Things That I Love III: Social Media (After Susan G. Komen)

On January 31st, Susan G. Komen for the Cure announced that it would halt grants to Planned Parenthood.

I know this because on the 31st my Facebook page was saturated with the news. In the next three days links to news, criticism, petitions, clever photos, and other calls to action poured in. It seemed every day dozens more friends had signed on to register their disapproval.

By February 3rd, Komen had caved, issuing an apology and a new statement that Planned Parenthood would be eligible for grants from the foundation.

I love Planned Parenthood. Those who know me know that I feel like Planned Parenthood helped me at a time when I was having a lot of health issues and was too poor to pay for any of it. I was frustrated, scared, and didn't know what to do. I feel like I owe Planned Parenthood a lot. I feel like they sort of saved me.

But that's not what I want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about the various political agendas that motivated Komen's decision and then its reversal. You have mine now, if you're curious, but that's not the point.

The point is that after just three days after the initial announcement, Susan G. Komen backed off after a "deluge of outrage online."

It is amazing and inspiring that so many people were able to organize so quickly and affect real change in the world.

Stories like these remind me why I am so passionate and curious about social media - why I keep reading about it and think about it and talking about it and experimenting with it. I imagine without social media sites like Facebook and Twitter, this is how the whole Komen thing would have went down:

-On January 31st, Susan G. Komen announces its decision. Maybe I read about it in the New York Times, but let's face it: probably not. I really only skim everything that's not the theater section.

-Later that week, somebody says to me, "Hey, did you hear Susan G. Komen pulled its funding from Parenthood?" I say, "WHAT?!? That's BS. I'm not buying any more of that pink crap."

-October, breast cancer awareness month, comes around eight months later and I buy some pink crap.

Instead:

-Someone posted the news and I shared it.
-Someone commented in protest and I liked it.
-Someone gave a link to a petition and I signed it.

And three days later, the decision was reversed.

Since the moment of its inception, it has struck me what a wildly powerful tool social media is; it has the potential to connect and organize massive groups of people on a scale that has never, ever been possible before.

Actually, it wasn't at the inception of social media that I got so excited. I actually remember the moment. It was that group - do you remember it? - that upstart kid who started a group on Facebook about seven years ago called, "For Every Member of This Group I Will Donate A Dollar To Darfur." This was before you could post a link, way before you could share somebody else's status - it might have even been before the newsfeed. But somehow, this kid's page went viral and, if he was true to his word, relief in Darfur got a ton of money.

And it occurred to me: my god, look at all these people, all these 250,000 members (yes, that was viral back in the day) who have come together so easily to do real good for the people of Darfur just because it was as simple as clicking a button.

How many other millions of people, in how many other ways, can technology like this unite? The potential was - and still is - limitless and unprecedented.

Of course, as anyone who's been on social media for more than five minutes knows, it's really not as simple as a click of a button. I know from experience that it's about as difficult to make something go viral as it is easy. This Planned Parenthood scandal raced across the internet - as did the protests agains the controversial SOPA and PIPA bills earlier in the month, and both campaigns were met with incredible success. But for every SOPA, how many other dozens of good and necessary causes, organizations and people that deserve our attention fall through the cracks?

The first thing I did after realizing social media's potential was to form a group that would be dedicated to seeing plays that were written, directed or produced by women on a regular basis to support female artists with our pocketbooks as well as just with advocacy. Six people joined. It never really got off the ground.

Meanwhile, seven years later, Works by Women is a group that is using another social tool, Meetup.com, to do exactly what I had attempted with much greater success.

It takes a strange mix of expertise, charisma, dedication and luck to use social media well. I want to discover what that mix is and make it work for me. That's why I love social media.

Rocco Landesman at the #Newplay Convening (A Response to the Responses)

Okay, confession time: I didn't know the #newplay convening was happening until it was actually happening. I like to think I follow the theater scene pretty closely - I read papers and the blogs, I visit the websites, I do the Twitter - but somehow this completely escaped me. These were my thoughts last Thursday, as I idly kept my Twitter page open while answering phones at my job: Hey, that's an interesting idea from Rocco Landesman that TCG just tweeted. Hey, that's another! Oh my god, so many exciting points, where are they coming from!? OH MY GOD, now EVERYBODY'S making exciting points! What's going on?!? Why is everybody having this amazing conversation all at once!? What is this #newplay hashtag!? My brain is exploding.

I pretty much peed my pants.

I was also really, really excited because Rocco Landesman, the head of the freaking NEA was all the sudden saying what I've been saying for a really long time.

