Performing #MeToo: How Not to Look Away 1789383811, 9781789383812

Citation preview

Performing #MeToo

Performing #MeToo How Not to Look Away

Edited by

Judith Rudakoff

First published in the UK in 2021 by Intellect, The Mill, Parnall Road, Fishponds, Bristol, BS16 3JG, UK First published in the USA in 2021 by Intellect, The University of Chicago Press, 1427 E. 60th Street, Chicago, IL 60637, USA Copyright © 2021 Intellect Ltd All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Copy editor: Newgen KnowledgeWorks Cover designer: Aleksandra Szumlas Cover image: Judith Rudakoff Production manager: Aimée Bates and Naomi Curston Author photo: Christoper Gentile Editorial assistant: Elise A. LaCroix Typesetting: Newgen KnowledgeWorks Print ISBN 978-1-78938-381-2 ePDF ISBN 978-1-78938-382-9 ePub ISBN 978-1-78938-383-6 Printed and bound by Severn. To find out about all our publications, please visit www.intellectbooks.com There you can subscribe to our e-newsletter, browse or download our current catalogue, and buy any titles that are in print. This is a peer-reviewed publication.

Contents

Acknowledgements

vii

Introduction 1 Judith Rudakoff 1. “Vital Acts of Transfer”: #MeToo and the Performance 15 of Embodied Knowledge Shana MacDonald 2. “Bite the Bullet”: The Practice of Protest as a Coping Mechanism 30 Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga 3. Resisting Theatre: The Political in the Performative 50 Effie Samara 4. Supporting Brave Spaces for Theatre-​Makers Post-​#MeToo: 68 A Chicago-​Based Study on Rehearsing and Performing Intimacy in Theatre Susan Fenty Studham 5. We Get It: Calling Out Sexism and Harassment in Australia’s 86 Live Performance Industry Sarah Thomasson 6. Toward the Origin of Performing #MeToo: Franca Rame’s 104 The Rape as an Example of Personal and Political Theatre/​Therapy Laura Peja and Fausto Colombo 7. The Royal Court in the Wake of #MeToo 123 Catriona Fallow and Sarah Jane Mullan 8. Dissident Solidarities: Power, Pedagogy, Care 141 Swati Arora

Performing #MeToo

9. Conversations with Noura: Iraqi American Women and a Response to A Doll’s House Mary P. Caulfield 10. #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories Yvette Heyliger 11. Les Zoubliettes: Raging Through Laughter—​a Feminist Disturbance Sonia Norris 12. “I’m the person to speak about myself”: Self-​Declaration, Reversal of Power, and Solidarity in The Red Book Yuh J. Hwang

159

Appendix: A Primer on the International #MeToo Movement Elise A. LaCroix Notes on Contributors

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Acknowledgements

I would like to acknowledge and thank the contributors to this collection of chapters for their commitment to the principles of the #MeToo movement. I would also like to thank Serena Dessen and Myles Warren for their comments on the Introduction, and Céleste A. LaCroix for her assistance with tracking down some elusive reference materials. As well, I would like to acknowledge York University’s School of the Arts, Media, Performance and Design for generously providing funding to support the editorial assistance of Elise A. LaCroix, a promising emerging scholar with a keen eye for detail.

vii

Introduction Judith Rudakoff

If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote “Me too.” as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem.1

This tweet by American actor and activist Alyssa Milano, sent on October 15, 2017, opened the floodgates to an outpouring of testimony and witnessing across the Twitterverse that reverberated throughout social media.2 Facebook status lines quickly began to read “Me too,” and #MeToo was trending. Abby Ohlheiser wrote in the Washington Post of October 19, 2017, “#MeToo has produced a kind of unity by volume, but when you speak to individual women about it, you find a wide range of responses—​empowerment, exhaustion, solidarity, trauma.”3 The recent #MeToo campaign has inspired wave upon wave of awareness, witnessing, and commitment to action, sometimes including the powerful tool of creative response. As a result, testimony and expressions of support, artistic interpretation, representation, and performance of #MeToo experiences have become an important way of disseminating information and, in some cases, provided a way of attempting to work through the trauma of both present and past occurrences of sexual harassment. The subtitle of this book, How Not to Look Away, further identifies the role of provocative performance to challenge both artists and audiences to engage with the principles of the movement. On October 15, 2017, I, like thousands of other women, wrote “Me Too” on my Facebook status. While this is not the place that I choose to detail the times and places I have experienced sexual or gender harassment, it is the place I claim membership in the movement: as target,4 as witness, and as arts facilitator of #MeToo-​themed creative work.

1

Performing #MeToo

Performing #MeToo Over the course of my decades of work as a developmental dramaturg, I have facilitated autoethnographic performances created and presented by both artists (professionals and students) and non-​artists seeking a creative experience. My methods for initiating and evolving new work5 can and have provided useful tools to germinate, evolve, and disseminate work that addresses, among other important subjects, sexual or gender harassment and violence against women. From early on in my career, my dramaturgy practise has contained inherent links to themes now referred to as #MeToo-​inflected work, through exercises such as the construction and performative presentation of Image Containers, to more complex performance work (The Ashley Plays),6 and online projects aimed specifically at inspiring personally driven theatricalized narratives (Roots/​Routes Journeys to Home).7 These projects have provided creators with the means to express personal memories through filters and frames that offer some degree of protection against the triggering of trauma responses. When dramaturging new work, I focus on the principle that telling one’s own story is more than just a writing tool: in circumstances where personal safety has been threatened, declaring one’s history publicly through a fictionalized voice can be an important component of the survival process that does not unduly compromise the individual at risk. As well, the core research question I employ to initiate artistic response (What is home?) will often result in creative work that emanates from investigation of home in relation to the physical body, especially if the body has experienced trauma. I propose that this recurring relationship offers a #MeToo-​inflected perspective on the artistic work generated. Given my recent observations about the relationship between home and the body in dramaturg-​driven projects I have facilitated, as well as the increasing frequency of engagement with narratives based on sexual abuse in the creative work being generated, and given my concurrent work as a scholar and researcher, initiating and editing a collection of essays inspired by performative work emanating from or reflecting the principles of the #MeToo movement seemed like an organic next step to take. I offer here several examples from the work I have dramaturged as context for my observations.

Image Containers In this project, I ask participants to build a container and fill it with physical objects that represent aspects of a pivotal moment in their life. The containers can be 2

Introduction

unorthodox, and the shape they take should be determined by the principle that form comes organically out of content. The participant is asked to present their Image Container and unpack its contents in a performative manner. The goal of this exercise is to give participants a structure in which to explore and identify elements of a personal narrative that can later be expanded upon and developed into a monodrama. Here is an example of an Image Container that contains a #MeToo-​related narrative, though it predates the movement.8 Nichola Sawyer is originally from the small English town of Swindon in the United Kingdom. Her Image Container was a pair of men’s boot-​cut blue jeans, initially folded into a square, and tightly sealed in cellophane wrap. When the jeans were unwrapped, the air was filled with the pungent scent of a men’s perfume called “Addiction.” Messages and descriptions were written on small, frayed fragments of white paper, and were placed all over the jeans, affixed with straight pins: tucked into the pockets, attached along the seams, at the crotch, on the knees. These images acted as stimulus for Sawyer to describe a relationship that she had endured with an abusive partner. In one of the pockets she placed a cassette tape of recorded music from 1998 (by Radiohead and Beck) that she associated with the relationship. There were also visual images on some of the paper fragments, including hand-​drawn pictures of a house and a car, which Sawyer identified as her abuser’s tools of seduction. The container also included a package of cigarettes and a lighter. Some of the shreds of paper bore the following words: addiction, dependency, tolerance, alcohol, cannabis, amphetamine, ecstasy, cocaine/​ crack. Sawyer pinpointed the time of this Image Container as March to July 1998, locating it in Swindon, Wiltshire, England. During the initial performative presentation of this Image Container, physical vocabulary, text, and performance style began to emerge. Sawyer was twenty years old in 2002 when she created this performance piece. In reflecting on the events of five years prior that inspired her Image Container, and by performing it, she “was able to re-​frame my experience and externalize and detach the person I was involved with from myself.”9 Sawyer further explained, Such work as this can be very effective in re-​framing in particular; how we once felt about something that happened to us then, may have changed over time without our realizing it or can actively be changed through the work in real time.10

Currently, Sawyer lives in Uppsala, Sweden, with her Swedish husband, where she works as a treatment assistant in a home for “families experiencing some form of crisis or question over their ability to raise their children in a healthy way, but where they might have a chance to turn things around with help.”11 3

Performing #MeToo

More than simply inspiring a creative exercise based on personal experience, Sawyer contextualized the importance of this project and characterized how, years later, the experience it provided continues to influence her life and her work trajectory: It is my goal to one day become a psychotherapist and eventually a drama therapist and can see myself appropriately using exercises such as this in my own practice. Using autoethnographic work like this would prove very useful in aiding someone in not just reframing negative experiences in their life (or even reinforcing and consolidating positive experiences that might challenge a negative self view), but also in decoupling from those who “leave a mark” so to say. We all have them. Those people who somehow get under the skin, or perhaps plant a seed which grows weed-​like within us.12

In terms of value as part of the act of performing #MeToo and as a means of “how not to look away,” Sawyer explained: With regards to the value of declaration to the #MeToo movement; to declare is to speak our truth, to state the existence of a thing. We “declare” in many ways; through text or speech (as in the movement) but also in other more nuanced ways; work such as the image container described, through painting and drawing, sculpting, music, movement and dance. In declaring a thing, we are again I suppose externalizing it from ourselves. We release it from within our bodies and all the damage such a suppression can do to our health both physically and mentally, we make it separate from ourselves and put it rightly where it belongs, amongst our communities, for the burden to hopefully be shared and dealt with as opposed to tolerated and coped with.13

Roots/​Routes Journeys to Home Roots/​Routes Journeys to Home (2006–​2009) was a project I initiated under the umbrella of Common Plants, a multi-​year, international, cross-​disciplinary, intermedial project for which I was the principal investigator-​creative leader, funded by Canada’s Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council.14 Roots/​ Routes Journeys to Home funded four participants to travel to their city, town, or village of origin in order to reflect on where they came from and where they are now, and to express how the journey had impacted on them, incorporating creative writing, photographs, short video segments, and audio clips in their presentations.15 This collage format was performative in that it offered an electronic 4

Introduction

installation to viewers, mixing simultaneously playing short audio and video clips, text, and slide shows of photographs. Each of the four journeys presented a distinct world, introduced a character, offered viewers insight into different perspectives on the events being presented within a context, presented a narrative, and enacted moments in the character’s journey. Participants in and audience for this as well as other projects under the Common Plants umbrella viewed and then responded to the journeys through an online forum titled “Common Ground.”16 As well, the texts that were part of these electronic installations could also be performed as monodramas in a live theatrical context. In the case of one contributor, a middle-​aged Cuban woman who had immigrated to the United States after marrying an American citizen, the exploration of the central research question (What is home?) and the ancillary questions (Is home a place of safety or a place of danger? Where is home?) that generated the creative work focused on freedom as both a political and a personal status. Issues related to #MeToo were an important part of this presentation. This contributor (now living in a suburb outside of Syracuse, New York) created her piece under the pseudonym of “Mercedes Bravo” so she could express herself freely and protect family and friends still living in Cuba under the repressive government from potential repercussions.17 Soon after falling in love with and marrying her American suitor and immigrating to America, Bravo brought her young daughter to live with them. In Cuba, Bravo (who is fluent in Spanish, English, and French) had worked for many years as the head of public relations at an upscale Cuban tourist hotel in the south-​ central region of the country, which catered primarily to visitors from European countries. Through her constant contact with foreigners, Bravo reached across the tourist apartheid curtain, past the information blockade, and was well aware of the limitations on her future and that of her daughter if she remained in Cuba. By emigrating, Bravo had hoped to escape the constant government surveillance, threat of punishment for perceived transgressions against the state, non-​transparent governing practises, and the challenges of living with the restrictions and shortages resulting from the imposition of the American embargo, among other issues: she wanted to build a better and more stable life for herself and her child. Her presentation focused on her escape from both political oppression and the American husband she soon realized was dangerously abusive: a man who repeatedly told her that he had “saved” her, threatened her with violence (he kept a loaded rifle under their bed), and isolated her from her new community. She endured this abuse for eight years. For Bravo, finding a place to root herself physically was coupled with the need to recover her autonomy. Mercedes Bravo created her Roots/​Routes Journey to Home in 2008, shortly after she found the courage to leave her husband.18 She returned to Cuba for this 5

Performing #MeToo

sponsored visit with full knowledge that many of her trauma triggers might be activated. She also knew, inherently, that making the journey at this juncture in her life was a vital part of reclaiming agency and reflecting not only on where she had come from, but also where she was ready to go. Here is a short excerpt of #MeToo-​inflected text from Mercedes Bravo’s Roots/​ Routes Journey to Home. On the Common Plants website, the cacophonous sounds of the bustling Cuban cityscape as demonstrated in short video clips, as well as the photographic slide shows interspersed throughout her text, create a textured, intricate example of outer experience and inner thoughts of a woman at a crossroads. February 11, 2008, Cienfuegos, Cuba There are stories about being in No Man’s Land. There are stories about being in a place of extreme uncertainty, a place where you don’t really know or understand what is happening, or what is going to happen next. There are stories about waiting in line for the x-​ray machine, not only for my luggage to be screened but me too. I get very pale. My face goes a greenish white colour. There is a line of uniformed men and women standing over by the wall of the Immigration area. Every one of them is staring at me. I am the only Cuban-​born person on this tourist charter flight. I am sent to a “special” area. I am the only one. Bienvenidos en Cuba. Welcome to Cuba. […] For a split second, time stops and I remember the last time I felt totally calm and safe: on the other side, in the townhouse I have owned since 10/​10/​07. A place to call my own where I can be free. October 10th is a date that resonates for me, the anniversary of the freeing of the slaves in Cuba by Manuel de Cespedes and now the anniversary when I will be able to celebrate living in freedom. I won’t be screamed at anymore. No one will criticize or berate me. No one will point an accusing finger at me. I won’t have to hide, shaking, in my daughter’s bedroom, the bureau pushed up against the door to stop him from coming in. I won’t have to drive my car to the Library on the cold winter nights, park in the lot and sit, waiting for his rage to pass. I won’t have to live in the Grey House anymore. It was never my home anyhow. Home is now a place of safety for me and for me daughter. Even my little dog is calming down and his fear of all men is going away. But slowly. This all takes time. We may not be scared anymore, but healing is a slow process. I know I am getting stronger every day. 6

Introduction

Three houses, three destinies. The beautiful tiled floors of my Cuban home, the Grey House in USA that has always looked haunted, and the last one, my own house, filled with light and laughter. That is my favourite: my own home.19

In 2019, Mercedes Bravo is now remarried to a supportive American man and working in social services as a caseworker manager. Her daughter, now grown to adulthood, is a nurse who specializes in critical care. Both have chosen professions where they assist and support people in crisis. She commented: The #MeToo movement means a lot to me. It is a way for women to liberate themselves from the burden of having been abused. It is empowering to see women having the strength to accuse their abusers and point the finger at them. Disclosing abuse is not an easy thing to do; it’s painful. No one wants to be a victim, no one wants to have the sorts of experiences that belittle you and make you feel vulnerable and weak. Creating this project helped me destroy the final bridge between me as a victim and my abuser. Writing the text helped me regain control of myself and my thoughts. I realized that I was not under censorship anymore by any person or government.20

The Ashley Plays Another project I frequently dramaturg is the Ashley Plays, a cycle of short, thematically linked plays that are usually site-​specific, live performances.21 These plays are typically monodramas, performed without production enhancements such as sets, lighting, or props, and must focus on a character named Ashley. Each Ashley character is unique. (I chose the gender neutral name Ashley as it is easy to pronounce in many languages and has equivalents in different cultures: Ashevok in the Inuit communities of the Canadian High Arctic, Ashok in India, Acheli in Cuba). In the live iterations of the Ashley Plays, the cycle is performed to roving groups of audience members who are led on a prescribed route from site to site to view the plays in a sequence. The sites are typically intimate spaces, with little distance between the performer and the spectators, and no fourth wall. There have also been virtual Ashley cycles created in India, South Africa, the Canadian High Arctic, Iran, Israel, and elsewhere.22 For some Ashley cycles, the creators collaboratively generate a catalogue of specific characteristics to draw upon as inspiration. Not all the Ashley profile characteristics must be incorporated into the monodrama, but none may be contradicted.23 The theme of each cycle is usually related to exploration of the self in relation to safety, danger, and home. 7

Performing #MeToo

One of the important features of the Ashley Plays is the freedom it offers participants to use the character of Ashley as a mouthpiece to tell their own stories. Often, the stories told in these plays are deeply personal and difficult for the creators to tell. Speaking through the Ashley character has proven to offer participants the courage to speak freely. Here is an example of one such Ashley play, from a cycle presented in the autumn of 2016, in Toronto, Canada. The writer-​performer was emerging playwright Amanda Custodio-​Vicente.24 Custodio-​Vicente wrote, in the voice of Ashley: I was eight when my heart stopped beating. He’d be in the kitchen. I’d walk in to grab my juice. He had his wine. I’d pass by. And I was grabbed. Holding onto me tightly, he’d grope it all—​my breasts, my ass, and my fucking pussy. This happened every Sunday. Sunday’s holy day. Some Catholic, eh? He eventually stopped, though. He continued to live with us.25 […] I’m like a public washroom; un-​fucking-​kempt. No one refills me with toilet paper when needed. No one cleans me regularly. People shit on me. I’m dirty inside. No one wants to touch me. I feel like the words, “ela é uma cadela suja porra” [she is a dirty fucking bitch] are yelling out at every person who passes by; or who sees me. But in reality, I bring it upon myself. I’m aware of this, but I still do it. But could you blame me? I mean, who would love someone dirty? He would tell me this at night time when he’d sneak into my room—​“Você é muito mais bonita agora que você é magro” [You’re much prettier now that you’re thin]. I got filthier with age.26

Custodio-​Vicente explained her context for creating the play: I didn’t speak up about the sexual assault I experienced as a child until I was twenty-​one years old. Which is wild because anyone who knows me knows that I never shut up once I start talking. But The Ashley Plays allowed the voice of that little girl who was traumatized as a child, to speak up. I am of Portuguese descent, so I brought some of the Portuguese language into my piece. This worked since my abuser was in fact, a family member. At the time of writing my piece, I was going through my own trauma of remembering and realizing what had happened to me as a child. This project allowed me to speak up and express how this trauma affected my childhood and my relationship with those around me. This project allowed me to speak up and grow into the person I am today, because without it, I would still be bottling it up. I wrote this piece because I did not want anyone else to be quiet for any longer. I wanted to not only get it off my chest, but I wanted people to understand what I had to go through, and how these types of things affect people.27 8

Introduction

Performing #MeToo: How Not to Look Away When I realized that pretexts and provocations for voicing #MeToo stories have long been part of my dramaturgy practise (and that of other theatre-​makers, past and present) and I decided to initiate and edit a collected volume of chapters about performance emanating from the #MeToo movement, I wasn’t sure what the response would be. Would scholars want to engage critically with performances that had been inspired by or based on such meaningful personal and often extreme experiences? I circulated a call for proposals widely to a variety of national and international communities, and then I waited to see what would be submitted. I was not prepared for the outpouring of emotionally charged, often personally driven, abstracts that reached across generational, political, social, and national boundaries. I spent days combing through many worthy proposals to try to hone the acceptance list down to a manageable number of chapters. This was challenging given the quality of the submissions. Ultimately, I strove to achieve a balance of voices from distinct communities; content that moved from examination of performances of personal narratives to engagement with work created by others; and documentation of new ways of preventing environments where so-​called #MeToo activities might occur. I expanded the definition of performing beyond the stage to include Twitter threads as a platform for presenting narratives. I also committed to representing voices of both emerging and established scholars and artists. The chapters selected for inclusion also represent different types of engagement with the topic of performing #MeToo (testimony, witnessing, interpretation, field reports) and come from people who speak from personal experience, as well as allies, activists, and scholars. In some cases, a contributor belongs to more than one of these designations. Chapters examine contemporary work, work from the pre-​#MeToo era, and adaptations of works from other eras. A range of cultural voices is represented.28 Canadian scholar Shana MacDonald reads the #MeToo movement as a live, ongoing performance within the digital media sphere. She proposes that performance theory offers a unique means of grasping at the movement’s significance and ongoing potential as well as its limitations. MacDonald asks the following ­questions: [W]‌hat are the iterative gestures of the movement? What forms of affect and assembly does the movement and its practices allow for? What is promoted, lost, refused in the translation of embodied knowledge and lived experiences brought forward by the #MeToo hashtag? What forms of feminism are now visible on the world stage and how are they dialoguing with each other through the movement?29 9

Performing #MeToo

Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga reflects on ways to protest rape, performance as protest, and how performing protest can be a complex coping mechanism. Working from and through her own devastating experiences of rape, South African Msimanga discusses three of her own performances: SA’S Dirty Laundry (2016), On the Line (2016), and uNokuthula (2018). Situated within a South African context, Msimanga works from the understanding of specificity as key to the disruption of oppression. She seeks to continue the work of pursuing new knowledge through praxis (interconnected theory and practice) and reflects on how her protest performances have provided coping mechanisms as she considers new conceptualizations in the ways we discuss rape. Effie Samara examines the #MeToo movement in performance in Scotland, in the production of Locker Room Talk (2017), a verbatim testimonial piece created by Traverse Theatre’s artist-​in-​residence Gary McNairn and directed by Traverse Theatre’s Artistic Director Orla O’Laughlin, at Edinburgh’s Lyceum Theatre. Samara aims to situate testimonial theatre, commissioned by and performed within established theatrical spaces, as an epistemic phenomenon, a very particular kind of knowing and receiving of knowledge. She focuses on achieving a clearer conception of how this can successfully challenge current biases against women’s cognitive and political access to truth, not only within the confines of private spaces but in established loci of performance. Susan Fenty Studham introduces Not In Our House, an American, Chicago-​ based advocacy organization created in 2015 in response to sexual harassment in the local theatre industry. Galvanized by a series of incidents spanning two decades, this interconnected theatre community developed a code of conduct known as the Chicago Theatre Standards. Following two years of development and trials, the established set of principles engage the overriding tenets of communication, safety, respect, and accountability. This chapter explores the distinction between “safe” and “brave” spaces, analyzing the role of the intimacy designer in professional theatre and procedures designed to shift industry vocabulary and protocols, investigating tools developed to navigate a “culture of consent” in areas such as intimacy, nudity, and violence in scene work. Sarah Thomasson discusses Australia’s 2015 production of We Get It written by Marcel Dorney and Rachel Perks and created by Melbourne-​based contemporary performance ensemble Elbow Room, arguing that it provides a prescient institutional critique of sexism and racism within the Australian theatre industry. Presented as part-​audition panel, part-​reality television-​style competition, in We Get It five female actors battle it out through a series of degrading tasks to achieve their theatre dream of being cast in a professional production by a mainstage theatre company. We Get It examines the local industry, highlighting the gendered and raced experience of actors working within it. Presenting analysis of 10

Introduction

this performance within the context of the momentum for change sparked by the #MeToo movement, Thomasson offers an opportunity to re-​examine the material conditions of theatrical production and reception and how they are shaped by the broader ideological positions of neoliberal postfeminism. Laura Peja and Fausto Colombo examine Lo stupro (The Rape, 1975), a theatrical monologue by well-​known, politically committed Italian actress Franca Rame, which was subsequently identified as being based on her personal experience in March of 1973, when she was abducted by a group of five men, then raped and tortured. Peja and Colombo identify the links between #MeToo in Italy and other similar previous forms of female struggle against gender violence. In particular, they analyze the performance of Lo stupro, created and staged in different contexts and forms since the early 1980s. The starting point of their analysis is the observation that the #MeToo phenomenon is part of the long history of the struggle for women’s rights. Catriona Fallow and Sarah Jane Mullan reflect on one of the most protracted and widely reported cases in the #MeToo arena, the accusations levelled against Max Stafford-​Clark, the longest serving artistic director of England’s Royal Court Theatre (1979–​93). Against the backdrop of the global #MeToo campaign, the Royal Court has been at the forefront of cultivating public and performative responses to both Stafford-​Clark’s actions and sexual harassment in the theatre industry more broadly. This chapter reads theatrical institutions—​their policy, programming, and histories—​as valuable, material sites where questions of power play out ideologically and artistically. Beginning with a brief overview of the changes across London’s theatres post-​Weinstein, this chapter analyzes No Grey Area: Your Stories Heard (2017), the revival of Andrea Dunbar’s Rita, Sue and Bob Too (1982), and Anthony Neilson’s The Prudes (2018) as key moments in the Royal Court’s public and performative responses between October 2017 and April 2018, led by current Artistic Director Vicky Featherstone. Swati Arora proposes that addressing sexualized violence against women in India requires conversations that address not only the temporal aspects of #MeToo as an event—​be it Milano’s tweet in 2017 or Burke’s campaign in 2006—​but also the spatial and contextual aspects, which pay close attention to questions of privilege, visibility, and access that are determined by the region, class, caste, sexuality, and ethnicity of those involved. This chapter highlights how—​depending on the privileges of the people involved—​each incident of sexualized violence and the resulting performance of #MeToo had a different impact, visibility, and consequences. Mary P. Caulfield gives a close reading of Noura (2018), written by Iraqi American playwright Heather Raffo and directed by Joanna Settle, which premiered at the Lansburgh Theatre on February 6, 2018, as part of the second Women’s 11

Performing #MeToo

Voices Theater Festival in Washington, DC. From her first words, the title character Noura foreshadows her narrative journey from keeping silent about the life-​ altering experience of her illegitimate teen pregnancy to confronting her husband’s sexist and patriarchally repressive judgments in the more recent past. Her words also reflect the 2017 reawakening of the original, largely dormant #MeToo movement, which functions as the social and cultural backdrop against which this play was first performed. This chapter considers Noura within the context of and as metaphor for the contemporary #MeToo movement. Yvette Heyliger offers a frank, personal report from the field, considering her life in the American theatre through the lens of the #MeToo movement. Wondering if the trajectory of her career in the theatre (specifically related to work she identifies as “Black theatre”) was somehow impacted by her own early career #MeToo experience, she ponders what might be done to address her own and others’ traumatic experiences today. As a response, Heyliger produced and documents here several activist events in New York City: #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories, in conjunction with Dominique Sharpton-​Bright (National Action Network) and, subsequently, #MeToo: From Testimony to Prevention. Sonia Norris examines the practice of bouffon (a clown technique developed by Philippe Gaulier and Jacques Lecoq) alongside feminist theory in her analysis of Les Zoubliettes (2017), a Canadian French-​language production, produced by the Québécois company Coop les ViVaces, written and directed by Mélanie Raymond, to illuminate the relevance of bouffon as a feminist performance practice responsive to contemporary female fury. She considers how bouffon provides a vehicle for performing #MeToo stories and channelling #MeToo rage. In this chapter she identifies female bouffon as a reflection of what is emerging from this chasm, exposing the disturbing reality of our increasingly divided world through a performance of #MeToo marginalization. Yuh J. Hwang discusses the critically and popularly acclaimed South Korean musical The Red Book (2017) as a direct response to the #MeToo movement and considers the possibility of the birth of a new Korean example of womanhood in relation to gender construction. The Red Book has been a huge hit since its 2017 premiere (prior to the start of the #MeToo movement in South Korea), because of the way in which the normative value of sexuality and patriarchal order are challenged and destabilized through the representation of the primary female character. The Red Book was remounted over two months in 2018 amid the ongoing reckoning of the #MeToo movement, particularly in the theatre field. Finally, I have included an appendix comprised of an overview of the #MeToo movement as it occurred and continues to evolve in selected countries that are geographically distant and culturally distinct. This primer, researched and prepared by editorial assistant Elise A. LaCroix in 2018–​19, is meant to provide context for the 12

Introduction

material presented in this book. It does not set out to present an all-​encompassing study of the #MeToo movement, but rather offers highlights from a delineated era. Performing #MeToo: How Not to Look Away does not attempt to deliver a comprehensive examination of how #MeToo is performed. What it does aim at presenting is a set of perspectives on the events identified as representative of the movement, through a lens or lenses that are multinational, as well as work and analysis from a variety of time periods, written in a diversity of styles. By providing this means of engaging with examples of the many interpretations of and responses to the #MeToo movement, and by identifying these responses (and those of audiences) as provocations, of examples of how not to look away, the collected chapters are intended to invite reflection, discussion and, hopefully, incite action.

NOTES 1. Alyssa Milano (@Alyssa_​Milano), “If You’ve Been Sexually Harassed or Assaulted Write ‘Me Too’ As a Reply to This Tweet,” Twitter, October 15, 2017. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​alyssa_​milano/​status/​919659438700670976?lang=en, accessed May 27, 2019. 2. The original Me Too movement began a decade earlier, in 2006, when African American activist Tarana Burke adopted the phrase as part of her campaign to raise awareness of sexual violence against women. 3. Abby Ohlheiser, “The Woman behind ‘Me Too’ Knew the Power of the Phrase When She Created It—​10 Years Ago,” Washington Post, October 19, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.washingtonpost.com/​news/​the-​intersect/​wp/​2017/​10/​19/​the-​woman-​ behind-​me-​too-​knew-​the-​power-​of-​the-​phrase-​when-​she-​created-​it-​10-​years-​ago/​?utm_​ term=.f4035fb512ef, accessed May 27, 2019. 4. Out of respect for victims of violent sexual assault, I must contextualize this assertion by explaining that my own #MeToo experiences have been non-​violent and the result of expressions of systemic misogynist attitudes and/​or instances of sexualized behaviour toward me that have ranged from inappropriate, to invasive, to aggressive and threatening. 5. For examples, see Judith Rudakoff, “Transcultural Dramaturgy Methods,” in The Routledge Companion to Dramaturgy, ed. Magda Romanska (Abingdon: Routledge, 2015), 151–​57; “Forging New Dramaturgy Tools: Lomogram Image Cards,” Theatre Topics 24, no. 3 (September 2014): 261–​67; “The Four Elements: New Models for a Subversive Dramaturgy,” Theatre Topics 13, no. 1 (March 2003): 143–​52. 6. For detailed documentation of the process involved, and for samples of the creative work generated, see Judith Rudakoff, Dramaturging Personal Narratives: Who Am I and Where Is Here? (Bristol: Intellect, 2015). 7. Ibid.

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8. This presentation was created as part of a theatre-​making workshop I facilitated at the Royal Central School for Speech and Drama, London, England, in October 2002. Nichola Sawyer, the theatre-​maker, has given me permission to relate her story and document her presentation in this book. 9. Nichola Sawyer, e-​mail message to Judith Rudakoff, May 5, 2019. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid. 14. See www.yorku.ca/​gardens, and for detailed information on the process applied to create the various component projects included in this work, see Rudakoff, Dramaturging Personal Narratives. 15. For detailed documentation of the process involved, see Rudakoff, Dramaturging Personal Narratives. 16. See www.yorku.ca/g​ ardens. This forum is now defunct, as the host server ceased operations. There is no active link available and no repository online of the almost six hundred pages of posts on a variety of discussion topics related to exploration of home and identity. 17. Mercedes Bravo has given me permission to relate her story and publish excerpts from her writing. 18. For detailed information on the process applied to create this work, see Rudakoff, Dramaturging Personal Narratives, 287–​94. 19. Ibid., 285–​96. Also see https://​www.yorku.ca/​gardens/​html/​, Roots/​Routes Journeys to Home, “Mercedes Bravo,” Day One, accessed May 21, 2019. 20. “Mercedes Bravo,” e-​mail message to Judith Rudakoff, April 20, 2019. 21. Some Ashley cycles are disseminated virtually. For detailed information on the process applied to create this work and sample creative outcomes, see Rudakoff, Dramaturging Personal Narratives, 167–​206; and https://​www.yorku.ca/​gardens/​html/​, accessed May 21, 2019. 22. To view the virtual Ashley cycles, go to www.yorku.ca/g​ ardens, click on “The Ashley Plays” then select the cycle you want to view. 23. For detailed information on the process applied to create this work, see Rudakoff, Dramaturging Personal Narratives. 24. Amanda Custodio-​Vicente has given me permission to relate her story and publish excerpts from her writing. 25. Amanda Custodio-​Vicente, The Ashley Plays (unpublished play script, October 23, 2016), n.p. 26. Ibid. 27. Amanda Custodio-​Vicente, e-​mail message to Judith Rudakoff, April 23, 2019. 28. The descriptions of chapter content are drawn from contributors’ abstracts and essays, sometimes paraphrasing and sometimes directly quoting. 29. Shana MacDonald, abstract proposal.

14

1 “Vital Acts of Transfer”: #MeToo and the Performance of Embodied Knowledge Shana MacDonald

We are learning that the more we open our mouths, the more we become a choir. And the more we are a choir, the more the tune is forced to change. ​Amber Tamblyn, “I’m Done With Not Being Believed”1

Women’s contemporary social media practices inform their intimate spaces and online identity performances in new and significant ways; the interplay between these sites suggests that meaning in this digital era is created through both embodied and technologically mediated gestures. For instance, the #MeToo campaign gives voice online to different lived experiences of rape culture, a term defined here as the normalization of “male aggression and violence toward women” as both “acceptable and often inevitable.”2 There are endless ways that we may trace the affects and meanings of the #MeToo movement. It both holds a long-​standing history through the originating work of activist Tarana Burke3 and denotes a more recent cultural zeitgeist that is very much still in process. As these temporalities imply, any analysis offered at this point is necessarily provisional. Acknowledging the contingencies of the shifting moment, this chapter centres on the embodied actions contained within #MeToo. These embodied performances function as what Diana Taylor terms “vital acts of transfer,”4 insofar as they “transmit cultural memory and identity […] through a non-​archival system of transfer.”5

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Performing #MeToo

In The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas, Taylor reads performance broadly as actions that “are rehearsed and performed daily in the public sphere,” including “[c]‌ivic obedience, resistance, citizenship, gender, ethnicity, and sexual identity.”6 She argues that if we do not value the kinds of knowledge transferred through performance, “only the literate and powerful could claim social memory and identity.”7 This understanding of performance and its embodied forms of knowledge provide the basis for the tension Taylor reads between the official archives of events and histories and the repertoires, or lived experiences, which the archive cannot capture. Reading the #MeToo movement through the frame of feminist performance theory offers a way to think about the embodied, affective performances and relational aspects of the phenomenon. Studying #MeToo as a performance recognizes the value it offers as an iterative form of communication that moves across digital and lived experience as well as different media platforms. For “[e]‌very click, share, like, and post creates a connection, initiates a relation. The network dynamically grows, evolves, becomes. […] The social in social media is not a fact but a doing.”8 The words and gestures associated with sharing, liking, and posting through the MeToo hashtag are performative in the sense that, as Tania Bucher argues, they do something. The articulation and circulation of a statement like “me too” performatively asserts a collective recognition that the patriarchal abuses of rape culture exist widely at the level of everyday experience. Moreover, performative iterations of “me too” suggest that the normalization and indifference previously associated with sexual assault will not be tolerated in the same ways as they once were within public discourse. One way to expand the conversation around feminist hashtag practices is to consider what forms of networks are mobilized by the valuable forms of embodied knowledge feminist hashtags transfer. If “[p]‌erformances function as vital acts of transfer, transmitting social knowledge, memory, and a sense of identity through reiterated gestures,”9 what vital acts, knowledges, and memories do hashtag practices embody and enable? Reading the #MeToo movement as a performance, or an ongoing event directed toward a participating audience, recognizes it as a series of collective resistant gestures deeply tied to our personal performances of civic (dis) obedience and identity. The act of posting on social media marks a moment where our felt intentions compel us to name and share our lived memories, desires, and experiences within a public forum. In this way, #MeToo is an example of “feminist responses to rape culture [that] are organized as much by affective solidarities as they are by technological networks of online distribution.”10 As such, feminist hashtag practices are situated between the poles of the textual and the embodied. Recognizing the relation between these poles creates space for fuller understandings of #MeToo than those presently expressed in dominant media which largely 16

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characterize the movement as a witch-​hunt, or reframe it as a dangerous polemic that disservices men and women alike.11 To ground these questions, I examine two recent moments where repertoires of #MeToo are framed through explicit negotiations between celebrity and intersectional feminist rhetorics. The first moment is the initial erasure of Tarana Burke as originator of the MeToo movement within the celebrity-​oriented virality of the MeToo hashtag in the autumn of 2017. When Alyssa Milano tweeted on October 15, 2017, to ask women who have experienced sexual harassment or assault to change their status to “Me too,” she garnered half a million tweets12 and twelve million Facebook posts13 in response within the first twenty-​four hours alone, notably failing to credit the central statement “me too” to the groundbreaking efforts of Burke years prior. As Burke herself recalls, that day she “thought her world was falling apart” as she feared she would “be erased from a thing that [she] worked so hard to build.”14 Milano and several news outlets sought to quickly correct this, and Burke has been importantly recentred within conversations of the movement. However, Burke’s initial erasure at the start of the hashtag’s viral circulation arguably impacts how the broader public understands the movement as one that is tied to celebrity feminism rather than the long-​term grassroots activist practices of Burke. This initial erasure raises important questions about the limits and occlusions of #MeToo. The second moment is the launch of the Time’s Up movement and its prominence at the 2018 Golden Globe Awards. On January 1, 2018, Time’s Up decried workplace sexual harassment in Hollywood and beyond through an open letter in the New York Times and an associated social media campaign using #TimesUp alongside #MeToo. Backed initially by three hundred high-​profile women celebrities, the campaign created a fund for women seeking legal recourse against harassment and pushed for gender parity in Hollywood boardrooms by 2020. The campaign also requested that Golden Globes attendees wear black to “signal their support for those who have experienced sexual misconduct.”15 This gesture of resistance and solidarity flipped the script on the long-​standing misogyny of Hollywood award shows by making a pointed statement to the entertainment industry in response to emerging reports of producer Harvey Weinstein’s decades of predatory abuses of power that began during the autumn of 2017. These two moments exist within the rise of an emergent feminism that marks “a sudden reappearance of feminist concerns” within the areas of celebrity culture, digital spaces and practices, and activist campaigns.16 Both examples offer insights into how different feminist communities, and in particular, activist and celebrity feminisms, can come together specifically within online spaces, and where they still exist quite apart from one another. Celebrity feminism is a particularly important area of analysis as it is presently the site of complex negotiations between neoliberal postfemininity and intersectional feminist politics.17 Celebrity feminism’s 17

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more recent public feminist declarations push against retrograde postfeminist ideologies that rose to prominence in the early 2000s. These ideologies, characterized as postfeminist for the ways they eschewed second-​wave feminist concerns with structural inequality, favour instead capitalist notions of empowerment tied to consumerist practices and self-​branding. Postfeminism, as a gendered effect of neoliberalism, situates individuals “as entrepreneurial actors in every sphere of life.”18 Feminist media scholars have successfully mapped postfeminism across a variety of media spaces from television and film, to the blogosphere and the world of “lady porn” found on Pinterest and other lifestyle media outlets.19 A great deal of postfeminist ideals are enacted not only by popular cultural texts but also in the paratextual lives of celebrities through their personal Instagram accounts, publicity tours, and awards show appearances. As celebrity feminism is always performed on a public stage, it is a loaded space where cultural desires and anxieties are acted out for a consuming public, curious and ready to work out their own complex relationships to identity and the social through the avatars of those in the spotlight. In this way celebrity feminism is a key site of both “postfeminist sensibilities, but also diverse feminist politics that can both align with and challenge postfeminist sensibilities.”20 The ways in which celebrities mobilized against the decades-​long abuse by Weinstein with the public sharing of personal testimonies, explicit critiques of the industry, and direct actions to build feminist community through #MeToo and #TimesUp offer a notable counterpoint to over a century of Hollywood’s positioning of women as sexualized and inferior subjects. Celebrity feminism’s relationship to #MeToo reflects the performance and performative nature of the movement. In taking on these examples of highly public performances, I situate each moment as “scenes” or “scenarios” in the unfolding and continuous narrative of the #MeToo movement. In doing so, I examine the repertoire performed alongside the official archive, considering the gestures, contexts, and sites from which the discourse of each moment unfolds in order to tease out more clearly both frictions and erasures.21

Reclaiming the Repertoire of #MeToo One striking aspect of the #MeToo movement is its ability to garner concerted public attention as a way of advancing various forms of action from a wide range of people, media, industries, and institutions. The movement’s “cultural resonance and reach is unparalleled” in its ability to name and confront issues of rape culture and sexual harassment “in ways previously unimaginable.”22 As a report from the Women’s Media Center states, since late October 2017 media coverage 18

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of sexual assault has risen 30 percent in US newspapers. This increase in media attention has resulted in larger public conversations about both sexual harassment and gender equity more broadly and in an increasing presence of women journalists writing these stories.23 What these changes in media function and process have done is explicitly make space to expand on who can write and what topics can be seriously taken up–​–​and, more specifically, how the “who” (women) and the “what” (writing on sexual assault) are taken up together as legitimate within dominant stories that are broadcasted and published to the public, as opposed to whispered on the margins. Moreover, women writing about women’s issues encourages the gathering together of women to discuss and participate in the conversation. In this way, feminist hashtag resistance encourages digital forms of public assembly, which leads to a performative assertion of the right for marginalized experiences of sexual harassment and assault to be made visible and, consequently, supported.24 #MeToo is not the only site of feminist social media practice to confront rape culture and systemic sexism more broadly. As early as 2014, Tanya Horeck observed that “social media […] has opened up important opportunities for feminists to talk back to cultural depictions of rape and to interrogate rape culture” that include “an immediacy of response that has shifted the political terrain considerably, raising new questions about our personal and affective relationship to representations of sexualized violence.”25 Stefania Marghitu further argues that what is significant about the “post-​Weinstein” moment is how it has “allowed for the victims of abuse to be heard and believed and to gain a sense of justice.”26 Horeck’s and Marghitu’s comments suggest that within feminist hashtag movements there exist forms of affect tied to technological immediacy, the search for a community of listeners, and the desire for support and justice in the daunting face of rape culture. These emotions are felt within the context of daily practices and they also resonate through them. Thinking through hashtag movements as a repertoire recognizes how they fit as part of a larger set of social media practices used as a “key platform of communicative response-​ability for anti-​rape activists and feminist critics,” which merge together in acts of “testimonial, advice giving, and cultures of support.”27 These acts of testimony, advice giving, and the production of supportive cultures are all made manifest by feminists grounded in their embodied, located, personal experiences; the personal is indeed political in these forms of activism. What we must continue to question is how these acts of testimony, advice, and support have continued to privilege some voices over others, and what kinds of erasures they may (perhaps unwittingly) participate in. As the editors of a recent issue of Feminist Media Histories have argued there is a continued and pressing need for genealogies of hashtag feminist activism in order to ensure that the public privileging of particular celebrity figures such as Alyssa 19

Performing #MeToo

Milano in the #MeToo movement do not overshadow the original and continued efforts of activist Tarana Burke.28 Within this context, the notion of the archive and the repertoire offers a significant frame for considering the #MeToo era. Feminist hashtag movements contain important archives of collected data but they also leave much out. The necessary corrective offered by intersectional feminists to the ways in which #MeToo became tied to celebrity feminist visibility in its early days of (re)emergence is instructive here. Bringing into popular discourse Burke’s original use of the phrase and the hashtag over and above Milano’s reflects a frame that is mindful of the locations, actions, and milieu that privileged one version of the movement’s history over another.29 This is precisely what an emphasis on the repertoire over the archive allows for: if Milano’s tweet and the documented viral social media practices that followed it make up the official archive of the 2017 movement, Burke’s original use and intentions behind the phrase “me too” index a repertoire of lived experience and embodied knowledge as its central operating principle. In “The Fragility of Safety: Beyond the Promise of #MeToo,” Lisa Factora-​ Borchers outlines the personal histories and embodied affective realities that led Burke to bring forth the phrase “me too” as a model for sexual assault activism. The article quotes Burke recounting her experience of being unable to help a young woman named Heaven during a moment of her disclosure of sexual assault. Burke notes she “passed Heaven off to someone else because she wasn’t capable to be fully present to Heaven’s needs.”30 The experience stayed with Burke for a long while; she was “regretful because she was unable to say the words ‘me too.’ ”31 The lasting affective resonances of this encounter with Heaven “helped Burke realize that sexual abuse in all its forms was far too large for one person to carry,”32 and this memory informed her revolutionary work at the start of the MeToo movement in 2006.33 The larger intentions of the MeToo movement (which are subsequently also found in the hashtag campaign) are tied to many individual personal histories–​–​all distinct and separately lived. Within each is the act of transferring lived histories into a synchronously merged collective chorus. In agreeing to (and having the freedom and safety to be able to) identify with a collective telling of shared experiences of sexual harassment and assault asserts that as an act of resistance this work is collective and does not need to be (nor will it be) done alone. Crucially, the sharing of localized experiences through mass media technologies builds previous feminist repertoires that assert anti-​rape culture messages with the reach and the volume they now need in order to be heard by a society so intent on avoidance, deflection, and erasure. The repertoire points to what exists beyond the texts themselves, shifting focus to the things surrounding it, including contexts, spaces, bodies, and gestures. Reading hashtag feminist practices like those found in the #MeToo movement 20

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through the frame of the repertoire helps us to see how there are always “multiple systems at work” in acts of transfer and also “forces us to situate ourselves in relationship to it,” fostering an awareness that “as participants, spectators, or witnesses, we need to ‘be there,’ part of the act of transfer.”34 Being there recognizes our actions as ways of transmitting social knowledges that situate bodies and emotions as vital to the production of new knowledge. This example offers a brief foray into how we might think about the embodied knowledges that circulate through our hashtagging actions and the value and meaning embedded within these knowledges. This frame allows us to consider investments, lived outcomes, and consequences of major media phenomenon to better understand our roles as producers, consumers, witnesses, and participants in ways that make the ethics and politics of these movements central to our analytic accounts of them. This centring of affect, embodied practices, and relational obligations to one another is one means through which we can respond to the continued call to transform these hashtag gestures into lasting actions. Ideally, this form of (re)centring shifts the frames and conditions upon which we direct what is taken up and what still needs to be addressed in the wake of a mass social and political movement.

Rescripting the Repertoire: Time’s Up and the Golden Globes Red Carpet Blackout Thinking more broadly of the #MeToo movement as a cultural performance, its strength is found in how it intervenes into the scripted requirements of patriarchal structures of rape culture. For Taylor, performance is a term that signals “a process, a praxis, an episteme, a mode of transmission, an accomplishment, and a means of intervening in the world,” all at the same time.35 As a performance praxis, the circulation of #MeToo provides the broader public with words, ideas, and most importantly the permission to engage in discussions around rape culture, sexual harassment, assault, and consent culture. It is an intervention that both offers the epistemic framework and the conditions for transmission and translation of lived experience into critical discourse. Its virality and reach are tied to the publicness of its iteration and circulation. Beyond the hashtag itself, the movement has inspired many other performances on the public stage, including widespread protests, media coverage, op-​eds, debates, and actions at entertainment industry award shows like the 2018 Golden Globes. Performances of feminist resistance during award shows are not entirely new. The past decade has seen significant assertions of feminist politics, including Lady Gaga appearing as her alter ego Jo Calderone at the 2011 VMAs (Video Music Awards), Tina Fey and Amy Poehler hosting the Golden Globes in 2015, and 21

Performing #MeToo

Beyoncé’s 2014 VMA closing performance where she sampled Chimimanda Ngozi Adiche’s “We Should All Be Feminists” while the word “FEMINIST” was boldly emblazoned behind her. Beyoncé’s performance marks an important precursor to the 2018 Golden Globes as it signalled greater public acceptance of celebrity feminism and opened a space for political articulations not previously accepted within popular discourse. In a post-​Weinstein era, Time’s Up provides an early marker of Hollywood’s developing relationship with activist politics as seen most clearly in both celebrity women’s performances of solidarity on the red carpet and the feminist political speech acts on the award stage. These performances articulated a productive feminist critique of the unequal gendered dynamics within Hollywood and pointed to promising future possibilities, while also raising questions around the success of their collective commitment to intersectionality. Here gestures of refusal tied to the red carpet blackout and the accompanying activist statements online and on-​stage foregrounded particular lived knowledges and realities as points of refusal circulated through technological channels that are more often used to reify the status quo. The concept of the repertoire is useful here as it prompts an analytic shift away from “texts and narratives” and toward “scenarios” or situations that index locations, actions, milieux, gestures, and tensions of the social actors within them.36 Reading the tactics of resistance within Time’s Up and the Golden Globes staging of its core principles as a repertoire moves the focus beyond the award show’s function as one official archive of Hollywood’s governing structures. Examining the event alongside the corresponding social media movement as a scene we may ask how the performances within this scene offer “conscious strategies of display” while also indexing the “occlusions” found within more official discourses.37 The red carpet “blackout” was a performance as well as a performative act of resistance that forced a pointed conversation between women celebrities and journalists. Building on the campaign in previous years to #AskHerMore,38 journalists were compelled to ask women celebrities about the blackout and their hopes for the Time’s Up campaign. This was a marked change from the usual focus on their outfits to questions of feminist politics. It also offered a visual refusal against the industry’s open objectification of women. Taking away the standard adornment and parading of their bodies is symbolically significant. Actress Eva Longoria argued, “For years we’ve sold these awards shows […] with our gowns […] and our glamour. This time the industry can’t expect us to go up and twirl around. That is not what this moment is about.”39 Meryl Streep described the red carpet as a “thick black line” demarcating a move away from a sexist past toward a more equitable future.40 In direct support of this, several celebrities brought prominent feminist activists, including Burke, Rosa Clemente, Saru Jayaraman, Billie Jean King, Marai Larasi, Calina Lawrence, Ai-​jen Poo, and Monica Ramirez, as dates.41 22

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This gave these activists, many of whom are directors of valuable international feminist organizations, air time and visibility. Together they jointly released a statement asking for a shift in focus away from perpetrators and toward the “systematic nature of violence including the importance of race, ethnicity and economic status in sexual violence and other forms of violence against women.”42 Further, they note that attending the Golden Globes was a gesture intending to “shift the focus back to survivors and on systemic, lasting solutions.”43 This beginning articulation of an intersectional feminist politics both acknowledged celebrity privilege and sought a dialogue with it while mobilizing it as a platform for feminist activist mandates on a global stage. Visually, however, it also showed the glaring disparity between the white actresses and the activists accompanying them, all of whom were women of colour. In this way the gesture for some undermined or tokenized the representational politics it ultimately expressed. I would suggest that one productive outcome of this is how it extended an important intersectional critique of the gesture that points to how much more needs to be done to create equity in this arena. Within the awards ceremony itself there was a marked contrast from previous shows around what the event prioritized throughout the evening. In the traditional award show script, the night’s focus was on the best actor and supporting actor categories as well as those of best script, director, and film (which are overwhelmingly full of male nominees). These were not the moments of focus in 2018. Instead, impassioned acceptance speeches by women (including Oprah Winfrey’s resounding battle cry as the first black woman to receive the Cecil B. DeMille lifetime achievement award) garnered all the attention and carried on the feminist conversation that began on the red carpet. This was complemented by women presenters taking the opportunity when announcing an all-​male nomination category to point out gendered inequalities within voting practices, including Natalie Portman when announcing best director and Barbara Streisand’s similar critique when announcing the best dramatic film category. Women’s acceptance speeches became a main attraction of the evening as public audiences were curious to see how celebrities would make use of the stage in the wake of #MeToo. Conscious of this expectation, many women celebrities referenced the movement and signalled support for each other while in the audience and during their speeches, enacting what I see as a contemporary and vital form of fearless speech. Fearless speech, or parrhesia, according to Michel Foucault, is a specific form of speech that operates outside of and against institutional discourse. It is a personal, embodied, and performative speech, wherein the speaker reveals to others the truth of their lived experiences for the purpose of advancing a structural criticism of some sort. It is spurred by a sense of freedom and duty.44 As Foucault notes, “The speaker uses his [sic] freedom and chooses frankness instead of persuasion, 23

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truth instead of falsehood or silence” which places their own security at risk.45 Like the intentions behind the use of #MeToo, many women’s performances on and off the stage included public declarations of personal truths, truths that abusers intended to remain private, for the sake of speaking out again the institutional discourse not only of Hollywood as one structure, but of larger institutional sexism and rape culture. For instance, Laura Dern’s acceptance speech criticized practices of silencing within Hollywood, urging survivors and bystanders to no longer be silent, but instead push toward “telling their truth,” laying this ethos out as “our culture’s new North Star,”46 rather than adhere to past institutionally expected modes of logos in order to more seamlessly navigate Hollywood. Many acceptance speeches by women shared these related gestures of calling out past abuses, standing with survivors, and gesturing toward a better future. Oprah’s stand-​alone speech embodied many of the tenets of Foucault’s fearless speech, beginning with locating her positionality in her own lived experiences as a young black girl in America in her opening remarks. She named the corruption around workplace harassment in Hollywood and all industries, drew lines of solidarity between women across difference, and offered the world stage an account of Recy Taylor’s47 brutal assault and fight for justice. She did all this to assert that the abuses of powerful men are no longer acceptable and that their time is up. Her counterpoint to calling out various forms of misogyny was to gesture toward the tools we do have and highlight our shared promise of a different future. She noted that “speaking your truth is the most powerful tool we all have” and brought the audience to their feet by declaring that a “new day is on the horizon!”48 Oprah and other women award winners pointedly and fearlessly performed their feminist politics as an embodied action, articulating in clear and certain terms what was previously whispered or altogether silenced out of fear of speaking against the institution that had, supposedly, “made them.” There was affect and passion entwined within their words, which indexed embodied experiences normally erased, minimized, or distorted in public discourse. Their spoken record of lived truths and affective experiences put a cog in the wheel of how the history of Hollywood is written—​a history which up to this point has been largely supported by, and in turn supportive of, rape culture discourse. It is necessary to name these instances of erasure to place them in language to make them discursively material, to edge the metaphor with embodied experience, to articulate lived experiences. At their best, these were examples of fearless speech as feminist acts of resistance, performances which explicated what has been largely erased in the public archives of sexual assault, undoing the tendency toward victim-​blaming via acts of specificity and naming. In doing so, they worked toward an indictment of the systemic forms of abuse called for by activists in the audience and elsewhere. While we cannot discount that all of this unfolded in a space of Hollywood’s own 24

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glamorous self-​promotion, it did provide a platform for women with a great deal of privilege and a large viewing audience to push against official discourse, and in doing so created new texts and scripts for others to take up when the awards show was over.

Conclusion: Utopic Gestures In situating #MeToo as an embodied performance of feminist resistance, I have sought to trace some of the iterative gestures of the movement and consider the type of collective affect it allows for. In tracing the vital acts of transfer found in the performances and performative gestures of the hashtag movement, a picture of what is promoted, lost, refused in the translation of lived experiences of systemic, gendered abuses of power emerges. I have outlined forms of feminism that are now visible on the world stage and how they are dialoguing with each other through the movement. The examples of how celebrity feminism has taken up the #MeToo movement shows both points of promise in engaging with intersectional feminist critiques of systemic sexism and occlusions that require greater attention. Ideally, the spaces where celebrity feminist resistance fails can open the way for even greater dialogue on what is needed from feminists and allies in all spaces. With this sentiment in mind, I want to conclude by suggesting we can read the acts associated with #MeToo as utopic performatives, or social actions that “gesture toward” a better world.49 In this capacity, the utterances of “me too” and their different iterations in public cultural performances hold the potential to inspire necessary transformations within public dialogue. Jill Dolan argues that theatre and performance “offer a place to scrutinize public meanings, but also to embody, and even if through fantasy, enacts the affective possibilities of ‘doings’ that gesture toward a much better world.”50 Like the gestus these are “actions in performance that crystalize social relations and offer them to spectators for contemplation.”51 While Dolan is speaking exclusively of live theatre performances, I would suggest that this definition be extended to other kinds of public performances such as social media practices and awards shows. In both examples given earlier, there are performative acts of communication that crystalize social relations and offer new possible futures (of refusal) for audiences to contemplate. Key to this is that the gestures are felt and lived by both the performer recollecting their lived experiences and affective positions and the audience receiving them. This thus evokes audiences as a “temporary community” and a “site of public discourse” that “can model new investments in and interactions with variously constituted public spaces.”52 In doing so, utopian performatives work against official histories and draw on different repertoires of expression and listening. 25

Performing #MeToo

Since dominant culture has not openly permitted women’s experiences of assault and harassment to be recorded in a court of law or media accounts in good faith, feminists have sought alternative means of speaking them into language through personal disclosures shared among supportive networks. These create necessary communities for public discourse that in all their iterations are gesturing toward a more equitable public good. The larger intentions of the MeToo movement and hashtag campaign are tied to many individual personal histories—​all distinct and separately lived. Within each is the act of transferring lived histories, synchronously merging into a collective chorus. In agreeing to (and having the privilege to be able to) identify with a collective telling of shared experiences of sexual harassment and assault claims discursively that this work of resistance will not be done alone. Crucially, the sharing of localized experiences through mass media technologies builds previous feminist performance repertoires to assert anti-​rape culture messages with the reach and the volume they now need in order to be heard by a society so intent on avoidance, deflection, and erasure.

NOTES 1. Amber Tamblyn, “I’m Done with Not Being Believed,” New York Times, September 16, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.nytimes.com/​2017/​09/​16/​opinion/​sunday/​ amber-​tamblyn-​james-​woods.html, accessed January 30, 2019. 2. Roxanne Gay, Bad Feminist (New York: Harper, 2014), 129. 3. For information on Tarana Burke’s originating work, see Sandra E. Garcia, “The Woman Who Created #MeToo Long before Hashtags,” New York Times, October 20, 2017. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.nytimes.com/2 ​ 017/1 ​ 0/2 ​ 0/u ​ s/m ​ e-t​ oo-m ​ ovement-t​ arana-​ burke.html, accessed June 15, 2018. 4. Diana Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), 2. Ibid., xvi–​xvii. Ibid., 3. Ibid., xvii. Tania Bucher, “Networking, or What the Social Means in Social Media,” Social Media + Society 1–​2 (April–​June 2015): 1; original emphasis. 9. Taylor, Archive and Repertoire,  2–​3. 10. Carrie A. Rentschler, “Rape Culture and the Feminist Politics of Social Media,” Girlhood Studies 7, no. 1 (2014): 78. 11. See, for example: Daphne Merkin, “Publicly, We Say #MeToo. Privately, We Have Misgivings,” New York Times, January 5, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.nytimes. com/​2018/​01/​05/​opinion/​golden-​globes-​metoo.html?module=inline, accessed December 29, 2019; Cathy Young, “Is ‘Weinsteining’ Getting Out of Hand?” LA Times, November 5. 6. 7. 8.

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1, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.latimes.com/​opinion/​op-​ed/​la-​oe-​young-​ weinsteining-​goes-​too-​far-​20171101-​story.html, accessed June 20, 2018. 12. J. R. Thorpe, “This Is How Many People Have Posted ‘MeToo’ since October, According to New Data,” Bustle, December 1, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.bustle. com/​p/​this-​is-h ​ ow-m ​ any-p ​ eople-h ​ ave-p ​ osted-m ​ e-t​ oo-s​ ince-o ​ ctober-a​ ccording-t​ o-n ​ ew-d ​ ata- ​ 6753697, accessed December 29, 2018. 13. Andrea Park, “#MeToo Reaches 85 Countries with 1.7 Million Tweets,” CBS News, October 24, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.cbsnews.com/​news/​metoo-​ reaches-​85-​countries-​with-​1-​7-​million-​tweets/​, accessed December 29, 2018. 14. Marie Solis, “Tarana Burke Remembers One Year since #MeToo Went Viral,” Broadly, October 15, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​broadly.vice.com/​en_​us/​article/​ xw9p8w/​tarana-​burke-​me-​too-​anniversary-​alyssa-​milano, accessed December 29, 2018. 15. Valeriya Safronova, “Time’s Up Pins Are the Political Accessory at the Golden Globes,” New York Times, January 7, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.nytimes.com/​ 2018/​01/​07/​fashion/​times-​up-​pins-​golden-​globes-​2018.html, accessed April 3, 2018. 16. Jessalynn Keller and Maureen E. Ryan, eds., Emergent Feminisms: Complicating a Postfeminist Media Culture (New York: Routledge, 2018), 1–​2. 17. Ibid.,  6–​10. 18. Samantha Lindop, Postfeminism and the Fatale Figure in Neo-​Noir Cinema (New York: Palgrave, 2015), 14. 19. See, for example: Rosalind Gill, “Postfeminist Media Culture: Elements of a Sensibility,” European Journal of Cultural Studies 10, no. 2 (2007): 147–​66; Angela McRobbie, Be Creative: Making a Living in the New Culture Industries (New York: Polity, 2016); Elana Levine, ed., Cupcakes, Pinterest, and Ladyporn: Feminized Popular Culture in the Early Twenty-​First Century (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2015). 20. Keller and Ryan, Emergent Feminisms, 4. 21. Taylor, Archive and Repertoire,  28–​29. 22. Shelly Cobb and Tanya Horeck, “Post Weinstein: Gendered Power and Harassment in the Media Industries,” Feminist Media Studies 18, no. 3 (2018): 489–​91. 23. Eliza Ennis and Lauren Wolfe, “#MeToo: The Women’s Media Center Report,” Women’s Media Center, October 2018. To view full report, go to http://​www.womensmediacenter. com/​assets/​site/​reports/​media-​and-​metoo-​how-​a-​movement-​affected-​press-​coverage-​ of-​sexual-​assault/​Media_​and_​MeToo_​Womens_​Media_​Center_​report.pdf, accessed December 19, 2018. 24. Judith Butler, Notes Toward a Performative Theory of Assembly (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2015), 2. 25. Tanya Horeck, “#AskThicke: ‘Blurred Lines,’ Rape Culture, and the Feminist Hashtag Takeover,” Feminist Media Studies 14, no. 6 (November 2014): 1106. 26. Stefania Marghitu, “ ‘It’s just art’: Auteur Apologism in the Post-​Weinstein Era,” Feminist Media Studies 18, no. 3 (2018): 491. 27. Rentschler, “Rape Culture,” 67–​68.

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28. Miranda Banks et al., “Editor’s Introduction: Genealogies of Feminist Media Studies,” Feminist Media Histories 4, no. 2 (2018): 8. 29. Garcia, “The Woman Who Created #MeToo.” 30. Burke quoted in Lisa Factora-​Borchers, “The Fragility of Safety: Beyond the Promise of #MeToo,” Bitch Magazine, December 28, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www. bitchmedia.org/​article/​fragility-​safety/​beyond-​promise-​metoo, accessed January 7, 2018. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Garcia, “The Woman Who Created #MeToo.” 34. Taylor, Archive and Repertoire, 32. 35. Ibid., 15. 36. Ibid., 28–​29; original emphasis. 37. Ibid. 38. This campaign addresses sexist double standards in questions directed to women on red carpets, requesting that journalists ask women celebrities about more than what they are wearing. See Julie Zeilinger, “#AskHerMore Stood Up to Hollywood’s Treatment of Women—​Here’s What Happened,” Mic, February 22, 2015. To view full article, go to https://​mic.com/​articles/​111074/​ask-​her-​more-​brilliantly-​stands-​up-​to-​hollywood-​s-​ treatment-​of-​women-​on-​the-​red-​carpet#.ZUf9omNZc, accessed December 29, 2018. 39. Cara Buckley, “Powerful Hollywood Women Unveil Anti-​harassment Action Plan,” New York Times, January 1, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.nytimes.com/​ 2018/​01/​01/​movies/​times-​up-​hollywood-​women-​sexual-​harassment.html, accessed April 3, 2018. 40. Ibid. 41. Eliza Burman, “Meet the Activists Who Accompanied Celebrities on the Golden Globes Red Carpet,” Time, January 8, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​time.com/​5091772/​ golden-​globes-​red-​carpet-​activists/​, accessed December 29, 2018. 42. Tarana Burke et al., “Statement from Gender and Racial Justice Activists on Their Attendance at the Golden Globes Alongside Actresses,” January 7, 2018. To view full statement, go to https://​twitter.com/​womensmarch/​status/​950176759739138048, accessed March 29, 2018. 43. Ibid. 44. Michel Foucault, Fearless Speech (Los Angeles: Semiotext(e), 2001), 19. 45. Ibid., 20. 46. Laura Dern quoted in Laura Bradley, “Golden Globes 2018: See Laura Dern’s Inspiring Acceptance Speech,” Vanity Fair, January 7, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www. vanityfair.com/​hollywood/​2018/​01/​golden-​globes-​2018-​laura-​dern-​speech-​big-​little-​lies, accessed February 15, 2019. 47. Recy Taylor was abducted and raped by six white men in Alabama in 1944. Her attackers were not brought to justice even though they admitted to the crime. For more information,

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48.

49. 50. 1. 5 52.

see the documentary The Rape of Recy Taylor, directed by Nancy Buirski (Augusta Films, 2017). More information about the documentary can be found at https://​www. therapeofrecytaylor.com/, accessed May 27, 2020.​ Oprah Winfrey quoted in Yohana Desta, “Golden Globes 2018: Read Oprah’s Entire Showstopping Acceptance Speech,” Vanity Fair, January 7, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.vanityfair.com/​hollywood/​2018/​01/​golden-​globes-​2018-​oprah-​winfrey-​ cecil-​b-​demille-​acceptance-​speech, accessed February 15, 2019. Jill Dolan, Utopia in Performance: Finding Hope at the Theater (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2005), 5. Jill Dolan, “Utopian Performatives,” in The Performance Studies Reader, 3rd ed., ed. Henry Bial and Sara Brady (New York: Routledge, 2016), 240. Ibid., 241. Ibid., 243.

