I believe there is a connection between writing a letter and going to the theatre.
I believe there is a parallel—theatre and letter writing.
I believe the theatre and the post office share a foe: a screen.
I believe the theatre is connected to democracy is connected to the post office.
I believe we should be afraid but not paralyzed.
The crisis we’re experiencing, the unrelenting stress we have lived with for decades, weighs heavy on so many. An industry whose infrastructure and spirit—like under-maintained roads and tunnels—is fraying. If we are honest, it has been for a very long time.
No matter how often we tell ourselves, or tell others, that we are at the forefront of change, the incremental moves to include are too small. Too few doors stay open for too few moments. The racial reckoning that followed the death of George Floyd, and so many others before him, came down hard on the American theatre. The striking inequities in our field became undeniable to all. The tears in our structure and our spirit lie before us.
What matters to me is to find a way to uncover the underlying issues, to try to create shared language that might influence and inform cultural policy that would, in turn, make it possible for transformation and for sustainability.
What matters is being part of a community that thrives because of a vast and complex ecosystem, not despite it. We must ensure that those who follow us can build a life, professional and personal, in an ecosystem where the connection to live theatre fills the full measure, breadth, and depth of our communities.
What matters, if we agree that theatre is, and always has been, foundational to democracy, is how we help each other hold our voices.
Theatre is inextricably bound to our most sacred spaces, to places of inquiry and of learning, libraries, museums, symphonies, schools, parks, public spaces… and post offices. Our theatre holds many forms, aesthetics, and meanings—and it can hold many more. Missions and ambitions are as varied as those of us in this room. There is no singular measure of success.
It is hard for me to resist thoughts of Zelda Fichandler. There was one thing she had to say to me too many times. I would begin to tell her of my trials and tribulations, she would stop me and say, “Laura, it has always been hard, and it always will be hard.” For most of my career I felt comfort in her words. Today I am less sure. Is this a “hard” Zelda would recognize?
Today we struggle to hold our course in the madness against this backdrop of chaos. We are facing internal and external threats, and there are opportunities that come from within and from outside our known circumstances.
We know that this is not working—not just for some, but for most. Even those who are fortunate to have found equilibrium do not escape the experiences and struggles of their colleagues and the impact of the crisis on the web of artists and craftspeople who travel from one theatre to the next. Are we seeing a critical mass of recognition? Can we lift our heads? Mustn’t we lift our heads?
We are seeing a transfer of influence in our field, and we have to do all we can to make certain this transfer holds. We must work quickly, in earnest to ensure that those stepping into leadership do not inherit a mess. A life in the theatre has too long been the exclusive purview of a select few. Not just a field dominated by a single demographic but a craft whose expression has been too often limited to a single cultural perspective. Artists of color and artists with disabilities are no longer willing to accept a career that would mean primarily working on smaller stages, for lower wages, on projects limited to their own race or ethnicity or culture. Positions of leadership in management and production are changing across the field. In many cases, those who have not been included have stepped onto a seriously weakened foundation—a mess.
Positions of leadership in management and production are changing across the field. In many cases, those who have not been included have stepped onto a seriously weakened foundation—a mess.
So if there is a critical mass of recognition that there is, in fact, a big problem, let us solve it. Alas, there is less consensus on what the problem or series of problems is. Many subsets of the field are proposing solutions to the problem, and some are in competition with others—possibly unhelpful competition. The longer we go without a holistic approach, the more we may experience short-term triage rather than transformation and the more confusing it will be for key decision-makers to act. In government quarters there are committed supporters, and they are willing to use their influence, but they are unclear about what will have a lasting impact. Short-term is clearer: cash. Long-term—not so clear.
The National Theatre Conference brings together a multitude of threads that are winding their way around the country and in and out of our communities. How might the threads in this room be woven together to frame an articulation of the underlying issues. Are our problems our problems, or are they symptoms of something deeper in our culture or country? Or both?
Not being alone. An Informed citizenry. The post office.
As humans, we are responsible to others, those with us now and those who will follow. Our responsibility can only be fulfilled if we are informed. Theatre is uniquely positioned to build and maintain an informed citizenry. The theatre, when available to all, when central to our lives, tells us stories that open us up, deepening our understanding of each other and our empathy for one another. Our curiosity and our outrage fuel us, and a sense of possibility compels us to engage in civic discourse. We become better neighbors and friends, better strangers.
To see ourselves and to see others. Nothing can take the place of seeing (except, maybe, a letter). And nowhere can we see like we can see in the theatre.
If you will allow me, I would like to share a couple of brief passages.
George C. Wolfe:
We are going through an incredibly complicated time in this country, but for all of us here in this room, and people who are watching…at one point the theatre gave all of us a piece of ourselves that we did not know that we had. And as we go through this complicated time, it is very important that we approach the world, not with fear, not with trepidation, but with the knowledge that the work we do celebrates and explores the powerful, fragile dynamic that is the human heart.
Anne Bogart:
And isn’t this the point of what we do in the theatre? We connect with one another to acknowledge our common plight, share warmth and inspiration, and then go forth together. If we can step back from issues of career, projects, and ambitions for just a moment and widen our perspective, it is possible to perceive our profound and meaningful quantum entanglement with others. We do not construct ourselves by ourselves. Our character grows through the influence and interactions with others. We are not an island.
Shouldn’t we go to the post office?
Shouldn’t we go to the theatre?
Shouldn’t we save democracy?
