What Happens When Artists Stop Being Afraid

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Black Lives Matter protestors march past The Flea Theater on Juneteenth. (Photo: Diep Tran)

An artistic director resigns after allegations of sexual harassment. The entire staff of a theater is let go following public testimonies of racist behavior. A theater commits to finally paying its actors after a public outcry. Around the country, as people have taken to the streets to support the Black Lives Matter Movement, and to speak up against police brutality and institutional racism, theater artists have not been sitting on the sidelines. Far from it. Many artists are taking this time, while live theater around the country is at a standstill and its workers are jobless, to speak up against the injustice they have witnessed and experienced. They are demanding that the industry, when it does come back, will change. 

Recently, more than 60,000 theater artists (including Lin-Manuel Miranda and Sandra Oh) signed a petition called We See You, White American Theatre, which called out racism and sexism in the theater industry. According to their website, they are currently drafting up a list of demands. 

But separate from the We See You WAT letter, groups of artists—first in Chicago, and then New York City, Atlanta, and Washington, D.C.—have come forward with their own stories of misconduct at particular institutions, and with lightning-fast speed, have pushed those theaters to respond to their demands. Stephanie Peyton is an Atlanta-based actor, and she and a group of other freelance theater artists were instrumental in getting the entire staff of Georgia’s Serenbe Playhouse laid off. Said Peyton:

“We’re all stuck with this whole COVID thing. And so we have nothing better to do than to be on our social media and see these new videos every day of Black men being shot, and women disappearing and children not being found. Not only are we seeing this every day, but we’re experiencing it every day. And it’s not just with police but it’s with our bosses, it’s with our schools, it’s with our housing, it’s everywhere. And so for us, it was getting to a point of being like, we’re gonna call this stuff out.”

What happened at Serenbe can be traced back to a public Facebook post on June 8 by actor Lilliangina Quiñones, in which she detailed incidents of racism at Serenbe, including former artistic director Brian Clowdus, saying, “’just because you’re Black doesn’t make you the owner of your story,’ and ‘The Color Purple at Actor’s Express was just a carbon copy of a show directed by a white cracker’ and so many other overtly racist statements.” 

Serenbe Playhouse, whose work has received national attention in The New York Times, has an annual operating budget of around $2.5 million. Soon, other former artists who had worked at Serenbe were coming forward with public Facebook posts, detailing their own experience with racism, as well as unsafe working conditions (including an actor who was injured after almost falling off a 12-foot-high platform). Peyton said that when she was an acting apprentice at the Playhouse, she was also told to build sets and wrangle animals. “We did A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and we had to wrangle a live donkey that was not trained,” she said.

People also began commenting on Serenbe Playhouse’s Facebook page, including one that said, “You should be ashamed. You have A LOT of work to do. How dare you. How dare.” 

Then on June 15, the Serenbe Institute, the parent company of the Serenbe Playhouse, announced that they had laid off the entire staff of the theater, have suspended operations and will rebuild the theater from the ground up, with new staff and board members. Clowdus had left the theater in 2019 to run his own production company: Brian Clowdus Experiences. Clowdus and his company have taken themselves off of Facebook, and have not addressed the allegations publicly. 

I sent an email to Deborah Griffin, chair of the Serenbe Institute board of directors. The Institute has a different board than the Playhouse and I asked if the latter’s board members would be replaced as well—because of the way nonprofits are set up, the board can sometimes have as much say in how a theater is run as its staff.

This was her answer: “We are looking into the role the Playhouse board served in keeping complaints unheard, and if we find the board was part of that culture, we will work to replace those individuals with new leadership.” 

Serenbe Institute is also working with a consultant named Dr. Tiffany Russell, who Griffin says, “specializes in Equity, Inclusion, and Diversity. With her help we will build a better, safer, more equitable and diverse playhouse. This will start from the ground up as we hire individuals who have proven experience leading theatres to be safer and more equitable.”