Truth be told, don't know if I articulated what I was thinking as well as I could have in that post - in fact, I felt really bad after I posted it because I never meant to imply that the only places with flourishing art scenes were NYC and other similar big cities. I tried to clarify my ideas in a comment, by saying, "I think the thing is, there's a tipping point - a point where the sheer volume of work being created stops being a boon and starts being a liability - everything, even really good things, just get lost in the din. I'm putting forth the hypothesis that New York has reached that tipping point." Which says it as well as anything else I've written. Yes, it's great that there exists such an expansive and diverse theater community - up to a point. And we've reached that point: the supply has exceeded the demand.

But I add the following caveat: the supply has exceeded the demand in New York City. And possibly other large urban cities. And I know I'm not the only person who has said that the solution is not to decrease the supply, but to spread it around. Scott Walters, on TheaterIdeas, says, "There are many medium-sized cities, suburbs, and other such places that are also being ignored by the lemming-like flow of artists to NYC in search of fame. There is a large swath of entire states in the midwest that have no TCG theatres at all." Trisha Mead, in a comment on her own report for the New Play Blog, says, "Less than 10% of urban communities (and an even smaller percentage of rural communities) regularly experience live performance," and to believe that that number is in response to a fixed demand that can't be changed is "crazytalk."

But I am so, so psyched to hear other people saying it too.

This is not really a response to Landesman's speech; I wasn't there, I didn't hear it first-hand. But I have read an awful lot of reports on it and responses to it. And people are saying some awesome, awesome stuff. So, consider this a response to the responses.

It seems like reactions largely fall into three categories:

1) WTF does he mean "demand can't be changed"?
2) Why are we talking about supply and demand anyway? Isn't that commercial theater's domain?
3) Does Rocco Landesman have it out for the little guys?

First and foremost, did he really say that demand can't be changed? I have the following quote atrributed to him from two sources: "Look. You can either increase demand or decrease supply. Demand is not going to increase, so it is time to think about decreasing supply." Did he really say that? If so I a) disagree and b) he took that back right-quick. Because his post on the NEA blog in response to all this discussion essentially outlines ways in which we can increase the demand for the arts.

But in any case, he definitely does want to talk about decreasing the supply, and I can see how those remarks would sound like a big stomping-on to the smaller fish of the theater world. But it's interesting that this was the response at large when I, the smallest of the small fish, heard this proposal and rejoiced.

Because here's the thing. The extreme imbalance between supply and demand is a problem. It's a problem that, living in the really, really big pond that I do, I personally encounter a lot. And, while I don't think "thinking about decreasing supply," is a useful or practical option, I applaud Landesman for making the audacious statement that there's simply too much theater. Because as someone who loves theater more than pretty much anything else, I think he's right. And if we want to find a solution to the problem, we have to address it rather than pretend it doesn't exist.

But the solution is not to decrease the demand, and it's not a question of whether I'm insulted, or whether I consider this a threat to myself or my fellow artists. It's the fact that, as Adam Thurman put it so nicely in his blog, Mission Paradox, "The arts are a passion business and all the economic arguments in the world aren't going to stop people who feel like they must (for reasons both noble and foolish) create art through an organization." Supply and demand aren't linked in the arts the way that they are in a traditional business model. The supply just isn't going to go away.

So what is the solution? There have been a lot of good ones, but you know my favorite. So many parts of the country are completely underserved by the theater, and if you say that's because there's no demand for it, that brings us back to points 1) and 2) above.

Who says we can't create a demand? Again, to quote Adam Thurman, "10 years ago I wasn't looking at my old standard definition TV and looking for a better picture image. I didn't even know that was a possibility until it happened." Marketing whizzes create demand for products where there was none all the time. And here are markets where there is the opportunity to do so, markets that are not completely saturated, where there is space for a demand to grow.

And, furthermore, what does demand have to do with it anyway? Isn't that the point of non-profits, or at least the grants that fund them - to provide the means to do something for which there isn't enough public demand for it to survive on it's own, but is really, really important anyway? Trisha Mead makes this point well in her open letter to Rocco. She extends the metaphor put forth during the convening that non-profits function as the "the 'R&D arm' of our society, testing what it means to be human and reflecting back the concerns of the moment." And, as with scientific research, it's not just the big experiments with the guaranteed success that need to be funded. It's the little ones too, the crazy ideas and the colossal failures that lead to important discoveries.

