Right around a week and a half ago, we closed our production of Clybourne Park at the Geva. This show is fantastic, I have to say, for so very many reasons. But best of all, it made me think. And I like shows that make me think – that re-sensitize me – that keep my mind and heart spinning weeks later – that have the potential to re-shape the way we live in this world, and hopefully, make it a better place in some small way. That’s the function of art. It unites us. It helps us to understand ourselves, and others, better. And, as one very wise man says, it comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable. Clybourne Park held up a mirror to myself, to society, to time, to place, and to the world at large, and forced me to re-examine my own values and prejudices and progression. And, in my own ways, it’s stayed with me, and that’s what I’ve been doing for the past month or so – thinking and examining. Taking a closer look at ideas or actions or speech that would have, until only recently, passed me by. I spent a good deal of time with this play – writing the student Discovery Guide for it, watching multiple performance of it, getting to know the cast through interviews and talkbacks and car rides, attending and hosting events centered around it – from public discussions at libraries to in-class Discovery Workshops, and even moderating a handful of the post-show public talkbacks for our patrons, which we offered after every single performance so the community could discuss the very ideas this play is such a catalyst for. Ideas about gender, race, class, territoriality, discrimination, treatment of “others” and how, or if, any of this has changed in the last 50 years – and what our future might hold. I think the major takeaway here – at least for me – is that I’m trying to be more conscious and more aware of society and myself, and attempting to do something brave with that awareness. Here’s a few examples:
A few weeks ago I was at a lovely evening cast party where someone was discussing a particular area of town. They described the area and followed up by off-handedly remarking something along the lines of, ” you know, it’s that bad area of town where you drive through and don’t look at anyone and just keep straight ahead to get through it as quickly as possible.” Everyone knew what she meant. We all, myself included, smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yes, I know that area of town. I do that too!” It took a few minutes for my brain to catch up, but when it did, I realized that by smiling and nodding, I was possibly, unintentionally, perpetuating a stereotype. What I could have done – had I been more aware in the moment – was gently probe further. Kindly take advantage of this opportunity – an opportunity that comes up fairly often among white, middle-class people (in my experience) – to start a constructive discussion. I could have asked, not to be condescending or argumentative, but out of genuine curiosity, “Why do we think that’s a bad part of town?” “What about this area makes it bad?” “Is it because it’s a mostly black neighborhood?” “Is it because it’s a lower-income area?” “Is it because it looks ever so slightly more run-down than other areas?” “Is it a combination of all of those things?” “Is it because we hear about crimes being committed in this particular area more often than others?” If we, as a group, could get down to the core of why we label this area as a “bad part of town” instead of just simply labeling it as such and moving on, we might discover that the reasons we think of it as “bad” could have some merit to them, or they could – entirely unintentionally – be rooted in some form of prejudice, stereotype, racism, or classism.
I never considered this area to be a particularly “bad” part of town – it’s fairly close to where we live, so – in all honesty – I’m not sure why I smiled and nodded. I feel okay driving though this area. I do it daily. Same as any other area. But now, weeks later, I find myself wishing I’d spoken up – not as a martyr to the cause, but to help us – myself included – as a community, become more conscious of our thoughts. I really am curious about why this particular area of town has received such a label. The only two factors I’ve noticed is that the area houses a higher percentage of African-American families, and it appears to be a little lower-income than other parts of the city. But that alone shouldn’t make it a “bad” area, right? We know that being African-American (or any other ethnicity) doesn’t make a person “good” or “bad” and we know that income (low, high, or anywhere in between) doesn’t make a person “good” or “bad” either. I don’t hear about this area of town any more or any less often on the news (in terms of crime) than I do any other area of town, so all I can conclude is that – deep down – even to loving, accepting, open-minded people who consider everyone to be equal and want to treat everyone as such, the reason this area is labeled as “bad” is because of historical stereotypes tied to race and class. And, had I been further along in my “awareness” journey inspired by Bruce Norris and Clybourne Park, I might have been brave enough to open the door to a compelling and constructive conversation. Had I asked those questions and raised the friendly flag of awareness, perhaps I would have learned that regardless of who lives in this area, there’s a lot of crime I don’t know about. Or we might have discussed and discovered, together, that our fears of this area are unfounded and perpetuating a stereotype that we didn’t intend, but that we have the power to help change, on an individual level, by not referring to it as a “bad” part of town simply because the people who live there may or may not be different from ourselves.