Serenbe Playhouse’s 2019 production of “Hair.” (Photo: Serenbe Playhouse’s Facebook page)

Meanwhile, while things were coming to a head at Serenbe, on June 21, actor Thomas Keegan alleged on Facebook that in 2018, Eric Schaeffer (the artistic director of the Tony-winning Signature Theatre in Washington, D.C.) had “grabb[ed] or fond[led] my genitals through my pants [at least] three times over the course of a bewildering five minute exchange, including at least twice after I made it clear that I wanted him to stop.”

In 2018, Keegan reported what happened to the board of the Signature. On June 24, the theater released a statement on their website that said, in part: “May 2018 was the first and only time Signature received any complaints regarding inappropriate behavior by Mr. Schaeffer during his 30-year tenure at Signature. Within hours of receiving the first complaint the Board was notified and soon after Mr. Schaeffer was placed on Administrative leave.” The subsequent investigation from Thatcher Law Firm, according to the theater, revealed that Keegan’s claims were “unfounded.” 

Meanwhile, Keegan’s Facebook post circulated on social media, with other artists expressing their support and sharing. One of them was actor Joe Carlson, who also posted his own story about Schaeffer on Facebook.

Then on June 24, Schaeffer announced he was retiring from the Signature after 30 years of leading the company, effective June 30. He made no mention of the allegations. 

That same day, a story published by WAMU, D.C.’s NPR station, detailed numerous instances of Schaeffer behaving inappropriately to artists and former staff members, including an instance where, “during a 2013 run of the musical Miss Saigon, Schaeffer allegedly pulled his pants down and pantomimed receiving fellatio from a prop statue of Ho Chi Minh.” According to WAMU, the Signature responded to the accounts with: “If complaints are made to Signature, we will investigate according to the balanced and fair policies of the organization.”

“Why did he step down after a bunch of people accuse him of sexual assault?” said Keegan rhetorically. “Well, I don’t know. I can tell you that if a bunch of people did that to me, I would gather all of my many friends and have them testify to my character. Why aren’t you defending yourself?”

The Signature Theatre (Photo: SignatureTheatre.org)

Finally, earlier in the month on June 4, in response to a statement from the Flea Theater in New York City about their support for Black Lives Matter, actor Bryn Carter posted on Instagram: “This is BULLSHIT. You do not pay your actors and the racist things witnessed under your roof is ridiculous.” She then detailed her experiences further in a public Facebook post

Even though the Flea has a million-dollar budget and has its own $21-million-dollar building, its resident acting company the Bats, are not paid Actors Equity union wages. The non-union Bats are paid a small stipend when they perform but they otherwise need to log in volunteer work hours at the theater in order to maintain their membership with the Flea. 

After Carter’s post, other former Flea artists were coming forward with their own stories of “racism, sexism, gaslighting, disrespect and abuse.” After a public letter from the current Bats was posted on social media, the Flea announced that it would pay all of the artists who work at the theater.

Aleesha Nash is a former staff member of the Flea and she thinks the issues of the theater go beyond unpaid labor. In an Instagram post, she explained (as the only other Black person on staff aside from Smith) how the Flea was “a toxic space for Black people.” At the end of her post, she detailed ways that the theater can improve, which included, “hire POC and learn from them by listening with compassion and respect. White staff, if your organization has one POC on payroll, speak up and work towards diversifying your staff.”

According to Vulture, Niegel Smith, the artistic director of the Flea, said he was “grateful to have been called out and called in.’” Smith promised that the next phase of the Flea will look like this: “artists are going to be included at all levels of leadership.”

Nash said that these criticisms of the theater are coming from a place of care, and of wanting to see the institution live up to the values it espouses. “That is why people are taking the time to write these statements about the Flea, it’s not because we want to throw them under the bus,” she said. “Just change so that we can actually benefit from the great stuff that you’re trying to do. If you get out of your own way, then you can actually make the impact that you want to make.”


“now we get to practice using our voices.”


Why am I writing a story about these three seemingly different circumstances? Not because I see them as interchangeable. I see them all as profoundly connected: to each other and to the current climate of this country where regular people are standing up against institutional power to demand social and racial justice, and a viral pandemic has brought into sharp focus what truly matters. 

