When Woke Muthaf***as Ain't

A Monologue in Three Acts, in which I tell a single tale of misogyny within the Rhode Island theatre scene.

ACT I, scene 1

Several years ago, I was introduced to a local theatre practitioner that we’ll call Mr. Magic.  Mr. Magic and I got along fabulously, saying we should work together at some point.  Interestingly enough, I did work with his theatre.  For free.  Unpaid.  A friendly favor.  Women are often asked to do work for free; the same work for which men are paid.  In this case, I was asked to use my education and expertise to help them with an administrative issue they were having. I was more than happy to do so based on what I perceived as a jovial friendship.  Mr. Magic would give me friendly relationship advice and make comments about my body, even going so far as to mention making babies with me at one time.  I laughed it off because A) that sort of behavior from men was a normalized part of my existence because it happened so often, B) at that time I hadn’t deeply examined why men behave that way, and C) women are taught through experience that to give a man a direct “fuck off” will result in retribution.  A couple of years later, I was proven correct in this assumption with Mr. Magic.

ACT I, scene 2

I’d been kicking around the idea of producing a women’s playwriting festival when Mr. Magic produced a local woman writer.  I went to see it, excited to see work by a woman (work by women accounts for only 17% of all theatre productions in the United States).  I was devastated.  The play may as well have been titled “Women Who Have Things Happen to Them, Don’t Learn Anything, Never Take Control of Their Own Lives, and Wait to be Saved by a Man.” 

I got the kick in the pants I needed to move forward.  Since Mr. Magic allowed this awful production to happen at his theatre, I called him and said I wanted to rent their theatre space to do work that empowered women.  We agreed on a time and a place and a price.  Contracts were signed.  Payment for the space was made.  Productions happened.  I got called into the office by his Office Manager.  

She demanded financial information to which their theatre was not entitled given that we were a rental, and they were not a producing entity.  She didn’t care that I knew what I was doing, or that the requested information was not a concession in our contract.  She explained that she wanted to go to her Board of Directors with my financials to discuss my festival.  I said I wasn’t comfortable with that unless I was present and could account for the information myself.  She didn’t like my answer, and told me that I would provide the information she requested and pointed out the folder she had ready to go on her desk.  

I continued handing the theatre the show reports that included all the relevant information agreed to in our contract.  Nothing more.  

ACT I, scene 3

After that, Mr. Magic stopped speaking to me -- personally and professionally.  The following year, I offered him a script by one of the playwrights who submitted to Festival51.  The script was written by a white woman on the subject of Stand Your Ground Laws in Florida and white privilege.  It was quite good, but I thought the playwright could use a workshop production with feedback from communities of color.  Mr. Magic responded that he was unsure he wanted to work with me after the fiasco that happened the year before.  I offered to have a conversation about the year before, and move forward in our working relationship.  He agreed to talk, but then stopped returning my calls and emails once again.  

It is important to note that my business partner in the first year of the festival was a man.  My business partner agreed with my decision to not disclose unnecessary financial information.  He continues to do sound design for Mr. Magic’s theatre, and is currently acting in their latest production.  

In case you missed that…  Mr. Magic doesn’t actually care about me not disclosing my festival’s financial information.  Mr. Magic cares that I, a woman, told him no.

ACT II, scene 1

Up until recently, I was writing theatre reviews for a local magazine.  No one offered to review Mr. Magic’s production of The Slave, and my editor sent out an email asking someone to please pick it up.  At that point, I happened to be free that weekend so I offered to do the assignment.  

If you aren’t familiar, Amiri Baraka was an African American playwright who wrote this particular script in 1964.  It’s an angry script.  Justifiably so, considering the treatment of black men at that time.  It resonates today because of the current treatment of black men in America.  However, the script also contains language that is offensive toward Native Americans, Japanese, homosexuals, and women.  That’s not to de-emphasize the racist language perpetually hurled at the only black character in the script.  It’s real.  It’s ugly.  It’s entirely worth examining; however, there are issues with the way this theatre handled their production.  Namely, they don’t examine anything.

I’ll start with the production itself.  The production was terrible.  The direction was abominable.  The acting was horrible.  I was bored by the lack of emotional levels within 20 minutes.  There is only so long one can watch the same posturing and listen to the same monotonous yelling before one stops being interested.  Any theatre practitioner will tell you the same.  The set, lights, and sound were mediocre at best.  

Then we have the inflammatory language…  

ACT II, scene 2

One thing I find interesting is the use of the word “racist” in this script.  It is often pointed toward the black character by the white couple.  Now, racism is a systemic issue that affects a large group of people.  We live in a society that is built on white supremacy.  Is every white person a racist?  Absolutely not.  But every white person does benefit from the racist system that was built to oppress African Americans.  A black man cannot be racist by this definition.  He is the oppressed party, and therefore can’t perpetuate a racist system.  He can be discriminatory and prejudiced toward the oppressive class, but not racist.  

