Three
This letter was also published on Lebene’s Medium on July 14, 2020.
“Why nobody listen to me? Why? I dream big…so why is making that dream real a problem?”
America’s main energy source is racism. The recent murders of Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Dominique Fells and countless others has caused outrage throughout the nation. Circle in the Square Theatre School is an institution that has made it explicitly clear they do not care about Black lives. On June 1, 2020, Circle chose to demonstrate “solidarity” with their students of colour by posting a Black Lives Matter message regarding George Floyd’s murder. The school had willingly remained silent about Floyd’s murder for almost two weeks choosing instead to promote a white student in a modelling competition. There has not been a message from the Executive Director or President, nor have emails of care and solidarity been sent out to current students and alum, nor has the school made donations or provided links to resources. They didn’t put their BLM post onto the school website, rather, they chose to tokenise their one staff member of colour, showcasing her Instagram post, “Asians for Black lives'' in their Instagram story. They continued to tokenise their student body by posting a video of a Black alum encouraging white people to educate themselves and fight for marginalised communities. Understandably, students came to the post questioning what the purpose of this performative allyship was; we have received no response. This recent display, along with the knowledge of Circle’s habitual exploitation of racial trauma for entertainment has left me with no choice, I must speak up.
I am a Ghanaian American woman, actor and teaching artist. I teach predominantly marginalised communities and it has been the joy of my life to bring the arts to our underserved citizens. In 2015, I decided to get serious about acting as a career and after auditioning, was invited to attend Circle in the Square Theatre School, a two-year acting conservatory. I had dabbled in the dark art of Theatre before, performing in high-school plays before going off to college where I continued to act while pursuing my B.A. However, Circle was different, it was a conservatory. How could I resist attending a school affiliated with a Broadway theatre, and performing on a Broadway stage! I had dreams of grandeur, running hand in hand with my classmates to a choreographed number of “A Brand New Day” from The Wiz. I’ll admit, it was an extravagant daydream, and I could barely hold a tune, but anything is possible when your job is quite literally, to play.
In theory, Circle was the perfect home for me, their website promised that small classes would provide me with an intimate environment for learning, that I would learn from professors active in the industry, with vouched-for experience, and at the end of the year, I would have acting opportunities in my first and second year for the Festival of Theatre; a series of three to five full length productions for the graduating class. That is, if I survived the ritual of culling the class to only the most dedicated students between first and second year.
Circle would also afford me with the opportunity to live out a lifelong dream, living in NYC. I spent the ages of 6-17 living in Southern and Western Africa studying at international schools filled with people from every nationality; a worldly environment that celebrated diversity like a United Nations in training. After high school I spent eight years living in Washington State, one of the whitest parts of America. To say that I experienced culture shock would be an understatement. At The Evergreen State College, I was “The Black girl,” a unique experience that taught me how to survive in white spaces. It is for that reason I can say with absolute conviction I have never experienced more racism than in the three years I spent at Circle in the Square Theatre School.
Circle is disinterested in offering a non-white experience to their students. This was first demonstrated when I received our required reading list, a list that held over 100 American plays and 40 American playwrights, only 3 of whom were Black. In an institution that fails to provide their students with reading material that replicates the rich diversity in which we live, I was forced to perform with what was provided to me in their racist and inequitable curriculum. Once the program began, I was greeted with a barrage of microaggressions from faculty and classmates about “Black actors stealing all the roles from white ones,” and teachers justifying their racist thinking with the explanation that they are “purists,” when it comes to the classics. These daily reminders that I was inferior while simultaneously appearing as a threat, left me anxious and crying on the phone to my mom a couple months into the program. Historically, Black actors have had limited options in the roles available to us, and have been forced to play stereotypes, side characters, and “magical negro” tropes used to elevate whiteness. Stating that one is a “purist” is coded language for “I don’t want to see a Black person in this role.” We have been denied opportunities and our stories have been ignored or white-washed in favour of whiteness. We are not stealing roles from white actors; we are being provided with more opportunities as our industry breaks away from white idealisms.
