Twenty-Nine

I was 17 when I first attended Circle. I had high hopes for the summer program since it  had been recommended by a friend. I had two experiences during those seven weeks  that will stay with me forever.

I was presenting as female at the time and, I’ll remind you, underaged. During a scene  study class where I was meant to rehearse a Joe/Harper scene from Angels in America,  I had a well-intentioned yet ultimately catastrophic idea where I’d explore Harper’s  loneliness and sexual frustration by donning lingerie. Before entering the classroom, I  felt pretty confident about my decision, feeling safe, and supported in this “professional”  environment. Upon entering the room, my teacher showed me the error of my thinking  without uttering a word. I was greeted with concerned looks from my adult classmates,  and as I scanned the room, I noticed my teacher staring at my body with a cocked  eyebrow and an obvious smirk. What began as confidence instantly shriveled into fear,  regret, and instability. I remember my teeth chattering, and my knees and hands  shaking ferociously as the panic attack set in. Unable to properly voice my concerns, I  pressed on, all the while wishing I had a teacher who would have instead of taking  delight in an underaged body, pulled me aside, and said ‘hey, this doesn’t seem safe for  someone your age to be doing. I understand your intention, but this isn’t appropriate.’ But no, I got the creepy, old, white guy who seemingly never knew the answer to  anyone’s questions. 

The second experience from that summer came from a classical text class. Our teacher was having us collectively do a popcorn reading of the bastard speech from King Lear  with a very painful twist. This particular teacher was very fond of physically abusing her  students for the sake of emotion and this case was no different. I stood with my text in  hand, ready to give it my all. She approached me gingerly, saying, “Okay, just start from  the beginning.” I hadn’t even gotten through the first line before my hair was in her fist  and I was being pushed onto the floor. She pinned me there, crouched on top of me as I  spat and screamed my way through the text, letting my anger go unchecked. About  halfway through the speech, she silenced and released me, getting up and moving onto  the next student. No aftercare. No check-in. No asking beforehand if I had knee  problems (which I now do, thanks to CITS) and no asking if/how this experience of  unfiltered rage would affect my mental state for the rest of the day. That’s the thing  about CITS faculty, they don’t care about the mental health of their students. They think  their program is one-size-fits-all and it’s not. But I wouldn’t learn that until I went back for  the two-year program three years later. 

I know what you’re thinking, “why would you go back after how poorly it went the first  time?” My answer is: A) I had tried studying theatre at two different universities and it  wasn’t for me (college isn’t for everyone and that isn’t a bad thing), B) My mom really  wanted me to finish some form of higher learning (I never did), C) Jewish guilt is a powerful thing, D) Two years of school seemed more manageable than four, and E) I  was still living under the misconception that being mistreated was part of working in  theatre. 

As you can well imagine, nothing had changed in the way the school was being run over  the course of three years, and while I have a plethora of stories I could tell, I think I’ll just boil it down to a couple of big ones for the sake of readability. 

A little backstory for you, I’m epileptic and non-binary. I was on the verge of coming out  during my final semester at Circle but decided against it. First, we’ll address the fact that  CITS pretty much has a zero-tolerance policy against those with disabilities if it  interferes with attendance. The particular kind of epilepsy I have is triggered by lack of  sleep and stress, two things that are abundant at Circle in the Square, so as you can  imagine, I was having plenty of seizures and missing plenty of classes. This is what  ultimately led to me being dismissed from the school altogether because there’s no way  in hell I was about to act like repeating the second year was more important than my  happiness, freedom, and safety. Nobody was taking notes for me on the days I couldn’t  come in and so I was left to figure shit out for myself, all the while getting more anxious  and losing more sleep over trying to catch up, and thus repeating the horrific cycle of  seizure, no help, seizure, no help. My circumstance was met with disdain and ableism. I  wouldn’t wish it on anyone. 

My final story is a bit more abstract. As I mentioned, I didn’t come out during my time at  Circle because after my interactions with several classmates and faculty members  about gender and bringing in “male” songs and monologues, I figured it wasn’t safe. One of the last things I did before leaving the school was begging my European scene  study teacher to let me play one of the male roles. I told him I didn’t care which one, I  just needed to. I was denied this opportunity in a school that supposedly is all about  “living your truth.” A similar encounter happened with my song interpretation (or  something, I honestly forget what the actual name of the class was) teacher. I had  brought in songs traditionally sung by men. All she said was “you’ll never use this, it  doesn’t make sense to have it in your book” and instead kept on giving me songs “for  butch women” because that’s all she saw: a butch woman. After these encounters, I  realized that if I was going to come out and live my best, honest life, it couldn’t be here  in this basement full of old, cis, white people telling me I’m not allowed to fuck around  with gender because it isn’t “real” or “marketable” 

Just like any student of Circle, I hated it there. I’m one of the lucky ones who made it out  before they had completely crushed my soul and spirit. I just hope this letter serves as a strong enough warning to those considering CITS as a place for study that this is not  the “professional” institution it claims to be. You will be abused, you will be tokenized, and you will lose your individuality.

— Teagan Kazia

Twenty-Six

It costs me to share what happened in my time at Circle in the Square — both in the summer program and then the two-year program. I share it to make sure this side of the systemic power abuse is heard, acknowledged, and addressed and specifically that Ken Schatz is permanently removed from faculty and not allowed to set foot in the school again, particularly for the protection of the underaged women there. I also share it so those who have also been abused by him know they are not alone.

I share the experience of my rape at Circle in the Square because the occurrence of my rape is part of the culture at Circle in the Square where violence, assault, sexual assault and rape are too common of occurrences during rehearsals on and off campus. My letter is not the first to address this and I am sure will not be the last. Again, I share so that those who also survived violence while at Circle in the Square know they are not alone. It wasn't our fault. This is the culture that was embraced, enforced, hidden and that faculty and administration actively practiced gaslighting around.