The reckoning for the American theater has been long overdue in many areas: around racial justice, around #MeToo, around labor exploitation. In June, as Black Lives Matter protests were spilling out onto streets around the country, many theaters released statements in support of the movement. For instance, the Signature’s statement said: “Signature is reflecting on the role our theater plays in our community, and on how we can do more to be anti-racist—as people and as a company. We want to do more. We must do more.”

These artists are showing these producers how they can do more. Said Lilliangina Quiñones, one of the artists who spoke out against Serenbe:

“I think this moment is about truth. And it’s about really seeing things as they are, so that we can make some critical decisions about how we’re going to move forward as a healthy community of artists and as individuals. And I think another part of it is just that simple act of practicing using our voices. Having been in primarily white institutions, we’ve been practicing how to be silent. So now we get to practice using our voices.”

It’s no coincidence that these movements have been led by actors and other freelance artists. One of the great lies of capitalism is that it is the bosses, the highest paid people at the top, who have power. And the workers, those who are paid the least, are lucky to be working. For all of its ideals, the American theater has followed a similar hierarchical setup, where the producer who runs the theater will make $500,000 a year while the actors onstage bring in $1,000 a week.

Within that hierarchy, independent artists are arguably one of the most exploited groups in the industry. Because they roam to different theaters for work, they lack job security. That top-down structure ensures that those artists will not feel empowered to speak up for themselves if anything goes wrong, for fear of their jobs. This fear leaves them particularly vulnerable to abuses of power. 

It is that pyramid structure, and that fear that has allowed racism, sexism and white supremacy to flourish, even in spaces that claim to be equitable. Tara Moses is one of the people who spoke in the Serenbe situation. She said that one of the reasons she posted on Facebook was because her word as a director would be taken more seriously.

“There are way more actors than there are directors than there are playwrights than there are artistic directors, and so there’s increased risk,” she said. “So as an individual actor, if you decide to push back against these rigid power systems, you’re easily replaceable. And actors are taught that from the very beginning. I actually started my career as an actor. And that power imbalance became very clear, very quickly.”

And if actors are at the bottom, then BiPOC actors have arguably the hardest struggle. That is why Thomas Keegan came forward publicly. Since he posted his story online, “at least one person who came to me is a person of color who felt targeted and afraid to come forward,” he said. “And as a white ally, I do have privilege in this moment—it is safer for me to stand forward in this moment. And my word is taken more seriously.”

For Nash, this moment isn’t just about calling out one theater. Every theater needs to have its own reckoning. “This is not just in the Flea, it’s in all spaces—and the theater [industry]  is one of the biggest spaces that are perpetuating these issues,” she said. “The theater has really neglected people of color in a big, big way.” The Flea has not contacted Nash about her Instagram post.

Around the country, it is the artists who are forcing these theaters to face their skeletons. A theater’s most valuable resource is not its building, but its people. You can make theater without a building but you cannot make theater without artists. Likewise, prior to this, Peyton had encouraged artists to not work at Serenbe. 

“They can’t do a show without us,” said Peyton. “If they don’t respect us, if they don’t treat us well, if they don’t honor us, then we don’t work. It’s a transference of power. We’ve willingly given the power to these people because they’ve made us believe that they have it, but they don’t have anything without us.”

And during this time where live performance has been paused, now is the time for dreaming and for action. To dream of a theater that is truly equitable and safe, and to take action to put that into being—whether that is to call out institutions that have fallen short, or to support BIPOC-led theaters that have been doing the work. One thing is clear: silence is no longer an option.

Keegan believes that the Signature hasn’t gone far enough. On a public Facebook post, he has called for the resignation of the theater’s staff and board.

