bringing 
 the recent Chinese documentary Iron Moon, along with an anthology of 
 contemporary poetry of the same name (translated by yours truly), to the 
 United States. The documentary centers on workers at the bottom rungs of 
 Chinese society, workers who also write poetry about their experiences in 
 places most of us will likely never see in person. It is a rare example of 
 the best artistic productions happening in China today: honest, revealing, 
 powerful, and full of surprising glimpses into our current globalized 
 world."\n\n<2a010d0b7cced1686d518df250d226dc_original.jpg>\nXiaoyu Qin, 
 director of Iron Moon. He is also a poet, writer, poem critic, chair of 
 Zurong Dialect Film Festival Committee, jury of Beijing Huayi International 
 Chinese Poetry Competition. Publication works includes: 1970 Notes on 
 Poetry, Qin Xiaoyu Album (16th Period of New Poetry Collection ) , Jade 
 Ladder: Contemporary Chinese Poetry (Monograph on Poetics), Selected Essays 
 of Ma Yan, Today: Selected Novel of Ma Yan. \n\n\nFeiyue Wu, director of 
 Iron Moon. His other works include: Surge: 1978-2008, Fortune and Dream: 
 Twenty Years of Chinese Stock Market, and Renminbi. 
 \n\n<4c4dfaaa48be2ed63746f8a5e4ab51e8_original.jpg>\nQingzeng Cai, producer 
 of Iron Moon. His case study of Iron Moon has been enclosed in China 
 Documentary Report and Idoc database.  
 \n\n<988b0bacd2f86cec2ebd6ba6efbe4787_original.jpg>\nXiaobo Wu, co-Producer 
 of Iron Moon. A famous financial writer in China, EMBA course professor of 
 SJTU and JNU , working on corporate study. He was evaluated as “Chinese 
 Youth Leader” in 2009 by Southern People Weekly. Representative works 
 are: The Big Failures, Thirty Years of Surge, Hundred years of Ups and 
 Downs, Two Thousand years of Mighty. \n\n\nDr. Lunpeng Ma, he has been an 
 active cultural critic and founder of a series of cultural activities 
 across the Pacific. He is now help the production team of Iron Moon to 
 promote this documentary and get the crowdfunding from Kickstarter.  
 \n\n***\n\nTo know more about this project, please visit the film official 
 website： www.ironmoonmovie.com\n\nron Moon-The Poet Who Died For Your 
 Phone\nhttp://time.com/chinapoet/\n\nHundreds of thousands of people travel 
 from China’s countryside to its cities to work in factories, building 
 devices for international consumers and trying to assemble better lives for 
 themselves. Xu Lizhi left behind a haunting record of that life\n\nBy Emily 
 Rauhala / Shenzhen and Jieyang\n\n\n \n\n\n\nHe dreamed about it, wrote 
 about it. He rolled it around in the palm of his hand. Working through the 
 “dark night of overtime” in January 2014, the 23-year-old Xu Lizhi 
 imagined himself like a misplaced screw, “plunging vertically, lightly 
 clinking,” lost to the factory floor. “It won’t attract anyone’s 
 attention,” he wrote. “Just like the last time/ On a night like this/ 
 When someone plunged to the ground.”\n\nA village boy with clothes-hanger 
 shoulders and a high school education, Xu moved to the southern Chinese 
 city of Shenzhen in 2011. He was looking for a way out of rural life; he 
 hoped to find a way to use his mind. Like hundreds of thousands before him, 
 he settled, to start, for a spot on the assembly line at Foxconn Technology 
 Group, the Taiwan manufacturing giant linked to just about every other name 
 in electronics, from Apple to Acer and Microsoft. To make sense of what he 
 saw there, he started to write, his evocative work earning him a modest 
 following in the city’s small community of dagong shiren, or migrant 
 poets.\n\nIn his 3½ years in Shenzhen, Xu captured life there in brutal, 
 beautiful detail. In the city, the country kid found a voice that roared, 
 publishing poems in company newspaper Foxconn People and sharing his work 
 online. Factory workers are often treated as interchangeable, anonymous. To 
 readers, his words were a reminder that every laborer has a mind and heart; 
 for him, writing was a way out. “Writing poems gives me another way of 
 life,” he told a Chinese journalist in an unpublished interview that TIME 
 has seen. “When you’re writing poems, you’re not confined to the real 
 world.” For the first time, Xu’s brother and close friends shared his 
 story with the foreign press.\n\n\nTranslation by The Nao Project at 
 libcom.org. \nIn the factory city, 2011 was a sad and strange time. The 
 complex known as Longhua is home to some 100,000 workers from across China. 