This is my story:

• I was a teenager my entire time at Circle in the Square. 

• I was raped my first year by a fellow student during a rehearsal for a rape scene.

• I was 18.

• My rapist's excuse was: he was doing what the school taught us what acting was and that he had gotten lost in the role. 

• It took Circle in the Square a month to kick my rapist out.

• During that month I was expected to continue to attend class and be around my rapist.

• I had PTSD.

• I was neither provided with nor steered toward any mental health support.

• I was told to “use” what I was feeling in my acting work. 

• When I had flashbacks and panic attacks I was asked to leave class and was left alone to deal with them.

• I was penalized for the amount of class I was missing and my “lack of participation” [my inability due to my PTSD]

• In my second year final project I was cast with my rapist's at-that-time girlfriend who had turned half the school against me when I reported him. I was told we were cast together because the teacher thought it would add some exciting conflict and energy to the play. It was re-traumatizing and caused major setbacks in my healing. 

• The teacher I first confided the rape to was Ken Schatz — the physical acting teacher — 20 years my senior. 

• I confided in Ken Schatz first because Ken Schatz had been grooming me since he first met me in the Circle in the Square summer program when I was 16.

• Ken Schatz began to pursue a sexual relationship with me in my second year of school stating it was “okay” since he was technically no longer my teacher for the second year. 

• Ken Schatz told me to tell no one because he had many student accusations against him already, particularly from underaged women, and it would tarnish his reputation further.

• Circle in the Square was aware of these accusations before and after my time. They stayed silent, kept him employed, and enabled his abuse.

• It took me over 10 years and someone else offering me the word “grooming” — a word I didn’t know — as a potential label for my experience, for me to finally understand what happened to me with Ken Schatz.

• It took me this long because of the nature of grooming and the long-term impact it has. 

• I offer this definition from the NSPCC in case it helps someone else understand what happened to them: "Grooming is when someone builds a relationship, trust and emotional connection with a child or young person so they can manipulate, exploit and abuse them. Children and young people who are groomed can be sexually abused, exploited or trafficked.”— NSPCC 

• Ken Schatz reminded me often during the time I knew him that my brain wouldn’t fully develop till I was 25. 

After I left Circle in the Square I dealt with ongoing PTSD, depression, panic attacks, flashbacks, anxiety, cutting, anorexia/bulimia, binge drinking, and suicidal ideation. I almost quit acting 5 years after graduating, despite some success. I was wildly frustrated that I still could not put the Circle in the Square acting techniques to use and often wound up re-traumatized when trying to use them. I continued to not be able to feel safe enough to do my work in any kind of power dynamic with white men — which in the current state of the business is almost always the power dynamic of a rehearsal/shoot/production/audition. I blamed myself.

Luckily, I had enough resilience to try to teach myself how to act all over again using a healthy acting technique. This took many years, a lot of money and a lot of grit. I was fortunate enough to have been able to stick with it.  I am now finally confident in my craft, over a decade after graduating from the school that was supposed to give me these tools. I still have a deep distrust of white men in power in acting spaces and continue to struggle to be vulnerable — which is a huge part of our job as actors. After over a decade of therapy, healing, and relearning how to act, I still have panic attacks during auditions and I still lose jobs because of what happened to me at Circle in the Square Theatre School. 

Twenty-Five

During my second year at Circle, I was dealing with considerable mental health issues. There were times I had to leave early because of panic attacks triggered by overstimulation or over-exhaustion. Regardless, I always pushed myself to do more and more work, despite my declining mental and physical health. Then, in the semester, my grandfather passed away and I had to leave to attend his funeral. Because of the demands at Circle, I had to spend less than a week with my family. I was given no time off from my scene work and was expected to perform the first day back after traveling. My scene partner at the time personally contacted the teacher of our class, to tell him that I was using my grandfather’s death as an excuse to not do work, in addition to spreading this rumor throughout the class. This instance was created by a culture at Circle which puts work and proving your work/work ethic before any other aspect of our lives. This pressure to work and show productivity is a control method of imperialism and capitalism, which makes our entire worth and value as people dependent on our ability to create commodity, profit, etc.

As mostly young people, many of us were very impressionable. Given the strong power dynamics and pressure to perform, there is an energy and culture of submission and conformity that places these demands of ‘the work’ above all else and furthermore creates and encourages these tactics amongst the students, and gives more power to the teachers who create this culture.

A guest acting teacher at Circle, who was a grad, and is now a full time faculty member once said that when you see Circle grad outside in the real world once you’ve graduated, that it’s like how veterans treat each other, there is a bond because we went through a war together. An acting conservatory should be a safe place, not a place equated with war, trauma, and violence. It should be a place where people can feel free to be vulnerable and free to be connected with their truest selves, in order to be able to transform.

— Jordan Donohue, Class of 2015

Twenty-Four

Too Gay for Broadway

My move to NYC in August of 2006 had been planned for well over a year when I decided to audition for Circle in the Square. One of my professors in Hartford was a Circle Alum and suggested I look into it. I started to research and the more I learned the more I knew that Circle was for me. It was where several of my favorite actors attended and it was the alma mater of a professor I respected very much.

I sent in my application and chose my audition date. I chose the last date available to afford maximum time to prepare. I wanted to be in a program when I moved to NYC to give myself some structure and ease my way into the industry, but it had to be Circle. Circle in the Square was the only program I auditioned for because it was the only program I wanted to be in.

The day of my audition came. I can't remember what I did for monologues but for my song I sang "I Am What I Am" from La Cage. I left, feeling fairly confident in what I had done, to return to Hartford and wait for my notification letter in the mail. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Ten days had passed since the deadline we were to receive our letters and I had yet to receive mine. I had a feeling I was rejected because if I had been accepted, I certainly would have gotten my letter on time. I had to know. I mustered up the courage to make the phone call to receive the dreaded news. I called the office and explained that I had not received my letter and I was put on hold. This can't be good, I thought. A moment later Colin O'Leary picked up the line and told me, "Michael, I'm happy to tell you..." I was shocked. I was so prepared for disappointment and yet Colin is about to tell me I'm in.