“The entire hierarchy of Signature Theatre, to include the board and people I once called friends and colleagues, has aided and abetted a sacrilegious abuse of power, criminal activity, and depraved behavior, in a theatre that good, hardworking artists call home. They have betrayed their patrons, their employees, and the artistic community. They should be removed and replaced by the next generation of theatremakers, honestly and transparently committed to creating safe spaces, free of sexual abuse and harrassment, so they may continue pursuing our most pressing matter: racial justice and equity.”

Even Tony winning costume designer Clint Ramos has called on the Signature to acknowledge what’s happened.

This story is currently still open-ended, like many stories around racial and social justice are in the American theater—an ellipses until the industry gets back to work in 2021 (hopefully) and audiences can see if these producers have lived up to their commitment to change. 

But what is clear in this moment is if change comes, it will not be from those at the top, who have more to gain by maintaining the status quo and a culture of silence. After all, this week, Broadway producer Scott Rudin announced a revival of Thorton Wilder’s Our Town for the Great White Way in 2021, starring Dustin Hoffman, who has been accused by multiple women of sexual misconduct. In the American theater, with its short memory, it’s easy for people with whispers around them to work again.

The status quo will want to reassert itself. Change will only come from individual artists forcing the issue and banding together to protect each other. That is why open letters representing many people are a popular form of activism right now. As I write this article, artists in the Bay Area have been sharing their own racist experiences in theater on a public Google Doc.

For her part, Quiñones is cautiously optimistic about the future, though she admits she has to be in order to move forward: “I don’t know how many theaters are really going to step up to the plate and really make the needed changes. But I do think that we set some really wonderful things in motion.” 

What Are White People Risking?

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This may be a controversial statement, but I’m grateful for COVID-19. Not because of the death toll or the economic instability for many. But because it’s given all of us something that we didn’t have before: time and focus. As I write this, in New York City, we’re on our 12th continuous day of protest. On June 14, over 15,000 people showed up to Brooklyn, dressed in white, for a protest in support of Black trans lives (Riah Milton and Dominique Fells were murdered last week). Would we still be protesting if we all had to get up and go to work? Or would the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Rayshard Brooks barely register in the minds of non-Black people and then fall by the wayside due to the distractions of regular life?   

Last week, I was tuning into the New York Times’ Offstage broadcast on Youtube, where they were showcasing musical numbers from Broadway shows this season. The event opened up with a panel of Black artists talking about racism on Broadway. During one emotional moment, Adrienne Warren, the star of Tina: The Tina Turner Musical on Broadway, said this: 

“I’m not thinking about Broadway right now. I’m thinking about how I can help my people. And that is what I care about right now. I will not perform. I will not sing a song that does not mean anything. When I get back to my art, if my art doesn’t mean something, then what am I doing?”

Adrienne Warren

For so long, artists have been told to stay in their lane, that audiences want them to entertain, not be political. But with the pandemic and no way to create art, art has become activism. Last week, Beyoncé wrote a letter to Kentucky Attorney General Daniel Cameron calling him to press charges against the three police officers who murdered Breonna Taylor. Taylor Swift called for the take down of Confederate monuments. More than 50,000 theater artists (including Sandra Oh and Lin-Manuel Miranda) signed an open letter decrying racism in the theater industry in a letter that read, in part: 

“We have watched you program play after play, written, directed, cast, choreographed, designed, acted, dramaturged and produced by your rosters of white theatermakers for white audiences, while relegating a token, if any, slot for a BIPOC play. We see you.”

Last Friday, I was on a Zoom call with over 200 artists and we were phone banking, calling the New York City Council to tell them to cut the budget of the NYPD by $1 billion. At night, I signed onto the third night of the #BwayforBLM, a three-day virtual event organized by the Broadway Advocacy Coalition, to discuss racism in the American theater and what can be done to make change. Right now, artists are bringing their power to build community, and to sway hearts and minds, to bear. They are pushing for both societal transformation and a better theater industry. 