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2 “Bite the Bullet”: The Practice of Protest as a Coping Mechanism Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga

to my daughter I will say, “when the men come, set yourself on fire.” ​Warsan Shire, “In Love and In War”1

There has to be an alternative. There must be another way, besides fire, besides more death. “When the men come,”2 says the speaker to their daughter; when, because the men will come. This is the mortal fear which womxn pass on as a fact of living in “the female fear factory.” In Rape: A South African Nightmare, Pumla Dineo Gqola writes a chapter called “The female fear factory.”3 In it she states, “The female fear factory, which I also call the manufacture of female fear, relies on quick, effective transfer of meaning. To normalize depends on a combination of seemingly contradictory processes: frequent repetition of performance until the performance becomes invisible.”4 This is the knowledge that Warsan Shire’s poem works from: knowledge that is normalized through a history of constant repetition, and knowledge whose message can be communicated expediently. It is knowledge so ingrained in womxn’s everyday moving, walking, running, breathing that it is coded into our intergenerational inheritance. Shire does not have to write the word: rape. She can write a poem called “In Love and In War” saying just this: “to my daughter I will say, /​‘when the men come, set yourself on fire.’ ”5 And, we can know immediately, the message communicated is for the daughter to kill herself before the men reach her; and to do so by such means as 30

“Bite the Bullet”

fire in allusion to the pain of burning to death as preferable to the enduring pain of living with rape. “#MeToo,” said a painful number of tweets and Facebook posts on October 15, 2017. It was the eve of my thirtieth birthday. It was a day before the anniversary of having been raped by my boyfriend fifteen years ago. He had given me a box of chocolates and a necklace and had raped me on my fifteenth birthday. It was a day I had struggled to celebrate since. But, on October 15, 2017, Alyssa Milano tweeted, “If you’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted write ‘me too’ as a reply to this tweet.”6 It was a phrase born from activist Tarana Burke’s work, for over a decade, prior to the popularization of the hashtag on Twitter.7 It was a phrase that would reach me in South Africa; a new activist in anti-​rape work and someone whose birthday had become the anniversary of one of her rapes. “MeToo,” I wrote on Facebook, and began to think of how rape reaches us in our everyday lives and the ways we protest.

The Economy of the Female Fear Factory “All’s fair in love and war,” where the rules that govern what is just can be disregarded. In “In Love and In War,” the speaker says to their daughter, “when the men come, set yourself on fire.” It is advice for the horrors of wartime as much as for the banality of dating. The sexual preference of the daughter is not stated. She could suffer this implied fate-​worse-​than-​death no matter her place on the queer spectrum. It is because she is a daughter that in love and in war, she is advised to burn herself at the approach of men. Men. Not soldiers, who could be any gender, but, men. Men, as you may recognize moving, walking, running, breathing beside you in your everyday life. How horrendous it is that this poem—​in a single sentence—​can send this warning like a telegram. In a brief message of fourteen words, it communicates with an electric economy. It can do so because we live in a female fear factory. In a world where rape is normalized, the work rape does in the manufacture of female fear is economical and invisible. It does not even have to be named to be feared. This is part of the power of this poem. And yet, in protest, where my work lies, not naming it does not stop its occurrence. So, how do we stop the machinery of this fatalistic existence that robs us of our freedom? How do we find alternatives to a life of terror; beyond being able to choose death at our own hands instead of being raped? How do we create an existence where a womxn’s options are more than death or coping? These questions, and more, have been the ground of my work as an artist, activist, and academic 31

Performing #MeToo

working to engage the multidimensionality of anti-​rape work. This has been guided by attempts at learning how rape works. I use the word “work” because I have been investigating the work that rape does in the body. Starting with my body.

SA’s Dirty Laundry In 2016, I co-​created a campaign called SA’s Dirty Laundry. My partner Jenny Nijenhuis, a visual artist to my performing artist, hung 3,600 pieces of underwear on a washing line based on a rape statistic—​the issues around which we reflected on in an article.8 Nijenhuis and I had met in 2015, when I was writing an article on her work. Based on our conversations, we had come to share that both she and I had suffered rape. We discussed our inability to connect to others as a result of rape and decided to tackle this disconnectedness as we saw it to be a national crisis. We began the campaign SA’s Dirty Laundry by collecting underwear from survivors and supporters of survivors of rape across the country. Through the media some underwear was donated internationally. We hoped to create a line of connection by counting ourselves in the statistics, not as mere numbers but as being part of too many rape stories. This chapter is an attempt at trying to gain some critical and conceptual foothold in the ongoing fight against rape. It is situated within a South African context, as I work from the understanding of specificity as key to the disruption of oppression. It is intersectional in the specifics of thinking from my subjective position. It is feminist. “Feminism: how we survive the consequences of what we come up against by offering new ways of understanding what we come up against. Feminism is often memory work,” as Sarah Ahmed writes in Living a Feminist Life.9 My protest seeks to continue the work of pursuing new knowledge through praxis (interconnected theory and practice). Even while I write reflexively, this writing informs an ongoing practice of protest. I write to disrupt normative modes of engaging with rape, without having answers. But, to question how in the ways I have performed my protests I can continue to find alternatives to help add to the fight. I reflect on how my protest performances have been vital coping mechanisms and consider new conceptualizations in the ways we discuss rape, as I seek what is beyond mere coping. I frame this work through a critical consideration of the concept of “the war on womxn.” This description is used globally, and I hope to bring the specifics of the South African context into a generative conversation around this concept. The idea has already informed a performance-​lecture preceding this chapter. The performance-​lecture, “Bite the Bullet” (November 29, 2018), took the title of this chapter in reference to the lack of coping mechanisms for survivors of rape and the wartime method of biting on a bullet where there are 32

“Bite the Bullet”

no painkillers for surgery. In the performance-​lecture, the bullet became the hard pill rape survivors have to swallow in lieu of justice. In the performance-​lecture, I consumed several bullets. Poem: “Fitness Test” She couldn’t see into her own eyes. The doctors couldn’t figure it out Her mother said no more pills She couldn’t afford it […] She couldn’t see into her own eyes. So, she showed them the holes, Where they were. She took off her bandages on the street She stood like a stop light She said, she cannot fight She set herself alight. They all finally stopped speaking and cried the tears she left behind.10 The poems11 included in this chapter are excerpts from the performance “Bite the Bullet,” the performance-​lecture aimed at finding an affective mode of protest. The effect of this performance on my body was physical pain after the consumption of bullets. I decided the concept of war did not serve me. I realized in the pain of my throat closing up after the third bullet was swallowed that I needed a means to continue to protest that did not perform further violence. Violence was the problem.

Coming to Terms with the Past, a Term of Post-​war, Post-​genocide In Khwezi: The Remarkable Story of Fezekile Ntsukela Kuzwayo, journalist Redi Tlhabi writes a conversation between her and the womxn who became known as Khwezi during the Jacob Zuma rape trial. Fezekile charged would-​be-​President Zuma with rape. Tlhabi writes, I recalled a late-​night conversation in which I had asked Fezekile if she had come to terms with everything that had happened to her. She paused for a long time. Then asked, “How do you define ‘come to terms?’ ” 33

Performing #MeToo

“I don’t know. You know, like losing a limb, your eyesight. Something you cannot reverse. You wake up with it every day but are not always conscious of it? You accept it as part of your life, a chapter in your journey. Something like that.” “I wish I had lost a limb. Rape is like death.” I thought about saying, but did not: But you did not die, Fez. They didn’t destroy you.12

One of the by-​then-​President Zuma’s comrades (a comrade in arms during the civil war that was apartheid) was able to testify in court during the rape trial that he had had sex with 12-​year-​old Fezekile, in exile. He was able to give this testimony in support of President Zuma’s claim for consensual sex, and this comrade was able to then leave the court and continue an illustrious political career without question on his admittance to what is, essentially, the rape of a child. Tlhabi in Khwezi also writes an interview with a soldier. It is useful because, as Siphokazi Magadla says, referencing Pamela Reynolds, in her PhD thesis on womxn ex-​combatants after the unconventional war of apartheid, “the definition of war is at issue because it determines who is recognized as a legitimate fighter.”13 Tlhabi and Gail Smith observe this issue as still relevant in South Africa, where the hero-​making narratives of comrades who fought in the apartheid armed struggle focus on men. Womxn like Winnie Madikizela Mandela were previously written out of the fight by being villainized as failing the image of “mother of the nation.” In a panel discussion entitled “Women and War, Struggle and Stories” (October 30, 2018), part of a series of ongoing conversations held at the Market Photo Lab, Tlhabi with Smith discussed that womxn soldiers often did not want to speak of rape at their camps. They wanted their agency as soldiers to be recognized. The incident cited by the soldier interviewed in Khwezi refers to an attempt made on her, operating as a civilian: Poet and writer Makhosazana (Khosi) Xaba, a nurse who joined the anti-​ apartheid struggle after witnessing the cruelty of the apartheid state during student protests in Durban in the 1970s, relates an incident in which she was nearly raped as she got off the train while doing underground work. She was a trained soldier who would not have hesitated to use a gun, had she had one.14

She wasn’t attacked in battle, but when she was coming off a train. Unarmed. In Shire’s poem, the daughter is unarmed during the war. What the upsurge of the #MeToo movement caused me to ask was whether or not the global pandemic of daily rape was really what we call a war. If so, what would that enable us to see of its workings and how we could counter those operations. The dictionary definition of war is “armed fighting between two or more countries or groups.”15 Carl von Clausewitz’s definition, from his war manifesto, speaks to war as a game and 34

“Bite the Bullet”

he explicitly states, “War is nothing but a duel on a larger scale.”16 For von Clausewitz, both parties are armed. In Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, he writes, [T]‌he art of war teaches us not to rely on the enemy’s not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable.17

These definitions rely on defining a conventional war. Tzu’s doctrine speaks volumes to the idea of preparedness in war. But it is not meant to be an art of daily life. Magadla’s significant thesis defines apartheid in South Africa as an unconventional war and her definition includes war fought by diverse means.18 It was not only those identifiable as soldiers through uniform and armour that fought. Magadla observes that in contemporary warfare, the character of war has changed. She references Jan Pettman: “In World War I soldiers constituted 80% of the casualties, in World War II, 50% […] and in most contemporary wars since, civilians have constituted up to 90% of war casualties.”19 The numbers do not make of these contemporary, unconventional wars an ordinary matter, however. It is war.

War? On Womxn The concept of “the war on womxn,” as it is often phrased in the media and even the idea that South Africa is in “an unacknowledged gender civil war,” referenced by Gqola citing Helen Moffett,20 seems to take the definition of war for granted. In her essay, Moffett begins with the statement: “South Africa has the worst known figures for gender-​based violence for a country not at war.”21 The paradox does not directly disqualify the idea of an unofficial civil war. Her notion, though, calls for a specific focus on a gender war. She notes the South African statistic of the possibility of one in three womxn being raped in their lifetime. She counts the failures of the criminal justice system and health systems in her formulation of the idea of an “unacknowledged gender civil war.”22 But I wonder what work the conceptualizing of rape that occurs in the everyday as “war” does? I wonder if this failure to think through rape, as it occurs in our ordinary lives, is not a co-​option of the feminist work into the war machine. War is an instrument of patriarchy. It is also notable that Moffett’s essay is not toward an official acknowledgement of a gender civil war. She is actually looking at the racialization of rape in post-​apartheid South Africa. In reading her essay, the blackness of my race and the whiteness of my anti-​rape artivism partner Jenny Nijenhuis became significant in acknowledging the ways rape intersects with race in public parlance. There is white silence on rape in South Africa. Gqola, as with Moffett, unfortunately merely mentions the gender civil war 35

Performing #MeToo

thought. She proceeds to utilize the metaphor of being under attack, but she does not pursue the idea of war until a later chapter called “Violent masculinities and war talk.” Even here, war is a metaphor for the violence of hyper-​masculine performances. “War talk” becomes synonymous with those performative utterances. In performing “Bite the Bullet,” I also looked at how war talk is part of everyday hyper-​masculine performances, even in the virtual spaces played out on screens. Poem: “War Games” “Let’s play Call of Duty tomorrow,” he said, As if she had a choice in the war. She’s been getting up, every day, to duck cat-​call bombs and men rubbing her back with grenades in their pants. At the trenches with the office furniture and projectors that don’t provide enough cover from the fire. “Yes,” she said, “Let’s play.”23 War as metaphor is effective. But, is arguing for rape as the actual theatre of war as pointed as the prevalence of the terminology proffers? In protesting sexual assault and harassment at work, #MeToo amasses innumerable stories of office conduct that makes womxn feel under constant attack. Unlike war, the attacks are often insidious because the weapons are words, looks, and proximities: deniable, open to interpretation, and “justifiable.” Certainly, Moffett and Gqola are not articulating metaphor for the sake of impactful writing. To say “me too” is not to evoke metaphor. It is to state fact as protest. Gqola is clear about the purpose of her writing. It is protest. Jane Duncan defines “protest” as “expressive acts that communicate grievances through disruption of existing societal arrangement.”24 Gqola’s book is a protest. In her own words, she says, “This is a political project. I am invested in trying to figure out how we can change collective approaches to rape.”25 Rape: A South African Nightmare has given me the words for one of my working imperatives in the work I perform. Gqola writes in her conclusion: It is imperative to create the kinds of realities that give survivors healthier choices to make sense of surviving rape, to look at the ways in which our tools have not only stopped working, but the many ways in which their co-​option enables them to work in anti-​feminist ways.26

It is my contention, in reflecting on the ways I have taken hold of this imperative, that the frame of war as a tool for protests against diurnal rape needs to be reconsidered. There is vital scholarship looking at international and civil wartime rape and rape as genocide. These thinkers work to gain ground on prosecutions of 36

“Bite the Bullet”

rape from these events of war and genocide. They look at the particulars of how rape works to extinguish ethnic groups and/​or how rape is a specific tool of warfare beyond war’s history of pillage and “spoils.”27 They conceptualize through what war is and the conventions dictating its rules. While the definition of war may still be contested, it is governed by regulations in continuous clarification as well as through distinct efforts to acknowledge gender in the Geneva Convention’s penal codes.28 As Tlhabi offers, there is a need to focus on the definition of rape itself. Focus on rape not as a metaphor is crucial. Focus on rape and what it does in our daily lives could reveal its invisible performativity.

War Metaphor When Fezekile, in Khwezi, says, “Rape is like death,” the simile is poignant. Unlike a metaphor that makes of the thing compared a direct reference able to usurp the significance of the object in comparison, this simile forces us to look at how rape is like death and not assume to understand rape as we imagine understanding war. I do not understand war. In my activism, I actively choose not to understand rape. My addition in #MeToo is one of critical confoundment. As I continue to observe war in this writing, I hope to clarify that it is a question and not an assumption. My work is in relation to rape in the daily; rape as it infiltrates our ordinary existence. This is where my protest comes from. It comes from interaction with rape in the everyday. So, my protest is located in disrupting the normalization of rape as a reality and this hindering of the possibilities of healthy alternatives for survivors to cope.29 When I performed “Bite the Bullet,” it was at a conference by Drama for Life, a postgraduate institute based at University of Witwatersrand, Johannesburg. One of the witnesses who watched me struggling to consume bullet after bullet, after every poem, asked—​in discussion—​if they were supposed to have stopped me. They had felt that they should, but they had not. In response to my work, allies have articulated the need to look away, and the confrontation with themselves about how not to look away. In an open letter published on her Facebook profile the next day (November 30, 2018), Stacey Rozen, who had been at the performance, wrote, Dear Nondumiso, As I stood before you, your hands in mine, I could vicariously feel the metal projectiles firing through your innards, invisibly propelling along the barrel of your intestine. I looked into your eyes and had to turn away from the front line of combat. I was an ally in active duty contemplating deserting our army, wondering when cessation of this unbearable war will be in our visible sight, not just in our dreams […] 37

Performing #MeToo

Know that you do not have to ingest the calibrated calibers in order to batter yourself more than this war has already battered you. You do not have to do it for the multitudes of womxn in solidarity with you, either. Please, be gentler on yourself Ndu.30

Stacey Rozen wrote #MeToo at the end of the post. She was not able to look away.

The Practice of Protest: On the Line Surviving rape in “the female fear factory” is like walking a tightrope—​a constant balancing act from triggers and internal falling. I created this performance because I was frustrated at how rape definitions in our constitution, judiciary, and common speech, all lacked a sense of the trauma. They focused on the event. The act of the rape and not the violence that the act leaves for its victim to suffer. I had come to learn about Rape Trauma Syndrome in my research on PTSD and the holocaust, because I am always interested in continuities of after-​events, whether post-​ apartheid, post-​genocide, or post-​epidemic—​all those awful post-​spaces where the trauma comes home with the bodies that aren’t buried. With rape this is singular because the threat of rape is daily. There is no post-​space to rape as it occurs in our everyday existence. I have been raped more than once. There is no armistice. So, I created On the Line (November 25, 2016) (Figure 2.1). Poem: “Desertion” There is grief in my gut Made of copper and lead A live bullet I swallowed the day I left Fled from the guns firing into my body […] DNA splitting Personality drifting Pill popping. Pill popping. Not coping. More pill popping. […] 38

“Bite the Bullet”

Tripping and falling over ev-​e-​ry thought. Trigger.Trigger.Trigger.31 On the Line was created in relation to the multiple costs of surviving rape. It was also about putting the body on the line. When I began my initial thirty-​day meditations on triggers—​things that make me feel like I’m falling internally—​it was at the start of the 2016 leg of the Fees Must Fall32 protests across universities in South Africa. Fees Must Fall, which began in 2015, became a critical protest in South Africa’s post-​apartheid politics. University students across the country protested the exorbitant fees for higher education, in conjunction with the colonial syllabus making up the bulk of that education. Fees Must Fall intersected with the previous and then-​continuing protest Rhodes Must Fall (a call for the removal of the statue of colonialist Cecil John Rhodes at the University of Cape Town). The language of falling became part of popular politics due to the mass coverage of these protests.

FIGURE 2.1: Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga performing On the Line, Albrecht Street, Maboneng Precinct, Johannesburg, South Africa, November 25, 2016. Photo: Lynette Pereira.

39

Performing #MeToo

I was working as a lecturer at the University of Witwatersrand and hadn’t anticipated how many times I would be triggered in a day during that time. I didn’t anticipate how many times I would fall, within and without. I did feel as though I was actually on the line, but I was also on the street seeing so many young bodies running and falling and coughing day in and day out as the police threw tear gas into singing crowds. I saw womxn taking off their clothes to protect the young men whom the police were shooting at with stunt grenades. I saw so much violence directed at protesting bodies that the nature of protest as putting one’s life on the line became part of my work. It was part of coming to work every day for over a month. I had planned to meditate on “falling” for thirty days, in preparation for On the Line. Those thirty days suddenly coincided with Fees Must Fall protests and the strong-​arming of universities and police against student protesters. I could not look away even though I wanted to. The university gave lecturers ultimatums against participating with students. I was also triggered in multiple ways during the period of September 2016 when the protests peaked. Among other forms of violence, sexual harassment became rife when private security was called in to search every person entering the university. I could not look away because I did not want my students to feel unsupported. Even while they fought more fiercely than I could. Something significant was on the line. But, with Rape Trauma Syndrome being on the line is also that precarious position of trying to keep up with the balancing act of being strong after the event. Because you don’t want to appear to be falling all the time. The idea was that when raped, you have to perform strength otherwise you remind everyone that you are “fallen,” and that act leaves you always falling within. Ahmed writes: “Living on the edge: a life lived as a fragile thread that keeps unraveling; when life becomes an effort to hold on to what keeps unraveling.”33 It’s a precarious position: on the line. The idea of being a “fallen womxn” was quite strong for me, and so the performance was in a wedding dress, a wedding dress made of used white panties. The notion of fallen-​ness related to my orthodox Christian background and how the white wedding dress represented virginal “purity.” I had conceived of myself as a fallen womxn from the age of about six. The wedding-​dress-​underwear was detachable in rows and those rows became a noose that I wrapped around my neck and pulled. Suicide had become a running theme in my work. On the Line would not be the last time I visited the theme. Here, suicide is a symptom of Rape Trauma Syndrome. Gqola “make[s]‌the assertion that rape is not a moment but a language.”34 She does not expand on the morphemes of this language but discusses how rape communicates “to remind women that they are not entirely safe and that their bodies are not entirely theirs.”35 The communication is at both the physical and the psychological level. On the Line also included a symbolic performance of births as a result of rape. My boyfriend, who had raped me on my fifteenth birthday, had continued to take 40

“Bite the Bullet”

my body whenever I declined. I fell pregnant twice as a teenager. Again, the language of falling. About six or seven months into the second pregnancy, I had tried to commit suicide. I had not been able to disclose my rapes. I did not know of any other alternative at the time. It was only in my twenties that I would learn about Rape Trauma Syndrome and begin to make some sense of the things happening to my body and psyche. The performance taking place under a clothesline of 3,600 pieces of underwear and my wearing over 1,000 panties sewn onto the wedding dress was also about survivors needing support. At the end of the performance of On the Line I found balance by calling on my ancestry to help provide what seems like a superhuman strength, for survival. I sang a song that has become a potent protest anthem since Fees Must Fall; where the students sang what they called the decolonized anthem of South Africa. It was the original protest prayer which would form part of the national anthem in post-​apartheid South Africa. The song asks for Africans to become one breath, one energy, one spirit through the invocation of umoya (breath, energy, spirit, plus other interwoven translations). What was incredible in the moment of performance was recognizing that the street had been cordoned off by strangers watching me perform. They had stood to protect me from oncoming traffic and predatory passers-​by. Some of the people who came to watch the performance, as it happened on November 25, 2016, were those who had donated their underwear and were also on the line. Some were people who had not seen or heard about the oncoming performance from the media, but they too participated and stood as a support line. A conversation with a waitress at a restaurant on the street where I had performed plus conversations with taxi drivers in the week of the performance made me think about whose voices counted when they said #MeToo. In South Africa, a large part of the peri-​urban and rural population is not on social media.

The Practice of Protest Continues When I went away from the Johannesburg metropolis to create my next protest performance, uNokuthula (May 24, 2018), (Figure 2.2) I was fortunate to get a residency with the Forgotten Angle Theatre Collaborative36 on a farm in the province of Mpumalanga. The Forgotten Angle Theatre Collaborative runs all-​year-​long programmes in rural Mpumalanga where they also host a public performance festival called My Body My Space. I was able to spend time on the farm practicing silence as a means to find fresh alternatives to the white noise of protest. In South Africa, and the world, protests were on the news each day. The masses came and celebrated the significant wins of amassing numbers as a show of strength. I had said #MeToo over and over again and yet, some people still looked away. I wondered about other ways to perform necessary protest power. 41

Performing #MeToo

FIGURE 2.2: Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga performing uNokuthula, Johannesburg Art Gallery (JAG), South Africa, May 24, 2018. Photo: Chantel Thomas.

To perform uNokuthula I looked toward silence as the peace I had learnt from my mother uNokuthula. “Nokuthula” means one with quiet, one with peace. In a poem about how the practice of protest is part and parcel of black lives in South Africa, Modise Sekgothe writes “Blood, Guns, Revolutions” (unpublished, 2015). Toward its conclusion he speaks of a lack of quiet or peace in growing protest: We are raised to rage Against these razor wires We are erased from the torn pages Of history’s lies We are barely surviving Some of us would much rather die Than live in this vile thing We call a country Some of us would much rather die Some of us are already dead Some of us are dying inside Some of us simply protest as a nobler form of suicide37 42

“Bite the Bullet”

In creating my next protest performance uNokuthula, under invitation from Kauru Contemporary Art From Africa38 as part of a group exhibition called Close, I looked at silent action. I sought what it would take to bring rape protest closer in order to receive decisive attention. I looked to self-​immolate.

Silence? Zora Neale Hurston is often quoted for saying, “If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”39 There is a wealth of literature to be referenced against silence in protest. Silent protests in relation to rape have met critique because silence attests to the shame of survivors. I co-​conducted a reading group40 with visual artist Gabrielle Goliath speaking to the theoretical utility of silence in our art and the ethics of representing trauma. I wanted to engage the work of silence as part of the problem of daily rape and part of the problem of reduced support to survivors. I sought to engage silence in black mothers and see what work it also did, besides harm. I wanted to engage silence as a means of protesting in a manner that is mindful in general, and mindful of my own issues with the violence performed in my previous protest. I read Thich Nhat Hahn’s Silence,41 Jon Kabat-​ Zinn’s Wherever You Go, There You Are,42 and Paul Capretto’s article “Empathy and Silence in Pastoral Care for Traumatic Grief and Loss,”43 among other texts. These texts helped me to also explore alternative modes of participation. I had felt that On the Line did not include the witnesses enough. I read, also, on Indigenous rituals as communal psychology. Steve Edwards cites Gumede, a scholar working in KwaZulu Natal—​the province of my birth and part of my living—​who “estimated that indigenous healers cater 80% of the health needs of the African population.”44 I wanted to know what is offered by the work done in umsebenzi (rituals performed by Nguni people, a term directly translated to mean “work”). I wanted to know why this work did not address rape. Why was my ancestry quiet on the matter, when rape has been a problem throughout history? I wanted to know how, in performing umsebenzi, my mother, in her silence about my rapes, was doing the work of supporting me with the minimal tools she had. It was significant work for me because it recouped an everyday feminism accessed through work and not just academic convolutions. It was critical because it addressed the resources at hand for people who work against rape through protest; those who survive rape; those who support them. The silence of uNokuthula was a loud web of questions. Nokuthula is my mother’s name. uNokuthula is about the silences between survivor and caregiver—​ where those silences help, where those silences hurt. It is a piece in which I practiced listening, as essential to acknowledging grief. My grief. My mother’s grief. And the grief of not having any ritual recourse for rape. “Listening” may be a 43

Performing #MeToo

preferable word to silence because this is what the practice truly entailed. But I choose “silence,” here, because it calls on a fertile critical space and questions immediate negative or positive connotations. Silence is complex. Rape is complex. Living with rape is a daily polemic of complexity. Complexity is what Njabulo S. Ndebele yearned for in the protest literature of apartheid. His oft-​cited essay South African Literature and Culture: Rediscovery of the Ordinary45 still holds relevance in the continuum of protest. It problematizes the use of the word “protest” to define an artistic genre. A critique I acknowledge, even as I persist in calling my activist art “protest performance.” I do so because I acknowledge a continuity in the art of protest with the art of the ordinary that Ndebele espouses. Perhaps the concept of continuity will help me to see not just the distinction between wartime rape and rape in the everyday but connections. For Ndebele, “protest” relegates the artwork to an expository space. In relation to the previously provided definition of protest by Jane Duncan, in her look at South Africa as a protest nation, Ndebele’s critique stands. Protest, as an expressive act communicating grievances through the method of disruption, calls awareness to issues but hardly does more than this. For Ndebele, “to call it ‘protest literature,’ is to deny it any literary and artistic value: and those values are to be found in the phenomenon of the spectacle.”46 He outlines the value of the spectacle and provides this literature with its own grounds for valuation and therefore evaluation. This work is vital. Not only does he do important work for black literature of the apartheid era, he also provides me with the possibility of delineating rape—​in war and genocide—​as strategic spectacle from rape in ordinary life. It performs its function according to different evaluative rules. And while I do not have the scope to carry out this theoretical exploration fully here, I now look at uNokuthula as a means of beginning the work of rediscovering the ordinary.

The Practice of Protest: uNokuthula For this performance, I performed an everyday task, a ritual of work: I washed. On the day before Africa Day, I sat in a room at the Johannesburg Art Gallery, where my partner Jenny Nijenhuis had put up the installation of the 3,600 pieces of underwear. The underwear cast shadows on the walls. They multiplied the stories of the 3,600 underwear we had collected from survivors and supporters; either bringing their underwear to collection points, handing them over to Nijenhuis and myself personally, or collecting from their friends to courier. I washed as a ritual of cleansing and as a daily task that can conjure a trigger. I had asked the audience to wash their hands in the clean basin of water, and then I washed my dress with soap in that water. I lit impepho (incense) and asked my ancestors to 44

“Bite the Bullet”

acknowledge the grief in my family, just as we had rituals to mourn other griefs or acknowledge other grievances. I washed. Then, I swallowed the water from the washing and vomited it out. The ritual was incomplete. The silent protest was invisible self-​immolation in the sense that I burned internally from the soap. I took off my clothes and the performance ended with me wearing one of the donated panties. It was a panty in the style of white boxers and had the South African flag at the back. My naked body shows no visible rape-​scars, so my survival of rape meant that I was not mourned. Like too many who live with it in the country, and the world, the internal scars are not acknowledged. I completed the performance by going to sleep, wearing only the panty, underneath a bed frame that Nijenhuis had used to anchor the installation. When the spectators did not leave, I told them, from my sleeping position under the bed frame, “The performance is over. Please leave.” I felt there needed to be a boundary between my protest and my ongoing story. Practicing protest through one’s own story, as rape protests have operated, needs to be done with care. Here too, there need to be alternatives. When the protest ends, there is a life continuing; and it may be a life of continuing protesting. In a discussion on the performance the following day (May 25, 2018, “Africa Day Art and Activism Panel Discussion”), a male audience member said they had felt they couldn’t leave because then they would have used my body and discarded it. They stood for quite a while with a small group of about twenty that stayed even after my request, when the rest of the crowd had left. The space allowed for people to move freely and leave if they needed to. The concept of consent played in my mind after the panel. The mode of performance employed for uNokuthula differed from the emotional outpouring of On the Line. It was more “dispassionately analytical,”47 as Ndebele notes of the new literature of increased complexity rather than spectacle. I observed my actions and watched the audience watching my actions as I conducted the ritual. Ritual is itself an intriguing paradigm for the rediscovery of the ordinary as it is interwoven with the quotidian existence. How it may offer ways of theorizing rape remains to be seen. Ritual does, in Ndebele’s celebration of the ordinary, offer a move “away from merely reflecting the situation of oppression, from merely documenting it, to offering methods for its redemptive transformation.”48 The transformative potential of working with ritual allowed me to be the victim and survivor simultaneously, and to find a sense of renewed agency in the act of ownership while directly confronting the witness’s gaze, and so be able to hold my own story and not have it spill out of control. It allowed me to participate critically, with a view of my complicity in the silence of my relationship with my mother as supporter-​without-​recourse. Silence: positive and negative. My mother has only watched my protests in the news thus far, but I have come home to her multiple times to write this chapter. I am indebted to her silent co-​authorship of 45

Performing #MeToo

these thoughts. As Ndebele states, “We are confronted here with the honesty of the self in confrontation with the self.”49 It is this which begins “a significant growth of consciousness”50—​the consciousness of the collective, in deep philosophical contemplation of who we are, even under oppression. A consciousness that is not just about awareness but also an awakening to who we want to be. Poem: “Ukuthwala”51 […] My mother is bringing all my grandmothers to wail In your ears as you sleep. A new storm is coming. Our captive souls refuse to be your amulet Longer. Listen. The lightning sings. Have you heard this toyi-​toyi? It’s being invented as we speak It’s a hhosi hhosi hhosi Of womxn through eternity. They’re pounding the floor to awaken a new ancestry.52

Aluta Continua Seeking alternatives: seeking does not stand in opposition to the work that already exists. The work done by those practicing protest by various means is testament to the possibility of healthier alternatives for coping as well as to the critical work of feminists, and those who do not identify according to this label, in the continuing fight against rape. Alternatives are necessary because all methods in the fight against oppression can be co-​opted. They are not always new but generative of fresh approaches. The work of practicing protest is critical and analytical because it acts to imagine a future without that oppression as it also acts to create those realities. The practice of performing protest may have begun as a coping mechanism for me. Protest is born of necessity. It also gave me community. I fight for that connectivity. Ahmed says, “Protest can be a form of self-​care as well as care for others: a refusal not to matter.”53 The refusal can insist on being counted as a soldier because it matters. It could also be a refusal to be counted as a casualty of war 46

“Bite the Bullet”

when we are not at war. My practice of protest persists by practicing a protest of intentional listening. It is an everyday journey. We continue to work toward the alternatives and realities we seek.

NOTES 1. Warsan Shire, “In Love and In War,” in Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth (London: Mouthmark, 2011), 38. 2. Ibid. 3. Pumla Dineo Gqola, Rape: A South African Nightmare (Auckland Park: Jacana Media and ​MFBooks Joburg, 2015), 78–​99. 4. Ibid.,  78–​79. 5. Shire, “In Love and In War,” 38. 6. Alyssa Milano (@Alyssa_​Milano), “If You’ve Been Sexually Harassed or Assaulted Write ‘Me Too’ As a Reply to This Tweet,” Twitter, October 15, 2017. To view original tweet, go to https:// twitter.com/alyssa_milano/status/919659438700670976?lang=en, accessed March 7, 2019. 7. For more on Burke’s activist work, see “#MeToo—​How a Grassroots Organization Started a Wildfire,” McCord Consulting Group, February 27, 2019. To see full page, go to http://​ mcconsultgroup.com/​metoo-​how-​a-​grassroots-​organization-​started-​a-​wildfire/​ , accessed March 7, 2019. 8. See Nondumiso Msimanga and Jenny Nijenhuis, “SA’s Dirty Laundry and The Things We Do for Love: Love and Artivism as Process-​Protest,” Agenda 31, no. 3–​4 (2017): 50–​59. 9. Sara Ahmed, Living a Feminist Life (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2017), 22. 10. Nondumiso Msimanga, “Bite the Bullet” (poem from unpublished performance-​lecture script, November 29, 2018). 11. Where excerpts of the poems from “Bite the Bullet” are given, ellipses show omissions. The poems were written only for the performance and are not published. 12. Redi Tlhabi, Khwezi:  The Remarkable Story of Fezekile Ntsukela Kuzwayo (Jeppestown: Jonathan Ball, 2017), 12–​13; original emphasis. 13. Siphokazi Magadla, “Demobilisation and the Civilian Reintegration of Women Ex-​ combatants in Post-​Apartheid South Africa: The Aftermath of Transnational Guerrilla Girls, Combative Mothers and In-​betweeners in the Shadows of a Late Twentieth-​Century War” (PhD diss., Faculty of Humanities and International Studies, Rhodes University, 2017), 59. To see full text, go to http://​hdl.handle.net/​10962/​41775, accessed November 22, 2018. 14. Tlhabi, Khwezi, 62. 15. “War,” Cambridge English Dictionary Online. To see full entry, go to https://​www.google. co.za/​amp/​s/​dictionary.cambridge.org/​amp/​english/​war, accessed November 22, 2018. 16. Carl von Clausewitz, On War (Chichester: Princeton University Press, 1976), 75.

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17. Sun Tzu, The Art of War, trans. Lionel Giles (Leicester: Allandale Online, 2000), 31. To see full text, go to https://​sites.ualberta.ca/​~enoch/R ​ eadings/T ​ he_A ​ rt_O ​ f_W ​ ar.pdf, accessed November 24, 2018. 18. Magadla, “Demobilisation,” 62. 19. Ibid., 65. 20. Gqola, Rape, 84. 21. Helen Moffett, “ ‘These Women, They Force Us to Rape Them’: Rape as Narrative of Social Control in Post-​Apartheid South Africa,” Journal of Southern African Studies 32, no. 1 (2006): 129. 22. Ibid.; emphasis added. 23. Msimanga, “Bite the Bullet.” 24. Jane Duncan, Protest Nation: The Right to Protest in South Africa (Pietermaritzburg: University of KwaZulu Natal Press, 2016), 1. 25. Gqola, Rape, 23. 26. Ibid., 178. 27. Patricia H. Davis, “The Politics of Prosecuting Rape as a War Crime,” International Lawyer 34, no. 4 (2000): 1226. 28. Sherrie L. Russell-​Brown, “Rape As an Act of Genocide,” Berkley Journal of International Law 21, no. 2 (2003): 357. 29. Gqola, Rape, 178. 30. Stacey Rozen, “An Open Letter to Nondumiso Msimanga,” Facebook, November 30, 2018, accessed November 30, 2018. 31. Msimanga, “Bite the Bullet.” 32. The #FeesMustFall protests shut down universities nationally, as students demanded a change in the high fees structures as well as syllabi. The Fees Must Fall protests are ongoing. 33. Ahmed, Living a Feminist Life, 238. 34. Gqola, Rape, 22. 5. Ibid., 79. 3 36. For more information about the Forgotten Angle Theatre Collective, go to https://​ forgottenangle.co.za/​, accessed March 12, 2019. 37. Modise Sekgothe, “Blood, Guns, Revolutions” (unpublished poem, 2015). 38. For more information about Kauru Contemporary Art From Africa, go to https://​kauru. co.za/​, accessed March 12, 2019. 39. Zora Neale Hurston quoted in Donovan X. Ramsey, “10 Essential Things Zora Neale Hurston Said,” Donovan X. Ramsey (blog), January 4, 2014. To view full post, go to http://​ www.donovanxramsey.com/b ​ logarchive/2 ​ 014/1 ​ /​4/​10-​essential-​things-​zora-​neale-​hurston-​ said, accessed January 2, 2019. 40. Under the invitation of VIAD (Visual Identities in Art and Design Research Centre) from the University of Johannesburg. “Lesser Violence Reading Group,” August 29, 2018.

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41. Thich Nhat Hahn, Silence:  The Power of Quiet in a World Full of Noise (New York: HarperOne, 2016). 42. Jon Kabat-​Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are: Mindfulness Meditation for Everyday Life (New York: Hyperion Books, 2014). 43. Paul Capretto, “Empathy and Silence in Pastoral Care for Traumatic Grief and Loss,” Journal of Religion and Health 54, no. 1 (2014): 339–​57. 44. Steve Edwards, “On Southern African Indigenous Healing,” Indilinga: African Journal of Indigenous Knowledge Systems 9, no. 2 (2010): 214. 45. Njabulo S. Ndebele, South African Literature and Culture: Rediscovery of the Ordinary (Johannesburg: Congress of South African Writers, 1991). 46. Ibid., 41. 47. Ibid., 45. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid., 49. 50. Ibid., 46. 51. “Ukuthwala,” as with many concepts in the Zulu language, translates in a complex web. Here, the term refers to “to carry” as well as the mal-​use of traditional medicine where a spirit is captured and used for carrying out misdeeds. 52. Msimanga, “Bite the Bullet.” 53. Ahmed, Living a Feminist Life, 240.

49

3 Resisting Theatre: The Political in the Performative Effie Samara Misogyny is anger over the loss of the female giver. Where linguistic modality meets human consciousness, the primordial image of the woman-​giver and the man-​taker is a universal code, politically and psychologically enfranchised. The ideological undergirding that rationalizes misogyny as a “reasonable” and “natural” state of affairs issues from the very entitlement that, in the eyes of the perpetrator/​agent, necessitates action in order to have the male “originary right”1 reinstated. The same ideology also sanctifies the moralistic pseudo-​jurisdiction of patriarchy. Kate Manne explains that misogyny “transforms impersonal disappointments into embittered resentment.”2 This transformation witnesses the elevation of private rancour to the level of political action: the action of punishing women for transgressing male space; for claiming ownership of traditionally male loci of exclusionary privilege. In other words, trespass. In the pages that follow I will contextualize misogyny in its bio-​political framework as a symptom of our present historical reality. My aim is to categorize misogyny as a politics of dispossession—​a process of ideology and political practice whose normative and normalizing violence delimits the autonomous subject and imposes upon her conditions of injury, loss of territory, foreclosure, and forced subjugation to all ensuing modalities of oppression. As its signifier, the #MeToo movement promises to animate the concept of Resistance as a symbol, but equally as praxis against misogynistic socio-​political structures. I will propose to offer Resistance in this context as not simply an abstraction, a momentary piece of live theatre, or a transitional stage of impolite civil disobedience.3 Resistance is proposed as a continual epistemic interrogation of dispossession: an ever-​ evolving mechanism of “democracy” constitutive of a politically indecorous female subject. In his philosophy of anticipatory politics (to which I shall refer later in this chapter), Jacques Derrida would have described it as a perpetual tilt 50

Resisting Theatre

towards a democracy-​to-​come.4 Drawing on Butler’s concept of dispossession5 and guided by Derrida’s metaphysics of deconstruction, I will use as my catalyst Locker Room Talk, Gary McNair’s stage play of verbatim testimony, directed by Orla O’Loughlin and produced by Edinburgh’s Traverse Theatre in the summer of 2017. Locker Room Talk’s play text is constructed exclusively using testimonial interviews given by male members of different professions in a litany of unabashed misogyny. The play is structured in twelve scenes, creating a dramaturgically unclosed loop where information flows but never changes gear, dramatic traction, or register: line after line, exchange after exchange, the text is a hymn to misogyny. According to McNair, the recorded testimonies come from a variety of different individuals from across the social spectrum: teenagers, adults, manual labourers, lawyers, doctors, coffee drinkers, and cabbies who share one thing in common—​they are all men.6 It was the creative team’s conscious choice to delimit manhood inside these parameters depriving them of any dramatic counterweight. The opening line of Locker Room Talk sums up the plot: THROTTLE

It’s not degrading to women though, is it?7

The first scene, “Nothing Degrading,” as a prelude to what is to follow, ends with the Cabbie’s final verdict: CABBIE

The best thing that comes oot a woman’s mouth is your knob, I would say, aye.8

The scenes that follow are then appropriately titled: “Scoring System,” “Ideal Woman,” “Get Excited,” “Equality,” “He’s Good For The Workplace Banter,” “A Toxic Idealology,” “There Is No Line,” “Challenging It,” “If Yer Maw Heard It,” “Girls Are Weak And Boys Are Strong,” with the final scene redirecting us to the beginning of the loop—​“Nothing Degrading” (Figure 3.1). The theory behind the text of Locker Room Talk and its very situatedness within the Traverse affirm misogyny as the site of threatened loss of male territorial privilege. The ideology that undergirds it can be readily domiciled within the wider contours of injurable male entitlement and the pernicious politics of coloniality and endemic oppression. It is notable that human rights defenders are witnessing a global avalanche of misogyny led by political and religious fundamentalism. At the United Nations General Assembly on July 17, 2017, Special Rapporteur Karima Bennoune noted that protecting women’s rights was an essential priority in the fight against political and cultural fundamentalism and extremism, which have inequality and rejection of human rights at their core.9 The political climate presently prevalent on a global scale actively seeks to roll back advances achieved 51

Performing #MeToo

FIGURE 3.1: Locker Room Talk, by Gary McNair, directed by Orla O’Loughlin, at the Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, Scotland, 2017. Photo: David Monteith-​Hodge. Graphic image: Michael Cranston.

in securing women’s rights and aims to penalize and stigmatize women defenders of human rights, electing instead to promote myths of a homogenous nation and ethnic or racial superiority. It is therefore time for us to ask: under what historical conditions do such perilous politics of nativist fury, colonial nostalgia, and fierce misogyny take hold? In the Gifford Lecture Series delivered at the University of Glasgow in October 2018, Judith Butler sets the conditions for the rise of demagoguery and ethno-​state nationalism: They become possible and persuasive from within a condition of social conflict […] they articulate the arguments for strengthening state power and its instruments of violence to cultivate and contain the popular will; they emerge in our understanding of populism, the condition in which the popular will is imagined to assume an unconstrained form.10

Misogyny therefore incubates in the articulation of augmented state power, which assigns both its validity and its identity to an imagined locus of sovereign, autocratic, and unquestioned ideology. It is sustained by its instruments of violence, which exert their policing functions over individual and collective expression. In seamless dramatic parallel, autocracy, abuse, and violence constitute the principal ingredients of the characters in Locker Room Talk. The text makes several endorsing references to Donald Trump, rich in vituperative and vilifying metaphors, effortlessly showing us how misogyny has come to feel almost normal and harmlessly comedic: 52

Resisting Theatre

UN-​PC

On yer go, Donald mate. Say exactly what you think. Don’t try and sanitise yersel.11

Non-​injurious comedy does however serve to establish a valid epistemic point, more specifically in cases where male interlocutors raise the issue of reverse sexism, in other words, women “ruling the world.”12 In the scene titled “Equality” the discussion takes place between Taxi 2, Teen 2, Teen 3, Un-PC, and Cooking. These five characters, who, again, echo each other in expressing righteous anger at the sight of the possibility of women’s collective refusal to know and occupy their place, concur on one principal point: TEEN 3

They feel like they’re better people than boys, like men. Arrogance.13

Arrogance, in other words, self-​esteem, or possibly the self-​assigning of a higher credal or epistemic state by a woman to herself, constitutes grounds for a woman’s moral failing to occupy her “proper” place in the world. This will, in turn, necessitates a moral and material punishment, variants of which are peppered throughout the text of Locker Room Talk. They range from proposed asphyxiation,14 to verbal abuse and derision,15 to murder.16 Any established theatre space under whose authority texts are commissioned and curated with a view to being produced follows an accepted pattern of selecting written material and appointing writers and directors, assigning them the agency to fulfil its institutional purposes. Given the lack of accountability surrounding its curatorial processes, theatre remains a site of privilege, an imagining of what the colonized, the subjugated, and the oppressed might be thinking, or, worse still, what they ought to be thinking: in other words, a site of moralizing and being moralized to by those who know better than thou. This should not surprise us as theatre, despite its much celebrated revolutionary potential, is also an institution often funded and supported by the official state. Butler’s argument on the emergence and sustenance of state power and populist ideology finds its artistic metaphysics in this very theatre analogy. Logos as word and topos as place justify life in dramaturgical structure and open up the avenue for the mythico-​metaphysics of theatre to bleed into ideology. In an interview given in December 2018, Vicky Featherstone, artistic director of the Royal Court Theatre in London, notes that “theatre changes most quickly when the change is with the people who have power. If the boards and leadership team are certain kinds of people with certain kinds of education […] it’s only ever hand-​me-​downs to give people opportunity.”17 The statistics evidence

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the classist, ethnoracialized, and sexualized power Featherstone refers to in the theatre industry: of the nine artistic directors of the National Theatre and Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) so far—​two of whom have held both posts—​only three were not educated at Oxford or Cambridge, neither of which offers a drama degree.18 According to the Fawcett Society’s19 findings, the British Film Institute’s (BFI) “Filmography” reports that women make up just 4.57 percent of directors and 17.3 percent of producers since the beginning of records in 1913.20 The grand signifier of phallogocentric narrative is ever present, and the closer the theatre artist gets to the metaphorical corridors of power and influence, the sooner she will discover that the social stream from which she is mined will become progressively narrower. Established theatre spaces are unquestioned in their sincerity to disrupt the status quo. This is possibly a result of audiences’ collective failure to address middle-​class cultural guilt, or their social urge to belong to an intellectually anxious community while simultaneously immunizing themselves from the perils of vigorously examining that community’s replication of patriarchal and domineering norms. We need not go far. Despite established theatres’ continual protests to the contrary, these spaces have failed to provide a concrete platform from which political interventions may be enacted. Theatre continues to promote praxiological inertia, immobilization, and acquiescence to the social and political affiliations of its demographic.21 It is, and always has been, compromised between the precarity of its funding anxieties and the conformist tastes of its audiences, which undermine the political and ethical foundations assumed to be necessary for radical intervention. In the case of Locker Room Talk, despite the Traverse’s goodwill, it is inevitable that by normalizing a repressive hypothesis as theatrical dialogue and providing the space and the time necessary for theatrical performance, this production fails to challenge the phallic idealization of privileged tropes of masculine morphology. The hyperbolized characters augment male indulgent self-​fashioning and provide a dramaturgical climax of dehumanizing hyper-​ excitement. Reproducing misogyny could make for great drama. Taking out the dramatic by eliminating antagonism, counterweight, and challenge simply reiterates misogyny on a theatre stage. My assertion is that theatre as both a tool and a locus of Resistance should reflect and, more importantly, ought to disclose life as lived experience. The issue with Locker Room Talk is that the angle of reflection and the means of disclosure remain strategically loyal to misogynistic and thematically reprehensible textual practices. The #MeToo movement is still embryonic and, in my view, subject to profound insecurities. It has yet to reconcile itself to the conditions of its own existence in today’s political reality of neoconservatism and regressive human rights. Consequently, confining womanhood theatrically inside the asphyxiating topos of a locker room generates a 54

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stupefying confusion of its own linguistic and existential foundations, perhaps even a cynicism and a harrowing realization that a locker room metaphorical asphyxiation22 is all a woman deserves because she, really, does not know—​or does not deserve to know—​any better. CABBIE

Women are a pain in the arse […] they’re only good for one thing. Fuck. A good fuck. That’s it.23

What Does a Woman Know? I referred earlier to the stage as occupying a mythico-​metaphysical topography. Theatre’s transcendental quality issues from the fact that it makes a world, it creates its own universe wherein live its own rules of life and believability. I would like to expand on the discursive element of this topography and what it means in terms of invoking a woman’s knowability and her capacity for epistemic excellence. In Locker Room Talk, women’s place and women’s essence are both verbalized in the third person and nuanced as lesser humanity pertaining to members of a subordinate class. BOILER 1

Women should be in Tesco’s workin n aw that. Oot the road. Behind a till […] keep ‘em in the kitchen, in the hoose. Take back the vote.24

Women’s mere presence in what is dramaturgically constructed as “the world” is, to all intents and purposes, an ingress, a most unwanted, unjust, and un-​entitled source of competition. Consequently, the threatened dismantling of this world by women will often feel not only like a comedown, but also a serious injustice in urgent need of redress, hence the justification of misogyny and its ensuing methods of policing. The following passage from Locker Room Talk highlights, from the perspective of the dominant, how a female subject under a status of dispossessive regulatory practice becomes the target of over-​policing and over-​controlling with a view to political disavowal. DOC 1 DOC 2

How many pints it would take you. Like, it could be ah, I’d need at least six pints before I could get anywhere near that. DOC IRONY A butterface: “she’s like, like, bangin’, but-​her-​face.” HUBUB Butterface. DOC 2 But-​her-​face. DOC IRONY A paper bag job. DOC 4 Plastic bag so it’s … DOC IRONY Plastic bag, fucking hell mate.25 55

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In the course of researching Locker Room Talk, I raised the issue of dramatic imbalance, with only one gender represented on stage, with Dr Holly Davis,26 who chaired the post-​show discussion at the Traverse. Dr Davis indicated that it was possible that the motivation behind the decision was that the mere locutionary event of women speaking vile abuse against women (in the Traverse production the dialogue was spoken solely by female performers)27 would cause audiences and perpetrators to reconsider their reactions to such violence as well as their own readiness to accept and embed it in their own consciousness.28 Official reaction to the play has been somewhat critical of the formalistic imbalance of only portraying one side of the argument.29 There has been even less documented reaction to the playwright’s direction that the dialogue be spoken exclusively by women actors. Notable was Lyn Gardner’s review for the Guardian where she laconically states: “It’s hard to listen to this relentless and toxic catalogue of misogyny. […] While it’s never comfortable, it’s always fascinating.”30 The Independent gives the play four stars but fails to explain what is “insightful” about the piece other than the shock value of “reveal-​[ing] their [men’s] behind-​closed-​doors views on women, from crass courting strategies to secretive codes for evaluating attractiveness and attitudes in the workplace.”31 We can clearly see a consensus that Locker Room Talk is shocking, if little else beyond that. The question, therefore, arises: Do these discussions and their ideological contours constitute morally entrenched beliefs, or are they intended as a mere performance of masculinity? Second, given the asymmetry of the utterances (no female defence, only a verbal diarrhoea of misogynistic dialogue spoken by female actors), to what extent do these legitimize the asymmetry of gendered reality and immunize us toward the brutality of its contents? Is it amusing? Yes, it is. Shocking? Absolutely. But the shock value itself augments the element of cool and street cred within an established theatre space thereby demarcating men’s territory but, above that, reinforcing women’s inferior status as knowers and, consequently, doers. Line after line of dialogue demotes womanhood to essentialist imbecility undeserving of full subjecthood enacting, to all intents and purposes, a performative process of dehumanization, as colourfully uttered in the excerpt that follows: THROTTLE […] I’ll maybe have a moan about the missus, “women are fucking aliens.” Or something like that. “I’ve been in the house ten minutes and I want to throttle her,” stuff like that. That’s genuinely … a concern. I dae want to throttle her.32

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Resistance I have always loved this word […] This word […] resonated in my desire and my imagination as the most beautiful word in the politics and history of this country […]. Why have I always dreamed of resistance?33 ​Jacques Derrida, Resistances of Psychoanalysis

CABBIE […] “yeah, I voted for Trump.” […] Some people ask me “hey man don’t you have a daughter?” I says, “yeah, I have two daughters” so “why you vote for him?” I says “what’s that got to do with anything?” It’s not like he was doing that when he was the president … no it’s not that we validate … validate the behaviour. And it’s not like he … ye know … raped somebody or something like that.34 Deconstruction in a time of post-​truths is justifiably the subject of rigorous ­critique from both sides of the political and philosophical spectrum. I have nonetheless elected to adopt a deconstructive approach as I argue that this still provides, possibly, the boldest method toward the demystification of presence and identity. Derrida’s project inserts the explosive concept of temporality into the sign, inviting turbulence into the synchronic and orderly waters of structuralism. While a full elaboration on deconstruction is beyond the scope of this chapter, it is argued that Derrida’s thought foregrounds the means by which acts of Resistance as praxis may be further radicalized and may afford us the privilege of politically far-​reaching consequences. I will delve into deconstruction’s potential for the #MeToo movement and will then endeavour to show the link between the ceaseless play of democracy and how this can help radicalize our quest for a renewed and braver reclaiming of our own political territory. Despite the enormous contributions made by earlier feminists, in practice, women’s epistemic status as “knowers” or meaning-​makers remains dissonant, episodic, and hermeneutically insignificant. Their status is also circumscribed by the exclusionary conditions of spatial access whose purpose is to affirm the role of the gatekeeper, silence the murmurs of dissent, and ensure the unity and continuity that official histories produce. I suggest that a deconstructive approach to the Resistance offered by the #MeToo movement has purchase; insofar as the ceaseless movements of deconstruction seek to interrogate lived practices, they endeavour to interrupt and resist processes of textual, but, more importantly, political assimilation. Earlier in this chapter I elaborated on the concept of dispossession and its de-​territorializing effects on women. Reading this argument deconstructively, I would now like to introduce the possibility 57

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of the #MeToo movement as textual intervention inscribed politically: A self-​conscious attempt of its subjects to rewrite themselves into the p ­ olitical, thereby creating a different kind of Resistance, a topos or a site, of political struggle. In that vein, theatrical dialogues qua institutionally sanctioned texts function as written artefacts and material socio-​political power systems that, on a deconstructionist reading, must be substantively and tirelessly interrupted against prevailing conceptual and praxiological modes of operating. Resistance in this regard can operate against auto-​immune sovereignty which is the condition of existence of any established space or institution. Derrida points out that “a sovereign is defined by his capacity to decide the exception and his right to suspend the law.”35 During modern times, this right is assigned to the governing body or a combination of the legislative and the executive. Sovereignty enables a state to control its geographical contours and exclude those it deems as non-​citizens from its exclusive topos. In its practice, sovereignty is compelled to remain connected with the use of force as a constant reminder that might and power are a self-​satisfying prophesy. These very principles are replicated within a state’s micro-​organisms: its judiciary, its policing mechanisms, and its ideology-​shaping institutions (schools, universities, and the arts). Theatre qua artistic expression undergoes a policing process which is internal to all established order and whose purpose is either to promote its institutional mission or to dispossess those it deems unworthy of these or any originary or fundamental rights. A process of internal interrogation is as crucial to Derrida’s thinking of the democracy-​to-​come as it is to the rethinking of every autocratic position whose primary purpose is the dispossessing of the Other, of the enemy, of the disorderly woman. As Taxi 3 notes in Locker Room Talk, “They would never have the chance to run it [the company] better because guys are better than women.”36 I place theatrical praxis under the umbrella of auto-​immune institutionality, a mechanism of creating and sustaining power which is resistant to scrutiny and audit. Theatre is such an institution and, by its very nature, it talks to itself. In poetic licence, theatre creates the question and then dramatizes the answer. That is why it is crucial that theatre must now confront the impossibility of its position. Democracy and sovereignty are bound in a destructive clasp that means democracy as such remains an impossibility. To put it in terms that echo Derrida’s earliest concerns with the metaphysics of presence, we could say that democracy is never present, but is always deferred; it evokes the sovereignty that calls forth its destruction. It is, in this sense, a democracy always to come. Rather the to come invokes the structurality of democracy as the very possibility of a state in need of perpetual mutation.37 As stated by Reader in Locker Room Talk, “Men apparently have better spatial awareness so therefore then would kinda go towards suggesting men are maybe better drivers.”38 Women’s insatiable urges, their dangerous unknowability, endangers the static democracy of unmoving sovereignty, 58

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a sovereignty too frightened to subject itself to any internal or external interrogation. The rebels need policing. The good people need protecting from them. Let me throw a spanner in the works: it is tempting to consider Locker Room Talk against the wider ideology not only of sovereignty, but also its political cousin: colonialism. The logic of colonialism (and its offspring, racism) essentializes the unequal right to life thereby creating various degrees of value for various classes of individuals appropriate to their pre-​inscribed status, origin, and ethnic makeup. Foucault claims that a right to life pertains to a subject that already is fully constituted as a “rights-​bearing subject.” He introduces the concept of racism as a way of inserting a break into the domain of life that is under power’s control: the break between what must live and what must die […] It is a way of separating out the groups that exist within a population.39

Assigning status and degree of liveability to groups is the focal point of the drama in Locker Room Talk. Interestingly, in the scene titled “Toxic Idealology,” the exchanges between the characters Fajita 1 and Fajita 2 highlight the point: FAJITA 1 FAJITA 2 FAJITA 1

They’re only good for being in the bedroom and in the kitchen. Suck me off. Make my dinner then gie me my hole, and then go to your bed.40

I wonder if we may advance this argument as not merely distinguishing between superior and inferior types but as a racism that is present to ascertain who is really alive and who is considered socially dead. The thesis transmigrates to misogynistic discourses with special emphasis on practices of policing certain typologies of female behaviour and emboldening institutionally appointed action against female disobedience. If we accept this typology, a so-​perceived “non-​living” subject or population, we accept that in the event of the destruction or loss of these subjects or groups, nothing of note has happened.41 More specifically, in the case of misogynistic policing, such policing is deemed necessary as a certain clearing away of an obstruction from the path of those considered to be truly worthy of rights-​ bearing subjecthood. In the words of Butler, “Power is already operating through schemas of racism that persistently distinguish not only between lives that are more valuable but between lives that register more or less emphatically as lives.”42 What Butler is touching upon here is the core of the epistemology of genocide. I extend this across the spectrum of misogyny. The epistemological foreclosure of womanhood shares its tectonics with the epistemology of genocide and, I will tentatively also add, the epistemology of post-​capitalism, which structures the field of life under the very question of value: whose lives matter? Predictably, in the closing 59

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scenes of Locker Room Talk the woman who has escaped social death is, herself, mentally categorized within the sphere of genocidal criminality: BIG GUY That’s a feminist? A Nazi (laughter)   […] STAG 1 Personally, I’m of the opinion that feminism is a very toxic idealology. There is equal, equal rights. The gender pay gap is a lie.   […] STAG 2 Feminism—​bunch of fucking ugly lesbians (laughter).43 The characteristics of womanhood override the individuality of human character; in fact a woman subjected to the torment of misogynistic politics is no longer a human subject, but merely an interpretative casing that envelops the female body and orders its social negation and political exclusion. The play between dispossession and disposability is one only too well known to any woman. In any ageist/​physique-​related/​disability-​framed context the theme of disposability of the female body and woman’s actioning of her potential prior to what is colloquially referred to as her “sell-​by date” is conceptually embedded in the wider notion of “woman.” “There’s no perfect woman,”44 Boiler 1 informs us in the scene titled “Ideal Woman.” This short retort affirms how rapidly the female subject is disposed of and how pervasive forms of dispossession are posed and countered today through practices that market female bodies as their resource for male triumphalism, self-​assurance, and political power. Indeed, the very disposability of bodies operates along economic, colonial, and postcolonial lines. In Locker Room Talk, the text unpredictably vacillates between a hyper-​ instrumentalized femininity, “she’s alright, smash her back doors in,”45 and similar style aesthetics, to women becoming a menace for a brief period, then summarily judged disposable, only then to be again taken up for instrumental purposes for another specific type of male enjoyment. We can observe that, by excluding any female utterance, Locker Room Talk slips back into propping up the status quo. Any dramatic device would have tested the misogyny at this point. The creative decision was to employ none thus removing any defensible platform from which to enact Resistance. Theatre as an institutional mechanism has had its rare rebellious moments. But mostly it has been allaying combustible consciousness since the Greeks: a patient, polite reformism of the text, which is strictly not to be confronted over the barricades, but quietly detained in civil conversation in the corridors and suavely nagged into revealing its incendiary potential. To paraphrase Terry Eagleton, stoically, it always settles for conformism and negotiates what he or she can within the leftovers and stray contingencies casually unabsorbed by the textual power system. 46 60

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FIGURE 3.2: Locker Room Talk, by Gary McNair, directed by Orla O’Loughlin, at the Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, Scotland, 2017. (L-​R) Rachael Spence, Maureen Carr, Jamie Marie Leary, and Joanna Tope. Photo: David Monteith-​Hodge.

Theatre is also very good at creating its own reality not only in what we witness as action before our eyes, but also what we are given to perceive as actionable behind the scenes. Real bodies in suffering, imagined but not seen, screaming for justice but never heard. It sounds very familiar, very real, and very much like a woman’s life.

Conclusion To paraphrase McNair’s assertion in the writer’s note, the women in Locker Room Talk are frighteningly real: never knowing the future, perpetually subjected to arbitrary scorings, hirings and firings, having one’s sexual organs and reproductive labour intensively dilated, scrutinized, utilized, and exploited, and then enduring stretches of time, sometimes indefinite, in which one has no idea when life might ever be liveable or worthwhile.47 While the total absence of female dialogue or characters leaves us in the dark about what the women might have been, it is indubitable that subjection to Locker Room Talk’s violent cadence envelopes the subject in profound cynicism, a hurtling toward non-​being, an acceptance of 61

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precarity. And yet, I am wondering whether the future of performance is consolidated when some of us who are resolved not to know our place, slowly or less slowly begin to encroach on places deemed the property of another. It seems that not knowing your proper place is the condition of possibility of a new emerging, resisting subject—​a subject who is beginning to consolidate her knowing and her being in the world; a subject who is ready to say: “Me Too.” Resistance begins and, possibly, ends with one’s refusal to stay in one’s proper place. Subjection and colonization take place primarily in relation to place. We acknowledge the territorialized loci of nation-​state, workplace, home, land, and the Homeric universe of the oikos with the father figure at its centre. Nuclear subjecthood centres in these loci and, if any performative act of rebellion is to sustain meaning, it needs to breach the topological sanctity of its assigned place and reassign the body politic in an act of re-​territorialization. If logos is word and topos is place, then woman’s refusal to accept locker room logo-​centrism has the potential to de-​territorialize the transcendental signifier of the phallus not only as a construction of meaning, but primarily as a construction of topos, of territory, and ultimately of the right to know and be worthy of one’s knowing. I maintain that the future of performance, of theatre, of being seen to be acting lies in situating ourselves against the disposability of our own bodies and, by extension, our subjecthood and power. It lies in re-​territorializing. And while I remain unconvinced of the virtues of organized theatrical practice, I argue that the power of a performative collective can and does act to consolidate a political entity, which, even in total silence, asserts its presence as a plural and unyielding organism in the performative of a body politic. The political significance of assembling as physical bodies deconstructs the metaphysics of absence by negating presence, not in individual subjectivity, but as a social movement, not institutionally organized. An assembly always operates in its non-​materialization, its continual act of deferral, its anticipation, and its continual and democratic interrogation of the law. It asserts the politics of notable performative force in the public domain. Conversely, an institutionally appointed space of performance, a theatre, is structured in such a way that certain dialogues become disposable or are interpellated as disposable. Perhaps this is still commercially viable as a tranquilizer to cultural guilt, which differentiates it from bodies on the street. These are precarious, exposed to over-​policing and under-​ protecting, but also obdurate and persistent in their organizing of themselves in total lack of hierarchy. The power of performance is, in this regard, an unmediated form of thereness, a rebellion against the dialogical indifférance of the play-​text. Locker Room Talk is most definitely a conversation worth having. Dramatizing one full hour of male violence spoken exclusively by women has had little effect on audiences other than it being deliberately inflammatory. What remains unclear is, given the absence of dramatic action or denouement, why did this have to happen. To what end? Director Orla O’Loughlin notes that there was a “sense 62

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of release”48 among women attending the performance. This might or might not have been the case as a reaction to testimony and it is a legitimate and timely discussion to pursue. Exposing sexism and shaming its architects is a worthy theme. Isolating the experience in dramatic form may be a sound method of highlighting the motif. But without challenging its effects, regardless of the casting choices or inflammatory content, I will leave it to the reader to question whether it achieves much beyond a momentary reaction of anger and resentment. A woman’s insistence on staying in place requires movement; it requires play or refusal to play. It is an act of ontological self-​assignment. It is a declaration of how being is perceived and where it takes place. This is the moment of Resistance acted out as a spatial schema, the “ultimate not-​giving-​up as not-​giving-​in.”49 As Locker Room Talk ends, we are made aware that disobedience does sometimes carry the ultimate price: MURDERER

Aw aye, I murdered mine so I don’t give a fuck. Didnae like her (laughter). […] I choked her….And that was it. Party’s ov/​ I didnae mean to dae it. Just got…Carried away wi it…Other than they’re good for one thing. That aw. Cooking.50

FIGURE 3.3: Locker Room Talk, by Gary McNair, directed by Orla O’Loughlin, at the Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh, Scotland, 2017. (L-​R) Rachael Spence, Maureen Carr, Jamie Marie Leary, and Joanna Tope. Photo: David Monteith-​Hodge. Graphic image: Michael Cranston.

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The use of the word “murder” serves as a powerful reminder that despite the Enlightenment’s promise, privately administered capital punishment is still very much morally and legally veneered as a domestic violence incident, one which exposes the precarity and the disposability of female existence. Locker Room Talk did at the very least succeed in making that declaration and stimulating conversation. But the wider #MeToo is, and will remain, the new promise of our times. It provides a metaphysics in the collective imaginary for interrogating the conditions of truth and meaning-​making which still reside within an epistemically privileged space. We must radicalize our perceptions of space. We must refuse to know our place. We must be brave enough to re-​create ourselves as the just and the creditworthy.