I believe that, I honestly do, but I will say this as well: supply and demand are linked in the arts world, although in a less direct way than in the commercial world. Yes, we have to nurture the little experiments and the failures in order to find the theatrical equivalent of the "big discovery." But we should never forget that we are in pursuit of that big discovery, that eye-opening breakthrough that feeds the masses. It's not enough to be holed up in our labs clapping our hands at our own little explosions.

I think, as artists, our greatest collective aspiration is to answer a need, to a universal human yearning for something beyond our daily bread. In this sense, art does answer to a demand. I'm not sure if this is the same demand that Landesman was talking about, but all the same, it should not be disregarded. If we're not creating something that at least touches the possibility of satisfying that need, or leading to something that will then we should not be doing it at all. Hey - maybe I do believe in decreasing the supply.

The lovely and exciting part of it all for me is that that need is there in every part of the country, even if the commercial demand is not. In his response post, Landesman says that "Americans are hungry for and will seek out an expressive life." Yes. All people everywhere are hungry for an expressive life and art, in all its forms answers that hunger.

One thing in particular spoke to me about Landesman's address (from Mead's report for the New Play Blog):

And finally, he is very interested in seeing regional theaters invest in more work that is designed specifically for their own community, rather than passing around the latest Broadway hit. He wants to see regional companies generating work that speaks directly to their own communities... work that shares and reflects the unique values of its particular audience. He is concerned that it has become too tempting for regional artistic directors to program work with a potential Broadway transfer in mind.

Yes. Yes yes yes. This is hits the nerve of supply/demand imbalance at two points. Imports from Broadway are not as relevant to a community as work being generated for and by it. So audiences lose interest, they seek to meet their need for an "expressive life" elsewhere. And then on the other side of it, the artists lose interest because we want to be a part of a community that's creating new and vibrant work, not reproductions of work that was relevant 5 years and 1500 miles ago. We want to be answering to the need. The one feeds the other, artists cluster closer and closer around more active creative hubs that become quickly oversaturated and the rest of the country is left with a dearth of art where it is truly needed.

We can fix this. We can create a demand. And, even more excitingly, were coming up on a point in history where the advent of technology and social networking devices make it possible for artists to convene and create active and vibrant communities across geographical boundaries. Look at the amazing work that 2AMt is doing, or the Arena Stage's New Play Map or - oh! And now I'm getting into the connectivity part of the convening and I promised myself I would stick to the opening remarks.

August Wilson's Place in School

Earlier this week, David Snead, the Waterbury, Connecticut superintendent of schools ordered Waterbury’s arts magnet high school to stop its production of August Wilson’s Joe Turner’s Come and Gone because of the appearance of the N-word in the script.

While I understand the superintendent's decision to stop the production, it has me deeply upset. Of course the word should be categorically repudiated; it should never be appropriate in conversation, nor ever regarded casually. But for these reasons exactly, I think it is so important that this show be performed, even (perhaps especially) on the high school level. Mr. Snead, for all his well-meaning attempts to protect his students, and his community at large, from such a hateful epithet, has ironically done so at the expense of a real understanding of the power of language and the importance of narrative.

As one who has spent my life in reverence of these two things, language and narrative, I find that incredibly alarming.

I am not African American, and I recognize the fact that, as much as I can sympathize, I cannot possibly fully understand the weight of the word. Still, I hope that does not keep me from acknowledging, to the best of my abilities, the centuries of hatred, bigotry and oppression bound up in it. It is the recognition of its ugliness, not a casual indifference to it, that makes me as passionate as I am.

I am, and always have been, in awe of the magnitude of language, both of it the power it yields when wielded well, and the impotence it creates when wielded poorly. Rough and inexact as it might be, it is the only way to connect that ethereal thing caught inside my flesh with that in yours, the only thing that keeps us all from becoming so many satellites, spinning helplessly inside our own orbits.

Language is the sharpest tool we have available to us, and I’m not the first to say “the pen is mightier.” But, just like an untrained joker playing with a sword - be careful with that, or you’re going to put your own eye out.

Here is a story to illustrate what I mean. It’s not of the word in question, but of another inappropriate and hateful word, also often spoken or spoken of in fearful, hushed tones: the C-word.

The C-word is not the same as the N-word; it doesn’t mean quite the same thing, nor does it have the same deep-seated history of hate attached to it. But, as a woman I have more experience with it and a more personal connection to it, and so this is the word I have a story about. And I think it serves to illustrate a universal point.

So, needless to say, I do not like the C-word, or, at least, the attitude with which it is regarded in our culture; it rankles my feminist sensibilities. It troubles me that the worst words we have for one another as women in one way or another refer to our sex or sexuality. It suggests a fear and loathing of female sexuality that, frankly, as a society we should be beyond. And at the worst of all of them, for some inexplicable reason, is the C-word.