 In 2010, at least 17 attempted suicide; 14 died. Thanks to confidentiality 
 clauses and tight security, it was hard to know what was happening on the 
 inside. Labor groups blamed working conditions: long hours, modest pay and 
 mindless, repetitive work. The late Steve Jobs, a major customer, called 
 the deaths “troubling” but noted that the suicide rate was lower than 
 the U.S. average. Foxconn countered that conditions were fine. To dissuade 
 jumpers, it hung nets from the dorm — a macabre spectacle that made 
 headlines around the world. “The company places a priority on ensuring 
 the welfare of all of our over one million employees across all of our 
 operations globally,” Foxconn said in a statement to TIME. “… Our 
 record of progress is very clear and the significant enhancements in our 
 company’s working conditions have been confirmed by external audit 
 groups.”\n\nThough consumer activism in the 1990s and 2000s called global 
 attention to sweatshop conditions in Guangdong’s sneaker factories, the 
 lives of China’s migrant laborers have long since faded from view. 
 Outside activist circles, many accepted the notion that young workers were 
 cheerfully trading their youth for a better livelihood. They imagined that 
 they, like the rest of China, were rushing unambivalently toward consumer 
 capitalism, saving their factory wages for ever-newer, shinier 
 phones.\n\nThat, of course, was only part of the story. The great economic 
 experiment orchestrated by Mao Zedong’s heirs paved the way for more than 
 35 years of growth and profound social transformation. Textbooks credit 
 these cadres with “lifting” hundreds of millions out of poverty, but it 
 was ordinary Chinese like Xu who toiled their way to lives that their 
 parents could not have imagined. Now the days of double-digit GDP growth 
 are over, and state-led “socialism with Chinese characteristics“ has 
 spawned one of the most stratified societies on earth. People no longer 
 march in unison — some jump forward, others fall back.\n\nIn the years Xu 
 spent in Shenzhen, several more migrants jumped to their death. Xu himself 
 never made the leap to the life he imagined — to a desk job, a chance to 
 think, and the means to make his family proud. He stopped believing that 
 people were listening. That things could change. On Sept. 30, 2014, eight 
 months after he imagined himself plunging, Xu Lizhi stepped off the 
 ledge.\n\nChasing Fortune \nWhen Xu left his village outside the city of 
 Jieyang he tread a well-worn path. The people of eastern Guangdong province 
 have been on the move for centuries, sailing south to find work in the 
 trading ports of Southeast Asia, or slipping across the border to try their 
 luck in Hong Kong. The area, known as Chaoshan, is famous in China as the 
 birthplace of businesspeople.\n\n\n \n\nBy the time Xu was born, in July 
 1990, Chaoshan’s strivers were moving west, to the Pearl River Delta, 
 where a great economic experiment was under way. A former fishing village, 
 Shenzhen, was morphing into a manufacturing hub and there was money to be 
 made. Most of the work was brutal and poorly paid, but some struck it rich. 
 “In our village, people dropped out early to go to the city,” said Xu 
 Hongzhi, Xu Lizhi’s oldest brother, over dinner in Jieyang. “All anyone 
 could talk about at the spring festival was who would make it big next 
 year.”\n\nXu Lizhi seemed destined to join the great migration. He was 
 the youngest of three sons born to parents that farmed rice, leeks and taro 
 on a modest plot. His oldest brother remembers him as shy kid unsuited to 
 farm work, a boy who loved reading but had limited access to books. (There 
 was no library or bookstore; his parents did not read.) In high school, 
 when he should have been cramming, he was busy watching TV talent shows, Xu 
 Hongzhi says. Xu Lizhi’s favorite, an extravaganza called Super Boy, 
 plucked ordinary people from obscurity and made them 
 stars.\n\n\nTranslation by The Nao Project at libcom.org. \nXu Lizhi hoped 
 to shine a little brighter by getting into university, but his scores on 
 the national entrance exam fell short, a failure that haunted him, 
 according to his brother and two friends. His family urged him forward: in 
 their village, marrying off a son meant buying a home — they needed to 
 save for three. Xu Hongzhi told his little brother to forget about the exam 
 and follow his classmates to the city. “I said to him, ‘What’s in the 
 past is in the past, work hard and you can still change your 
 fate.’”\n\nAnd until the end, the family believed he would.\n\nBright 
 Lights, Big City \nFor a curious young man, Shenzhen has much to offer. The 
 city of 7 million pulses with people from every place and province (and no 
 shortage of bookstores). In the 2013 “I Speak of Blood,” Xu Lizhi 
 captured the teeming cosmopolitanism of his adopted home, observing from 
 his “matchbox” room a mix of: “Stray women in long-distance 
 marriages/ Sichuan chaps selling mala soup/ Old ladies from Henan running 
 stands/ And me with my eyes open all night to write a poem/ After running 
 about all day to make a living.”\n\nMaking a living was an almost 
 all-consuming task, an act of endurance that wore at his body and tore at 
 his mind. At his first factory job at Foxconn, Xu alternated each month 
 between day and night shifts, spending long, restless hours on his feet. 