"That you've been accepted to Circle in the Square* he continued, ".... on a contingency." Colin went on to explain further that while they enjoyed my audition pieces and thought I had the chops, it would be a waste of my time and theirs to train me if I couldn't pass for straight on stage. Therefore, I was accepted to Circle on the contingency that I would travel to NYC weekly from hartford for the 8 weeks leading up to the first semester to work with a speech pathologist they had chosen for me on Madison Ave. to de-gayify my voice. I would then be expected to continue weekly one on one coaching from different Circle faculty at an additional cost.

"Of course!" I replied. What was I going to say, "no"? I was desperate to get into Circle and would do whatever I needed to get there. It wasn't the first time I had been told my gay voice was an issue and Circle was going to be the ones who fixed it for me.

The summer before I attended Circle I taught in a theater program 45 hours a week during the day and waited tables 40 hours a week at night. I knew they dissuaded students from working while they were in the program and that just wasn't going to be feasible for me so I was trying to save as much as I could beforehand to mitigate the amount of time I'd have to work while in school. Traveling weekly to Madison Ave and paying $150 per half hour session was a huge expense for me. Continuing to pay for one on one speech coaching during the school year was also a huge expense I struggled to afford. The need to straight wash myself was programmed into me for the following two years and I was determined to succeed. It made sense that the more "neutral" you were, the more versatile and therefore more hirable and if I couldn't act straight then what was I doing there besides wasting everyone's time. I got better at "passing" as the two years progressed, but I was never completely successful. When the time came for our industry nights, I sang a song about baseball, and picked a scene where I kissed a girl and repeated to myself over and over again "don't be gay."

I came out when I was 14. I started a Gay Straight Alliance during my freshman year in my "inner-city" high school. I was part of the Stonewall Speakers at the age of 15 speaking in classrooms and events all over New England sharing my experience as an openly gay teen in the 90s. That same year I fought for marriage equality and co-parent adoption in Connecticut and across the country. I was a proud, confident, gay young man when I auditioned for Circle in the Square 11 years after I had come out. I left a battered and insecure self-hating homo.

I never felt like I was straight enough after leaving Circle and therefore never tried to pursue much in the theater industry after leaving. I could never get it out of my head that it was a waste of time. I stuck around New York City for a few years and ended up leaving with my tail tucked between my legs feeling that I had failed at what I had set out to accomplish.

I met fabulous people at Circle and had incredible experiences. When the techniques finally started clicking for me towards the end of first year, it opened up a whole new world of creative possibilities. I had found the entrance to the rabbit hole and I was ready for a deep dive. I have so many fond memories of my time at Circle. Sadly, they will always be tainted with the pain and self-hatred I found there. It’s been over ten years since I graduated from Circle and I couldn't seem to shake my newfound internalized homophobia for many of those years. The insidiousness of it made it nearly impossible to finally rip it out of me root and stem.

I love my very gay life today. I live in Boston and have the Honor of singing with the Boston Gay Men’s Chorus and had the privilege of touring with them in South Africa the summer of 2018 where we brought joy, reassurance and hope to people who desperately needed it. I've found other creative outlets over the years and don't really miss being in theatre. There are still many occasions, however, when I see an artist who has made their career out of being unapologetically themselves and though I know those careers are few and far between, I can't help but wonder, "What if?"

All my best,

Michael Whalen
Class of 2008

Twenty-Three

I was physically and sexually assaulted on campus at the end of my first year at Circle in the Square Theatre School. A late night rehearsal on campus was being held for our first year Cabaret. Students were working one on one with Beth Falcone while other students were practicing in other rooms throughout the basement/foyer. It was after dark and the box office entrance was locked up - leaving the elevator as the only exit. At that time, it was separated by a one-way locking door (the key card system was conveniently installed the next year - I assume to prevent what happened to me from happening to someone else in the same spot).

A fellow classmate and good friend of mine, Anthony, physically and sexually assaulted me. I screamed and banged on the door for other students to help during the full ordeal (probably 30 minutes). The security guard upstairs heard my screams for help and called the police who interrupted Anthony choking me out. In the process of pulling Anthony from choking me, he broke a police officer's fingers.

I remember my friend coming out and helping me away from the police while they tried to restrain Anthony. Someone had told her that they heard Anthony and I rehearsing a scene for Scene Night but she knew I was not partnered with Anthony and immediately came running. The NYPD took me to the police station for my statement and I took the subway home alone after.

The massive amount of pressure to “suffer for your art” bred by the school led me to show up the next day - because it was First Year Scene Night that evening and I didn't feel like I had a choice.

I was brought directly in to talk to Colin O’Leary and a male security guard from the building. It was then I was asked to disclose what happened to me, again, to a room of men for the second time in 24 hours (the first time being to the police taking my statement). I was informed there was no security camera footage where the attack took place. After that was finished, Colin sent me back to class - with zero follow up. The school never suggested I see a therapist, did not offer to give me time off (Circle has a strict attendance policy), and was completely unprepared to handle the situation.

What happened the night before was talked about in every single class I attended that next day (as my fellow classmate processed out loud), with each teacher taking a second to check in with me. Some were supportive and others offensive/insensitive. The worst part of it all was multiple people heard my SCREAMS for help but thought I was working on a scene assigned by Alan Langdon to First Year students where the female character repeatedly screams for help at a door.

The two worst responses aside from the administration would be Elizabeth Loughran and Alan Langdon - openly discussing it in class and, in my opinion, encouraging me to channel this trauma into my work. (Again, First Year Scene Night was later that evening.) The incident was discussed well into my second year. 