I found my first year at Circle to be a struggle. I never felt fully comfortable and the lack of advocacy and support from the majority white staff left me unable to express myself freely. Though I put all my effort towards a successful first year at Circle, I was not invited to second year and instead I was asked to repeat my first year. My first-year revival was marketed to me as a rare opportunity not often granted to students; it felt like a failure. By way of reasoning, Circle’s Executive Director notified me that my teachers felt they didn’t know who I was, that my college education was “all over the place,” and that I didn’t have enough experience to move up into a second year class. I found these comments strange considering the large number of recent high school graduates in my class. I was also surprised; none of my teachers had previously initiated conversations with me about needing to improve. Why was I only hearing about this now? Although devastated I decided to take their offer. I told myself that this was what I wanted to do professionally, and that Circle was made up of experts in the field. I convinced myself it would be foolish to not trust the institution and their process.
“The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.”
In 2016 I returned for my second, first year, determined to show my teachers that I was taking this second chance seriously. Initially I had some apprehensions about returning, I feared being judged by new and old classmates. However, I soon found myself as the unofficial representative of our class. Evidently, it was to everyone’s benefit that I had already been in the program. I answered questions, gave advice and set up our class Facebook page, a private safe haven where we could share information and express how we felt away from the prying eyes of the administration. It felt good to be a leader in a place that left me with such doubt the year prior. I also loved my class and cherished the opportunity to FINALLY be part of a diverse group of Black, brown and expatriate students who understood me and shared similar life experiences. However, beyond their initial effort to include a more diverse student body, Circle quickly demonstrated that they had failed to educate themselves on how to be truly anti-racist.
On April 30, 2017, I was racially attacked by Beth Falcone, the resident singing technique teacher at Circle. I had been preparing for our First Year Cabaret, a deliriously exhilarating and nauseating experience that is Circle tradition. By any means, the cabaret is a big deal, because the students in the acting program, -- notorious non-singers--perform solos in front of the entire school. A week before the cabaret--due to Beth’s incessant chatter, terrible scheduling and time management skills--most of the actors were not feeling confident enough to do any semblance of a performance, let alone sing a solo for friends, family and the whole school. Beth’s way of counteracting this was by scheduling small group rehearsals during the weekends. I was given the song “The Man That Got Away,” a marvellous ballad about love lost. Beth did not think that I was bringing enough emotion to the song. She asked me what had upset me the most in my life, where I felt hopeless. The first thing that came to mind was police brutality. She encouraged me to think about that while I sang.
Between rounds of singing, Beth asked me if she needed to show me images of police brutality. Shocked, I replied “no.” She yelled over the intro “I can’t breathe,” in reference to Eric Garner and elaborated by saying “Yeah, it’s that fucking intense.” At some point she stopped me, and my classmate enthusiastically told me that I was more connected that time. Beth did not share her enthusiasm. She took her phone out and said, “Don’t hate me for this” and proceeded to spend 5 minutes searching for a stock image of a police officer beating up a Black man. As she handed me her phone she said “We’ll see what this one does to you. I hope this one is good enough. Look at it.” Another student in the room asked what it was, and Beth became very stern and scolded me, “Don’t even. Don’t tell anybody about this. Ever. And it’s not funny.”
“So…you want me to sing to this photo?”
“Yes, sing to it,” she said.
We worked through the song and I mentioned how uncomfortable I felt, her response “Yes, that’s how that woman feels,” in reference to the character I was portraying in the song. Had I known my racial trauma would be weaponised against me, I would have chosen anything else. This offensive, and racist experience was not the first I’d had with her.
Two weeks prior, fresh from her trip to Tanzania, Beth had asked me to translate a song from Swahili; I told her I only spoke English and was not from that part of Africa. She in-turn proceeded to tell me this song was a mixture of different dialects and Swahili, so maybe I could translate it. I once again told her that was not possible, to which she replied, “I get it, that’s like trying to understand someone from the South.” The South is a region of the country of the United States of America. In comparison the African continent hosts 54 countries, could comfortably house China, all of Eastern Europe and North America, and there are between 1500-2000 different dialects spoken across the diaspora. To generalise the entire continent of Africa is deplorable for anyone, let alone someone who helped with the music for Broadway’s The Lion King. It is not enough to just show up, we must do the work. Her inability to do this highlights the lack of effort taken on by our industry and school to educate its white artists and teachers, and further proves that our culture, under the white gaze is simply for consumption and profit.
I reported both incidents to the Executive Director, twice. He told me he agreed that it was offensive, she was probably well-meaning, and he would talk to her. Those were the only times we discussed this situation. The school never followed up with me about the incidents and when I returned for my final year Beth would constantly find excuses not to work with me and send me to work with the TA’s instead. I was never silent about the incidents either, I discussed it with classmates, talked about it in my classes and everyone agreed it was wrong, yet nothing was done. At what point was I supposed to feel safe enough to be vulnerable in this institution?