NOTES 1. I use the term “originary” advisedly in line with the broad metaphysical terminology that tends to attribute primacy to the question of causes, things that do not change, universals, substances, being, and existence. 2. Kate Manne, Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 303. 3. I am obliquely referring to Jürgen Habermas’s theses as they developed between 1962 in The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Enquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, trans. Thomas Burger and Frederick Lawrence (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991), and his deliberations in 1992 in Between Facts and Norms: Contributions to a Discourse Theory of Law and Democracy, trans. William Rehg (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996). 4. Jacques Derrida’s démocratie à venir. Derrida does not consider the retention of the democratic promise a merely strategic, pragmatic decision among a range of alternatives; rather, he thinks we should avoid any empiricism and rethink the very nature of promising itself,

5.

6. 7. 8.

satisfying both the condition of possibility and the condition of impossibility, of the conditioned in its metaphysical purity. For a full discussion, see Jacques Derrida, The Other Heading: Reflections on Today’s Europe, trans. Pascale-​Anne Brault and Michael B. Naas (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992), and Specters of Marx, trans. Peggy Kamuf (London: Routledge, 1994). This does not only refer to Butler and Athena Athanasiou’s joint conversations in Dispossession: The Performative in the Political (Malden, MA: Polity, 2013), but across Butler’s philosophical corpus, and in particular her engagement with subject formation, grieveability, and the epistemologies of genocide. Gary McNair, “Writer’s Note,” in Locker Room Talk (London: Oberon Books, 2017), n.p. Gary McNair, Locker Room Talk (London: Oberon Books, 2017), 7. Ibid., 11.

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9. Karima Bennoune, “Time to Fight Global Avalanche of Misogyny Caused by Fundamentalism and Extremism, UN Rights Expert Says,” United Nations Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner, October 25, 2017. To view full post, go to https://​ www.ohchr.org/​en/​NewsEvents/​Pages/​DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=22298&LangID=E, accessed March 3, 2019. To see a full copy of the Report of the Special Rapporteur in the Field of Cultural Rights by Special Rapporteur Karima Bennoune, published on July 17, 2017, on the United Nations website, go to https://​undocs.org/​en/​A/​72/​155, accessed March 3, 2019. 10. Judith Butler, “My Life, Your Life: Equality and the Philosophy of Non-​violence: Lecture 1,” (Gifford Lectures, Bute Hall, University of Glasgow, October 1, 2018), video recording, 26:35. To view full video, go to https://​www.gla.ac.uk/​events/​lectures/​gifford/​ previouslectures/​judithbutler/​, accessed March 3, 2019. 11. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 10. 12. Ibid., 26. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., 13. 15. Ibid., 15, 30, 53. 16. Ibid., 54. 17. Vicky Featherstone quoted in Alice Jones, “Vicky Featherstone: ‘This time last year it felt like change was about to happen … Now there’s frustration,’ ” iNews, December 12, 2018. To view full article, go to https://i​ news.co.uk/c​ ulture/v​ icky-f​ eatherstone-i​ nterview-t​ he-c​ ane-​ royal-​court-​me-​too/​, accessed March 3, 2019. 18. Jonathan Holloway, “Why Do Oxbridge Graduates Dominate Theatre’s Top Roles?” Guardian, November 7, 2011. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​ stage/​theatreblog/​2011/​nov/​07/​why-​oxbridge-​graduates-​dominate-​theatre, accessed March 3, 2019. For further comment, see Julia Pascal, “Women Are Being Excluded from the Stage. It’s Time for Quotas,” Guardian, April 24, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​commentisfree/​2018/​apr/​24/​women-​theatre-​quotas-​stage-​ gender#comment-​115072524, accessed March 3, 2019. 19. The Fawcett Society was given its name in 1953 in honour of Millicent Fawcett to consolidate Fawcett’s initiatives and continue the work of the London Society for Women’s Suffrage. It is since considered a leading authority on gender equality and women’s rights. Under its status as a charity, it publishes research to educate and brings together politicians, academics, and grassroots activists to develop solutions on gender inequality. 20. Helen Jewell and Andrew Bazeley, “Sex & Power 2018,” Fawcett Society, April 2018. To view full report, go to https://​www.fawcettsociety.org.uk/​Handlers/​Download. ashx?IDMF=ea2cb329-​e6e0-​4e0f-​8a0b-​5022f99bc915, accessed March 3, 2019. 21. I am here referring to theatre demographic, but also to funding bodies’ decision-​making processes, which follow a formalistic, managerial protocol and often disregard the complexity, reality, and diversity of artistic decision. For an in-​depth discussion, see Stephen

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Moss and Bonnie Greer, “Does It Matter That Arts Audiences Are White, Metropolitan and Middle Class?” Guardian, June 9, 2014. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.theguardian. com/​commentisfree/​2014/​jun/​09/​arts-​audiences-w ​ hite-m ​ etropolitan-m ​ iddle-c​ lass-h ​ arriet-​ harman, accessed March 3, 2019. 22. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 13. 23. Ibid., 11. 24. Ibid., 31. 25. Ibid., 13. 26. Dr Holly Davis is British Academy post-​doctoral fellow at the University of Edinburgh. She specializes in sex and gender, feminism, and feminist research. We discussed Locker Room Talk over the course of informal conversations during my research on the present chapter between August and October 2018. 27. The use of an exclusively female cast is dictated by the playwright, Gary McNair (“Writer’s Note,” n.p.). He explains: Other than that [fast rule of performance to be performed by women], please interrogate this text like you would any other […] All I ask is that you remember that these words were not “written,” they are not created for cartoon villains, they are not from my imagination to be spoken by imaginary beasts, but are in fact real words spoken by real men that I met in real life. 28. Dr Holly Davis, personal conversations with Effie Samara, Edinburgh, August–​ October 2018. 29. Matt Trueman, “Edinburgh Review: Locker Room Talk (Traverse Theatre),” WhatsOnStage, August 23, 2017. To view full review, go to https://​www.whatsonstage.com/​edinburgh-​ theatre/​reviews/​locker-​room-​talk-​traverse-​theatre-​mcnair_​44450.html, accessed March 3, 2019. 30. Lyn Gardner, “Locker Room Talk Review—​Toxic Catalogue of Misogyny Reveals Men’s Fears,” Guardian, August 22, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian. com/​stage/​2017/​aug/​22/​locker-​room-​talk-​review-​gary-​mcnair-​edinburgh-​festival-​theatre, accessed March 3, 2019. 31. David Pollock, “Edinburgh Festival, Review, Locker Room Talk, Traverse Theatre: Fearsome, Amusing, Insightful and Oddly Human,” Independent, August 23, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.independent.co.uk/​arts-​entertainment/​theatre-​dance/​reviews/​ edinburgh-​festival-​review-​locker-​room-​talk-​traverse-​theatre-​a7908826.html, accessed March 3, 2019. 32. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 54. 33. Jacques Derrida, “Resistances,” in Resistances of Psychoanalysis, trans. Peggy Kamuf, Pascale-​Anne Brault, and Michael Naas (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 2. 34. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 33.

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35. Jacques Derrida in Derrida and Élisabeth Roudinesco, De quoi demain … Dialogue (Paris: Flammarion, 2001), 151. 36. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 32. 37. The question of structurality and perpetual mutation is present in most of Derrida’s late writings. In Writing and Difference, trans. Alan Bass (London: Routledge, 1978), 279, Derrida writes: [T]‌he center, which is by definition unique, constituted that very thing within a structure which while governing that structure, escapes structurality. This is why classical thought concerning the structure could say that the center is, paradoxically, within the structure and outside it. 8. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 28. 3 39. Michel Foucault, “Society Must Be Defended”: Lectures Delivered at the Collège de France, 1975–​76, ed. Mauro Bertani and Alessandro Fontana (New York: Picador, 2003), 254–​55. 40. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 37. 41. A view also shared by Judith Butler in her recent investigations on ethico-​politics. See Butler, “My Life, Your Life.” 42. Judith Butler, “My Life, Your Life.” 43. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 38. 44. Ibid., 19. 45. Ibid., 7. 46. Terry Eagleton, Walter Benjamin or towards a Revolutionary Criticism (London: Verso, 1981), 134. 47. McNair, “Writer’s Note,” n.p. 48. Orla O’Loughlin quoted in Caitlin Logan, “Locker Room Talk? MSPs to View Timely Play on Sexist Rhetoric,” Common Space, October 31, 2017, https://​www.commonspace.scot/​ articles/1 ​ 1933/l​ ocker-r​ oom-t​ alk-m ​ sps-v​ iew-t​ imely-​play-​sexist-​rhetoric, accessed May 27, 2020. 9. Butler and Athanasiou, Dispossession, 22. 4 50. McNair, Locker Room Talk, 54.

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4 Supporting Brave Spaces for Theatre-​Makers Post-​#MeToo: A Chicago-​Based Study on Rehearsing and Performing Intimacy in Theatre Susan Fenty Studham

Introduction This anthology addresses the question of how not to look away following the rise of the #MeToo movement in 2017. In this chapter, I present an American theatre community which has actively taken the lead in creating protocols for safety in theatre-​based contexts. I will discuss the galvanization of a community and how one moment led to a grassroots movement in Chicago years before the #MeToo movement. Reflections from industry personnel illustrate how Chicago has actively taken steps not to “look away” and continues to forge braver spaces for theatre-​makers to create theatre involving intimacy and violence in rehearsals and performance. To contextualize, I will briefly discuss the events leading to the formation of Not In Our House1 (NIOH), exploring how the Chicago theatre industry came together in the development of the Chicago Theatre Standards (CTS). I will then move to the role of the intimacy designer in professional theatre and, ultimately, the development of policies and procedures to support theatre artists.2 The Chicago industry’s response has prompted discussion extending beyond its city borders and now includes the voices of theatre artists, teachers, unions, theatre employers, and practitioners internationally, enabling a shift in vocabulary for artists to navigate a culture of consent in areas such as intimacy, nudity, and

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violence in scene work. I concentrate on the role of the stage managers, since they are responsible for facilitating rehearsals and ensuring smooth-​running performances. I explore productions pre-​ and post-​#MeToo, with varying sized companies and budgets, interviewing a variety of Chicago theatre-​makers. All ­participants were in Chicago during the development of the CTS and at the start of #MeToo. These include the founders of NIOH, Lori Myers and Laura T. Fisher; award-​winning playwright Isaac Gomez; stage managers Christine D. Freeburg and Jessica Forella; and intimacy facilitators Kristina Fluty and Rachel Flesher. As is often the case in the Chicago theatre community, these particular participants’ careers interweave and overlap outside of the listed productions. Within the aforementioned parameters, this chapter explores creating brave spaces for actors to perform in.

Background As a professional stage manager and theatre-​maker, I have spent more than three decades supporting performers in workshop, rehearsal, and performance situations. During this time, I have endeavoured to establish safe and comfortable environments in which to create theatre. Over recent years, the ways in which this is facilitated, and the language used, has been evolving. Stage managers spend a vast number of hours in rehearsals and performances, maintain the shows after opening, and foster creative working environments for performers and production teams. My integration into the Chicago community came by way of an offer to head the Stage Management program at DePaul University. I relocated from Australia in August 2017 and was immediately invited into a conversation that had been on the table for some time. One of my first meetings was with Christine D. Freeburg, a well-​respected AEA (Actors’ Equity Association, or Equity3) stage manager and a fellow stage management educator at DePaul. At the forefront of our conversation were issues surrounding safe workspaces for actors rehearsing intimate and violent scenes. I was introduced to the advocacy group NIOH and the impact it has had on the Chicago theatre industry.

Galvanizing a Community Incidents spanning two decades that contributed to the galvanization of the interconnected Chicago theatre community later became the topic of an extensive

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newspaper feature that appeared on June 8, 2016. Chicago Reader’s “Arts & Culture” headline read: At Profiles Theatre the drama—​and abuse—​is real For more than 20 years, actors and crew members stayed silent about mistreatment they suffered at the acclaimed storefront theater. Now they’re speaking up, hoping to protect workers in non-​Equity theaters across the country.4

Rather than interrogating accounts discussed in this lengthy exposé, this headline is included to contextualize events current in the Chicago community during the development of the CTS.5 In January 2015, eighteen months earlier, a social media post was shared by Chicago actress Lori Myers in response to ongoing whispers of sexual harassment in the local theatre industry. Myers wrote: It is very discouraging to me to continuously hear stories of sexual exploitation concerning young women in our theatre community. These women were sometimes underage, manipulated, and traumatized. If your friend, sister, daughter, or co-​worker was working under a sexual predator—​what would you do about it?6

Within days Myers received 178 responses, in addition to telephone calls and messages. This led to a town hall–​style meeting held privately in February 2015, and to the creation of the Chicago-​based advocacy organization NIOH. An open letter was published to the Chicago Theatre Community enlisting participation,7 with the first panel meeting attracting more than 100 members from a cross-​section of the theatre community. The result was a threefold statement of purpose: • to provide support and resources, including lawyers, therapists, and advocacy organizations, for those who needed it; • to establish a code of conduct for non-​Equity theatres; • to work with Equity, the professional theatre union, to change the language used in relation to sexual harassment, intimidation, and discrimination.8 The participating theatre community members spent two and a half years developing a code of conduct known as the Chicago Theatre Standards. The code proposes the following: We aim to prevent future abuses of power in the theatre community and provide a source of support for people who have been abused. We can work together for change and positive action so that we as artists can embrace the freedom of creativity safely, respectfully and with open arms.9 70

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Chicago Theatre Standards Veteran Chicago actress Laura T. Fisher, alongside Myers, organized leadership of ten small theatres, who volunteered their time to author what is now known as the Chicago Theatre Standards. It was in 2015 that this group embarked on the development of these standards. A pilot draft was produced and trialled at twenty Chicago theatres in 2016,10 with a draft already available online in the interest of transparency and to invite feedback, through the NIOH website at the time of #MeToo. The established set of principles that emerged from this process engages a philosophy of communication, safety, respect, and accountability, with an aim to create “systems that respect and protect the human in the art—​to foster safe places to do dangerous things.”11 The CTS Declaration of Purpose12 begins with a discussion of risk and authenticity in the art form. The preamble then provides the history of the group, mission statement, and a discussion of the intended readership. At the top of this list are non-​union theatre companies, as these particular theatre-​makers have fewer support services than their union counterparts. However, CTS also benefits union theatres and institutional environments, both directly and indirectly. The thirty-​three-​page document includes prompts for protocol creation such as first rehearsal communications and concern resolution pathways and identifies the roles of stage managers and actor representatives. It also includes topics such as auditions, agreements, understudies, health and safety, and choreography (including nudity, violence, movement, and physical theatre). In addition, it covers diversity, inclusion and representation, sexual harassment, and audience matters. Fisher had already begun travelling outside of Chicago to present the work of NIOH by the time #MeToo was in full swing. CTS had captured the attention of practitioners at all levels of theatres, universities, arts organizations, and communities outside of arts industries. Since #MeToo, we have seen implementation and interest throughout the US and internationally in the Chicago Theatre Standards. Organizations that adopt the CTS recognize it as a systemic solution to systemic problems, as it provides procedures from season selection to strike, and outlines the rights and responsibilities of participants at every level of an organization.13

CTS pioneered the documentation of non-​union protocols, filled a void for arts organizations, and was adopted very quickly by a community that was seeking answers. Myers noted, “There was a recognition internationally […] It spoke and hit a nerve very succinctly and immediately.”14 Communities reached out to NIOH for guidance on how to create their own processes and start dialogues specific to their own communities. Fisher attributes this to the fact that 71

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it is a document that was written by theatre professionals for theatre professionals. Which is why I sometimes like to call it “curated wisdom” as opposed to original content […] It is the way that the best in the industry have done it […] A lot of what is in The Standards were brought to the table from companies that were already doing some of these things.15

The compilation and dissemination of this shared wisdom was carefully and deliberately curated to build community capacity. The NIOH website provides links to related articles, support group resources, other useful links, and additional documents, including sample agreements.

Brave Spaces The role of the stage manager is integral to the implementation of many of these systems. This is not surprising since many of a stage manager’s protocols pertain to actors as well. As listed in the definition and duties of a stage manager under the professional guidelines of Equity, the stage manager “shall assume an active responsibility for the form and discipline of rehearsal and performance, and be the executive instrument on the technical running of each performance.”16 Either the stage manager (SM) or the assistant stage manager (ASM) shall be present at all rehearsals and performances. In accordance with AEA, rule 62 of the Chicago Area Theatre Agreement states: A/​1/​b: A/​2:

A/​3:

The Producer agrees to provide the Actor with a safe place of employment. If at any time any member of the Company believes that the Actor or any other member of the cast is unsafe or in danger by executing a feat or act as directed, the Actor accepts the responsibility of immediately notifying the Stage Manager, the Deputy, the Producer and/​ or the Producer’s representative. No Actor shall perform any feat that is inherently dangerous or work under conditions that are inherently dangerous.17

I cite this set of duties and responsibilities as Equity rules are commonly considered professional practice in the theatre industry in the United States, and it also highlights one of the SM’s responsibilities in the reporting system. However, whether union or non-​union, there can be variation in what one considers safe. The recent #MeToo movement has brought a new focus on these issues in theatrical contexts. The fallout has provided impetus to create change, 72

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formalizing how we respond to incidents and addressing protocols involving how we support and care for each other, creating safety assurances for actors and theatre-​makers. Many of the early discussions surrounding these issues call for the creation of safe spaces, but this term is fraught since, strictly speaking, it does not allow for discomfort in any way. The use of the phrase “brave space” implies a place where a company can sit with discomfort, enabling a more authentic conversation where risks can be taken, but the participants remain physically and emotionally unharmed. Brian Arao and Kristi Clemens posit that the term “brave space” may more aptly describe the practice of safely fostering challenging dialogue.18 In a theatrical sense, a brave space might signify being comfortable with the discomfort of the text. Chicago playwright Isaac Gomez adds to this by identifying brave spaces as those which set up a framework for more respectful discourse with a group agreement that allows for intention, as opposed to impact, permitting a space “to be transformed from safe to brave.”19 Perhaps a simple definition of a “brave space” is a space where we can sit with discomfort but also look after each other’s well-​being. Gomez discussed two of his plays that involve intimacy and violence: La Ruta20 (2019), “inspired by the lives of Mexican women who live and work—​ and disappear—​along a Ciudad Juárez bus route,”21 which recently played at Steppenwolf Theatre; and The Displaced22 (2018), a horror story of vengeance and pain in the wake of gentrification, produced by Haven Theatre Chicago, a storefront theatre. In the discourse of brave spaces, Gomez suggests that, in some instances, being brave may include not running a difficult scene more than once, for example, when scenes centre on experiences of sexualized violence. Rather than re-​traumatizing the performer by a repetition of challenging scenes, a brave director can make decisions that prioritize the performer’s well-​being. He credits director Sandra Marquez with creating such a space during rehearsals for La Ruta by leading the ship, and a stage manager [Freeburg] who was so well attuned to power dynamics in the room, to modes of care that were unlike anything I’ve ever experienced […] in this process, I never felt alone, I always felt like there was someone there, so that when, not if, when I did fall, someone was there to help me back up. And we all did that for each other.23

Gomez noted that this particular process was special and attributed much of that to the dynamics in the rehearsal room. Specifically, most of the team was female, gender nonconforming, or transgender; he was the only man interacting daily with the rehearsal process. As someone who has devoted his life and career to amplifying the voices and experiences of Mexican women, it was important to 73

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Gomez that the room was populated primarily with Mexican women. La Ruta is about “unspeakable loss,”24 the violence faced by women of Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, and their resilience. Based on testimonies, it remembers the unsolved murders of hundreds of women, as two mothers search for their missing daughters. Removing a gender that holds a lot of power from a rehearsal room working on a play that deals a lot with power within gender, made a difference in this process […] For plays like La Ruta, when it comes to sexual violence and sexual assault against women, it makes sense. I feel like every man in the industry, if you are working on a play with sexual assault or sexual violence against women, needs to be doing work actively around our own complicitness [sic] in it, the way, intentionally or unintentionally, our participating in misogyny and the patriarchy and rape culture, otherwise the space is not brave. It’s not even safe. Actually, it’s dangerous, I would argue.25

Rehearsing Intimacy Freeburg, the SM working on Gomez’s La Ruta, draws a parallel to another show with intimacy that she worked on pre-​#MeToo and pre-​CTS, Linda Vista.26 This production, which according to the producing theatre’s website content advisory “includes nudity and frank depictions of sex,”27 also had a large female contingent in the rehearsal room. There was no intimacy facilitator because the female members of the cast decided they would prefer to work without an extra person in the room. Freeburg shared this vivid description: It was sort of like the whole support system was all female, it […] felt like we were the intimacy consultants, sort of in a “Greek Chorus” kind of way. Where the five of us, as the female voice in the room, could help advocate for the actors […] It turned out to be a really great experience. We had very frank and honest conversations; about the visuals of sex, what it meant to have different positions […] It was very honest, it was very supportive and generous on everyone’s side. No one ever felt closed off or shut down […] And then when we were developing the physicality and the blocking of it, the two women actors […] were very willing to put themselves out there, and have conversations, and really work with the director and the actor to find out what was going to work best, and what was going to tell the story, but also keep them safe.28

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Considerations extended to other departments, such as props and costumes, with discussions of barriers between bodies, styles of undergarments, and so forth bringing everyone into the conversation. They extended to comfort levels of both the cast and technical staff; where possible, privacy was offered, and when this was not possible, the show staff offered solutions to respectfully support the cast. Procedures also developed with front of house staff, and how they would be involved in supporting the company in an era where everyone has a camera on their phone. The whole of the theatre and company personnel became allies in providing safety assurances and support, from the rehearsal room to the stage, and all areas of the theatre, establishing an extensive brave space for the actors to perform.

Chicago Theatres Freeburg stage manages at one of the larger union theatre companies in Chicago, so I was curious about the impact of the CTS, if there was any. CTS are geared toward the smaller, non-​union companies and artists who don’t have the same levels of support staff and legal teams. However, HR policies were being created in the larger companies around sexual harassment at the same time as the development of the standards. With timing that close, it is unclear if the CTS inspired them in any way. Regardless, these policies are now shared at the first day of rehearsals at this company, and everyone is more aware of the procedures, which are becoming standardized. Gomez described the smaller storefront theatre model as a range of companies that might have their own spaces, or be itinerant. They are not dictated by seating capacity, theatre style, or company size, performing to a few audience members, or hundreds. Such companies are crucial to the Chicago theatre ecosystems. These theaters have colonized churches and renovated restaurants and turned showrooms into show rooms […] Actors want to work on material that matters to them—​and they want to do so for like-​minded audiences. Idealism and sacrifice on all sides keeps the prices down and the work vibrant.29

These non-​profit independent theatre company models “maximize on very minimal resources to tell essential stories, often very quickly, often with a really low budget.”30 With approximately two hundred local theatre companies, the Chicago theatre community is comprised mainly of these storefront theatres, alongside larger companies such as the Equity houses, including Steppenwolf, The Goodman, The Court, Writers’ Theatre, Northlight, and Victory Gardens Theater. According to Gomez, implicit in the model is the understanding that the 75

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storefront companies won’t make money on their productions, so they have the freedom to take more risks. When it comes to new plays, I think Chicago is one of the most essential cities for development. And I say that because unlike competing markets in New York or Los Angeles, Chicago has the ability to be braver, take more risk, and invest in writers.31

He attributes this to the culture and flexibility of the storefront model, which arguably has less to do with ticket sales and the higher overheads of commercial theatre, giving playwrights the “ability to explore” and go into production quickly.32 Gomez describes the community as familial and was working in Chicago during the period of the development of the CTS. But why was Chicago different from the other communities facing similar #MeToo issues? What made this theatre community come together and respond? Gomez attributes the activism to a number of components that aligned: the timing in the scheme of overall events, the impact of social media, the closeness of the theatre community, and the Chicagoan ethos in regards to activism. There was a lot of frustration, a lot of anger and a lot of hurt. I mean Chicago is a city built on corruption, and built on activism. It’s […] the nature of the contradiction of this city […] and you can always find someone who’s got your back.33

The content of the script of Gomez’s play La Ruta is challenging and, for the actors, it is “brutal and unrelenting […] in honouring the stories of the women the characters are based on.”34 Gomez relied on the SM during this process for check-​ins. He described Freeburg’s care for the team as phenomenal, her thoughtfulness beyond the description of an SM, “her job is to ensure the space remains one in which we can flourish and thrive” particularly in plays where it is impossible to be safe.35 La Ruta’s visceral content relating to sexual assassination in Juárez challenged every moment, so the check-​ins from the SM were important to gauge how the company was handling “the danger of the world of the play.”36 In this case, for instance, some of the actors were mothers, and the story is about losing daughters. This may affect each individual differently every day.

Intimacy Facilitators Gomez’s own plays involve a fair amount of intimacy and violence in the stories. As a self-​identifying queer Mexican man, he reflected that in his world, intimacy and violence are “almost always in conversation with each other.”37 Noting that 76

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his plays were produced post CTS development, some of his plays used the standards, and all of them have involved an intimacy facilitator. Of the two shows he has cited, one was produced in an Equity house and another in a non-​Equity house. The Displaced was produced by Haven Theatre Chicago, a storefront theatre company. With sexual content in this play, the CTS were used in this instance, and Rachel Flesher, a violence and intimacy designer, was engaged. A relatively new position on the theatre creative team is the intimacy designer or facilitator. Some might argue that it is not a new role since responsibility in this area has been shared by other members of the team in the past, but, more precisely, the title and concept of a dedicated position on the creative team is relatively new in theatre. The position has formally existed for at least a decade but has only recently gained momentum as companies have taken a more proactive stance in seeking out this type of facilitator in the wake of #MeToo. The role itself historically derives from the stage combat world but is also influenced by the dance/​movement world as staged intimacy/​violence can be considered a piece of choreography. While there may be variation in approach, the goal is to create respectful protocols in rehearsal and performance situations. This involves setting up a framework of agreed upon boundaries with cast members, verbal consents, understanding and being responsive to triggers, adjusting and/​or creating a shared vocabulary, and creating the movement that depicts danger, without putting the performers at risk. Ultimately, the job focuses on looking after everyone’s well-​ being—​both physically and emotionally. Theatre companies are seeing the value in this work and investing in bringing attention to the intimacy moments and to being accountable. Flesher, aiming to create “a safe place to do brave work,”38 builds on the work of Tonia Sina, who founded Intimacy Directors International (IDI) and whose work in this field began in 2004. Sina’s IDI website clarifies: A NOTE ON THE ROLE OF INTIMACY DIRECTOR: Intimacy Directors with IDI are highly skilled collaborators trained in movement pedagogy, acting theory, directing, body language, consent, sexual harassment, Title IX, mental health first aid, and, of course, our best practices of Intimacy Direction. The Intimacy Director takes responsibility for the emotional safety of the actors and anyone else in the rehearsal hall while they are present.39

IDI’s pillars of rehearsal and performance practice for directing incorporate context, communication, consent, choreography, and closure. While these seem fairly self-​explanatory, I will briefly outline consent, since this word is used throughout this chapter. According to the “pillars,”40 prior to any scene work incorporating touch or intimacy, consent should be established. Permission is not the same as consent. Only the participant(s) receiving the action may give consent. Therefore, it 77

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is appropriate to discuss the actions of the exercise or scene, clarifying any expectations, intentions, and specific movements. This provides agency for the actor to also withdraw consent at any time. Also following Sina’s work, Kristina Fluty, a Laban movement analyst, movement consultant, and choreographer, has more recently joined the ranks of intimacy facilitators in Chicago. According to Fluty, the primary goal is that “the actors are feeling ‘safe’ enough so that they can be ‘brave’ enough, so they can actually take the risks and make the work look more ‘real’ […] creating a space where communication guides the process.”41 Fluty notes that Chicago is at the forefront of this movement because of the exposés that have been published in recent years. She considers NIOH a “sea-​change” in the industry. [N]‌ow we are making sure everyone is following protocol, which usually falls to the stage manager—​particularly once the intimacy expert leaves the process. We are changing how people check in with each other at the end of a rehearsal. Actors are supported and have someone to check in with, and report to, if the choreography did not go to plan.42

Fluty has worked on a variety of contracts and has had many different titles, but she prefers the term “facilitator,” which is a little less prescriptive than “choreographer” and does not imply that she is running the room or taking charge as the term “director” might. “Designer” speaks to a more scenographic43 collaborative approach, which also interests Fluty. The role of an intimacy facilitator seems to have some fluidity in responsibility and approach, depending on the requirements of the production and company. In her work, the choreography provides a frame, the “bones of the piece”44 so the actors are freer to work within that frame. Fluty uses the CTS as a guide in her processes, all of which have taken place post #MeToo. Her entrance into the field was not a response to #MeToo but rather a coincidence in timing. While Chicago theatre-​makers were already in conversation and engaging language that supports performers, Fluty noted another shift post-#MeToo. She reflects on a subtle industry transition, of which she ultimately became an active part: We all started questioning […] now that this is more out in the open, what do I not have to put up with anymore? […] That’s the bigger emotional, psychological, ephemeral, ineffable shift […] We are educating women more about what it means to have boundaries, and that it’s okay to have them. And that you’re not offending anyone, you’re not ruining the process. You are taking care of yourself.45

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Not all company members are interested in changing how they work, so part of the inherent work is creating processes that work for the individuals or specific company. Fluty describes herself as a creative collaborator—​she can either educate the team, if that is what they are looking for, or facilitate the conversation. Her role is context specific. Some productions do not necessarily require someone to design intimacy moments, and the actors and director may already be confident with that language, in which case the facilitator might be more of a designated advocate. Fluty works closely with the SM, who becomes her representative in the performance phase of the show, which includes conducting check-​ins with actors and pre-​show intimacy calls. “They are the ones who have the eyes on the sequence when it’s happening, so they could check-​in after the performance if something went awry […]. They’re just always there. That’s what is so good about the process.”46 Jessica Forella, Equity SM, worked with Fluty on Yael Farber’s South African adaptation of Strindberg’s Miss Julie—​Mies Julie (2018) at Victory Gardens Theater. This production contained “nudity and scenes of a sexual nature”47 in its story of passion and longing. Forella reflected that on shows before CTS, intimacy rehearsals were handled by the participants in the room agreeing on how to proceed and then moving forward with the scene. Their processes might have been similar to the current protocols, but there was less of a formality to it. Some of the protocols transferred to the current practise quite naturally. For example, on working with Fluty on Mies Julie, she found that [a]‌n intimacy call is the same thing as a fight call, with different choreography, because there’s a potential for danger and potential for complication and you have to check-​in and you have to be careful, and you have to be aware of everyone’s boundaries and requirements of the day, and all of that. But, it’s ultimately just part of the show when you get down to it.48

Forella has worked in the industry in different regions but found the incorporation of intimacy facilitators and awareness is more prevalent in Chicago. Fluty was the first designated intimacy choreographer that Forella worked with on a production. In previous shows the fight choreographer would block the violence and intimacy. Working with Fluty, specific time within rehearsals was dedicated to intimacy moments, enabling detailed discussions on consent and intent. Kristina did a wonderful job of […] establishing that this was intimate, and potentially sensitive, but also a directed physical act. So, we used anatomical names for body parts, as opposed to euphemisms. We would refer to the different moments of intimacy as page numbers or scene numbers […] it was less 79

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casual and more deliberate. Again, those are things that in other contexts we’ve been doing for years […] we just somehow didn’t do them for sex onstage or intimacy onstage.49

Rachel Flesher has been working as an intimacy and violence designer for ten years, but her initial training is in performance and stage combat. She uses a similar model to Fluty. Her process is based on the IDI Pillars of Intimacy, and considers: 1. Communication 2. Expectations 3. Vocabulary 4. Processes 5. Safety 6. Pre-​show/​run protocols 7. Closure50 Both designers foster respect in the room by adhering to the following principles: • consent and communication; • verbal and non-​verbal cues to stop scenes if they aren’t going to plan; • physical permissions, including verbal specificity of the parts of the body where the actors are comfortable being touched or not touched; • trust (employing exercises designed to build trust, such as touch with consent, and balance when possible); • specified time limits for rehearsing intimacy, nudity, and violence; • language—​a shared vocabulary where no slang is used, and trigger language is avoided; and • all choreography is formalized.51 The violence or intimacy choreography is trackable and specific and can be monitored for consistency as well as variation. It is recorded in writing, using mutually understood vocabulary. This process requires open communication and constant check-​ins, and all work is always within the actors’ comfort levels. Forella noted there has been a gradual change in process but finds it hard to pinpoint the moment of change. Perhaps this is a result of the nature of freelance contract employment. Freelance SMs sometimes work for many companies, making it potentially difficult to determine when there has been a procedural shift in a specific company. Where some companies may have had consent-​based protocols all along, others are currently developing them. A resident SM, or one regularly contracted with one company, would have a different perspective on this. 80

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Freeburg does recognize change, even on a day-​to-​day basis, […] speaking for myself, just being more aware of anything inflammatory […] that could be construed in a different way. That’s not only #MeToo but it’s also the gender changes, and how we view gender […] sexual orientation […] cultural differences […] cultural appropriation and racism […] Because I am in a position of power, I want to use that power for good. I don’t want to ever see that I’ve treated someone unfairly because of my position. Which isn’t necessarily due to #MeToo, but it is #MeToo.52

Moving Forward CTS prompted discussions that formalized protocols and agreements for non-​ Equity artists, but it also opened the conversation for the whole industry. The theatre-​makers interviewed did not generally think that vocabulary itself has changed, but that perhaps how we use it has. They do agree that the more open the dialogue, the easier it will be for participants to feel they have agency to discuss difficult topics. According to Gomez, prior to the Profiles Theatre incident mentioned earlier, there weren’t protocols in place in the storefront theatres and even in some Equity houses. Many still do not have explicit HR-​driven procedural initiatives that “allow for staff and artists to identify how and when an infraction might be occurring. And if so, how to report it.”53 There is still work to be done. #MeToo undoubtedly impacted the theatre industry, yet Chicago was already two years ahead in its navigation of issues such as sexual harassment. #MeToo drew an immediate focus on NIOH and CTS, profiling them nationally and internationally. While Gomez posits that it would have happened eventually, the #MeToo movement accelerated the work of NIOH. Since NIOH’s CTS had been tested, and proven effective, by the time #MeToo social media discussions were seeking answers and guidance, “the alchemy was there.”54 Treating intimacy moments as choreography is vital in the maintenance of the scene work, making the action more routine and less intimidating and demystifying the practice. Giving actors assurances that their well-​being is at the heart of the process, being vigilant to maintaining protocols, and developing a shared language and agreed blocking based on a culture of consent is a way to move forward in the industry. On a broader scale, CTS set the scene for the industry in the United States and overseas, particularly in houses with no union affiliations. Principles of the standards are being disseminated through NIOH seminars, media, on the Internet, as well as through academic conferences. For example, in June 2018, 81

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this author presented a paper in a panel session introducing the CTS to an Australasian theatre conference audience.55 All of these dialogues expand the international reach and broaden the discussion. In future, it will be interesting to see how community-​specific codes and protocols vary internationally. Chicago has led the movement in documenting safer protocols. Following a period when the culture did “look away,” when companies with questionable reputations were avoided, when warnings were shared through whispers, Chicagoans had finally had enough and led an urgent push to protect their own industry artists. Procedures that previously had gone unchecked, relying on professionalism, common sense, and courtesy, have been transformed through invested dialogues, trials, and the willingness of an industry no longer able to “look away.” The outcome has set a standard and point of departure, leading the way for other dialogues internationally that have more recently responded collectively to the incidents of #MeToo. While Me Too as a movement has been a conversation for more than a decade, the watershed moment of #MeToo in September 2017 sent the theatre industry on a more urgent path to create the changes necessary to formalize work in a more respectful environment that protects its artists. Protocols will surely continue to evolve responding to industry and institutional requirements. Universities such as DePaul in Chicago are re-​evaluating how scene work is handled and facilitated, providing a new generation of emerging theatre practitioners with the vocabulary to navigate these brave negotiations. Professional and non-​professional theatres have shown a dedication to supporting brave spaces, fostering healthy conditions for all participants. The SMs and theatre-​makers interviewed in this chapter have discussed ways in which we can all advocate for brave working environments, respectful and supportive of the company’s emotional and physical well-​being. With each of these proactive steps, we can continue to hold each other accountable, keeping our eyes firmly focused and not looking away in moments of intimacy, nudity, and violence on and off stage as we move forward into a braver theatre-​making space.

NOTES 1. For more information on Not In Our House, go to https://​www.notinourhouse.org, accessed March 17, 2019. 2. The author wishes to thank: Laura T. Fisher, Rachel Flesher, Kristina Fluty, Jessica Forella, Christine D. Freeburg, Isaac Gomez, and Lori Myers, who agreed to be interviewed and/​ or share their work for this chapter. 3. Equity denotes the professional trade union for actors and stage managers in the United States and Canada: Actors’ Equity Association. This union has specific criteria for admission, quite different to unions with similar names, such as Equity in Australia.

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4. Aimee Levitt and Christopher Piatt, “At Profiles Theatre the Drama—​and Abuse—​Is Real,” Chicago Reader, June 8, 2016. To view full article, go to https://​www.chicagoreader.com/​ chicago/​profiles-​theatre-​theater-​abuse-​investigation/​Content?oid=22415861, accessed March 17, 2019. 5. The Not In Our House website includes links to associated articles, including the earlier cited article “At Profiles Theatre” by Levitt and Piatt. To see full list of associated articles, go to “In the News” at https://​www.notinourhouse.org/​#, accessed March 17, 2019. 6. Lori Myers quoted in Ruth Lopez, “Not in Our Theatre: The Fight against Sexual Harassment,” American Theatre, January 19, 2016. To view full article, go to https://​www. americantheatre.org/2 ​ 016/0 ​ 1/1 ​ 9/n ​ ot-i​ n-o ​ ur-t​ heatre-​the-​fight-​against-​sexual-​harassment/​, accessed March 17, 2019. 7. Not in Our House, “An Open Letter,” Not In Our House. To view full letter, go to http://​ www.notinourhouse.org/​an-​open-​letter/​, accessed March 17, 2019. 8. Laura T. Fisher and Lori Myers et al., Chicago Theatre Standards (Chicago: Not In Our House, 2017), 2. To view full document, go to https://​www.notinourhouse.org/​wp-​content/​ uploads/​Chicago-​Theatre-​Standards-​12-​11-​17.pdf, accessed March 17, 2019. 9. Not in Our House, “An Open Letter.” 10. A list of theatres that participated in the pilot project can be found on the Not In Our House website at https://​www.notinourhouse.org/​our-​pilots/​, accessed March 17, 2019. 11. Fisher and Myers et al., Chicago Theatre Standards, 3. 12. Ibid. 13. Laura T. Fisher, phone interview with Susan Fenty Studham, January 28, 2019. 14. Lori Myers, phone interview with Susan Fenty Studham, January 28, 2019. 15. Fisher, phone interview. 16. Actors’ Equity Association, Definition of the Duties of a Stage Manager (Actors’ Equity Association), 1; original emphasis. A copy of this document can be accessed publicly at http://​www.cwu.edu/​~web/​callboard/​documents/​EquitySMDuties.pdf, accessed April 1, 2019. 17. Actors’ Equity Association, Agreement and Rules Governing Employment under the Chicago Area Theatres (CAT) Agreement (2014–​18), (Actors’ Equity Association, 2014), 70. 18. Brian Arao and Kristi Clemens, “From Safe Spaces to Brave Spaces: A New Way to Frame Dialogue around Diversity and Social Justice,” in The Art of Effective Facilitation: Reflections from Social Justice Educators, ed. Lisa M. Landreman (Sterling: Stylus, 2013), 135–​50. 19. Isaac Gomez, personal interview with Susan Fenty Studham, Chicago, January 10, 2019. 20. Steppenwolf Theatre Company, Chicago, directed by Sandra Marquez, December 13, 2018 to January 27, 2019. 21. “2018/​19 Season,” Steppenwolf. To view full description, go to https://​www.steppenwolf. org/​tickets-​-​events/​1819season/​, accessed March 17, 2019. 22. Haven Theatre Chicago, directed by Jo Cattell, May 31 to July 1, 2018.

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3. Gomez, personal interview. 2 24. “Lookout and Scout Present a Reading of LA RUTA,” Steppenwolf. To view full page, go to https://​www.steppenwolf.org/​tickets-​-​events/​seasons/​2016-​17/​la-​ruta/,​ accessed April 1, 2019. 25. Gomez, personal interview. 26. Steppenwolf Theatre Company, Chicago, directed by Dexter Bullard, April 2017. 27. “Linda Vista: March 30–​May 29, 2017,” Steppenwolf. To view full description, go to https://w ​ ww.steppenwolf.org/​tickets-​-e​ vents/​seasons/​2016-​17/​linda-​vista/​, accessed March 17, 2019. 28. Christine D. Freeburg, personal interview with Susan Fenty Studham, Chicago, January 8, 2019. 29. Jesse Green, “How Chicago Is Changing Theater, One Storefront at a Time,” New York Times, October 8, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.nytimes.com/​2018/​10/​08/​ theater/​chicago-​theater-​scene.html, accessed February 7, 2019. 30. Gomez, personal interview. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid. 38. Rachel Flesher, “Intimacy and Violence Seminar” (DePaul University, Chicago, IL, February 23, 2018). 39. The Pillars: Rehearsal and Performance Practice (Intimacy Directors International, 2016). To view full document, go to http://​docs.wixstatic.com/​ugd/​924101_​2e8c624bcf394166b c0443c1f35efe1d.pdf, accessed March 17, 2019. 40. Ibid. 1. Kristina Fluty, personal interview with Susan Fenty Studham, Chicago, January 10, 2019. 4 42. Kristina Fluty, “How Do Actors Train for an Intimate or Violent Production?” interview by Justin Kaufmann, WGN Radio, June 5, 2018, 3:35. To listen to full interview, go to https://​ wgnradio.com/​2018/​06/​05/​how-​do-​actors-​train-​for-​an-​intimate-​or-​violent-​production/​, accessed March 17, 2019. 43. “Scenography is the art of creating performance environments; it can be composed of sound, light, clothing, performance, structure and space.” “What Is Scenography?” Theatre Designer. To view full page, go to https://​theatredesigner.wordpress.com/​articles/​theatre-​ design-​scenography/​what-​is-​scenography/​, accessed April 1, 2019. 44. Fluty, “How Do Actors Train for an Intimate or Violent Production?” 13:12. 45. Fluty, personal interview. 46. Ibid.

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47. “Mies Julie,” Victory Gardens Theater. To view full page, go to https://v​ ictorygardens.org/​ our-​season/​mies-​julie/​, accessed March 18, 2019. 48. Jessica Forella, Skype interview with Susan Fenty Studham, January 26, 2019. 49. Ibid. 50. Flesher, “Intimacy and Violence Seminar.” 51. Ibid.; and Kristina Fluty, personal interview, Chicago, June 5, 2018. 52. Freeburg, personal interview. 53. Gomez, personal interview. 54. Ibid. 55. Susan Fenty Studham, “Supporting Brave Spaces for Theatre Makers: How Chicago Is Making a Difference in Standards of Rehearsing and Performing Intimacy in Theatre” (paper presented at the Australasian Association for Theatre, Drama and Performance Studies [ADSA] Conference, University of Melbourne, Melbourne, Australia, June 29, 2018).

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5 We Get It: Calling Out Sexism and Harassment in Australia’s Live Performance Industry Sarah Thomasson The global campaigns of #MeToo—​renewed in October 2017 by the allegations and subsequent charges against Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein—​and #TimesUp initiative to combat workplace sexual harassment saw a spontaneous global sharing of experiences of sexual harassment and abuse on social media. In Australia, allegations against prominent local actors, political and media personalities, sometimes made by journalists or politicians without the consent of the women involved, have had a paradoxical effect by embroiling victims in high-​ profile defamation suits that further traumatize them and potentially disincentivize other women from coming forward. With 40 percent of respondents to a 2017 Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance (MEAA) survey of the live performing arts industry reporting that they had experienced sexual harassment,1 this industry, in Australia as elsewhere, has proven a microcosm of these social issues in broader society, partly due to the prevalence of the problem and partly due to the celebrity status of the main players. What are the conditions that have allowed sexual harassment and bullying, particularly of women, to flourish within the Australian live performing arts industry, and how are they being addressed in response to the awareness raised by the #MeToo movement? To explore these questions, I examine how Australian actors directly respond to gender and racial inequality within their workplaces and critique their own industry through performance and have been doing so even before these global campaigns were launched. The 2015 production of We Get It by Melbourne-​based contemporary performance ensemble Elbow Room draws attention to sexism and racism within the

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Australian theatre industry and provides a critique of the pervasive influence of postfeminist neoliberalism. Presented as part-​audition panel, part-​reality television-​ style competition, We Get It sees five female actors battle it out through a series of degrading tasks “to achieve their theatre dream” of being cast in a professional production by a mainstage theatre company.2 Playful and knowing, the performance, which was created by Emily Tomlins and Marcel Dorney with Rachel Perks and the ensemble, draws on the female actors’ own experiences to provide an insight into the working conditions of the Australian independent theatre sector. I argue that We Get It offers a rare, performative institutional critique of the local industry that highlights the gendered and raced experience of actors working within it. Reconsidering this performance within the context of the #MeToo movement, which has focused public attention on this long-​standing issue, offers an opportunity to analyse the material conditions of theatrical production and reception and how they are shaped by the broader ideological positions of neoliberal postfeminism. Through this discussion of the Australian context, it is also hoped that a broader picture of the diversity of responses to the #MeToo movement around the globe will emerge in conversation with the other contributions to this volume.

“Sexism Is Over” Originally performed as part of Melbourne Theatre Company’s NEON Festival of Independent Theatre in 2015, We Get It was remounted at the Brisbane Powerhouse in the Visy Theatre in June 2016, and I base my analysis here upon this later production. Upon entering the theatre, we the audience are assigned a category through different coloured wristbands, and it quickly becomes apparent that we are being segregated by sex, with the men ushered on-​stage, while the women are encouraged to take their seats in the audience area. The men remain on stage as the lights change and a voiceover begins: VOICEOVER    Babe. Hi.               Something to tell you.              Sexism is over.              We are no longer sexist.              I know, right?              Fixed it. It’s fixed.3 From this opening address, it is clear that the performance is deliberately invoking a postfeminist position in order to satirize it. “Post-​feminism,” according to Angela McRobbie, 87

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positively draws on and invokes feminism as that which can be taken into account, to suggest that equality is achieved, in order to install a whole repertoire of new meanings which emphasise that it is no longer needed, it is a spent force.4

In tune with this, the voice-​over continues to ironically call out aspects of our society and institutions that are supposedly “no longer sexist”: “Our economy,” “education system,” “hiring practices,” and, of course, “standards of artistic excellence. […] Sexism is over. You’re welcome.”5 As the male audience members take their seats in the seating banks, our host “Em,” played by Emily Tomlins, welcomes us to the season finale of the reality TV show We Get It, in which five contestants will compete to achieve their professional goal: “to work with a real theatre company in a proper production of an [sic] play people have actually heard of.”6 The contestants, who with deliberate ambiguity share the names of the actors (see Figure 5.1 from left to right), Sonya, Amy, Kasia, Maurial, and Tamiah, each have an opportunity to audition as a classic heroine from the Western theatre canon: Medea, Lady Macbeth, Blanche Dubois, Nora Helmer, and Antigone.

FIGURE 5.1: “Em” introduces the contestants. We Get It, directed by Marcel Dorney and Emily Tomlins, Visy Theatre, Brisbane Powerhouse, Brisbane, June 15–​25, 2016. (L-​R) Emily Tomlins, Amy Ingram, Maurial Spearim, Kasia Kaczmarek, and Sonya Suares. Photo: Sarah Walker.

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These audition pieces are broken up by diary room–​style confessions and various rounds in which contestants are forced to answer demeaning and personal questions in a competition to improve their “relatability factor” with the audience. Here, the theatrical audience are cast as the live audience of the fictional reality TV show and participate in the ritual humiliation of the actors through the Bums On Seats System (B.O.S.S.), the “latest in biometric technology,” which is used to eliminate contestants by measuring audience satisfaction through our clenched bums.7 Described by reviewer Chris Boyd as an “impressively serious yet blackly comic expose of the entrenched sexism in theatre production and in actor training,”8 I read this performance as an example of institutional critique that calls attention to the operation and effects of postfeminist neoliberal ideology in the industry and beyond. Here I am borrowing a term from visual arts, which was “used to describe the politicised art practice” that first emerged in the 1960s and 1970s.9 “The institutional critique strategy,” according to Alexander Alberro, involves “shifting the viewer’s perspective, or making viewers see what they had previously taken for granted in a new and different light.”10

FIGURE 5.2: The We Get It contestants. We Get It, directed by Marcel Dorney and Emily Tomlins, Visy Theatre, Brisbane Powerhouse, Brisbane, June 15–​25, 2016. (L-​R) Sonya Suares, Amy Ingram, Kasia Kaczmarek, Maurial Spearim, and Tamiah Bantum. Photo: Sarah Walker.

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In turning the audition process for a mainstage theatre production into a contest played out for the pleasure of the live audience of a reality TV show, Elbow Room dramatizes actors’ experiences of sexism, racism, and misogyny in the industry and gives the audience a behind-​the-​scenes insight into the processes of theatrical production, while drawing attention to how the audience are also implicated. Following Adorno, Alberro highlights the relationship between the art institution and governing ideology: “It is its ally, counterpart, and underside, and as such it inevitably rehearses and reiterates the very mechanisms of social control and oppression that ideology performs.”11 Today, the ideology that informs these conditions is the intersection between neoliberalism and postfeminism, both of which are invoked and critiqued within We Get It. As Age reviewer Cameron Woodhead noted of the Melbourne production, We Get It reveals that “[t]‌he whole system is geared towards ritually demeaning and undermining the actors. It reinforces disempowering ideas about female representation under threadbare rubrics of artistic excellence and audience satisfaction.”12 Audiences are therefore prompted to reflect on how “artistic excellence” is defined, what makes a great actor, who gets to decide, and how these rubrics are inherently biased against certain groups. This production therefore reiterates Linda Nochlin’s argument in her seminal essay “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” from the 1970s. Here Nochlin found “that the total situation of art making, both in terms of the development of the art maker and in the nature and quality of the work of art itself,” was mediated by social institutions.13 This led her to conclude that it is “indeed institutionally made impossible for women to achieve artistic excellence, or success, on the same footing as men, no matter what the potency of their so-​called talent or genius.”14 In theatre, as the convention of the B.O.S.S. humorously indicates, the viewing subject—​ the audience member—​is shaped by, and in turn reinforces, inherent social biases as they determine whose performance reaches the heights of artistic excellence. This institutional framing of theatrical performance is directly brought to the forefront within We Get It. In a particularly heated segment, host Em needles Sonya with questions of whether she is trying to appeal to the audience’s sympathies as a woman of colour. In response to the question of whether she views herself as a victim, Sonya responds: SONYA EM SONYA

Not remotely. Woman of colour is a description of what happens when I stand here. In front of you. In front of our audience. In the middle of this—​machine, yes. Let’s not be bloody naïve about this. This is a machine that reproduces and validates particular ways of looking at the world.15 90

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This scene “decodes and/​or recodes the institutional conventions [of theatre] so as to expose their hidden operations,”16 prompting recognition of sexist and racist viewing practices in broader society through an institutional critique of the theatrical frame. While this scene highlights biases within theatrical reception, this critique is foreshadowed within an earlier scene that reveals their influence on the casting practices of theatre companies. In Tamiah’s diary room scene, she describes the kinds of roles she is cast in, which include a prostitute, an escort, a receptionist, and a maid.17 Her final comment in which she describes the worlds of these characters as “flat,” that they are “girls without a past or a future,” reveals that the roles she is offered are meant to be read as representative of a “particular colour” and therefore the problematic stereotypes that are being perpetuated.18 By offering an institutional critique of theatrical production and reception, Elbow Room not only problematizes notions of “artistic excellence” within the industry, but also draws attention to the broader processes of neoliberal postfeminism in society.

Rank For the first round of the competition, the actors enter wearing sashes branded with labels they have been given in the industry such as “Muslim Doctor,” “Token,” “Funny Bitch,” “Ethnic Extra,” or “Bogan Migrant” (see Figure 5.3). This round requires the contestants to play a game, and as Em explains, there are only two rules: to “[r]‌ank yourselves according to the category” and to refuse to participate risks elimination “[u]nless all participants refuse.”19 As each category is announced, the actors rearrange themselves on a series of steps created by rostra to form a winner’s podium upstage. The categories are appearance-​based but initially fairly innocuous—​“Tallest,” “Longest Hair”—​but quickly become more judgmental—​“Largest cup size,” “Lightest complexion”—​begin to invoke familiar stereotypes—​“Most promiscuous,” “Most neurotic”—​and finally become accusatory—​“Most likely to play the gender card,” “Most likely to play the race card,” “Biggest hypocrite”—​until Maurial refuses to continue to participate, and Em is advised to end the round by “Mr. Authority,” who calls all of the shots via an earpiece.20 This combative format, in which contestants are made to compete against each other in a zero-​sum game, discourages the women from working together for fear of personal disadvantage and is representative of the broader logic of neoliberalism. As Elin Diamond, Denise Varney, and Candice Amich observe, “Postfeminism is the happy creature of neoliberalism.”21

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FIGURE 5.3: The contestants take their positions in the game of Rank. We Get It, directed by Marcel Dorney and Emily Tomlins, Visy Theatre, Brisbane Powerhouse, Brisbane, June 15–​ 25, 2016. (L-​R) Kasia Kaczmarek, Sonya Suares, Maurial Spearim, Amy Ingram, and Tamiah Bantum. Photo: Sarah Walker.

“It has been part of the genius of neoliberal theory,” David Harvey argues, “to provide a benevolent mask full of wonderful-​sounding words like freedom, liberty, choice, and rights, to hide the grim realities of the restoration or reconstitution of naked class power.”22 In addition to class power, Diamond, Varney, and Amich add “that it is also the restoration of patriarchal power, reconstituted less in terms of the family and the state than by the ‘invisible hand’ of corporate capital.”23 This is achieved, in part, through the promotion of individualism, competition, and personal responsibility, and paradoxically by incorporating elements of feminist ideals into the mainstream. As McRobbie explains, Drawing on a vocabulary that includes words like “empowerment” and “choice,” these elements are then converted into a much more individualistic discourse, and they are deployed in this new guise, particularly in media and popular culture, but also by agencies of the state, as a kind of substitute for feminism.24

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If feminism has already been taken into account and equality and social justice have been achieved, then it is no longer needed and can be discredited as a political movement. As Sarah French explains, “[T]‌he neoliberal discourse of individualism strongly informs the position of young women who dissociate themselves from feminism as a collective political movement and view notions of individuality, autonomy, and freedom of choice as central to their subjectivity.”25 Thus, when Em introduces the second rule at the beginning of the game of Rank—​that no one will be penalized if they all refuse to participate—​she scoffs at the idea of “female solidarity” and reminds them, “Don’t forget, tonight’s a competition. Winner takes all.”26 This attitude is symptomatic of the broader postfeminist position that promotes the view that gender equality has been achieved despite evidence to the contrary.

Women in Australian Theatre Gender equality is not a new topic of discussion for Australian theatre, with the underrepresentation of women in creative leadership roles and the gender pay gap within the live performance industry the subject of successive reports commissioned by the Australia Council, the Australian government’s arts funding and advisory body, in the past decade. Despite the seemingly widely held belief that equality has been achieved, a 2012 report on “women in theatre” suggests that this contention is not supported by evidence within the context of the Australian theatre industry. The report was prompted by what Elaine Lally and Sarah Miller describe as the “iconic image of eleven men and one woman lined up for the launch of the 2010 Belvoir season” as the artists who would be working with the company, which is based at Belvoir St Theatre in Surry Hills, that year.27 Using the number of women in creative leadership positions as an indicator of gender equality, the report drew on AusStage28 data to measure the number of directors, playwrights, artistic directors, general managers, and board positions occupied by women in the major performing arts (MPA) companies between 2001 and 2011. They found that “[i]‌n the MPA companies only 30–​40% of productions have a woman in a creative leadership role, with this proportion dipping below 30% in both 2008 and 2010.”29 Notably, the report concluded that “there has been no progress over the decade since 2001, and there is evidence that the situation for women in creative leadership deteriorated over that time.”30 Similarly, a 2017 economic study of professional artists found that “the income gap between men and women is wider in the arts than the average gap across all industries in Australia.”31 Lally and Miller attribute this continued discrepancy in creative leadership and pay to gender equality falling off the policy agenda after the 93

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gains of the 1980s. Their respondents note the postfeminist backlash, with fears of being blacklisted and “[s]‌ome express[ing] deep concern that the feminist revolution is seen as having happened and been successful, and that continued activism attracts hostility because it is perceived to be redundant.”32 Postfeminist rhetoric has indeed compromised the material conditions of women working within the live performing arts industry. While feminism is seen as common sense and therefore redundant on the one hand, it is also actively discredited as aggressive and threatening on the other. Within postfeminism, McRobbie identifies a process of “disarticulation,” which “devalues, or negates and makes unthinkable the very basis of coming-​together […], on the assumption widely promoted that there is no longer any need for such actions.”33 “Disarticulation,” she continues, “also operates through the widespread dissemination of values which typecast feminism as having been fuelled by anger and hostility to men. This is now understood as embittered, unfeminine and repugnant.”34 Thus when any of the contestants in the fictional We Get It show question what they are being asked to do, or if one of them makes an observation of sexism or racism, instructions to “Make it stop” flash across a screen, and Em reminds them of the risks to their “relatability factor” as actors: “We’re getting strong readings of obscure, and aggressive, and man-​hating [from the B.O.S.S.]. And that’s before we check the Twitter feed.”35 When Sonya balks at performing her monologue of Lady Macbeth while eating watermelon in sexy lingerie on the grounds that it is exploitative and sexist, for example, she is accused of being “condescending, classist and sex-​negative.”36 Once again, audience satisfaction becomes the rationale for the lengths the actors must go to to prove their worthiness to play these canonical characters and how they are then directed in their monologues. Only here, the flimsiness of these claims is playfully highlighted by the absurdity of the B.O.S.S. As McRobbie observes, disarticulation is a pre-​ emptive response to “a sense or a threat that feminism could be re awoken [sic], and that it was, in the past, a force to be reckoned with.”37 While it is too early to assess the long-​term effects, #MeToo does seem to have prompted just such a reawakening that makes the impact of We Get It’s powerful institutional critique of the impact of postfeminism on the Australian live performing arts industry even clearer in retrospect.

“She’s Just Being Sensitive” We Get It pre-​empts the discussion around #MeToo in a diary room scene with Sonya and Kasia, in which they reveal an incident of sexual assault in an acting training rehearsal room. The story, which is told in the second person to 94

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deliberately distance the narrators and universalize the experience, begins with the comments of her male peers, the smirks, and the eye rolls, to which she is “just being sensitive.”38 This low-​level harassment escalates, however, when she is cast in a lead role opposite a “Nice Enough Guy” who will play her husband. Here, Kasia and Sonia describe how this male scene partner explores his character’s subconscious desire through improvised “unlabelled sexual experiments” in rehearsals by simulating rape to assert his control and is rewarded by the director’s praise of the “Raw Sexual Energy in the room.”39 When the female actor raises the issue of her bruises and the need for safe practice, “she is told, she is informed that she needs to protect herself better.”40 How does this account—​the status of which as fiction or personal testimony is deliberately ambiguous—​reflect the broader experiences of performers within actor training institutions and universities and the subsidized, and independent sectors of the Australian live performing arts industry? As the local allegations that have come to light as a result of the global #MeToo movement suggest, these occurrences can no longer be dismissed as “one off” or “isolated” events.41 In Australia, women were quick to respond to Alyssa Milano’s call in her October 15, 2017 tweet to share their stories of sexual harassment on social media, and the traditional media weren’t too far behind in publishing allegations against prominent local actors and media personalities. On November 27, 2017, a joint Australian Broadcasting Commission (ABC)-​Fairfax investigation brought to light allegations of indecent assault, sexual harassment, and bullying by lifestyle presenter Don Burke, spanning three decades and against numerous women. Three women went on the record against Burke and at the same time accused his employer (the Nine Network, which, incidentally, subsequently bought Fairfax Media) of covering up his inappropriate behaviour. This was followed on January 8, 2018, by the joint investigation’s detailed account by three female cast members—​supported by fellow actors and band members—​of indecent assault and sexual harassment by star Craig McLachlan during the 2014 production of the Rocky Horror Show. Both Burke and McLachlan—​who had reprised his role as Dr. Frank-​N-​Furter for the 2018 tour—​have strenuously denied the claims, with the latter suing the ABC, Fairfax Media, and accuser Christie Whelan Brown for defamation. Much like the justification of exploring the character’s “wants” given by We Get It’s “Nice Enough Guy,” McLachlan points to the nature of the Rocky Horror Show as a “confrontational musical oozing with sexuality” in his defense.42 In Australia, this threat of defamation is undermining the local #MeToo movement by discouraging media organizations from publishing further claims of harassment and abuse. As the New York Times has reported, Australia’s strict ­defamation laws, in which the media organization as the respondent has to prove 95

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the allegations are true (as opposed to in the United States where the applicant must prove they are false and malicious), is “having a dampening effect on #MeToo.”43 Despite sixteen hundred people contacting well-​known journalist Tracey Spicer with allegations against one hundred Australian men by May 2018, Spicer reports that it is becoming more difficult to gain the support of national media outlets to publish even the strongest of these cases, partly due to the potential cost of a defamation suit.44 The first and most high profile of these cases, which played out in the Federal Court of Australia throughout October and November 2018, is Geoffrey Rush v Nationwide News (a subsidiary of News Corporation). Rush’s case relates to an article by journalist Jonathon Moran that appeared on the front page of the Daily Telegraph on November 30, 2017, entitled “King Leer,” accompanied by an image of Rush in the title role, and the fuller coverage on pages four and five, with a similarly tabloid-​style headline “Star’s Bard Behaviour.”45 Moran reported that Sydney Theatre Company (STC) had received a complaint of “inappropriate behaviour” against Rush following its 2015–​16 production of King Lear; the claimant was later revealed to be Eryn Jean Norvill, who played Cordelia. Directly citing the media’s “notorious” portrayal of Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and Don Burke as “sexual predators” as the extrinsic facts of the case, Rush alleges that these articles defamed him by characterizing him as a pervert and sexual predator and claiming that he “engaged in inappropriate behaviour of a sexual nature.”46 In delivering his judgment in April 2019, Justice Michael Wigney found that the Daily Telegraph’s articles had conveyed defamatory imputations and that, on the balance of probabilities, the newspaper had failed to prove them substantially true. Rush was therefore awarded $850,000 in compensatory damages and a further $2 million in lost past and future earnings, which is subject to appeal at the time of publication in June 2019.47 Norvill originally did not want to make her complaint against Rush to STC official, did not speak to the media, and requested that her identity be withheld. Despite this, she did appear as a witness for the defence in the defamation case, with her honesty and integrity effectively on trial to prove that what the articles reported was substantially true. As part of this process, Norvill was accused by Rush’s barrister of telling “a whole pack of disgusting lies” to damage the Oscar-​ winning actor’s reputation48 and was contradicted by senior colleagues, including cast members Helen Buday and Robyn Nevin (who is also a former artistic director of STC), who appeared in support of Rush.49 Norvill was not without her supporters though, with fellow cast member Mark Leonard Winter, who played Edgar, testifying that he witnessed Rush inappropriately touching Norvill on stage50 and the wider industry showing an outpouring of support for her on social media under #IStandWithEJ.

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The public and invasive nature of these cases that have effectively put the accusers on trial in court but also within the media risk re-​traumatizing the survivors, damaging their reputations and career prospects, and make it harder for other victims to speak out and seek justice. As theatre critic and arts writer Anne-​ Marie Peard has observed, “Young women and girls who may want to be actors see this reporting and learn that their comfort, safety and bodies are so irrelevant that they can be discussed in intimate detail by anyone.”51 Norvill herself cited the power imbalance between junior cast members and the Hollywood star that would have made it “catastrophic” for her to make an official complaint against Rush.52 Sonya and Kasia, too, rehearse some of the imagined reactions that would be received by the women at the centre of their story if she reported “Nice Enough Guy.” These range from dismissing it as an “isolated case,” questioning whether it was “so bad, really,” claiming “[i]‌t could have been so much worse,” to asking what “she [is] complaining about.”53 As in Norvill’s case, where it was STC Executive Director Patrick McIntyre who informed Moran of the allegation off-​the-​record, the decision to speak out has been taken away from a number of Australian women whose experiences of sexual harassment have been made public without their consent by third parties for “political or commercial gain.”54 Another high-​profile example was New South Wales (NSW) Liberal MP David Elliot using parliamentary privilege to expose the sexual harassment of ABC journalist Ashleigh Raper at a 2016 Christmas party by then-​NSW Labor Leader Mike Foley to destabilize the opposition ahead of the NSW state elections scheduled for March 2019. While Elliott was protected by absolute privilege, Raper was threatened with a defamation suit when she did make the public statement that prompted Foley’s resignation.55 Far from empowering victims of sexual harassment to speak out, then, these high-​ profile #MeToo cases have reinforced the danger—​reputationally and potentially financially—​of going on record against those in positions of power who are protected by Australia’s defamation laws. As these examples suggest, however, they are also made vulnerable by not reporting their experiences and going on record through official channels. While experts and journalists agitate for reform of these laws, which were last amended in 2006 before the explosion of social media, to appropriately balance the protection of reputation against the public’s right to know,56 this does not address the appropriation of victims’ stories without their consent or contribute to long-​term structural reform to reduce sexual harassment within the workplace. We Get It confronts these issues head on as it exposes the heightened potential for sexual harassment in the rehearsal room but also the social attitudes that too often allow for its dismissal as a normal part of the creative process.