The lanes no longer exist, because systemic racism affects everyone. At the same time, maybe those lanes were a function of white supremacy to begin with, as a way to tell BIPOC artists that their lived personal experiences did not matter. And allowed white artists to live in blissful ignorance. These productions and institutions call themselves a family, and yet in the past two weeks, countless artists have spoken up about the painful racism they have encountered in those very spaces. Being an artist doesn’t render you immune from police brutality, sexual assault or income inequality. When your own body is political and the powers that be tell you to not be political, it is an erasure of the self.

BIPOC artists are creating change through first-hand accounts of their experience with racism in the theater industry. Day one and two of #BwayforBLM was for Black artists to tell their stories, first for each other, then for allies. “I and every speaker on this program is risking something in honor of honesty, humanity and restoring justice into our community,” said actor Britton Smith, who is also the president and cofounder of Broadway Advocacy Coalition. 

But for BIPOC artists, there is a cost to speaking out, whether that’s an emotional cost that comes from reliving trauma, or financial one that comes from the blacklisting that inevitably happens. Black pain once again being put on a platter for white consumption. At #BwayforBLM, Tony-nominated director Liesl Tommy spoke frankly about how she’s blacklisted from multiple theaters because she’s spoken up against racism in theater. 

While Black artists are telling their own stories as part of a call to action, white people need to ask themselves: What am I risking? As Tre Johnson writes in the Washington Post, “When black people are in pain, white people join book clubs.” On Friday, a bunch of white Hollywood celebrities released a video where they said variations of “I see you” and “I take responsibility” to a camera. They were rightly criticized for their superficial display. Because what good are these phrases of solidarity when Black people are still being lynched? As author Adrienne Lawson wrote on Twitter

“I encourage each of these actors to hire a team of BIPOC feminists knowledgeable on intersectionality to review and advise them on script choices. No more white savior films, racially tokenized roles, and stereotype-perpetuating shenanigans. Take responsibility AND take action.”

Adrienne Lawson

Last week, chef Sohla El-Waylly took to Instagram to call for the resignation of Bon Appetit editor-in-chief Adam Rapoport, because the magazine underpaid staffers of color in comparison to its white staffers. El-Waylly’s white co-workers joined her in that call, refusing to appear in any more Bon Appetit videos. Rapoport stepped down from the magazine a day later, something that wouldn’t have happened had El-Waylly not bravely put herself on the line, and had her white colleagues not supported her.

In order for change to happen, it’s going to take every single person, BiPOC and white, risking something. Black artists are risking their careers and future employment. The activists on the streets are risking their health. What are white people risking? Are they able to call out the most powerful, and the most inequitable, among them?

During #BwayforBLM, Broadway Advocacy Coalition board member Richard Gray said: “In these moments, it forces you to rethink whether you actually are a good white person—you shouldn’t be thinking that. You should be thinking, how can I become a better one. You live in a place of change. If you just dwell on what you think you’ve done well in the past, you are never going to change because you are going to be satisfied.” He said that white people need to think about what they’re “not doing.” 

The creators of the We See You White American Theatre campaign said in a statement that they are currently gathering a list of demands for the white powers-that-be in theater. Meanwhile, #BwayforBLM is collecting signatures for a Public Accountability Pledge that reads, in part, “I pledge to use my social, cultural, and financial capital to amplify institutions and productions led by people of color, and to call out those that do not involve this leadership.”

The letter ends with: “Hold me accountable.” But as we move forward, I hope it’s not just BIPOC artists holding white people accountable. I hope white people continue to hold each other, and themselves, accountable. 

How We Bear Witness

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The Public Theater, which has opened its lobby this week to protestors. (Photo: Diep Tran)

“Do you all know the definition of that word witness? I’m not talking about being a passive observer…I’m talking about being a witness in the Black American tradition. Which means you take responsibility for what you see, you’re willing to shoulder that load and put your back into it.”