Funnily enough, though, I often hear, even among my thinking, considerate, female peers, the following sentence: "I don't want to say it, but I'll say it. I NEVER use this word, but I'll use it for her. That woman is a..." well, you know what.

I understand the logic of not saying the word, of abhorring what it stands for and refusing to allow it to enter your vocabulary. I also understand the idea of reclaiming the word, of attempting to strip it of its power through new context and use. (After all, why can we call a man a prick or a dickhead with relative impunity, but it is so unspeakably awful to call a woman the other thing?)

But to halfheartedly do both - to save the word for very special occasions, for use only on the worst offenders - is to bestow power without understanding why, and ultimately give strength to its ugly meaning, and to those who would use it hatefully.

My point is simply this: words can be powerful, and to wield that power with no knowledge of its history and social context is to potentially add fuel to the fire. And the N-word, whether we like it or not, is a very, very powerful word, so we must be very, very careful.

I know that Mr. Snead is only, understandably, trying to exercise that care. The New York Times reports that, “According to the newspaper... Snead said this week that educators should not do anything that might encourage people to use the word.” However, it strikes me that fearing that watching an August Wilson play will encourage people to use the N-word is a bit like worrying that asking a depressed friend if he’s suicidal will put the idea in his head.

That is to say, it won’t, and avoiding the uncomfortable conversation will only make it worse.

We are coming up on a generation for whom the struggle for civil rights in America (and thus, this word) will mean something entirely new. And after them will come a generation for whom it will mean even something else. It is of vital importance that we continue communicate the gravity and significance of that struggle, lest we re-ignite old flames of hatred.

Textbooks and history lessons are fine communication tools, but I honestly and passionately believe that the most important instrument we have to ensure that our collective history is remembered and appreciated is our stories. That is why I do what I do.

And that's also why I believe it's more than important for these teens to have the opportunity to perform and appreciate the work of August Wilson, a master storyteller - it's necessary. More necessary for them, our youth, perhaps, than any other group.

Through lessons and books we learn the facts of our history, through our stories we learn the truth. Our stories provide us with an emotional connection to the past, to people and experiences that we would otherwise never know, never fully understand.

What's more, as I understand it, the drama teacher at this school approached the performance of the play with extreme sensitivity and respect. She sought approval not only from the school’s principal, but from the parents of the students involved, for whom she actually went through the trouble of having the play read aloud. She even received approval of the production from a former N.A.A.C.P president. Lessons were planned for the students to provide the appropriate history and context of the racism that is experienced in the play, as well as talk-backs and other post-performance discussions and Q&A's. The rehearsals were even open to the participating students' parents. I cannot think of a better, more visceral way of understanding our history and our society.

I’m told that the Waterbury Board of Education discussed the situation yesterday, although I can’t find any information on the outcome of the meeting. I hope that the decision was reconsidered. If it’s not, I worry it will set a terrible precedent for American high schools. August Wilson is not only one of the most celebrated playwrights of the 20th century, he also gave a vibrant and resonant voice to a group of people and experiences that have otherwise marginalized, oppressed and ignored by the American theater tradition. Yes, Wilson uses a terrible word in Joe Turner's Come and Gone. But he does so with all the understanding and gravity and context we that we can ask for, that we can hope to communicate to future generations. We cannot lose him; we cannot keep him out of our schools. It would be an unspeakable blow not just against the arts, but against our past and against our future.

UPDATE (1/20/11):

The production will go on as planned.

Additionally, here are some links to more excellent commentary about the situation:

Leonard Jacobs' blog on the Clyde Fitch Report.
Howard Sherman's comments on the American Theater Wing blog.
Howard Sherman's wonderful letter to the Waterbury Board of Ed.

And the original post in the New York Times Artsbeat Blog.

The Arizona Tragedy

I generally avoid getting up on political soapboxes; it's a bit wobbly up there and I get vertigo. But I'm going to say something about the shootings in Arizona, because I think it's important. I'm going to say it briefly, and I'm going to keep my feet as close to the ground as possible.

A lot of mud has been slung over the past few days about the language and political climate that preceded Saturday's terrible events. In fact, the first I learned of what happened was in the context of an article condemning Palin for her now-infamous map.

It's frustrating. This blog from the Village Voice, for example, blames "rightbloggers" for using the tragedy to paint themselves as victims at the hands of the left. But couldn't the same be said of those who have used the tragedy, in a sense, to condemn the right for their rhetoric?