Another example: I park in a parking lot that is, approximately, a five-minute walk from work – across a pedestrian overpass bridge. No matter who passes me on the bridge in the morning – I smile and say “hello” or “good morning.” After a year and a half, I’ve found that – more often than not (certainly not always, but mostly) – African-American males that I greet do not make eye contact with me. It took nearly a year for me to start noticing this, but I didn’t really stop to think about it until we were deep in the middle of Clybourne Park and, at a talkback, someone from the African-American community mentioned the old standard of the decades past (around the time of Emmett Till, etc.) that African-American males were taught not to look white women in the eyes, lest they think he’s up to something no-good. I never considered that maybe this is what is still going on. If so, I struggle to grasp that decades later, this could still be a norm. I certainly don’t expect anyone I pass to look at me or return my greeting. I do it to be friendly. I say it to everyone. If I get a response back – great! If not, that’s okay too. But until it was mentioned in the talkback, it never dawned on me that, perhaps, this could be the situation. And, if it is, isn’t it time we try to move forward from that? Nobody should feel, for any reason, they can’t or shouldn’t look someone in the eye. If they choose not to or don’t want to, that’s one thing, but feeling unable to or discouraged from, even by historical precedent, is quite another thing entirely. Again, I have no idea if this is the case or not, but now it’s something I’m aware of on a level I might have simply glossed over two months ago.
I’ve also been highly aware of our school systems, even more so than usual, lately. It always astonishes me how vastly different education is some areas and/or for some kids than it is for others. I’m frequently in the classrooms, so I see it all the time. Generally speaking, schools with a more diverse ethnic population or spectrum of socio-economic statuses within the students’ families are schooled in buildings that look and feel like prisons. Their reading, writing, vocabulary, and discussion skills (which is what I witness the most) are (again, generally speaking) far inferior to that of their peers who attend schools where the general population appears to be predominately white, or more middle class. Why is this? I certainly don’t think it’s because the teachers or the instruction is sub-par, but I also certainly don’t believe those kids are inherently wired to succeed or not any differently than other kids. But, somehow, I notice that their education is a reflection of issues of race and/or class. But why? And how can we become more aware of what lies at the root of this problem? And how can we, on an individual level, help be its solution? The classroom I most recently went into was a mixed room – there were kids of every race in there. Race wasn’t the factor, but they were all (mostly) middle-class kids who attended a private school – so that, perhaps, was a factor. And by observing them in the classroom for even 45 minutes, I noticed an enormous difference from the school I had last attended where the students were also of many different ethnic backgrounds, but were in a lower-class area. Why does their class, or race, or anything else even have to matter when it comes to their education?
I don’t have answers to my own questions. I certainly don’t have it all – or any of it for that matter – figured out. I’m far from perfect when it comes to these issues. And I think that’s okay right now. Because what I’m striving to do is just start with being more aware of what goes on, in so many ways, within myself and within our society by holding up a mirror. And I think, if I – if we – can stay vigilant about our awareness, and actually speak up – even if just to pose a hypothetical question or casually instigate a constructive conversation at a party or get to the root and the why of a discriminatory joke we may hear – when we notice something, we can – in our own small, individual ways – help abolish some of these issues so we can move forward as a society. And, I think, this starts with re-examining ourselves, and our own values and thoughts and actions. And so these past six weeks or so, that’s what I’ve been doing and that’s what’s been turning around and around in my head.
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