Incite/Insight Spring-Summer 2019 Incite_Insight—Spring_Summer 2019 Final | Page 18

who moves to Iowa and befriends a
library lady, and develops a life-long
love for books. Its small cast and
empathetic story of a young migrant
farm worker met our specific touring
needs and were timely for the current
political climate.
We met many obstacles when
trying to do a bilingual TYA play.
First, we had to consider the political
ramifications of doing a play about
the Latinx experience in a politically-
charged environment. Secondly, we
were not granted the production
rights by the publishers to produce
Tomás and the Library Lady. As I
reflect on this experience, I am aware
of the practical obstacles we had
to overcome (like the increased
calendar for standardized tests)
but more broadly, I am aware of the
larger role that institutional racism
played in attempting to do a racially
diverse TYA play.
How do TYA artists, dedicated
to doing social justice-themed
plays, stay committed to their core
values in a heightened political
environment? Our campus, like
many across the U.S., was feeling the
after effects of a polarized nation.
In 2017, our school produced West
Side Story, and cast white actors to
play the roles of Anita and Maria.
The students responded strongly on
social media and demanded that the
faculty and administration be more
aware of issue of race and casting on
our stages.
Our TYA production would be the
first production that was specifically
about characters that were people of
color to follow West Side Story. I was
the producer, and my student, Devyn
Ward, was the director. We both
identify as white cis-gender females.
In an early meeting, Ward expressed
her nervousness of being a white
director and doing a play about
people of color.
Ward considered doing a play
by Finegan Kruckemeyer, a white
male playwright from Australia.
Kruckemeyer’s work has been on
my list of plays to produce for many
INCITE/INSIGHT 18
years, and his poetic words are
nothing short of brilliant. With the
political climate in our department
and in our country, we certainly
paused as we considered our
options.
Doing a play by a white playwright
would be the easier choice, and we
would reduce our risk of treading
difficult conversations about race
and making mistakes in casting or
in the production process as white
people. That was a real fear and the
stakes were high. As Brené Brown,
research professor at the University
of Houston, reminds us, “People are
opting out of vital conversations
about diversity and inclusivity
because they fear looking wrong,
saying something wrong, or being
wrong. Choosing our own comfort
over difficult conversation is the
epitome of privilege and it corrodes
trust and moves us away from
meaningful and lasting change.”
Katy Waldman, author of The New
Yorker article, “A Sociologist Examines
the ‘White Fragility’ That Prevents
White Americans From Confronting
Racism,” also explores the theme
of discomfort when she cites the
work of author Robin Diangelo: “She
argues that our largely segregated
society is set up to insulate whites
from racial discomfort... Unused
to unpleasantness... they lack the
‘racial stamina’ to engage in difficult
conversations.” If we did not choose
Tomás, would we be purposely
avoiding difficult conversations
about race? Why were we so afraid?
What larger forces kept us in a
place of fear, rather than in a place
of abundance, bravery, and social
justice? How do we keep ourselves in
our safely protected bubbles?
With the urgency of our political
climate, this was no time to choose
comfort over difficult conversation,
and so we chose to press on with
Tomás and the Library Lady. We
felt that now, more than ever, we
needed to use theatre as a vehicle
of empathy to allow young people
to connect with the story of Latinx
immigrants.
Together, Ward and I put a plan in
place to work to include people of
color in all roles that required this
identity. We immediately contacted
a freshman theatre education
major, Jose Hernandez Alvarado—
who identifies as Latinx and as an
immigrant—to see if he wanted to
serve as assistant director. He agreed
and was essential to the casting,
rehearsal, and touring process.
We also connected with the acting
faculty to make sure we had enough
actors who identify as Latinx to play
the roles in the play.
With the support of our
administration, we felt confident
in our choice to produce Tomás
and the Library Lady. However, our
next roadblock was met when the
publishers refused to grant the
production rights.
The dispute was over one clause
in the contract. Because UNC is a
state institution, all disputes must be
settled within the state of Colorado.
UNC (a large state-run bureaucracy)
did adjust some of the publisher’s
demands. However, because of
numerous state laws, they could not
compromise on this point.
After numerous follow up calls and
emails, we were hopeful that the
publishers would be willing to adjust
this one clause, but in the end, they
were unwilling to do so. Because
of the decision of literary agency
Curtis Brown LTD, 1,500 students in
Colorado did not see the work and
story of three Latinx authors: Pat Mora
(original book author), José Cruz
González (playwright), and Tomás
Rivera (real life inspiration of the
book). Their story, their voice, was
silenced.
This experience brought up many
questions for me as a TYA artist:
Who are the gatekeepers of racially
diverse work? Why? What can
artists do when they see powerful
institutions unwilling to make
changes so that racially diverse
work can be seen? What is an artist’s
responsibility to speak up when they
see injustice? How can TYA artists