Daniel Alexander Jones, Black Light

America has ended its second week of protests, which was sparked by the murder of George Floyd by Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin but has since grown into a worldwide cry for transformation. In just a week, defunding the police has gone from a farfetched talking point to a rallying cry for millions of people across America, who are calling for an end to police brutality, repercussions for law enforcement who break the law, and defunding the police—taking the billions of dollars allocated to the police and redirecting it towards social services and education. It’s been, to put it mildly, a week

But last night, I came home from a protest in Washington Square Park in Manhattan. While I was resting my feet after a week of marching, I noticed that the Joe’s Pub YouTube channel had posted a show by the artist Daniel Alexander Jones called Black Light. I had seen Black Light in 2018 and I was so moved by it that I saw it twice. It was one of the best shows I saw that year. The play is a series of stories and ruminations by Jones—with original songs performed by Jones and an on stage band interspersed throughout. In the work, Jones references segregation and racial violence, but also family, Prince and change (or as he calls it, “the crossroads”). It’s a work both sobering and beautiful, melancholy and joyful. And it creates hope by telling the audience that a better world is possible if we can imagine it and we can act.

One of the main themes is witnessing, but not in the sense of being a passive observer. It’s what Jones calls in Black Light, “a living witness.” It’s “taking responsibility for what you see.” Millions of people around the world witnessed, through a video, George Floyd being murdered in broad daylight. And instead of brushing it off, like so many have done so many times before, it drove people to act, to shout enough is enough.

And I don’t just mean taking to the streets, though those actions have been the most visible and wildly effective in leading to the arrest of Chauvin. I was talking with a friend, a theater producer who lives in Chicago, and they were telling me that they were on police scanner duty, so they could tell those on the ground protesting if there were SWAT teams nearby. That is being a living witness. So many people have donated to the Minneapolis Freedom Fund and the Brooklyn Community Bail Fund that they were redirecting donations to other organizations. That is being a living witness. The citizens of Los Angeles called in so much that Mayor Eric Garcetti has committed to cutting $150 million from the Los Angeles Police Department budget. That is being a living witness. KPOP fans flooded racist hashtags on Twitter, such as #WhiteLivesMatter, with fancams, drowning out the voices of white supremacists. That is being a living witness, with dance moves.

Here’s my favorite example of living witnesses this week. On June 1, Off-Broadway theater New York Theatre Workshop opened their building for the first time since March (when NYC went dark because of COVID-19). They gave out free water and snacks, gave protestors a place to charge their phones, and allowed people to use their bathroom. Within a day, a Twitter campaign was born: #OpenYourLobby, which was used to persuade other theaters around the country (whose buildings were closed and empty) to follow NYTW’s example. In just four days, 64 theaters around the country are committed to opening their lobbies daily for protestors. And those who couldn’t, like Roundabout Theatre Company, donated water and supplies to the Public Theater, whose lobby in the East Village has been opened since June 3. When I visited the Public, a woman came up and thanked one of the staff members who were there, saying, “You’re doing the right thing.”

The lobby of New York Theatre Workshop. In the background there is a sign: “Stonewall Riots were started by Black & Brown trans folx! Black Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter.” (Photo: Diep Tran)

I contacted the organizers at the Open Your Lobby Twitter account. They requested anonymity but explained that the campaign was inspired by their own experience as protestors. “This initiative started because we were on the ground during the initial weekend of protests, and we saw people struggling to find refuge in a largely boarded up city,” they said. “Theater spaces came to mind because they are centrally located with bathrooms and resources which haven’t been used for weeks.” Not to mention that New York Theatre Workshop is in a high-traffic area for protestors, being within 10 minutes walking of Washington Square Park and Union Square.

With help from Open Your Lobby, playwright and actor Carolina Do has petitioned Second Stage Theatre (located next to Times Square) to open. She, and two other artists, gathered over 300 signatures for a petition within a day, which they then sent to the theater’s management. Second Stage then gave Do permission to use their space starting June 6 and contributed to buying supplies. For the last two days, Do and a group of volunteers have been greeting protestors whenever they come by. Do sees this as an opportunity for theaters, who have recently been vocal about their support for Black Lives Matter, to take concrete action—not just wait until next year when the industry starts up again and we have all become distracted by other headlines. “It definitely was a lot of work of us going, ‘You put out a BLM statement but what are you really doing?’” she told me.

