My Name Is Rachel Corrie is a verbatim playtext drawn from the writings of a woman who was, at the age of 23, murdered by an Israeli bulldozer driver as she stood between his vehicle and a house belonging to a Palestinian that was about to be unlawfully destroyed. Edited by Alan Rickman and Katharine Viner, this is a play which, whilst innately concerned with history, pays no lip service to ‘truthful’ modes of representation. Instead, through Corrie’s highly subjective and personalised writings, the adaptation of the editors, and the temporal and spatial dislocation of the performance, the audience is offered a multi-faceted reaction-to and commentary-on historical events which – in the end – whilst it may seem disobedient to historical praxis, is fundamental to the writing of history as it has always existed.
Given the above, and also given the extraordinary prescience with which Corrie has written both herself and the world as she understood it, a clearly ‘historicized’ reading of the playtext is here rendered difficult in the extreme, and an 'objective' reading is practically and ideologically impossible.
Far from hampering a reaction-to or reading-of the play, however, this should rather be seen as a liberating force. In experiencing this play as a reader or viewer, instead of seeking to reproduce a (so called) historically grounded interpretation of actual events as they may (or may not) have occurred, we are forced to draw upon a history transparently filtered through bias, an honest, dishonest reaction, rather than something which purports to resemble ‘the truth.’
And what comes through is incredible – both in its writing and sentiment. Corrie the character is someone who is never entirely sure of herself, questions everything, settles and resettles her mindsets through the construction of lists (which, we must assume in an editorial decision become more fragmented and dislocated as the play progresses) and has an ability to address herself through the mundane idiosyncracies of the individual, with a mixture of occidental naivety and terrifying clarity. Corrie, as a character, charts the development of her own self-knowledge with unerring precision, as this is, eventually, the form through which we come to understand the events that she lived (and died) through.
The sentiment, finally – which, given its topical controversy was always bound to kick up a fuss on both sides of the political spectrum as people sought to politicize a personal interpretation, is heart-breaking. Under no illusions about the danger of both her physical and potential situation (she remarks on a couple of occasions that she can see no clear future beyond what she is experiencing in Palestine) she declares herself unable to rest in a world where salmon are swimming up a drain pipe in the main street of her home town. Her perseverance, and almost matter of fact acceptance of her purpose – again, it must be re-iterated that this is Corrie-as-character rather than Corrie-as-person – is humbling, and incredible to behold.