Today's delight needs a bit of back story. I thank you in advance for your patience with not only the story, but my scattered May 2022 Educator brain. It's worse than usual, friends.
Back story: In August of 2021, I returned to the building amid SEL meetings, and vague PANIC meetings regarding kids coming back in person. Among this onslaught, the Sped coordinator buddied up to our table ("our" being performing arts) and asked the choir and band teacher if they had room for some Sped kids in their intro level classes. It seems the master schedule was created without paying heed to the needs of that population, and they had no elective options besides art and gym, which they'd already taken in bulk. When I asked if I could help, he said that the needed period, second, was occupied by my IB class. He didn't think that would be the best choice, and didn't want to ask. In general, Sped kids do best in Intro to Theatre. I had no experience with mixing them into an upper level class, and my poor IB kids were not just behind due to Covid, but due to the loss of their theatre teacher two years ago; there was no scaffolding at all. I knew I was starting at ground zero and was going to have to jam to get them up to speed by January to start assessments. Gratefully, there were no IB seniors, so I had time to get them caught up.
I said "Let me know if I can help in some other way", and went home and couldn't sleep. Because why am I here if I'm not helping? Am I part of the problem, or the solution? As it happened, Harp was an SSN para at the time, and I believed with their support, I could somehow make it work. I could somehow mix high strung IB kids (who I had yet to meet, and would soon learn it was worse than I thought and "high strung" did not apply to them at all), regular theatre kids, an SSN kid, Autism 1-3 kids, and ILC kids. All of whom universally have had No Theatre At All, or Very Little Theatre. After being remote for 18 months. During a pandemic. In a junior level class designed for college-esque research based on a year of in class theatre experience. Which nobody had. Sure.
I'm an idiot.
The next day I said "Put them in second period. I'll figure it out."
He said he'd add a few Sped kids, but he put 13 in the class, doubling the class size.
I am an idiot.
I honestly had no idea how to make any of it work. I struggled through the fall, treating the class like an intro, attempting to get some kind of structure--any kind. It was a strategy I had to use all year in all classes. Then I panicked when it became clear the IB kids could not even remotely achieve what was needed for their assessments, nor did they appear to want to.
What Now?
I separated the two classes twice, working on different skills, one group on stage and one in the classroom, but everyone was happier when they were together on stage. This is where I learned the "Gen Pop" group, which included the IB kids, were not doing anything on their own. I had to sit on them and practically bully them to do ANY thing. Not only was I teaching two different classes in one period, I was dragging one of them toward the finish line. And it wasn't the Sped kids.
So after some minor successes on stage with fairy tales, play reading, analysis and scene work, I threw in the towel and said "Screw it, we're all learning Theatre of the Oppressed". The Oppressed bus was leaving, and they could either hop on or get run over. I was sure many would get flattened under the tires.
Nobody got flattened. A few had to run alongside like Steve Carell in Little Miss Sunshine. But the improv aspect, which I combined with show and tell and encouraged real life examples they had experienced in racism, homophobia, ableism, sexism and a host of other weird scenarios that came out of their heads-namely a prison riot and a scene about child abuse--worked. They got it. Somewhere along the line, they wanted to tell their stories. Or be on stage. Or both. And when I said "Hey, how about we invite people to watch?" they all agreed.
Front Story And today, after four weeks of lecture, improv games, vocabulary work, more improv, discussions and rehearsals, they performed an original 30 minute piece called Discrimination Restaurant for about fifty classmates and teachers.
And it killed.
It. Killed.
They learned their lines. The script was written by two classmates, one 'classmate' who shows up but is not enrolled. She is in APA (the musical theatre class) and attends second period because she likes theatre. She ended up directing it. The whole thing was student run. I made the kid who wouldn't get on stage be the props crew chief, and then rolled him into running the light board. He was beaming. His para took his pic in the booth to send to mom. The teachers asked him questions about his light color choices on stage.
At some point last week I realized they were doing this on their own. I was making script adjustment suggestions, and yelling about projection and facing out-that was it. They were doing it on their own, and they were holding one another responsible, supporting each other, encouraging and acknowledging that the strongest member of the group was the kid who wasn't even enrolled, but has an impressive commitment to theatre.
I'm an idiot. They're fine.
When I invited other classes, I sent out a flyer explaining what Theatre of the Oppressed is and its purpose. I repeated that explanation before curtain, explaining to the audience that the students were using the words of the oppressor, and are actors doing their jobs, they are not mean people saying mean things in life. It was good to warn them ahead of time, as the piece was received with the right mix of horror and humor, understanding and support.
The audience was surprisingly receptive to the messages, nodding their heads, laughing at how stupid several characters were and eager to talk to the cast about what they had just watched at the talk back. The art teacher told me his kids were talking about it afterwards, that the topics had ignited conversations among them.
The cast sat on the apron after curtain call and welcomed discussion. The writers discussed the character arcs, and why a certain character did not get a redemption in his arc. They shared their improvs, what was left out of the final play and how each story came from a real experience. The class applauded the director for her commitment and time. They answered difficult questions about content and context, and easy questions about projection and character work.
One actor, who was one of the writers, shared that she wanted her character to "not hate everybody, but to not understand why everyone wasn't like her, and have no filter". She is a young woman of color, and her character was "A 50 year old conservative white woman." I loved it. She kept a line in the script asking the mom of a neurodivergent child if she regretted not getting an abortion, "Due to the current climate, I had to keep it." She made the right choice, the audience's reaction was an explosion of knowing laughter and shock. It was the laughter of recognition. They know that person, and they've had stupid questions asked of them as well.
The Sped teachers asked really good questions about the content, and the art teacher asked how difficult it was for those who had experienced oppression to play an oppressor. So Great that I'm going to share the student's answer:
" I mean, I'm not a mean guy, but I ended up playing that part, y'know. In the improvs I was always like 'I'll make it worse', y'know? As a black man, I have seen a lot of this stuff, you know, in the world. But working with these guys, I got to see that it's everywhere, everybody, they're up against stupid stuff too. My eyes were opened. I think all of ours were."
An audience member commented on how gratifying it was to see such a beautiful spectrum of people--all colors, all capabilities---on stage representing our school.
When one of the actors was asked what the hardest part of the performance was he said "Facing out. I always forget. And yelling. I don't like to yell, I like these guys."
It. Killed.
I may be an idiot, but I did the right thing. I was part of the solution, not the problem.
It was one of those moments that I sit back and wonder, just like David Byrne, "How did I get here?" If only I knew, I could repeat the feat. But I don't. I never do. I take every day and every interaction and move forward.
I may be an idiot, but I'm smart enough to get out of the way when others need to speak.
