After four invitations to join a private anti-racism theatre group (which so far has turned out...reasonably well) one of the first actions is to introduce yourself and to post/share something on the subject in order to enrich fellow artists and practitioners.
I eventually settled on Azudi Onyejekwe's https://thetheatretimes.com/the-dangers-of-optical-illusionary-performative-activism/
But I agonized over the many thoughts and possibilities I could've put up. Actually what took me so long was that I felt exhausted.
I feel exhausted that with another group of artists, as a PoC, I am asked to once again educate white creators and white artists. I am exhausted that I once again go looking through this long list of saved articles, voices, practitioners who have been marginalized to find something that will resonate.
It seems almost trivial, it seems so easy. Just treat people well. Be honest. Be upright. Create art that speaks honestly. But there are SO MANY pitfalls to that simplicity. And that 'simplicity' has bred an industry that pats itself on the back over and over again for 15 years I've been in it at every tiny little victory.
"There's one Black actor! That's progress!"
"We have one Indigenous Playwright in this festival! Aren't you happy?"
"We're doing our first Asian story converted for the stage!"
"We used 'traditional' instruments in our soundscape!"
"I made their costumes with fabrics from Africa!"
Am I supposed to laud that? Am I supposed to be happy?
I'm just. So tired. Over and over again. The same exhaustion about creativity.
I left Edmonton because I was burned out of supporting everyone else, and nobody was interested at all in the art work I had set about making. I left Edmonton because I felt like I'd hit a wall, and everyone just wanted me to cut lumber and hang lights like a good little soldier, and not ask questions, not raise my voice, not question anything.
They wanted me to look away. And the worst part, was that erasure of myself was already happening. I told my cousin one afternoon that I didn't even really see myself as being particularly Chinese.
She looked stricken at me. As though I had grown a second head. She's WHITE. And she was speechless that I had lost so much of who I was.
That's what Edmonton stole from me.
We have done this song and dance over, and over, and over again. *looks pointedly at Othello.
Do you want applause?
Do you want me to be happy that everyone is 'waking up'? I suppose I am, I should be.
But honestly? I'm just tired. It has been almost 15 years now in theatre. Between school, and touring the world, calling shows, designing work, composing music.
I'm just tired. And there is this war that everyone says they are prized to fight, but some nights, like tonight...I can't even muster the energy to get angry. I just feel like sitting and staring forlornly at these last cracks of creativity weeping between my fingers.
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