As a feminist who has studied and continues to study the system of inequality that oppresses women, I couldn’t stomach this play.  Some examples: 

• “whore of the middle class” (Walker describing his ex-wife for remarrying a white liberal.  We don’t really need to go into how women are whores for being sexual, while men are celebrated for their exploits, do we?  Pretty common theme.  Let me know if you have questions.)

• “I hated you when I wanted you. I haven’t wanted you for a long time.” (Reinforcing the idea that men treat women they love badly. Ladies, remember being told as a child that boys are only mean to you because they like you?)

• “I never stopped telling you I loved you… Or that you were my wife!” (Because, ladies, we need to be told that we are the property of a man after we’ve entered into marriage.)

And my personal favorite…

• “I’ll stay here and rape your wife… as I so often used to do…”

I leave that there with no comment.

There is a lot of discussion about black men fighting their own racist oppression while completely tuned out to the gender oppression they perpetuate toward women.  Google “black men and misogyny.”  Read a few things.  I’ll pause while you do that…

Done?  Great!  

That’s what I saw in this production.  Not only the language used toward the woman in the script, but the choice by Mr. Magic to produce this play and how he has chosen to produce it.  

There’s no thought about how white members of the audience might be validated in thinking that African Americans can be racist.  There is no thought to how the language in this script could be revictimizing for women in the audience who have faced violence in the household or who have been sexually assaulted or who have had children murdered or any number of things women face on a daily basis.

On the date I attended, there was no director’s note in the program to help explain why they felt producing this script was important.  There was no talkback.  From a conversation with one of the actors in the production, I understand that talkbacks have since been added, but the theatre isn’t being thoughtful about those either.  The director and the actors sit on stage, and let the audience start a conversation.  Okay.  Great.  Where is the dramaturg who should have done extensive research to back up the artistic decisions?  There isn’t one.  Where is the community expert on race relations?  Domestic violence?  None of those either.  If you happen to get a thoughtful audience member, you’ll accidentally get a thoughtful talkback.  No guarantee.

ACT II, scene 3

I emailed Mr. Magic after seeing the show, as I struggled to understand why he wouldn’t take care of his audience or explain why he felt the dated script was so important right now.  He responded by saying he chose The Slave “because many aspects are reflective of the tensions of the times for myriad reasons, not the least of which race, class, gender; the nature of violence and revolution. In many respects, it’s a play that deals with ugliness, truths and ugly truths.”  In response to my question of why he would produce a show that ties black men to prejudice toward other ethnic groups and women, Mr. Magic said “the simple answer is that the main character isn’t supposed to be an avatar for all Black men or their experiences. As such, I’d only be tying all Black men to this character’s perspectives if I saw all Black men as the same. Now, if someone else sees all Black men as being implicated by this character, that says a great deal about them than it does about the character.”

So…  I should see this three-character living room drama as reflective of our current times in a larger, big picture way, but I shouldn’t see the character as a representation of a big picture issue?  His argument makes no sense in a theatrical construct.

In response to my question about skipping the minimal effort of a director’s note, Mr. Magic said “I’m not one for director’s notes as I prefer to let work speak for itself.”  He also said my “criticism of the play’s homophobic and misogynist elements are valid and absolutely part of the discussion and I recognized that it would be—should be—part of it.”

To be fair, Mr. Magic’s response did not make it into my review because he took too long to get back to me.  I’d submitted my review by the time I read his email, and his response didn’t make a difference to what I’d already written.  I simply emailed my editor saying I’d heard back from Mr. Magic, and after reading his response to my questions, stood by my review.  It was published online that day.

ACT III, scene 1

That’s when the kerfuffle began.  Mr. Magic contacted my editor.  My editor contacted me to say that my opinion was controversial and they would be publishing an alternate take on the review.  

Let’s go back to Mr. Magic’s response to my email for a moment.  He directly said that my criticism is valid and the work should speak for itself.  If that’s true, why was a call made to my editor in the first place?  In my email, I’d asked questions.  I let him explain his side.  In my review, I criticized and explained what I saw on stage.  You see, when a woman doesn’t agree with a man, it’s a problem.

To come back to the editor’s call to me…  What the magazine published was an unsigned letter to the editor that was directed at my “detailed negativity” toward the production, claiming my opinion verges on censorship.  The unsigned coward states “to question the validity of producing this theater piece because it offends would be tantamount to boycotting the (often-produced) words of Sarah Kane, Neil LaBute, David Mamet, even Shakespeare.”  

I didn’t like the play.  I explained why.  Isn’t that what a critic does?

