REASON TO HOPE: Making Theatre Antiracist – Contributed by Gwendolyn Walker

by Gwendolyn Walker
Assistant Professor of Voice for Musical Theatre

headshot of Gwendolyn Walker

The Day Theatre Stopped

On March 12, 2020, the Broadway League made the unprecedented announcement that Broadway shows would shutter their doors for a month. One month turned into three, then six. Currently, Broadway will stay closed until at least May 30, 2021, and most officials believe it will be even longer.

On May 25, George Floyd, a 46-year-old Black man, was killed in Minneapolis, Minnesota by police officers while in their custody after a store clerk alleged that Floyd had passed a counterfeit $20 bill. The murder was videotaped and went viral. Soon, U.S. citizens and people around the world had watched Floyd die while pleading with the arresting officers that he could not breathe. This produced an immediate and enormous social justice movement in the United States and around the world.

These are stressful times. One way that I handle stress is to think proactively. The whole theatre world in this country is currently paused. This pause gives us an opportunity to plan for what sort of theatrical world we hope to return to when theatres once again open their doors. What of the pre-Covid “normal” is worth keeping and what is worth changing, for example?

As much as I love American musical theatre, considerable change must occur for it to be an art form for all people.

Musical theatre is currently dominated by white, heteronormative, neurotypical stories, whereas BIPOC, queer, and neurodiverse stories are the extreme exception. Too often, we tell stories that require artists to conform to a default and distorted vision of “normal.” The consequence is an industry that is fundamentally patriarchal, misogynistic, heteronormative, neurotypical, and racist. By not addressing this distortion, we perpetuate the idea that straight, white, cis-gendered, neurotypical cultural identities are—and should be—the default, and in doing so we continue the suppression of all other people.

Dr. Ibram X. Kendi

Book cover of How to be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi

A few weeks ago, as part of my work on Penn State’s College of Arts and Architecture’s Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion Committee, I co-hosted a pre-talk discussion about the work of Dr. Ibram X. Kendi, an antiracist activist, scholar, and author of the book, How to Be an Antiracist.  Kendi was interviewed in a live, virtual event for Penn State, and to prepare for our discussion, I read his books and watched every interview and speech of his that I could find. I was shook. His ideas are daring, and he made me think about racism, my activism, and theatre in a new and hopeful way. Additionally, in his book, he extends his ideas of racism to include gender-racism and queer-racism, which I found empowering.

According to Dr. Kendi, “racist” is such a pejorative word that most people equate it with being a bad person. Because most people consider themselves to be good people, they also consider themselves to be “not racist.” The problem is that “not racist” isn’t something you do, it is something you say—a moniker you hang on yourself or a passive comment. Typically, we say it in response to someone calling us out for being racist in the first place. “I’m not a racist!” we reply.

But to be truly “not racist”, Dr. Kendi suggests we must be active: we must be antiracist. When you label yourself ‘not racist’ there is no action implied there. Nothing to do. Additionally, Kendi says we must recognize that the same person can be racist one moment and antiracist the next because being antiracist is something that we DO, not someone who we ARE. For example, a person might agree with a racist political policy in one moment, and an antiracist environmental policy in the next – so in juxtaposing moments, that person could be described as racist and antiracist.

Further, Dr. Kendi challenges the idea that ignorant and hateful people propagate and are responsible for racism. Kendi shows how people in power, acting in their own self-interest, often create racist policies that make these powerful people more powerful, but the original intent is not to be racist – it’s self-interest. These racist policies, in turn, govern the majority of people and so these racist policies eventually lead to racist ideas to justify them. Those racist ideas eventually lead to ignorance and hate, but the ignorance and hate were not why the racist policy was created in the first place: self-interest is the culprit.

“One either believes problems are rooted in groups of people, as a racist, or locates the roots of problems in power and policies, as an antiracist.” – Ibram X. Kendi

In other words,
The words We think it goes this way with an arrow pointing to the right over four boxes that read, left to right, Ignorance and hate, Racist ideas, Racist policies, Self-Interest above the words It actually goes this way with an arrow pointing right to left

Applying Kendi’s Theory to Theatre

Understanding this chain of causation helps us understand why racist, misogynistic, heteronormative, neurotypical theatre perpetuates itself. Applying Dr. Kendi’s idea to the theatrical industry, powerful people, acting in their own self-interest, believe they will make more money by not challenging theatre-goer’s ideas. If straight, white, male, cis-gendered theatre constitutes “normal” by default, powerful people will continue to create theatre that conforms to that idea because doing so will make them more money. The result is that theatre goers routinely ingest straight, white, male, cis-gendered theatre, further reinforcing and confirming whatever racist cultural ideas they may have. These racist ideas are then put into practice as daily thoughts, actions, and belief systems, and those ideas lead to exclusion, ignorance, and hate.