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“Momentum for Change” The live performing arts industry is being called upon to effect long-​term cultural change beyond requiring individual arts workers to “take better care” of themselves or “to be more careful” as We Get It suggests has been the widely held attitude until recently.57 Calling attention to the slippage between actor and character, performer and contestant, Kasia asks toward the end of the diary room scene discussed earlier, “Did this happen to me?” Sonya repeats, “Did this happen to me?” KASIA You’re asking the wrong question. SONYA […] The question that you should be asking is what would have stopped this from happening to me.58 In the fiction of the reality TV show at least, rebellion is possible and the system can be torn down. Eventually Em refuses to be the mouthpiece for Mr. Authority any longer, and he is forced to enter the scene in corporeal form as co-​director Marcel Dorney to regain control. When Maurial “call[s]‌bullshit” on his direction of her as an Antigone “surrender[ing] to her fate” for the cathartic release of the largely white audience, speaks passionately in the language of her nation, and declares that she “WILL NOT BE SILENT,” the machine breaks down irrevocably and the former Mr. Authority is deleted from existence.59 How has the Australian live performing arts industry responded to the global “momentum for change”60 prompted by #MeToo to address sexual harassment and bullying within its rehearsal rooms and on its stages? Union and industry advocate MEAA has undertaken a number of steps to address the question that Sonya poses earlier of how to protect artists, crew, and other staff in their workplace. Even before the allegations against Weinstein came to light, MEAA had opened a survey of members to assess the extent of sexual harassment and bullying within the sector. Of the twelve hundred respondents to the survey, 40 percent reported that they had experienced sexual harassment and a further 40 percent reported that they had witnessed it,61 but 53 percent of those who had experienced sexual harassment, criminal misconduct, or bullying at work had not reported it.62 Of those who had reported an incident, 47 percent felt that it was not handled well and in half of these cases that the situation was made worse, with a further 25 percent handled well but not resolved.63 These experiences of the failure of reporting procedures reinforce the other respondents’ reasons for not coming forward, which include: being worried about professional repercussions (43 percent); believing nothing could be done (36 percent); worrying that reporting would make it worse (40 percent); and hoping it would resolve itself (14 percent).64 In response to these findings MEAA hosted a two-​day Safe Theatres Forum in March 2018 to “initiate 98

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a national conversation and combine our collective effort in driving lasting cultural change to eliminate sexual harassment, bullying and discrimination in the sector.”65 This was followed by Live Performance Australia’s (LPA) release of an industry code of practice in September 2018, which is voluntary except for LPA members whose compliance is mandatory.66 This code of practice provides an overview of the legal requirements of all organizations in the sector and guidelines and templates for how to develop best practice policies and procedures to “prevent and respond to” bullying and harassment.67 This document is concerned with minimizing the risk of liability to these organizations by ensuring that they not only implement and maintain policies to prevent sexual harassment, bullying, and discrimination; have investigation and complaint handling procedures to respond to incidents; and continue to communicate these policies; but that they are also proactive in “creating and maintaining a positive, inclusive and respectful workplace culture” in which these kinds of incidents do not occur.68 For #MeToo to have a lasting effect, beyond addressing what could be considered an industry-​wide failure to comply with existing legislation, groups such as MEAA as well as individuals need to keep raising awareness of what constitutes inappropriate behaviour in the workplace, pressure those in power to change their behaviour, and support survivors and witnesses when they come forward. With 48 percent of respondents believing that the nature of acting makes it difficult to define what constitutes appropriate behaviour,69 the live performing arts industry needs to embrace cultural change and recognize creative spaces as workplaces beholden to the laws and standards of the Australian community. In conclusion, by knowingly revealing its own conditions of production and reception and playfully invoking postfeminist rhetoric, We Get It offers an institutional critique of the Australian theatre industry and draws attention to the ideological effects of neoliberalism more broadly. Under the logic of neoliberalism where individualism is championed, it is harder for women to work together in solidarity. This situation, combined with the rhetoric of postfeminism, has created conditions where it is difficult for women to report inappropriate and even illegal behaviour and have their concerns taken seriously without jeopardizing their own careers. Even with #MeToo emboldening those who have experienced sexual harassment and assault to speak out, this movement is stymied locally by Australia’s defamation laws. Despite this, there is a growing awareness within the live performance industry of the need to introduce and adhere to industry standards and protect arts workers, whether they are working in the subsidized or independent sector. With the feminist gains of the 1980s being lost in the Australian theatre industry in recent years and incidents of sexual harassment in the workplace reportedly increasing,70 now is also the time to ride the momentum of 99

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change of the #MeToo movement to draw attention to the institutional role of our cultural industries and to re-​evaluate the continued relevance and place for feminism as a political movement.

NOTES 1. Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance (MEAA), Sexual Harassment, Criminal Misconduct and Bullying in Australian Live Performance (Strawberry Hills: MEAA, 2017), 1. To view full survey, go to http://w ​ ww.meaa.org/d ​ ownload/​meaa-​2017-​sexual-​harassment-​in-​ live-​theatre-​survey/​, accessed November 30, 2018. 2. Marcel Dorney and Rachel Perks, We Get It (unpublished play script, June 2016), 4. Performed at Visy Theatre, Brisbane Powerhouse, New Farm, Queensland, Australia, June 2016. 3. Ibid., 2. 4. Angela McRobbie, The Aftermath of Feminism: Gender, Culture and Social Change (Los Angeles: Sage, 2009), 12. 5. Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 2. 6. Ibid., 4. 7. Ibid., 5. 8. Chris Boyd, “A Blackly Comic Expose of the Stages of Sexism: Review of We Get It,” Australian, July 13, 2015, 12. 9. Alexander Alberro, “Institutions, Critique, and Institutional Critique,” in Institutional Critique: An Anthology of Artists’ Writings, ed. Alexander Alberro and Blake Stimson (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2009), 8. 10. Ibid., 11. 11. Ibid., 12. 12. Cameron Woodhead, “Subversive Feminist Satire Bites: Review of We Get It,” Age, July 13, 2015, 29. 13. Linda Nochlin, “Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?” (1971), in Women, Art, and Power and Other Essays (New York: Harper and Row, 1988), 158. 14. Ibid., 176; original emphases. 15. Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 39; original emphases. 16. Miwon Kwon, One Place After Another: Site-​Specific Art and Locational Identity (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002), 14. 17. Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 11. 18. Ibid. 19. Ibid., 6. 20. Ibid.,  6–​10.

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21. Elin Diamond, Denise Varney, and Candice Amich, introduction to Performance, Feminism and Affect in Neoliberal Times, ed. Elin Diamond, Denise Varney, and Candice Amich (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 3. 22. David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 118. 23. Diamond et al., introduction to Performance,  2–​3. 24. McRobbie, Aftermath, 1. 25. Sarah French, “Neoliberal Postfeminism, Neo-​Burlesque, and the Politics of Affect in the Performances of Moira Finucane,” in Performance, Feminism and Affect in Neoliberal Times, ed. Elin Diamond, Denise Varney, and Candice Amich (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 163. 26. Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 6. 27. Elaine Lally and Sarah Miller, Women in Theatre (Surry Hills: Australia Council for the Arts, 2012), 15. 28. AusStage is The Australian Live Performance Database. To see full database, go to https://​ www.ausstage.edu.au/​pages/​browse/​, accessed February 11, 2019. 29. Lally and Miller, Women in Theatre, 4. 30. Ibid.,  4–​5. 31. David Throsby and Katya Petetskaya, “The Gender Pay Gap Is Wider in the Arts Than in Other Industries,” Conversation, November 13, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​ theconversation.com/​the-​gender-​pay-​gap-​is-​wider-​in-​the-​arts-​than-​in-​other-​industries- ​ 87080, accessed February 2, 2018. 32. Lally and Miller, Women in Theatre, 45; original emphasis. 33. McRobbie, Aftermath, 26. 34. Ibid. 35. Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 24; original emphases. 36. Ibid., 33; original emphasis. 37. McRobbie, Aftermath, 27. Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 27. Ibid.,  27–​28. Ibid., 28. Ibid., 29. Quoted in Lorna Knowles and Alison Branley, “Craig Mclachlan Accused of Indecent Assault, Sexual Harassment during Rocky Horror Show,” ABC News, January 8, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.abc.net.au/​news/​2018-​01-​08/​craig-​mclachlan-​accused-​ of-​indecent-​assault-​sexual-​harassment/​9304452, accessed February 3, 2019. 43. Clarissa Sebag-​Montefiore, “Geoffrey Rush’s Defamation Trial Becomes a #Metoo Reckoning for Australia,” New York Times, November 6, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.nytimes.com/​2018/​11/​06/​world/​australia/​geoffrey-​rush-​metoo-​defamation. html, accessed February 3, 2019. 8. 3 39. 40. 41. 42.

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44. Spicer cited in Steph Harmon, “#MeToo Revelations and Loud, Angry Men: The Feminism Flashpoint of Sydney Writers’ Festival,” Guardian Australia, May 6, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​books/​2018/​may/​06/​metoo-​revelations-​and-​ loud-​angry-​men-​the-​feminism-​flashpoint-​of-​sydney-​writers-​festival, accessed February 3, 2019. 45. Jonathon Moran, “King Leer,” Daily Telegraph, November 30, 2017, 1; and Jonathon Moran, “Star’s Bard Behaviour,” Daily Telegraph, November 30, 2017, 4–​5. 46. “Geoffrey Roy Rush v Nationwide News Pty Limited and Anor,” Federal Court of Australia, NSD2179/​2017, December 8, 2017, 5. To view full document, go to http://​www. fedcourt.gov.au/​_​_​data/​assets/​pdf_​file/​0011/​46946/​SOC.pdf, accessed February 3, 2019. 47. “Summary,” Rush v Nationwide News Pty Ltd (No 7) [2019] FCA 496, Federal Court of Australia, April 11, 2019. To view full summary, go to https://​www.austlii.edu.au/​cgi-​bin/​ viewdoc/​au/​cases/​cth/​FCA/​2019/​496.html?context=1;query=rush%20v%20news;mask_​ path=, accessed June 16, 2019. For considered analysis of Wigney’s findings and the impact of the exclusion of the testimony of Witness X—​later revealed to be actor Yael Stone—​see Richard Ackland, “The Geoffrey Rush Trial Shows Defamation Can Make Victims Become Victims All Over Again,” Guardian, April 18, 2019. To view full article, go to https://​www. theguardian.com/​commentisfree/​2019/​apr/​18/​the-​geoffrey-​rush-​trial-​shows-​defamation-​ can-​make-​victims-​become-​victims-​all-​over-​again, accessed June 16, 2019. 48. Michael McGowan, “Geoffrey Rush Defamation Trial: Eryn Jean Norvill Accused of Lying to Harm Actor,” Guardian Australia, October 31, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​ www.theguardian.com/​film/​2018/​oct/​31/​geoffrey-​rush-​trial-​eryn-​jean-​norvill-​accused-​ telling-​disgusting-​lies, accessed February 3, 2019. 49. See Matthew Benns and Lucy Hughes Jones, “Co-​star Sent Text to Actress after Geoffrey Rush Allegations,” Daily Telegraph, October 28, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​ www.dailytelegraph.com.au/​news/​nsw/​costar-​sent-​text-​to-​actress-​after-​geoffrey-​rush-​ allegations/​news-​story/​914e98b7ef3b9265e79a17d5ae9cb6b4, accessed February 3, 2019. 50. Michael McGowan, “Geoffrey Rush Touched Eryn Jean Norvill’s Breast on Stage, Fellow

51.

2. 5 53. 54.

Actor Tells Court,” Guardian Australia, November 1, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/fi ​ lm/2 ​ 018/n ​ ov/0 ​ 1/​geoffrey-​rush-​touched-​eryn-​jean-​norvills-​ breast-​on-​stage-​fellow-​actor-​tells-​court, accessed February 3, 2019. Anne-​Marie Peard, “#IStandWithEJ,” Arts Hub, November 3, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​performing.artshub.com.au/​news-​article/​opinions-​and-​analysis/​performing-​ arts/​anne-​marie-​peard-​istandwithej-​256761, accessed February 3, 2019. Norvill quoted in Sebag-​Montefiore, “Geoffrey Rush’s Defamation Trial.” Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 29. Annabel Crabb, “Luke Foley vs Ashleigh Raper Shows That Even If You’re a Good Girl, You’re Still Going to Cop It,” ABC News, November 8, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.abc.net.au/​news/​2018-​11-​09/​annabel-​crabb-​ashleigh-​raper-​luke-​foley-​ geoffrey-​rush-​barnaby/​10480876, accessed February 3, 2019.

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5. Foley has since withdrawn this threat. 5 56. See Richard Ackland’s series of articles for the Guardian. For example, Richard Ackland, “Your Right to Know: How Australia’s Defamation Law Stifles Public-​Interest Journalism,” Guardian Australia, November 29, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www. theguardian.com/m ​ edia/2 ​ 018/n ​ ov/3 ​ 0/y​ our-r​ ight-​to-​know-​how-​australias-​defamation-​law-​ stifles-​public-​interest-​journalism, accessed February 3, 2019. 57. Dorney and Perks, We Get It, 29. 58. Ibid. 59. Ibid.,  49–​51. 60. Lally and Miller, Women in Theatre, 4. 61. MEAA, Sexual Harassment, 1. 62. Ibid., 3. 63. Ibid., 4. 64. Ibid., 3. 65. MEAA, “Joint Statement: Shared Commitment to Cultural Change in the Theatre Sector,” MEAA, last modified March 23, 2018. To view full statement, go to https://w ​ ww.meaa.org/​ mediaroom/j​ oint-s​ tatement-s​ hared-c​ ommitment-t​ o-c​ ultural-c​ hange-i​ n-t​ he-t​ heatre-s​ ector/, accessed November 30, 2018. 66. Live Performance Australia (LPA), “Australian Live Performance Industry Code of Practice to Prevent Workplace Discrimination, Harassment, Sexual Harassment and Bullying,” MEAA, last updated August 28, 2018. To view full document, go to https://w ​ ww.meaa.org/​ download/​australian-​live-​performance-​industry-​code-​of-​practice-​to-​prevent-​workplace-​ discrimination-​harassment-​sexual-​harassment-a​ nd-b ​ ullying/,​ accessed November 30, 2018. 67. Ibid., 4. 68. Ibid., 3. 69. Ibid., 4. 70. Katherine Murphy, “Coalition Launches Inquiry into Sexual Harassment over #MeToo Revelations,” Guardian Australia, June 19, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www. theguardian.com/​world/​2018/​jun/​20/​coalition-​launches-​inquiry-​into-​sexual-​harassment-​ over-​metoo-​revelations, accessed February 3, 2019.

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6 Toward the Origin of Performing #MeToo: Franca Rame’s The Rape as an Example of Personal and Political Theatre/​Therapy Laura Peja and Fausto Colombo

Me Too Before #MeToo: Legacy and Change The purpose of this chapter is to identify the links between #MeToo and other similar previous forms of female struggle against gender violence.1 In particular, we will analyze a historical case from Italian theatre and television, the performance Lo stupro (The Rape), by Franca Rame, written, created, and staged in different contexts and forms since the early 1980s. The starting point of our analysis is the observation that the #MeToo phenomenon is part of the long history of the claims of women’s rights, and above all it is associated with a tradition of struggles against the various forms of male power, obviously starting from violence or sexual abuse. Beyond the definition—​more or less accepted—​of #MeToo as a “movement,” it seems to us to be characterized by these basic elements: • The triggering causes are practices of harassment related to power relations (e.g., sexual blackmail for success in the job market). • The privileged context is constituted by the world of entertainment (in particular cinema). • Harassment practices are reported by victims by resorting to their own reputation and in public contexts, using both traditional media (interviews, public statements reported by television, or the press) and social media.

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• Denunciation is presented as a collective fact, shared by a significant number of women both as victims and in solidarity with the victims. • The purpose of the denunciation is to bring about a radical change in the context, with the condemnation of the perpetrators and, more generally, of the practices of violence and male chauvinism within society. In this chapter we try to show that at least some of these characteristics can be found in cases that predate the current #MeToo movement and its precursor, the Me Too movement initiated by American Tarana Burke, with the intention, on the one hand, of recognizing continuities and, on the other, of more closely defining the specificity of #MeToo.

The Violence and the Drafting of the Text On March 9, 1973, the Italian actress Franca Rame, well known for her political commitment in the theatre as well as for active initiatives (in particular her support for the families of jailed terrorists with an association called Soccorso Rosso, meaning “Red Relief”), was kidnapped in broad daylight while on her way to the hairdresser not far from her home. The offenders, as emerged much later, were a handful of criminals and neo-​fascists who had acted in collusion with, perhaps even on the orders of, high-​ranking Carabinieri officers.2 She was loaded into a van, tortured with razor blades and lit cigarettes, and raped. She was then thrown back into the street and wandered for some time before finding a telephone. She called her husband, actor Dario Fo, who “rushed to the spot and found her bleeding, covered with bruises, dazed and crying convulsively.”3 The experience was traumatic and predictably affected the whole family. Her son Jacopo Fo, then 17, said: “For at least twenty days I stayed at home with my mother. At times she lost consciousness and fell into the nightmare of rape and started screaming and sobbing.”4 Overcome with anger and the desire for revenge, he joined a terrorist organization, which he later left (“fortunately without ever firing a single shot”5), realizing that armed struggle only served to “anaesthetize” him and fuel an obsession. Fo wrote: In the end my mother saved me. And it is incredible that she succeeded, since in the meantime she had been knocked down by a car. One arm was paralysed and due to nerve damage for 24 hours a day she experienced the same pain she felt after the accident. But clearly she is extraordinary. One day my mother, with her paralysed left arm, went on stage and performed a play that, so she declared, was the testimony of a young woman. In 105

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reality she wrote it. It is a precise and detailed account of how they kidnapped her and of what they did to her. She had never told anyone about it. She managed to tell her story to a thousand people. Over the years, she performed this play hundreds of times, more than a thousand times. And through this story she gradually succeeded in partly overcoming the trauma. Healing herself with the feeling that the audience, silenced in the theatre, could remove that suffering, take it away bit by bit. Each member of the audience taking away one small bit, so that it was not too heavy for them. In this way my mother was slowly able to recover […] This is how my mother invented a new form of theatre. A theatre that heals the suffering of the actors as well as that of the audience. And so she healed my own pain.6

FIGURE 6.1: Franca Rame in a screenshot from the video “Lo stupro” by Franca Rame and Dario Fo, in “Sesso? Grazie, tanto per gradire!” Fabbri ed. 2006, courtesy of www.archivio. francarame.it © Franca Rame Archive Dario Fo -​C.T.F.R. srl.

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Both lucid and deeply felt, Jacopo Fo’s words fully illuminate the sense of Rame’s achievement, here presented as an example ante litteram of the #MeToo movement, precisely because The Rape combines the urge to denounce injustice and activate political struggle with a concern for the victim and the need for healing. As the founder of the original Me Too movement (2006), Tarana Burke, has said: Part of the work of the Me Too Movement is about the restoration of that humanity for survivors, because the violence doesn’t end with the act. The violence is also the trauma that we hold after the act. Remember, trauma halts possibility. It serves to impede, stagnate, confuse, and kill. So our work rethinks how we deal with trauma.7

Recounting a traumatic experience helps remove the negative symptoms of trauma, the emotional reaction to it: it is a form of therapy. It is also a form of political resistance. This has been demonstrated with political prisoners who have been strong enough to break the conspiracy of silence with their torturers. For example, Nieves Ayress, who had the “capacity to reverse the shame and to speak publicly about how her tormentors tried to humiliate her,”8 retaining her place in a political community that supported her. Her story “enables her to employ her gendered memory as a form of political resistance.”9 Victims tend to feel sullied by what has been done to them, as if they bore some responsibility for what happened, and this shame does not let them remember and offer testimony of what they have endured. Recovery requires getting women survivors to speak about the events that brought them shame.10 And if someone has the courage to tell a story in the first person, then someone else can add their “me too.” In general, obviously, as Burke stresses, survivors should not “tell the details of their stories all the time. We shouldn’t have to perform our pain over and over again for the sake of your awareness.”11 By contrast, Rame did exactly this. Hundreds and even thousands of times she went on stage and recounted the details of the violence she suffered. As an actress, recovering the sacrificial matrix of theatre, she offered, through her body on stage, a story that heals. Rame succeeded in writing the text, and then found the strength to perform it on stage, through an exemplary effort, one that was emblematic of how violent personal trauma is elaborated through an act of revelation. But it was also an extremely long and arduous effort. It took two years, according to her own story, to reach the “act of writing” that shifted her “from the ‘passivity’ and humiliation of the victim to ‘activity’, or the dignity of the literature of testimony,” and then some years more to take the script from the drawer where she had put it, after allowing those closest to her to read it.12

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Rame wrote to try to heal herself, while conveying to those close to her what, after a lapse of two years, words had been incapable of expressing. In her notes written in 1987 she reconstructed the experience of writing “following an irrepressible inner urge […] I absolutely had to free myself, at least in part, of the tension in which I was still experiencing two years later, 24 hours a day.”13 Writing was, at first, a personal matter. Yet, after the first step of writing to communicate and heal, she took a second step: it still took her some years to make the further effort, but then Rame managed to put this autobiographical account at the service of politics and published the play text in a first version which still retained some of the more biographical traces. Then she even managed to put the play on the stage and have it printed in a final version that distilled and eliminated the personal references and modified the ending. The revised ending, which is not, however, in contrast with her lived experience (Rame did, in fact, report the act of aggression, but omitted the element of sexual violence14), generalizes and raises the question of secondary harm, the damage women have to cope with if they report such an incident. This part was later represented in a satirical and grotesque introduction-​ prologue to the published monologue, which reports the “terrorist rite to which policemen, doctors, judges and the opposing council subject rape victims.”15 It is probable that this satirical prologue is attributable to Fo rather than Rame.16 It reflects a difference in their instinctive reactions, and, at the same time, it also demonstrates the unbridgeable difference between a person who denounces a wrong fiercely and rationally and fights against something that they have not experienced directly, and one painstakingly trying to find a voice to recount a personal experience that is devastating, almost annihilating,17 making it difficult to attain that detachment and critical rationality that the satirical attitude requires.

On the Stage Going on stage was not an easy decision. It cost the actress much heart-​searching and effort. At first she was unable even to rehearse it (“I tried to rehearse […] but after a few lines I burst into tears”18), so she decided to go on stage unexpectedly, substituting this text for a passage in Tutta casa, letto e chiesa (She’s All House, Bed and Church, 1977), without the knowledge of the troupe (except for Fo, “who joined the audience only when he heard the final applause”19). This was in 1980, according to Rame’s account (but probably in 1981). Despite the suffering that telling her story caused her, as we have already seen, in the early 1980s Rame felt the urgency to promote and support a change to the Italian law, whose fundamental framework dated back to 1931 and in which sexual violence was classified as a “crime against public decency and morality” 108

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under Title IX of Book 2 of the Penal Code, hence not among the crimes against an individual person. The debate in parliament was lively20 and Rame’s performance is clearly in dialogue with it.21 In the 1983/​84 and 1984/​85 seasons, Lo stupro (The Rape) was part of the show Coppia aperta (An Open Couple, 1983), together with the one-​act play Coppia aperta quasi spalancata (Open Couple, Very Wide Open) and Rientro a casa (Coming Home) in 1983–​84, replaced by Una madre (A Mother) in 1984–​85. It was also often presented, in the same years, alternating with other monologues Una madre and Io, Ulrike, grido (I, Ulrike, Cry) in Fo’s show Fabulazzo Osceno (Obscene Fables, 1982), which he also performed in a solo version of three of his monologues. On November 28, 1987, Rame performed her uncompromising monologue on the state television channel Rai 1, during the enormously popular variety entertainment show Fantastico, broadcast during Saturday prime time. This was a turning point for the actress. Soon after the television performance, it was openly revealed that The Rape was autobiographical, and then it became more difficult for her to perform it. “Only anonymity allowed me to tell that tragic story,” she wrote in the 1987 notes cited earlier, written in relation to this revelation.22 The personal side had been revealed too openly, and it proved necessary for Rame to return to silence. But then Rame succeeded again in breaking this self-​ imposed silence when a new political event (the mass rapes of Bosnian women between 1992 and 1995 during the Yugoslav wars) added to the difficulty of approving an Italian law dealing with this matter. Consequently, the show Sesso? grazie tanto per gradire (Sex? Don’t Mind If I Do!, 1994), which initially ended with the lightness of La favola dei tre desideri (The Story of the Three Wishes), at some point “in the last year of performances”23 presented instead The Rape, “in solidarity with the women of Bosnia.”24 It should be noted that the preamble to the performance, when it was published in 1998 in volume XIII of Le Commedie di Dario Fo e Franca Rame, ends as follows: “it is a testimony that I personally received from the woman who suffered it.”25 The fiction of anonymity (unveiled off stage as such) was maintained, at least on the stage. Anonymity is exactly what #MeToo is seeking to dismantle today, encouraging women to declare their situation, but #MeToo has the Internet and social media to protect bodies from exposure. The stage, by contrast, is a non-​mediated place, too dangerous without at least a mask to protect one. If going on stage enabled the actress to effectively pursue a political agenda, it also brought her a personal benefit (“You went into analysis in front of thousands of people, mum,” her son told her26). Inscribed in a public and shared experience, this personal benefit was also immediately a political benefit in the broadest sense. It was a form of purely female elaboration that the theatre attentive to social dynamics sought to explore and study,27 and that jurists today see as an important guideline for policies of 109

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crime prevention. Her performance on television in the programme Fantastico was not just a turning point in Rame’s private life but the social impact of highlighting such a sensitive issue was great, and the broadcast can be seen as a decisive moment in the Italian political debate on women and the need for a new law. It was one of the first times28 that the narration of an act of sexual violence obliged a whole nation not to look away. It helped to place the sensitive issue of reforming rape law on the Italian political agenda; after being invoked since the 1970s, it was finally approved in February 1996, and sexual violence was made a crime against the individual in Italy as elsewhere. It is important to note the influence of the numerous initiatives undertaken outside Parliament that led to the result, including the campaign promoted by Rame herself with her husband Fo in 1988, through several episodes of a television show (Trasmissione forzata), which appealed to the public to send postcards to Montecitorio and the Rai urging approval of the law. Rame’s initiatives contributed to the slow legislative process but also to bringing about social and cultural changes, which are even slower and more complex. The Rape can be said to have helped to put violence against women in the public sphere as an important issue for legislators and law enforcement, and to have contributed to changing the climate of opinion about rape. Most representations of rape in narrative, theatre, and mass media have been closely aligned with the popular understanding of romance and passion, in which the hero overcomes difficulties and wins the fair maiden, and Prince Charming’s kiss awakens Sleeping Beauty. Being so embedded in normative conceptions of active powerful masculinity and passive delicate femininity, rape can hold an erotic appeal: it may fascinate.29 Rame, on the contrary, gave audiences a detailed, chilling description of a precise sequence of excruciating acts of cowardly violence perpetrated by a group, where sexual violence was the climax and everything spoke of hatred and brutality. There is no mistaking this rape for a salacious spectacle. It provides harsh testimony that potentially engages with audiences and makes them feel distressed. The emotional commitment embodied in Rame’s detailed story can be labelled—​ following the classification developed, starting from Luc Boltanski’s model, by Birgitta Höijer—​as “blame-​filled compassion.”30 Höijer’s narrative presents the suffering of the victims together with indignation and anger at the perpetrators. Hence it was extremely effective in achieving the twofold aim of raising awareness about the tragic implications of sexual violence and compelling a political and legislative response. To this end, the more private sphere of memory and thought was erased from the text, and no reference to the open political motivation of the violence appears in any wording of the text. At the centre there is only the issue of sexual violence, without “digressing” into other political issues and without any opportunities for a “distantiation from compassion”31 that could come from a political characterization of the victim, thus weakening the work. Focusing 110

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ruthlessly on the detailed chronicle of violence, The Rape provoked widespread debate, especially after it was broadcast on television again soon after prime time on the Saturday night family program on Rai 1 in November 1987.

An Incursion into the Glitter of Italian Saturday Night Television When, on the evening of November 28, 1987, Adriano Celentano, host of Fantastico 8, announced the entry of Rame, the Rai (the Italian public service broadcaster) had changed profoundly from the old monopolist broadcasting service, but also from the first version of the mixed system that combined public service networks with private television companies, both competing for the national audience. By this time the Rai-​Fininvest duopoly, with the public service owning three networks and the commercial broadcaster three, was firmly established.32 More generally, television broadcasting as a whole was experimenting with new forms of spectacle and new true-​life television or reality television programmes. The centrality of entertainment and advertising and the general euphoric climate of the decade have led more than one historian33 to speak of it as an age of overriding individualism, with the rebirth of consumerism as a widespread social objective. The relationship with politics was also ever closer, presenting rather visible forms of censorship. In this context, Fantastico was an important variety show, then in its established phase. It had started—​inheriting the television programme Canzonissima’s link with the Italian Lottery—​in 1979, and its decline would begin with the 1989 edition. Typically popular on a national basis, it got excellent ratings.34

The Performance After a short presentation by the host, the actress began the performance: she reclined on a plain chair, without armrests, made of a dark plastic material, with chrome metal legs. She wore a full black pullover, black trousers with cuffs, and high-​heeled boots. On her right wrist she wore a simple pink watch. A big pair of spectacles was hooked into the neck of her pullover. She immediately leaned into the back of the chair, assuming a semi-​recumbent position. Her figure was illuminated by two stage lights that projected an X-​shaped cross with its upper arms silhouetted by two shadows of the actress. The performance was divided into two parts: the first recounted the rape (abduction, overpowering, torture, stripping, sexual violence); the second documented what followed (getting dressed, the last outrage, abandonment, the wandering of 111

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the victim to the police station, and the decision not to report it). The two parts present different directorial choices that accompanied and influenced Rame’s movements on the stage. The first part was divided into three series of shots, separated by cross-​dissolves: 1. The central shots, with the camera framing Rame slightly from above, built the image of a flattened, defenceless, victim. During the sequence, this shot presented some variations: from full length to half-​figure, often through visible slow zooms. 2. Shots from the right, horizontal to the height of the head of the protagonist, half-​length, which particularly marked some moments (like the twisting of the victim’s left hand by the torturers, reproduced by the actress through a contraction of the whole left side of her body). 3. Shots from the left (two), close to the ground, which functioned to emphasize the details (the hands, a leg, the right foot). Throughout this first part, the central shot formed the staple of the staging, following and capturing its tragic nature. The victim’s subjective story corresponded to the looming representation of her body, which we saw portrayed as impotent and frustrated, while the voice of Rame (a distinctive voice, slightly throaty, progressively laboured) expressed the sequence of the woman’s physical and psychological sufferings. The posture of Rame’s body and the slant of the camera, combined with the special lighting, evoked scenic figures and metaphorical meanings: the shadows of the actress cast behind her suggested the figures of the torturers; the cross pattern that resulted suggested the X-​chromosome, evoking a universal value of history, tragically emblematic. The second part of the performance began when the revelation and description of the actual rape had ended. The actress pulled herself up on the chair, until she was sitting upright. From this moment on, the chair itself, first insignificant, became a fully integrated stage prop. Rame stood next to the chair, then took a turn and a half around it before she left the stage at right. At that point the chair remained in the last frame, empty. The direction followed the movements of the protagonist with only two series of shots: 1. The central ones, this time horizontal, classic, accompanied only by slight panning shots enabling it to focus the scene. 2. Those from the right, half-​length, with the essential function of enhancing dynamism.

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FIGURE 6.2: Franca Rame in a screenshot from the video “Lo stupro” by Franca Rame and Dario Fo, in “Sesso? Grazie, tanto per gradire!” Fabbri ed. 2006, courtesy of www.archivio. francarame.it © Franca Rame Archive Dario Fo -​C.T.F.R. srl.

The live editing here was more complex with more camera movements, a long dissolve between two images of Rame lingering on screen. After the violence of the first part, the intensity gave way despondently to focus on the woman’s suffering and her decision not to report her torturers, stressed by the actress’s increasingly hopeless tone of voice. The performance received lengthy applause from the studio audience (framed in a short series of shots from above).

Issues of Meaning In an attempt to grasp the multiple meanings of Rame’s performance on this television show, we would like to articulate three types of significance.

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The first is purely theatrical. According to her own statement, it was the actress herself who asked to appear on the variety show hosted by Celentano. The analysis presented shows a complex television performance, in which the television production lent itself to interpretation, with restraint and competence, of the salient features of the performance, highlighting Rame’s performative gestures without emphasizing or overwriting them. This made the performance an example of television theatre, in which stage and television complemented each other without clashing.35 The second significance was political. Rame’s request to appear on the show was evidently intended to present an important theme to a very large audience as part of her social struggle as a committed woman, all the more motivated by having suffered on her body the same violence that was staged in the monologue. Here television performance, apart from its power of integrating and synthesizing the experience on the stage, became (like the theatre itself) a simple instrument of a fully political discourse, in the form of testimony. The voice of the victim (in the political sense of the word)36 consisted not simply in identifying the author-​ interpreter with the real victim, but more deeply in the point of view underlying the narrative, which reversed and—​in this way—​disputed the dominant male perspective. Finally, Rame’s entrance with her monologue into television as entertainment (but also experimentation) in the 1980s now leads us to a sort of meta-​reflection on the expressive instrument constituted by television in the way it was defined in those years, above all in the emerging genre of reality television. In the 1980s, there existed an ambiguous relationship between realism and spectacle.37 On the one hand, television seemed to have renounced scripted content, resulting in programming which spontaneously emerged from the portrayal of human behaviour. On the other hand, it responded to the needs of an audience that aspired to be protagonists, and that shortly afterwards would become the protagonists of the great reality shows.

On the Internet Almost twenty years later it was broadcast, the television version of the monologue The Rape was given a new life by the Internet. (It should be remembered that analog television largely failed to provide repeat showings of its programmes.) In particular, the recording of the Rai programme was uploaded in two parts on YouTube38 (a platform created in 2005 and acquired in 2006 by Google) in 2008. The account that posted the videos was “Franca Rame.” Between 2010 and 2012, it numbered sixty-​four videos of performances by the actress. The title of 114

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the recording is “Fantastico 1988—​Franca Rame: Lo stupro.” The first part of the monologue39 has had more than 22,500 views to date; it has received sixty-​five likes and three dislikes, as well as fifteen comments. The second part40 received over 15,000 views with no likes, two dislikes, and no comments. The nature of the comments is mainly appreciative, both on the quality of the acting and the content of the monologue. But there are also a number of political protests, which stigmatize the ideological positions taken by Rame and Fo. Also in 2008, the monologue had already been uploaded—​inserted in a recording of the show Sesso tanto per gradire (probably taken from the DVD of the spectacle itself)41—​and had reached almost 250,000 views, with over 173 comments (in the same tone as those just mentioned). In subsequent years, other accounts have posted the same version. In 2012 a new recording of the Fantastico performance was uploaded (in a single video), entitled “Franca Rame—​Monologo Lo stupro.”42 This time the account was an unidentified “Mr” (only four videos posted in all between 2010 and 2014), with a brief descriptive text of the performance and its location. In this case the video received almost 210,000 views, with 1,275 likes, 35 dislikes, and 118 comments, again divided between very positive appreciations and political attacks on Rame. Finally, in May 2013, apparently following the death of the actress, another private account (“David Millet”: forty-​six videos posted between 2010 and 2018) uploaded the recording of the Fantastico monologue,43 getting approximately 59,000 views, 305 likes, 13 dislikes, and 101 comments (similar to those already analyzed). Overall, the visibility of the monologue on the Internet is therefore extremely significant. It was completed, in 2018, with the uploading of the version of Lo stupro presented at Fantastico on the Teche Rai platform,44 which brings together the main productions by the Italian public broadcasting service over the decades. It can be assumed that the surge in awareness-​raising by #MeToo in this case played a role in the recovery of the piece, until then unpublished on the platform. Currently the same version is also present on Rai’s on-​demand platform.45 With this definitive institutionalization, we can say that the effectiveness of the presence of the monologue in a seemingly pop television episode has been decidedly significant, and that it still exudes an aura of influence on the debate on violence against women, not without stirring controversy. In this way it demonstrates the role of witness and provocation that the work retains today, still making thousands of people not look away.

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FIGURE 6.3: Franca Rame in a screenshot from the video “Lo stupro” by Franca Rame and Dario Fo, in “Sesso? Grazie, tanto per gradire!” Fabbri ed. 2006, courtesy of www.archivio. francarame.it © Franca Rame Archive Dario Fo -​C.T.F.R. srl.

From the rape to the performance that denounced and transformed it into a manifesto, the digital and shared memory of The Rape today makes it a classic text, relevant to every phase of the public renewal of reflection on the role of women and the violence that threatens them, as in the case of the #MeToo movement.

Conclusion At the end of our discussion we can try to bring out the points of continuity and difference between the story of Lo stupro and #MeToo, rereading our analysis of Rame’s performance through the salient aspects of the #MeToo phenomenon, which we identified in the introduction. With respect to the triggering causes, we can recognize a strong affinity between the violence suffered by Rame and the harassment suffered by the actresses who are the protagonists of #MeToo, though the violence suffered by Rame took place 116

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outside her professional context and lies rather on the boundary between pure male chauvinist violence and political violence. In terms of denunciation, the main affinities are as follows: in both cases the people involved (leading figures in the world of entertainment) use their fame and the opportunities for visibility that it offers to denounce the events of which they were the victims. Actors’ bodies are usually the most exposed,46 but they are exhibited to receive admiration and applause; in this case they voluntarily expose their own shame in a self-​sacrifice that begins the healing process and can help reconstruct lives that have been shattered. The protagonists of #MeToo make this gesture explicitly, using spaces off-​stage and resorting to direct communication in the first person. Rame, by contrast, chose a different path: she staged her suffering through writing and theatrical performance, and setting a distance between confession and staging. In both cases we find the transition from the individual case to its collective representation: for the protagonists of #MeToo, the establishment of a network of witnesses and the public encouragement of denunciation are intended to build a community of victims and people who are in solidarity with them. By contrast, Rame created a character on stage in whom the audience could recognize themselves, universalizing their personal experience with a reference to their shared belonging to the female gender. Her protagonist goes so far as to renounce reporting the violence, but by the stage mechanisms, this renunciation is the extreme violence to which she is subjected, and the goal is to stir the public’s conscience. The different modes of denunciation define the different practices in the use of the media. For Rame, television (the dominant medium in the 1980s) was simply one more vehicle of communication for a performance designed for the stage and the presence of a physical and real audience. On the other hand, for #MeToo social media makes up a specific form of public exposure. This leads the actresses on the one hand to leverage their fame to make their testimonies effective, while on the other hand it takes them out of their professional role to make them women among other women. In both cases, however, the purpose of the denunciation is to change the context, which in #MeToo is configured as a change in the unwritten rules of gender relations in the workplace, while for Rame it took the form of a reference to a more balanced relationship in all areas of social life and the need for changes to the laws in place. As such, The Rape belongs to the strand of activism that, in those years of Italian public life, used the media in strictly political ways. Finally, we feel that Rame’s example may offer some elements of reflection for a movement that, even though “over the past few years girls and women have been increasingly engaged with feminist critique and activism, often using digital media technologies to speak out against misogyny, rape culture and everyday sexism,”47 yet, as has been noted, runs many risks, including the danger that “the proliferation 117

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and repetition of stories of sexual violence, especially on social media, may make the distribution of online vitriol easy, persistent and vicious, creating a toxic and less safe, not safer, space for women’s expressions of their voices.”48 Against this risk, Rame’s performance reveals an approach that does not take shortcuts but compels, through a skillful artistic mediation, an authentic awareness, the distillation of the story that “heals,” the story that opens up spaces for the “far-​reaching power of empathy,”49 which alone can truly change individuals and societies.

NOTES 1. This contribution was discussed and its arguments were wholly shared by the two authors. Laura Peja wrote the first two sections whereas the others were written by Fausto Colombo, who also wrote the introduction. The conclusions were written together. 2. For a detailed account of these events, see the autobiography of the couple Franca Rame and Dario Fo, Una vita all’improvvisa (Parma: Guanda, 2009); and the biography by Joseph Farrell, Dario Fo and Franca Rame: Harlequins of the Revolution (London: Methuen, 2001). Note that there exists an Italian translation of Farrell’s book, Dario e Franca (Milan: Ledizioni, 2014). Also for extensive journalistic documentation, go to “Lo stupro—​1975,” Archivio Franca Rame Dario Fo. Available on the web at http://​www.archivio.francarame.it/​elenco. aspx?IDOpera=170&IDTipologia=3&IDPagina=1, accessed March 9, 2019. 3. Rame and Fo, Una vita all’improvvisa, 151. 4. Jacopo Fo, “Il Cacao della domenica,” Università Di Alcatraz, June 8, 2003. To view full text, go to https://​www.mail-​archive.com/​[email protected]/​ msg00010.html, accessed March 11, 2019. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. Tarana Burke, “Me Too Is a Movement, Not a Moment” (talk, TEDWomen 2018: Showing Up, Palm Springs, November 28, 2018), video recording, 11:45. To view video of full talk, go to www.ted.com/t​ alks/t​ arana_b ​ urke_m ​ e_t​ oo_​is_​a_​movement_​not_​a_​moment, accessed March 10, 2019. 8. Temma Kaplan, “Acts of Testimony: Reversing the Shame and Gendering the Memory,” Journal of Women in Culture and Society 28, no. 1 (2002): 181. 9. Ibid. 10. Inger Agger, The Blue Room: Trauma and Testimony among Refugee Women—​A Psycho-​ social Exploration (London: Zed Books, 1994), 115. 11. Burke, “Me Too Is a Movement,” 12:22. 12. Luciana D’Arcangeli, I personaggi femminili nel teatro di Dario Fo e Franca Rame (Florence: Franco Cesati, 2009), 233. Luciana D’Arcangeli also wrote an English paper on the text by Franca Rame: Luciana D’Arcangeli, “Lo stupro by Franca Rame: Political

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Violence and Political Theatre,” in Imagining Terrorism: The Rhetoric and Representation of Political Violence in Italy 1969–​2009, ed. Pierpaulo Antonello and Alan O’Leary (Oxford: Legenda, 2009), 101–​15. 13. Franca Rame, “1987—​Appunti,” Archivio Franca Rame Dario Fo, 2. To view images of original notes, go to http://​www.archivio.francarame.it/​Scheda.aspx?IDScheda=5674&I DOpera=170, accessed March 11, 2019. 4. Ibid., 1: “ ‘Mi hanno picchiata’ ho detto a tutti e l’ho chiusa lì. ‘Le botte’ erano più dignitose, 1 mi offendevano, mi umiliavano molto meno.” (“ ‘They beat me up,’ I told everyone and left it at that. ‘Blows’ would have been more dignified. They would have offended me, they would have humiliated me much less.”) 15. The prologue that points the finger at the authorities and the justice system is the following: DOCTOR   

POLICEMAN JUDGE DOCTOR PROSECUTING LAWYER JUDGE

POLICEMAN DOCTOR LAWYER

Tell me, Miss—​I’m sorry, are you married?—​during the incident, did you only feel disgust, or did you also feel a certain pleasure … an unconscious satisfaction…? Didn’t you feel flattered that so many men, four in all, I believe, felt such a powerful desire for you, felt such a HARD passion? Did you remain passive throughout, or did you, at a certain point, participate? Did you feel yourself involved? Sexually aroused? Did you feel yourself becoming moist? Did you not think that your groans, which were undoubtedly due to your suffering, could have been misinterpreted as expressions of pleasure? Did you experience sexual gratification? Did you experience orgasm? If so, how many times?

Dario Fo and Franca Rame, “Lo stupro,” in Le commedie di Dario Fo, vol. VIII (Turin: Einaudi, 1989), 91. For the online translation of Lo stupro by Ed Emery, go to http://​www.geocities.ws/​dariofoarchive/​rape.html, accessed March 11, 2019. 16. There is no place here to go through a detailed study of the manuscripts and drafts to give account of the progression of the writing, an interesting in-​depth discussion for another occasion. (Peja has addressed this topic in “Nota su ‘Lo stupro.’ Personale e politico sulla pelle di un’attrice,” in Scena madre: Donne personaggi e interpreti della realtà. Studi per Annamaria Cascetta, ed. Roberta Carpani, Laura Peja, and Laura Aimo [Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2014], 465–​70.) 7. On the topic of rape as a devastating, almost annihilating, personal experience, see what 1 Rame says to Luciana D’Arcangeli (interview quoted in D’Arcangeli, I personaggi femminili,

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244): “Rape is a wound that never heals.” And the last line of another monologue inspired by an act of violence recounted directly by Rame and performed in the early years of the new century is: “Mi hai bruciato la vita, ragazzo” (“You trashed my life, boy”), quoted in ibid., 241. The full title of this unpublished monologue is: “Maria,” anni 58, stuprata alle due del mattino sul ciglio della strada da un giovane, cosiddetto “per bene, di buona famiglia.” Testimonianza raccolta, scritta e rappresentata in numerose occasioni da Franca Rame. Milano, 20 marzo 2001. 18. Rame interviewed by D’Arcangeli, quoted in ibid., 234. 19. Rame, “1987—​Appunti,” 3. 20. For a more detailed description, see Camera dei Deputati, I reati sessuali in Italia e all’estero: Disciplina legislativa e dibattito per la riforma del sistema vigente (Rome: Camera dei Deputati, Segreteria Generale, 1981). 21. See the English translation by Emery of Fo and Rame, Lo stupro, which, in the introduction, includes what Rame was evidently saying on stage at that time, clearly showing the link with what was happening in Parliament, which in January 1983 approved an amendment moved by the deputy Carlo Casini. (The introduction to the monologue reads, “You will certainly be aware that the proposed new law against sexual violence has been completely mutilated in Parliament by the amendment proposed by the Christian Democrat Member of Parliament Casini. His amendment alters the definition in Clause One from ‘crime against the person’ to ‘crime against the sexual liberty and dignity of the person.’ Once again, the familiar hotch-​potch of a non-​specific, generalized sexual crime.”) 22. Rame, “1987—​Appunti,” 3. 23. Dario Fo and Franca Rame, Sesso? Grazie tanto per gradire (Milan: Fabbri, 2006), 75. This publication includes a booklet with the text and a DVD released by Videoerre, which presents the recording of the whole show, with The Story of the Three Wishes as the last piece, made in Milan at Teatro Smeraldo on March 8, 1995 (video director: Lorenzo Lorenzini), followed (from 01:59:00 to 02:08:26) by the performance of The Rape whose recording has certainly not been made on the same occasion, though it is not specified when and where it was made. The only information given is: “from Settimo: ruba un po’ meno!

4. 2 25. 26. 27.

n. 2,” which is the title of another show, created in 1992. At 01:59:52 a text comes up on the screen saying that in the last year of performances Rame played The Rape instead of the The Story of the Three Wishes, and then a performance of the harsh monologue follows. Ibid., Rame, at 02:05:00 of the recorded DVD performance. Fo and Rame, Le commedie di Dario Fo e Franca Rame, 147. Jacopo Fo in Rame and Fo, Una vita all’improvvisa, 261. On theatre as therapy and social healing, see Claudio Bernardi, Il teatro sociale: L’arte tra disagio e cura (Roma: Carocci, 2004); Richard Schechner and James Thompson, “Why ‘Social Theatre’?” Drama Review 48, no. 3 (2004): 11–​16; Salvo Pitruzzella, Drama, Creativity and Intersubjectivity: The Roots of Change in Dramatherapy (New York: Routledge,

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2016); and Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston, eds., The Applied Theatre Reader (New York: Routledge, 2013). 28. A former example is the documentary Processo per stupro (Trial for Rape), made by six young women programmers, filmmakers, and directors (Loredana Rotondo, Maria Grazia Belmonti, Anna Carini, Rony Daopulo, Paola De Martis, and Annabella Miscuglio) who, in 1979, for the first time in Italy, placed cameras in a courtroom to broadcast a trial. It was aired for the first time at 10 p.m. on April 26, 1979, on Rai 2, the second channel. It was awarded several prizes. A copy is kept in the MoMA archives in New York. 29. Lisa Fitzpatrick, Rape on the Contemporary Stage (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018), vi. 30. Birgitta Höijer, “The Discourse of Global Compassion: The Audience and Media Reporting of Human Suffering,” Media Culture & Society 26, no. 4 (2004): 523. The reference to a previously developed model is to Luc Boltanski, Distant Suffering: Morality, Media and Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 31. Ibid., 524. 32. On Italian television in the 1980s see, for example, David Forgacs, Italian Culture in the Industrial Era, 1880–​1980: Cultural Industries, Politics and the Public (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1990); and Giovanni Ciofalo and Giada Fioravanti, “The Cultivation of Power: Origins of Today’s Media Industries, Politics, and Culture,” in Power and Communication: Media, Politics, and Institutions in Time of Crisis, ed. Silvia Leonzi, Giovanni Ciofalo, and Antonio Di Stefano (Cambridge: Cambridge Scholar, 2015), 27–​44. 33. See, for instance, Gozzini, La mutazione individualista, Gli italiani e la televisione 1954–​ 2011 (Roma-Bari: Laterza, 2011). 34. Aldo Grasso, Storia della televisione italiana (Milan: Garzanti, 2004), 450–​55. 35. There exists an extensive bibliography on Italian television theatre, to which the reader is referred: Gianfranco Bettetini, ed., Sipario: Storia e modelli del teatro televisivo in Italia (Turin-​Rome: Rai-Eri, 1989); Annamaria Cascetta, ed., Sipario due: Sinergie videoteatrali e rifondazione drammaturgica (Turin-​Rome: Rai-Eri, 1991); Adriano and Luigi Bellotto, eds., Sipario! Vol. 3: Teatro e televisione: modelli europei a confronto (Turin-R ​ ome: Rai-Eri, 1996); and Giorgio Tabanelli, Il teatro in televisione, 2 vols (Turin-​Rome: Rai-Eri, 2004). 36. Nick Couldry, Why Voice Matters: Culture and Politics after Neoliberalism (London: Sage, 2010),  1–​20. 7. Fausto Colombo, Il Paese leggero, Gli italiani e i media fra contestazione e riflusso (Rome-​ 3 Bari: Laterza, 2012), VII–​XIII. 38. For the video research that follows, we inserted in the search function of the platform different combinations of “Franca Rame,” “Lo stupro,” and “Fantastico 1987,” along with the Boolean operator “and.” The various results were then analyzed and viewed to avoid false attributions. The following views were calculated on the date of the last consultation (December 20, 2018). Only Italian uploads were considered (versions in other languages—​ e.g. one with Spanish subtitles—​did not receive a significant numbers of views).

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39. “Fantastico 1988—​Franca Rame:  Lo stupro 1a parte,” YouTube video, posted by Franca Rame, November 18, 2008. To view full video, go to https://​www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=LQHaOo4H_​Fk, accessed March 9, 2019. 40. “Fantastico 1988—​Franca Rame:  Lo stupro 2a parte,” YouTube video, posted by Franca Rame, November 27, 2008. To view full video, go to https://​www.youtube.com/​ watch?v=CLazE3swsTc, accessed March 9, 2019. 41. “LO STUPRO—​Franca Rame,” YouTube video, posted by Franca Rame, May 26, 2008. To view full video, go to https://​www.youtube.com/​watch?v=EdJ_​LM2tQtM, accessed March 9, 2019. 42. “Franca Rame—​Monologo ‘Lo stupro,’ ” YouTube video, posted by Mr, February 8, 2012. To view full video, go to https://​www.youtube.com/​watch?v=zzh7FmmNDAM, accessed March 9, 2019. 43. “Franca Rame—​Lo stupro,” YouTube video, posted by Davide Delmiglio, May 29, 2013. To view full video, go to https://​www.youtube.com/​watch?v=NXNmcBPR630, accessed March 9, 2019. 44. “Franca Rame—​Fantastico 8, 1987,” Rai Teche, March 8, 2018. To view full video, go to http://w ​ ww.teche.rai.it/​2018/​03/​franca-​rame-​fantastico-​8-​1987/​, accessed March 11, 2019. 45. “Dario Fo e Franca Rame—​La nostra storia,” RaiPlay. To view full video (free on registration), go to https://​www.raiplay.it/​video/​2017/1 ​ 1/D ​ ario-F ​ o-e​ -F ​ ranca-R ​ ame--​ -​ L ​ a-n ​ ostra-​ storia-​-​-​E17-​448bf800-​1f77-​48a0-​936f-​da0acc2dc739.html, accessed March 11, 2019. 46. On this complex and topical theme, see: Claudio Bernardi, Giuseppe Fornari, and David Le Breton, eds., “Bodies Exposed: Dramas, Practices and Mimetic Desire,” monographic issue Comunicazioni Sociali: Journal of Media, Performing Arts and Cultural Studies 38, no. 2 (2016). See particularly the Introduction, 161–​80. 47. Jessalynn Keller, Kaitlynn Mendes, and Jessica Ringrose, “Speaking ‘Unspeakable Things’: Documenting Digital Feminist Responses to Rape Culture,” Journal of Gender Studies 27, no. 1 (2018): 23. 48. Rosalind Gill and Shani Orgad, “The Shifting Terrain of Sex and Power: From the ‘Sexualization of Culture’ to #MeToo,” Sexualities 21, no. 8 (2018): 1319. 49. Burke, “Me Too Is a Movement,” 7:56.

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7 The Royal Court in the Wake of #MeToo Catriona Fallow and Sarah Jane Mullan Following the public revelations in October 2017 concerning Harvey Weinstein’s sexual harassment and assault of a number of women in Hollywood, in the United Kingdom it was London’s theatrical scene where revelations, accusations, debate, and attendant action concerning sexual impropriety and abuses of power proliferated. One of the most protracted and widely reported cases was that of Max Stafford-​Clark, the longest serving artistic director of the Royal Court Theatre (1979–​93), who had several accusations levelled against him. Against the backdrop of the global #MeToo campaign, the Royal Court has been at the forefront of cultivating public and performative responses to both Stafford-​Clark’s actions and sexual harassment in the theatre industry more broadly. This chapter reads theatrical institutions—​their policy, programming, and histories—​as valuable, material sites where questions of power play out ideologically and artistically. Beginning with a brief overview of the seismic changes across London’s theatres post-Weinstein, this chapter analyses No Grey Area: Your Stories Heard (2017), the revival of Andrea Dunbar’s Rita, Sue and Bob Too (1982), and Anthony Neilson’s The Prudes (2018) as key moments in the Royal Court’s public and performative responses between October 2017 and April 2018, led by current artistic director, Vicky Featherstone.

“The Weinstein of British Theatre”: London, October–​November 2017 On November 7, 2017, Ramin Gray, the artistic director of Actors Touring Company (ATC), claimed that “the search for who is the Weinstein of British theatre is an honourable search.”1 While Gray himself was also accused of sexual harassment later in November, his comment drew an explicit connection between the

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ongoing disclosures of Weinstein’s sexual misconduct and the emerging revelations of abuses of power within London’s theatrical landscape that had begun to emerge a month prior.2 On October 5, 2017, an investigation by the New York Times newspaper revealed that film producer Weinstein had been accused of sexually harassing women working in the entertainment industry. In the days following the article’s publication, as further women disclosed the harassment that they had been subjected to by the producer, Weinstein made a public apology for causing “a lot of pain” while still refuting the allegations.3 A number of high-​profile actors, including Meryl Streep and Judi Dench, expressed condemnation but also surprise at learning the news of Weinstein’s alleged actions, while others in the industry alluded to Weinstein’s behaviour as a well-​known “open-​secret.”4 In London, on October 17, the Royal Court publicized a day of action in response to the Weinstein revelations, No Grey Area, which would take place on October 28 and include a series of industry-​focused town hall meetings “where the verbal code of conduct already practiced by the Royal Court can be communicated to the wider community.”5 Shortly after this announcement, on October 20, the Guardian newspaper reported that former Royal Court artistic director Stafford-​ Clark had been asked to leave his current company, Out of Joint, following allegations of sexual misconduct by co-​workers.6 Stafford-​Clark responded to these claims by citing a stroke he had suffered in 2006 as the reason for “displaying disinhibited and compulsive behaviour and his usual (at times provocative) behaviour being magnified.”7 Given that Out of Joint had previously claimed that Stafford-​ Clark had chosen to leave the company in order to “focus on his international freelance career,” the revelation that he had been ousted transposed the issue of status negating accountability, which the #MeToo movement seeks to address, directly onto London’s theatrical scene.8 Precipitated by the allegations against Stafford-​Clark, major theatrical institutions and organizations, including the Royal National Theatre, The Old Vic, and the Society of London Theatres, produced a co-​ signed statement pronouncing that there is “no room for sexual harassment in our industry.”9 On October 26, actress Tracey Ann Oberman claimed that Stafford-​ Clark had sexually harassed her in 1992, the penultimate year of his tenure at the Royal Court, resulting in a timeline that made the connections between the former artistic director’s inappropriate behaviour and the Court more overt. Concurrently, another of London’s significant theatrical institutions was also responding to claims of sexual misconduct by a former artistic director. On October 29, Kevin Spacey, who served as artistic director of The Old Vic Theatre in London from 1995 to 2013, was accused of sexually assaulting actor Antony Rapp. On October 30, Featherstone appeared on the BBC Radio 4 show Today to discuss No Grey Area, which had taken place the day prior to the publication of Rapp’s accusation. Featherstone described the Weinstein revelations as having 124

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“opened the floodgates,” and acknowledged her awareness of systemic misconduct in the theatrical sphere stating, “Many people in the theatre and in the creative industries have been aware of many stories of many people over a lot of years, and Kevin Spacey would be one.”10 Featherstone has since revealed in interviews reflecting on the Court’s response to #MeToo that Spacey’s “name had come up a lot at the day of action.”11 On October 31, The Old Vic expressed their dismay at the allegations made against Spacey, affirming that “inappropriate behaviour by anyone working at The Old Vic is completely unacceptable” and announcing that the theatre had set up a confidential reporting process.12 Although the theatre’s press release directly references Spacey, it does not infer that the claims need necessarily relate to sexual misconduct. Such ambiguity offers a striking counterpoint to the Court’s—​and Featherstone’s in particular—​explicit engagement with the issue of sexual harassment. On November 2, the Guardian reported claims made by former Old Vic employees that Spacey’s sexual misconduct at the theatre was well known. On November 16, The Old Vic released the findings of its investigation which included twenty complaints against Spacey specifically,13 prompting a commitment from the theatre to finding “a new way forward” with appropriate reporting procedures for staff to raise concerns or complaints.14 This overview of events, which occurred in a single month, demonstrates how the discursive patterns surrounding the Weinstein revelations are mirrored by a series of theatrical institutions in London—​an initial allegation, further allegations, a response from an associated institution or institutions, and subsequent questions about open secrets and how much institutions knew. In contrast to the relative absence of film corporations like the Weinstein Company being held to account in mainstream media narratives, both the processes and practices of these theatrical institutions were at the forefront of public discourse surrounding Stafford-​Clark and Spacey. The Royal Court and The Old Vic were compelled to demonstrate their accountability for each man, despite neither currently serving as artistic directors of these institutions.

On Institutions To designate a theatre an “institution” implies that its work and significance are in some way exceptional, often defined in terms of its longevity, contribution to the wider local or global theatre ecology, or in advancing a unique set of perspectives and practices. In the United Kingdom, the Royal Court is one such theatre. In his Preface to The Royal Court Theatre and the Modern Stage, Philip Roberts is unequivocal in his positioning of the Court, claiming that since its 125

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establishment in the 1950s under George Devine, “the Court had become central to theatrical life in Britain and many other countries. For many, it had become an institution.”15 Across the humanities, much of the scholarship concerned with the notion and practices of institutions is rooted in Foucaultian understandings of power. In Foucault and the Critique of Institutions, John Caputo and Mark Yount characterize institutions as more readily definable macro-​objects, grosser instruments for the finer, more elemental workings of power. Power is the thin, inescapable film that covers all human interactions, whether inside institutions or out. Institutional structures are saturated with sexual relations, economic relations, social relations, etc., and are always established of these power relations.16

Institutions, therefore, are usefully understood in terms of the multiple actions and interactions that take place within them or as the culmination of what Mark Bevir terms “numerous micro-​practices.”17 It is significant that in Caputo and Yount’s definition sexual relations are treated as a distinct strand of institutional practice when, as this chapter will demonstrate, they are deeply implicated in both the social and material conditions of a given site. In order to foreground the micro-​practices in which questions of gender and sexual relations manifest, this chapter combines a Foucaultian understanding of the multiple intangible operations and effects of power with a material reading of specific artistic and policy choices undertaken by the Royal Court. This approach is particularly important in relation to an institution like the Court, whose history and significance are deeply inscribed in the broader narratives and networks of the nation’s theatre ecology. Ever since the much-​ mythologized opening night of John Osbourne’s Look Back in Anger in 1956 heralded a new era of more socially and politically fervent playwriting in Britain, the Royal Court has enjoyed a reputation as the leading venue for new writing both in the United Kingdom and internationally. Over its sixty-​three-​year history the tastes, interventions, and innovations of its successive practitioners continue to shape the Court’s identity alongside a constantly changing cultural and political landscape. As Ruth Little and Emily McLaughlin describe in The Royal Court Theatre Inside Out, The Royal Court bears the imprint and echoes to the voices of the artists and managers who have fought for it […] The Court is a theatre, but it is also an argument—​a shifting structure of contrasting and connecting perspectives in constant evolution.18 126

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Little and McLaughlin’s rhetoric of “imprinting” and “echoing,” locating figures from the Court’s past within the building itself, is redolent of much of the scholarship on the institution, where biography and individual tastes and politics are imbricated with the fabric of the Court itself. As Stephen Daldry, one of its former artistic directors, commented, “This crumbling ramshackle building has the status of a myth. It holds the fingerprints of the greatest writers and actors of our age. One said to me that if you squeezed the brick, blood would come out.”19 Stafford-​Clark echoed these sentiments in his foreword to Roberts’ history of the Court, claiming that “[m]‌any directors, writers and actors feel they have left the best part of themselves at the Court. The youthful idealism and best hopes of several generations are somehow caught up in its walls.”20 Stafford-​Clark, of course, is one of the individuals whose identity and practices have become indelibly inscribed in the history and creative output of the Court. Serving as artistic director from 1979 to 1993, Stafford-​Clark is credited with steering the Royal Court through what Roberts describes as the “cold climate” of the 1980s which, following the election of Conservative leader Margaret Thatcher, also in 1979, saw “a furious assault on most forms of art from external forces.”21 As Dan Rebellato summarizes, across all of his professional work Stafford-​Clark “has been a champion of playwrights and playwriting […] and, indeed, he is particularly associated with championing plays by women.”22 Bookending Stafford-​ Clark’s tenure at the Court were two different companies: Joint Stock and, later, Out of Joint. Active between 1974 and 1989, Joint Stock is still widely regarded as one of Britain’s leading Fringe theatre companies to emerge during the 1970s, championing the work of contemporary writers like Caryl Churchill, Howard Brenton, and one of the company’s founders, David Hare, all of whose work would go on to appear on the Court’s stages. Founded in 1993 by Stafford-​Clark and adopting some of the collaborative working practices of Joint Stock, Out of Joint is a touring company that is still active and, as will be discussed later, whose recent revival of Andrea Dunbar’s Rita, Sue and Bob Too in collaboration with the Court was embroiled in the controversy surrounding the allegations against Stafford-​Clark. Taking up Little and McLaughlin’s characterization of the Court as both a material “theatre” and an intangible “argument,” this chapter analyzes the Court as a site entangled within and generative of competing power relations, which are further complicated by its own history and position within London’s theatre ecology. The exploration of both the tangible and material practices and policies of the Court, alongside the intangible, mythologized history and ideologies that the site evokes, needs urgent attention in the context of #MeToo, and under the directorship of Featherstone. Joining the Court as its first female artistic director in 2013, Featherstone instated a verbal code of conduct for staff in 2016 that 127

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subsequently served as the industry model following #MeToo and resulted in her being named “the most influential person in British theatre” in 2018.23 Pragmatic actions such as these, which prioritize the care of individual people, stand in stark contrast to the metaphorical, corporeal language used by Daldry and Stafford-​ Clark to refer to the theatre building as a body. This shift indicates, perhaps, an alignment of perceptions of the Court with its actual material practices.

