The discussion continues.
The activist insists that life is more important than art.
The others respond that without art there is no democracy.
The actors who were on stage that night raise their hands.
They want to describe what the situation felt like from where they stood. For them the interruption was frightening. They were working in a scene about violence when someone suddenly rushed onto the stage shouting.
They are allowed to speak for a moment.
The activist responds that their protests have led to real political decisions, that things have actually changed because of them. And, she adds, no form of activism pleases everyone.
There is no time for more questions.
Once again, the actors are interrupted.
The stage has to be prepared for the next performance.
*****
The question of the panel was what culture is for.
As a theatremaker, I began to wonder what it means to act. Is acting not acting? Is thinking, listening, and reacting not acting? Is experiencing something together with strangers in a room not acting?
Perhaps we have come to understand action as something that must be visible, something whose consequences can be measured. But much of what changes us happens without anyone being able to point to the exact moment when the change occurred.
The activist tries to change the world. Theatre deals with what it is like to live in it.
These two ambitions are often presented as opposites: Activism demands immediate action. Theatre is accused of producing reflection instead of change. But the difference may not be so simple.
I am always surprised when the theatre audience is described as passive. Yes, people sit in the dark and watch, but sitting still does not mean that nothing happens.
A theatre audience is not a collection of individuals. It is a temporary public.
In the auditorium you can almost hear the thinking around you. Quite often the feelings, too, especially in moments of recognition or disagreement. Realizing that you are not alone in your thoughts changes something.
Reactions travel through a theatre audience in ways that are difficult to measure.
A laugh spreads; silence deepens.
Someone shifts in their seat.
Someone else suddenly understands something they had not understood before.
None of this leaves any visible trace, yet it is precisely here that theatre does its work.
The theatrical experience leaves with the audience and continues elsewhere—in conversations, disagreements, decisions.
Sometimes the same evening.
Sometimes years later.
This may not look like action, but it is something.
*****
The actors were disappointed with the artistic director.
They felt he should have taken their side and drawn a clearer line against the activist. From their perspective the interruption had endangered their working environment.
Perhaps they were right.
Theatre is a workplace, but a peculiar one. Actors step into uncertain situations every night. They risk something in front of strangers, depending on the trust of the audience and on the invisible contract that allows a performance to unfold.
And something strange had happened that night. The activist had entered the theatre in order to act. In doing so, she had become part of the performance.
Only when the performance was disturbed did the play itself become a subject of debate outside the theatre.
*****
A group of strangers enters the theatre.
Something happens between them.
Thoughts arise.
Positions shift.
Nothing may happen immediately.
Still, something has moved.
This is acting.
Not interrupting the performance.
Staying with it.
