This fifth installment in a weeklong blogfest on art and political power I’m cohosting with blogger Barry Hessenius was authored by Dudley Cocke, Artistic Director of Roadside Theater, a stage director, teacher, writer, and media producer. He has taught theater at Cornell University, the College of William and Mary, and New York University, and often speaks and writes as an advocate for democratic cultural values. His policy remarks and essays have been published by the Urban Institute, Yale University, American Theatre magazine, Americans for the Arts, Grantmakers in the Arts, and the Community Arts Network/Art in the Public Interest, among many others.
The series began with a dialogue between Barry and myself and continued with Roberto Bedoya, Executive Director of the Tucson Pima Arts Council, and Diane Ragsdale, creator of the “Jumper” blog. Subsequent entries will be authored by Dudley Cocke, director of Roadside Theater; and Barry Hessenius and myself. To each, we posed this question:
The way we’ve been doing arts advocacy for the past thirty years isn’t working: the real value of the NEA budget has dropped by well over half, for instance, and state funding has nosedived. We remain timid and unimaginative, acting as if cultural support were a rare privilege instead of a human right. With a blank slate and all your powers of social imagination, redesign it: why and how would artists and arts advocates claim social, economic, and true political power? What would you do for the arts to develop real political cloutâ€”and what has to change for us to move down that path?
Please read, forward, and comment. The entire series can be accessed here.
Thanks, Barry and Arlene, for inviting me to join your Blogfest. I accept with some trepidation, not about the topic per se, but because of my tendency to get on the high horse when a subject this broad appears. Iâ€™m sure Iâ€™ll not be able to completely avoid this habit, but perhaps I can spare the reader until the conclusion.
Iâ€™m a member of a rural theater company that for 37 years has been writing, producing, and touring plays. About midway through our nearly 40 year journey crisscrossing the country performing, we became interested in helping other communities create their own local plays. It was another way to test our idea that local art is a good way for local lifeâ€”and local democracyâ€”to become more aware of itself.
Roadside Theaterâ€™s home audience in the mountains of eastern Kentucky, southern West Virginia, northeastern Tennessee, and southwestern Virginia has always been low income and working and middle class people from all walks of life and of all agesâ€”families of coalminers, government workers, small business men and women, and hill-side farmers. On any given night, Roadsideâ€™s crowd looks like the hard scrabble Appalachian communities of which the companyâ€™s artists are a part. By cosmopolitan standards, these are wildly spirited audiences who donâ€™t hesitate to arrive early and stay lateâ€”and to spontaneously banter with the actors performing on the stage. They understand the evening is as much their cultural creation as it is the theaterâ€™s.
When we started touring nationally in 1978, we unexpectedly found ourselves looking out at a very different audience, one that appeared to represent only the wealthy slice of the host community. It didnâ€™t bother us too much at firstâ€”we were full of ourselvesâ€”but as the 1980s rolled on and the nationâ€™s income gap widened, we found ourselves facing a life-threatening artistic problem: now with no low-income and working class people in the house, our plays were becoming something we didnâ€™t recognize as ours.
Iâ€™d seen something of the same phenomenon in San Francisco years before at a performance of the Royal Shakespeare Company. Tickets were going for $140 a pop, and by the end of the comedyâ€™s first act it was plain that the actors playing the low parts were dying right there in front of us for want of any response. In live theater, the audience is responsible for half the magic.
So the question is: What would it take for a theater like Roadside to have real political clout? Part of the answer: For low income, working class, and middle class audience members like ours to have real political clout.
This raises the question of how, in our democracy, the majority of us have become subjugated to a wealthy minority of us. When we talk about the arts gaining political power, I think this is the bigger problem we need to address, and Iâ€™m worried that weâ€™ve lost the democratic infrastructure to pursue a solution.
After these past 30 years of intense privatization and the rise of a pervasive proprietary culture, we all seem to be living in boxes defined by class, race, age, politics, sexual orientation, religion, etc. Where are the commons (neutral grounds in New Orleansâ€™ parlance) to meet and think together, regardless of difference?
Clearly, our public institutions, like Congress, are failing us, and our civic and religious organizations are not meeting the challenge. This is bad news, because maintaining their integrity correlates with the integrity of our democracy. To this point, yesterday I received this e-mail from an artist friend in Arizona: We are fighting two new proposed laws, one to allow weapons on college campuses (which defines “public” space as any space with an armed guard, btw) and one to allow guns within 15 feet of K-12 schools.
Roadside Theater, whether performing in a tent up an Appalachian hollow or at the Manhattan Theatre Club, has always aspired to be an unarmed, democratic meeting place; art, as a manipulated expression of culture, invariably has the potential to help create the conditions for animating democracy. But rag-tag groups of nonprofit artists are, obviously, insufficient. Something more is needed.
What are the prospects for a broad based social movement of the type Barry and Arlene advocate? Barry cautions Arlene that such movements often take decades, if not generations to grow and succeed. But isnâ€™t the stirring for such a movement for justice and equality already present in each of us? I think so, if only in our better half.
What would it take to catalyze this potential, and how do we develop the public spaces where together we can work at it?