The Royal Court: Public Action, Artistic Responses The Court was the only major London-​based theatrical institution to respond immediately to the Weinstein revelations and, later, to those surrounding Stafford-​ Clark. The first and most visible of these responses was No Grey Area, an umbrella term for a series of public events comprised of two parts: four ticketed (but free) Town Hall conversations on policy and procedure and No Grey Area: Your Stories Heard which consisted of 126 anonymous accounts of experiences of abuses of power in the theatre industry, sourced via an open call and read aloud on the Court’s Jerwood Downstairs theatre stage. While the Royal Court provided a team to read the accounts, audiences who had come to hear the stories were also invited to participate by taking to the stage if they wished, cultivating a sense of shared responsibility to both bear witness and give voice to abuses of power. While there was no way to distinguish whether readers were members of the public or part of the theatre’s team of volunteers, and transcripts of these stories were not made publicly available, following the event the Court published a breakdown of what they term “Patterns and Scenarios” in their Code of Behaviour.24 For example, that 16% of the stories referred to “sustained inappropriate sexual comments over a period of time during a production or in a workplace” and “10% happened in interviews or auditions for jobs” before concluding that the fact that “51.3% of the stories submitted took place in rehearsals, backstage, in drama schools, or involved sustained verbal abuse suggests significant change needs to happen in institutional culture.”25 The staging—​comprised of three chairs on which readers waited, a lectern holding the accounts for speakers to read from, and a general lighting wash—​ served to strip back the theatricality of the space. The exposed brick of the stage’s back wall, which also served as the promotional image for the event, emphasized a sense of rawness, of uncovering, evoking ideas of transparency and unmediated disclosure. However, in light of the Court’s characterization in its own histories—​ typified by comments like Daldry’s and Stafford-​Clark’s presented earlier—​these walls take on a different kind of resonance. They are a palimpsest, inscribed with the actions and interactions of previous productions and practitioners. As we will 128

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go on to discuss, reading the Court as a historically stratified site has implications for the framing and reception of productions in the wake of #MeToo such as Rita, Sue and Bob Too or The Prudes that address issues of sex and power. Like these productions, the stories shared in No Grey Area became differently inflected in this mnemonically charged site, where the Court is both directly implicated but, more importantly, comes to signify any of the unnamed stages, offices, or rehearsal rooms in London and beyond where these stories might have taken place. This sense of the Court as the conduit through which these multiple events and locations were indexed was compounded by the form of the intervention, which did not have set intervals, but allowed its audience to come and go throughout, resulting in a seemingly endless bombardment of abuses of power. In so doing, the event effectively dramatized the processes of reporting (and rereporting) sexual assault, which requires repeated retellings of traumatic experiences and the emotional labour this involves. This is not the Royal Court’s first event to respond directly and swiftly to mainstream political moments. On August 17, 2012, the theatre held a rehearsed reading of the courtroom testimonies given by band members of the Russian punk-​activist group Pussy Riot, Pussy Riot: The Final Verdict, as part of a global day of protest against the band’s arrest.26 In contrast to No Grey Area, despite taking place in the theatre’s café-​bar, The Final Verdict adhered more obviously to the conventions of performance, with a clearly delineated cast of professional performers and explicit direction. However, by participating in the day of protest, the Court asserted the potential of theatricalizing testimony as an action in itself. This event foreshadows the framing of No Grey Area as an active contribution to global feminist discussions, yet the latter takes on a distinct form which can be attributed to the #MeToo movement being driven by a public sharing of experiences that have not been subject to legal process. There is a tension within the piece between a desire to capture verbatim material for an artistic intervention, and the need to negotiate a larger institutional structure: the legal system. The choice of the word “stories” in the event’s title and promotional material, for example, speaks to the Court’s legal position as the host of this event. A Code of Conduct produced for the day itself noted that, in line with the Royal Court’s “legal responsibilities around placing work in the public domain,” some information was redacted, including any names and identifying material.27 At the same time, “story” resonates with the journalistic discourse surrounding the ongoing accusations, while also locating the content explicitly in the realm of the personal, further underscored by the event’s post-​colon title, “your stories.” Unlike terms like “testimony” (used only once in promotional material) or “account,” framing the events shared as part of No Grey Area as stories allows for leeway concerning 129

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disclaimers and discretization. Nevertheless, there remains the problematic association with make-​believe or fiction, an association that is arguably heightened on a theatre’s stage, a platform for sharing fictive stories, however shaped by reality they may be. Though differently inflected by the revelations concerning Stafford-​Clark, No Grey Area was intended to look beyond the Court’s own immediate position and practices. However, in December 2017, the Court undertook a series of decisions that were explicitly prompted by the actions of their former director. Prior to the revelations concerning Stafford-​Clark, a revival of Andrea Dunbar’s Rita, Sue and Bob Too, produced by the Royal Court, Octagon Theatre Bolton, and Out of Joint was announced in the summer of 2017. This new production of the play, which charts working-​class teenage babysitters Rita and Sue’s sexual encounters with their married employer Bob, was edited and co-​directed by Stafford-​Clark with Kate Wasserberg (now artistic director of Out of Joint). Stafford-​Clark “discovered” Dunbar via the Court’s Young Writer’s programme, and this legacy is imbedded within the history of Rita, Sue and Bob Too, which he commissioned and directed for the Court in 1982. However, reflections on the creative process illuminate his questionable rehearsal practices during the original production. In The Royal Court Theatre Inside Out, Little and McLaughlin include the following anecdote: Assistant Director Simon Curtis was horrified when “Max declared at rehearsal we would all be required to strip naked so the actors could ‘get used to each other’s bodies’ in preparation for the infamous sex scene. Various company members fled but, for me, humiliating myself was a small price to pay for the opportunity to see Joanne Whalley [Rita] without her clothes on.”28

The account of this rehearsal exercise in the official history of the Royal Court implicitly characterizes Stafford-​Clark’s directing as unorthodox, but does not frame it as problematic. As mentioned earlier, Stafford-​Clark has been revered as a champion of women playwrights and has particularly asserted his role in Dunbar’s career. In an interview in July 2017 regarding the revival, Stafford-​Clark highlighted his personal association with the play stating, When Andrea wrote her first two plays [The Arbour (1977) and Rita, Sue and Bob Too], she was a teenager from a rough council estate who’d never been to the theatre. Now, thirty-​five years after its premiere, Rita, Sue and Bob Too takes its place in the Octagon and Royal Court’s seasons in the role of Classic Play. It’s one of the privileges of my career that Andrea’s astute, fresh and funny writing reached my desk.29 130

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Stafford-​Clark’s participation in the revival further inscribes him into the history of Dunbar’s work and career in the same way that his practices and policies are a part of the Royal Court’s institutional history. When the show began its UK regional tour in September 2017, early reviews credit Stafford-​Clark as the sole director or acknowledge his co-​director status, but do not name Wasserberg.30 As well as rendering her labour invisible, this decision further illustrates both the significance afforded to his continuing directorial returns to Dunbar’s play and his position in Britain’s theatrical landscape generally. During the beginning of the run, critics Catherine Love and Natasha Tripney highlighted the production’s “refusal to condemn”31 and the “no judgement”32 approach to Bob’s sexual relationship with the two fifteen-​year-​olds. However, the critical conversation surrounding the production shifted significantly when Featherstone announced on December 13 that Rita, Sue and Bob Too would be removed from the Royal Court’s winter season. In a joint statement with Out of Joint, the theatre pointed to the accusations made against Stafford-​Clark and No Grey Area as the rationale behind the programming change, claiming [o]‌n our stage we recently heard 150 stories of sexual harassment and abuse and therefore the staging of this work, with its themes of grooming and abuses of power on young women, on that same stage now feels highly conflictual.33

This action by the Royal Court was met with both praise and condemnation from voices across the sector on both mainstream and social media platforms. For example, online theatre critic Meghan Vaughan commended the theatre stating “difficult times need difficult decisions and they have stepped up,”34 while Sarah Compton suggested in WhatsOnStage that “the decision to cancel feels like a rare Royal Court misstep in the complicated world we find ourselves in.”35 A recurring contention in the debate was the censorship of a young working-​class female playwright, exacerbated by the joint press release’s implication that the content of the play was too contentious. Just as No Grey Area was inflected by its location on the Court’s stage, in seeking to rationalize their decision, the Court themselves emphasized their own stage’s power to echo different performative events, while those critiquing the choice invoked the history and values of the institution and its former practitioners as a way to hold it to account. Playwright Justin Sherin, for example, suggested that according to the theatre’s founder George Devine, “the play is more important than the actors, director, the designer,” while actor Patrick Kennedy argued that to suggest that the theatre should be a “safe space” is “to fail to look back to the Court’s history.”36 A source of further controversy was the decision to continue the production’s regional tour until February 2018, despite its removal from 131

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the Court’s program. In a national theatre landscape that remains significantly divided—​in terms of the distribution of arts funding, audience attendance, and range of performance venues—​between leading metropolitan London venues and regional theatres across the United Kingdom, this decision exacerbated the sense that what was acceptable for regional audiences was not the same for their metropolitan counterparts and further served to ostensibly sanctify the Court’s stage. In response to this fervent backlash, on December 15—​just two days after the initial decision to pull the production was publicized—​Featherstone announced that Rita, Sue and Bob Too would be reinstated into the theatre’s winter programme: As Artistic Director of the Royal Court I know that we are nothing without the voices and trust of our writers. This is the guiding principle on which the theatre was founded and on which it continues to be run. I have therefore been rocked to the core by accusations of censorship and the banning of a working-​class female voice. For that reason I have invited the current Out of Joint production of Rita, Sue and Bob Too back to the Royal Court for its run. As a result of this helpful public debate we are now confident that the context with which Andrea Dunbar’s play will be viewed will be an invitation for new conversations.37

Unlike the previous press release—​written on behalf of both the Court and Out of Joint, and not invoking any one individual specifically—​this document featured the above quotation from Featherstone herself. Ultimately, Rita, Sue and Bob Too ran at the Court from January 9 to 27, 2018. Published scripts sold at the theatre contained an additional slip of paper with the addendum “[t]‌his playtext was printed in August 2017. Max Stafford-​Clark (credited here as co-​director with Kate Wasserberg) left the production three days into the five-​week rehearsal period.”38 As previously highlighted, however, the production began its tour with both credited as co-​directors. The decision to continue to use Stafford-​Clark’s name despite Wasserberg primarily serving as the sole director both speaks to the credentials that Stafford-​Clark’s involvement afforded this latest revival and is an attempt to clearly and decisively distance him from the production following the cancellation and reinstatement of the show at the Court. Perhaps the most infamous moment in the play is its opening scene, in which Bob has sex with both Rita and Sue as he drives them home from babysitting. Writing about the production for WhatsOnStage in October 2017, Wasserberg underscored the significance of this moment, arguing that for all its grim awkwardness, that opening car scene is very funny. We’d have failed if audiences weren’t laughing uproariously at it, just as we’d fail if they didn’t feel uncomfortable two scenes later when Rita tells Bob her age.39 132

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In the scene, following a conversation in which Bob casually asks the girls if they have boyfriends, if they are both virgins, and if they know how to put a condom on, he folds down the front seats of his car in preparation for sex. Bare-​arsed, Bob climbs on top of Sue, while Rita waits impatiently in the backseat. The sex is punctuated by brief conversations between Bob and Rita—​she wants him to turn the radio on—​and Sue and Bob—​asking her to take her knickers off—​which offers some lightness to the scene. As Bob’s arse judders and Sue’s white ankle socks bob up and down, the theatre’s house lights slowly rise. There are some pockets of laughter, then uncomfortable laughter, followed by silence. After Bob has climaxed, the house lights begin to dim, they do not rise again for the rest of the performance. On the night we attended, this directorial choice stood out as one of the few moments in the production that felt like it was directly responding to the context of #MeToo. In correspondence with Wasserberg, she confirmed that this lighting state was introduced for the production’s Royal Court run: Having seen the show tour the country and play to so many different audiences, I had a little breathing space over Christmas to think about how to make people self-​aware in that moment, to reflect on this thing we were doing by putting these acts on a stage. The wish to do that was born of my time spent with the production on tour and by the debate around the show—​it felt as if there was a meta-​ conversation to be had with an audience who had come to see “that show,” to acknowledge that the terrain had changed since the cancellation and reinstatement of Andrea’s play. The houselights raise stayed as part of the lighting design for the following tour venues and will feature in this spring’s tour of the show.40

As Wasserberg indicates, the immediate context of the cancellation and reinstatement of the production, as well as the “wider terrain” in which it was located, complicated its status; it was now “that show.” It is striking to compare reviews of the show on its regional tour prior to the revelations concerning Stafford-​ Clark to critical responses to its London premiere. Reviews of the production in September and October focused on the depiction of life in the 1980s under Thatcher, characterizing the play as something of a museum piece, with Northern Soul concluding that “it’s very much a play of its time and has little to say to us now,”41 while WhatsOnStage described it as more of “an exercise in ticking off the theatrical bucket list than a work that is highly pertinent today.”42 By contrast, reviews of the London premiere unanimously referred to the show’s eventful production history while drawing connections between the play’s content and its contemporary context.43 This shift underscores how the revival staged a piece of both the Royal Court’s and Stafford-​Clark’s own history, and its production and reception are irrevocably complicated by the collision of those histories with the seismic social and political changes that the #MeToo movement represents. But, in 133

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a venue renowned for staging challenging new works, what impact does this collision between an institution’s history and its contemporary context have on a new play staged in the wake of these public interventions and a controversial revival?

“Does #MeToo need a liberal male sticking his oar in?” The Prudes (April 2018) was the first new play to premiere at the Royal Court that explicitly addressed sexual politics in the wake of #MeToo. The play’s writer and director Anthony Neilson reflected on his subject matter stating, I don’t usually engage overtly with political issues, but I am fascinated by, and invested in, the #MeToo movement and the issues surrounding it. Clearly, however, one could argue that the last thing needed right now is a middle-​aged man sticking his oar in.44

Neilson’s solution is to use his subjectivity as the play’s central conceit, resulting in what he describes as a “(fairly vicious) satire about the Liberal Male response to these events.”45 The Prudes opens with a man and woman perched precariously on two tall stools. The entire theatre is Pepto-​Bismol pink; plush pink carpet covers the floor and audience seating, pink silks billow down from the ceiling, and pink lace valances the walls, simultaneously cosy and cloying. The environment is domestic without being personal; there are no items to mark the space as belonging to the two people. The couple, Jimmy and Jess, address the audience who are separated from them by a large mattress-​like square. We learn that they haven’t had sex in fourteen months. Jimmy is impotent. “Something happened,” Jimmy tells us, “But we agreed not to tell you what it was.”46 Tonight, the couple are here to have sex; so, Jimmy warns, “if anyone feels like they want to leave—​now would be—​the time.”47 If they don’t have sex by the end of the play, Jess will leave Jimmy. As the play unfolds through a series of conversations the pair circle around the issue of this “Something” that has apparently become the primary obstacle in their sex life. Desperate, halfway through the play Jimmy finally breaks. The theatre is plunged into darkness, obscuring Jess from view. Jimmy steps forward, clutching a lantern. Addressing only the audience, he confesses, [o]kay: I know me and Jess had an agreement and I know it’s not my story to tell but I’m sorry: I need you to know what this thing is that happened. Because you can’t understand what I’m dealing with otherwise.48

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Jess, it transpires, has shared an experience of sexual assault from her childhood on a website under a pseudonym. For Jimmy, this means that “I’ve felt out of sorts ever since; like I’ve taken on the trauma in her place.”49 Neilson’s handling of this revelation stands in stark contrast to the staging of Rita, Sue and Bob Too, where audiences were forced to contend with the play’s opening moments in the shared light of the auditorium. In The Prudes, under the cover of darkness, the audience becomes complicit in the revelation of a story that was never supposed to be told. Unlike No Grey Area, which was underpinned by a desire to create space for individuals to tell their stories publicly, fostering a sense of personal ownership and collective solidarity, Jimmy’s appropriation of Jess’s narrative suggests a less straightforward ownership over testimony and trauma. Neilson’s work, for example, explores the potential impact of withholding stories of abuse and the aftermath of their revelation. When Jess discovers Jimmy has broken her trust and revealed her story to the audience, Jimmy insists, HIM HER HIM

Come on, Jess: I had a right to tell them—​ You had a right to tell them my story? Yes! Because it’s my story too! 



Pause.

 

Because I care about you, Jess, so it affects me. I’ve a right to say how it affected me. But nobody cares, Jimmy! Nobody cares how YOU feel about YOU being told what happened to ME.50

HER

As Jess makes clear, the larger issue here is no longer only about the withholding or sharing of an account of abuse, but rather how that experience is variously appropriated or interpolated. In the case of Jess and Jimmy, these issues are compounded by their relationship, which for Jess should be a guarantor of trust, and for Jimmy means an entitlement to feel equally affected by anything the other experiences. Part of Neilson’s deconstruction of the “Liberal Male” response, at his worst Jimmy performs a grotesque inversion of solidarity where, despite his protestations, he is still centrally concerned with himself. The majority of critical responses noted how much Jimmy’s hand-​wringing and male-​guilt dominated the play’s narrative, underscoring the various ways in which Jess and her experiences are marginalized.51 Part of this hand-​wringing, however, could be understood as a genuine attempt from Jimmy to be attentive to his male privilege. Lines such as “I just don’t want to look like the overbearing guy who says everything”52

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simultaneously function as both a sincere attempt to be sensitive or, as one review described, “so woke as to be useless.”53 While Jimmy’s perspective and feelings may dominate the play’s dialogue, it is arguably Jess’s actions in the play’s final moments that add further complexity to The Prudes. After several attempts to initiate sex, Jess drugs Jimmy with Viagra. Ultimately the couple do not go on to have sex, instead ending the play with an embrace and we are left to weigh Jimmy’s myopic treatment of Jess’s trauma against Jess’s enforced, non-​consensual act. Given how unequivocal the Royal Court has been in its handling of the issues surrounding #MeToo, it is significant that the first new play in the wake of this movement is centrally concerned with the “grey area.” Taking up this collection’s provocation of “how not to look away,” this chapter has examined the Royal Court’s varied yet consistent attention to its histories, policy, and programming in light of #MeToo. Initially in responding to the global call for witnessing and action, No Grey Area positioned the Court as a key advocate for change within London’s theatrical landscape. In directly addressing its own problematic histories in relation to Rita, Sue and Bob Too, particularly its ongoing association with Stafford-​Clark, the Court invited further conversations about artistic programming, institutional accountability for the behaviour of individuals, and the influence of that behaviour on creative work. The staging of The Prudes, which is ultimately ambiguous in its dramatization of sexual politics, underscores that the theatre’s ethics and policies don’t necessarily have to be in harmony with the content of its plays. Neilson’s question concerning the need for a liberal male perspective in The Prudes, then, is perhaps less important than the reality that the question points to, which is that the Royal Court, through its self-​reflection and industry action, affords a space in which such a perspective can be shared.

NOTES 1. Ramin Gray quoted in Theatre M, “ATC’s Ramin Gray: ‘The Search for Who Is the Weinstein of British Theatre Is an Honourable Search,’” Mr Carl Woodward, November 7, 2017. To view full article, go to http://w ​ ww.mrcarlwoodward.com/i​ nterview/a​ tcs-r​ amin-​ gray-​i-​think-​the-​search-​for-​who-​is-​the-​weinstein-​of-​british-​theatre-​is-​an-​honourable-​ search, accessed December 24, 2018. 2. Chris Wiegand, “Ramin Gray of Actors Touring Company Faces Harassment Allegations,” Guardian, November 20, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​ stage/2 ​ 017/n ​ ov/2 ​ 0/r​ amin-g​ ray-a​ ctors-t​ ouring-c​ ompany-​harassment-​allegations, accessed December 20, 2018. The investigation into the allegations is still ongoing at the time of writing in February 2019.

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3. “Harvey Weinstein: Film Producer Says ‘I Have Caused a Lot of Pain’” BBC, October 5, 2017. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.bbc.co.uk/n ​ ews/w ​ orld-u ​ s-c​ anada-4 ​ 1520007, accessed November 18, 2018. 4. Gwilym Mumford, “Meryl Streep and Judi Dench Join Condemnation of Harvey Weinstein,” Guardian, October 9, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian. com/​film/​2017/​oct/​09/​meryl-​streep-​condemns-​harvey-​weinstein-​over-​allegations-​of-​ disgraceful-a​ buse, accessed December 20, 2018; Alison Owen, “Harvey Weinstein’s Behaviour Was ‘Open Secret,’ ” video, BBC, October 11, 2017, 0:02. To view full video, go to https://w ​ ww.bbc.co.uk/n ​ ews/a​ v/w ​ orld-u ​ s-c​ anada-4 ​ 1588203/h ​ arvey-w ​ einstein-s​ -b ​ ehaviour-​ was-​open-​secret, accessed December 27, 2018. 5. Daisy Bowie-​Sell, “Royal Court Programs Day of Events in Response to Weinstein Revelations,” WhatsOnStage, October 17, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www. whatsonstage.com/​ l ondon-​ t heatre/​ n ews/​ r oyal-​ c ourt-​ w einstein-​ t own-​ h all-​ s exual-​ allegations_​44905.html, accessed December 20, 2018. This verbal policy was the result of a company-​wide meeting held at the Royal Court in 2016. 6. Alexandra Topping, “Theatre Director Max Stafford-​Clark Was Ousted over Inappropriate Behaviour,” Guardian, October 20, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www. theguardian.com/​stage/​2017/​oct/​20/​theatre-​director-m ​ ax-s​ tafford-c​ lark-w ​ as-o ​ usted-o ​ ver- ​ inappropriate-​behaviour, accessed December 20, 2018. 7. Ibid. 8. Out of Joint, “Max Stafford-​Clark Announces Departure from Out of Joint,” Out of Joint, September 5, 2017. To view full announcement, go to https://​web.archive.org/​web/​ 20170929193323/​ http://w ​ ww.outofjoint.co.uk:80/a​ boutus/n ​ ews.html, accessed December 28, 2018. 9. Georgia Snow, “Theatre Leaders: ‘No Room for Sexual Harassment in Our Industry,’ ” Stage, October 23, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.thestage.co.uk/​news/​ theatre-leaders-no-room-for-sexual-harassment-in-our-industry​, accessed December 20, 2018. 10. Clarisse Loughrey, “Kevin Spacey: People Had ‘Concerns’ for Years, Says Top Theatre Director,” Independent, October 30, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.independent.co.uk/​arts-​entertainment/​theatre-​dance/​news/​kevin-​spacey-​allegations-​sexual-​ harassment-​apology-​anthony-​rapp-​london-​director-​a8026986.html, accessed December 20, 2018. 11. Lynn Enright, “Vicky Featherstone: ‘I’m Not Afraid of Being Labelled a Dirty Boring Feminist,’ ” Pool, March 8, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.the-​pool.com/​work/​ pool-​pioneers/​2018/​10/​Vicky-​Featherstone-​isn-​t-​afraid-​of-​being-​labelled-​a-​dirty-​boring-​ feminist, accessed December 20, 2018. 12. The Old Vic, “Official Statement,” Old Vic Theatre, October 31, 2017. To view full statement, go to https://​www.oldvictheatre.com/​news/​2017/​10/​official-​statement, accessed December 20, 2018.

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13. Mark Brown and Hannah Ellis-​Petersen, “Old Vic Says ‘Cult of Personality’ Meant Kevin Spacey Claims Were Not Reported,” Guardian, November 16, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​culture/​2017/​nov/​16/​kevin-​spacey-​old-​vic-​inquiry- ​ finds-​20-​claims-​of-​inappropriate-​behaviour, accessed December 20, 2018. 14. Kate Varah quoted in ibid. For a more detailed account of the various allegations brought forward against Kevin Spacey in the context of his work at the Old Vic Theatre, see Mark Brown and Matthew Weaver, “Kevin Spacey: Old Vic Accused of Ignoring Sexual Misconduct Allegations,” Guardian, November 2, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www. theguardian.com/c​ ulture/2 ​ 017/n ​ ov/0 ​ 1/o ​ ld-v​ ic-a​ ccused-o ​ f-i​ gnoring-s​ exual-m ​ isconduct-b ​ y- ​ kevin-​spacey, accessed December 20, 2018. 15. Philip Roberts, The Royal Court Theatre and the Modern Stage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), xiii. 16. John Caputo and Mark Yount, eds., “Institutions, Normalization, and Power,” in Foucault and the Critique of Institutions (University Park: Pennsylvania State University, 1993), 4; original emphasis. 17. Mark Bevir, “Foucault, Power, and Institutions,” Political Studies 47, no. 2 (1999): 352. 18. Ruth Little and Emily McLaughlin, The Royal Court Theatre Inside Out (London: Oberon, 2007), 9. 19. Stephen Daldry quoted in Roberts, The Royal Court Theatre and the Modern Stage, 219. 20. Max Stafford-​Clark, foreword to Roberts, The Royal Court Theatre and the Modern Stage, xi. 21. Roberts, The Royal Court Theatre and the Modern Stage, 170. 22. Dan Rebellato, “Max Stafford-​Clark,” Dan Rebellato, October 21, 2017. To view full article, go to http://​www.danrebellato.co.uk/​spilledink/​2017/​10/​21/​max-​stafford-​clark, accessed December 19, 2018. 23. Georgia Snow, “The Stage 100 2018: Royal Court Artistic Director Vicky Featherstone Tops ‘Most Influential’ List,” Stage, January 4, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​ www.thestage.co.uk/​news/​2018/​the-​stage-​100-​2018-​royal-​court-​artistic-​director-​vicky-​ featherstone-​tops-​most-​influential-​list/​, accessed December 21, 2018. 24. “Code of Behaviour,” Royal Court Theatre. To view full code, go to https://r​ oyalcourttheatre. com/​code-​of-​behaviour/​, accessed February 14, 2019. 25. Ibid. 26. “Pussy Riot: The Final Verdict,” Royal Court Theatre, August 17, 2012. To view full page, go to https://​royalcourttheatre.com/​whats-​on/​pussy-​riot-​the-​final-​verdict/​, accessed December 19, 2018. 27. “Rules of Engagement for the Day,” Royal Court Theatre, October 28, 2017. To view full page, go to https://​royalcourttheatre.com/​rules-​engagement-​day/​, accessed December 19, 2018. 28. Little and McLaughlin, The Royal Court Theatre Inside Out, 235.

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29. Douglas Mayo, “Casting Announced for Rita Sue and Bob Too Tour,” British Theatre.com, July 20, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​britishtheatre.com/​casting-​announced-​rita-​ sue-​and-​bob-​too-​tour/​, accessed December 19, 2018. 30. Richard Hall, “Rita, Sue and Bob Too—​The Octagon Theatre, Bolton,” Reviews Hub, September 12, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.thereviewshub.com/​rita-​sue-​and-​bob-​ too-​the-​octagon-​theatre-​bolton/​, accessed December 20, 2018; Paul Clarke, “Rita, Sue and Bob Too—​The Octagon Theatre, Bolton,” North West End, September 11, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.northwestend.co.uk/​index.php/​professional-​reviews/​manchester/​2369-​rita-​ sue-​and-​bob-​too-​octagon-​theatre-​bolton, accessed December 20, 2018. 31. Natasha Tripney, “Rita, Sue and Bob Too Review at Octagon Theatre, Bolton—​‘A Timely Revival,’ ” Stage, September 12, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.thestage.co.uk/​ reviews/​2017/​rita-​sue-​bob-​review-​octagon-​theatre-​bolton/​, accessed December 20, 2018. 32. Catherine Love, “Rita, Sue and Bob Today: Andrea Dunbar’s Truths Still Haunt Us,” Guardian, September 14, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​ stage/​2017/​sep/​14/​rita-​sue-​and-​bob-​too-​andrea-​dunbar-​austerity-​council-​estate, accessed December 20, 2018. 33. “A Joint Statement from the Royal Court Theatre and Out of Joint,” Royal Court Theatre, December 13, 2017. To view full statement, go to https://​royalcourttheatre. com/​j oint-​s tatement-​r oyal-​c ourt-​t heatre-​j oint/​, accessed December 20, 2018. The Royal Court has published both 150 and 126 as the confirmed number of testimonies shared. 34. Meghan Vaughan (@churlishmeg), “I Have Such Massive, MASSIVE Respect for the Royal Court,” Twitter, December 13, 2017. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​ churlishmeg/​status/​940907301283692544, accessed March 7, 2019. 35. Sarah Crompton, “Should the Royal Court Have Cancelled Rita, Sue and Bob Too?” WhatsOnStage, December 15, 2017. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.whatsonstage. com/​london-​theatre/​news/​rita-​sue-​bob-​too-​royal-​court-​cancelled_​45386.html, accessed December 20, 2017. 36. Patrick Kennedy and Justin Sherin, “Cancellation of Rita, Sue and Bob Too Is a Betrayal of the Royal Court’s History,” Guardian, December 14, 2018. To view full letters, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​stage/​2017/​dec/1 ​ 4/c​ ancellation-o ​ f-r​ ita-s​ ue-a​ nd-b ​ ob-t​ oo-i​ s-​ a-​betrayal-​of-​the-​royal-​courts-​history, accessed November 28, 2018. 37. Vicky Featherstone, “A Statement from the Royal Court Theatre,” Royal Court Theatre, December 15, 2017. To view full statement, go to https://​royalcourttheatre.com/​statement-​ royal-​court-​theatre/​, accessed December 20, 2018. 38. Script insert. 39. Kate Wasserberg, “Kate Wasserberg: ‘Andrea Dunbar Made Rita and Sue More Than Just Victims,’ ” WhatsOnStage, October 5, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www. whatsonstage.com/l​ ondon-t​ heatre/n ​ ews/k ​ ate-​wasserberg-​rita-​sue-​bob-​too-​blog-​out-​joint_​ 44801.html, accessed February 14, 2019.

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40. Kate Wasserberg, e-​mail message to Catriona Fallow and Sarah Jane Mullan, January 28, 2019. 41. Chris Wallis, “Review: Rita, Sue and Bob Too, Bolton Octagon,” Northern Soul, September 13, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.northernsoul.me.uk/r​ eview-r​ ita-s​ ue-b ​ ob-​ bolton-​octagon/​, accessed February 14, 2019. 42. Kris Hallett, “Review: Rita, Sue And Bob Too (Bristol Old Vic),” WhatsOnStage, October 4, 2017. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.whatsonstage.com/b ​ ristol-t​ heatre/r​ eviews/​ rita-​sue-​bob-​too-​tour-​old-​vic-​royal-​court_​44785.html, accessed February 14, 2019. 43. Susannah Clapp, “Rita, Sue and Bob Too Review—​a Threesome Stuck in the Thatcher Era,” Guardian, January 14, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​ stage/​2018/​jan/​14/​rita-​sue-​and-​bob-​too-​royal-​court-r​ eview-s​ tuck-i​ n-t​ hatcher-e​ ra, accessed February 14, 2019; Dominic Cavendish, “Rita, Sue and Bob Too: Bleak but Enduringly Fresh—​Royal Court Theatre Review,” Telegraph, January 13, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.telegraph.co.uk/​theatre/​what-​to-​see/​rita-​sue-​bob-​royal-​court-​theatre-​ review/​, accessed February 14, 2019. 44. Anthony Neilson, “Anthony Neilson: Does #MeToo Need a Liberal Male Sticking His Oar In?” Guardian, April 25, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.theguardian.com/​ stage/​2018/​apr/​25/​anthony-​neilson-​metoo-​the-​prudes-​royal-​court, accessed November 28, 2018. 45. Ibid. 46. Anthony Neilson, “The Prudes” in Anthony Neilson Plays: 3 (London: Methuen Drama, 2019), 369. 47. Ibid., 373. 48. Ibid., 393. 49. Ibid., 394 50. Ibid., 406–07. 51. Frey Kwa Hawking, “Review: The Prudes, Royal Court,” Younger Theatre, May 6, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.ayoungertheatre.com/​review-​the-​prudes-​royal-​ court/​, accessed February 26, 2018; Sarah Hemming, “The Prudes, Royal Court Theatre, London—​Sexual Politics in the Age of #MeToo,” Financial Times, April 30, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.ft.com/c​ ontent/a​ 5aa141a-​4c7d-​11e8-​8a8e-​22951a2d8493, accessed February 26, 2018. 52. Neilson, “The Prudes,” 307. 3. Paul Taylor, “The Prudes, Royal Court, London, Review: Anthony Neilson Trains a Rare 5 Spotlight on the Wilted Libido in This Funny, Frank, and Sad Piece,” Independent, April 26, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.independent.co.uk/​arts-​entertainment/​ theatre-​dance/r​ eviews/t​ he-p ​ rudes-r​ eview-r​ oyal-c​ ourt-a​ nthony-n ​ eilson-j​ onjo-o ​ neill-w ​ ilted-​ libido-​a8324051.html, accessed February 26, 2018.

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8 Dissident Solidarities: Power, Pedagogy, Care Swati Arora Perhaps I should start at the beginning. But the beginning is precisely what is muddled at the moment.1 The clarity on beginnings is important for the sake of this chapter as it attempts to rescue submerged voices and forgotten histories. In India, the origins of #MeToo do not coincide with the viral global campaign that started with Alyssa Milano’s tweet in October 2017. It is crucial to ground the current conversations in history, and renew our feminist memory of tireless struggles to see how and when the experience of language, impact, performance, and outcome shifted the contours of how sexualized violence is understood in India. The current resistance movement in the wake of #MeToo, which touches on aspects of sexualized violence outside of rape, was first recognized and articulated in the Indian legal context after Bhanwari Devi was assaulted in September 1992. Belonging to the lower caste Kumhar (potter) community, Devi was a development worker with the Rajasthan government’s Women’s Development Programme, working to challenge the custom of child marriage in villages. Threatened repeatedly by the men in the village and ousted by her own father-​in-​law for her work, Devi had complained about the harassment she faced to the local authorities, but the state did nothing. Devi was gang-​raped by five upper caste men for continuing to challenge the age-​old custom.2 The accused were eventually acquitted. In 1997, the Vishaka and others v State of Rajasthan Supreme Court judgment was passed which, for the first time, articulated the need for protection of women at the workplace in the form of the Vishaka Guidelines. However, as V. Geetha reminds us, it does not use the details of Bhanwari Devi’s situation to call attention to what is stark in the Indian context—​that the female worker is consistently marked in 141

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terms of both her caste and gender and that this is consequential when it comes to how she is treated.3

This judgment, though celebrated as a landmark victory in the legal history of India, invisibilized the role of caste in the workings of gender politics in India. The social status of Bhanwari Devi has implied that women from a similar background are mostly employed in the informal sector, which is unregulated and highly exploitative of women and men from lower castes. By placing the entire onus of preventing sexual harassment on the employing institution, the Vishaka Guidelines, ironically, exclude the working conditions of women like Devi and serve women from middle and upper classes and castes, who tend to work in an office-​like set-​up.4 Two decades later, Devi is yet to receive legal justice. The legacy of a caste-​blind legal discourse has constantly shifted the contours of the Indian feminist movement, which has frequently been labelled as exclusionary for being blind to the needs of women from marginalized communities, and the current #MeToo movement is another instance of this exclusion. “Perhaps #MeToo can become raw material for more textured (re)considerations of issues, an archive for art and other interventions,” writes Lata Mani.5 Following Mani’s prompt, my chapter is an attempt at foregrounding “layered, intertextual, cumulative encounters with culture, power, narrative frames, pain, skin and soul” through various performances of #MeToo in India.6 The archive of art that I attempt is perhaps a witness of and a testimony to the victories as well as the silences of the movement. Since there is no singular category of “woman,” I seek to highlight the heterogeneous character of the responses to #MeToo by using an intersectional perspective that pays close attention to the role of region, class, caste, sexuality, and ethnicity.7 I propose that addressing sexualized violence against women in India requires conversations that address not only the temporal aspects of #MeToo as an event—​be it Milano’s tweet in 2017 or Burke’s campaign in 2006—​but also the spatial and contextual aspects, which pay close attention to questions of privilege, visibility, and access that are determined by the region, class, caste, sexuality, and ethnicity of those involved. This chapter highlights how—​depending on the privileges of the people involved—​each incident of sexualized violence and the resulting performance of #MeToo had a different impact and visibility, and varying consequences. “Think[ing] with and through the intersectional and interstitial of experience,” this chapter recollects how dissent, rupture, and testimony were performed in the context of #MeToo in India.8

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Performing Dissent Before the #MeToo movement took off in October 2017, and eventually came to be understood as the global revival of a feminist movement, events in December 2012 had paved the way for a social media outcry against sexualized violence in India. Jyoti Singh, a twenty-three-​year-​old medical student, was gang-​raped in Delhi after she boarded a night bus with her male colleague. She had gone to watch a movie at an upmarket cinema in an affluent part of south Delhi. The large-​scale protests across the country and the attention accorded to the incident by national and international media helped put pressure on the government to take swift action and also brought in legal changes recommended by the Justice Verma Committee.9 A three-​member committee comprising retired Justice J. S. Verma, retired Justice Leila Seth, and Solicitor General Gopal Subramanium was constituted on December 23, 2012, to recommend amendments to criminal laws of India. The committee submitted its report on January 23, 2013, which included stalking, voyeurism, acid attacks, forcible stripping, and trafficking of women in the definition of sexual harassment. The definition of “rape” was expanded to include oral sex and insertion of objects into the body. The death penalty was introduced as a punishment in cases where sexual violence caused the death of the victim. The Vishaka Guidelines were modified to form the Sexual Harassment of Women at the Workplace Act, 2013, and also helped to frame certain sections in the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act, 2013. The court sentenced the rapists to death within a year of the lodging of the complaint, and recently the four men were hanged.10 However, despite meeting some long-​standing demands of women’s groups, the issue of marital rape and sexual violence perpetrated under the ambit of the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) were excluded from the new legal framework. Under special privileges provided to the Indian army for combating terrorism, AFSPA has consistently provided impunity to its officers who have been accused of sexual violence against women from lower castes in Kashmir, Manipur, and Chhattisgarh. The intensity of the urban protests that led to the accelerated trial process was also criticized because of its class character. Singh’s activity that evening signalled her class mobility, even though her father had struggled hard to provide the resources for his daughter’s education. The othering of lower-​class rapists and the punishment of the death penalty given to them also highlighted the selective outrage of the middle class that is content with saving and protecting its own women, while “other” women continue to face routine sexual assaults. The social and legal responses to the incident revealed a fracture in the feminist movement in India, creating a fissure which widened even further with #MeToo in October 2017, as discussed later.

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The responses to this incident multiplied on Facebook as men and women took to the social media platform to express rage and heartbreak. It was not just undergraduate students who identified with Singh and were vocal in their demand for safety on the streets; parents joined their children as a diversity of voices found articulation. These responses to Singh’s rape and death became a precursor to the #MeToo movement that was to follow in 2017, when storytelling became a mode of performing testimony. Even when anger was expressed widely during the 2012 to 20​13 protests, it was directed at the “other” men. Women did not share their own personal stories of harassment and trauma on social media then; the narratives of testimony multiplied only after the #MeToo movement began in 2017. The performance of solidarity online through protest soon shifted to the street space where dissent and resistance was witnessed. In Delhi, particularly, artists took to public spaces with performances that addressed street harassment and encouraged women to walk in and occupy public spaces fearlessly. Maya Rao’s Walk (2012) was seminal in bringing national and international attention to the concerns of safety and mobility of urban, middle-​class women in the city. Rao performed her solo show Walk for the first time at Jawaharlal Nehru University on December 31, 2012. Since then, Walk has been invited to multiple spaces, from the streets to universities to schools to cultural festivals in India and abroad. The performance makes use of minimal aesthetics to highlight the everyday aspect of gendered violence that is either ignored or trivialized. Performed to the beautiful music of Sudhir Rikhari, Walk takes place on a bare stage as Rao walks and talks to the audience. Even though the text of the performance has a predetermined structure and theme, each performance is different as Rao makes spontaneous choices about the sequence of spoken words as well as the language they are spoken in, depending on the nature of the audience. The performance I discuss here took place on February 21, 2013, as part of the Bekhauf Azaadi (Freedom without Fear) campaign that was organized to demand the implementation of the legal changes recommended by the Justice Verma Committee.11 Dressed in a black sari with a red border, Rao looks fierce as her long white hair sways alongside her bold movements. As a trained Kathakali dancer, Rao’s ability to use her facial muscles to emote is extraordinary. Melancholic and angry in equal measure, Walk bemoans the dangers of public spaces and expresses hope for a world where women are able to move about without fear of gendered violence. It is a scream let out in anguish and frustration at the increasing acts of violence against women and the lack of redressal mechanisms. The audience, mostly comprised of young girls, cheers loudly as the veteran performer roars and encourages fearless freedom on the streets. Reclaiming agency through voice and action, Rao’s performance is a call to “think,” “talk,” “say,” and “walk,” and break the 144

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silence around gendered violence.12 She proclaims her desires—​“wants”—​loudly and clearly as she addresses the audience. Her character is a composite of urban middle-​class women and their experiences of navigating public spaces. I want to walk. Sit on a bus, walk on the streets, lie in the park I try not to be afraid of the dark.13

The insistence on navigating such spaces is stated, but with the knowledge that those spaces are unknown and, therefore, “dangerous.” Walking is an act of self-​ assertion by overcoming fear and finding freedom, but with hesitation. Can I? Will? Shall I? A step at a time Will you walk with me?14

She laments the state of law and order in Delhi, but that will not deter her from venturing out. The police commissioner says 22,000 streets in Delhi are not lit I’ll hold my own lamp I’ll be my own light.15

The last segment of the performance brings domestic violence and marital rape into its ambit when Rao invokes defiance, agency, and resistance, as opposed to fear and compliance. A man who can’t lie next to his wife right A man who can’t ask her before they have sex tonight Don’t walk with him, I’ll walk with you Don’t lie in bed, just roll out.16

Walk highlights how the legal system has failed women. It laments the lack of support systems for survivors when even the police commissioner refuses to file a complaint against the harassers. Walk resonated with a wide variety of audiences who cheered for her enthusiastically. Now sixty-five years old, Rao is a fiery performer and her rage is evident. Even though the claim of Walk is for women to occupy public spaces without fear and to be able to stay out until after dark, the reality is far different. In fact, the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party is increasingly resorting to regressive policies toward women, particularly with respect to women’s safety in 145

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public places, in a desire to appeal to the more conservative population and garner votes in the run-​up to the national elections in the summer of 2019.17 Walk has been performed multiple times since its inception, addressing different issues of social and political significance: at the One Billion Rising campaign against gendered violence on Valentine’s Day (February 14, 2013); at the protest against Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code that criminalizes homosexuality (December 15, 2013); to show solidarity with students and staff at Jawaharlal Nehru University when the administration attempted to restrict free speech on campus (March 18, 2016); and at the National Campaign for the People’s Right to Information convention (October 16, 2017). Rao adapted each performance to suit the theme of the event, while keeping feminist concerns of fearless freedom at the centre. Regular public interventions in public spaces in Delhi over the past couple of years are making visible the hitherto invisible forms of violence that were either ignored or normalized. Inspired by Rao, young, middle-​class women of Delhi and other metropolitan cities are attempting to imagine, articulate, and perform freedom.18

Performing Ruptures In the previous section, I discussed the performance of dissent on the streets of Delhi as one kind of #MeToo performance. In this section, I discuss how dissent was performed in digital spaces as another kind of performance of #MeToo. Following Milano’s viral tweet in October 2017, Indian university structure became the first site of interrogation. Raya Sarkar, a twenty-four-​year-​old American student of Indian origin, a queer Dalit, invited anonymous contributions of names of Indian men in academia who had committed sexual harassment and shared her compiled list publically on Facebook in October 2017. What is now referred to as #LoSHA (List of Sexual Harassers in Academia), it included names of over sixty men employed in reputed universities in India and North America. Consequently, Kafila, a progressive blog run by left-​leaning Indian academics, issued a statement signed by thirteen renowned Indian feminists who have been active spokespersons for women’s issues for decades.19 The statement expressed “dismay” and criticized the “younger” feminists for resorting to anonymity and disrespecting and by-​ passing the hard-​earned legal and institutional “due process” which they fought for in the 1970s and 1980s, and demanded the list be taken down immediately, doubting its credibility and reliability.20 The signatories of the statement included feminist academics, activists, and lawyers: Nivedita Menon, Kavita Krishnan, Ayesha Kidwai, Janaki Nair, and Brinda Bose, among others. While Kafila feminists 146

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were labelled as “patronizing,” “territorial,” and “ageist,” the supporters of the list defended the initiative and criticized the “older” feminists for supporting their male colleagues and having been co-​opted by the patriarchal structures of power. While criticism of the Kafila statement intensified after Priyamvada Gopal, professor at the University of Cambridge, United Kingdom, supported the list vociferously, Kavita Krishnan of All India Progressive Women’s Association (AIPWA) and the Communist Party of India (Marxist-​Leninist) (CPI-​ML) accused Sarkar of “vigilantism” and adopting mob justice.21 #LoSHA caused a rupture in the mainstream feminist movement between the “older” feminists—​upper caste, tenured faculty, and established media persons mostly based in the capital city of Delhi—​and “younger” feminists, mostly students from lower castes and unemployed, across different cities of India. But viewing the rupture as “generational” obliterates the complexities of the social fabric of not just the Indian feminist movement, but also the university systems.22 The disagreements that continue to surface signal an ideological divide between those whose privilege makes them blind to the operations of caste, and those who experience these traumas every single day. A rigid prescription of due process, then, is blind to how power hierarchies unfold in a caste-​stratified society. After the Bhanwari Devi case, and the subsequent Vishaka Guidelines that were discussed earlier, #LoSHA and its aftermath has made it clear that sexualized violence against women in India needs to be understood in conjunction with, and not separate from, caste violence. When structures of the due process—​institutional and legal—​are few and flawed, #LoSHA became a social event that offered opportunities for a digital mode of performing protest for the vulnerable students. “The critical assumption for the success of due process is that the duties imposed by the substantive provisions and those whom the duty is cast upon voluntarily respect the rights enshrined in law,” Indira Jaisingh reminds us.23 But accessibility to justice is very poor: filing a complaint is complex, and often the police refuse to accept complaints, passing them off as frivolous, as any woman from India will testify. Many universities do not have functional Internal Complaints Committees (ICCs), and students often do not know how to pursue due process either from lack of information or because of the absence of mechanisms of redressal. It is this failure of legal and institutional redressal systems, the due process, and centuries of entrenched patriarchy that force women to bury their experiences of abuse deep within that catalyzed a digital protest in the form of #LoSHA as part of the #MeToo movement. “Stories of complaint are often stories about the exhaustion of a process,” writes Sara Ahmed.24 Ahmed resigned from her post as professor of race and cultural studies at Goldsmiths, University of London, United Kingdom, because her repeated requests to address sexual harassment on campus fell on deaf ears.25 And 147

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that exhaustion multiplies manifold when a female, anonymous, unemployed, lower-​caste/​non-​white complainant gathers the courage required to name a male, high-​profile, upper-​caste/​white, tenured faculty member who has harassed her. The redressal mechanisms are certainly in place, as the Kafila feminists pointed out, but their workings are scarily tiresome and, more often than not, deeply biased. Even when women who contributed to #LoSHA articulated their narratives of violence, screamed in desperation, their truth feared silencing and erasure out of deeply ingrained apathy toward women from lower castes. Moreover, when Sarkar created the list, she did not hope for or desire legal support.26 Perhaps she and the survivors knew the futility of that desire, and the purpose of creating a public document of testimony was to validate each other: to listen to each other’s stories and empathize. The response to #LoSHA has left a wound. There is anger, hurt, and betrayal. But is it possible to use difference and disagreement to introspect about the ways that the feminist pedagogy is not limited to the university classroom but also practiced outside it? Can we lend our liberal training to scrutiny and practice active listening as the foundation of an ethics of care in our university classroom and outside it? There is an urgent need to recognize and give voice to multiple marginalities and how oppression is felt and experienced at the various intersections of caste, class, ethnicity, and sexuality. What the feminist project needs is trust, dialogue, and openness rather than doubt, silencing, and judgment. If #LoSHA has caused a performative rupture in the Indian academic system, perhaps the feminist movement can listen and learn from the disagreements rather than bemoaning them.

Performing Testimony The #MeToo movement resurfaced again in October 2018, with an even more ferocious velocity, and targeted the toxic entertainment industry in the country. Storytelling on digital platforms became a poignant mode of performing testimony in a culture of forced silences. If Sarkar’s strategy was criticized in 2017 for using anonymity and lacking concrete evidence, women began sharing screenshots of actual conversations they had had with abusers, and gave detailed descriptions of their experiences on social media. A few volunteered to share stories of other women on their behalf, if survivors did not want to come out themselves. A significant development was the creation of a Twitter handle in October 2018, dedicated to collating and sharing stories of sexual harassment without naming the survivors. Named as #MeTooIndia, the hashtag identifies itself as “a handle that amplifies voices from #MeToo. Curated by @masalabai.”27 It is curated by independent journalist Rituparna Chatterjee, whose Twitter inbox is open to those who want to share their stories. 148

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Gathering courage from the charged atmosphere on social media, Tanushree Dutta, a former Miss India and Bollywood actress, accused Nana Patekar, a leading Bollywood actor, of molesting her on the set of the Bollywood film Horn OK Please in 2008. Dutta had refused to give in to the pressure and walked off to her vanity van, but the men on the set kept banging on her door to express anger for her daring to refuse to be silent. She eventually left the film industry out of frustration and exhaustion. Now a resident of the United States, she decided to speak about the incident in a media interview, “I said we are not going to have [India’s #MeToo] until what happened ten years ago is acknowledged, addressed and brought to justice.”28 Her story was heard, believed, and shared widely this time. Patekar recently stepped down from his current film project. Following support for Dutta’s story, allegations appeared against Vikas Bahl, the co-​founder of Phantom Studios, one of the more progressive film production houses in India. Soon after, Anurag Kashyap, co-​partner and a prominent director known for his radical politics, announced that the studio would be dissolved. More recently, All India Bakchod, a popular comedy collective, fell apart when two of its members were accused of sexual harassment by multiple women. Moreover, a survivor used the digital space of Twitter to express her rage at the Indian legal system that has failed women repeatedly. In 2016, Mahmood Farooqui, a high-​profile film-​maker and historian, was acquitted on the grounds of a “feeble no,” and thereafter the Supreme Court upheld the judgment,29 which stated that the complainant, C. Marrewa Karwoski, an American academic who had accused Farooqui of forcing himself on her, did not protest loudly and clearly enough. The idea of consent was manipulated by the courts: the accused was freed of all responsibility of listening and acting accordingly; it was now the survivor who had to make sure that her consent was heard appropriately. Karwoski expressed her disappointment in a tweet:30 Christine Marrewa-Karwoski @CMarrewa Sexual assault isn’t political. It’s criminal. Why don’t women come forward? Because even when they do—​with admissions from their assailants—​people will still find a way to invalidate their abuse. I was told my no was “feeble.” Think about that. #whyididntreportit. 5:27 p.m.—September 21, 2018

Even Karwoski’s whiteness could not protect her from the patriarchal Indian legal system, although she presented evidence of having categorically articulated her refusal to participate in any kind of sexual activity with Farooqui. When Priya Ramani, a prominent journalist, accused M. J. Akbar, a journalist turned cabinet minister, the country watched in horror and disgust. Ramani had 149

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written a detailed account of her assault by a senior editor previously, but had refrained from naming Akbar.31 But the storm that rocked social media in 2018 gave her the courage to do so, and she named Akbar in a tweet on October 8, 2018.32 Priya Ramani @priyaramani I began this piece with my MJ Akbar story. Never named him because he didn’t “do” anything. Lots of women have worse stories about this predator-​maybe they’ll share. #ulti 2:45 p.m.—​October 8, 2018 FIGURE 8.1 : The eminent journalist Priya Ramani names Member of Parliament M. J. Akbar in a tweet on October 8, 2018.

More than twenty women have come out since then, citing instances of groping and forcible kissing by Akbar.33 Priya Ramani @priyaramani May I point out the obvious to people who are politicising #metoo? MJ Akbar was a sexual predator when he was in the Congress. And he’s still a sexual predator when he is in the BJP. He’s been at it since the 1980s. 9:20 a.m.—​October 10, 2018 FIGURE 8.2 : After Ramani’s story, several other women came out and implicated M. J. Akbar. Ramani received a lot of support on social media for her confession.

The ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, claiming to provide safety to women and gearing up for the national elections in 2019, remained silent, despite repeated attempts to provoke a statement. Soon after, Akbar filed a defamation case against Ramani, which invited ridicule and anger by women in equal proportions, strengthened support for Ramani, and shamed the government. On October 16, 2018, Akbar resigned from his post, a victory that was precious and hard-​won.34 These dissident solidarities circulated on social media, transgressing all norms and expectations of due process. Whether it was women offering collective financial support to high-​profile journalist Ramani by contributing to her lawyer fee, organization of open healing circles to meet and share stories, or trained psychotherapists offering their skills to any woman who needed them, social media became a platform for practicing and building trust and friendships when the legal system and the state had failed. Indira Jaising wrote,

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Once the critical link between the substantive law and due process is broken, “due process” becomes a tool to manipulate the system, as in the filing of a defamation suit by former Minister of State for External Affairs M J Akbar. Further, when a public person abuses his position, to speak up is not only due process but also a public duty.35

Crucial consequences of these fervent discussions online were that workplaces began looking at setting up efficient and transparent institutional systems of redressal, and ICCs and Gender Sensitization Committees against Sexual Harassment (GSCASH) were set up where they did not previously exist. Women for Theatre, India, was one such initiative that took shape to address gendered violence in the field of theatre and performance in India specifically. Described as “a network of women theatre practitioners from across the country striving towards making theatre a safe and equal space for all,” the group released a detailed Google document on its page explaining the intent behind its origins.36 Now translated into six languages—​ Hindi, Telugu, Marathi, Malayalam, Tamil, and Bengali—​the document highlights the problems of the theatre sector owing to its informality and the erratic nature of the work it involves which makes legal redressal difficult, if not altogether impossible. We understand that the guidelines of the Sexual Harassment at the Workplace Act (Prevention, Prohibition and Redressal), 2013 may not apply directly to many situations in which theatre takes place, especially informal ones, but it is no less of a workplace for performers. There is also an immediate need to address the problem of the individual artist who does not form an organisation or an institution and how such a person could be held accountable for their actions or register their complaint. We seek to throw open these questions in order to understand and create systems of redressal within the community.37

This is the first and much needed initiative in the country to focus on the theatre community. It urges all theatre groups, schools, venues, and cultural organizations to take immediate, concrete steps in the direction of creating gender-​sensitive environments. For instance, it asks to “institute and make public an internal complaints committee in accordance with the Sexual Harassment at the Workplace Act (Prevention, Prohibition and Redressal), 2013 as a first step towards making theatre a safer space for women to work in” and “conduct gender sensitization conversations and workshops at least twice a year. It will go a long way in understanding the clear lines demarcating consent from intimidating behaviour and unfair workplace discrimination.”38 More recently, Women for Theatre, India, has begun to organize monthly listening circles for women in the performing arts industry. Led by the Delhi-​based 151

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arts therapy practitioner Mrinmoyee Majumdar, these meetings are a way of performing empathy without feeding the voyeuristic appetite of social media, where narratives of pain and trauma are shared privately, with the intention of building trust and solidarity among the participants.

Rethinking Feminist Solidarities Digital technologies have displayed their potential for empowerment. When civil society mechanisms have failed repeatedly, the digital space is becoming an alternate mode of voicing and performing dissent. The performance of solidarity in the streets, as in Rao’s performance, and in digital spaces, as evident in the narratives of Raya Sarkar, Tanushree Dutta, and Priya Ramani, are instances of how #MeToo is steadily amplifying in its scope and breadth. However, at the same time, both the spaces—​the street and the digital—​although celebrated for their commitment to openness and access, have exhibited exclusions based on caste, class, and sexualities. While the Indian feminists have always had a fraught relationship with the state, #MeToo provided a possibility of imagining a feminist ethics that is rooted in feminist solidarities independent of legal systems, woven into the mundane and the everyday. The question of what V. Geetha calls “speakability” acquired different connotations.39 Sexual abuse itself expanded its meaning. The failures of legal redressal, the trauma and the hurt, and the alienation that follows court visits could be sidelined and feminist solidarities based on empathy and listening were nurtured. If testimony and witnessing are the road to due process, then care and dialogue are the foundations of an inclusive feminist movement. To strengthen due process, there is an urgent need to create an ethics of care and networks of support where people can share their stories without feeling ashamed or judged. In India, #LoSHA was a brave new culture of protest. But despite her use of the hashtag in October 2017, Sarkar, a queer Dalit student, was relegated to the margins and threatened into silence. She did the hard work of laying down the foundation for the #MeToo movement when no one paid attention. She fought against all odds to keep the names of survivors anonymous despite pressure from upper-​caste academics, but her labouring voice was sidelined. For instance, Kavita Krishnan, who equated creating #LoSHA to witch hunting, expressed solidarity with Priya Ramani when she named M. J. Akbar as an abuser. Krishnan received massive criticism for changing her stand and silencing Sarkar when she first named men in academia (Figure 8.3).40 Thenmozhi Soundararajan, a transmedia artist and Dalit rights activist, expressed her anger in a series of tweets, through her twitter handle @DalitDiva (Figure 8.4).41 152

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Kavita Krishnan @kavita_​krishnan We should be thankful to the women whose courageous #metoo is demanding a reckoning with rampant sexual harassment in media, film, and every other corner of life.  1/​n 10:24 a.m.—​October 8, 2018 Kavita Krishnan @kavita_​krishnan What #metoo does is to remind us of just how widespread sexual harassment is, and how hard our work culture and society makes it for women to speak up 2/​n: 10:24 a.m.—​October 8, 2018 FIGURE 8.3 : Activist Kavita Krishnan changed her public stance on #MeToo when Priya Ramani, an upper-​caste woman, shared her story of harassment, while she had earlier criticized Raya Sarkar and #LoSHA.

When Bhanwari Devi was gang-​raped for taking issue with child marriage in her village, she lost the case and has yet to find justice. After Sarkar and Devi articulated their resentment, public outcry over the state’s failure to address sexualized violence led to significant changes: the meaning of witnessing and testimony shifted when Sarkar created #LoSHA; and legal changes in the form of the Vishaka Guidelines, which became the Prevention of Sexual Harassment in Workplace Act (2013), were instituted as a result of Devi’s case. So far, there have been no inquiries into the names that appeared on #LoSHA. Both Bhanwari Devi and Raya Sarkar belong to marginalized communities and carried the burden of rethinking and reimagining solidarities in the feminist movement in India. I am hesitant to call #MeToo an all-​encompassing victory, owing to the cis, heteronormative definitions of sexual violence to which it subscribes. State-​ sanctioned violence perpetrated under AFSPA has not found articulation under its ambit yet, and neither has violence against queer, Trans, non-​binary, and disabled people. Routine harassment of sex workers is yet to find redressal. The central government’s Nirbhaya Fund—​established after Jyoti Singh’s 2012 gang-​rape—​for “prevention, protection and rehabilitation” of survivors of sexual violence, does not explicitly mention women with disabilities.42 When organized religion came under the purview of #MeToo—​a nun from Kerala accused the Catholic Bishop Franco Mulakkal of raping her multiple times between 2014 and 2016—​the key witness in the case, Father Kuriakose Kattuthara, was found dead.43 Social media can be a powerful platform for building global movements, but the #MeToo movement in India has invited selective outrage in some cases and has been outright dangerous in others. 153

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Dalit Diva @dalitdiva Replying to @kavita_​krishnan @DivyaKandukuri_​@MasalaBai #DalitBahujan feminists are not going to take you coming for her. It is also the responsibility for #Savarna feminists to hold Kavitha Krishnan accountable for this mess. 11:19 a.m.—​October 9, 2018 Kuttardamarvai @jeegujja Replying to @kavita_​krishnan @DivyaKandukuri_​@MasalaBai Stop misrepresenting everything @kavita_​krishnan we are not AIPWA cadre to say “ok yajamamiamma.” Her identifying as Dalit or Buhujan is her prerogative, you dismissing #LoSHA for protecting your pals and now suddenly saying “wow what a movement #metoo is” is your politics. 9:49 a.m.—​October 9, 2018 Dalit Diva @dalitdiva Replying to @jeegujja @kavita_​krishnan and 2 others Yup if you didn’t stand with survivors then why stand with them now? Sorry there will be no movement around gender based violence without Dalit Bahujan and Adivasi feminists at its core. 12:48 p.m.—​October 9, 2018 Dalit Diva @dalitdiva Replying to kavita_​krishnan @DivyaKanukuri_​@MasalaBai Please check your #casteism. Raya is a personal friend and it is never ok for a #Savarna women to challenge Raya on her identity. Raya is unapologetically #Dalit & #Gendernonconforming. This is not liberatory politics. If you can’t understand that than please sit down. 11:18 a.m.—​October 9, 2018 FIGURE 8.4 : Dalit activist and media artist Thenmozhi Soundararajan criticized Kavita Krishnan for her caste blindness and selective outrage.

Visibility politics, more often than not, lacks an intersectional understanding of issues at hand, and women from certain castes, classes, religions, and ethnic backgrounds do not feel as comfortable as urban women from metropolitan cities about sharing their experiences of sexual harassment on social media, for fear of being ignored or silenced. The workings of the caste-​class nexus, as manifested in #MeToo in India, has run the risk of silencing and invisibilizing the most oppressed groups. Women attempted to perform trust in the digital sphere: women who were not necessarily a part of one’s close coterie of friends offered to hear stories of others, changing the meaning of testimony itself. The exchange of stories, however, did not transgress one’s socio-​economic class and caste. 154

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As much as #MeToo is a precious historical moment that has provided a platform for articulating and performing the stories of sexualized violence that could not have otherwise come to the surface, I hope the current conversation around gendered violence is able to find ways of imagining and practising healing and providing care to each other without feeding the voyeuristic appetite of the media and making women perform their trauma in public. The aesthetics of repair cannot be sustained without dismantling the powerful hegemony of upper-​caste feminists in academia, journalism, entertainment industries, religious institutions, and health industries—​a hegemony predicated on a culture of the tyranny of silence. The submerged voices and histories are steadily finding their way to the surface. At this crucial junction when the nature and meaning of feminist politics is being interrogated beyond the framework of academic jurisprudence, the performance of feminist praxis in liberal spaces also needs to be reimagined. When the feminist project is witnessing fissures in its ideological value systems, perhaps embracing the crisis is a productive way to begin the introspection.

NOTES 1. Research for this chapter was made possible through Andrew W. Mellon Foundation funding that supported my postdoctoral research at the Women’s and Gender Studies Department and the Centre for Humanities Research, University of the Western Cape. Grant No: G-31700714. 2. Kalpana Kannabiran, Tools of Justice: Non-​discrimination and the Indian Constitution (New Delhi: Routledge, 2012), 396–​98. 3. V. Geetha, “Sexual Harassment and Elusive Justice,” Economic and Political Weekly 52, no. 44 (November 2017). To view full article, go to https://​www.epw.in/​engage/​article/​ sexual-​harassment-​and-​elusive-​justice, accessed March 4, 2019. 4. Maitreyi Krishnan and Ponni Arasu, “Sexual Harassment Law,” Seminar 583 (March 2008). To view full article, go to http://​www.india-​seminar.com/​2008/​583/​583_​maitreyi_​ and_​ponni.htm, accessed October 15, 2018. 5. Lata Mani, “We Inter Are: Identity Politics & #MeToo,” Feminist Review (blog), September 10, 2018. To view full post, go to https://​femrev.wordpress.com/​2018/​09/​10/​we-​inter-​are-​ identity-​politics-​me-​too/​, accessed October 28, 2018. 6. Ibid. 7. Chandra Talpade Mohanty, “ ‘Under Western Eyes’ Revisited: Feminist Solidarity through Anticapitalist Struggles,” in Feminist Theory Reader: Local and Global Perspectives, ed. Carole R. McCann and Seung-​Kyung Kim (New York: Routledge, 2013), 548. 8. Mani, “We Inter Are.” 9. See J. S. Verma, Leila Seth, and Gopal Subramanium, “Report of the Committee on Amendments to Criminal Law,” PRS Legislative Research, January 23, 2013. To view full report,

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10.

11.

2. 1 13. 14.

5. 1 16. 17.

18.

go to http://​www.prsindia.org/​uploads/​media/​Justice%20verma%20committee/​js%20 verma%20committe%20report.pdf, accessed January 30, 2017. Ashok Bagriya and Bhadra Sinha, “2012 Delhi Gang Rape Verdict Highlights: SC Confirms Death to All 4 Convicts, Says This Will Set an Example,” Hindustan Times, July 19, 2017. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.hindustantimes.com/​delhi-​news/​dec-​16-​delhi-​gang-​rape-​ verdict-l​ ive-w ​ ill-s​ upreme-c​ ourt-u ​ phold-d ​ eath-p ​ enalty/s​ tory-0 ​ YzN3eki36Yfmx1221sCwO. html, accessed August 30, 2017. For a link to Maya Rao’s performance of Walk on February 21, 2013, go to https://​www. youtube.com/​watch?v=l6X6UugffFE&list=PLwAEFgM0leAqNiQg_T ​ 0t44W6qY-J​ abc5y; “Maya Rao—​Jantar Mantar,” YouTube video, posted by Minakshi Gohain, February 21, 2013, accessed March 4, 2019. Ibid.; these action words are interspersed throughout the performance. Ibid., 2:50. This quotation is from Maya Rao’s performance of Walk at the Jaipur Literary Festival, 2013. To see full video, go to https://w ​ ww.youtube.com/​watch?v=msUvCWKcCVQ&t=6s; “WALK—​Maya Krishna Rao,” YouTube video, posted by Maya Krishna Rao, February 8, 2013, 0:34, accessed March 15, 2019. Ibid., 3:00. Ibid., 5:07. An example of this is the “Love-​Jihad” campaign run by Hindu right-​wing groups against what they say is a Muslim conspiracy to convert Hindu girls to Islam by feigning love. The “Anti-​Romeo” squad was launched in March 2017 by Yogi Adityanath, the newly appointment chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, to “protect” women from suspected youth who harass them. Adityanath quoted in “What Are Anti-​Romeo Squads? How Do They Operate? Points to Know,” News 18, March 22, 2017. For full article, go to https://​www. news18.com/​news/​india/​what-​are-​anti-​romeo-​squads-​how-​do-​they-​operate-​points-​to-​ know-​1362855.html, accessed March 15, 2019. One example is Thoda Dhyaan Se (Be a little careful) performed by the Delhi-​based artist

Mallika Taneja in December 2013. See Swati Arora, “Be a Little Careful: Women, Violence and Performance in India,” New Theatre Quarterly 35, no. 1 (February 2019): 3–​18. 19. Nivedita Menon, “Statement by Feminists on Facebook Campaign to ‘Name and Shame,’ ” Kafila, October 24, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​kafila.online/​2017/​10/​24/​ statement-​by-​feminists-​on-​facebook-​campaign-​to-​name-​and-​shame/​, accessed October 15, 2018. 20. Ibid. 21. Kavita Krishnan, “ ‘It’s Like Blackening Faces’: Why I Am Uneasy with the Name and Shame List of Sexual Harassers,” Scroll.in, October 25, 2017. To view full article, go to https://s​ croll.in/a​ rticle/8 ​ 55399/i​ ts-l​ ike-b ​ lackening-​faces-​why-​i-​am-​uneasy-​with-​the-​name-​ and-​shame-​list-​of-​sexual-​harassers, accessed October 17, 2018.