In other words,
The words We think it goes this way with an arrow pointing to the right over four boxes that read, left to right, Ignorance and hate, Racist ideas, Racist Theatre, Self-Interest above the words It actually goes this way with an arrow pointing right to left

I am explicitly saying that when we create racist, misogynistic, neurotypical, and heteronormative theatre, we are creating theatre that perpetuates exclusion, ignorance, and hate.

The time is long overdue that we, as an industry, actively fight against that. It is not enough to say that we don’t do these things. We must passionately and actively do the opposite.

People instinctively turn to artists following catastrophic events. People are buying books again! They are binge-watching shows on Netflix and buying music streaming services. All of this content is created by artists, and we are more powerful now than ever. We shape consciences with the art we choose to make, and we must be conscious about the message contained in the art that we choose.

The shutdown combined with the biggest antiracist movement in our country in 70 years offers us a unique opportunity to create an enormous, positive change in the way we create theatre; to challenge ourselves to be radically inclusive and equitable. I would go even further and say that this is our responsibility. We must help lead the world out of this humanitarian crisis.

How can we do that? What ACTIONS can we take? Here are a few ideas:

  1. Give money to BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, neurodiverse, and female-identifying writers, lyricists, playwrights, theatre companies, theatre creatives, and activist organizations. Money is power and it takes power to create change. If you can’t give money; give opportunities. If you can’t give opportunities; give your time.
  2. Get on the board for a theatre company and make your voice heard. Run for office in one of the theatre unions with the specific goal to create antiracist policy change. When you are on the board, you help create policy, and policy is power.
  3. Hire non-white and neurodiverse theatre makers, women, and transgender artists for your team and listen to them.
  4. Eliminate tokenism. Diverse people need opportunities to portray fully realized characters rather than harmful, racist stereotypes.
  5. Theatre creators can ask themselves if the roles they are creating and casting need to be played by a specific gender, physical ability, or skin color, and if not, to leave the character description open. For example, instead of a character breakdown that reads, “Strong leading man, baritone to A4,” it could instead read, “Strong, grounded character with a good sense of humor about themselves who’s been kicked around by life but still believes in love.”
  6. Participate in antiracist theatre groups and encourage colleagues to do the same. The Asian-American Performers’ Action Coalition and the African-American Artists’ Alliance are a couple of great ones.
  7. Create an antiracist theatre action committee at your institution or if you can, create a position for a person who is the director of diversity, equity, and inclusion. Invite them to be part of your casting and season selection processes.
  8. Read antiracist literature and follow antiracist activists on social media.

What actions can you think of that we can take as a community? What changes can you make to become more antiracist? How can we overcome the obvious obstacles? For example, to produce more antiracist theatre that is successful, we will need people willing to see theatre that is different. That will not be easy. I recognize that this idea is fraught with seemingly insurmountable problems.

But I believe we can do it. I believe that we are capable of bringing about an equitable, diverse, and inclusive new normal where the theatre that we make represents our entire community. Will it be perfect? No. Will it be easy? No. Will we correct all the harm that has been perpetrated against our beautiful and diverse community? No. But we must try. This unique moment in time makes this a perfect time to begin to be the change we want to see in the world. I believe, like Dr. Kendi, that change is possible. I believe in the power of theatre-makers to change hearts and minds. I believe in my community. I believe that there are so many reasons to hope.

*Original Graphic idea from Toby Sinclari’s “Book Summary: How To Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi – The 3 Big Ideas.” 21 June 2020.

Gwendolyn Walker is an Assistant Professor of Voice and Alexander Technique at Penn State’s BFA Musical Theatre program. She is certified by the Contemporary Alexander School and she maintains a busy New York City studio. Her students can be seen in most shows on Broadway today.

Being Here and Queer in your 30s – Contributed by J. Austin Eyer

By J. Austin Eyer
Assistant Teaching Professor – School of Theatre

When I moved from New York to State College as a single gay man back in 2014, the first thing most dates would ask me was, “Why would you move here from New York City?”  The answer: A good job, and I wanted to escape the pressures of the city. Happy Valley was a great place for that. I certainly missed my queer community of friends, but I hoped that I would find a new community of queer colleagues. And while I made some lasting friendships here, what I found was that very few queer people stay in State College. Case in point, I am moving later this month to Dallas, Texas.

Simply put, there tend to be four types of people in the queer community here, undergrads, grad students, locals, and Penn State faculty/staff. I made the most friends in the grad student category. This may have been because of my age (I was 32 when I moved here) and the amount of time I spent on campus. But the hard thing about having friends who are students was, each year you lost one or two close friends when they graduated and headed off to their next chapter. When that kept happening, over and over, it made me less willing to build meaningful relationships with people I knew would be leaving soon. I also had a couple of local friends, but they too seemed to be striving to leave or follow a dream to a larger city. I think the most disappointing thing was the lack of queer friendships I had with other Penn State faculty and staff. It wasn’t that we didn’t try, but often academic calendars got in the way (I rarely saw anyone in the months of November or April). And there was always the chance that we simply didn’t click as friends, or maybe they had a partner (or kids) and just didn’t have the time for new friends. It felt that State College was not built for lasting gay friendships. Looking back, I wish I would have advocated for events or programming to bring these four factions of the queer community together.