The two best responses being Ed Berkeley and Jacqueline Jacobus: who instantly shut down group conversation about it, checked in with me privately and with compassion, encouraged me to do what I needed to do,  and get the help if needed. Ed even excused me from a rehearsal so I could go get my restraining order in place.

I experienced one of the most violating experiences of my life at Circle in the Square Theatre School and all the school did was make it much worse. Every school should have a written sexual violence prevention and response plan. #metoo

This is simply my first hand experience. I was witness to multiple Macro and Micro-aggressions to my fellow BIPOC students at the hands of the Administration, Alan, Elizabeth, Larry Gleason, Sara Louise Lazarus, Christina Pastor and Dr. Lucille S. Rubin.

— Maddison Vestrum-McIver, Class of 2015

Twenty-One

The trauma I experienced at this institution nearly cost me my love of theatre, and for my own mental health I took a year off, unsure if I could continue acting. Thankfully, despite Circle, I was able to find my love again.

At every level, Circle is plagued with problems. Instructors endorse physical and mental abuse for the sake of "truth telling." Women especially were repeatedly forced to detail or act out intimate sexual experiences in front of the teachers and entire class and repeatedly coerced into doing so even if she said "no" again and again. Circle lives in the 1950's, idolizing abusive white male actors and encouraging these white males in the institution to abuse others around them because other "great" actors did so.

I am mixed race and was told repeatedly that I didn't count as Latina. I was told I did not have a fiery temperament and many other disgusting stereotypes and racists remarks against Latinx people by staff and students alike.

I can think of only two plays on the approved scene list that had characters of color, and white students were allowed to act in those scenes. There was no discussion of whitewashing or why it is not okay for white students to pretend to be another race. When two students were doing Motherf*ucker With a Hat, the woman was told she had to act like a Latina, and to "pretend you just got your nails done," followed by the teacher acting out a gross stereotype.Students whose second language is English are harassed and belittled by the staff. I did not personally experience it but was disgusted and appalled by what I saw, especially as somebody whose family's second language is English.

Mid-Atlantic accent teachings are not only racist in ideology and held over from an antiquated past, but also minimize students from other places and cultures and do not adequately prepare students for accent work in the second year. Moreover, I did not ever see one student who adequately mastered the accent in any event, and the class proved to be a waste of time for the most part.

This institution either needs to change or shut down, as it is abusive and racist and damaging to its students. It needs fundamental change from the inside out or should no longer continue.I graduated from Circle, but I do not consider myself an alumni because of the abuse I suffered and the ongoing trauma. I do not think I will ever recover from the experiences I faced at that place, and it is not because I am weak or not meant to be an actor. I am a strong Latinx woman and actress, despite how Circle tried to pull me down and abuse me. I will never forgive that place for what it did to me and others. Personally, I would like to see it gone forever, but I hope for the sake of others it can change its way, though I very much doubt it can.

— Anonymous

Twenty

Calling my time at Circle “disappointing” would be an understatement. I thought that training in the basement of a Broadway theater was going to be the time of my life. However, I failed to realize that attending was a mistake for many reasons. Being a person with a learning difference, I found the environment and my interactions with some faculty members to be extremely toxic. I found the ways that they handled mental health needs to be very unsupportive and emotionally abusive. Near the end of my second year, I realized that they would eventually give up on me because I was different. They were not willing to step up and help students like me. Despite making it through both years, I felt that I left there with a loss of confidence. I would have thought that after I left, they would do better with future students, but as I learned from the past few days, it seems evident that they haven’t learned a damn thing. I stand with the rest of the alumni and students that have been affected by the teaching methods of this conservatory and hope that the faculty and administration can be held accountable for their actions. I also hope that they can take time to read these stories and learn how they can do better in the future.

Kevin Buiocchi
Class of 2014

Seventeen

To whom it may concern, 

I’m that one person who dropped out two years in a row within the first month. I wish I could put into words the amount of shame and self-loathing that particular narrative brought me until I was able to work it the hell out in therapy. The feeling when you get a second chance and then screw it up for yourself once again. I mean, I made the big move to the big city. Told all my friends that I was going to achieve my dreams at a Broadway affiliated conservatory, hosted two going away parties in my hometown only for these people to see on Facebook two months later, “Oh hey guys, I’m back in Texas… again.”

Yeah. That’s a set up for a lot of inner shame, right? Hmmmm…. I would have to agree based on that information alone but I think we should explore the HELLSTORM that is the tiny basement below the prestigious Broadway stage.

My first attempt at Circle in the Square

I was absolutely elated to be accepted into the musical theatre program. I moved away from my hometown in Texas only two weeks prior to acclimate to the fast-paced culture that is New York City. I'd experienced chronic depression since I was 18 but it was in check, I was in a good head space.

After the first few days of classes, I left school each day feeling a new level of fatigue that can be best described as feeling as though I had been hit by a bus. I mean, back to back classes with no lunch break kind of shocked me but hey, if you can’t hang, you can’t hang. “Only the brightest and most dedicated will survive! Only the most talented!” This lie is fed to you from day one. I remember Whitney Kaufman dishing this out during orientation.

I began to question my talent, efficacy as an adult, and dedication.

I attempted suicide in my tiny apartment in Washington Heights three weeks into school and dropped out.

My second attempt at Circle in the Square

I was contacted by E. Colin O’Leary and offered a second chance. I took it without hesitation. Afterall, it was all my fault for being such a shitty person who clearly wasn’t dedicated or talented enough to succeed in my first try. I am so lucky!

This was the year I faced physical abuse, teachers enabling my eating disorder, and gaslighting (Alan Langdon).

My previous classmates who were now in their second year greeted me with open arms and concern for my previous incident. I felt loved and welcomed by them.

One of my classmates had calculated the fact that year one consisted of 61hrs a week… 61hrs a week… no lunch breaks.