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22. Srila Roy, “Whose Feminism Is It Anyway?” Wire, November 1, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​thewire.in/​gender/​whose-​feminism-​anyway, accessed March 4, 2019. 23. Indira Jaising, “Those Who Demand ‘Due Process’ Must First Live by ‘Due Process,’ ” Hindu, October 22, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.thehindu.com/​news/​cities/​ Delhi/​those-w ​ ho-d ​ emand-d ​ ue-p ​ rocess-m ​ ust-fi ​ rst-​live-​by-​due-​process/​article25281972.ece, accessed November 15, 2018. 24. Sara Ahmed, “Complaint as Diversity Work,” Feminist Killjoys, November 10, 2017. To view full post, go to https://f​ eministkilljoys.com/​2017/​11/​10/​complaint-​as-​diversity-​work/, accessed October 30, 2018. 25. Rachael Pells, “London University Professor Quits over ‘Sexual Harassment of Female Students by Staff,’ ” Independent, June 9, 2016. To view full article, go to https://​www.independent.co.uk/​news/​education/​education-​news/​london-​university-​goldsmiths-​professor-​ quits-​sexual-h ​ arassment-f​ emale-s​ tudents-s​ taff-​a7072131.html, accessed February 2, 2019. 26. Aastha Atray Banan, “Raya Sarkar’s Glad How Survivors Have Found Unquestioning Empathy,” mid-​day, October 14, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.mid-​ day.com/​articles/​raya-​sarkars-​glad-​how-​survivors-​have-​found-​unquestioning-​empathy/​ 19888171, accessed January 17, 2019. 27. @IndiaMeToo, “#MeTooIndia Bio,” Twitter. To view full description, go to https://​twitter. com/​IndiaMeToo, accessed May 9, 2019. 28. Tanushree Dutta quoted in Michael Safi, “Tanushree Dutta’s Bollywood Sexual Harassment Case Back in Spotlight,” Guardian, October 1, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www. theguardian.com/w ​ orld/2 ​ 018/o ​ ct/0 ​ 1/m ​ etoo-b ​ ollywood-s​ exual-h ​ arassment-c​ ase-r​ eignited-​ a-​decade-​on, accessed March 4, 2019. 29. Anusha Soni, “How the Courts Failed in Interpreting Consent in Mahmood Farooqui Rape Case,” daily O, January 22, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.dailyo.in/​ politics/​mahmood-​farooqui-​case-​consent-​sexual-​assault-​orgasm-​supreme-​ourt/​story/​1/​ 21891.html, accessed October 18, 2018. 30. C. Marrewa Karwoski (@CMarrewa), “Sexual Assault Isn’t Political,” Twitter, September 21, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​CMarrewa/​status/​ 1043250291120988160, accessed March 4, 2019. 31. Priya Ramani, “To the Harvey Weinsteins of the World,” Vogue India, October 12, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.vogue.in/​content/​harvey-​weinsteins-​open-​letter-​ sexual-​harassment/​, accessed November 15, 2018. 32. Priya Ramani (@priyaramani), “I Began This Piece with My MJ Akbar Story,” Twitter, October 8, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​priyaramani/​status/​ 1049279608263245824?lang=en, accessed March 18, 2019. 33. Priya Ramani (@priyaramani), “May I  Point Out the Obvious,” Twitter, October 10, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https:// ​ t witter.com/ ​ p riyaramani/ ​ s tatus/​ 1049922512212119552?lang=en, accessed March 18, 2019. Further, The Wire Staff, “After Multiple Women Say #MeToo, M.J. Akbar Resigns from Modi Government,”

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Wire, October 17, 2018. To view full article, go to https://thewire.in/politics/ me-too-indiamj-akbar-minister-resigns, accessed November 3, 2018. 34. The Wire Staff, “After Multiple Women Say #MeToo, M.J. Akbar Resigns from Modi Government.” 35. Jaising, “Those Who Demand ‘Due Process.’ ” 36. Women for Theatre, India, “About,” on Women for Theatre, India Facebook page. To view full description, go to https://​www.facebook.com/​pg/​womenfortheatreindia/​about/​ ?ref=page_​internal, accessed November 2, 2018. 37. Women for Theatre, India, “Women for Theatre, India in Solidarity with #MeToo Movement,” posted on Women for Theatre, India Facebook page, November 1, 2018. To view full statement, go to https://​docs.google.com/​forms/d ​ /1 ​ Xj88N24FJcyY4ALvMA5qzi2ogO Edqz1QjWRSGpHs9no/​viewform?fbclid=IwAR0dZTNBito0NF0s-​txgTse6pnG4Tjrf3N-​ Co5pA2jNuAKTO8y9_​V3mdNo4&edit_​requested=true, accessed March 5, 2019. 38. Ibid. 39. Geetha, “Sexual Harassment and Elusive Justice.” 40. Kavita Krishnan (@kavita_​krishnan), “We Should Be Thankful to the Women,” Twitter, October 8, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​kavita_​krishnan/​status/​ 1049213877987299329, accessed March 18, 2018; and “What #metoo Does Is to Remind Us of Just How Widespread Sexual Harassment Is,” Twitter, October 8, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​kavita_​krishnan/​status/​1049213883641225217, accessed March 18, 2018. 41. Thenmozhi Soundararajan (@dalitdiva), “#DalitBahujan Feminists Are Not Going to Take You Coming for Her,” Twitter, October 9, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter. com/​dalitdiva/​status/​1049680723823775749, accessed March 18, 2019; kuttardamarvai (@jeegujja), “Stop Misrepresenting Everything,” Twitter, October 9, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​jeegujja/​status/​1049658098078687232, accessed March 18, 2019; Thenmozhi Soundarajan (@dalitdiva), “Yup If You Didn’t Stand with Survivors Then,” Twitter, October 9, 2019. To view original tweet, go to https://t​ witter.com/​ dalitdiva/​status/​1049703204584398848, accessed March 18, 2019; and “Please Check Your #casteism,” Twitter, October 9, 2018. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter. com/​dalitdiva/​status/​1049680426170810370, accessed March 18, 2019. 42. Abhishek Kumar Mehan, “Invisible Victims of Sexual Violence,” Human Rights Watch, April 3, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.hrw.org/r​ eport/2 ​ 018/0 ​ 4/0 ​ 3/i​ nvisible-​ victims-​sexual-​violence/​access-​justice-​women-​and-​girls-​disabilities#, accessed January 15, 2019. 3. “Witness against Bishop Franco Mulakkal in Nun Rape Case Found Dead,” Economic 4 Times, October 22, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​economictimes.indiatimes. com/​news/​politics-​and-​nation/​priest-​key-​witness-​in-​kerala-​nun-​rape-​case-​found-​dead/​ articleshow/​66314756.cms, accessed November 14, 2018.

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9 Conversations with Noura: Iraqi American Women and a Response to A Doll’s House Mary P. Caulfield As the house lights dim, the sombre chant of a woman’s voice whispers fragmented phrases of a Catholic prayer, the Hail Mary, in English and Arabic. English and Arabic words peacefully intertwine and serve as soundtrack to a set suggestive of a modern living room fitted for Christmas. A large round table is placed stage left; a Christmas tree splendours conspicuously stage right. The title character enters and paces as she surveys her sparsely furnished, semicircular space. She is dressed in nightclothes, and it quickly becomes clear that we are voyeurs in her home. Her prayer and the design aesthetic suggest a hybrid culture: a modern Western high-​rise apartment peppered with artefacts from a life further East. Noura takes a breath as the house lights rise to a blinding intensity and then quickly dim as she steps outside. She lights a cigarette, takes a drag from it, and says, “We wait for so long, forget how to dream, then a door opens or closes—​Now everything is possible again.”1 Noura’s initial words foreshadow her narrative journey from keeping silent about the life-​altering experience of her illegitimate teen pregnancy to confronting her husband’s sexist and patriarchally repressive judgments in the more recent past. Her words also reflect the 2017 reawakening of the original, largely dormant #MeToo movement, initiated a decade earlier by Tarana Burke, which functions as the social and cultural backdrop against which this play was first performed. This chapter considers Noura within the context of and as metaphor for the contemporary #MeToo movement. The premiere of Noura, written by Iraqi American playwright Heather Raffo, and directed by Joanna Settle, took place at the Lansburgh Theatre on February 6, 2018, as part of the second Women’s Voices Theater Festival in Washington,

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DC. First launched in 2015, this festival now claims further relevance as a result of the #MeToo campaign against sexual abuses in Hollywood and worldwide. Coordinating producer Nan Barnett states, The “Me Too” movement has really shifted the national conversation and so where we were in front of that with the first festival, this time we’ve been able to be a real significant part of that discussion here in D.C. and across the country.2

This is mostly due to the sixty-​six performances written by and about women that the festival has showcased. While the festival had its line-​up in place before the #MeToo movement’s reinvigoration by Alyssa Milano’s viral tweet, its ability to bring female-​authored plays to the stage and ensure their subsequent productions elsewhere makes it a catalyzing force in disseminating theatrical representations of women from a range of different racial and ethnic perspectives in this time when women are realigning spheres of power against the patriarchy. The festival’s 2018 line-​up also suggests the inevitability and necessity of the #MeToo movement. Annalisa Dias, a contributing playwright to the festival with her work titled 4,380 Nights, explains the festival’s relevance to the Washington Post, Many of these plays have been in the works for years and years, and yet here we are producing them in a historical moment when thousands of people are breaking their silence and demanding justice for past wrongs. It’s hard not to read some of that narrative onto the festival.3

Mary Kathryn Nagle, playwright of the festival’s Sovereignty, adds, The Women’s Voices Theater Festival has created an incredible opportunity for women playwrights to share their stories. To be clear, not every play written by a woman deals with sexual assault. But so many do. Because as a woman living in the United States, it is an experience that is nearly impossible to escape. We need this festival now more than ever.4

Conspicuously located in the United States’ capital city, this festival places women’s voices (and therefore Noura) at the epicentre of the American #MeToo movement: like so many women, Noura is a survivor of male aggression, trying to assert her individual voice and follow her creative impulses without fear of repercussions. In this reimagining of Ibsen’s Nora Helmer, the theatrical icon of female agency mired in a system perverse with patriarchal control, Noura finds herself as the guest of honour in a festival which acclaimed contributing playwright Timberlake Wertenbaker sees as a consequence of the #MeToo movement 160

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and women’s end to “being quiet” after decades of silence about sexual harassment. Wertenbaker adds, What the #MeToo moment is besides sexual harassment is the end of women being quiet. And that is almost more important—​that is, the ability and the right of women to speak up about what’s happened to them or what they think in general, without being told to shut up […]. The ability to live in the same rules, which is supposed to be that you can be yourself, you can speak, have an opinion, look for truth: that’s what matters.5

This revelation for Wertenbaker, author of Jefferson’s Garden, speaks directly to Noura’s narrative of transformation. Noura continued its run after its premiere at the festival, in November and December 2018, at Manhattan’s Playwrights Horizons in New York City. It was also directed by Joanna Settle and produced in conjunction with the Shakespeare Theatre Company, a production which the New York Times found “compelling and ambitious” yet under Settle’s direction “a bit blurry.”6 The review continues, “With so much going on inside the title character, much of it contradictory, the audience may feel, along with her family, flummoxed by her whipsawing.”7 This confusion reflects, perhaps, the unsettling nature of Noura’s (and thus the #MeToo woman’s) self-​assertions which prove counterintuitive to even the most liberal American periodicals. Raffo’s play is not a rewrite, but rather a self-​proclaimed response to Ibsen’s A Doll’s House (1879). Her reliance on this formative feminist text, however, reveals the need for female authorial reclamation of the dramaturgy implicit in rendering and eternalizing fundamental stage representations of women and the multifaceted roles they renegotiate through time. Raffo summons Nora Helmer’s courage again to excite agency and activism during this reinvigoration of the #MeToo movement, which was originally launched to assist disenfranchised women of colour who were victims of sexual abuse. While the play makes no explicit mention of the #MeToo movement, it is impossible to ignore this familiar dramaturgical impulse to reawaken Nora as an icon for female emancipation who foregrounded the first wave of the European suffrage movements during this current reclamation of female agency and power. Raffo routinely references the #MeToo milieu in which Noura was written: When I started writing, we weren’t talking about the things I was feeling. There was the sense that a female president was a sure thing, that women had achieved equality in workplaces. Now we are in a post-​election, post-​Harvey-​Weinstein world, and conversations are moving from the secretive to the mainstream.8 161

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This consequence of speaking her truth while simultaneously shedding years of shame is precisely what is at stake for Noura. In this way, Noura’s narrative arc theatrically represents and reveals the shift for women from the anxiety of the pre-​#MeToo climate of male aggression to saying “Me Too” at the risk of patriarchal suffocation when trying to assume agency in light of the new possibilities for women rendered as a result of this collective action. This stage thus provides a forum for what Raffo considers the relevant questions for women at this transformative theatrical moment. In an interview conducted as the play was set to premiere in NYC, Raffo claims her play asks, How do you rebuild yourself? How do you find the next chapter of your life? How do you find your agency? What it means to be a modern woman in a modern marriage now. How to be female (she laughs) and how complicated that is.9

Noura is at odds with her home; her own crossculturally prescribed sphere of authority, as well as her fear of how her husband will respond when and if she reveals the long kept secret of her teen pregnancy, the result of coerced sexual activity perpetrated by the very man who she now fears upsetting. When for so long the governing of gender was a complicated game of hegemony determined by a variety of external factors such as cultural, social, political, and religious institutions, Raffo’s dramaturgical strategy repudiates draconian rules of the normative and relies on exploring woman’s implicit relationship with encoding the systems of redefining the self. What results is not simply a reconfiguration of cultural hegemony in redress but rather a reconfiguration of crosscultural values. It is not beyond the threshold of a closed front door, but rather on-​stage and from the rubble of Noura’s fractured sense of home where the true potential for female emancipation rests; in performative spaces in which female characters no longer represent perfected ideologies of reductive and romanticized social systems, but are instead fluid figures with access to a range of emotions and behaviours. At the play’s centre are Noura, her husband Tareq, and their eleven-​year-​old son Yazen. Yazen, described as “very American,”10 and now known as “Alex,” was born in Iraq, yet raised since the age of two in New York City, where this family now lives and where this play is set. It is eight years after they fled their home city of Mosul in war-​torn Iraq. The play starts on Christmas Eve and ends on Christmas Night. It is this family’s first Christmas as newly naturalized American citizens, and we meet them as they prepare to welcome Maryam, an Iraqi refugee, into their home for the first time. Maryam was raised by nuns in a convent in Mosul. She has just recently left Iraq to start her first semester at Stanford University, and Noura is financially sponsoring her degree. In the denouement of this ninety-​minute 162

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play, Noura reveals that Maryam is not an orphan at all but rather her illegitimate daughter, and that of Tareq. Maryam is the result of their premarital sex when Noura was just seventeen. Afraid, ashamed, unwed, and unbeknownst to Tareq, Noura left her home early in her pregnancy. She gave birth to Maryam in secret and gave her to the nuns to be raised, while she returned to Tareq under the pretence that she had been away at school. Noura has carried this secret shame for twenty-​six years. With Maryam’s arrival and the discovery that Maryam is pregnant, Noura realizes that there are alternative choices to living with secrets and shame. Noura and her now grown daughter come together on this stage to represent two possible outcomes of female empowerment as a consequence of the spaces that #MeToo has carved out for women who are now demanding more. Scattered throughout the play are many allusions to Ibsen’s work. The sheer iconicity of the play makes this unavoidable. Noura is not only named for Ibsen’s protagonist (although spelled differently), but its title also references the name his play came to be known by for his late-​nineteenth-​century German audience. Nora Helmer’s final act of defiance is summoned in a variety of contexts throughout the play, as if Raffo is encouraging her own Noura to take a similar leap of faith. It is Christmas, and instead of macaroons, Noura enjoys a sneaky cigarette. The catalyzing presence of Mrs Linde resonates in the complicating figure of Maryam, and Dr Rank in the family’s good friend Rafa’a—​an Iraqi-​born Muslim and a gynecologist. Notably, the nefarious Nils Krogstad has been eliminated from the script but only in character, as the shame that he brings Nora Helmer haunts the adaptation throughout, in the form of the dark, unexpected reality of Maryam’s parentage, which Noura has held secret for so long. Like their predecessors the Helmers, early on in the play, Noura and Tareq enjoy a flirtatious familiarity when he is not away working; however, when Noura’s revelations start to shatter his ideal image of mother and wife, this flirtation turns to fury. Tropes of secrets, silence, and circularity are woven throughout this play. The semicircular set is mostly lit in shadow, and as the play proceeds with no intermission, we are forced to share Noura’s discoveries in real-​time, alongside of her. The first of many of these discoveries happens at her kitchen table when Rafa’a, the family’s closest friend from Mosul, confesses his love to Noura and she warns, “In letting go of the burden of silence—​you open a door. Or maybe you close a door. Either way it’s a place from which you never return.”11 This intuitive statement reverberates in the women’s lives which are forever changed as a consequence of breaking their silence. Here, Noura also alludes to Ibsen’s iconic threshold, the door, which came to be synonymous with the impenetrable trope of female transformation, potentiality, and emancipation. This motif resonates throughout the play as it stands as metaphor for the proverbial threshold one must cross in an effort to break codes of silence and confront past wrongdoings. 163

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FIGURE 9.1: Noura by Heather Raffo, directed by Joanna Settle, Playwrights Horizons (produced in association with Shakespeare Theatre Company), New York, 2018. (L-​R) Dahlia Azama, Nabil Elouahabi, Heather Raffo, Liam Campora, and Matthew David. Photo: Joan Marcus.

Noura, now reimagined as a forty-​something-​year-​old Iraqi Catholic architect turned refugee, stands like so many women who have found strength and solidarity through saying #MeToo. In an interview with the Washington Post, Raffo echoes Noura’s sentiments as they resonate with “art, discrimination and #MeToo.” She continues, “It’s like a fire—​a really necessary fire. Why was it lit by the Harvey Weinstein scandal? It’s because Trump is president. Women are now demanding with their voices, not just speaking. And the demand is dismantling things.”12 Rafa’a apologizes to Noura for sharing his feelings, and Noura confesses that she is “one in need for forgiveness.”13 At this point, the audience and Rafa’a are unaware of Noura’s secret. Together, we are left to wonder what this woman, a desired emblem of maternal perfection and marital sacrifice (e.g. it is stated early in the play that Noura tutored math instead of qualifying for her architectural board examinations, as a way of supporting the family, while Tareq studied to be licensed to practice medicine in the United States), could have done to warrant such a statement. With Rafa’a as a catalyst, Raffo declares that #MeToo is not only a woman’s concern but rather a movement dependent on a co-​ed commitment 164

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to shifting sexual power. Here, Noura embodies a pre-​#MeToo ethos—​a woman silenced due to both a societal and self-​inflicted sense of shame. Raffo, in that same interview with the Washington Post, adds a comment referring to American President Donald Trump: What everybody’s aware of is that they didn’t demand, previously. Without the demand, somebody who can say he grabs women’s p-​--​ -​ -​ -​ ​can become president. So we were all complicit in that. And I had to describe that to my 6-​year-​old son. My son says, “Mommy, he grabs women’s private parts; how is he president?” Because everything you tell young children is how to behave, what’s appropriate.14

She reminds us here that the importance of #MeToo transcends generation and gender. Raffo was inspired to write Noura when she taught creative writing from 2013 to 2016 at Queens College in New York to young women of Middle Eastern heritage. She was “struck with how frequently they raised themes of shame, secrets, fear, sacrifice, sexism, self-​yearning.”15 Raffo asked her students to read and adapt scenes from A Doll’s House and subsequently discovered that using Ibsen’s play rendered results that were “culturally specific and empowering.”16 Raffo took her own assignment to task and found new relevance in this iconic play as she took stock of her own experiences as a “feminist, wife, mother to two young children and working playwright-​performer.”17 In a 2018 interview, she states: The thing that I was considering working with the women that I was working with when reading that play was that Middle Eastern people and refugees in particular know what it means to slam a door. They’ve all had to leave so many things behind […] They’re all coming to the table like a Nora Helmer would, having already left it all behind and picking up the pieces and looking at “what next?”18

Noura’s new home in New York, as well as her Americanized name and recently granted citizenship, serves as sources of contempt on which she projects her shame of survival, “Congratulations TIM, on becoming an American—​Congratulations ALEX, good job! We’re American now!”19 These Western sources of safety become symbols of her many layers of guilt and dislocation. Noura suffers from survivor’s guilt. She believes that the abuses she has experienced do not warrant the pain that she feels. In this way, she bears a double burden—​the guilt of having been abused, but also the feeling that her own pain and experiences do not warrant the same level of authenticity as the women left behind. 165

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The destabilizing arrival of Maryam will eventually help Noura move through her passive state of personal pain and frustration through to an active place of self-​ realization and empowerment. Noura is the #MeToo woman in a state of transformative potential; she is a representative of the shift in the collective consciousness as a result of women saying #MeToo, and this play is an essential component in rendering a theatrical site of transformation for women in this post-​#MeToo moment. After years of patriarchal aggression and abuse, this transition is neither easy nor immediate and Maryam, who arrives early, unexpectedly pregnant, and unaware that Noura is her mother, unintentionally reignites Noura’s unresolved feelings toward her own unwanted pregnancy: (NOURA at first reacts nervously) NOURA MARYAM NOURA MARYAM

Are you okay? Who did this? Noura. I’m just pregnant, I wanted the baby. You got married? I chose to have a baby, not a husband, a baby.20

Noura here stands as a reflection of the faction of women who are hardwired by patriarchal systems of the past.21 Maryam embodies the post-​#MeToo woman empowered by survivors of past wrongdoing who stand to realign residues of sexism. For Nora Helmer, it was essential to leave the home and separate herself corporeally from the very emblem of patriarchal authority. Noura, now, is no longer a doll playing house, but rather an architect who must negotiate the agency to build her own revised concepts of home, motherhood, and marriage. Her inability to reconcile her place between memories of home and this new life made possible by an American passport reveals her perpetual alterity which threatens her potentiality. She is no longer constrained solely by society, but also by an inability to reconcile herself to images of a traumatic-​turned-​idealized past, and the anxiety she feels in the liminality of her own displacement in the present. Raffo’s preface to her play asks, “Can women be fully realized in all of their roles? […] In the demand of playing roles for so many others, is it inevitable that we question who we really are ourselves?”22 In rendering Maryam unwed and pregnant, Raffo forces Noura out of her passive self-​exile of nostalgia and into an active site of conflict in which she can evaluate how far she has really travelled in these eight years since she left Iraq. As Noura processes Maryam’s pregnancy, whispers in Arabic again infiltrate the room, Ha’tha Eeb (It’s shameful) Kan El-​Mafroudh Et’sa’qoudou El-​Dhe’fil (Should she have an abortion?) Rah Ten’Qa’til (She’ll be killed)23 166

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Maryam here is the litmus on which Noura is forced to test her delusion and her own connection to creating mechanisms of silencing and confinement. Sensing Noura’s disapproval, Maryam says, “I’m not embarrassed, no. I’ve been stared at my whole life. Every girl without a father is.”24 Maryam leaves Noura’s house as a result of this disagreement, and a “terrifying silence” takes over the stage as Noura is once again alone.25 As characters enter and exit, Noura remains on-​stage in a state of passive reflexivity. It is Maryam’s visit and the subsequent revelation of her illegitimate pregnancy which moves Noura from a state of introspection to an active site of transformation and change. In tandem with reconciling her position to images of home both past and present is also an impulse for self-​resolution through repetition. Rafa’a laments Noura’s obsession with leaving Mosul, “You used to be an architect who loved Flamenco dance and the Gypsy Kings. Now, just last week in fact, I  heard you tell Fresh Direct you were a Christian immigrant from Iraq.”26 Mosul is steeped with Noura’s own feelings of guilt and abandonment.

FIGURE 9.2: Noura, by Heather Raffo, directed by Joanna Settle, Playwrights Horizons (produced in association with Shakespeare Theater Company), New York, 2018. (L-​R) Heather Raffo and Nabil Elouahabi. Photo: Joan Marcus.

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It is endowed with the loss and guilt she feels regarding Maryam, the baby she was forced to leave behind twenty-​six years ago. This need to repeatedly unpack and confront memories of her life in Mosul doubles as a source of conflict for Noura. Desperate to relive and render nostalgic reminiscences of her former home, she consistently confronts the reality of the violence she witnessed in Iraq. In retelling her story of leaving Mosul and the subsequent devastation to which it fell prey, she reclaims and revises her narrative past, passing it back and forth over the threshold between fact and nostalgia. In this way she stakes an authorial claim on her own memories. While listening to a radio broadcast of Arabic Christian programming, she accidentally drops a massive platter of food and begins to articulate her anxieties that her life is “Hi Khethbeh” (a lie).27 Just after, a barrage of whispers in Arabic infiltrates the auditorium, the doorbell rings, and Maryam and Rafa’a enter.28 It is the next day and at Rafa’a’s urging, Maryam reluctantly returns from her friend’s house, where she is staying, to have Christmas dinner with Noura’s family. Maryam’s arrival makes Noura’s fears of Tareq’s judgments manifest. At dinner, Noura asks, “Did it take Mosul being destroyed to find each other at this table? Could we have gotten here any other way? Our survival here is stifling—​ walls, constant concrete—​but we were blown open.”29 Noura begins to shed her self-​imposed shackles of silence and shame. When Tareq insists she’s experiencing a perpetual PTSD, Noura refuses to admit that she is “reliving a trauma.”30 Instead, she claims her recollections are simply questions of “how we love. Why we mother.”31 Maryam agrees, “Me too now.”32 Noura’s initial disgust with Maryam is not simply embedded within residues of conservative cultural hegemony, but rather reveals a projection of her own unresolved feelings toward being young, unmarried, and pregnant. It also anticipates her anxieties surrounding Tareq’s potential rejection of Maryam. Tareq confirms her anxieties when he tells Noura, I don’t want you sending that qahbeh (whore) anymore money […] All that you did to give her a new life and she throws it away, like every American girl sleeping her way through college. Let her fend for herself.33

With Tareq’s statement, Noura discovers his role in her shame and remembers his forcing her to have sex with him—​the predatory act which resulted in her illegitimate pregnancy. Noura reminds Tareq that he “begged”34 her to have sex with him before they were married, and Tareq reveals that “You [Noura] were too easy. I think about it still.”35 Tareq here speaks to women’s susceptibility to the misogynist paradox that women have to reconcile; the patriarchally prescribed binary of being both the woman he wants to sleep with, yet also the woman who restrains him: 168

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TAREQ NOURA TAREQ

You were supposed to reject me. What do you mean? My father agreed to it before he died—​you begged me to marry you. You were supposed to reject my advances […] Every man is expected to try. Women are required to reject—​to show the strength of their chastity.36

Tareq blames Noura for unsuccessfully proving her worth as a chaste wife. Tareq forced Noura to have sexual relations, yet has judged her for it ever since. Maryam returns and Tareq asks Maryam, “How old are you?” Maryam laughs, “I don’t even know.”37 Noura breaks her silence to Maryam, Yazen, and Tareq regarding her illegitimate pregnancy when she answers Tareq’s question. She replies, “She’s twenty-​six. (Everyone looks at Noura. Deafening silence) You were born January eighteen, 11:08 am. It was the coldest day on record in Mosul. I brushed snow from your cheek. You didn’t feel the cold, even then.”38 Here, on this cold Christmas Day, Raffo renders an alternative nativity story. Maryam’s bravery encourages Noura to confront her self-​exile of shame and silence as she finally articulates herself to her family: Should I have left my dying father? You? To raise her in a village somewhere? The stigma on her worse than that of an orphan? […] Am I a monster for choosing you? The whole country whispered down my spine to give her up.39

Noura reveals that she gave Maryam up so that she could be with Tareq freely and tend to her dying father. Having Maryam illegitimately and marrying Tareq would have been impossible in conservative Iraq, even if Tareq was the father. Noura finally crosses the proverbial threshold and says #MeToo in her own culturally specific way by confronting Tareq’s sexist and hypocritical claims regarding their premarital sex. However, as Noura repeatedly warned, breaking the silence has its consequences. Maryam is not interested in a relationship with her mother. Noura breaks her silence and speaks her truth, yet she is far from resolved. Maryam closes the door, both literally and metaphorically, on Noura. After she exits, Noura asks, “I just lost the one woman who could have been mine! She wants nothing to do with a woman like me. What does that say about me? If we were not silent, my God, what might we be?”40 Noura is left silenced again as snow falls inside her living room. Raffo interrupts the narrative with this rare moment of magical realism which both destabilizes and re-​energizes the audience. This rupture of the normative on stage becomes a transformative moment for Noura and reflects the destabilization of the traditional systems of patriarchal control as a consequence of the #MeToo movement. Noura 169

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calls upon the Blessed Mary once again as she asks, “[D]‌id I ever have a private thought to wonder who I was? Twenty-​six years I’ve lived in exile from myself […] Do we live for each other or for ourselves? I need a country in between.”41 Noura stands on the table as she reaches for the snow, on the brink of realizing her own power from her newly realized post-​#MeToo perspective. Tareq and Yazen stand beneath her in the rubble of the half-​eaten Mouslawi Christmas dinner. Each of their dialogue becomes increasingly agitated until it reaches an irate-​sounding crescendo. Tareq urges Noura “to move on”42 as she struggles to find the words to explain to Yazen why she has carried the secret of Maryam, his sister. Here Noura encourages a new generation of men to address the gender imbalance. Yazen here stands as the hopeful potentiality of young men in a post-​#MeToo America. He can shed the sins of his father and revise male notions of sexual predatorial behaviours and hypocrisy. In the final moments of the play, Noura asserts, “Alex [his American name]! There is something you need to know […] I—​(Silence) I don’t know how to let go and hold on at the same—​(Silence. Blackout).”43 Noura does not leave through the front door. She stands downstage and across from her son and husband. Raffo’s tenuous ending reframes Noura’s legacy of leaving within a newly carved out space; a transformative site of possibility in which women can renegotiate their relationship to modernity, family, feminism, home, and sexuality. The words “Me Too” serve the many women and men who joined the symphony of voices in protest of sexual predators, most notably in positions of power in Hollywood and other dark corridors of the American entertainment industry. While it is important that theatre-​makers deal with issues of sexual exploitation explicitly, as in plays such as Christine Quintana’s Selfie (2018) and Imogen Butler-​ Cole’s Foreign Body (2018), it is dually important for women in the artistic community to renegotiate their own terms with the multifaceted roles women play not only in art but also in life: beyond the #MeToo threshold, out of the shadows, and in the spotlight. Raffo’s play is built on themes of home, agency, shame, and the reclamation of a woman’s voice as Noura negotiates her relationship with her traumatic past. This reimagining of Ibsen’s iconic play serves as a blueprint to reflect and shape pre-​#MeToo barriers of silence, shame, and displacement.

NOTES 1. Heather Raffo, Noura (Hanover: Smith and Kraus, 2018), 1. 2. Nan Barnett quoted in Mitchell Felan, “#MeToo, Female Empowerment Take Center Stage at Washington Theater Festival,” CBS News, February 24, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.cbsnews.com/​news/​metoo-​female-​empowerment-​take-​center-​stage-​at-​ washington-​theater-​festival/​, accessed June 26, 2018.

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3. Annalisa Dias quoted in Nelson Pressley, “Second Women’s Voices Theater Festival Arrives as #MeToo Is in the Spotlight,” Washington Post, January 4, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.washingtonpost.com/​entertainment/​theater_​dance/​second-​womens-​voices-​ theater-​festival-​arrives-​in-​metoo/​2018/​01/​04/​bfadec08-​e66e-​11e7-​833f-​155031558ff4_​ story.html?utm_​term=.6777e6526569, accessed February 24, 2019. 4. Mary Kathryn Nagle quoted in ibid. 5. Timberlake Wertenbaker quoted in ibid. 6. Jesse Green, “Review: In ‘Noura,’ an Iraqi Refugee Leaves More Than Home Behind,” New York Times, December 10, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.nytimes.com/​ 2018/​12/​10/​theater/​noura-​review-​playwrights-​horizons.html, accessed March 15, 2019. 7. Ibid. 8. Heather Raffo quoted in First Folio Curriculum Guide: Noura (Shakespeare Theatre Company, 2018), 5. To view full guide, go to www.shakespearetheatre.org/​wp-​content/​uploads/​ 2018/​02/​Noura-​FINAL.pdf, accessed March 23, 2019. 9. Heather Raffo, “Heather Raffo: A Response to Ibsen’s A DOLL’S HOUSE,” Shakespeare Theatre Company, 2018, 1:38. To view full video, go to http://​www.shakespearetheatre. org/​videos/​heather-​raffo-​noura-​response-​ibsens-d ​ olls-h ​ ouse/,​ accessed November 27, 2018. 10. Raffo, Noura, xvii. 11. Ibid., 61. 12. Heather Raffo quoted in Pressley, “Second Women’s Voices Theater Festival.” 13. Raffo, Noura, 62. 14. Raffo quoted in Pressley, “Second Women’s Voices Theater Festival.” 15. Raffo quoted in First Folio Curriculum Guide, 10. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. Throughout the play, Noura recalls her memories of violence in Iraq in an effort to confront and work through the trauma of her past and the guilt she feels for leaving Maryam behind. When working with the Arab and Arab American women in the years leading up to Noura’s premiere, Raffo realized that each woman had their own unique story of home yet collectively shared in their experiences of loss and leaving. In this way, Noura is a composite, embodying the personal narratives of each woman’s story of leaving home. This stage thus becomes a site of mediation. 18. Raffo, “Heather Raffo,” 00:52–1:28. 19. Raffo, Noura, 68. 20. Ibid., 28. 21. “What Group of People Is Most Hostile to #MeToo?” Economist, January 10, 2019. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.economist.com/u ​ nited-s​ tates/2 ​ 019/0 ​ 1/1 ​ 2/w ​ hat-g​ roup-​ of-​people-​is-​most-​hostile-​to-​metoo, accessed February 26, 2019. 22. Raffo, preface to Noura, iv. 23. Raffo, Noura, 29. 24. Ibid., 30. 25. Ibid., 31.

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26. Ibid., 55. Fresh Direct is an American food-​delivery company. It delivers fresh groceries to private homes. 27. Ibid., 67. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid., 91. 30. Ibid., 86. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid., 87. 33. Ibid., 97. 34. Ibid., 101. 35. Ibid., 100. 36. Ibid., 100–​01. 37. Ibid., 109. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid., 112. 40. Ibid., 111–​14. 41. Ibid., 115. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid., 116.

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10 #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories Yvette Heyliger In 2017 and 2018, there was a great deal of breaking news about sexual assault and misconduct in the film, television, and radio industries, as well as in politics and sports. Even American Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg weighed in, issuing a call to raise and amplify the voices of women who suffer abuse regularly in blue-​collar industry jobs such as cleaning offices and hotels. A total of 141 gymnasts were given an Excellence in Sports Performance Yearly (ESPY) Award for their courage in speaking out about the abuses they suffered at the hands of Dr Larry Nassar. The New York Times and the New Yorker won the Pulitzer Prize for public service for breaking the Harvey Weinstein scandal. #MeToo stories abounded, but I found it curious that no one was speaking up from within the American theatre industry. I began to wonder, why are we silent? We have our own stories to tell. The “casting couch” is not a myth. It is real and not just reserved for women; men too have their own experiences to share. In October of 2017, actress Alyssa Milano put a request on Twitter saying, “If you’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted write ‘me too’ as a reply to this tweet.”1 In response to her own Tweet she replied, “Me too.” Seeing a need to break the silence, I decided I would not only reply “me too” in a tweet but identify myself as being in the theatre industry. #MeToo A young, aspiring actress new to NYC, I was preyed on by a revered veteran stage actor who wanted to take me under his wing because “it’s all about who you know”; and him, old enough to be my father, not taking no for an answer because sex is the “dues” that must be paid.2

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Once I posted the tweet, I felt a mixture of relief, uncertainty, and empowerment all at once. I had not talked publically about what happened to me; it was water under the bridge—​or so I thought. Now a middle-​aged woman, I have been considering my life in the theatre through the lens of the #MeToo movement. I thought about how small the American Black theatre world was; everybody seemed to know everybody, and people talk. I began to wonder for the first time if the trajectory of my career in the theatre (specifically Black theatre) was somehow impacted by my #MeToo experience, and if so, what could be done about it now. Nothing. But I could tell my story. Further, I could help others to tell their stories using my talents and skills as a playwright, producing artist, and activist. I decided to produce an event during Women’s History Month which would focus on the #MeToo stories of theatre women. To my knowledge, I was the first to put out a call-​to-​action to the theatre community in New York, if not nationally. In response to my call-​to-​action, I received submissions not just from the theatre community, but also from dance, visual arts, and music. The majority of submissions were scripts, but some were videos. Entries came from American states outside of New York and included an anonymous posting I spotted on Facebook. Once the selections were made, I started searching for a space to hold the event. I began calling theatre companies with which I had a relationship, and who I knew might be interested in an event of this kind. Enter Dominique Sharpton-​Bright, daughter of Reverend Al Sharpton, founder of the National Action Network (NAN)3 and host of MSNBC’s Politics Nation. Sharpton-​Bright, the national director of Membership for NAN, loves the theatre and offered to host the event at their national headquarters, the House of Justice, in Harlem (Figure 10.1). I enthusiastically accepted—​what an honour to have #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories at the leading civil rights organization in the country. Sharpton-​Bright also offered to have the event live streamed. This was great news because some of the work being presented was written by women from other parts of the country who could not be physically present for the live event. Additionally, my company, Twinbiz, was celebrating thirty years of writing, directing, and producing theatre (as well as other entertainment industry projects) in the service of social change in that same month, March. I could think of no better way to commemorate this milestone than by joining with NAN to issue a call-​to-​action for prevention and education about sexual harassment, misconduct, and assault in the theatre industry, #MeToo:TheatreWomen! With all the pieces in place, I put out the following press release:

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FIGURE 10.1: Dominique Sharpton-​Bright (host, co-presenter National Action Network) and Yvette Heyliger (producer/curator/​co-​presenter/​writer/​actor, Twinbiz). Photo: Courtesy of Yvette Heyliger, Twinbiz.

In recognition of Women’s History Month, Yvette Heyliger (Twinbiz) has teamed up with Dominique Sharpton-​Bright (National Action Network) to present “#MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories,” readings of tweets, monologues, music and scenes on the subject of sexual harassment, misconduct and assault within the theatre industry. The readings will be followed by a PowerPoint presentation on preventative action steps that can be taken in the artistic workplace led by Akia Squitieri of Creating Safe Spaces. The event will 175

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be held on Sunday, March 18, 2018 from 2:00pm–​5:00pm at National Action Network’s House of Justice, 106 West 145th Street, New York, NY 10039. It is free and open to the public and is wheelchair accessible. […] Some notable stories include those of Tedx’s Amy Oestreicher; (James Toback victims) Karen Sklaire Watson, Shani Harris, and Selma Blair (one of the “Silence Breakers” and Time magazine’s People of the Year). Rounding out the writers sharing their stories are: Raquel Almazan, Anonymous, Nora Cole, Farzana Moon, Emma Goldman-​Sherman, Yvette Heyliger, Prudence Wright Holmes, Coni Koepfinger, Martha Patterson, Jane Schlapkohl, Susan Shaffer, and songwriter Germaine Shames. Rehearsal space was made possible by a grant from League of Independent Theatre.4

I asked that the entire #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories Company wear black. This request in and of itself is not unusual for readings I direct, but I had noted that during the Golden Globe Awards that year, the actresses wore black dresses as a symbolic gesture of solidarity, putting the #MeToo movement front and centre on the red carpet. When the Grammy Awards came around, I had heard that women singers, songwriters, and musicians were choosing to wear white roses—​a symbol of blossoming unity among women in the music industry. An online magazine reported, The latest development in the push to express strength among women and solidarity in the wake of the #MeToo movement comes in the form of a classic symbol: a white rose. (White has long been associated with the fight for women’s equality, going back to the days of the suffragettes.) Now attendees of the 2018 Grammy Awards are mobilizing to wear white roses to the ceremony as a way of recognizing the ongoing cultural reckoning with sexual harassment and abuse occurring across several industries, including entertainment.5

So I decided that in addition to wearing black, the participating playwrights would wear a white rose lapel pin, which I gave to them as gifts before the show. After the welcome and opening remarks by yours truly, Sharpton-​Bright presented remarks on behalf of NAN and introduced a video clip of Tarana Burke, who founded the Me Too movement in 2006, just over ten years before Milano tweeted #MeToo. We then launched into #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories. Of the sixteen works presented, the three excerpted selections in this chapter—​Sister Girl, The Dues That Must Be Paid, and The Virgin Stripper—​represent three centuries of America’s history: the 1800s, 1900s, and the new millennium, respectively. Sister Girl was written and directed by Prudence Wright Holmes and read by Nambi Kelley and Alex Emanuel. Taken from Holmes’s full-​length play by the 176

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same name, the play is based on the true story of a college-​educated, freed slave, Mary Beth Bowser. In 1861, Mary Beth has just graduated with honours from college in Philadelphia. It is then that her former mistress, Elizabeth Van Lew, who headed a spy ring in Richmond during the Civil War, recruits Mary Beth as a spy for the North. Assuming the identity of a half-​wit servant girl named Sister Girl, Mary Beth goes undercover working for Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy. Act One, Scene One BEAUREGARD (Calls out) Come in. (sister girl opens the door to BEAUREGARD’s quarters.) SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL

‘Scuse me, Mr. General, suh, but Mr. President Davis he done send me to fine out how you comin’ on those battle plans… I’ve re-​drawn them. Oh well, uh huh. I sure ‘nuf can take ‘em now. (SISTER GIRL reaches for the plans. BEAUREGARD moves them away.)

BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL

You look warm, girl. It like to be hotter’n that bad place where Satan live, suh. Sit down and rest awhile. Oh, thank you, sir, but I gotta be… At least have a drink. Mr. Davis, he tell me come straight back. I understand, but you must think of your health. You wouldn’t want to pass out. Well, maybe jess for a lil minute. (SISTER GIRL sits.)

BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD

How old are you, girl? I doan rightly know. Well, you look all grown up to me. Would you like a drink? Me? Why thank ya very kindly, but I done never touched spirits, Mr. General. I think you might like them.

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(BEAUREGARD hands her a glass of liquor. SISTER GIRL stares at it.) SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD

Oh I  doan know. My Mama say spirits they be the Devil’s work. Even Jesus drank wine. I din’t hear tell about that. You don’t have to take my word for it. (BEAUREGARD hands her a Bible.)

BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL

It’s in the Bible. I can’t read, sir. Then you’ll just have to trust me… …I think I’s all cooled off now. So if I could jess get them plans.... (SISTER GIRL reaches for them. BEAUREGARD moves them away from her reach.)

BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD

Just stay a little longer. I like your company. War is a lonely business, uh... Sister Girl. I spect ‘so. You have no idea what it’s like with bullets flying everywhere, men being blown to bits in front of your eyes… (BEAUREGARD drinks more wine.)

SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL

That soun bad, but I’s sure you doin’ a real fine job protectin’ us, Mr. General. Sometimes I feel so alone. That sure is too bad. I’s just glad I’s a girl so I don’t have to shoot no guns or nothin’. (BEAUREGARD drinks more wine.)

BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD

I’m glad you’re a girl, too. And a very pretty one. Oh, now, suh. I’s glad you thinks so but really I do hafta go. If I take any longer, I might get a whuppin’. No you won’t. I’ll send President Davis a note with the plans. 178

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SISTER GIRL

Well, that real nice, Mr. General. Now if ya could jess let me have... (BEAUREGARD goes to the desk. Gets her the plans. SISTER GIRL puts them in her satchel. BEAUREGARD grabs her hands.)

BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL

I hope you’ll come again. I enjoy your company. You nice to say it. I’m staring death in the face every day now trying to preserve your way of life, Sister Girl. It’s horrible. You brave and we all real prouda ya. Would you like to help me feel better? Me, what could a gal like me ever...? (BEAUREGARD kisses her. SISTER GIRL resists.)

SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL

Now suh, I got to be goin’. Not yet. Have some more of them spirits. (SISTER GIRL pours him a big glass. BEAUREGARD drinks it. He lunges at her.)

BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL

Now come here, you little whore. Suh, I’s jus a chile, please doan... (SISTER GIRL screams.)

  BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD SISTER GIRL BEAUREGARD

No, no... I can’t. I... I ain’t never been with a man. Don’t worry about it. Sir, Miz Davis, she sent me to get baptize up in her church and I done promised the Lord to be a good girl. Well, we won’t tell the Lord about this. But he gonna fine out and he might just strike me dead. The Lord wants our side to win the war. You will be helping our cause. I speck I can help it some other way. Don’t you talk back to me, you black bitch.

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(SISTER GIRL tries to fight him off.) SISTER GIRL

Let me go. No, please don’t... (BEAUREGARD drags her off stage.) (SISTER GIRL screams.)6

I programmed Sister Girl to shed light on the plight of women from the African diaspora who have suffered the trauma of sexual harassment, misconduct, and assault over generations. From the minute Black women were forced onto the slave ships and brought across the Middle Passage to the Americas and the West Indies, we have had to put up with this type of abuse, and worse. This piece was uncomfortable to watch. It harkens back to a time when Black women were routinely raped by their white masters for both sexual pleasure and for breeding. History repeats itself as described in this online article, The sexual exploitation of Black women is not a thing of the past as they are often sexually exploited in mainstream media. Many [in academia] describe hip-​hop stars like Nicki Minaj and Lil Kim as Jezebel stereotypes. These over sexualized perceptions of Black women are embraced and perpetuated through mainstream media today.7

I wrote and read The Dues That Must Be Paid, which was inspired by the tweet I shared earlier in this chapter. During rehearsals, my director, John Scutchins, acknowledged the courage it took for me to tell my story, while also choosing to protect the name of the perpetrator. The truth is I did this not so much for my assaulter’s sake, but out of respect for his wife and children who are still living. Actress Rose McGowan, in speaking on ABC’s Nightline about her book, Brave, discussed never naming her assaulter. Instead she calls him “Pig Monster.” She explained, “I never wanted him to have residency with my words.”8 Yet, this is the very thing I have asked myself and other theatre women to do—​invite their assaulters to have residency in their words in the form of monologues and scenes for the theatre. In this excerpt, Ingénue, a middle-​aged African American actress, recounts the story of her sexual assault. THE INGÉNUE

In 1979, I moved to the mega metropolis and mecca for show business, New York City, to study acting and to pursue a career on the stage. My first job was as an usher for a prominent theatre company. Let’s call it, “Prominent Theatre Company.” Prominent Theatre Company was one of a precious few such theatre companies in the nation at that 180

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time dedicated solely to cultivating, nurturing and producing black theatre and black talent. All of twenty years old and sexually inexperienced, I was easy prey for a highly revered, veteran stage actor—​let’s call him, “Veteran Stage Actor.” Eager to take me under his wing, Veteran Stage Actor said he would be happy to introduce me around because in show business, “it’s all about who you know.” So after the show he invited me for drinks and a bite to eat at the local bar-​restaurant, a favorite hangout for Prominent Theatre Company’s playwrights, directors, designers, actors and crew […] Once Veteran Stage Actor had dangled the carrot enough times with talk of “who he knew” and “what he could do for me,” he casually explained that sex was naturally a part of the bargain; it was “how things work” and the most expedient way to break into show business. He said, “It just makes sense to play by the rules if you want to work in the theatre. There just aren’t enough jobs for black actors to go around—​ especially for your type” […] With no one pulling my coat to advise me differently, I assumed Veteran Stage Actor was right—​sex must be the way to open doors otherwise closed to newcomers. Even so, I kept finding ways to put him off—​to put off what seemed to be “the inevitable” […] One afternoon, he telephoned to announce that he was tired of waiting. Gravel-​voiced, he insisted, “We are going to do this today,” and that he was on his way to my crib. He threatened, “And this time, you had better be there.” (Beat.) It was time—​time to do what I was told by a man more than twice my age; time to show respect for his standing in the theatre; time to put out if I hoped to one day work as an actor at Prominent Theatre Company (or make it in show business at all to hear him tell it). Within minutes there came an urgent knock at the door. I don’t remember anything that happened next. I guess I must have blocked it out. My therapist said that sometimes we block out certain aspects of traumatic events, or even forget them altogether, as a way to protect ourselves from reliving painful events. I’m glad I don’t remember. In fact, it’s almost like it didn’t happen to me. It happened to the ingénue. Let’s call her, The Ingénue.9

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This monologue resonated with the audience, which was largely made up of women in the theatre community. They cheered when Ingénue proclaimed, “True to my vow, I never got a job or an introduction, nor had a door opened in the theatre that I did not build or break down myself.”10 This was a very affirming moment for me, not just as the playwright, but as a survivor. The final selection is The Virgin Stripper Personalized, written and directed by Raquel Almazan and read by Christin Eve Cato. It is an excerpt from a larger solo show titled She Wolves 2007. In it, the character Alfa, who plays a variety of women in the show, has transformed into the Virgin Stripper. This version, which was performed in #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories, was specifically updated to reflect the personal #MeToo experience of the playwright and was being read for the first time. (At rise, ALFA is hunched over in a chair, her face not visible to the audience, her head hanging between her legs, brings her torso up sharply grabbing her own hair. Her movements are exaggerated femininity, using continuously moving playboy poses in the chair; voice is also breathy, orgasmic and lightning speed.)

VIRGIN STRIPPER Even as a virgin, I still felt like a whore […]. When the construction workers yelled, (imitating hissing sound men make) atttiss atttisss atttiss,"oye mamasita, requete buena, venga aqui", I yelled-​-​-​ (standing) “What the hell did you just say, I'm freakin' walkin' here, man, with my high heels and my short skirt, do you feel like dying today? Would you like me to climb up there and slap that rotten face? Come down off your construction site, you piece of shit, pendejo and fight me, say it face to face. You’re threatening to rape me in public?!” No one stepped in. (sitting, addressing particular audience member) Obviously at 8:25 in the morning you could say I was a little upset. (with a fist punching her crotch area) That was a common reaction to men on the street in my youth. Those words, my street words, is what I wish I could have said in those casting offices, rehearsals, interviews, in meeting after meeting, places of “business”. (beats on her own chest with her fist) I don't let them win. Can’t let them win. I will never let them win. And by saying the word win, I realize I am in a battle, a war, a conflict, so that I never have to say #metoo again (on “myself”, she slaps her heart) a conflict not only with myself but with the 182

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reality that these men want to SCREW me. BANG ME. FUCK ME. You understand, not make love to me, not have sex with me. Not intercourse, whatever the hell that means. You see I just used the word FUCK. I just cursed myself. Because we're taught that those words have power, to screw, to rape, to fuck, to kill. All three meaning the same thing by the way. So if all these passing men want to SCREW me, they want to kill me. To kill what is innocent, to take, to invade my vagina, my insides, my raw meat. (she raises her body up off the chair, holding herself with her right hand and gyrates) To hump me like some wild animal with no soul, to bang, to screw, to ball. I guess they wanted to FUCK me so hard that I'd no longer think, (holds her head, rolls it forward) that I'd crack my head open and my brains would spill into their construction hard hats, their clip boards, underneath the casting couch, and then I could bang, bang, bang, exactly how men want me to screw because I'd be freakin' dead, like all the other snuff porn stars in some lost cemetery […].11 When Cato finished speaking, the Hall of Justice was quiet, and then exploded into applause. Even I was shocked by the rawness, the anger, the absolute defiance of the writing, coupled with the evocative performance by Christin Eve Cato. One person said, “It was like machine gun theatre; the language was being used as a weapon.”12 Others pushed back on such sexually suggestive language being spoken in Reverend Sharpton’s House of Justice. Regardless, the piece had captured the imagination of the audience. Cat-​calling, whether it happens at a construction site or in a casting office, must be called out for what it is—​sexual harassment. Following the readings was a detailed PowerPoint presentation defining and identifying harassment, legislative history, reporting, resources, and suggestions for prevention in artistic work spaces led by Akia Squitieri of Creating Safe Spaces.13 After experiencing #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories, all who were gathered were bonded by a common desire to create safe spaces on stage, backstage, in casting offices, rehearsal rooms, and audition spaces. However, the audience had just been through an emotionally charged two hours. Squitieri’s PowerPoint presentation was comprehensive and really warranted a stand-​alone workshop unto itself. Could the audience absorb it? Despite this concern, we decided it would be irresponsible not to give the audience the information needed to help them create and/​or demand safe artistic spaces in which to work. 183

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FIGURE 10.2: Some members of #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories Company at National Action Network’s House of Justice. (L-​R, standing) Charles Goforth, Peter Collier, Susan Tenney, Deborah Rose, Alex Emanuel, Alexa Kelly, Simone Federman, Jeanne Lauren Smith, Tyler Gardella, Jonathan Cedano, John Mazurek, Sara Ravid, Lisa Nava, Lexi Orphanos, and Shani Harris; (L-​R, second row, seated) Christin Eve Cato, Reneé Flemings, Nora Cole, Nambi Kelley, Emma Goldman-​Sherman, and Camille Mazurek; (L-​R, first row, seated) Shannon Stowe, Malini Singh McDonald, Mardi Sykes, Noel Elie, Yvette Heyliger, Kathleen O'Neal, Karen Sklaire Watson, Bonita Jackson, and Rachel Pickup. Photo: Courtesy of Yvette Heyliger, Twinbiz.

Everything from the white roses to the curated monologues, scenes, and songs, to the PowerPoint presentation on harassment, to the follow-​up call to action worked together to create a holistic afternoon in the theatre. Plus we had a strong audience turnout. Pat Addiss, a veteran New York theatrical producer, was in attendance and said of #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories, “You chose the pieces extremely well. They were diverse and all excellent.”14 There was an incident that took place involving one of the actresses during #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories that I would like to share. I do so only because I feel it is instructive to events where past trauma may surface unexpectedly. This incident illustrates the possible consequences of victims not seeking 184

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help, and the need to have a professional on hand who is trained to work with survivors of sexual assault and trauma. Moreover, this incident underscores the importance of providing a safe space for healing and prevention at a theatrical event for anyone—​in front of or behind the footlights—​whose life (knowingly or unknowingly) has been impacted by this issue. While performing a monologue, one of the actresses blacked out mid-​sentence and fell straight backwards, cracking her head hard on the floor of the stage. Fellow actors leapt into action trying to revive her with cold towels and water, to no avail. We became increasingly alarmed when one of the actresses tending to the woman who had fainted reported that she could barely feel a pulse. The show stopped, of course, as the incident unfolded and Sharpton-​Bright called 911, the emergency telephone number. It seemed to take forever for the ambulance to arrive. Finally, just as the actress was beginning to regain consciousness, two male paramedics arrived, walking through the audience toward the stage. They lifted the actress onto a stretcher. There was no one to accompany her to the hospital as she had come to the show alone. I searched her purse for a name or number to contact and found nothing. So, I asked my husband if he would go with the actress to the hospital. He agreed without hesitation, following the paramedics who wheeled the actress out on the stretcher, through the audience, to the waiting ambulance. We took a much needed intermission, and it was during that time that I learned the ambulance was still outside and the actress was refusing to be taken to the hospital. This was very concerning. What if she had a concussion from her fall? I learned that my husband was in the ambulance with her, as well as the two male paramedics and, in addition, one female paramedic. One of the male paramedics began taking the actress’s vitals, but she did not want to be touched, insisting that she was fine. Assessing the situation, my husband asked if the event had upset her. The actress said yes. To calm and comfort her, my husband began to share his own Me Too story—​a story only I, as his wife, knew. After sharing his story, he told the female paramedic that the actress may have experienced some trauma herself. Understanding, the female paramedic asked, “If I clear the ambulance of all the men, would you allow me to examine you?” The actress said yes, and one by one the men filed out of the ambulance. Once outside, the male paramedics expressed their sorrow for what had happened to my husband. Inside, the female paramedic had completed her examination. The actress insisted on going home in a taxi, against the advice of the female paramedic who wanted to take her to the hospital. Inside the House of Justice we were about to resume the show when an audience member asked if we could say a prayer for the actress first. Members of the audience, the actors, the directors, the playwrights, Sharpton-​Bright, and I, all joined hands. The stage manager, John Scutchins, led us in prayer, first asking that we each focus on our breath—​just breathing in and out. He later explained that he asked us to 185

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do this as a way to bring us into the present moment. “Focusing on the breath was important because the stories we were hearing were breathtaking and life altering. Some stories may have been revealed for the first time ever, and in a heightened setting, in front of a theatre audience.”15 We prayed for the healing of our sister and company member, and for all #MeToo survivors. And then, the show resumed. A few days later, the actress sent me an e-​mail saying, in part, I want to first say how thankful I am for you and your husband’s support. You both were such a light in what was a very dark moment for me […] I am seeing doctors, as what happened on Sunday has never happened to me before … Please let your husband know how much his presence in the ambulance meant to me. His testimony was medicine to my soul.16

It was now clearer to me than ever that you have to deal with trauma head on because your body can’t hold it; it’s going to come out some way and you never know when or how it will be triggered. I blocked out what had happened to me as a young actress. I rarely even thought about it, but the burgeoning #MeToo movement forced me to talk about my experience of assault with a therapist. Taking that first brave step to tweet, then write my story, share it, and encourage others to share their stories—​essentially, to take refuge in the community of theatre artists—​ was the next step. And #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories was born. There was another matter concerning this incident that is worth sharing. #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories was live streamed and available for a limited time to view on the NAN website. I recognized that the incident of the actress fainting was a private moment that had happened in a public movement. As co-​producers of the event, Sharpton-​Bright and I spoke about either editing the episode out of the video altogether or taking the entire live stream down. I insisted that this must be done, not only to protect the actress on what might have been one of the worst days of her life, but also because someone viewing the live stream might be shocked, seeing what took place in real time, with no way to process what happened or find out the outcome. Needless to say, Sharpton-​Bright agreed and the videographer made the cut. In preparing this chapter, I spoke to the actress. She is doing better and is back in college working on her degree. She shared with me that she had been in therapy for about six months prior to #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories but had to stop because she had no insurance. However, because of the work she had done around her trauma in those six months prior, she recognized that the event itself had been a trigger. She said, “I didn’t want to go to the hospital because no doctor was going to know what caused [the blackout]; there was no medication that could fix it.”17 In retrospect, she feels she probably should have gone to the hospital—​just to be 186

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FIGURE  10.3:  #MeToo:  From Testimony to Prevention Company. (L-​R, seated) Jenna Chrisphonte (Dramatists Guild of America), Yvette Heyliger (producer, curator, co-​presenter, writer, actor, Twinbiz), Dominique Sharpton-​Bright (host and co-​presenter, National Action Network), Lillian Gallina (The Actors Fund), and Rachel Almazan (writer, actor); (L-​R, standing) Sara Ravid (director), Lexi Orphanos (actor), Aimee Todoroff (League of Independent Theatre), and Rachel Dart (Let Us Work). Photo: Courtesy of Dominique Sharpton-​Bright, National Action Network.

sure she hadn’t suffered a concussion. I know that the actress carries a lot of shame and embarrassment about being assaulted and blames herself. I told her, “What happened to you was not your fault.”18 She said that some days she knows that, and some days she doesn’t. She reflects, “Recovery is a process; self-​love and truth is a process.”19 I hope that one day she will be on the other side of what happened and will be able to tell her story. As a result of the success of #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories, Sharpton-​Bright invited me to present a #MeToo workshop at NAN’s National Conference. The conference was held from April 18 to 21, 2018, at the Times Square Sheraton in New York City and was free and open to the public. Reverend Sharpton had an exciting line-​up of speakers that year (as he does every year), including: Senator Bernie Sanders, Senator Elizabeth Warren, Senator Kamala Harris, Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi, Senator Cory Booker, Senator Joe Kennedy, former attorney general Eric Holder, MSNBC host Joy Ann Reid, Tarana Burke (founder of the Me Too movement), and others. It was an honour to present a #MeToo workshop at the conference, especially as it coincided with National Sexual Assault Awareness Month and Child Abuse 187

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Awareness Month. I decided we would do a mini version of the event we did at NAN’s House of Justice, but this time add a panel of respondents from the theatre industry and call it #MeToo: From Testimony to Prevention. It was indeed a first to have professional entertainment organizations speak at the NAN convention (Figure 10.3). #MeToo: From Testimony to Prevention featured selected monologues from the previous event written by me, Raquel Almazan, Anonymous, and Janet Schlapkohl, whose video performance of her monologue about a clueless human resources representative was the perfect set-​up for the succinct PowerPoint presentation about sexual harassment in the workplace prepared by Aimee Todoroff of League of Independent Theater.20 Based on my debrief notes from the previous event, this PowerPoint gave the attendees just enough digestible information for identification, prevention, reporting, and resources, including contact information for service organizations, entertainment unions and guilds, legal assistance, and the National Sexual Assault Hotline number. These resources were also provided on the handout. A distinguished response panel of entertainment industry representatives followed, which included Jenna Chrisphonte, the director of Community Engagement at the Dramatists Guild of America; Lillian Gallina LCSW, the social work supervisor for the Entertainment Assistance Program—​Eastern Region of Actors Fund of America; and Rachel Dart, the founder of the Let Us Work Project.21 Dart shared her work in gathering data and statistical information on sexual assault, which helps to measure its impact. All of the panellists gave insightful commentary and were inclusive in their remarks, as we had audience members who were not in the entertainment industry, but all were gathered in solidarity with the #MeToo movement and the work being done to raise awareness. Theatre is a powerful tool and combined with education, informed commentary, and an opportunity for attendees and participants to reflect on their own experiences, and share or ask questions, the benefits are inestimable. Attendees commented how “full” they were and that they “got a lot of good information.”22 Some were even motivated to take up playwriting as a way to tell their own #MeToo stories of elder abuse. The most heartening response for me came from the gentleman who wanted to know what men could do—​how they could participate in the healing and provide safe spaces for women as empathetic listeners. Hearing from the company of actors, directors, and writers post-event has been very inspiring as well. Writer Farzana Moon shared, “That call-​to-​action started a string of confessions and made women feel bold to continue voicing their ‘shame.’ ”23 Songwriter Germain Shames shared, “Similar events followed yours in other parts of the country, and having raised my own consciousness, I included a #MeToo component in a recent full-​length play of mine.”24 Playwright Emma Goldman-​Sherman shared, “I do know that many people have since then been 188

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called out for harassment, and worse, and that people in the theatre are starting to talk about unfair treatment of women.”25 Director Susan Tenney shared, That event fostered the coming together of an exciting and very diverse group of artists, all of whom I sensed felt the need to take action on this issue. Your event gave them that platform. Soon afterwards my union, Stage Directors and Choreographers Society (SDC), posted an article in their newsletter.26

But the most personally impactful report came from actress Lexi Orphanos: I walked into this project prepared to perform a story on Facebook by an anonymous employee of the Alley Theatre in Houston, TX. As an actor, the task of memorizing a monologue and hitting my mark was easy. However, as a woman surrounded by this ugliness in my own field, now finally being cracked open and exposed by #MeToo, this challenge seemed enormous. Despite the undeniable weight of the stories being shared, the room came together in solidarity […] we were privately aware of the horrors that our peers in the industry may have faced. We all had stories of our own. Now, finally, we all found some sharp resonance in the phrase “yeah, me too.” Further, in examining lasting effects of the movement and my involvement in the performance, I am an Actor Combatant with the Society of American Fight Directors and provide fight choreography and violence direction for theatre and film. It was only with this tsunami of #MeToo that intimacy direction finally came into the spotlight, just as important as violence direction. In the #MeToo world, I’ve been able to train with the founders of Intimacy Directors International […] In learning about intimacy direction, the fearless women of IDI emphasized that by attending a workshop and discussing on-​set consent and best practices, we are all the defacto “experts” on creating safety within simulated intimacy. We have learned of the horrors and malpractices through the stories of the movement, and cannot go back. Now, I’m invited to sets to oversee intimacy in films and theatre, and work tirelessly to emphasize actors’ rights within intimacy scenes, drawing the line with directors between what intimacy is vital to the story, and what intimacy is gratuitous. As actors, we’re excited to make art and communicate a story—​not to improvise a sex scene and get assaulted by our cast mates […] Intimacy directors are there to provide agency and advocacy for the actors. It is our job to make sure the room stays safe, professional, and consensual. There is so much room for growth within onstage intimacy, simulated sex, and the like, but the #MeToo moment has allowed intimacy direction to become a necessary item in

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any film or play’s production checklist. I feel deeply grateful, and empowered to be a part of such a vital movement.27

The poet Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”28 A great cultural shift has made it safe for victims of sexual misconduct and sexual assault to bare their wounds and let the light of healing enter into that place. I am pleased to have been invited to participate in or organize subsequent theatre events, panels, and workshops in service of the entertainment community. These events provide a safe space for healing and prevention, not just for women, but for anyone who works in the entertainment industry whose life has been touched by this issue. As Tarana Burke said, MeToo is a movement to […] radicalize the notion of mass healing […] Each and every one of us has a different entry point onto the journey to heal from our experiences. But the one thing we have in common is the ability […] to reach back and create an entry point for another woman. Some of us start by telling our stories.29

NOTES 1. Alyssa Milano (@Alyssa_​Milano), “If You’ve Been Sexually Harassed or Assaulted Write ‘Me Too’ As a Reply to This Tweet,” Twitter, October 15, 2017. To view original tweet, go to https://​ twitter.com/​alyssa_​milano/​status/​919659438700670976?lang=en, accessed May 13, 2019. 2. Yvette Heyliger (@Twinbizness), “#metoo: A Young, Aspiring Actress New to NYC,” Twitter, November 29, 2017. To view original tweet, go to https://t​ witter.com/T ​ winbizness/​ status/​935891175504048128, accessed February 13, 2019. 3. For more information about the National Action Network, go to http://​ nationalactionnetwork.net/​about/​, accessed February 13, 2019. 4. To see a slightly revised version of the press release posted on WomenArts, go to https://​www. womenarts.org/​swandate/​metoo-​theatre-​women-​share-​stories/​, accessed February 14, 2019. 5. Aja Romano, “Why Grammys Attendees Will Be Wearing White Roses,” Vox, January 28, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.vox.com/​culture/​2018/​1/​26/​16936616/​ why-​2018-​grammys-​white-​roses, accessed February 13, 2019. 6. Prudence Wright Holmes, “Sister Girl” (unpublished play script, March 18, 2018), 14–​18. 7. Taylor Gordon, “10 Horrifying Facts about the Sexual Exploitation of Enslaved Black Women You May Not Know,” Atlanta Black Star, November 5, 2014. To view full article, go to https://​atlantablackstar.com/​2014/​11/​05/​10-​horrifying-​facts-​about-​the-​sexual-​ exploitation-​of-​enslaved-​black-​women-​you-​may-n ​ ot-k ​ now/9 ​ /​, accessed February 13, 2019. 8. Rose McGowan, interview by Juju Chang on ABC Nightline, “Rose McGowan Describes Alleged Rape by Harvey Weinstein: Part 1,” ABC News, February 1, 2018. To view full

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video, go to https://a​ bcnews.go.com/N ​ ightline/​video/​rose-​mcgowan-​describes-​alleged-​rape-​ harvey-​weinstein-​part-​52759082, accessed February 13, 2019. 9. Yvette Heyliger, “The Dues That Must Be Paid,” Performer Stuff, November 6, 2017. For paid access to full text, go to https://​performerstuff.com/​search?text=Yvette%20 Heyliger&search_​type=source&product_​type=3, accessed February 13, 2020. 10. Ibid. 11. Raquel Almazan, “The Virgin Stripper” (updated monologue from unpublished play script She Wolves 2007, March 18, 2018). 12. Anonymous comment made by an audience member following #MeToo: Theatre Women Share Their Stories at National Action Network, March 18, 2018, New York, NY. 13. For more information about Creating Safe Spaces, go to http://​www.akiasquitieri.com/​ creating-​safe-​spaces.html, accessed February 13, 2019. 14. Pat Addis, e-​mail message to Yvette Heyliger, March 18, 2018. 15. John Scutchins, telephone interview with Yvette Heyliger, January 19, 2019. 16. Anonymous, e-​mail message to Yvette Heyliger, March 20, 2018. 17. Anonymous, telephone interview with Yvette Heyliger, January 17, 2019. 18. Yvette Heyliger in ibid. 19. Anonymous in ibid. 20. For more information on the League of Independent Theater, go to http://​www.litny.org/​ antisexual-​harassment-​toolkit, accessed February 13, 2019. 21. To take the Let Us Work survey, go to https://​ d ocs.google.com/​ f orms/​ d /​ e /​ 1FAIpQLSddIl1UzUJ_​6mzB9cDC-​yQgkAfSnXR_​gYg76aSB93hchBuRuQ/​viewform?fb clid=IwAR3otWUNQdUspK98T3K4IF-D ​ mom2I--​ Q ​ A8PpB4BjzuXlkfUDSQtlQC9X3Gk, accessed February 13, 2019. 22. Anonymous attendee comments following #MeToo: From Testimony to Prevention, at National Action Network Convention 2018, April 19, 2018, New York, NY. 23. Farzana Moon, e-​mail message to Yvette Heyliger, February 4, 2019. 24. Germain Shames, e-​mail message to Yvette Heyliger, February 4, 2019. 5. Emma Goldman-​Sherman, e-​mail message to Yvette Heyliger, February 4, 2019. 2 26. Susan Tenney, e-​mail message to Yvette Heyliger, February 4, 2019. “SDS Issues Procedures for Handling Sexual Harassment Complaints,” Stage Directors and Choreographers Society, March 23, 2018. To view full newsletter, go to http://​sdcweb.org/​news/​sdc-​issues-​ procedures-​for-​handling-​sexual-​harassment-​complaints/​, accessed February 13, 2019. 27. Lexi Orphanos, e-​mail message to Yvette Heyliger, February 4, 2019. 28. Rumi, “Childhood Friends,” in The Essential Rumi, trans. Coleman Barks et al. (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1995), 142. 29. Tarana Burke (@TaranaBurke), “2014 March against Rape Culture Philadelphia, PA,” video, Twitter, October 15, 2017, 0:02. To view full video, go to https://​twitter.com/​ TaranaBurke/​status/​919705790847639552, accessed May 13, 2019.

