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.