Incident One

Alan Langdon is known to be cold, distant, condescending, etc.…. BUT ALL IN THE NAME OF ART! Bullshit. I wanted so badly to be liked by him. We did the Harold Pinter crap again, I slept with that script, read it on the train, and clutched it to my chest between classes. I just couldn’t memorize it. My entire class performed their scene and none of us recited it perfectly.

Alan went on a tangent about how we were clearly not dedicated or capable enough. His son memorized a five minute monologue in one night in order to play a role in a regional musical… How disappointing we all were.

This is how I felt in every one of his sessions. Inadequate, untalented, and clearly not intelligent enough to be as GREAT as one of his favorite cis-white male students. How the hell am I supposed to feel safe around him?

Incident Two (CW: EATING DISORDER)

This was the year I dropped out due to my eating disorder. I had several staff members commenting on my body because I’d lost weight.

This would be a good time to remind you: 61hrs/week, NO LUNCH BREAKS

I was in speech class, recording my list of words. On my way out, Elizabeth Loughran grabbed my arm. “You look wonderful. Whatever you’re doing…” massive pause “It’s working.” I ham it up and say “omg, I discovered working out!”

Little did she know that I was walking from 51st street to my 106th st apartment each day and taking advantage of the lack of lunch breaks.

I’ll leave this to you to realize how incredibly problematic this is. She’d seen me a year prior but now that I’m in a smaller body, “I look wonderful.”

Incident Three (CW: Sexual/Physical Abuse)

Workshop was a class that was added between my 1st and 2nd try. We were told that we would have working actors who are active in the industry to guide us through scene work. Kevin McGuire was the prestigious white cis-male guest who graced our presence the first semester. E. Colin O’Leary and Whitney Kaufman helped us select two person scenes from specific plays. I initially chose You and I which features important discussions about race and ableism. I paired up with a Latinx classmate and we were excited to get started. Colin told us we couldn’t do this scene. No reason given. Whitney piped up saying we should instead do 27 Wagons Full of Cotton by Tennessee Williams. I would like to point out that this scene features a POC victimizing a white woman.

In rehearsals, I skipped over the “N” word. As a white person, it is not my word to say. I was called out by Whitney and asked to repeat the word over and over until I felt comfortable with it.

I was later told how shocked my classmates were. I was shocked as well.

This scene alludes to rape. Having been raped the previous year and not having any other option but to do this scene, I was internally freaking out and my performance in front of Kevin McGuire showed it.

“You’re like a… fake actor.” Kevin said after we finished the emotionally exhausting scene.

“You need to be rougher with her.” Kevin then told my kindhearted scene partner, “She’s larger than you and you need to assert your aggression. Don’t give her the choice to overtake you.”

We ran the scene again. Kevin instructed my scene partner to grip me harder… and harder… and harder. I physically felt as though I needed to be smaller and smaller and smaller in order to portray this dainty woman that I clearly wasn’t portraying being the LARGER scene partner. I left that class with bruises on my wrist from my scene partner being pressured into literally abusing me. Since I was such a fake actor and all, I guess it was worth it.

(Edit: I don’t actually believe it was worth it.)

Conclusion

I am grateful to my mother who called and told me to get help in my second year after seeing a picture on instagram where my eyes were sunken in and my face hollow. Here, I thought I looked “wonderful.” Why was someone thousands of miles away the first one to say anything?Is this the kind of place we’re supposed to feel safe? I have to acknowledge, I would not have gotten a second chance to attend if I weren’t white and straight passing.

I have nightmares to this day of my experience in New York City. I felt sick the last time I visited because of the mindset I was put in with 61 hrs/week and no lunch breaks and I only attended a month total.

I have been in recovery from my eating disorder since I dropped out my second time. I remember sending an email to Colin about my decision to leave again. I never received a response… I would have died had I been one of the “dedicated and talented” students.

Guess what, Circle. I AM in fact dedicated and talented. It’s actually YOUR program that is not a reasonable or a humane way of training some of the brightest actors that you’ve had the PLEASURE to see walk through your doors.

Sincerely,
Haley Boswell ‘20

Fourteen

I began my acting training at Circle in the Square Theatre School in the fall of 2015. I auditioned with the character Paul San Marco’s monologue from A Chorus Line. The monologue was about growing up gay and becoming a drag queen in a time when it was considered very taboo. This particular monologue meant a lot to me as it pertained to my own life experiences and I could relate to the character on a personal level. I had auditioned for quite a few acting schools in my original home state of North Carolina and felt as though I couldn’t be my true self in any of the schools I had auditioned for. I had a desire to explore queer and female characters. With me being an effeminate man, I believed that New York, specifically Circle in the Square, would allow me to explore these desires in an environment I could deem safe. After the warm reception of my monologue in my audition and my acceptance into the school, I thought I had finally found a place where I could be myself without persecution. It wasn’t until I arrived at the school and began to study there that I realized how wrong I was. 

I was so repelled by what I had experienced at Circle in the Square Theatre School that I believed this is what I would endure for the rest of my acting career, leading me to quit acting before I even graduated. When I told a member of the staff, in the last month of my training program, that my plans were to not pursue acting but pursue the art of drag instead, I was mocked and laughed at. This only furthered my repulsion to the acting community and made me realize my fears of not being taken seriously after graduation were all too real. My entire outlook on acting and the theatre world is irrevocably changed after attending Circle in the Square Theatre School. 

When I first arrived, I was so excited to start learning and absorbing everything I could. It only took one year for me to realize that this program wasn’t as advertised. After the first year, I begged my parents to let me drop out of the program. I was so deeply unhappy that I tried anything I could to get myself removed from the program. I would arrive late or not at all, skip out of doing scene work, and ignoring schoolwork altogether. This wasn’t the case in the first half of 2015. I have vague memories of Circle but the ones that stick out the most are of being embarrassed in front of my peers by teachers. There is one instance that I would describe as the catalyst for my extreme dislike of the program and its teaching methods. I performed a scene from the musical Gypsy as the titular character, with a friend portraying Rose, Gypsy’s mother. It was a gender bending role and I was aware of the implications and risk. The critiques I got weren’t related to my acting or technique but instead to my demeanor and how I spoke, which was and still is very effeminate. I brushed it off, thinking it was good feedback and how I could apply it in the future. The teachers only want what’s best for us, right? 