In most towns gay bars and clubs tend to be a great catalyst for queer mingling. Or an event at a local queer bookstore, or LGBTQA+ community center might give people a place to go where they can feel safe while socializing. I feel like these physical spaces are missing in State College. At the moment, Chumley’s is the only bar or space that is solely dedicated to the queer community (who aren’t PSU students). With that said, I do think it’s important to note the work that Webster’s, AIDS Resource, and the Center for Sexual and Gender diversity do for our community by providing us queer-friendly spaces. My only request is that we keep asking for MORE queer events, and more queer spaces. State College apparently had more than just one queer space in the past. But now Chumley’s is the only place where I know I can hold my boyfriend’s hand or kiss him while having a drink, and still feel safe. The best thing about Chumley’s is, it is rarely crowded. The two main bartenders will learn your face, and they have always been friendly to me. However, questions about this space being friendly to the Trans community surfaced in 2018, which shifted my full support. This space should be more than another State College bar. It has the potential to bring together the LGBTQA+ community socially. Maybe events, programming, or face-to-face dialogue (post Covid) would be a way to revive the trust that Chumley’s (our only queer community space) is welcoming to ALL in the community. I want to make sure that we maintain a space where we can sit with our dates, friends, and partners and not have to worry about stares or slurs.

Though Penn State continues to receive high rankings for being LGBTQA+ friendly, I have not felt that same sense of safety or belonging here. I have had numerous times that “faggot” has been yelled or casually said to me by undergraduates, while walking downtown. Just last year, for the second time, I had an older man yell “faggot” at me while riding his bike past my house in Houserville. I was just standing there?! I wasn’t waving a big flag or even standing there with my boyfriend.  Football season only exacerbates my anxiety and sense of not feeling welcome. I have actively avoided walking through tailgate locations, and in general, large groups of straight men (no matter how old they are) still terrify me. When you add alcohol and the electricity of game day, it becomes too much for me, I just stay home. I believe this comes from my experiences growing up in the south, where it wasn’t safe to be “out” about your sexuality unless you were in a performing arts space. Retreating and avoidance is how I cope with triggering situations. In Happy Valley, game weekends, drinking holidays, and most Saturday nights downtown are all a perfect storm for feeling unsafe in my own town. This is how I feel, but I know that maybe other people in the queer community might feel perfectly safe and accepted here, especially if they can actively prescribe to presenting as “straight.” But I can’t imagine being a queer or Trans person of color in this town, and feeling any sense of comfort. I know how alone I have felt over the past few years, and I would love to know that others in the State College queer community won’t have to feel that in the years to come. I think active and consistent community building is the answer.

One community that is leading by example is the drag community. Opulence (Penn State’s Drag Ambassadors) holds meetings, parties and PACKED drag shows each year. They have contributed greatly to the drag scene in State College. Local support from places like Chronic Town, Cafe 210, Webster’s, and The Arena show that we do have spaces willing to host our events.

How can State College engage the queer community, and bring unity (or at the very least dialogue) that helps every queer person know they have support here? I think the efforts made by the State College Borough Council (pushed by the incredible Dan Murphy) and Centre LGBTQA (which I am somehow just learning about) are making a visible impact on Happy Valley. It gave me a feeling of pride to see all of the rainbow flags throughout downtown, and last year’s rainbow crosswalks made a huge visual impact. I was beyond excited to hear about State College’s first Pride Parade in 2020 (and then VERY bummed that it had to be cancelled). I also admire the work and support that Brian Patchcoski, Sonya Wilmoth, and Stephanie Whitesell have provided me as a faculty member over the years, funding events and guests I have hosted on campus. I hope that these groups will continue to fight for visibility and meaningful impact on the State College queer community, and this means reaching out to people who aren’t just students at Penn State.

I am leaving Penn State with a lot of good memories, friendships and learning experiences. I hope that this peak inside life as a 30-something queer in State College helps spark the idea that now is a great time to brainstorm ways for queer faculty, graduate students, locals, and undergraduates to come together as a full community. We need to educate ourselves, support ourselves, and protect ourselves. We need constant visual reminders that we are not alone. And even though we may not end up creating lasting friendships, we should know each other’s names, and be fiercely protective of EVERYONE in our community. We must hold ourselves accountable. We should still make time for each other, even though time is limited. I feel this is the best way to make Happy Valley a place where queer people want to come AND STAY.