lumière des étoiles

Never apologize for thinking
2004-12-08 12:42 p.m.

Saturday, we went into Manhattan to meet up with our friend Irene and see a performance of Lorraine Hansberry's The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window, which was being performed somewhere on Lafayette Street. I'd read the play years ago, but had forgotten all about it. Set in the 60s, it made me think again how alive that decade must have been. The play aptly points out how the year is characterized by social injustice and racial inequality, and of course presents illustrations of how people struggled to cope in the face of such constraint. But it was another underlying idea that fascinated me so much - the illustration of what a struggle it is to understand the reasons behind our resistance to injustice. The play isn't just the same old conventional "we're activists" sort of play; instead it reveals how much people question their own and each other's motives for clinging to radical politics. It's a nice reminder, the revelation that it's difficult to remain consistent with our beliefs when the world changes so fast.

I see parallels between that time and ours, and I don't think I'm just romanticizing either cultural climate. People are full of radical ideas right now, conservative or liberal; in many ways we are as polarized now as we were then. But the difference today that first strikes and then depresses me is the apathy we seem to feel in the present, the complacency and disregard or refusal to pay any attention. I think Grandma was right - TV does rot your brain.

My mom went to see Hansberry's other, more famous play, A Raisin in the Sun, when it first opened in 1959. This play deals with similar ideas, focusing primarily on a Black family's struggle to survive in a country that not only disrespected them, but made life impossible through discrimination as well. Barely 20, my mom recalls how amazing the performance was, and how impossible it was to get tickets for. "We were packed in like rats", my mother said of the theater that night, "but it didn't matter". Hansberry was the first black woman to have a drama produced on Broadway. Partially, this is what drew so much consumer attention. But logically, there was more: people were interested in seeing something with meaning, something that revealed ideas or offered insight into the politics, culture, struggle behind such a controversial notion as Civil Rights.

Why is this a "movement"? What do these people want? How do they live? What do they think about? I can imagine this is what went through much of White America's head, since the TV didn't talk about or depict Black or working class families' existence, and since neighborhoods were so segregated that the only Black people Whites would see were those mopping floors. I'm not saying true relationships didn't exist across racial lines - I know for a fact that they did. But for mainstream White America, where the money, power, and "marketable interest" lay, the most exposure most people got to African Americans was limited to picture of Uncle Ben on a box of rice or a record album with Billie Holiday's face smiling out from the cover.

And despite this, or perhaps because of this, people were fascinated and poured in to watch, listen, and observe. Where this hunger is today, where the curiosity is, I don't know. What if someone released the same sort of revolutionary play or idea today? Would we see it? Maybe that's asking too much. "Plays are boring," people say.

Fine. What if it was a movie? Would it do well here then? Probably not. Not enough boobs or explosions. How sad.

I understand that sometimes I make judgments about "young people today" based on the hundreds of students I meet throughout the year while teaching. Perhaps this isn't a great way to gather data. But I can't help but think my students are somehow representative of an attitude that's out there - an attitude that gets reinforced to me by what I see on TV, trends I observe in music or movies, and how much attention young people collectively have on being informed and being active and concerned. This attitude, I'm sorry to say, overwhelmingly is one of passivity, or of selfish, detached priorities. It's one that says "I'm way too busy with watching Paris Hilton talk about her new shoes and with my camera phone and with getting into Med school to care about who gets appointed to the Supreme Court or what they're teaching about sex in schools".

Many of my students do feel differently. But those students more often then not get labeled "annoying" or "nerdy" because they "talk to much" during class or are "too out there". Too out there? This comment was made, by the way, about a student who simply said she was going to sign up with a local NOW chapter. Sigh. I wonder what the class would have done if she stood up and said "I am a radical communist, and I believe in violent overthrow of the government". Now that's out there.

I admire my students who support causes and are passionate about their beliefs, whether those beliefs are in line with mine or not. I'd rather have a student tell me that I am wrong in being pro-choice or in my intense hatred of the Bush administration's policies than have them tell me "...uuuummm, I don't know. I don't really think about that stuff". Bleh. I'll take a conservative screaming, laughing, or booing at me any day.

I thought the war would stir us up. I thought Bush getting re-elected would stir us up. I thought many acts of civil disobedience we've seen in the past year, including the mayors of New Paltz and San Francisco marrying gay couples, would - if nothing else - bring about some discussion or bring to the table some analysis of what was happening or why we feel the way we feel, regardless of our acceptance or rejection of the idea of gay rights. But a week's worth of coverage by the news doesn't make for any complete sort of discussion. But then, I suppose we had to make room for the big story about which celebrity was having a baby or getting divorced. It seems there's always some distraction that numbs us and dulls our senses. Pity.

I'm just thankful that I had my friends and husband around to listen while I unloaded all of this over a few glasses of wine after the play at a bar somewhere on St. Marks. I'm thankful that we helped each other sort through our muddled thoughts, and that everyone was willing to help me understand that I’m not alone in feeling so frustrated sometimes. I'm also thankful that Irene's new man, who happens to be an Israeli national and a recent immigrant, listened to and participated in our conversations. Before he met Irene, he said, and before he'd begun to meet her friends, he "kind of had the impression that people didn't think or talk much around here". How embarrassing. I told him that I, too, often agree with that statement, but always have to remember to look really hard to find places full of people who do think and talk. They're out there, and hopefully will be multiplying sometime soon.