July Full Moon

 

Following is an excerpt from Chapter Four, early on in the journey…

When I landed in Johannesburg in 2002 I was quickly engaged by South Africans of many descriptions who eagerly talked about the social and political progress of their country in the new millennium. This was a welcome contrast to the marked lack of discourse in the States where we were allowing our Bill of Rights to be eroded under the guise of the Patriot Act. As I listened to South African citizens I perceived something subtle surfacing in every conversation about what happened in the aftermath of apartheid. There was a slight hesitation in speech, a distinct pause: “since…1994” or “since…democracy” or “since…the new government”.

None of South African citizens I met described the New Dispensation as post-apartheid; the taste in the mouth was too bitter, the phrase woefully inadequate for the changes that had arrived. In that momentarily held inhalation I imagined all kinds of theatre-making around self-definition. There was no uniformly accepted party line. There was no easy answer. My gut response was that this small silence signified a leap in national identity, here was an opportunity for research. By the time I got to Cape Town the phrase ‘Memory & Vision’ verbalized the ellipsis.

I structured my Fulbright proposal to explore its meaning and it became the name of my graduate level course at the University of the Western Cape’s English department ‘Memory & Vision: Theatre Practice and Social Issues’…

 

It’s the first day of Memory & Vision at UWC.  I greet my group of fifteen graduate students with a typically informal American howdy-do:

“Hi, I’m Judyie Al-Bilali, please call me Judyie…”

I introduce myself as an artist who teaches and launch straight into a couple of humongous philosophical questions;

“What is the role of theatre in our highly technological 21^st century? What is unique and necessary about live performance in our global society?”

Polite silence.

Okay granted, it’s more than a mouthful, perhaps the topics are too chewy. I coax from a different angle:

“Tell me something about your personal experiences with art as a catalyst for social change. How can creativity be used as a force for transformation?”

Blank stares.

Yikes! I’m dying up here. Not a hint of response.

I want to unlock these attentive, reserved students. In subsequent sessions I discover this seminar format is new to most of my class. Right now I sense their scrumptious ideas are simmering very close to the surface. I gamble that an impromptu writing session will get us unstuck:

“Imagine you have just been elected President of the New South Africa. Take out your notebooks and write for fifteen minutes addressing your country on inauguration day. No editing, no crossing out, I don’t care about spelling, grammar or punctuation – I just want to hear your voice.”

Nervous fidgeting.

I hit the accelerator, driving fast:

“Tell your people who have just placed absolute confidence in you about the vast possibilities of this newest of nations. Dream big! If you don’t know what to say then just write over and over ‘I don’t know what to write’ until your body says ‘this is what I know’ and trust the words that come out. Don’t think too much. Welcome contradictions. We are stepping into the world of theatre and contradictions are about being human. Don’t worry about it making sense because no one comes to the theatre for rationality. Put your heads down and go. I’ll tell you when fifteen minutes is up.”

‘Don’t think too much!’

Is this woman kidding?

They push past their resistance. They write. They read their writing out loud. Their writing is strong. They are hooked on their own voice.

“Congratulations, you have just written your first monologues”

As we conclude a student claps his hands and nods his head vigorously: “I’ve been waiting three years for this class.”

 

Want more? Go to:

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1368114915/for-the-feeling-love-and-transformation-from-ny-to