The next role I performed in the same scene class was from the play The Last Days of Judas Iscariot as a male Judge. It was for the same teacher about a week or two later after my Gypsy scene. I remember him stopping the scene, which I was only a minor character in, telling me that my “role choices are veering into parody and stereotype.” My worst fears were being realized and I became hurt and shut down. He apologized after class, but the damage was already done. This same teacher also went from student to student and judged us on appearance as a casting agent would. He told me that I have leading man looks but I would need to work on “butching it up.” It wasn’t only this male teacher, but 2 other male teachers telling me in the first year to “make it manlier” and to practice speaking with a lower voice. I remember doing a scene from The Motherfucker with the Hat and being praised for acting “straight.” These things changed my whole outlook on acting and of myself. Making me believe that no one would hire me if I was myself. Looking back, it’s ironic, the same teachers that would teach us that being ourselves brought us further to the truth of a character, while simultaneously telling me to act like a heteronormative man. These two contradicting ideas made it difficult for me to relate to my peers who were loving the program.

The first-year scene showcase is probably my favorite memory of Circle. I was allowed to play a female character, and the reception by the audience and by my peers was incredible. It was the first time since arriving at the school that I felt as though I didn’t stick out for the wrong reasons. The teachers comments after that performance was the main reason I begged my parents to let me drop out. Why would I stay in a school that actively ridiculed my choices? By the second year, I was very checked out. The only classes I loved were Dance and Clown. Those teachers were extremely positive and never had anything negative to say about my choices of female characters or my effeminate tendencies. In fact, they were encouraging and extremely sweet about it. 

There were very few teachers open to the idea of me gender bending, and when I did express these desires they were usually patronizing. When my second year was at an end, and the shows were being cast, I was only cast in one show as a female character in a gender bent production of Julius Caesar. I was hurt by being cast in one show, but not surprised. I suspected the reason for me not being cast was me not attending classes, which was laughable even then because the people who were cast in multiple shows rarely showed up to class. The double standards were, and still are ridiculous. When I was finally able to play this female character, I put in so much effort and was off book before everyone else. It’s foolish to say, but I was 19 at the time and still very immature, but I felt unprepared to take on this role. I was just told for two years that I wouldn’t be able to do something like this, then when I get the chance, I have no idea where to begin. While my peers had two years to practice these things, I had a few weeks. It was unfair and further exacerbated my distaste for the theatre and acting community. I was just laughed at by the head of the school for wanting to pursue drag as a career, if no one respected drag outside of acting, why would they respect it inside?

I’m glad I went to Circle in the Square Theatre School, but not because it’s a good school, but because it taught me that the acting world isn’t made for people like me. It’s not made for people of color or for people who are transgender. If our stories are being told, its usually straight people portraying them, or they’re tokenized. The abuse I endured at Circle is exactly what I would have continued to have endured if I pursued my acting career. If Circle is to grow and learn as an acting school, they will need to realize that the world is changing. Stage acting is the one career where it’s possible for a person to play someone who is the exact opposite of themselves. POC people don’t have to play “POC” roles, men don’t have to have deep voices or always play men, women don’t always have to be skinny and pretty and young for her to get work, they can be older, or curvy, or also play men. The world of acting is full of amazing possibilities. It’s time to stop stifling the creativity of your students so you can mold them into actors who are “marketable.” You know what else is marketable? Originality.

— Anonymous

Thirteen

Having a somewhat rare physical condition is a challenge in itself but attending Circle with it presented a unique, constantly uphill struggle in itself. I am already used to facing discrimination in certain areas but while at Circle I was never offered any empathy (something that actors’/artists’ hearts should be pumping along with blood). I was not afforded the comfort of knowing I would not be penalized if I physically had to spend a few classes working a lesser capacity.

The syndrome with which I must live causes a state of joint hyper-mobility and instability. This results in chronic musculoskeletal pain, cardiovascular abnormalities, occasional joint dislocation, and can cause dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system. All of this information can easily be found through various search engines. The school has known about my syndrome and its symptoms not just since I put it on my forms upon enrollment, but since I brought it up to the school’s director at my initial audition. I personally informed each and every member of the faculty of my condition multiple times, even going above and beyond to provide fact sheets. No faculty members have ever once been able to recall what condition I have. 

The lack of willingness to understand has not only been highly discouraging to me personally, but also professionally. Cruel gossip surrounding the credibility of my condition went around on days that I was not inhibited (though I am constantly in some form of pain).

Multiple faculty members were so kind as to remind me that I might have difficulty sustaining a career. One faculty member went so far as to speculate whether or not I could carry a child to term. This horrifying comment was obviously completely out of line but was ignored when I brought it to the school’s director. These offenses happened as an actress in a wheelchair earned a Tony Award for her performance on the professional stage shared with the school.

Difficult days were made harder by the fact the school does not have adequate disabled access. I had to leave hours earlier to access the nearest subway station with an elevator, only to struggle with maneuvering the school’s multiple flights of stairs. These extenuating circumstances sometimes resulted in tardiness, which was met with no understanding. I had particular trouble getting to the off-site dance studio on time and would relay a message to the teacher on days I was struggling against particularly prohibitive pain. Regardless, I would still be marked late and reminded that three latenesses equaled an absence and that three absences triggered the potential to be cut from the program.

This brings me to my last point: I was very nearly expelled solely due to my condition rather than the work I enrolled to do. I was never informed that my teachers worried for me or that they felt I wouldn’t be able to deal with the rigors of the second year. This led to a four month repeal that, with only ten days’ notice before the new school year, resulted in an offer to repeat the first year.