Since the unsigned also points out that they are a longtime colleague of mine, this person also knows my opinion of continuing to produce any of these plays.  I do boycott LaBute and Mamet.  I avoid Shakespeare, which is difficult given the shear volume of Shakespeare productions in Rhode Island.  I have not had an opportunity to see Sarah Kane produced, so I will not comment on that playwright.

We regularly set aside plays that are too dated.  We have set aside plays that are blatantly racist, or we produce them in a responsible way that encourages community conversation.  Why can’t we do that with misogyny?  By all means, produce it.  But let’s talk about it in an informed, educated way.  And please, if you insist on producing dated misogynist scripts, do it well.  Mr. Magic’s production does neither of these things, but I only had 750 words in which to express myself through the review.

The unsigned coward ends their short piece by saying, “I submit that instead of being offended I would ask critics and audiences to definitely attend this piece of art with open ears and mind. After engaging with the material, if you are offended or enraged or even bored, to then look within yourself and let the experience teach you about yourself.”  I completely, 100% agree!  In fact, I’ve said these words to someone before (giving me an idea about who wrote the piece).  The coward should take their own advice.  I posit that the unsigned should let their offense at my article teach them about their misogyny.  

Why are you, dear coward, so offended that I would like to see more theatre produced that does NOT involve violence toward women?  That I question the overall violence of this script (physical beatings on stage, violence toward women, violent language, implied murder of children)?  That I question such violence and misogyny being tied to black men?  That I think there are more contemporary, less misogynist playwrights out there doing work that is more relevant to our current race relations in America?  That I want to see theatres produce work in a responsible way?  That I want to see theatres put up better quality work than I saw that night?  Why do you find any of that so offensive?

ACT III, scene 2

When I read the unsigned letter to the editor, I was appalled that my publisher would give voice to someone who wasn’t confident enough in their opinion to sign their name.  I was appalled that Mr. Magic had allegedly solicited this letter.  I am appalled that an editorial meeting happened in which my review was allegedly the main subject, and that there have been discussions about my piece to which I have not been allowed to participate.  But then, women are often left out of conversations about themselves and the things that are directly affecting our lives (here’s looking at you, GOP Congress).  

I was appalled enough to write Mr. Magic a private email.  Back when Mr. Magic considered me “worthy” of his male opinion, we had many discussions about white privilege.  I’ve watched him call out racism on many occasions.  Since I’ve become more outspoken in my feminism, Mr. Magic (along with many male RI theatre practitioners) have distanced themselves.  Based on that history, I wrote the following email.  I quote it here, in its entirety:

“I find several things interesting about your letter to the editor. But I’ll stick to this: If you think white people need to grapple with their privilege, I’d argue you need to grapple with your misogyny.” 

That’s it.  Two sentences.

ACT III, scene 3

Women are taught by experience that they should not speak up in the face of injustice.  Everyday, women are talked down to, talked over, sexually harassed, assaulted, and we are expected to experience these things politely.  We are expected to not raise our voice, or get angry, or speak up in any way against the patriarchal system that oppresses us.  Mr. Magic had that same expectation.  When that expectation was met with me telling him to examine his own limitations, he went nuclear.

Mr. Magic wrote back expounding upon all the ways in which my presence was no longer welcome in his life.  He copied my publisher, so that “the following message cannot be misconstrued or misrepresented.” (Because women are not to be believed.  See: sexual assault accusations.)  He went on to state “there is no professional or personal relationship between us of any kind moving forward. You are not welcome in any capacity at [my theatre] paying customer or otherwise, and I do not wish to have any interactions with you of any kind, professional or otherwise.” (Have you done the same to men who disagree with you?  Or just the women?)

But the most misogynistic statement in his misogynist email attempt to silence my voice, was to say, “Should you feel the need to take this further, I will take it as a deliberate provocation and will seek legal means to resolve the matter.”

Dear Mr. Magic, you can’t sue me over an honest review of bad work.  You also can’t sue me for telling you that I feel you have discriminated against me because of my gender.  You can’t sue me over telling you privately that you are a misogynist.  But thank you for proving my point that you are, indeed, a misogynist by threatening me with legal action in an attempt to keep me quiet.  

ACT III, scene 4

I received an email from my editor saying that she understood that I was still in conversation with Mr. Magic about my review, and that I needed to back off from the conversation because it was complicating things.  

Yes, women complicate male lives when they speak up about the injustice of misogyny.  It’s not comfortable to begin understanding that you are in an oppressive class.  But, dear Mr. Magic (and the rest of the Rhode Island Theatre Scene), it’s a necessary discomfort.  Be uncomfortable.  Learn from your discomfort and your anger.

I won’t write for a press publication that panders to misogynists.  I won’t be told to examine my own limitations by someone unwilling to examine their own.  I won’t be spoken to like I have no background or education on the subject of theatre or feminism.  And I sure as hell will not be silent just because a man gets uncomfortable.

And I’ll sign my name to that.

Leann H. Heath