 Though he told a friend he got used to the pain, his poems ache with 
 anguish. “By the assembly line I stood straight like iron, hands like 
 flight,” he wrote in August 2011. “How many days, how many nights/ Did 
 I — just like that — standing, fall asleep?”\n\nFactory life made Xu 
 feel like a machine, a half-human with a “stomach forged of iron/ full of 
 thick acid, sulfuric and nitric.” The same jig that forced workers’ 
 “skin to peel” replaced their human tissue with a “layer of aluminum 
 alloy.” He felt dehumanized, stunted, as if the work itself was stealing 
 his ability to conjure language beyond “working words” like 
 “workshop, assembly line, machine, work card, overtime, wages 
 …”\n\nThe world of words was his only respite. On his rare days off, Xu 
 liked to visit bookstores, lingering in the aisles, friends say. He also 
 frequented the factory library, and met writers and editors involved in the 
 company newspaper and started writing poems and reviews for it. “I was 
 very excited when I first saw his work,” says an editor familiar with his 
 early work who asked to remain anonymous to protect his job. “It made my 
 eyes widen.”\n\nXu started publishing poems online and submitting his 
 work to small magazines. He also connected with fellow worker-poets in the 
 Pearl River Delta, both in person and online. One Sunday in the spring of 
 2012, he took the bus to the neighboring city of Guangzhou to attend a 
 gathering. A fellow writer, Gao, noticed a thin young man sitting on the 
 sidelines, listening while staring at his phone. Gao asked him to join the 
 group. Reluctantly, he did.\n\n\nReuters\nScenes from within Foxconn 
 factory, cafeteria and dormitory in Shenzhen.\n \n\nAfterward, Gao walked 
 Xu to the station. While they waited for the Shenzhen-bound bus, they 
 shared a meal and a drink. They were both 20-something migrants in jobs 
 they despised, sensitive men in a city that rewarded the brash. Xu told Gao 
 he felt trapped, unhappy with his job but unable to secure another. 
 “Lizhi knew he should be using a pen and not a hammer,” Gao says. 
 “But there was a gap between reality and his dreams.”\n\nEating 
 Bitterness \nBy 2013, Xu felt like the city might swallow him. He traded 
 the factory dorm for a small, rented room, but the space started to feel 
 like a coffin. Some days, he longed to write like the Tang dynasty greats, 
 soaking his words in wine and beauty, musing about the play of “the moon 
 on snow.” Sleepless, stifled, he could not. “This reality,” he wrote, 
 “only lets me speak of blood.”\n\n\nTranslation by The Nao Project at 
 libcom.org. \nXu managed to switch from the assembly line to the logistics 
 department, a job that gave him a bit more variety and the occasional 
 chance to play on his phone, he told friends. But the new job did little to 
 quell his anxiety, and death began to haunt his work. In “A Kind of 
 Prophecy” he compared himself to his grandfather, a thin man who 
 “swallowed his feelings” and died young. “In the autumn of 1943, the 
 Japanese devils invaded/ and burned my grandfather alive/ at the age of 23/ 
 This year I turn 23.”\n\nXu said nothing of his struggle to his family, 
 and little to his friends. When he phoned home, he only shared good news, 
 his oldest brother Xu Hongzhi says. His family had no idea he wrote. Xu 
 Lizhi told a Chinese journalist he was certain they would not understand. 