Though Do noted that she tried petition Broadway theaters to open their doors, especially because there have been multiple large protests around Times Square, but so far none have committed. “My contacts at [Ambassador Theatre Group] and commercial theaters are using the excuse of unions staying in the way/having cut off utilities,” she says. “I personally call BS but haven’t seen any Broadway people take action/initiatives on petitioning them, aside from Jeremy O. Harris calling some theaters out on Twitter.”

As someone who worked at a non-profit theater organization for eight years, I will tell you that those institutions are notoriously slow to respond to any time-sensitive proposal—due to the need to get approval from, usually, at least, three levels of management. And yet, in just a week, what started as one theater opening their doors to 64 theaters around the country opening their doors goes to show how easy you can change an industry. Not by waiting for them to do the right thing, but by artists pressuring them to do so (and in some cases, writing Black Lives Matter messages on their boarded up buildings). As we head into another week of protesting, here is a list from Open Your Lobby, which is updated frequently, of current theaters that are available to protestors.

Opening a lobby, it doesn’t seem like a big action. But like how an avalanche starts with one rolling pebble, if all of us decided to not just be a passive observer, but a living witness, to take an action—to quote one of the speakers I heard yesterday in Washington Square Park, “we will win.” Meanwhile, we can take note of those who are just talk and those who say nothing at all

In the words of Jones in Black Light:

“I come from a long line of people with radical imagination. Stretching back form my grandmother, my aunt Cleotha, across generations, through slavery time—when people imagined a freedom that they themselves have not experienced. But they held it in their mind’s eye, and they prayed and they shouted and they acted and they chose….”

Daniel Alexander Jones, Black Light

What will you choose to do today? How will you be a witness to this time?

The June 6 protest in Washington Square Park. (Photo: Diep Tran)

*This post has been updated throughout.

We Are Not Doing Enough

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In the past week, as protests have raged across the country in reaction to the murder of George Floyd and rampant police brutality, we’ve heard the following things from many non-Black friends and colleagues: “I don’t feel like I’m doing enough.” This is usually accompanied by a heavy sigh and a discussion of what they’ve been doing. Have you been donating to Black Lives Matter, bail funds and other social justice organizations? Have you called your elected representatives to tell them to defund their police department and pass laws demanding accountability for police officers? Have you been speaking up when you encounter racist or insensitive remarks by the people in your life? “Yes, but I still feel so depressed.”

To which we say, good. As Jose said in our recent Token Theatre Friends podcast: “I feel powerless. I feel like I’m not doing enough right now. I wouldn’t want people to tell me, ‘Oh, you’re doing so well,’ this is not what this is about. I think I would be very unhappy with myself if I thought that I was doing enough. So the fact that I’m wondering if I’m too, you know, I take it as a very good sign.”

Here at Token Theatre Friends, we feel like we haven’t done enough. Because if we had, if everyone who has shown support the past week has done enough, George Floyd and Breonna Taylor might still be alive. Our discomfort, our rage, our depression, is overdue. It’s a minor taste of what Black people in America feel every day. Meanwhile, too many people have felt comfortable for way too long. 

That statement applies to both socio-political issues, as well as to our own backyard. We love the arts and we love theater. But recent events have made the industry’s shortcomings, and its hypocrisy, even clearer. On June 1, Dear White People actor Griffin Matthews posted a powerful Facebook video detailing his experience working on his musical Invisible Thread, which was presented Off Broadway at Second Stage Theater in 2005. He started the video saying, “Amy Coopers are alive and well in the American theater,” referencing the white woman who called the police on a Black bird watcher, Christian Cooper, in Central Park.

Matthews then listed the racism he experienced while working on Invisible Thread, including an instance in the rehearsal room: “A song in Act One mentioned the fact that I was the son of slaves, our producers in the middle of a creative team meeting said, ‘Slavery is over, nobody wants to hear about that,’” Matthews recalled. “Not one single person put him in check.” Second Stage also promised to donate money to Matthews’ charity in exchange for him and the cast of Invisible Thread performing at their annual gala; “their donation never came.”