When I returned for second year, I set my focus on three things; studying Anton Chekhov’s work in European scene study, the Second Year Showcase, and The Festival of Theatre. I was not dying to portray white women for another year but was excited to explore the realism of Chekhov. Second year scene study, our only scene class, is dedicated entirely to European plays; we spend over half of that time studying the works of Anton Chekhov. During my first in-class presentation of Three Sisters I broke down with tears of joy during a personal story before my scene. I expressed how excited I was to be there, and how important it was for me to be able to study this work; I had earned that moment. In spite of whatever failures may have delayed my progression into second year, whatever doubts had been instilled in me I knew I had proven to myself and my teachers that I belonged there. This concept was so overwhelming all I could do was cry. It would be one of the rare moments that year I felt like I belonged.
It became pretty clear there was no place for me or my fellow BIPOC classmates. we weren’t made to feel like we belonged and that resulted in our second year being a disaster. The administration lacked care for our class and failed to organise themselves in a way that would benefit us. They did not know what to do with us, because they don’t know anything about BlIPOC. We created vision-boards displaying the roles we wanted, the actors we admire, and how our industry might view us. My board was filled with mostly young Black and brown actors and writers I could identify with; Issa Rae, Zoë Kravitz, Mindy Kaling, Lupita Nyong’o, Donald Glover and my queen, Viola Davis. In an industry that is controlled by white supremacy, it’s important actors of colour pave their own way; I chose people who reflected that sentiment. I don’t think my teacher recognised half the people on my board and remained silent for a majority of the meeting. If there was some guidance, I was supposed to receive it didn’t happen. I left that meeting confused and disappointed, an experience that could have been easily avoided if my interests were represented by a POC staff member in the room.
There was no one to advocate for the BIPOC student body and when it came time for placement in the projects, we were faced with a new obstacle-- the competitive nature of our classmates. We were in a race that we could not win. Favouritism was the only way to get the part you wanted; with the exception of musical theatre there was no audition process. Throughout the year it had been communicated there would be four shows. Traditionally those shows would be a European play, Shakespeare, a musical and some other play about white people. Our graduating class was predominantly female, with a majority of the WOC in the acting track. Naturally, the understanding was we’d do female-based projects; our teacher had casually mentioned Euripides’ Trojan Women a female heavy anti-war play, but stated it was still under consideration. When project and casting announcements were made; Trojan Women was no longer an option, we were doing The Seagull, and not a single WOC, or female from the actor track was cast in the show. Shakespeare would have provided limitless casting options in terms of colour and gender; two things students were eager to explore but the school actively shied away from embracing. However, not wanting to repeat the gender bending Shakespeare performance of the year prior, my teacher decided it was best to do Charlotte Delbo’s, Who Will Carry the Word, an all-female show about freedom fighters trying to survive in Auschwitz. Musical theatre was not an option for the actor women that year, and the fourth project mysteriously disappeared.
During my showcase I was originally slated to perform a scene from Lynn Nottage’s By the Way Meet Vera Stark, an opportunity I was looking forward to after a failed attempt at performing the same scene in class the year prior. At the time I originally attempted to do it in class, my scene partner had not done the research to understand that her character was a white-passing woman, and not in fact just white. I was excited for the re-do but, due to events beyond my control, I had to change my partner and my scene a few days before the audition. Instead of providing me with the opportunity to find a scene that worked for me, I was forced into a scene already in motion with a woman I’d never worked with, been in class with, or seen act before. I was also informed that this was a “better scene.” The scene in question, Wendy Wasserstein’s Isn’t It Romantic. Albeit a great play, it is a play between two white Jewish women. To compensate for my lack of equal parts whiteness and Judaism, we edited out the lines using Jewish colloquialisms. Masquerading as a white woman was how I was allowed to showcase my three years of training to a room full of and, I use that term very loosely, agents.