Jon Stewart, always considered and articulate, makes a good point in his speech that I'm sure by now we've all seen: we have to be able to understand the difference between our political opponents and our enemies. There is a difference.

On the blog Parabasis, Isaac Butler argues that conflating the ideas of opponent and enemy is strictly conservative problem:

This is not really a bipartisan issue. There is a difference between the rhetoric of Keith Olbermann and Glenn Beck. There is a difference between the level of institutional courting and entrenchment of left wing loonies and right wing loonies.

I take his point, but even so, I say it IS a bi-partisan issue. Yes, the boderline violent, gun-culture rhetoric that has gotten everyone so amped this week is much more the domain of the right than the left. And, yes, I do think such language is inappropriate, and the events of this week highlight the fact that there is a terrible reality attached to these words that is often considered too lightly.

But, while there IS difference between Glenn Beck's rhetoric and Keith Olbermann's, there are similarities, too. It seems like any time I tune into any program, conservative or liberal, or engage in any conversation, or, really, take in any kind of media in any form, somebody is trying to tell me that the other side is evil. \

Republicans are apparently unfeeling, war-mongering, gun-toting, money-grubbing, tar-hearted individuals who will do anything to make sure they keep what they have and everyone else can rot. And Democrats... well, I'm not sure what, specifically, the Republicans like to say about us Democrats (as I keep mostly liberal company), but I know it's just as bad. But, honestly, could it be much worse?

It all creates a climate of Us vs. Them, of Good vs. Evil. And all this within the borders of our own nation, a nation built on the the idea that political discourse and differing idealogy will only make us stronger.

This kind of vitriolic side-taking and blame-dumping is not only fostering a climate of anger and hatred, it's unproductive. We, as a government AND as a people, are ignoring simple facts and common sense, so blinded are we by the larger objective of Opposing The Other Side.

Let's consider a few simple facts from this week's horror:

1. Loughner purchased his weapon COMPLETELY LEGALLY.

2. A federal assault weapons ban that expired in 2004 prohibited the sale of gun magazines holding more than 10 rounds; Loughner's held 30 rounds.

3. Loughner was finally taken down only when he paused to reload - after 30 rounds.

I'm not a big gun person. I'm actually not 100% sure what a "magazine" is, or a "round" for that matter. (Is it a bullet? Is it a series of bullets? Don't laugh). What I do know is this: had this particular piece of gun-control legislation still been in place, Loughner would have only been able to fire ONE-THIRD as many shots from his legal weapon before being taken down. Would one-third of the lives that were lost that day, then, have been saved?

I don't know, of course, no one can. And while I am in favor of gun control as strict as the most flexible interpretations of the 2nd Ammendment will allow, and I DO think that lives would have been saved this week with more rigorous restrictions, I'm not here to make that point. I'm here to ask the question: why aren't we talking about it?

This is the kind of dialogue that this tragedy should foster: How did this happen? How can it not happen again?

It's not even simply the question of whether or not that particular assault weapons ban should have been allowed to expire, or whether it should be reinstated - although those are good questions. There's also the larger question: How on earth was a mentally unstable 22-year-old able to to get a hold of this gun at all? Is there a way to be a little more thorough, a little safer with how we distribute firearms? Is there a way to prevent this from happening again?

To my knowledge, Loughner didn't have any priors on his record that would flag him in a background check, so maybe the answer is no. No, he snuck through the system somehow, these things are bound to happen. (As Stewart put it: Crazy will find a way.)

I just want to know why nobody is asking the question.

Sadly, precious little is being said about this event as it relates to gun control. Long-time gun-control advocate and Congresswoman Carolyn McCarthy told the Huffington Post, "I know what I can get passed and I know what I can't get passed. And if I wanted to get something symbolic -- and we are going to reintroducing the assault-weapons ban and that's wonderful -- it won't go anywhere. It won't even get to committee."

Creating a stronger, safter society as a result of this tragedy - a thing that might make meaning out of these untimely deaths - is being ignored because that's not what we as a nation have decided that it's About.

The Palin angle, that should be a side story at best. No, I'm not a big fan of her gun-saturated language, but as The New Republic pointed out, people - normal, sane, rational people - use gun-related metaphor and imagery all the time. It's not the story here.

But instead of considering the actual story, we're caught in this cycle of political impotence, so preoccupied with hurling invective from Left to Right that we can't stop to discuss the real issues, even when it is so devestatingly demonstrated to us that real human lives are at stake.

That's all I have to say for now. I'm feeling a bit woozy.