 “On one hand, they cannot understand poetry,” Xu said. “On the other 
 I sometimes mention unpleasant experience, and I don’t want them to 
 worry.”\n\nThe people around him believed a certain amount of suffering 
 was normal, even necessary. Ask a veteran of Shenzhen’s factories about 
 their early years, and, odds are, they will speak with pride about 
 “eating bitterness,” a Chinese phrase that suggests an ability to 
 endure. Born to parents who knew famine, earlier migrants moved from abject 
 poverty on the farm to deadly sweatshops in the city. Those who survived 
 have a tendency to see new arrivals as lacking resolve: a kids-these-days 
 thing.\n\nXu Hongzhi and the editor who asked not to be named, had both, 
 like millions before them, moved to the city as teenagers, toiled in tough 
 conditions, and come out stronger. They believed Xu Lizhi would do the same 
 if he just waited and worked. When he looked at Xu, the editor saw talent, 
 not despair. “Things today are so much better than they used to be,” he 
 says. “But I guess today’s generation has different needs and 
 expectations.”\n\nXu alternated between hope and hopelessness. He dared 
 to hope for respite from monotony and a chance to use his talent, and twice 
 summoned the courage to apply, unsuccessfully, for desk jobs — as a 
 librarian at the factory, and at his favorite Shenzhen bookstore Youyi. But 
 when a local journalist asked him about his future, he said he could not 
 expect too much: “We all hope our lives will become better and better, 
 but most of us don’t control our destiny.”\n\nEpilogue \nAs spring 
 festival approached in 2014, Xu left his job at Foxconn without telling his 
 family, his brother said. He told friends he was off to the city of Suzhou 
 not far from Shanghai to see a girl and start afresh. It is unclear where 
 he spent that spring and summer; he lost touch with several close friends, 
 but paid his Shenzhen rent, his brother says.\n\nIn late September he 
 re-emerged in Shenzhen and signed a new contract with Foxconn. Two days 
 later, on the eve of China’s Oct. 1 National Day holiday, Xu Lizhi, by 
 then 24, walked to a mall across from his favorite bookstore, took the 
 elevator to the 17th floor, and jumped to his death. It was not until the 
 news of another suicide broke that friends found his final poems and a post 
 scheduled to publish on Oct.1: “A new day,” it read.\n\nIn the wake of 
 his death, labor groups translated Xu’s work into English, leading to 
 notices in Bloomberg News and the Washington Post. Chinese poet Qin Xiaoyu 
 is making a documentary film about Xu’s life and work. He also published 
 a slim volume of his poems. Foxconn, citing company policy, declined to 
 answer specific questions about Xu.\n\nXu Hongzhi took the long-distance 
 bus from Jieyang to negotiate a settlement with the company. Unable to take 
 Xu Lizhi back to the village, he carried his brother’s ashes to the coast 
 and scattered them in the sea. Zhou Qizao, a fellow worker-poet, penned a 
 defiant tribute: “Another screw comes loose/ Another migrant worker 
 brother jumps/ You die in place of me/ And I keep writing in place of 
 you.”\n\n— With reporting by Gu Yongqiang\n\nIf you or a loved one has 
 suicidal thoughts, call 1-800-273-8255 or visit 
 suicidepreventionlifeline.org.\n\n\nRisks and challenges\n\nRegardless of 
 any outcome of this crowdfunding for our documentary Iron Moon, we are 
 determined to screen it to the American public so that everyone gets a 
 chance to watch this remarkable film. Due to very limited time, we need to 
 prepay all the costs out of our own pockets before the crowdfunding 
 campaign. Without your critical support and if the crowdfunding fails to 
 achieve our goal, we have to take this financial burden, which will make it 
 almost impossible for us to produce the next part of this trilogy. \nNO. We 
 are not in the process of completing any past project. The successful 
 crowdfunding will actually make Iron Moon visible to Americans and help us 
 start the second and third part of this making a trilogy dedicated to 
 Chinese workers and their poems.\n\nLearn about accountability on 
 Kickstarter\nFAQ\n\nHave a question? If the info above doesn't help, you 
 can ask the project creator directly.\n\nAsk a question\nReport this 
 project to Kickstarter\n 
 https://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2016/10/24/18792634.php
SUMMARY:SF Screening of Iron Moon: The Poetry of Chinese Migrant Workers & poet Chen Nianxi (陳年喜
LOCATION:ILWU Local 34\n801 2nd St.\nSan Francisco, California
URL:https://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2016/10/24/18792634.php
DTSTART:20161120T030000Z
DTEND:20161120T053000Z
END:VEVENT
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