I decided to complete what I had started, but developed a fear of semester evaluations keeping me from my certificate. I pushed myself past my physical limits to prove myself, which only resulted in more problems. I fractured my hand in an accident and a faculty member reacted by embarrassing me in class with many backhanded compliments about my work ethic.

What I have learned at Circle has been invaluable but I feel that my experience and memories have been tainted by a lack of respect, understanding, and (worryingly so) empathy. I truly want the school to understand the unnecessary pressure I endured and want them to understand that I am not the one disabled - they are. In the three years I attended Circle in the Square, I missed one day due to my condition. One.

— Anonymous

Five

Here is my experience as a student at Circle in the Square Theatre School. 

For those who don’t know me, I am a white-passing Latina. I am extremely proud of my roots and actively celebrate and practice my culture. While my appearance has given way to many identity crises in my life, it has also given me privilege in the ability to be aligned with whiteness both by faculty at the school and the theatre industry in general. Teachers have openly named it an asset to be able to “turn my Latin-ness on and off” and while they meant that in a career context, being a Latina perceived as a White person (initially, at least) afforded me the experience of seeing exactly how I benefited from the system while also being stereotyped by it. 

Possibly the largest offense toward me personally during my time at Circle occurred in a Shakespeare class. Our teacher, Larry Gleason, was speaking to me regarding a text we were reading (I believe it was Measure for Measure). I asked for a clarification, to which his response was, “you probably aren’t getting it because you’re very urban for Shakespeare. You most likely won’t become a Shakespeare actor due to the way you were raised, and that’s perfectly ok.” I won’t even begin to recount how many times I was referred to as “spicy” in various instances. I laughed it off and let myself be stereotyped at times because ignoring it was a better option than attempting to have a conversation about it with an all-white faculty who don’t understand what it’s like to walk in the world questioning their existence based on their skin color or ethnic background, nor did I trust any change to be made from a center of leadership that is widely known to be fearful of making decisions. 

Another enormous problem I want to speak about is the lack of safety. On the first day of my time in the basement, we toured what would be one of our main acting studios. It looked run-down from things that occurred during scene work over the years. Their causes were revisited with pride: multiple patched-up holes that had been punched into walls, brown stains on the ceiling/walls from hot coffee being thrown, set pieces that were cracked or almost broken due to being thrown or toppled or smashed in various ways. The more time I spent at Circle I learned that “the work” was king, and any means necessary of achieving “the work” or a reaction to an actor’s work was accepted. Conversations about safety regarding props, acting choices, and intimacy were rarely had, and certainly not in what was considered our “main” acting class (note: “main” in quotations highlights a large conversation about the faculty conflicts that took a toll on students, which I am happy to talk about at another time). Scene work was allowed to continue regardless of any questionable or dangerous choices made. I watched a male student approach a female student during an exercise and use extremely personal information that she had shared in a previous, out-of-context moment of vulnerability to berate and reduce her to tears. I’ve heard the N-word yelled during class at a Black student during a different exercise. I’ve had multiple metal folding chairs thrown towards my head that, if my reflexes had been just a bit slower, would have hit me in the face. There were countless horrific stories from classes above and below mine that I wasn’t witness to but are equally disturbing. This behavior is not only encouraged, but praised by Circle, and because these methods are so accepted, you’re made to feel inadequate for not participating and in turn feel crazy for just thinking that it may be wrong, which is a form of abuse and gaslighting. 

The reason that things like this happen is because of Circle’s unwillingness to change or evolve in any way. This school was founded in 1961—3 years BEFORE Jim Crow laws were overruled. The school opened in a time where it was legal and socially acceptable to hold whiteness supreme and 59 years later in 2020, Circle’s curriculum still reflects their origins and is run by cisgender white folx—mostly older men—who do not reflect the faces of their students. The vast majority do not currently work in the industry nor seem to have any understanding of what it has evolved to past the 1970s. They don’t seem to even want to familiarize themselves with anything other than what they know. As students we constantly joked about going to school in a time capsule, without realizing the effects it would have on us later. As a woman and as a Latina, I did not feel safe. This environment, so stuck in a dangerous past, became conducive to students directing racist comments at each other such as when a student turned to me while I was eating cut-up watermelon with lunch and saying “wow, what are you, Black?” Or when a Black student was called “colored” by a white student in front of the entire class, and the teacher sat silently watching as WE, the students, educated them on why that was unacceptable. 

One of the main ways that Circle has upheld systemic racism is through their curriculum. In the list of scenes we were allowed to choose from for both in-class work and scene showcase, there were a grand total of 3 plays that were about or reflected Blackness—A Raisin in the Sun, Fences, and Jesus Hopped the A Train. The only scene that reflected Latinx representation was Motherfucker With the Hat. There were 0 plays reflective of API or Indigenous communities. Only 3 were written by women. In a list of 36 total scenes, these 4 were the only ones that BIPOC were represented in. While these are revered works, non-white actors deserve more options to choose from regarding identity than poverty, addiction, and imprisonment. Furthermore, the most current play on our list was published in 2011. This school cannot move forward if they’re not also exploring more recent, relevant works that are actually being published and produced today. It does not prepare its students for work in the current industry; it certainly didn’t prepare me. I’ve spent the last 4 years of my life since graduation trying to build my confidence back up and relearning, because the unhealthy methods of “the work” are rightfully no longer accepted anywhere outside the basement (also, full days without fresh air and sunlight in a worn, dusty basement is not a healthy learning environment). I feel as though I did not grow at all as an actor in anything but my understanding of white works, and upon graduation was unclear how I fit into the theatre industry in relation to anything other than outdated whiteness. I was relieved to find after my first job post-graduation that theatre is teeming with amazing, diverse playwrights and beautiful, nuanced stories. I couldn’t believe that so much time was spent exploring the same handful of plays from the same writers and time periods when the world is filled with playwrights like Karen Zacarías, Lauren Yee, Christina Anderson, Mary Kathryn Nagle, and countless others.