“That is why Broadway is racist,” he said. Second Stage has not commented on the video, which as of press time has been shared more than 5,000 times. But the company did post a statement of solidarity with Black Lives Matter. (Update: Invisible Thread director Diane Paulus also put out a statement.)

Matthews’ experience is not unusual. Because while the industry prides itself on diversity, behind closed doors it’s a different story. Award-winning actor/composer/playwright Daniel Alexander Jones wrote in a Facebook post that he’s been told by: “white artistic directors that: my work had no relevance to the contemporary American theatre, and told that I needed to write a white male into my play because it didn’t make sense that there wasn’t one in it, and being told that no-one would ever want to produce my work, ever, so is there something else I could do?” (We pity any producer who doesn’t understand the beauty of Black Light.)

Actor Cooper Howell wrote, in devastating detail on Facebook, the sexual and racial harassment he experienced at the hands of a white director while acting in Frozen at Disneyland. The first-hand accounts are too numerous to describe, as Black artists have taken to social media to voice their dissatisfaction with the industry, speaking up about negative work environments, microaggressions and outright racism that they’ve experienced while working in the theater. This stands in stark contrast to the many Broadway shows and theaters that have posted up statements supporting Black Lives Matter and vowing to be anti-racist. The Metropolitan Opera posted up a statement, yet it’s never produced an opera by a Black composer. A Black playwright has not won a Tony Award for Best Play since 1987. White actors and playwrights are overrepresented on New York City stages.

A public statement may be heartwarming, but it lets companies pull the curtain on their own hypocrisy. Like a black square on Instagram, the performance can be a substitute for meaningful action. Some of the companies who have released statements have produced primarily white writers at their theaters. They’ve contributed to an erasure of Black and POC voices. They’ve fostered negative work environments for Black artists and hostile viewing experiences for Black audiences. And they punish those who speak up. “I may never make it to Broadway for speaking out against the horrific treatment that I received, and all of the Amy Coopers will be fine,” said Matthews in his video. It echoes what Star Wars actor John Boyega said during a protest in London on June 3: “Look I don’t know if I’m going to have a career after this but, f**k that.” By blacklisting artists who dare to speak up, these so-called liberal institutions contribute to the systemic racism that they disavow.

As COVID-19 has shut down the entertainment industry, we are left with two options: we can either build back better than before or we can continue the status quo, where artists of color are forced to swallow their discomfort for the sake of the white people around them. Theaters and producers who have put out these Black Lives Matter statements need to take this time to listen to the voices of Black artists around them and on social media, who all have important suggestions for change. Director/actor Schele Williams posted a poetic, detailed statement on Facebook with the following suggestion:

Broadway is white.
And white is not bad
But White is not Black

If you mean the words in your statements
Show us your values
Live up to your mission statements
Give us space to breathe and speak without fear of reprisal.
Look around the room and if you only see yourself replicated – CHANGE IT.

Schele Williams

When people are risking their lives to march on the street, a social media statement is not enough. Now is the time to act. Now is the time to look not just outward, and inward. The calls are coming from inside the house.

What do theater companies and producers commit to doing to make sure what happened to Griffin Matthews and countless Black artists does not happen again? Will these companies cater to Black audiences as faithfully as they do white ones? Will they make their work accessible and affordable to the Black community? Will they make sure to spotlight Black voices regularly, and not just once a year and as side characters? Will they help support the Black-led business and theaters in their communities? If their Black artists get criticized by the New York Times, will they stand by their artists? Will they prioritize fair wages so that Black artists can afford to be artists? Will they defend their socio political stances to angry subscribers who just want them to “shut up and sing”? 

To our Black friends and readers: we stand with you and we are sorry for not having done enough, and commit to continue to advocate for justice and anti-racism.

To our non-Black readers: Right now, if you’re feeling comfortable, it means you’re not doing enough. Your discomfort is overdue. Sit with it. Let the discomfort propel you to act and fight for a better world for everyone.