When you are a person of colour in a white space you will stand out, it is inevitable. We might look different from white people and each other, we might sound different, and our life experiences are different. It is the duty of our institution to ensure that we have an experience equal to our white counterparts to acknowledge that difference and its ensuing imperative to ensure an equitable experience for all students. There were teachers who accomplished that. We built a powerful bond with our acting technique teacher, she let us speak freely and voice our struggles. This was a woman who fought for us. Our amazing speech teacher told us the Mid-Atlantic dialect was racist, a relief for most students. Our first-year teacher found it funny to mock the way most BIPOC/POC pronounce the word ask by referring to it as “ax.” However, this man celebrated our accents and allowed us to learn a dialect of our choosing at the end of the year. Our on-camera, mask and clown classes made us laugh till we cried, and our second-year physical acting class was a celebration of artistic practices from around the world. Some of our best discoveries would happen in that class, morphing into different shapes as music and language from every corner of the world filled the room. It was this teacher who encouraged me to use my Ghanaian accent and told me about Jocelyn Bioh’s School Girls; Or, the African Mean Girls Play. These were the classes where we felt seen and safe in an otherwise very violent environment.
As a collective, we had great moments. We laughed, fought and cried together like old friends and we love and respect each other immensely. WE chose to celebrate each other. I choreographed a dance to Kendrick Lamar’s DNA with the Black student body; to each other we lovingly called it “The Black people dance.” I saw Black Panther with my POC classmates, and we walked out of the theatre alive and excited about our futures, greeting each other with the Wakanda Forever symbol. In an exercise entitled Private Moment, an exercise in which one is private in public, I was Black as hell twisting up my hair while I listened to The Read, a podcast that is a celebration of all things Black. When it came time to graduate a fellow POC classmate and I found a location to host a grad party for our friends and family with money I raised for our class. It was a treat to have our parents meet, an extension of the bond we’d built over the past two years.
I have benefited from a life that has allowed me to pursue art as a career, have incredible friends and family I can visit around the world, including the ones I made at Circle; as have a lot of my classmates. One day after class my teacher volunteered the knowledge that I was privileged, I replied, “I know.” My privilege protects me to live comfortably in an otherwise uncomfortable world. My privilege does not protect me from enduring systemic racism and years of other people’s unchecked white privilege. Students and Executive Directors running their hands through my many hairstyles without permission, unprompted, ignorant questions, and my personal favourite, the unrelenting fascination with my voice and grasp of the English language. It didn’t protect me from the degrading language used by Whitney Kaufman, Coordinator of Student Affairs when she chose to read out loud the word nigger, to a room full of students, myself included while attempting to convince my white-passing Latinx classmate it would be appropriate for her to use that word towards a male BIPOC student during our showcase. It certainly did not protect me when a teacher chose to make a mockery of my skin colour, jokingly grabbing my arm in front of our entire cast and declaring my tone was similar to the colour of dirt. An already disgusting joke made even more distasteful by the fact my skin tone was being compared to that of an unbathed prisoner.
We need to stop making excuses for white people and start holding them accountable for their prejudices; Circle in the Square Theatre School is unapologetically racist. The things I and countless other students of colour experienced were nothing short of traumatic. Racialised trauma left me feeling worthless, it silenced my thoughts, numbed me of emotion and made me put distrust in my white friends. Most of all it made me believe that I was a bad actor. The teacher who acknowledged my privilege taught us in order to be a good actor you must not have fear, shame or ignorance. How can an institution that runs solely on those three principles teach anyone how to act let alone charge money for it?
The performative allyship displayed by Circle on June 1st was a farce. Where was the support for their students during the recent attacks against Asians due to the Covid-19 pandemic, while ICE continues to deport Latinx communities, and the murder of Ahmaud Arbery before George Floyd? They don’t celebrate MLK day, they don’t celebrate Black and brown culture and the staff member they chose to tokenise does not appear on the current faculty page of the school’s website despite the fact she’s worked for them for over 4 years. The school has always been focused on white superiority from their predominantly white staff to the majority of white, cis-gender, male guest speakers. Your institution is a toxic environment that requires a complete overhaul in management. The Executive Director E. Colin O’ Leary, has been complicit in the face of racism, he is a passive man, and a passive man cannot be a leader. He chose to be inactive and complicit in the face of white supremacy. What he allowed to happen to me, and multiple other students for DECADES was fucked up and most important, it’s illegal. If he were anything other than white, he would have lost his job years ago. He needs to take his job seriously, stop protecting those who do not need protection including those who hold job security as a result of close family friendships and, he needs to start hiring staff that cares about their students.
Black Lives Matter! All Power to the People!
In Solidarity,
Lebene Ayivor