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11 Les Zoubliettes: Raging Through Laughter—​a Feminist Disturbance Sonia Norris

The furious female is, we are told to this day, in innumerable ways, both subtle and stark, a perversion of both nature and our social norms. She is ugly, emotional, out of control, sick, unhappy, unpleasant to be around, unpersuasive, irrational, crazy, infantile. Above all, she must not be heard. ​Rebecca Traister, Good and Mad1 As I sit in the audience at the Montréal Clown Festival in September 2018, observing the female bouffons of Québec’s Les Zoubliettes enter the stage, I am exhilarated; both compelled and repelled by the female bouffons cackling their delight at seeing us seeing them, entering the stage dressed in the detritus of their lives, decaying bodies excessively out of control, dirty, hairy, ugly, loud, abrasive, and full of glee—​embodying society’s worst fears of uncontrolled women as “perversions of both nature and our social norms.”2 Such are the bodies I am watching enter the stage as Les Zoubliettes begins: breasts stretched so long from overuse that they hang out the bottom of the corset, nipples pointed to the ground; a pregnant belly protruding like a tumorous growth from a body too chaotic and irreverent to be maternal; aging, cracked skin covered in garish makeup; pubic hair flagrantly on display in a sweaty crotch; a body of small stature gleefully struggling with the difficulties of mobility; an incontinent body wearing its dirty diaper proudly. There is no apology in the entrance of these bodies for not upholding the

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female ideal of beauty (Figure 11.1). Instead there is a celebration to their presentation of the grotesque truth of living, breathing, daily-​decaying female humanity. We are in the presence of fecund, fetid folds of female flesh and they want to touch us—​physically, emotionally, psychologically. With the ongoing #MeToo movement, the past two years have seen an unprecedented number of women speaking out on public and political stages about the injustices of gender discrimination and sexual harassment. These stories have been told, often at great personal cost to the women, to ensure that we no longer look away from the truth of the systemic gendered power abuses inherent in patriarchal societies—​and it has been disheartening to witness how many of these women’s stories, once heard, have been dismissed and invalidated by male power, even when supported by facts and corroborating testimony. Rebecca Traister suggests that although there has been an exhilaration to the #MeToo movement’s “70’s-​ style [sic], organic, mass radical rage […] it was not fun, [it was] terrifying […] uncomfortable.”3 In contrast to the terrifying discomfort of courageous women involved as spokespersons for the #MeToo movement, who would prefer not to be on a public stage telling their stories, this chapter looks at furious women who have chosen the theatrical stage to speak out through bouffon, a performance form that paradoxically activates joy and laughter in response to their rage, offering an alternative storytelling form that is uncomfortable, terrifying, and yet, also fun. In this chapter I examine the practice of bouffon (as developed by Philippe Gaulier and Jacques Lecoq) alongside feminist theory to illuminate the relevance of bouffon as a feminist performance practice responsive to contemporary female fury. I consider how bouffon provides a vehicle for performing #MeToo stories and channelling #MeToo rage. Traister writes that at this time “the partisan gender gap has become a chasm, a fault line splitting open under the pressure of so much rage.”4 I perceive female bouffon as a reflection of what is emerging from this chasm, exposing the disturbing reality of our increasingly divided world through a performance of #MeToo marginalization. In September 2018 I attended the aforementioned Montréal Clown Festival to examine the performance work of women choosing the laughter of the clown and the bouffon at this critical moment of feminist rage. The festival programmed eleven shows, of which nine included female performers and eight were all-​women productions. Of these eight productions, two were bouffon shows. Considering that clown and bouffon are historically male-​dominated forms, this abundant presence of female clowns at the 2018 festival is noteworthy. It is not coincidental that at this time women are turning to performance forms that offer more explosive methods of speaking out, being heard, and being seen.

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FIGURE 11.1: (L-​R) Anna Beaupré Moulounda, Dolorèze Léonard, Françoise Deschênes, and Mélanie Raymond in Les Zoubliettes (September 2018), produced by Coop les ViVaces, written and directed by Mélanie Raymond, Mainline Theatre, Montréal, Canada. Photo: Jocelyn Riendeau.

Because of the acerbic wit present beneath the charm, bouffon easily lends itself to the performance of #MeToo rage. One of the companies performing in the Festival presented Les Zoubliettes, a female bouffon production that explores the historical marginalization and dismissal of women within a patriarchal society—​through the literal relegation of forgotten women to the garbage heap of history—​and celebrates the resiliency that keeps them alive in the margins. It is a production that grabs us by the throat and demands that we do not look away from what we would rather forget.

Les Zoubliettes As Performance of #MeToo Les Zoubliettes is a French-​language production, produced by the Québécois company Coop les ViVaces, written and directed by Mélanie Raymond, dramaturgical consultancy by Véronique Lamarre-​Tremblay, and performed by Dolorèze Léonard, Anna Beaupré Moulounda, Françoise Deschênes, and Mélanie Raymond. 194

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I attended two performances of this production5 at the Montréal Clown Festival and interviewed Mélanie Raymond and Véronique Lamarre-​Tremblay about why they chose the vicious humour of bouffon as the public forum for their feminist rage when they first conceived Les Zoubliettes as a street performance. This production was initiated to celebrate national pride during the 2017 celebrations for the 375th anniversary of the founding of the Canadian city of Montréal and was funded by Québec arts grants. The initial idea was to create a performance that celebrated those who have been forgotten by history. But as Lamarre-​ Tremblay explains, when the female creators asked themselves “What is the story of our nation?” they realized that “[t]‌he real forgotten of every story are women. We were supposed to be celebrating history but where were we—​the women who populated this land—​in this history?”6 This realization shifted the intention of this production to the exposure of this historical omission, including the inequality that our societies continue to be built upon. Lamarre-​Tremblay states: We want to believe that we have evolved but we haven’t and this is what we are exposing. We all want to say that now there is more equality, but it’s always the same story we tell ourselves about what’s possible or not possible and who’s got the power to make history.7

As the #MeToo movement erupted in the fall of 2017, the creators decided to redevelop the street performance into a fully scripted theatre production that would allow the text, and therefore the ideas behind the production, to be heard. Raymond clarified: In the noisy street we had to make our statement physically so the striking visual of bouffon was important as a way to make people stop and engage with us. We were eight women—​a bouquet of colours that people won’t normally buy first at the florist: old, Black, Indigenous, small stature, androgynous, Down syndrome, Arab, feminist. We decided to move to a theatre where we could expand our statement and put the importance on the text for this production: people pay, we lock them in, and we talk—​now you listen! The theatre show is more political, more subversive, because we don’t just present ourselves begging to have a place in their world like in the street show, but now we denounce how our society still accepts this on-​going exclusion of women.8

In the theatre production, during an auction selling off the different types of discounted women in a dungeon, the reasons for their exclusion are clearly stated and offered as buying incentives for those with a smaller budget:

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The models made in Syria, excellent for Halloween parties: irrational fear assured. And the unfamiliar, the different … oooh, scary! Though we would recommend against shipment by boat … not to mention customs problems. For the more discreet among you who reject the “idols” look, turn your attention to the idol-​no-​more model: the one everyone talks about, but truth be told, nobody cares about. We recommend that you reserve it very soon because it’s a model that flies away easily, and once gone, it’s rare that we find it again!9

Raymond says that although the show is purposefully funny, its critique is sharply felt by the audience: The bouffon always keeps the ambience light, but their words are sharp and brutal. In the theatre show, there were much bigger reactions from the audience with their laughter and their tears—​to hear the truth spoken made people feel alive; sad and joyful at the same time.10

Raymond pointed out that Québec has the shortest history in Canada of validating and listening to women’s voices, as it was the last province to concede the vote to women in 1940: “We are not used to hearing women’s voices. We are scary for people when we speak up—​especially when angry.”11 There is a power to speaking and a power in rage that women have historically been denied. Traister similarly connects the lack of experience society has with hearing women’s angry voices with the myth that anger is unnatural for women. The belief that anger is somehow at odds with the otherwise affable feminine personality has to do with the fact that women have been so well conditioned to tamp down the rage, to disguise it or compartmentalize it, that the revelation that it’s bubbling underneath feels surprising and discombobulating—​even worrying—​to others.12

The rage of the feminist creators is purposefully not present in the characters on stage, but it clearly underlies the story of discarded women and the parody of life portrayed as a game show rigged to ensure that women are the constant losers. Les Zoubliettes is structured around a series of reality shows in which the women compete to win themselves a place in history. The outrage of the creators at their own losing positions as women within a patriarchal system is exchanged for the ridiculous joy of their bouffon characters hoping they might miraculously become the winners. The women’s pleasure inside these games is contagious, even as their abrasive laughter destabilizes the audience. These bouffon games “bring out the absurdity in the way human life is organized”13 196

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and reveal the hypocrisy of a society that claims equality even amid the revelations of the #MeToo movement. Lamarre-Tremblay recalls her awareness of this hypocrisy during puberty, when she realized women were put into the powerless position of always needing to please—​she remembers thinking “How can I be in this loser gang?”14 Raymond adds, “Women are told to be soft, pretty, and gentle but there’s no power in these three things so how do you speak from there as an artist?”15 Bouffons represent a “loser gang” in society, but they are not attempting to please. Banding together in their marginalization, bouffon gangs embody the power of the nonconforming, nonpleasing, radically feminist collective these women were seeking as a vehicle for their voices. Les Zoubliettes is a satirical look at four discarded aging women striving to win a place in history within a system that has deemed them irrelevant. They spent their lives serving society as mothers, wives, sex workers, activists, and volunteers, but they are now well past their prime, condemned to the trash heap and forgotten by society. The title of the show, Les Zoubliettes, is a play on “les oubliées”/​ “the forgotten” and “les oubliettes”/​“the dungeons.” The Forgotten is the name for the women discarded by society and the Dungeon is the place to which they are discarded, a hidden prison for women in the sewers running underneath society in the world of the play. Raymond clarifies, “They are guilty just for being women, and the sentence for this crime is to be forgotten. They become garbage in this literal ‘No-​Man’s Land.’ ”16 As the women fall into the garbage/​fall into forgetting, children’s story-​ time music plays while the history of this underworld is told as a fairy tale by a male voice: Once upon a time, in this marvelous world, it was the custom (usually once is not a custom, but here, in this world, once IS the custom because it is still happening now) for women to be eaten by The Beast. The story says that man is a hungry beast who eats The Fairies [the women], devouring them body and soul, leaving behind no trace or memory of their passage on this earth. To convince ourselves that this is only an old ghost story and not really happening still, it is known to never, absolutely never, and I repeat, never, never, NEVER pronounce the name of this hidden place.17

At this point the women leap out from the garbage exposing their existence and holler the forbidden words to the audience with great pleasure: “LES ZOUBLIETTES!!!”18 They are immediately reprimanded by the male voice, forcing an apology for their indiscretion, and spitting and laughing, they creep back into hiding revelling in their moment of rebellion. 197

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Perhaps the liberation to speak out that bouffon provides has resulted in the recent surge of interest in bouffon from female performers who are re-​shaping this predominantly male performance territory and morphing it to reflect their own point of view. Women are exploring how the biting satire and vicious laughter of the bouffon reflect their concerns with a society that positions them at the bottom, condemned to be the unacknowledged supporting structure holding up the patriarchy. For women, choosing the freedom of this “attack theatre,”19 as Scottish bouffon/​scholar Lucy Amsden defines bouffon, provides a reorientation to their anger; not a release through the distraction of laughter, but a galvanizing of joy in response to finally acknowledging their justified rage. Belgian bouffon Ava Kahan concurs, “If the fury is there inside you, doing bouffon on stage feels like taking off this corset you have been wearing too long and you are finally able to breath.”20 These new female bouffons are exposing female fury, transformed through their joy at finally being able to exhale their rage. In the disheartening aftermath of the election of American president Donald Trump, rising far-​right political agendas globally, and the continued revelations of the #MeToo movement, women are unrelenting in their demand to be heard. Traister tracks the unleashing of women’s anger: The relentless, pounding march of #metoo—​an angry surge that I expected to last only a few days or weeks but which stretched months, and then, even after briefly abating, came roaring back—​told me that contemporary women were in no mood to play nice, even when it would have been so much simpler, so much easier, to just let it stop, make all the risk and discomfort go away.21

For women in a #MeToo world who are in no mood to play nice, bouffon provides an opportunity to explore the unsettling effects of playing with the vicious parody and ferocious joy that are at the heart of this politically charged comedic practice. Les Zoubliettes begins with the slow emergence of the women, a huddled group of distorted, dirty bodies dressed in garbage bags, each shackled with a ball and chain imprinted with the letters spelling “OUBLI” (forget). They appear through the audience, the aliveness of their eyes in contrast with their overused bodies. They move uncomfortably close to the audience as they search people’s faces, giggling, whispering their welcome, and tentatively touching us as they pass by. The intensity of their interest in the audience is unsettling, as is their delight at seeing responses to their presence. The performers are playing with a delicate balance of the “acid eyes and cream mouth”22 that Gaulier defines as being at the heart of bouffon, compelling an audience to look at what repels them by being charming and unnerving in equal measures. Their acid eyes eat 198

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away at our protective personas, and although they are the ones who have been deemed undesirable, the audience members become the ones who are suddenly self-​conscious about what might be revealed as unworthy in them. The women of Les Zoubliettes, on the other hand, victoriously present themselves as the garbage they are perceived to be by society, revelling in this forbidden moment of visibility and contact. Raymond based the characters in Les Zoubliettes on four female archetypes, playing with aspects of women that are both revered and rejected: the mother, the whore, the saint, and the willful child. Extending these archetypes into bouffon characters, Raymond reveals how women are punished for “crimes” associated with these roles. The Mother, although she has tirelessly done her duty as evidenced by her grotesquely enlarged knees from “washing the floor, praying, and providing ‘treats’ for her husband,”23 is found guilty of being “over-​sexed”24 as her eternally pregnant “no vacancy”25 belly is evidence of her rampant sexual desire. The Whore has served men well, but as a successful businesswoman she has committed the crime of independence, and the worse crime of getting old. She is encrusted with makeup, incontinent from overuse, with an imposing chest that falls delicately over the plastic knee by way of the porcelain hip, and these lovingly etched channels in the face which facilitate the movement of fluids towards the indispensable bib. The curved spinal cord, the empty head, this model has finally returned to the state we appreciate […] Diapers, perfume and accessories included.26

The Saint, the wife of a wealthy man, has served society through charitable acts and supported her husband by always “wearing outfits which match the suit of the man who precedes her,”27 but her acceptance is condemned as complacency and her smaller stature is an offence to the normative ideals of womanhood. Therefore “this model is at a reduced price because it is nouveau riche and everybody wants to take a piece of her—​look what’s left of her—​not so much!”28 The Willful Child defies all propriety as a woman as an outspoken, feminist lesbian who “comes in many colours” with “rebellious hairy armpits, fat thighs and butt that don’t even seem to bother her, but that insult with impunity the fine lines that were designed around her.”29 To prove their worth, the women enthusiastically engage in competitions, lotteries, and game shows, viciously parodying a society that values easily digested beauty and scandalous media coverage. Although the subject matter is deadly serious and fuelled by the anger of the female creators, the bouffon characters grab every new challenge as an opportunity to play, rampaging around the stage in delight, lampooning male stereotypes, and satirizing female disenfranchisement. 199

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FIGURE 11.2: (L-​R) Anna Beaupré Moulounda, Françoise Deschênes, and Mélanie Raymond in Les Zoubliettes (September 2018), produced by Coop les ViVaces, written and directed by Mélanie Raymond, Mainline Theatre, Montréal, Canada. Photo: Jocelyn Riendeau.

The women enact fantasies of equality, parodying the men who wield power over their lives. They transform into “Neanderthal Man” construction workers who discover the women locked in the sewer, revealing this injustice as “the crispiest and greasiest piece of sensationalist news of the day.”30 But ultimately, the men take centre stage, presented by the media as esteemed “Mister Anthropologists,”31 once again leaving the women forgotten in the shadows. Later in the show, the women embody moustachioed, cigar-​smoking historians with whom they argue for the rewriting of history to acknowledge the essential presence of women. They cite a fable, The Crimson Scandal, which they claim was written by Jean de La Fontaine32 about “the woman who gave birth since the birth of the world, who found herself forgotten when the historians came. She yelled ‘I exist!’ begging them to listen, to acknowledge her survival.”33 The historians, played by the bouffons, ask, “Tell us your story,”34 but before the woman has a chance to answer they declare, “Woman! Guilty!!”35 condemning her to historical irrelevance and sending the women collectively to be slaughtered. In rebellion, the women break into a maniacal rendition of a francophone song, usually accompanied by the traditional Québécois use of spoons as a makeshift percussion instrument, slapping their thighs and hollering 200

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“tam-​tidi-​did-​di-​am, tam-​tid-​di-​da”36 to imitate the clattering of the castanet-​like spoons. They link arms, swing each other around, dance with the bags of garbage, and then trample them underfoot, grinding their feet into the articles of female clothing emerging from the bags while, eyes shining with delight, they sing with gusto about all the women “at the bottom of the slaughters […] from the great book of history we erased them, erased them!”37 The bouffons sing with such joy that it is as if they are celebrating their abject positioning rather than opposing it. Raymond concurs, “We accept this is how it is for women; how it has always been and how it will always be, because it is common practice.”38 By singing rather than raging against this patriarchal ideology, their exuberant acceptance exposes the unconsciousness of our social acceptance, revealing that just because these practices are accepted does not mean they are acceptable. Lamarre-​Tremblay identifies this aggressive playfulness of bouffon as instrumental in revealing this hypocrisy: It is important to have this kind of play that is able to reveal the absurdity of women’s situation. Bouffon makes it so obvious and so in your face that after seeing it you cannot any longer say it is not happening.39

The bouffon games are brought to a screaming halt when a male voice suddenly booms “Excusez-​la!!” a colloquial way of ending a francophone song.40 Literally translated, this means “excuse her,” and it is used here not as a finale to their celebration, but in apology, to shame the women into silence. The male voice descending from above is The Narrator who oversees the women, issuing orders, reprimands, and condemnations. A god-​like presence, pristine in his invisibility, he has absolute authority over the women, as well as the audience. At the beginning of the show, he instructs the audience to follow his rules, as it is his story: “Turn off your cell phone, pager, and your brain—​anything that can interrupt me […] shut your mouth and enjoy the show.”41 He clarifies that there are also more implicit rules, but “I don’t have to remind you of them because you have been respecting them fabulously without questioning since forever.”42 This is the totalitarian regime ruling the women, and by subjecting the audience to these rules, we are forced into their world. More importantly, as we obediently turn off our phones and shut our mouths, we become complicit in the perpetuation of this regime and the question arises as to whether we have also turned off our brains. Lamarre-​Tremblay points out that the power The Narrator wields is only possible because the women accept that this is the way the world works and are therefore complicit in their own imprisonment. “It shows how absurd it is that we look up to him and follow him because we choose to listen—​as usual, without questioning—​because he is now the voice inside us.”43 The women arrive in the Dungeon, landing among the remnants of the other women dumped in the trash 201

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throughout history. Raymond clarifies that these women are condemned to the Dungeon not because of horrific crimes, but simply because “they are guilty of being women and the sentence for this crime is to be forgotten—​whatever else they are marginalized for, the worse crime is to be a woman.”44 The show is unapologetically feminist and hard-​hitting in its condemnation of the patriarchy. Raymond admits her trepidation about some of her ideas while writing it, using Lamarre-Tremblay as her sounding board: “I would ask Véronique if it was too much what I was writing and she would say ‘It can’t be too much—​ you’re just saying the reality—​you can’t be worse than reality.’ ”45 The reality women face when reporting #MeToo allegations, risking being judged as unreliable witnesses whose testimony is deemed irrelevant, is exposed by Raymond in a parody of a Québécois small-​claims court television show which she renamed “L’Arbitre” (The Arbitrator). The title is formatted with the “r’s” in smaller font within copyright circles, therefore spelling “La Bite” (The Dick). This program is presided over by The Dick, presenting controversial cases for judgment: Today on The Dick, we’ll do women trafficking. We have a mixed bag of our most common and banal cases. Even though the verdicts are determined in advance, we will take a first call without appeal—​over to you ladies!46

Every time one of the women steps forward to state her case, the judge bangs the gavel and finds her guilty before she even speaks. When the women protest, the judge apologizes, “Sorry! Behavioural reflex!” but undeterred, continues to scream “Guilty! GUILLLLLLTYYYYY!!!”47 Systematically all the women are convicted for the crime of speaking out, and as punishment they are either sent to the gallows, confined to a mental hospital, burnt at the stake, or lashed with a whip—​ methods used throughout history to silence women. As the #MeToo allegations continued to pile up, revealing the extent of historic and ongoing misconduct, Raymond realized “I didn’t invent anything—​it is all still happening in real life!”48 The women mock society’s blind acceptance of female marginalization in a television news show “Personne en Parle/​Nobody’s Talking About” (a play on a popular Québécois television talk show “Tout Le Monde en Parle/​Everyone Is Talking About”), where they announce the breaking news that the women confined under the city have just been unearthed: A crew of erudite anthropologists has just discovered, after centuries of arduous research […] a sordid location, where the magnitude of the horror is unfaaaaaaaaaaathomable […] a sort of brothel where there are piles of hundreds of thousands of millions of trillions of […] WOMEN!! […] But who then are all these women???49 202

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To answer this question, the bouffons tear off their garbage bags and present themselves on the runway in a parody of the renowned Fashion Week events in Milan, New York, London, and Paris: “Ze World Fashion Weaker Sex Event” (Figure 11.2). As they parade the glory of their “weaknesses” to Shania Twain’s song “I Feel Like a Woman,” they assure the audience there is something for everyone as the discrimination of women is a highly inclusive event, offering great diversity: This spring/​summer/​fall/​winter collection showcases influences from all places, social statuses and eras, all combined—​for once, no one is forgotten! […] You will be pleased to notice that 100% of 50% of the world population is represented! […] The teacher, the nurse, the slave, the secretary, and so on and so forth, are also excellent all-​purpose top models, and at a price that is bordering on ridiculous.50

For Raymond and Lamarre-​Tremblay, the vicious parody and biting social critique of the bouffon must make it so compelling to listen to the bouffons’ rage that the audience realizes too late that they have been nailed. During a competition called “The Chef,” the women compete to win a place in history, their task “to concoct a revolutionary recipe so as to finally put an end to the massive flushing of ladies down the toilet of forgetting.”51 They devise a series of products called “Tits Included 2018”: The Betty Crocker Supreme Accelerator, The Master Milk Goddess Shaker, The Spicy Wonder Wild Ingredient, and The Lololady Infinity. Collectively, these products remove the inconvenient and unappealing aspects of pregnancy and motherhood that interfere with a woman’s productivity and sex appeal, culminating in The Lololady Infinity which is “a hologram strong enough for HER, but made for HIM […] [it] will shape itself into the form that titillates his appetite the most: blonde, black, goat or cat.”52 Throughout the description of these items, we laugh at the absurdity of them, yet we are constantly struck by the reality that they are not so far from the truth of our body-​sculpting, Botox-​ normalizing world. Raymond explains, “Bouffon is about reflecting people back to themselves, and making them feel something funny and then feel something hard, so almost every sentence in this script is a nail in the brain—​and we laugh.”53 As an example, she mentions The Betty Crocker Supreme Accelerator which allows a woman to gestate a baby in ten days and be “fresh as a daisy in the office and the bedroom in less than two weeks,”54 but more importantly it allows parents, “depending on your ambitions for your new little bundle of joy,” to choose the gender and race, reminding us “the little white male is always our best seller.”55 Raymond says when we laugh at these harsh things, “we say in French this is ‘a yellow laugh’—​a laugh that hurts, because you laugh and then you realize, ‘Oh shit—​it’s me!—​it’s reality—​I participate in this hypocrisy!’ ”56 203

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Lamarre-​Tremblay adds, “As a woman, to talk about feminism on stage is really hard—​to say the real thing you have to lubricate a lot. Bouffon is a lubricant.”57 Only with this lubrication is it possible to speak about rape and make it funny. The women prove the worth of their inventions with the news bulletin that since the launch of these products, rape has become a myth due to the easy access and fulfillment of the male heterosexual fantasy: He will be able to grab her from the front, from behind, by surprise, on the side, on the oven, in the ear, in the ass and cubicle of his office neighbor, in the comfort of your own home, and even out in nature […] The words aggression, abuse, harassment, equality between men/​women, now aren’t even in the dictionary.58

The women are enthusiastic in their description of their products, celebrating the success of these inventions which has resulted in a museum commemorating the history of rape, telling the story of “not-​very-​credible ancestral legends about prostitution, pornography, women-​trade, strip clubs, gang bangs, and the #MeToo movement […] in short, a museum for fans of terror and science fiction.”59 Lamarre-​Tremblay asserts, If you really look at what we are saying you can see that we are angry, but even though we don’t compromise on what we are saying, with the play of bouffon, you don’t feel like it’s angry—​but it is!60

The lubricating laughter of the bouffons in Les Zoubliettes is what stops us from looking away from the women’s performed rage. The duality of the bouffons’ laughter, described by Lecoq as “a distress call, [both] comforting and wounding,” 61 compels us to listen even as it causes discomfort. Their laughter reveals the presence of those who are banished, wounding the comfort of the comfortable, while also comforting those who live in a state of imposed discomfort for the crime of simply being who they are. The emergence of bouffons and their laughter on stage is what Sara Ahmed terms a “re-​ writing of the history of happiness from the point of view of the wretch,”62 and answers Raymond’s creative provocation, “what if history was told by the losers?”63 Ahmed posits that if we listen to those who are cast as wretched, perhaps their wretchedness would no longer belong to them. The sorrow of the stranger might give us a different angle on happiness not because it teaches us what it is like or must be like to be a stranger, but because it might estrange us from the very happiness of the familiar.64 204

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The bouffon elicits laughter from the audience that estranges us from our comfort, killing our joy in what we have unconsciously accepted. British clown Hilary Ramsden identifies the bouffon’s brand of “killing laughter” as a weapon, proposing that it is not coincidental that “man’s laughter can be manslaughter.”65 As Ahmed says in her blog Feminist Killjoys, “Killing joy is a world making project,”66 and through their laughter bouffons seek to create a new world. Their laughter contains a dream of destruction; a vision of the restructuring possibilities of annihilation. With their ferocious joy and pleasure to play amid their “wretchedness,” bouffons can be seen as offering “an alternative history of happiness […] by considering those who are banished from it, or who enter the history only as troublemakers, dissenters, killers of joy.”67 These women play with what is perceived as disgusting and ugly in women: uncontrolled sexuality, rage, militant feminism, the unmanaged body, imperfect physique, independence, and aging. There is a horror to the continued aliveness of these women that is illuminated when one of the characters pulls a used, bloody tampon from her body. This is horrifying not just because of what it literally is, but because of what it implies: the continuing viability of what society has decided should no longer exist. These rejects of womanhood should not be capable of reproducing; they should not be continuing to sustain life—​even though they are the same women who populated society before they were dismissed as undesirable. There is a disgust in witnessing the unmanaged continuation of these female bodies outside of socially controlled boundaries—​especially when it is in such close proximity to us. The show climaxes with the banished women, “guilty of heinous crimes that the morality police are trying to hide from society,”68 vying for a place in history by winning the great lottery game “History Says and That’s That!” This last game focuses on categories which determine success: beauty, money, education, geographic location/​ethnicity/​religion, and gender. Each contestant must pick a card from each category defining who they will be in the next life. But this lottery is rigged, and regardless of how “successful” their cards are in the first categories, they all are eventually eliminated by receiving a female gender card. The women rebel against this injustice and amid the upheaval created by this unprecedented challenge to the rules of the game, The Mother gives birth to a baby boy, and as she holds him up to the light, we see he is endowed with huge golden balls, making him the automatic winner in this lottery of life. The Narrator proclaims, “Congratulations to our big winner! Better luck next time girls! Chop chop—​you know your place!”69 and the women, regardless of their resistance, are condemned to yet another lifetime in the Dungeon. As they strap on their ball and chains, they sing a Québécois song about holding the faith. The lyrics are rewritten to parody the cost of progress for women, retaining the original last line, sung with gusto by the women as they prepare for their descent: 205

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FIGURE 11.3: (L-​R) Dolorèze Léonard, Mélanie Raymond, Anna Beaupré Moulounda, and Françoise Deschênes in Les Zoubliettes (September 2018), produced by Coop les ViVaces, written and directed by Mélanie Raymond, Mainline Theatre, Montréal, Canada. Photo: Jocelyn Riendeau.

Women in the flesh, women below, Women of here, women of over there, Those of yesterday, those of today, We can’t lie to ourselves, it’s always the same story, But don’t get discouraged little girl, little girl, la zigue-​zon-​zin-​zon! Two steps back, three steps forward! Girls have access to the same jobs as boys, Half the salary for the same job, la zigue-​zon-​zin-​zon! I’m a business woman and I have three kids at home, Now that I can have everything, I’ll have a depression, la zigue-​zon-​zin-​zon! Two steps back, three forward!70 This is the hopeful anthem of their lives—​even if progress in their individual lives seems non-​existent, their exertions will eventually achieve one small step forward in history. 206

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Conclusion: How Not to Look Away The female bouffons in Les Zoubliettes purposefully destabilize their performances with laughter and discomfort to compel their audiences to view feminist issues from a different perspective; from what Gaulier calls an “angle of aberration”71 that reveals the restrictions and distortions of normative perception. Shifting the angle of our perception activates questioning rather than defines a solution and becomes a form of Ahmed’s “politics of the rear” enacted by those who have never come “first” in society. Ahmed believes that we can generate an oblique angle on history from behind. We can aim to transform the angle into a different style of politics, rear-​guard not avant-​garde [and] those deemed behind, as lagging behind in the history of becoming modern, can rewrite that history from this view … a rear view.72

Bouffons rise up from the rear, emerging as the discarded waste of society, and the presence of these female bouffons refracts light onto an aberrant, oblique angle of history: the trashing of women. By making the audience laugh, they ensure we do not look away from this rear view. They demand we stay with the trouble of humanity we are experiencing right now and work out “how to travel on unstable ground […] to keep walking, to keep going, to keep coming up.”73 Terry Eagleton states, “One would prefer not to have to hope, since the need to do so is a sign that the unpalatable has already happened.”74 The presence of these dispossessed female bouffons is undeniable proof that the unpalatable has indeed already happened in our world. It is true that one would rather not have to hope, but women have not been afforded the luxury of a life lived without the need for hope—​women’s lives lived in the margins are artefacts of these unpalatable events throughout history. The appearance of les oubliées demands we reconsider our relationship with the unpalatable aspects of our world. As Lamarre-​Tremblay says, “With consciousness comes responsibility. You can’t look away now because you have seen us in your face and heard us—​so now what will you do??”75 Les oubliées do not win the lottery of life and transition into the spotlight of history. They remain the “losing gang” of society, their bodies compliantly bowing down once again into their abject positioning as they descend back into the dark. As they leave the stage they revert to private conversations about their unchanged lives dealing with laundry, food, children, husbands—​although they remain unsated in their failure, the games have afforded a kind of sustenance. As Julie Salverson confirms, “[P]‌leasure and playing in this context is not spectacle or escape, or passive avoidance, it is the deadly game of living with loss, living despite the humiliation of trying endlessly, living despite failure.”76 But before they go, they pass the burden 207

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of hope to women in the audience, declaring as they point at female spectators, “We made some big steps—​now it’s your turn!”77 As Traister says, The task […] is to keep going, to not turn back, to not give in to the easier path, the one where we weren’t angry all the time […] that will always be on offer to those who don’t challenge power. Our job is to stay angry…perhaps for a very long time.78

These female bouffons challenge us to stay consciously enraged. Their abrasive, taunting laughter challenges us to take action by shattering illusions and exposing hypocrisy. In her blog Feminist Killjoys, Ahmed states, “There are many ways to cause a feminist disturbance.”79 I conclude that female bouffons are a potent example—​disturbing our angle of perception, disturbing our accepted ideals, disturbing how we view history, how we dissect the present, and how we keep moving toward the future. The women of Les Zoubliettes challenge us to not forget who resides in the cracks of our world, demanding we learn how not to look away.

NOTES 1. Rebecca Traister, Good and Mad:  The Revolutionary Power of Women’s Anger (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2018), 51. 2. Ibid. 3. Ibid., 143. 4. Rebecca Traister, “And You Thought Trump Voters Were Mad: American Women Are Furious—​and Our Politics and Culture Will Never Be the Same,” Cut, September 17, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.thecut.com/2 ​ 018/0 ​ 9/r​ ebecca-t​ raister-g​ ood-a​ nd-m ​ ad-​ book-​excerpt.html, accessed October 5, 2018. 5. Les Zoubliettes began as an unscripted street theatre performance in July 2017. The scripted theatre production premiered at the Montréal Clown Festival on September 15 and 16, 2018. 6. Véronique Lamarre-​Tremblay, personal interview with Mélanie Raymond conducted by Sonia Norris, September 15, 2018, Montréal. 7. Ibid. 8. Mélanie Raymond, personal interview with Véronique Lamarre-​Tremblay conducted by Sonia Norris, September 15, 2018, Montréal. 9. Mélanie Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, trans. Isabelle Noel (unpublished play script, September 2018), Microsoft word file, 11. 10. Raymond, personal interview. 11. Ibid. 12. Traister, Good and Mad, 58.

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13. Jacques Lecoq, The Moving Body: Teaching Creative Theatre, trans. David Bradby (New York: Routledge, 2001), 119. 14. Lamarre-​Tremblay, personal interview. 15. Raymond in ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 2. 18. Ibid. 19. Lucy Amsden, e-​mail message to Sonia Norris, September 3, 2018. 20. Ava Kahan, e-​mail message to Sonia Norris, November 23, 2018. 21. Traister, Good and Mad, 155–​56. 22. Philippe Gaulier, “Bouffon” (workshop, École Philippe Gaulier, London, United Kingdom, February 1994). 23. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 10. 24. Mélanie Raymond, personal conversation with Sonia Norris, September 2018, Montréal. 25. Ibid. 26. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes,  10–​11. 27. Ibid., 10. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid., 9. 30. Ibid., 6. 31. Ibid. 32. Jean de La Fontaine (1621–​95) was a French author renowned for his ironic fables written about animals (The Grasshopper and the Ant, The Turtle and the Hare). Initially written for adults, these stories became required reading for children in French schools. 33. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 15. 34. Ibid., 16. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid., 17. 7. Ibid. 3 38. Raymond, personal interview. 39. Lamarre-​Tremblay in ibid. 40. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 17. 41. Ibid., 1. 42. Ibid. 43. Lamarre-​Tremblay, personal interview. 44. Raymond in ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 15. 47. Ibid. 48. Raymond, personal interview.

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9. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 5–​7. 4 50. Ibid.,  8–​11. 51. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 20. 52. Ibid., 27. 53. Raymond, personal interview. 54. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 22. 55. Ibid. 56. Raymond, personal interview. 57. Lamarre-​Tremblay in ibid. 58. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 27. 59. Ibid., 28. 60. Lamarre-​Tremblay, personal interview. 61. Jacques Lecoq, Theatre of Movement and Gesture, ed. David Bradby (London: Routledge, 2006), 148. 62. Sara Ahmed, The Promise of Happiness (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010), 17. 63. Raymond, personal interview. 64. Ahmed, The Promise of Happiness, 17. 65. Hilary Ramsden, “Clowns, Buffoons and the Killing Laugh: An Investigation of the Clandestine Insurgent Rebel Clown Army's (CIRCA) Power to Disrupt and Provoke Through Joy and Humour,” The European Journal of Humour Research 3, no. 2/​3 (2015): 145–​63. To download full text, go to https://​www.europeanjournalofhumour.org/​index.php/​ejhr/​ article/​view/​120/​pdf, accessed October 15, 2018. 66. Sara Ahmed, “Dedication,” Feminist Killjoys (blog), August 28, 2016. To view full post, go to https://​feministkilljoys.com/​2016/​08/​28/​dedication/​, accessed November 23, 2016. 67. Ahmed, The Promise of Happiness, 17. 68. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 12. 69. Ibid., 38. 70. Ibid.,  38–​39. 71. Philippe Gaulier, “The Birth of Clown,” in Le Gégèneur: jeux lumière theâtre (Paris: Éditions Filmiko, 2007), 165. 72. Sara Ahmed, Willful Subjects (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2014), 171. 73. Ibid., 170–​71. 74. Terry Eagleton, Hope without Optimism (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2015), 5. 75. Lamarre-​Tremblay, personal interview. 76. Julie Salverson, “Taking Liberties: A Theatre Class of Foolish Witnesses,” Research in Drama Education 13, no. 2 (2008): 245–​55. 77. Raymond, Les Zoubliettes, 39. 78. Traister, Good and Mad, 247. 79. Sara Ahmed, “Dedication.”

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12 “I’m the person to speak about myself”: Self-​Declaration, Reversal of Power, and Solidarity in The Red Book Yuh J. Hwang

The #MeToo Movement and the Collapse of the Existing World In January 2018, the first accusations of sexual impropriety were made by South Korean prosecutor Seo Ji-​hyun,1 who sparked the national #MeToo movement, citing her own stories of ongoing abuse by her former boss and by male colleagues throughout her entire career. This reckoning was publicly acknowledged throughout South Korea in literature, film, theatre, education, sports, and politics. Eight months after the first accusations, prominent theatre director and playwright Lee Youn-​taek appeared in handcuffs in South Korean media. He was sentenced to six years of imprisonment in response to seventeen theatre practitioners’ sexual violence charges, including rape, which allegedly had been perpetrated over decades. Along with this sentence, he would undergo eighty hours of therapy sessions and was prohibited from taking up any job in any institution where children and teenagers were involved for the next ten years.2 Most of the victims were from his theatre company, Yeonhee Street Theatre Troupe, and had been exposed to a wide spectrum of sexual misbehaviour on a daily basis while training as professional actors under the guidance of Lee during their residency period. Indeed, no one ever imagined this sixty-six-​year-​old artist’s downfall in such a way, as he had been viewed as an iconic figure because of his mastery of staging plays that included Korean shamanistic rituals. Lee’s sentence was imposed seven months later, in February 2018, when allegations of his acts of abuse were released to the public; subsequent to this, his theatre company was shut down after three decades

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of operation and his work erased from middle/​high school textbooks. It was the first time that the Korean government imposed legal responsibility on a person who was accused of sexual assault, since the aforementioned first accusation of the #MeToo movement in South Korea by the prosecutor Seo in early 2018. More importantly, the media report of Lee’s sentence was the moment when #MeToo shook up the Korean theatre field, which is deeply rooted in patriarchal order. The Korean theatre world was further disrupted as another well-​known theatre director and playwright Oh Tae-​suk was also accused of sexual misconduct, along with other actors and professors, through social media and online communities. In other words, the #MeToo movement claims in the theatre field revealed that Korean theatre itself had been founded on the basis of a disproportionately high number of perpetrators’ abuse of power and sexual violence. These two high-​profile cases3 demonstrate how the #MeToo movement was conceived in South Korea, where misogyny and sexism prevail, and “feminism is considered by many […] as a form of delinquency.”4 Today in South Korea, prejudice against the opposite gender is coupled with a stark social divide between Korean men and women, resulting, in part, in the emergence of the extremist feminist websites Womad5 and Megalia,6 both of which are based on mirroring sexism by utilizing the same tactics of Korean sexist men exemplified on the extremist macho website Ilbe.7 To an extent, contemporary occurrences, such as those discussed earlier, serve as a foundation for South Korea’s glass-​ceiling index for women who work. South Korea is ranked as the lowest among the other twenty-​nine OECD countries.8 However, an entirely different side of Korean culture shows the value of inclusive principles such as democracy through the candlelight movement,9 which was made up of several grassroots protests against the former government’s corruption and incapacity, leading to the impeachment of President Park Geun-​hye in 2016. Another example of revealing democratic values is reflected through the artists who resisted the Park administration’s censorship. This government was known for blacklists in 2017, which operated on the principle that one’s artistic capacity is judged by whether or not work is based on anti-​governmental themes. Both the candlelight movement and the demonstrations against the blacklists exhibited the value of democracy, which was highly valued prior to the #MeToo campaign, in terms of freedom of expression and the collective power for social change. Thus, the rise of the #MeToo movement in South Korea could be considered a reflection of a complex and contradictory society, featuring both abuse and democratic values as standard. In this context, the #MeToo campaign in South Korea is equivalent to a “long-​ waiting for revolution”10 in the sense that those who brought up their abuse experiences in public challenged and questioned the establishment as well as the ways in 212

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which the tradition of theatre had been established among theatre professionals. It is thus no exaggeration to say that Korean theatre and culture are divided into pre-​and post-​#MeToo eras. In the summer of 2018, Korean Theatre Journal issued a special section entitled “Gender, Violence, Human Rights,” including four articles as a response to the #MeToo movement in the field of theatre in accordance with the #TheatreWithYou campaign, in which 300 Korean theatre fans and audiences held a protest, showing that they supported the victims of the culture of abuse prevalent in the theatre field.11 Theatre practitioners who participated in this special issue of the theatre magazine reflected on how the patriarchal aspect of the Korean theatre field had long ignored “the roles of female characters” as well as “philosophical thoughts and perspective on theatre and life in general.”12 Theatre inspired by the #MeToo movement led to the emergence of the first edition of the Feminist Theatre Festival during June and July of 2018, in which seven performances were produced, including Noraism,13 based on Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, and Kim Seung-​Eun and Shin Moon-​Young’s Adam’s Miss.14 Challenging the dominant trend of marginalizing women and minority groups on stage, the theme of this festival was centred around these questions: Why would a female character be either a mom or a bad bitch? Why wouldn’t that mom or that bitch be a central character? Why would all the LGBTQ people live unhappy lives? Why would people give a punishment to people’s disability? Why is there no character debunking the gender binary?15

These issues accentuated what Korean theatre was typically expected to portray in terms of the representation of marginalized characters excluded from the patriarchal hierarchy of the theatre field, which has been characterized as “a Korean system […] [that] still does not publicly or explicitly acknowledge feminism.”16 Further, there is no denying the impact of the #MeToo movement on scenes evoking gender violence in contemporary theatre productions, where scenes were subsequently modified as a result of audiences’ objections. For instance, in the musical Man of La Mancha,17 the scene in which a female character, Aldonza, is raped by a group of men was modified to instead allude to the rape that happens off stage;18 and in the musical version of Doctor Zhivago,19 a scene in which Viktor Komarovsky touches Lara’s body was also modified because of the audience response.20 In the spirit of this movement to readjust the perception and treatment of female characters in musical theatre in South Korea, the musical The Red Book, 21 written by the Korean playwright Han Jung Seok, is noteworthy for revealing “a landmarked aspect of a female protagonist.”22 This led to great public acclaim and the production being nominated for best new musical of 2018.23 213

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The Red Book has been a huge hit since its 2017 premiere (prior to the #MeToo movement in South Korea), because of the ways in which the normative value of sexuality and patriarchal order are challenged and destabilized through the representation of the primary female character.24 The Red Book was remounted over two months in 2018 amid the ongoing reckoning of the #MeToo movement, particularly in the theatre field.25 Because of overlapping dates between the production and the #MeToo events, this performance has been viewed by the media as being related to the movement, as it is laden with the implications of the #MeToo movement in the context of South Korea. During the almost fifty-​day run of the performance, the InterPark website, which is one of the biggest online ticketing sites in the country, shows 14,000 audience responses and comments on The Red Book. This popularity is unusual, especially when one remarks that The Red Book was performed in a medium-​scale theatre, which is characterized as “more than 400 seats”26 in the playhouse. The demographics of the audience who attended this production were, for the most part, young women in their twenties and thirties.27 Most of the audiences who left individual comments on the InterPark website agreed that The Red Book offers feelings for “consolidation” and “healing” through the medium of the protagonist, in particular, who speaks out for herself to resist against the patriarchal society.28 If we accept the notion that “the theatrical event is haunted also by political conditions, racial histories, and gender conventions—​all of the many aspects of the world”29—​this production shows how theatre can function as a tool for potential social change. In this regard, my aim here is to frame The Red Book as a direct response to the #MeToo movement and to consider the possibility of a new Korean example of womanhood in relation to gender construction. In order to formulate the argument, self-​declaration, the reversal of power, and solidarity will be referred to in this chapter to interpret this theatre practice.

“I am Myself”: Self-​Declaration Against the World Set in the Victorian era, The Red Book traces the manner in which the protagonist Anna becomes a writer who challenges patriarchal society. Initially, before she becomes a best-​selling author, Anna works for an older woman named Violet. As a way of taking care of Violet, Anna tells her a love story, mixing facts of her own life with fantasy. Violet, engrossed in Anna’s storytelling, reveals her own secret, a forbidden love story involving her gardener, Henry. Violet asks Anna to write about this. After Violet passes away, the memory of this encouragement prompts Anna to embrace her talent for storytelling and pursue a career as a novelist. Since her first work about Violet’s love story receives an enthusiastic response from 214

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readers, Anna starts writing her own story based on her first love, titled “Taking on an Old Bed,”30 and subsequently becomes a best-​selling writer, whose work challenges the contemporary representation of chaste womanhood. Anna’s love story is complemented by the chronicling of the development of the relationship between Anna and Brown, Violet’s grandson. Upon Violet’s death, Brown contacts Anna to inform her that Violet has willed her an inheritance. However, it turns out that Anna cannot receive the inheritance because of a law that does not allow unmarried women to own property. Concurrently, Anna requests that Brown help her secure work as a typist at his legal practice. While discovering what she wants to do to earn her own living, Anna decides to become a member of the Loreley Literature Society and begins to contribute to The Red Book. The title of the musical, The Red Book, refers to this prohibited magazine that includes writing by Anna and her friends, particularly about their bodies, sexual pleasure, and imagined enacting of repercussions against a deeply male-​centred society. When Anna’s published story becomes popular, she ends up facing the challenge that her work is viewed by the government as obscene and immoral due to its description of sexual interaction. As a result, she is accused of publishing an immoral work that infringes upon public morality, thereby placing her in danger of being expelled from her town. As an audience member, my focus was on the central character, Anna, who constantly speaks up for herself throughout the performance, declaring that “I am myself,”31 “I am an obscene woman,”32 or “I am the person to speak about myself.”33 This production’s main theme is Anna’s reconfirmation of her identity, which is later linked to her pursuit of being a novelist. Rather than searching to define herself and her place in society during the development of the narrative, Anna already knows from the beginning of the play who she is and where she belongs. As the performance proceeds, it is quite common to hear Anna’s dialogue and songs start with the personal pronoun, “I.” The way in which Anna speaks up for herself is exemplified by two core musical numbers through which she defines herself. In the song titled “I am an Obscene Woman”34 Anna “gives a new meaning to herself by reinterpreting other people’s criticism against her, rather than giving in herself.”35 “I am the Person to Speak About Myself,”36 which media and audiences identify popularly as “Anna’s Declaration,”37 is widely recognized as the most memorable scene in The Red Book, a rousing anthem, where she is heard declaring her personality succinctly. In particular, the significance of this number highlighting Anna’s self-​declaration lies in the fact that she “comes to understand who she is and what she desires in the end.”38 The repetition of her self-​declaration not only demonstrates a new attitude for Anna, who is obviously grounded in her authentic self rather than other traditional values (such as marriage), but also reminds the audience of the fundamental 215

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principle of the #MeToo campaign: that ownership of one’s life belongs to the “I,” not to the perpetrators of abuse. To borrow Anna’s words, “Even though no one understands me and loves me, I’m still myself.”39 In this sense, Anna’s self-​ declaration explains why she was recognized as a “#MeToo activist”40 during the second run of the performance. The character of Anna was, quite simply, inspiring to audience members. In the comments on the InterPark ticket website titled “Whenever I go through a harsh reality as a woman as well as a female spectator, this production gives me strength,” one spectator wrote, I’ve felt so mad at witnessing fresh accusations of #MeToo in the Korean theatre field that have been appearing in the media almost every day. Thus, I found this performance so valuable as it places a female character as the lead and shows her ego and desire.41

FIGURE 12.1: The last court scene from The Red Book by Han Jung Seok, Sejong M Theatre, Seoul, South Korea, directed by Oh Kyoung-​Taek, February 6, 2018–​March 30, 2018. (L-​R) Kim Seung-​yong, Yuria, and Park Eun-​seok. Photo: Courtesy of Starlight Entertainment.

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Exploration of identity is manifested in the opening scene of The Red Book, in which Brown is searching for Anna to inform her of his grandmother’s will and bequest. During this scene, eleven characters discuss what Anna is like in the musical number titled “What am I?”42 as they move around the stage at a frantic pace, gossiping about Anna’s personality from different perspectives. They inform the audience that she is jobless as she is not young enough to get hired, and that she does not have a husband. They reveal that when she confessed to her fiancé that she was not a virgin, the marriage was called off, and they claim that she is weird. Within this negative and critical environment, a few people praise her unique personality. The different perspectives on Anna create the vibrant atmosphere of the performance in general, as the conflict and the dynamics begin to build up, peak, and then release between people who attempt to force Anna to be like other “ordinary” Korean women. Anna, who is against the stereotyping of gendered behaviour, resists. The musical numbers about Anna’s self-​declaration are solo performances, and their melodic structure reflects the flow of her inner mind and actions. For example, when Anna sings the lyrics “I’m a bad woman that no one should resist. I know love and write about it,”43 the tone of the music is heavy, but its tempo gets faster to represent a scene where she hurriedly writes down something, as if her desire for writing has exploded. Anna’s declaration of independence is demonstrated further when one remarks that this musical is written within the framework of the customs of the Victorian era where “[o]‌n the subject of sex, silence becomes the rule.”44 In this era, being a woman imposed restrictions on how to act and behave in private and public areas. In such a setting, this musical has characters speaking Korean expressions that refer to gender bias and discrimination against women, such as “the country becomes messy when women are running riot.”45 These references originate from the fact that the #MeToo movement emerged concurrently with the overt recognition of and protest against misogyny and gender inequality in the context of South Korea.

Reversal of Power in The Red Book A compelling aspect of this production is the characterization of Anna in relation to the reversal of power that occurs. Judith Butler argues, The power that initiates the subject fails to remain continuous with the power that is the subject’s agency. A significant and potentially enabling reversal occurs when power shifts from its status as a condition of agency to the subject’s “own” agency (constituting an appearance of power in which the subject appears as the condition of its “own” power).46 217

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The reversal of power “as a condition of agency to the subject’s ‘own’ agency” is of importance here. If Anna’s obsession with the focus on herself is understood as a way of surviving a world littered with gender violence and discrimination, that aspect of being herself allows Anna to exercise the reversal of power as “self-​ inaugurating”47 against the patriarchal world. This is highlighted by the following scene: Anna and her friends publish The Red Book, writing about their sexual imaginings and love stories, which becomes a huge sensation in the town because of the gender of the authors and the content of the stories. Because of Anna’s success, she is assaulted by a literary critic, Johnson. Johnson’s workplace is decorated by two prominently placed statues of horses, which are an overt metaphor for his masculinity. Johnson approaches Anna to suggest that he will write a good review of her stories, but only if she engages in sexual intercourse with him. He also says to her that “literary criticism is a sexual intercourse that shares two souls of a critic and an author. The author needs this kind of direct experience somehow and should feel it vividly through your skin.”48 As South Korean scholar Yoon Ji Young points out, “[R]‌ape culture is conceived as a romance, love, custom, principle of success, which is the long history of violence of male narrative.”49 Therefore, the scene in which Johnson harasses Anna highlights “the transformation of the romanticized concept that has been distorted”50 into sexual violence toward others. Evoking the images of sexual assault, this scene is filled with Johnson’s sexual overtures and dancing, along with the song titled “I’m Your Muse.”51 What is most striking in this scene is the way in which Anna defends herself. She confronts Johnson and shouts aggressively in his face, kicking at his genitals with her feet.52 This scene in which Anna punishes him physically signifies Johnson’s symbolic castration, supported by the fact that he ends up becoming impotent because of the injury inflicted by her when she kicked him. It is in this sense that the reversal of power is articulated and Anna demonstrates a self-​inaugurating agency. Rather than portraying a female character who remains a scapegoat of abuse, this musical goes further to reveal how Anna confronts the patriarchal world in person by virtue of the very straightforward dialogue, revealing her desires and needs as her way of inaugurating power. Anna takes action because “[n]‌othing will change if I feel mad in bed.”53 The directness of her dialogue is apparent especially in the scene in which Anna is exposed to sexual jokes and harassment. At the beginning of the performance, Anna is looking for a job at a bakery. When the bakery owner asks, “Is today the day [of your period as you’re so aggressive]?” she retorts “Are you horny? […] Can I help you to take it [your penis] out? Can I step on it? Can I cut it off?”54 When Brown says to Anna that it is a relief that Johnson does not bring up the issue of her injuring him in public, as if she had not been provoked, Anna condemns and corrects Brown’s idea that being sexually harassed by Johnson is her 218

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fault, in part because she writes sexually explicit stories.55 Indeed, Brown’s view exemplifies the general Korean attitude regarding how victims are perceived in relation to sexual assault, as he regards sexual violence against women “individual”56 matters rather than public crimes. Furthermore, Anna’s reactions to both Brown and Johnson betray the idea that those who undergo sexual harassment have to be “victim-​like” by remaining silent and timid out of fear or quit their job. Anna’s strength emanates from her declaration that her focus on herself is based on attaining self-​fulfillment. She boldly and confidently makes the overt statement, “I’m self-​sufficient.”57 Anna has to pay a hefty price for making Johnson impotent, as to get revenge, he sues her for violation of the publication law, accusing her of publishing obscene content and circulating it illegally via The Red Book. Thus, she is in danger of being exiled from the town. From that moment onward, this production alters and expands, as Anna’s self-​declaration peaks when she repositions herself as a writer. This is best exemplified by a scene near the end of the performance. Anna is summoned by the court and faces the dilemma as to whether she will accept the formal charges that her stories are written due to insanity. If she admits that it is due to madness that she writes about inappropriate subject matter, charges will be dropped, and she will be free from the legal repercussions of her crime. If she does not make this admission, she will be punished. The insanity defense is Brown’s suggestion to prevent Anna from being exiled. Refusing this option, Anna maintains that she did nothing wrong. Rather than denying that her work violated the law, she defends her work as valuable and worthy, which is highlighted by her song titled “I am the Person to Speak About Myself.”58 It is no coincidence that Anna’s method of defending herself based on maintaining the integrity of her art shows that she pushes her belief in justice to the edge against the law. Furthermore, Anna’s self-​defense gains currency in the #MeToo context, because she shows courage by speaking up about what she believes to be right.

The Creation of Solidarity The Red Book utilizes the power of art by virtue of Anna’s writing: she challenges the male-​dominant society through her act of writing, which serves as a subversive strategy for constructing her identity as a writer. The content of Anna’s story is filled with her own sexual desires, experiences, and emotions toward her first love, nicknamed “Owl.”59 In her article “Giving an Account of Oneself,” Judith Butler argues that “exposure […] constitutes the conditions of my emergence and knowability.”60 If Anna’s act of writing is the way in which she exposes herself in society, this exposure could be linked to “a way of framing and underscoring 219

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aspects of writing/​life.”61 In this musical, writing is both an actuality and a metaphor for constructing Anna’s identity as a novelist, which has contemporary resonance within the #MeToo movement in relation to women’s speaking up as their act of resistance.62 As Jacques Rancière contends, “Writing refers not only to a form of manifestation of speech but more fundamentally to an idea of speech itself and its intrinsic power.”63 By the same token, the fact that Anna uses writing as a tool to resist the male-​centred society is analogous to how theatre can have the potential to speak out against social injustice based on our personal lives. Furthermore, this writing functions as a platform not only for allowing Anna and her friends to speak up about their life experiences based on sexual desires and pleasures, but also for preventing them from being characterized as the Other, in that their act of writing demonstrates the power of art to create solidarity among those who are excluded from society. In this respect, the Loreley Literary Society, where Anna and her friends write their own stories and share them, serves as a space that supports the value of their writing. For example, as a member of Loreley, the character Corell writes about a murderer who kills her own husband. Another character, Dorothy, is identified by the fact that her baby has been taken away from her by her husband, who forced her to leave home because she wrote something as a woman who, according to her husband, is not allowed to express her thoughts. For this reason, she carries a doll who replaces her baby all the time. These women’s stories of abuse and violence, and their characters who exact vengeance, transform the victim into the perpetrator through their writings. It is worth noting that The Red Book explicitly privileges gender binary logic in that the development of the narrative is focused on making Anna and Brown a romantic couple. Brown is a gentleman whose beliefs conform to the patriarchal system, but, as the show proceeds, the development of their romance shows a more extensive focus on Anna’s self-​declaration about her own identity. Brown becomes assimilated into Anna’s perspective. In his musical number titled “Such a Weird Woman,” Brown defines her as “a woman whom I feel difficult with understanding her personality although I want to understand her anyhow,” as well as “a woman who does not need me although I want to take care of her,”64 which completely betrays his gender-​biased concept of womanhood. In the middle of the performance, Brown is involved in the divorce case of Johnson’s wife (who sues him due to Johnson’s countless affairs with other women). During the court proceedings, Anna influences Brown and raises his awareness of how absurd the divorce law is and how unfairly it treats women (e.g. women can’t divorce their husbands, even if they are at fault). The different attitudes toward divorce held by Anna and Brown stem from their contrasting views on love: while Brown thinks love is eternal, Anna believes it is changeable. This difference alludes to the patriarchal belief that one single love is allowed in the form of marriage, which supports women’s chastity and honour. 220

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FIGURE 12.2: The Loreley Literary Society members’ scene, from The Red Book by Han Jung Seok, Sejong M Theatre, Seoul, South Korea, directed by Oh Kyoung-​Taek, February 6, 2018–​ March 30, 2018. (L-​R) Park Eun-​hye (IVY), Kim Kook-​hee, Hong Woo-​jin, Jung Da-​hee, Heo Soon-​mi, and Lee Da-​jung. Photo: Courtesy of Starlight Entertainment. 

However, because of Anna’s influence, Brown becomes aware of gender inequity and ultimately helps Johnson’s wife win her divorce case. In the final scene of the production, readers of Anna’s stories speak about how much they heal themselves and get consolation from reading her work. This is the moment in which all of the women are united in solidarity by the power of art, because it connects them with one another in the name of social change and justice. Reflecting this perspective, in the last scene, all the characters sing a song titled “Please Tell Us Your Story” with the lyrics: Let’s make the world noisy until natural things become natural. Let’s make more noise until all the rumors and lies become diminished. You are there and you are there together with us. Let you not forget, let you all of us not forget. Whenever, whoever you are from where you were. Please tell us who you are. Please tell us your story.65 221

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Ultimately, in The Red Book, avid readers of Anna’s stories send huge amounts of letters of support for her to the judge to prove how much her stories have changed their lives. These responses, expressions of solidarity with Anna’s work, convince the judge to exonerate and release her. The collective power of the readers who raise awareness of the value of expressing their desires helps to traverse the existing system of laws and conventions by demanding that social biases change. This moment in the performance relates to one online commentator’s remarks on the #MeToo movement in South Korea, referring to the existing structures and conventions in the theatre world. The commenter, a theatre student, wrote: I really had no idea what it meant when most Korean theatre people refer to abuse culture as custom. But other people who went through the same experience as I had spoke up about perpetrators’ wrongdoings in public. Then I realized that things have been wrong in the theatre field. Now, #MeToo is not a movement, but rather it is a common belief that we have to have.66

An interview with Korean women directors who analyzed the Korean theatre field prior to the #MeToo movement includes the statement that they would like to see one female protagonist who can change the world in the Korean theatre field.67 I suggest that The Red Book is a play that does just that by presenting a female protagonist who plays a pivotal role in changing the world.

The Silence Breakers and the Creation of a New Genealogy TIME Magazine’s person of the year in 2017 were “the silence breakers,” women who spoke out about their experiences of sexual assault and harassment.68 This signifies that these silence breakers have the potential to change the world for the better. Playwright Han Jung Seok, who wrote The Red Book, stated that when he started writing this play, he was told that his colleagues were suspicious about why he decided to work on a “feminist play.”69 According to Han, he did not expect the #MeToo events to take place, and in writing the play, he just wanted to point out “a lack of gender sensibility”70 equivalent to a misogynist culture which was widely accepted as natural in Korean society. Considering the popularity of this production, Han’s remarks reveal that theatre continues to contribute to changing attitudes toward gender equity. In a recent interview with the Japanese media, prosecutor Seo Ji-​yun, who was the first silence breaker in South Korea, and who spoke out against her former boss and male colleagues who were sexually harassing her, expressed that she does not regret what she did and “[t]‌he long history of blaming, shaming and muzzling 222

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victims of sex abuse—​instead of perpetrators—​should stop here, now.”71 In fact, the silence breakers in South Korea can be traced back to 199172 when Kim Hak-​ soon spoke about her experience of being a comfort woman during Japanese colonial rule.73 Evidence of other silence breakers drawn from history thus demonstrate particular moments in which people have reported their experience publicly, and in so doing constructs a new narrative of their history. In South Korea, a slow pace of change has begun since the #MeToo movement erupted. Korea National University of Arts plans to create and run a new course entitled “Artist’s Gender Practice” from fall 2019 onward.74 A new scholarly article emerged in a current law journal highlighting that in the case that imbalanced power dynamics are involved, “mutual consent” should not be presumed between a perpetrator and a victim.75 Moreover, in February of 2019, an international workshop was held by the Seoul Acceleration Centre for Gender Equity and Theatre People’s Actions Against Sexual Violence organization, at which an American theatre practitioner Laura T. Fisher was invited to talk about the Chicago Theatre Standards. This workshop intended to create the Korean Theatre Standards that would aim to prevent any kind of sexual violence in the theatre field moving forward.76 These attempts at change will surely open up the possibility of new directions on the issues of gender and sexuality. Although we have a long way to go to affect change in Korean theatre, this glimpse of hope makes us keep moving toward the creation of a new genealogy of Korean theatre. In this pivotal moment, we must not look away, no matter what might happen next.

NOTES 1. Note that throughout this chapter and corresponding notes, Korean names follow the format of surname first and given names second. Further, according to the preference of the people mentioned, names may not appear consistent in use of hyphen and/​or use of upper case for given names. This inconsistency is intentional and follows the format indicated by each person. 2. Lee Sun-​Min and Moon Hyun-​Kyung, “Lee Youn-​taek Sentenced to Six Years in Prison: Theater Director Is Found Guilty of All Sexual Assault Charges,” Korea JoongAng Daily, September 20, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/​ news/​article/​article.aspx?aid=3053408, accessed April 1, 2019. 3. Similarly, in what is known as the “Gangnam public toilet murder case” (2016), a Korean girl was stabbed to death by a Korean man who was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He killed the girl whom he had never met before due to his hatred for women who belittled and humiliated him all the time. This incident became representative of the culture of abuse in South Korean media. Secret cameras in public toilets have also become an epidemic societal issue threatening women’s safety and privacy; “Seoul to Check Public Toilets Daily

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4.