Overall, Circle in the Square Theatre School is a reflection of the broken, outdated, racist Broadway system it resides in. It is an abusive environment that needs to begin transforming immediately. I paid to attend an acting school that barely prepared me for being an actor. We deserve to be treated as relevant, that we belong and that there is a place for us in the theatre—because there is. We’re tired of begging for it, especially from educational spaces such as Circle. We did the work. Will you? 

In solidarity,
Cassandra Lopez
Class of 2016 

Four

During my time at Circle in the Square Theater School (September 2015-June 2017), I witnessed many instances of misconduct (mental, sexual, and racial) aimed at my classmates, as well as myself. I won’t speak on anyone else’s behalf, but I will speak on my own personal experiences.

One incident immediately comes to mind. It happened one afternoon during our First Year Scene Study class. I had brought in a scene from the musical Spring Awakening. The scene opens with Melchior, the character I was working on, reading a book. It got off to a fairly normal start, but was abruptly stopped by the instructor conducting the class. He began asking questions about what book I thought the character might be reading. I, admittedly, hadn’t put much thought into it, and made that known. He then proceeded to (not so subtly) skirt around the idea of what he thought the book might be about. If you know the show (and I’m sure you do), you know that it is very sexually charged. Being aware of this, I immediately picked up on what he was hinting at and was more than uncomfortable with the situation. I didn’t want to say what I knew that he wanted me to say; a conclusion that he wanted me to “come to on my own”, for obvious reasons. I stayed silent for so long that he finally gave in and said, outright, “It’s a book of pornography.” This, while not being the most audacious of things ever said to a student studying theatre, threw me for a loop. I was quite visibly uneasy with the situation. He continued on, suggesting that the character was more than likely experimenting sexually in the moment. He implied that he was “probably” touching himself. I was stunned. I froze, not knowing what to do. I did not want to do what he was asking me to do. However, had I said no, I would have been labeled as “not able to take direction”, and that information would have surely been used against me, as was customary. And so I did. I touched myself. As I’ve said, the play is very sexually charged. However, nowhere in the text does it allude to that sort of thing, but he was the “professional” and was able to understand the “subtext”. This happened in front of my entire class. It was highly demoralizing and far from necessary.

Along with this, I would like to point out the severe lack of mental healthcare services provided to the students attending Circle. An institution that delves deep into Stanislavski’s method of acting (a method that “activates the actor’s psychological processes–such as emotional experience and subconscious behavior”) should have a mental health counselor on staff, plain and simple. I was told, daily, to “open myself up” emotionally and was reprimanded for being hesitant to do so. After finally giving in, as someone who had dealt with mental health issues before coming to Circle, it proved to be actively dangerous to my mental and physical health. It took a very big toll. So much so, that I was regularly approached by instructors urging me to seek out professional help. I took this advice very seriously, but had no resources to do so. I was lost. I was in serious danger.

I would like to be very clear in saying that I am in no way implying that attending Circle in the Square Theater School was the cause of my mental health issues. That would be irresponsible and slanderous on my part. However, an institution that urges the act of “taking yourself apart” and looking at the pieces should be better equipped in helping to put their students back together.

Change is needed to ensure a long and prosperous future for Circle in the Square and it needs to be addressed. Now.

— William Holden Cox

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?”

— Walter, A Raisin in the Sun

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.”

— Malcolm X

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 

One

Hi, I’m Robin, a 2018 graduate of Circle in the Square Theatre School’s two-year conservatory program. The following are some of the racist experiences that I dealt with while at Circle.

A scene from Stephen Adly Guirgis’ “In Arabia, We Would All Be Kings” was chosen for class work twice. It has copious use of the n-word. The first time it was performed in class, was with two White women. The second time by women of color, but neither of them were Black. Alan Langdon allowed both of these scenes to happen. As a teacher who felt a character’s written gender shouldn’t be messed with, I found it hypocritical to let non-Black actors do a scene with decidedly Black language.

A fellow classmate told me she was more African than me because she went to Kenya for two years. I didn’t feel I had a point of authority to help me deal with that hell of a microaggression. Circle does not have a Human Resources Director or dedicated student liaison to facilitate that discussion as a majority of their faculty and administration is White. I was afraid to make waves since I had to do vulnerable scene work in a tiny room for the rest of the year with her. Support and advocacy would have been nice.

I was taught to use personal experience, tear down my walls, and be open on stage. I was not taught how to then cool down to a healthy place except by one teacher, who has had allegations against him for having inappropriate sexual relationships with his students. This does not help me feel safe, and made what was taught to us difficult to implement. We generally had no mental health support. I had a months-long depressive episode in my second year that greatly affected my studies. I felt like there was no one at school who could help me and was afforded no time or opportunity to take care of myself. How I didn’t kill myself while I was in class is beyond me.

I was the only Black woman in the musical theatre program, and one of two Black women in my entire class. Really?? You’re going to tell me you couldn’t find anyone else??? In goddamn New York City??? By putting one of us in each section, you ensured that we would never be able to do scenes that involved two Black women, and generally never got to work together. That frustrated me every time I went to pick a scene.

Speaking of which, I did have a few men of color in my class. All but one were kicked out or asked to repeat at the end of our first year. Circle was being reaccredited that year. Neither the year before nor the year after us had as many people of color.

Oh! All of my options given to me for showcase were songs either sung by slaves or whores. The only reasonable song option I got was “The Human Heart” from Once on This Island. This song was, at the time, being sung by Lea Salonga in the professional production above my head. Was I really going to do the same song for showcase?

I’m sure I can think of more incidents, but it’s hard to get enough therapy to deal with the world as is. Circle, get your act together, or go down in flames. Just quit taking us with you.

— Robin Murray