5. 6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

for Hidden Cameras,” BBC News, September 2, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​ www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​asia-​45388759, accessed April 1, 2019. Clifford Coonan, “#MeToo Movement Forcing Change in South Korea,” Irish Times, May 21, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.irishtimes.com/​news/​world/​asia-​pacific/​ metoo-​movement-​forcing-​change-​in-​south-​korea-​1.3502063, accessed April 1, 2019. To access the Womad website, go to https://​womad.life/​, accessed March 20, 2019. For more information about the Megalia website, see Yeji Lee, “Megalia: South Korea’s Radical Feminist Community,” Medium, May 17, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​medium.com/​@yeji.lee413/​megalia-​south-​koreas-​radical-​feminist-​community-​ e0d2b855addd, accessed March 20, 2019. The Megalia website and online forum were terminated in 2017. For more information about the Ilbe website, see dothome1, “What is the ‘Ilbe’?—​Recent Issues in Korea,” Intro to Korea, February 20, 2015. To view full article, go to https://​ introtokorea.wordpress.com/​2015/​02/​20/​what-​is-​the-​ilbe-​recent-​issues-​in-​korea/​, accessed March 20, 2019. Lee Jae-​hoon, “Glass-​Celling Index Released—​the Lowest Country, South Korea,” Hankyoreh, March 7, 2016. To view full article, go to http://w ​ ww.hani.co.kr/a​ rti/e​ conomy/​ economy_​general/​733645.html, accessed April 1, 2019. Alexis Dudden, “Revolution by Candlelight: How South Koreans Toppled a Government,” Dissent Magazine, Fall 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.dissentmagazine.org/​ article/r​ evolution-b ​ y-c​ andlelight-h ​ ow-s​ outh-k ​ oreans-t​ oppled-a​ -g​ overnment, accessed May 6, 2019. Kim Ock Ran, “The Declaration of #MeToo Revolution, the Beginning of Changing the Theatre Field,” Korean Theatre Journal 89 (Summer 2018): 182. To view full article, go to http://​m.riss.kr/​search/​detail/​DetailView.do?p_​mat_​type=1a0202e37d52c72d&control_​ no=c127091a4dd5e3fd7f7a54760bb41745, accessed December 30, 2018. Lim Jae-​Woo, “Theatre Audience #WithYou,” Hankyoreh, February 25, 2018. To view full article, go to http://w ​ ww.hani.co.kr/a​ rti/s​ ociety/​society_​general/​833584.html, accessed

April 1, 2019. 12. Gu Ja-​hye, “Have Young Theatre People Changed since the #MeToo Movement?” Korean Theatre Journal 89 (Summer 2018): 197. To view full article, go to http://​m.riss.kr/​search/​ detail/D ​ etailView.do?p_m ​ at_t​ ype=1a0202e37d52c72d&control_n ​ o=c127091a4dd5e3fd d18150b21a227875, accessed December 30, 2018. 13. Theatre Company Boolhandang, Dream Theatre, Seoul, directed by Lee Soo-​Lim, July 19–​29,  2018. 14. Marronnier Park’s Open Theatre, Seoul, directed by Kim Seung-​Eun and Shin Moon-​Young, July 24–​28, 2018. 15. Femitheatre, “The First Feminism Theatre Festival,” Tumblbug. To view full article, go to https://​tumblbug.com/​femitheatre, accessed December 31, 2018.

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16. Shim Jung-​Soon, “Reconstructing a Diasporic Female Self in O Kyong-​Sook’s Dictee—​a Speaking Woman,” in Staging International Feminisms, ed. Elaine Aston and Sue-​Ellen Case (New York: Palgrave, 2007), 97. 17. Blue Square InterPark Hall, Seoul, directed by David Swan, April 12 to June 3, 2018. 18. Kim Suh-​Yeon, “Does Man of La Mancha Change?” IZE, May 13, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​m.ize.co.kr/​view.html?no=2018053023247283029, accessed April 1, 2019. 19. Charlotte Theatre, Seoul, directed by Matthew Gardiner, February 27 to May 7, 2018. 20. Yang Jin-​Ha, “#MeToo Changes the World: Cut Out Mach Men and Rape Scenes … #MeToo Reckoning on Stage,” HanKooIlbo, March 26, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​m.hankookilbo.com/​news/​read/​201803260415866558?, accessed April 1, 2019. 21. Han Jung Seok, The Red Book (unpublished play script, December 9, 2017), 66. All translations to English of the Korean script of The Red Book are that of the author, Yuh J. Hwang, hereafter. 22. “Review: The Birth of a Landmarked Character—​Musical The Red Book,” ArtChosun, January 18, 2017. To view full article, go to http://​art.chosun.com/​site/​data/​html_​dir/​2017/​ 01/​18/​2017011800932.html, accessed April 1, 2019. 23. Yoon Min-​sik, “Nominees Announced for the 3rd Korean Musical Awards,” Korea Herald, December 27, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​m.koreaherald.com/​view. php?ud=20181227000672#cb, accessed March 1, 2019. 24. Arko Arts Theatre, Seoul, directed by Oh Kyoung-​Taek, January 10–​22, 2017. On the third night of the premiere, the entire production was broadcast live through the Naver portal site’s TV channel. At that time 13,000 people viewed this show live, and after that all the tickets were sold out for the rest of the run of the production; Lee Ji-​Young, “2030 Audiences’ Responses to the Secret to The Red Book’s Success,” Joongang Ilbo, April 5, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​news.joins.com/​article/​22510013, accessed April 1, 2019. 25. Sejong M Theatre, Seoul, directed by Oh Kyoung-​Taek, February 6 to March 30, 2018. Prior to the restaging of the play, a live music performance titled The Red Book Unplugged was broadcast through the channel of the Naver portal on January 30, 2018. This live show is mainly based on musical numbers sung by the cast like a concert for about one hour. It was viewed by 13,779 people as of March 12, 2019. To view full recording, go to https://​ tv.naver.com/​v/​2601661, accessed April 2, 2019. 26. Jung Da-​Woon, “The Red Book, Bernarda Alba … the Third Edition of Korean Musical Awards,” All That Art, January 16, 2019. To view full article, go to http://​www.khan.co.kr/​ allthatart/​art_​view.html?art_​id=201901161601001, accessed April 1, 2019. 7. “Production Information,” InterPark. To view full page, go to http://​mticket.interpark.com/​ 2 Goods/​GoodsInfo/​info?GoodsCode=17017683&app_​tapbar_​state=fix#GoodsTabArea, accessed March 29, 2019.

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28. “Audience Feedback,” InterPark. To view full page, go to http://​mticket.interpark.com/​ Goods/​GoodsInfo/​info?GoodsCode=17017683&app_​tapbar_​state=fix, accessed March 29, 2019. 29. Thomas Postlewait, introduction to The Cambridge Introduction to Theatre Historiography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 15. 30. Han, The Red Book, 46. 31. Ibid., 36. 32. Ibid., 64. 33. Ibid., 66. 34. Ibid., 64. 35. Han Jung Seok, e-​mail interview with Yuh J. Hwang, March 13, 2019. 36. Han, The Red Book, 66. 37. Lee Ji-​Young, “The Song, ‘I’m an Obscene Woman’ Shaking the Stage,” Joongang Ilbo, April 6, 2018. To view full article, go to https://n ​ ews.joins.com/a​ rticle/2 ​ 2512432, accessed April 1, 2019. 38. Han, e-​mail interview. 39. Han, The Red Book, 67. 40. Kwon Joon-​Hyup, “#MeToo on Stage,” Kookmin Ilbo, March 22, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​m.kmib.co.kr/​view.asp?arcid=0923920689, accessed April 1, 2019. 41. divij***, “Whenever I Go through a Harsh Reality as a Woman As Well As a Female Spectator, This Production Gives Me Strength …,” InterPark. To view full page, go to http://​ mticket.interpark.com/​Goods/​GoodsInfo/​info?GoodsCode=17017683&app_​tapbar_​ state=fix, accessed March 18, 2019. 42. Han, The Red Book, 9. 43. Ibid., 44. 44. Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality 1: An Introduction, trans. Robert Hurley (New York: Pantheon Books, 1978), 3. 45. Han, The Red Book, 62. 46. Judith Butler, The Psychic Life of Power: Theories in Subjection (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 12. 47. Ibid., 18. 48. Han, The Red Book, 54. 49. Yoon Ji young, “Revolution of Tsunami Named the ‘#MeToo Movement’: Analyzing Rape Culture through the Prism of Feminism,” Proceedings of New Korean Association of English Language and Literature Spring Conference (Seoul: May 2018), 121. 50. Oh Kil-​young, “#MeToo and Its Romanticized Idea,” Hwanghae Review 99 (June 2018): 266. To view full article, go to http://​www.riss.kr/​search/​detail/​DetailView.do?p_​mat_​ type=1a0202e37d52c72d&control_n ​ o=dc59312ad1dd6e0147de9c1710b0298d, accessed December 31, 2018. 51. Han, The Red Book, 55.

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2. Ibid., 56. 5 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid., 8. 55. Ibid., 57. 56. Jung Hee-​jin, “Gender Society and #MeToo,” Literary Community 25, no. 2 (Summer 2018): 354. To view full article, go to http://​www.riss.kr/​search/​detail/​DetailView.do?p_​ mat_​type=1a0202e37d52c72d&control_​no=38f5dc41c5f1560bc85d2949c297615a, accessed December 31, 2018. 57. Han, The Red Book, 67. 58. Ibid., 66. 59. Ibid., 10. 60. Judith Butler, “Giving an Account of Oneself,” Diacritics 31, no. 4 (Winter 2001): 27. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.jstor.org/s​ table/​1566427, accessed December 29, 2018. 61. Della Pollock, “Performing Writing,” in The Ends of Performance, ed. Peggy Phelan and Jill Lane (New York: New York University Press, 1998), 75. 62. Yoo Youn-​suk, “Anna from the Nineteenth Century Speaks to Us, ‘#MeToo, #WithYou,’ ” Nocut News, March 13, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​m.nocutnews.co.kr/​news/​ 4937554, accessed December 27, 2018. 63. Jacques Rancière, The Aesthetic Unconscious, trans. Debra Keats and James Swenson (Cambridge: Polity, 2009), 32. 64. Han, The Red Book, 53. 65. Ibid., 75. 66. Park Hee-​A, “Theatre MeToo: Listen to This Voice,” IZE, March 6, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​m.ize.co.kr/​view.html?no=2018030523597286139, accessed April 2, 2019. 67. Yang Jin-​Ha, “There Is No Theatre That Makes Female Protagonists Change the World,” Hankook Ilbo, June 26, 2017. To view full article, go to http://​m.hankookilbo.com/​News/​ Read/​201706260436017205, accessed April 2, 2019. 68. Jonah Engel Bromwich, “ ‘The Silence Breakers’ Named Time’s Person of the Year for 2017,” New York Times, December 6, 2017. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.nytimes. com/​2017/​12/​06/​business/​media/​silence-​breakers-​time-​person-​of-​the-​year.html, accessed December 30, 2018. 69. Yang Seung-​Hee, “Interview: The Red Book—​Han Jung Seok: ‘I Feel Emphatic about Those Who Get Discriminated,’ ” NewsCulture, March 15, 2018. To view full interview, go to http://​mnc.asiae.co.kr/​view.htm?idxno=2018031612130011417, accessed April 2, 2019. 70. Ibid. 71. Seo Ji-​yun quoted in AFP-​JIJI, “ ‘No Regrets’: South Korea’s #MeToo Trailblazer Seo Ji-​hyun Resolute Despite Paying High Price,” Japan Times, October 3, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.japantimes.co.jp/​news/​2018/​10/​03/​world/​no-​regrets-​south-​koreas-​metoo-​ trailblazer-​seo-​ji-​hyun-​resolute-​despite-​paying-​high-​price/​, accessed December 30, 2018.

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72. Son Ha-​Young, “Women’s Speaking Up to Be Continued,” CAU-​News, May 14, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​news.cauon.net/​news/​articleView.html?idxno=31861, accessed April 2, 2019. 73. The concept of a comfort woman is the result of Japanese imperialism before and during the Second World War. Girls were forced to be involved in sexual service to the Japanese military between 1937 and 1945 during colonial times in Korea. According to these women, they did not know that they came to work as sexual slaves, as they were told they would work in factories to earn money. Because of the Confucianism tradition highlighting women’s honour and chastity, these comfort women remained silent and hidden even after the Liberation from Japan in 1945. The issue of comfort women still remains an ongoing controversy with the debate about whether the Japanese government should apologize for their wrongdoings to the South Korean people. 74. “How Will We Establish the KNUA Standard after the #MeToo Movement?” KNUA Newspaper, December 10, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​news.karts.ac.kr/​?p=5959, accessed December 30, 2018. 75. Lee Hyo-suk, “The First Article After the #MeToo,” OhMyNews, August 19, 2018. To view full page, go to http://www.ohmynews.com/NWS_Web/View/at_pg.aspx?CNTN_ CD=A0002464440, accessed December 31, 2018. 76. Lee Jae-​hoon, “International Workshop for Creating the Korean Theatre Standards,” Newsis, February 7, 2019. To view full article, go to https://​www.msn.com/​ko-​kr/​news/​ living/​한 국-​공 연예술-​자 치규약-​위 한-​워 크숍-​시 카고-​입 안자-​초 청/​ar-​BBTgUZs, accessed April 2, 2019.

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Appendix: A Primer on the International #MeToo Movement Elise A. LaCroix The #MeToo movement was sparked by a tweet by American actress, activist, producer, and former singer Alyssa Milano on Sunday, October 15, 2017. The tweet read: “If you’ve been sexually harassed or assaulted write ‘me too’ as a reply to this tweet.”1 By the evening of Monday, October 16, Milano’s tweet had garnered over fifty-​three thousand comments and thousands of #MeToo stories had been shared on Twitter.2 According to Facebook, within the first twenty-​four hours more than twelve million posts, comments, and reactions related to the Me Too hashtag had appeared on the platform. In the wake of the Harvey Weinstein case, a prominent Hollywood producer who in 2016 was accused by multiple women of sexual misconduct over several years, Milano reported that her motivation for the tweet was to show how many people around the world are affected by sexual assault and harassment. Most importantly, it was an attempt to shift the focus of related conversation away from the perpetrators and give voice to the victims.3 Unknown to Milano at the time was that the Me Too movement had already been started by African American activist Tarana Burke when she created Just Be Inc. in 2006, a non-​profit organization dedicated to assisting those who have experienced sexual harassment and assault.4 Shortly after learning of Burke’s inception of the movement, Milano credited her publicly.5 Both Milano and Burke have since taken leadership roles as the movement’s momentum has continued to grow internationally with the help of various social media platforms. According to the official #MeToo website, the goals of the movement are centred on fostering “empowerment through empathy,” making sure survivors know they are not alone by “encouraging millions to speak out” about their experiences, and through this “disrupting all systems that allow sexual violence to flourish.”6 Prominent in helping move the #MeToo movement forward early on were American journalists Ronan Farrow with the New Yorker and Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey with the New York Times. They conducted detailed investigations into various stories of sexual misconduct and were key to the reporting about Weinstein and other abusers.7 229

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As well, since the accusations against Weinstein emerged, celebrities and other prominent women across the United States have come forward with allegations against various men in the entertainment industry and beyond.8 American celebrities continued to show their support at the Golden Globes Awards ceremony in January 2018 where the majority of women attending, and some men, wore all-​black clothing as part of #AskHerMore. The move was in direct support of the #MeToo movement and the new Time’s Up campaign that specifically targets workplace harassment.9 At the ceremony, Oprah Winfrey gave an empowering speech while accepting the Cecil B. deMille Award, specifically citing both the #MeToo and Time’s Up movements.10 The support for #MeToo and Time’s Up from the entertainment industry continued later in January with a powerful performance at the 2018 Grammy Music Awards by Kesha of her then new single “Praying,” a song inspired directly by her own alleged experience of abuse by her previous producer.11 The #MeToo movement soared in popularity once again during the legal battle between Dr Christine Blasey Ford and then Supreme Court Nominee Brett Kavanaugh in the fall of 2018. Despite the accusations and allegations of sexual impropriety by Blasey Ford, Kavanaugh was confirmed as a Supreme Court justice in October, and thousands came out to protest the verdict in support of Blasey Ford.12 What follows is a concise primer that identifies how #MeToo has gained momentum in a sampling of countries worldwide. This primer does not attempt to provide comprehensive documentation of #MeToo, but rather is intended to serve as a foundation of knowledge and context in support of the chapters of this book. It provides a snapshot of a particular era in the continuum that is the #MeToo movement. Some of the chapters provide their own regional introductions to the #MeToo movement, in which case those countries are not included in the following overview. The countries here are presented in alphabetical order.

Afghanistan Few have come forward to share stories as part of #MeToo in Afghanistan for fear of risking attack from those that they accuse.13 Journalist Maryam Mehtar is among those who have shared their stories. Mehtar has publicly named her abuser and has, as a result, been attacked viciously on social media.14 She remains dedicated to writing openly about sexual harassment in Afghanistan.15

Brazil Two years before #MeToo, #MeuPrimeiroAssedio (#MyFirstHarassment) was started by feminists in Brazil encouraging people to share their stories of sexual harassment. In 230

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two days, the hashtag was used eighty-​two thousand times, and it soon spread beyond Brazil’s borders, translated into Spanish as #MiPrimerAcoso.16 A few years later, with the start of the #MeToo movement, the conversation around appropriate behaviour continues with debates about whether the #MeToo movement could damage Brazil’s culture of being affectionate.17 On an institutional level, in January 2018, the Labour Prosecutor’s Office of Brazil started a campaign to support people coming forward with accusations of workplace misconduct. Many Brazil-​ based companies are also introducing more thorough training around appropriate workplace behaviour.18

Canada Soon after the #MeToo movement began, protests and rallies were held across Canada. On November 4, 2017, many gathered for a rally outside the Vancouver Art Gallery to show their support for those who had come forward as part of the movement so far.19 Hundreds also gathered in Toronto on December 2, 2017, for the #MeToo March, with protesters denouncing sexual harassment and assault, and calling for action moving forward to combat these issues.20 A similar rally was held in Western Canada, at the Alberta Legislature in Edmonton, in March 2018.21 Several Canadian actors have openly shared their experiences of sexual misconduct as part of #MeToo, including Ellen Page, Sarah Polley, Rachel McAdams, and Mia Kirshner. In response to the movement, Kirshner, with actor Freya Ravensbergen and film producer Aisling Chin-​Yee, created AfterMeToo in partnership with the Canadian Women’s Foundation to devise action plans for addressing sexual misconduct in the workplace and the growing need for support services across Canada.22 On December 5 and 6, 2017, a symposium was hosted by Canada’s national newspaper, The Globe and Mail, as part of AfterMeToo, and a report with a list of recommendations for Canada’s entertainment industry was generated.23 In Canada’s theatre world, Albert Schultz, the artistic director of prominent Toronto-​based Soulpepper Theatre Company, made headlines when four actors came forward in early 2018 with allegations of sexual harassment over several years. As a result, Schultz stepped down from his position at Soulpepper, and the company has since publicly stated its ongoing commitment to creating a safe and respectful space as it moves forward with new leadership.24 In French-​speaking Canada, stories as part of the movement were posted online under the translated hashtag #MoiAussi. Allegations have been brought forward against two prominent men in the Québécois entertainment industry: radio and television host Éric Salvail25 and Just For Laughs founder Gilbert Rozon.26 Québec is also where #EtMaintenant (#AndNow) began, initiated by a group of feminists who want to move the #MeToo movement forward into action.27 231

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Chile On April 27, 2018, the University of Chile ruled to suspend Professor Carlos Carmona for three months in response to reports of sexual harassment from a student. Within hours, protests began at the University of Chile and quickly spread to other universities around the country, with protesters calling for harsher consequences for sexual harassment and abuse. Entire universities and departments had to remain closed as protests took over buildings and campuses.28 Also in April, 2018, an investigation was opened into accusations of sexual assault against Herval Abreu, a well-​known telenovela director, and in July eight actresses and models accused Chilean film director Nicolas Lopez of various forms of sexual misconduct.29 Further in July, following the trend of #MeToo accusations, Catholic nuns in Chile came out on national television to declare their experiences of physical and sexual abuse and the lack of intervention by those in power.30

France In October 2017, French journalist Sandra Muller initiated the hashtag “BalanceTonPorc” (rat out your pig), encouraging people to directly call out the names of their harassers and abusers. Muller posted a tweet detailing her own experience of sexual harassment by French executive Eric Brion, which prompted many other women in France to post their own stories. In early November 2017, a petition signed by over one hundred prominent French women called for French president Emmanuel Macron to form a more aggressive plan for dealing with sexual violence and harassment.31 On January 9, 2018, an opposing letter signed by over one hundred women denouncing the #MeToo and #BalanceTonPorc movements was published in the French newspaper Le Monde. The letter, whose title translates to “We Defend the Freedom to Bother as Indispensable to Sexual Freedom,” while still condemning sexual assault like that of Harvey Weinstein, asserts that the #MeToo movement has gone too far in its accusations.32 One particularly controversial line in the letter prompted women “not to feel forever traumatized” by smaller forms of sexual harassment.33 They attributed these smaller forms of harassment (giving the example of men rubbing against women on public transit) to “a great sexual misery” on the part of men.34 At the political level, Marlène Schiappa, who at the time of writing is serving as the French junior minister for gender equality, has been working to legislate further laws against street harassment and catcalling in response to the movement.35 Another French government official, Christophe Castaner, has, in contrast, voiced concerns that the movement could lead to the over-​regulation of behaviour.36 232

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Germany Germany’s #MeToo movement was slow to start (tweeted in Germany under #IchAuch). In January 2018, the movement began to gain traction when the German publication Die Zeit reported on its months-​long investigation of prominent German film director and screenwriter Dieter Wedel in relation to several allegations of sexual and other violence from women he had worked with through the 1980s and 1990s.37

Iran #MeToo began to circulate on social media in Iran shortly after the allegations against Harvey Weinstein broke out in the United States.38 Also in use by those in Iran was #MosqueMeToo, an alternative to #MeToo popularized by Egyptian American journalist Mona Eltahawy, used to address sexual assault and harassment experienced by women in mosques and during the Hajj pilgrimage.39 One year after the initial introduction of #MeToo, Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei released a video on Twitter in response to the movement. According to the video, the Islamic method of resolving the problem of sexual assault and harassment suffered by Western women is the hijab (which women in Iran are legally obligated to wear in public).40 In the several months leading up to this statement, a women’s rights movement had been growing in strength specifically protesting the law mandating the hijab, and many women’s rights activists have been arrested.41

Israel In 2013, a few years before the #MeToo movement, a similar movement was taking place in Israel called Achat Mitoch Achat (One of One) that encouraged public sharing by those who have experienced sexual assault. What began as a Facebook group has since grown into an NGO dedicated to fundraising and providing resources to those who have experienced assault.42 Central to this movement has been Yael Sherer, who came out in 2012 with a documentary entitled Dirty Laundry that follows the events surrounding a case she brought against her father, who sexually assaulted her as a child. Few people before Sherer had gone public with similar allegations in Israel, and following the broadcast of the documentary people began sharing their own stories online. Some prominent Israeli men have been publicly accused and served jail time as a result of the movement.43 In the wake of #MeToo in October 2017, many in Israel began sharing their stories on social media using the hashtag. Prominent men, including Alex Gilady (president 233

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of Keshet Media) and radio hosts Natan Zahavi and Gabi Gazit, were accused of sexual misconduct.

Japan In Japan the first use of #MeToo is attributed to journalist Shiori Ito who came forward publicly to tell her story of being sexually assaulted by prominent journalist Noriyuki Yamaguchi.44 Coming forward with stories like this is rare in Japan, and Ito, who initially shared her story in 2015, two years before the #MeToo movement began, was shamed and ridiculed as a result.45 The #MeToo movement in Japan has been gaining popularity in the wake of Junichi Fukuda’s resignation from his position at the top of Japan’s Finance Ministry following allegations of sexual harassment by a female journalist in April of 2018.46 In the same month, around two thousand people converged in Tokyo to protest sexual violence with signs bearing the slogan “I Will Not Remain Silent.”47 In an attempt to make it easier for people to share their stories, activists, including Ito and Monica Fukuhara, have started a new version of the movement: #WeToo Japan.48 The hashtag was created to be used by both victims sharing their stories and those who wish to publicly show their belief and support.49

Kenya Kenyan actress Lupita Nyong’o is among those that initially shared stories of sexual harassment involving Harvey Weinstein, and this is credited with helping encourage others from Kenya to come forward with their own #MeToo stories.50 Of significance to the #MeToo movement in Kenya were allegations brought forward accusing staff at Kenyatta National Hospital of rape and sexual assault of new mothers and children.51 On January 23, 2018, hundreds protested in Nairobi in response to the allegations bearing signs calling out the hospital directly, as well as #MeToo, #BelieveHer, and other slogans associated with the growing #MeToo movement. An investigation into the allegations has been ordered by Kenya’s health minister, though the hospital denies all allegations.52

Nepal Two women, Rashmila Prajapati and Ujjwala Maharjan, have come forward with accusations of sexual harassment against former mayor of Kathmandu, Keshav Sthapit, 234

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as part of the #MeToo movement in Nepal.53 Many women have taken to social media to share their stories under #MeToo as well as #MeTooNepal.54

Nigeria The #MeToo movement in Nigeria is represented by five women whose #MeToo stories were video recorded and reported through CNN in early May 2018. Brenda Uphopho shared her story of being sexually assaulted at three different points in her life, as well as about the play she and her husband co-​produced, Shattered, created to help victims come forward with their experiences of sexual violence. Eurel Nwafor, Chichi Ogbonnaya, Oluwaseun Ayodeji Osowobi, and Omodasola Omibeku also shared their personal stories and talked about the work they are doing to end the significant stigma around sexual violence and support victims.55 While the movement was initially quiet online, on July 3, 2018, an opportunity to share stories anonymously became available through Twitter user @Mayowade. She invited women to share their stories of experiencing sexual violence directly with her, and then posted the influx of stories she received on Twitter, leaving the names of the women out of her posts.56

Norway The response to the #MeToo movement in Norway was swift and strong. The arts communities were quick to organize and respond, with manifestos by groups of Norwegian artists, musicians, and actresses being published in November 2017 denouncing all forms of sexual violence.57 Posts on social media from these communities were made under various hashtags, including #stilleforopptak (#SilentForRecording) and #nårmusikkenstilner (#WhenTheMusicQuiets).58 The #MeToo movement hit the political arena in Norway in January 2018 with the resignation of Trond Giske from his position as deputy leader of the Labour Party amid allegations from several women of his inappropriate conduct.59 This was followed by the resignation of Kristian Tonning Riise, leader of the Conservative youth wing, in response to allegations involving his inappropriate behaviour with younger women. Ulf Leirstein also resigned from the Progress Party amid reports that he sent sexually explicit photos to young boys.60 In response, the three parties are making active changes to prevent further misconduct moving forward.61

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Pakistan The first prominent voices to speak out on social media from Pakistan were model and event manager Frieha Altaf, actress Nadia Jamil, and fashion designer Maheen Khan. The three shared their own stories of personal assault using #MeToo following the rape and murder of seven-​year-​old Zainab Ansari in Kasul. The subject of sexual violence was pushed further into the spotlight in Pakistan with protests in the streets of Kasul and Lahore following the young girl’s death.62 At the 2018 Lux Style Awards in February, Altaf announced the #MeinBhi movement (#IAlsoStandByYou). Inspired by #MeToo, this movement is designed for celebrities to publicly show support for ridding society of sexual violence.63 In April 2018, popstar Meesha Shafi posted harassment accusations on Twitter against actor and singer Ali Zafar.64 In response to these allegations, groups protested during the premiere of Zafar’s film Teefa in Trouble in July 2018 in both Karachi and Lahore.65 Other high-​profile men who have been accused openly on social media as part of the #MeToo movement in Pakistan include comedian Junaid Akram and Faisal Edhi, the son of philanthropist Abdul Sattar Edhi, both in October 2018.66

Palestine Yasmeen Mjalli, a Palestinian American woman, is credited as being central to the #MeToo movement in the Middle East. In 2018, she started Baby Fist, a movement dedicated to promoting gender equality in both Palestinian territories and the Arab world beyond. Mjalli designs and sells clothing emblazoned with the phrase “Not Your Habibti” (Not Your “Darling”) to women in Gaza and the West Bank.67 In the news, Gideon Levy published an article in the Israeli newspaper Haaretz in October 2017 calling for #AnaKaman (#MeToo) to evolve for use by Palestinian women to tell their stories of living under Israeli occupation.68

Philippines The #MeToo movement spread to the social media world in the Philippines shortly after the movement began in the United States, when Filipina actress Saab Magalona retweeted Milano’s original post.69 The biggest names of alleged perpetrators brought forward on social media initially were mostly members of the entertainment industry, and included members of the band Jensen and the Flips, who publicly apologized for their mistakes.70 Since then the movement has spread to the media industry and beyond.71 236

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In June of 2018, misogynistic actions by Filipino President Rodrigo Duterte led to the creation of a new movement that spread on social media under the following hashtags: #BabaeAka (#IAmAWoman) and #LalabanAko (#IWillFightBack).72 The movement was created to encourage women to share their views against the president, who has been known to include jokes about sexual violence in his speeches and publicly refused to appoint a woman to the Supreme Court.73

Russia Russia’s #MeToo moment arrived when several women came forward to accuse Duma (the Russian parliament) member Leonid Slutsky of harassment and assault starting in February 2018.74 The Duma ethics committee held a meeting to discuss the issue, though in the end the committee did not vote to take any action against Slutsky. In protest several media outlets, in an unprecedented move, started a boycott of the Duma.75 President Vladimir Putin has expressed publicly that he does not support the movement.76

Spain #MeToo was first used in Spain under #YoTambien when lawyer Estefanía Palomino posted a Spanish translation of Milano’s tweet on October 16, 2017.77 Some prominent Spanish actresses came forward later in October to tell their own stories of harassment, including Leticia Dolera, Bárbara Rey, Carla Hidalgo, and Aita Sánchez-​ Gijón. Initially, no high-​profile men were accused.78 In a move echoing the act of wearing all black to the Golden Globes in the United States, those attending the Goya Awards in February 2018 were invited to carry red fans as part of the #MasMujeres (#MoreWomen) movement created to combat inequality in the film industry.79 The #MeToo movement took off in May 2018 under a new hashtag—​#Cuéntalo (#TellIt)—​after five men were cleared of a rape charge involving a teenager at the “Running of the Bulls” San Fermin festival in Pamplona.80 The verdict incited outrage, with tens of thousands sharing their own stories online and taking to the streets across the country calling for reform. It was also criticized by government officials, and the Spanish government made promises to change current rape laws.81

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Sweden The first high-​profile allegations as part of #MeToo in Sweden were against TV presenter Martin Timell whose shows were cancelled in October 2017.82 The movement continued to gain momentum online and in the media, and throughout November various communities of working women came out with letters signed by hundreds and labelled with hashtags of their own in support of the movement.83 Politicians initially responded very positively to the movement, with the Swedish King Carl XVI Gustaf praising its potential for positive change.84 High-​profile men were openly named as part of the movement. One of the accused was Benny Fredriksson, former head of Stockholm’s Kulturhuset Stadsteatern, who took his own life in the wake of the allegations.85 An official investigation later declared the reports against him unfounded,86 leading to a debate in the Swedish media around the ethics of sharing names of those accused before a verdict has been made in a court of law.87

NOTES 1. Alyssa Milano (@Alyssa_​Milano), “If You’ve Been Sexually Harassed or Assaulted Write ‘Me Too’ As a Reply to This Tweet,” Twitter, October 15, 2017. To view original tweet, go to https://​twitter.com/​alyssa_​milano/​status/​919659438700670976?lang=en, accessed August 13, 2018. 2. “More Than 12M ‘Me Too’ Facebook Posts, Comments, Reactions in 24 Hours,” CBSNews, October 17, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.cbsnews.com/​news/​ metoo-​more-​than-​12-​million-​facebook-​posts-​comments-​reactions-​24-​hours/​, accessed August 13, 2018. 3. Ibid. 4. Sandra E. Garcia, “The Woman Who Created #MeToo Long before Hashtags,” New York Times, October 20, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.nytimes.com/​2017/​10/​ 20/​us/​me-​too-​movement-​tarana-​burke.html, accessed August 13, 2018. 5. Ibid. 6. “History and Vision,” Me Too. To view full page, go to https://​metoomvmt.org/​about/​, accessed August 13, 2018. 7. Alix Langone, “#MeToo and Time’s Up Founders Explain the Difference between the 2 Movements—​and How They’re Alike,” Time, March 22, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​time.com/​5189945/​whats-​the-​difference-​between-​the-​metoo-​and-​times-​up-​ movements/​, accessed August 13, 2018. 8. Samantha Cooney, “Here Are All the Public Figures Who’ve Been Accused of Sexual Misconduct after Harvey Weinstein,” Time, October 4, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​ time.com/​5015204/​harvey-​weinstein-​scandal/​, accessed October 12, 2018.

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9. “Why the Red Carpet Is Important in the #MeToo Era,” Time, January 9, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​time.com/​5095804/​golden-​globes-​red-​carpet-​me-​too/​, accessed October 12, 2018. 10. Oprah Winfrey, “Oprah Winfrey Receives Cecil B. de Mille Award at the Golden Globes,” YouTube video, posted by NBC, January 7, 2018. To view full video, go to https://​www. youtube.com/​watch?v=fN5HV79_​8B8, accessed October 12, 2018. 11. Hilary Weaver, “Grammys 2018: Kesha’s ‘Praying’ Is the Night’s Most Powerful Performance,” Vanity Fair, January 28, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.vanityfair.com/​ style/​2018/​01/​kesha-​praying-​is-​most-​powerful-​performance-​at-​grammys-​2018, accessed October 12, 2018. 12. Kate Wheeling, “Brett Kavanaugh’s Confirmation Is a Blow to the #MeToo Movement,” Pacific Standard Magazine, October 6, 2018. To view full article, go to https://p ​ smag.com/​ news/​brett-​kavanaugh-​confirmed-​to-​supreme-​court, accessed October 12, 2018. 13. Patricia Gossman, “#MeToo in Afghanistan: Is Anyone Listening?” Human Rights Watch, December 20, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.hrw.org/​news/​2017/​12/​20/​ metoo-​afghanistan-​anyone-​listening, accessed November 28, 2018. 14. Rod Nordland and Fatima Faizi, “Harassment All Around, Afghan Women Weigh Risks of Speaking Out,” New York Times, December 10, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​ www.nytimes.com/​2017/​12/​10/​world/​asia/​afghan-​metoo-​women-​harassment.html, accessed November 28, 2018. 15. Alice Rowsome, “Why the #MeToo Movement Has Failed to Take Off in Afghanistan,” Vice, January 17, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​impact.vice.com/​en_​us/​article/​qvwmz5/​why-​the-​metoo-​movement-​has-​failed-​to-​take-​off-​in-​afghanistan, accessed November 28, 2018. 16. Alvar Jarrin and Kia Lilly Caldwell, “Beyond #MeToo, Brazilian Women Rise Up against Racism and Sexism,” Conversation, January 11, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​ theconversation.com/b ​ eyond-m ​ etoo-b ​ razilian-w ​ omen-r​ ise-u ​ p-a​ gainst-r​ acism-a​ nd-s​ exism-​ 89117, accessed November 30, 2018. 17. “Brazilian Version of MeToo Faces Its Critics,” Ataraxik, May 29, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.ataraxik.com/​2018/​05/​29/​brazilian-​version-​of-​metoo/​, accessed November 30, 2018. 18. Mishell Parreno Taylor et al., “A Look at the #MeToo Movement’s Impact in the US, Brazil and the UK,” TLNT, August 8, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.tlnt.com/​a-​ look-​at-​the-​metoo-​movements-​impact-​in-​the-​us-​brazil-​and-​the-​uk/​, accessed December 1, 2018. 19. Jon Azpiri and Nadia Stewart, “#MeToo Rally in Downtown Vancouver Highlights Issue of Sexual Assault and Harassment,” Global News, November 4, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​globalnews.ca/​news/​3843877/​metoo-​rally-​in-​downtown-​vancouver-​highlights-​ issue-​of-​sexual-​assault-​and-​harassment/​, accessed November 22, 2018.

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20. Amara McLaughlin, “Toronto’s #MeToo March Gives Hundreds of Sexual Misconduct Survivors Space to Stand Together, Heal,” CBC News, December 2, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.cbc.ca/​news/​canada/​toronto/t​ oronto-m ​ e-t​ oo-m ​ arch-1 ​ .4430207, accessed November 22, 2018. 21. Phil Heidenreich, “Rally Held at Alberta Legislature in Support of #MeToo Movement,” Global News, March 10, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​globalnews.ca/​news/​ 4075217/​rally-​in-​support-​of-​metoo-​movement-​to-​take-​place-​at-​alberta-​legislature-​on-​ saturday/​, accessed November 22, 2018. 22. “The Facts: The #MeToo Movement and Its Impact in Canada,” Canadian Women’s Foundation. To view full page, go to https://​www.canadianwomen.org/​the-​facts/​the-​metoo-​ movement-​in-​canada/​, accessed November 22, 2018. 23. Ibid. 24. J. Kelly Nestruck, “A Quiet End to Canadian Theatre’s First Brush with #MeToo,” Globe and Mail, August 1, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.theglobeandmail.com/​ arts/​theatre-​and-​performance/​article-​a-​quiet-​end-​to-​canadian-​theatres-​first-​brush-​with-​ metoo/​, accessed November 22, 2018. 25. “Allégations d’inconduite sexuelle: Éric Salvail perd un à un ses liens d’affaires,” Radio Canada, October 18, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​ici.radio-​canada.ca/​nouvelle/​ 1062053/​eric-​salvail-​suspendu-​groupe-​v-​media-​allegations-​inconduite-​sexuelle-​radio-​ canada-​mcdonald-​metro, accessed November 21, 2018. 26. “Gilbert Rozon visé par des allégations d’agression et d’inconduite sexuelles,” Radio Canada, October 18, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​ici.radio-​canada.ca/​nouvelle/​ 1062195/​gilbert-​rozon-​demission-​allegations, accessed November 21, 2018. 27. “Après #MoiAussi la campagne #EtMaintenant est lancée,” Huffington Post, January 14, 2018. To view full article, go to https://i​ ci.radio-c​ anada.ca/​nouvelle/​1078050/​lea-​clermont-​ dion-​lise-​payette-​plainte-​michel-​venne-​tlmep, accessed November 22, 2018. 28. Eva Vergara, “A ‘Me Too’ Movement Shakes Chilean Universities,” US News, June 28, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.usnews.com/​news/​world/​articles/​2018-​06-​28/​ a-​me-​too-​movement-​shakes-​chilean-​universities, accessed December 3, 2018. 29. “Famed Chilean Director Nicolas Lopez Accused of Sexual Harassment by 8 Women,” Hindustan Times, July 1, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.hindustantimes. com/​hollywood/​famed-​chilean-​director-​nicolas-​lopez-​accused-​of-​sexual-​harassment-​by-​ 8-​women/​story-​oxDCJ4hawvC251KoKsWO7M.html, accessed December 3, 2018. 30. La Croix International Staff, “Nuns in Chile Spark #MeToo-​Like Expose of Abuse,” La Croix International, July 31, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​international.la-​ croix.com/​news/​nuns-​in-​chile-​spark-​metoo-​like-​exposes-​of-​abuse/​8178, accessed December 3, 2018. 31. “French Women Ask Macron for Attack Plan against Sexual Abuse,” AP News, November 5, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.apnews.com/​d9dde758eb814d189243d0 48e7e85a27, accessed September 7, 2018.

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32. Catherine Deneuve et al., “Nous Defendons Une Liberté d’Importuner, Indispensable à la Liberté Sexuelle,” Le Monde, January 9, 2018. To view full letter, go to https://​ www.lemonde.fr/​idees/​article/​2018/​01/​09/​nous-​defendons-​une-​liberte-​d-​importuner- ​ indispensable-​a-​la-​liberte-​sexuelle_​5239134_​3232.html, accessed September 7, 2018. 33. Catherine Deneuve et al. quoted in Aurelien Breeden and Elian Peltier, “Response to French Letter Denouncing #MeToo Shows Sharp Divide,” New York Times, January 12, 2018. To view full article, go to http://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/12/world/rance/rance-sexualharassment.html, accessed September 8, 2018. 34. Ibid. 35. Breeden and Peltier, “Response to French Letter Denouncing #MeToo Shows Sharp Divide.” 36. Ibid. 37. Erik Kirschbaum, “Germany Had Seemed Immune to the #MeToo Movement. Then a Prominent Director Was Accused,” Los Angeles Times, January 31, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.latimes.com/​world/​europe/​la-​fg-​germany-​sexual-​harassment-​ 20180130-​story.html, accessed October 24, 2018. 38. Feranak Amidi, “Why Iranians Are Sharing Their #MeToo Moments,” BBC News, June 2, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.bbc.com/n ​ ews/w ​ orld-m ​ iddle-e​ ast-4 ​ 4313751, accessed September 18, 2018. 39. Feranak Amidi, “100 Women: Muslim Women Rally round #MosqueMeToo,” BBC News, February 9, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.bbc.com/n ​ ews/w ​ orld-4 ​ 3006952, accessed September 18, 2018. 40. Melissa Etehad, “Iran Cracks Down on Women’s Rights Activists as Leader Offers His Solution to Sexual Harassment, Assault: Cover Up,” Los Angeles Times, October 6, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.latimes.com/​world/​la-​fg-​iran-​me-​too-​20181005-​ story.html, accessed October 21, 2018. 41. Ibid. 42. Judy Maltz, “The Trailblazing Israeli Movement That Predated #MeToo,” Haaretz, October 7, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.haaretz.com/​israel-​news/​.premium-​the-​ trailblazing-i​ sraeli-m ​ ovement-t​ hat-p ​ redated-m ​ etoo-​1.6530782, accessed October 21, 2018. 3. Ibid. 4 44. Kurumi Mori and Shoko Oda, “Me Too Becomes We Too in Victim-​Blaming Japan,” Japan Times, May 15, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.japantimes.co.jp/​news/​2018/​ 05/1 ​ 5/n ​ ational/s​ ocial-i​ ssues/b ​ ecomes-v​ ictim-b ​ laming-j​ apan/# ​ .XAof5i2-L ​ fZ, accessed September 19, 2018. 45. Ibid. 46. “#MeToo Hits Japan as Junichi Fukuda Quits over Harassment Claims,” BBC News, April 19, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​asia-​43819001, accessed September 19, 2018. 47. Mori and Oda, “Me Too Becomes We Too in Victim-​Blaming Japan.” 48. Ibid.

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9. Ibid. 4 50. Christian Colon, “#MeToo Movement in Kenya,” Global Citizens Press, May 24, 2018. To view full article, go to http://w ​ ww.globalcitizenspress.com/​migration/​metoo-​movement-​ arrives-​in-​kenya/​, accessed October 8, 2018. 51. Jaime Dunaway, “Why the #MeToo Movement Just Took Off in Kenya, Pakistan, and China,” Slate, January 27, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​slate.com/​news-​and-​ politics/​2018/​01/​metoo-​spreads-​to-​kenya-​pakistan-​and-​china-​after-​sexual-​harassment-​ and-​assault-​allegations.html, accessed October 8, 2018. 52. Olanrewaju Eweniyi, “Women Have Reported Being Raped At This Hospital in Kenya after Giving Birth,” Konbini, January 2018. To view full article, go to http://​www.konbini. com/​ng/​lifestyle/w ​ omen-h ​ ave-r​ eported-b ​ eing-r​ aped-​at-​this-​hospital-​in-​kenya-​after-​giving-​ birth/​, accessed October 8, 2018. 53. Pranaya S. J. B. Rana, “Fed Up by Harassment, Nepali Women Are Going Online to Share Their #MeToo Stories,” Kathmandu Post, October 11, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​kathmandupost.ekantipur.com/​news/​2018-​10-​11/​fed-​up-​by-​harassment-​ nepali-​women-​are-​going-​online-​to-​share-​their-​metoo-​stories.html, accessed October 22, 2018. 54. “#MeToo Movement Takes Off in Nepal!” Nepali Sansar, October 24, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.nepalisansar.com/​news/​metoo-​movement-​takes-​off-​in-​nepal/​, accessed October 29, 2018. 55. Stephanie Busari and Torera Idowu, “The #MeToo Stories You Haven’t Heard: Meet the Women Speaking Out in Nigeria,” CNN International Edition. To view full article, go to https://​edition.cnn.com/​2018/​03/​02/​africa/​nigeria-​rape-​survivors-​metoo-​asequals/​?utm_ ​ cid=%20cnni-​com-​fb-​africa-​link, accessed October 20, 2018. 56. Ayomide O. Tayo, “After the Naija Twitter Storm, What’s Next?” Pulse, July 7, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.pulse.ng/g​ ist/m ​ etro/a​ fter-t​ he-n ​ aija-t​ witter-m ​ etoo-s​ torm-​ whats-​next-​id8590011.html, accessed October 20, 2018. 57. “1,001 Norwegian Artists Denounce Sexual Harassment,” Local, November 23, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.thelocal.no/​20171123/​1000-​norwegian-​artists-​ denounce-​sexual-​harassment, accessed November 19, 2018. 58. Ida Måwe, “Swedish Metoo Movement Greatest Impact amongst Nordic Countries,” Swedish Secretariat for Gender Research, March 8, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​ www.genus.se/​en/​newspost/​swedish-​metoo-​movement-​greatest-​impact-​amongst-​the-​ nordic-​countries/​, accessed November 19, 2018. 9. Sveinung Sleire, “#MeToo Hits Norway: Top Politician Steps Down Amid Sexual Mis5 conduct Allegations,” Time, January 8, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​time.com/​ 5092957/​trond-​giske-​norway-​sexual-​misconduct/​, accessed November 19, 2018. 60. Anca Gurzu, “#MeToo Hits Norway’s Woman-​Dominated Politics,” Politico, February 2, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.politico.eu/​article/​trond-​giske-​kristian-​ tonning-​riise-​ulf-​leirstein-​metoo-​hits-​norways-​woman-​dominated-​politics/​ , accessed November 19, 2018.

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1. Ibid. 6 62. Euan McKirdy and Sophia Saifi, “Celebrity Pakistani Women Add Voices to #MeToo Movement,” CNN, January 16, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.cnn.com/​2018/​ 01/​16/​asia/​pakistan-​metoo-​prominent-​voices-​speak-​out/​index.html, accessed November 20, 2018. 63. Muna Moini, “Frieha Altaf Talks about the ‘#MeinBhi Movement’ and Her Return to the LSAs!” Something Haute, February 13, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​ www.somethinghaute.com/​frieha-​altaf-​talks-​meinbhi-​movement/​, accessed November 20, 2018. 64. Rabia Mehmood, “Pakistan’s Long #MeToo Moment,” Aljazeera, April 22, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.aljazeera.com/​indepth/​opinion/​pakistan-​long-​metoo-​ moment-​180422151525450.html, accessed November 20, 2018. 65. “Protests Take Place outside Cinemas as Teefa in Trouble Premieres This Weekend,” Images, July 25, 2018. To view full article, go to https://i​ mages.dawn.com/n ​ ews/1 ​ 180496, accessed November 20, 2018. 66. Aastha Singh and Manisha Mondal, “#MeToo Movement Makes Debut in Pakistan, High-​ Profile People Named,” Print, October 12, 2018. To view full article, go to https://t​ heprint. in/g​ o-t​ o-p ​ akistan/m ​ etoo-m ​ ovement-m ​ akes-d ​ ebut-i​ n-p ​ akistan-h ​ igh-p ​ rofile-p ​ eople-n ​ amed/ ​ 133549/​, accessed November 20, 2018. 67. Lucy Pasha-​Robinson, “ ‘Not Your Habibti’: Meet the Young Palestinian Woman Bringing #MeToo Movement to the West Bank,” Independent, February 3, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.independent.co.uk/​news/​world/​middle-​east/​palestinian-​metoo-​ yasmeen-​mjalli-​not-​your-​habibti-​woman-​west-​bank-​palestine-​israel-​a8192841.html, accessed October 24, 2018. 68. Gideon Levy, “For the Women under Israeli Occupation, It’s Time for #AnaKaman (#MeToo),” Haaretz, October 22, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.haaretz. com/o ​ pinion/​.premium-​for-​women-​under-​occupation-i​ t-s​ -t​ ime-f​ or-a​ nakaman-1 ​ .5459392, accessed October 24, 2018. 69. CNN Philippines Staff, “Filipinos Join #MeToo Anti-​sexual Harassment Campaign,” CNN Philippines, October 17, 2017. To view full article, go to http://​cnnphilippines.com/​news/​ 2017/​10/​17/​Filipinos-​MeToo-​anti-​sexual-​harassment-c​ ampaign.html, accessed November 23, 2018. 70. Bong S. Sarmiento, “Now Filipina Journalists Are Saying #MeToo,” Asian Correspondent, January 29, 2018. To view full article, go to https://a​ siancorrespondent.com/2 ​ 018/0 ​ 1/n ​ ow-​ filipina-​journalists-​say-​metoo/​, accessed November 23, 2018. 71. Ibid. 72. Mong Palatino, “Duterte’s Anti-​women Behavior Sparks the Philippines’ Own #MeToo Moment,” Diplomat, June 27, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​thediplomat.com/​ 2018/​06/​dutertes-​anti-​women-​behavior-​sparks-​the-​philippines-​own-​metoo-​moment/​, accessed November 23, 2018.

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3. Ibid. 7 74. Kara Fox, “Russian Women Find Their Voice as #MeToo Movement Spreads,” CNN, April 12, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.cnn.com/​2018/​04/​12/​europe/​russia-​ metoo-​movement-​intl/​index.html, accessed December 3, 2018. 75. Masha Gessen, “Russia Finally Gets Its #MeToo Moment,” New Yorker, March 23, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.newyorker.com/​news/​our-​columnists/​russia-​finally-​ gets-​its-​metoo-​moment, accessed December 2, 2018. 76. PTI, “Russia President Vladimir Putin Not in Support of #MeToo Movement,” New Indian Express, June 7, 2018. To view full article, go to http://​www.newindianexpress.com/​ world/​2018/​jun/​07/​russian-​president-​vladimir-​putin-​not-​in-​support-​of-​metoo-​movement-​ 1825061.html, accessed December 2, 2018. 77. Beatrice Di Caro, “#MeToo, #balancetonporc, #yotambien: Women around the World Fight Back at Harassment,” World Economic Forum, October 18, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.weforum.org/​agenda/​2017/​10/​metoo-​balancetonporc-​yotambien-​ women-​around-​the-​world-​lash-​out-​at-​harassment/​, accessed November 24, 2018. 78. Ane Olaberrieta, “El acoso sexual llega al cine español: estas son las actrices que lo denuncian,” El Español, October 29, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.elespanol. com/​corazon/​famosos/​20171027/​257475022_​0.html, accessed November 24, 2018. 79. “#MeToo: Spanish Stars to Stage Red Fan Protest at Cinema Prize Ceremony,” Local, February 1, 2018. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.thelocal.es/​20180201/​metoo-​spanish-​ stars-​to-​stage-​red-​fan-​protest-​at-​cinema-​prize-​ceremony, accessed November 24, 2018. 80. Gina Benevento, “Spain’s #MeToo Moment: #IBelieveYou,” Aljazeera, May 8, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.aljazeera.com/​indepth/​opinion/​spain-​metoo-​moment-​ ibelieveyou-​180508094155579.html, accessed November 24, 2018. 81. James Badcock, “Spain ‘Wolf Pack’ Case: Fury over Verdict Sparks #MeToo Campaign,” BBC News, May 1, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​ europe-​43960647, accessed November 24, 2018. 82. “Swedish Media Probe Sexual Offence Allegations,” Local, October 20, 2017. To view full article, go to https://w ​ ww.thelocal.se/2 ​ 0171020/​swedish-​media-​probe-​sexual-​offence-​ allegations, accessed November 25, 2018. 83. Andrea Booth and Kelsey Munro, “Why Is the #MeToo Movement Sending Shockwaves through Sweden?” SBS News, November 27, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​ www.sbs.com.au/n ​ ews/w ​ hy-i​ s-t​ he-m ​ etoo-m ​ ovement-s​ ending-s​ hockwaves-t​ hrough-s​ weden, accessed November 25, 2018. 4. Catherine Powell, “How #MeToo Has Spread Like Wildfire around the World,” Newsweek, 8 December 15, 2017. To view full article, go to https://​www.newsweek.com/​how-​metoo-​ has-​spread-​wildfire-​around-​world-​749171, accessed November 25, 2018.

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85. Derek Scally, “Swedish Opera Singer Attacks #MeToo Mob Mentality,” Irish Times, July 27, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​www.irishtimes.com/​news/​world/​europe/​ swedish-​opera-​singer-​attacks-​metoo-​mob-​mentality-​1.3579828, accessed November 25, 2018. 86. Ibid. 87. Catherine Edwards, “Swedish Press Council Criticizes Naming Figures in #MeToo Allegations,” News Mavens, June 27, 2018. To view full article, go to https://​newsmavens. com/n ​ ews/l​ essons-​learned/​1669/​swedish-​press-​council-​criticizes-​naming-​figures-​in-​metoo-​ allegations, accessed November 27, 2018.

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Notes on Contributors

Swati Arora is a lecturer in theatre and performance at the Department of English, King’s College, London, England. Her current research, supported by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, looks at gendered violence, street art, and performance in India. More broadly, her work exists at the intersections of theatre and performance, feminist theory, critical urban studies, post/​de-​colonial theory, and visual cultures. Her PhD, undertaken at the University of Exeter and funded by a UK-​ India Education Research Initiative grant, focused on Indian theatre practices, both contemporary and historical, and their negotiation with the urban spatiality of Delhi. Prior to that, she was awarded Dual Masters in International Performance Research by the University of Warwick/​Amsterdam, pursued with the support of a generous grant from the European Commission’s Erasmus Mundus scholarship. Dr Arora is a co-​convener of the Performance in Public Spaces working group of the International Federation of Theatre Research and a fellow of the International Association of Theatre Critics. She also serves on the PG subcommittee of the Standing Conference of the University Drama Departments, United Kingdom. Her most recent essay, “Left to Biyaasi Number: Janam, Street Theatre and Urban Space in Delhi,” appeared in Contemporary Theatre Review. Mary P. Caulfield is assistant professor of English and drama at State University of New York, Farmingdale State College, United States. Her research combines the political and the performative, specifically with regards to contested figures in Ireland’s past. Dr Caulfield has published extensively on these topics. Recent publications include Ireland, Memory and Performing the Historical Imagination (Palgrave Macmillan, 2014) and The Theatre of Enda Walsh (Carysfort, 2015). Fausto Colombo is professor of theories of media and communication, head of the Department of Communication and Performing Arts, and director of the Masters in Communication, Digital Marketing, and Interactive Advertising at Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, Milan, Italy. He was coordinator of the Section for Cultural Processes and Institution of the Italian Association of Sociologists (AIS) 247

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from 2011 to 2014, and a member of the Board of European Communication Research and Education Association from 2013 to 2016. Dr Colombo was visiting professor at Celsa, Université Sorbonne (Paris, 2014), and at Université Lumière (Lyon, 2018). He was also the UNESCO Chair in International Communication at Université Stendhal (Grenoble, 2015). Since 2016, he has been a member of the Academia Europaea (The Academy of Europe) in the Film, Media and Visual Studies section. In 2017, he was nominated a member of the section committee. Catriona Fallow is a research fellow based in the Department of Drama and Theatre Arts at the University of Birmingham, England, working on the Harold Pinter: Histories and Legacies project. Broadly, her research specializes in contemporary British and European playwriting, theatre history, and historiography. Dr Fallow’s work has been published in Studies in Theatre and Performance and has been presented internationally at Harvard’s Mellon School for Theatre and Performance Research, Performance Studies International, and the International Federation for Theatre Research. Yvette Heyliger is a playwright, producing artist, and educator. Author of What a Piece of Work Is Man!: Full-​Length Plays for Leading Women and Autobiography of a Homegirl, she has also contributed to various theatre anthologies: Performer Stuff, The Monologue Project, Short Plays on Reproductive Freedom, Later Chapters: The Best Scenes and Monologues for Actors over Fifty, WE ARE THEATRE, 24 Gun Control Plays, The Best Women’s Stage Monologues 2003, and The Best Stage Scenes 2003. Additionally, she has written blogs, as well as online and print articles in The Dramatist, Continuum: The Journal of African Diaspora Drama, Theatre and Performance, and Black Masks: Spotlight on Black Art, HowlRound. Heyliger is a recipient of the AUDELCO Recognition Award for Excellence in Black Theatre’s August Wilson Playwright Award (her play also won Dramatic Production of the Year) and a National Association for the Advancement of Colored People Annual Theatre Award Best Playwright nomination. She is the co-​recipient of the first National Black Theatre Festival Emerging Producer Award. After many years in front of the footlights, Heyliger returned to the stage as a solo artist in her first one-​woman show, Bridge to Baraka. She received an MA in theatre education from Hunter College, an MFA in creative writing: playwriting from Queens College, and MA and BA degrees from New York University. Memberships include: AEA, SDC, AFTRA-​SAG, and the Dramatist Guild, where she serves as the first Dramatists Guild NYC Ambassador. She is also on the board of the League of Professional Theatre Women. Heyliger was an Obama Fellow (2012) and the founding member and long-​time volunteer leader with Organizing for Action. As a citizen-​artist, she has worked on many issues, including gun 248

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violence prevention, equal opportunity and pay for women, and, most recently, the #MeToo movement. Heyliger is currently an associate faculty member at American Academy of Dramatic Arts and a teaching artist with Girl Be Heard. She lives in Harlem, United States. Yuh J. Hwang is working on her doctoral project in theatre and performance studies at the University of Pittsburgh, United States, on the topic of South Korea’s genocide and its cultural memory. She is a recipient of the New Scholar’s Prize from the International Federation of Theatre Research for her research dealing with Irish audiences’ perceptions of the 1916 Easter Uprising and their demonstrations against the original production of Sean O’Casey’s The Plough and the Stars. Her article entitled “A Mad Mother and Her Dead Son: The Impact of the Irish Theatre on Modern Korean Theatre” appeared in Literature Compass (2012). Elise A. LaCroix is a dramaturg and scholar. She holds an MA (drama) from the University of Alberta, Canada. Her research explores the work of the dramaturg, with a specific focus on navigating intercultural dramaturgy relationships. LaCroix has presented her research at conferences of the Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas, and Canadian Association for Theatre Research. She was editorial assistant on Performing Exile: Foreign Bodies (Intellect, 2017), edited by Judith Rudakoff. As of 2019, LaCroix is furthering both her research and practice working as a dramaturg with creators in the Canadian cities of Toronto and Edmonton. Shana MacDonald is assistant professor in the Department of Communication Arts at the University of Waterloo, Canada. She is a leader in interdisciplinary scholarship across the increasingly vital areas of communication, media technologies, digital culture, and gender. Dr MacDonald has published in a diverse range of leading journals across the humanities, including Feminist Media Histories, Media Theory Journal, Performance Research, Canadian Theatre Review, and Canadian Journal of Film Studies. Her interdisciplinary scholarship, situated between film, media, and performance studies, examines intersectional feminist social and digital media, popular culture, cinema, performance, and public art. MacDonald’s wide-​ranging scholarship is enhanced by her long-​standing work as a globally recognized artist. She is an internationally curated artist who explores the community-​building potential of practice-​based, site-​specific art interventions in public space through her work with the qcollaborative, a feminist design lab dedicated to developing new forms of relationality through technologies of public performance. She is also founder of Mobile Art Studio (MAS), a transitory creative lab space that brings art out of the gallery and into public participatory spaces 249

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based in the city of Kitchener, Canada. Her creative and scholarly work is committed to finding new platforms to design and publicly circulate women’s intersectional lived experiences and histories as a means of modelling feminist principles of relationality on a broad scale. Nondumiso Lwazi Msimanga is a performance artist and provocateur. She is the co-​founder of SA’s Dirty Laundry, an ongoing artist-​led anti-​rape project, and is known for her public arts activism. Her performance work deals with performative practices and publics. Msimanga is also an independent arts writer and academic. Formerly a lecturer at the Theatre and Performance Department of the University of Witwatersrand, as of 2019 she is a PhD scholar at the University of Cape Town, South Africa, with a focus on protest and performance in everyday gender studies. Sarah Jane Mullan is lecturer in drama at the University of Northampton, England. Her research focuses on the interplay between contemporary lesbian performance, cultural politics, and queer theory. Dr Mullan’s work has been published in Theatre Research International and edited collections on queer performance and has been presented at conferences both nationally and internationally. She is the co-​convener of the International Federation for Theatre Research Queer Futures working group. Sonia Norris is assistant professor at California State University Northridge, where she teaches acting. She is a director, devisor, writer, and teacher working internationally with theatre, circus, clown, mask, puppetry, and dance companies. Recent projects include Caravan Farm Theatre, The Assembly Clown Company, Cirqiniq/​Cirque du Soleil, Banff Centre Indigenous Dance Program, Red Sky Productions, LEGacy Circus, Stratford Festival in Canada, Handspring Puppet Company, and Ukwanda Puppet Design Collective in South Africa, and observing at the National Theatre in England. Norris’s research and professional work extends into applied theatre projects, working with Indigenous communities in Zimbabwe, South Africa, and the Canadian Arctic. She trained at École Jacques Lecoq, École Philippe Gaulier, the Dell’Arte International School of Physical Theatre, and the Playhouse Acting School and received an MFA in directing from York University, Toronto, Canada. As of 2019, she is a PhD candidate at the University of Toronto’s Centre for Drama, Theatre and Performance Studies, examining female clown as a performance of failure amid the trauma of happiness. Secondary research includes animacy in puppetry, clown, and mask theatre. Her research has been published in Puppetry International and presented at conferences and festivals in North America and Africa. 250

Notes on Contributors

Laura Peja is associate professor of drama and performing arts in the Faculty of Arts and Philosophy at the Università Cattolica in Milan, Italy, where she teaches and conducts research. She has also taught at Pavia University and at the Faculty of Musicology in Cremona. Among her primary areas of interest are contemporary European drama, women in theatre and the arts, and Italian theatre between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries. Dr Peja’s books include Strategie del comico, Franca Valeri, Franca Rame, Natalia Ginzburg (Firenze, 2009), and she has co-​ edited a collection of essays on the history of women in the arts and humanities titled Scena madre. Donne personaggi e interpreti della realtà (Milan, 2014). She is the coordinator of the editorial board of Comunicazioni Sociali. Journal of Media, Performing Arts and Cultural Studies (Vita e Pensiero, Milan), and serves on the executive committee of Drammaturgia (Firenze University Press) and CIT, Centre for theatrical culture and initiative “Mario Apollonio,” at the Università Cattolica. Judith Rudakoff has worked as a developmental dramaturg with emerging and established playwrights and artists throughout Canada and in Cuba, Denmark, South Africa, England, and the United States. Her books include Performing Exile: Foreign Bodies (Intellect, 2017), Dramaturging Personal Narratives: Who Am I and Where Is Here? (Intellect, 2015), TRANS(per)FORMING Nina Arsenault: An Unreasonable Body of Work (Intellect, 2012), Between the Lines: The Process of Dramaturgy (Playwrights Canada Press, 2002, co-​editor Lynn M. Thomson), Questionable Activities: Canadian Theatre Artists in Conversation with Canadian Theatre Students (Playwrights Canada Press, 2000), and Fair Play: Conversations with Canadian Women Playwrights (Simon & Pierre, 1989, co-​editor Rita Much). Her articles have appeared in many journals, including The Drama Review (TDR), TheatreForum, Theatre Topics, and Canadian Theatre Review. Dr Rudakoff is the creator of The Four Elements and Elemental Lomograms, transcultural tools for initiating live performance, written work, and visual art. She was the first Canadian honoured with the Elliott Hayes Award for Outstanding Achievement in Dramaturgy for her work on South Asian choreographer Lata Pada’s multidisciplinary work, Revealed by Fire (2001). In 1999, she was the first foreigner designated an honorary member of Cuba’s acclaimed Teatro Escambray. Dr Rudakoff is a member of Playwrights Guild of Canada, and Literary Managers and Dramaturgs of the Americas. She is professor of theatre at York University in Toronto, Canada. Effie Samara is a playwright educated at Cambridge University (Peterhouse), the Royal Central School of Speech & Drama, and currently a PhD candidate in social science at the University of Glasgow, Scotland, investigating exilic consciousness in performance. Her stage work includes SARTRE (Royal National Theatre 251

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Studio, 2015) and Baby (Hope Theatre, London, 2015). Her latest play LESBOS (2017) was performed at the Arcola Theatre in London and at Glasgow’s Tramway Theatre. LESBOS was commissioned in collaboration with UNESCO Chair for Integration for Languages and the Arts and has received the Tom McGrath Trust Award, was finalist of the Playwrights’ Studio Scotland New Playwrights’ Awards 2016/​17, and received funding from Creative Scotland, and Arts Council England. Her academic publications have appeared in the University of Edinburgh’s Institute of Advanced Studies in the Humanities’ Dangerous Women Project, the University of Glasgow’s Journal for Research, and the Cambridge University Press’s New Theatre Quarterly. Susan Fenty Studham is a professional stage manager, lecturer, and arts researcher with interests in regional identity, protocols that support brave spaces, and theatrical processes that respect cultural variation. Her doctoral dissertation titled “Stage Management: A Question of Approach in Intercultural Theatre” investigated the complexities of theatrical processes in cross-​cultural contexts through a practice-​led case study. Dr Fenty Studham is head of the BFA Stage Management Program at DePaul University, Chicago, United States, and the managing editor of Behind the Scenes: Journal of Theatre Production Practice. Sarah Thomasson is lecturer in theatre at Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. She writes on contemporary theatre and performance practices with a focus on international arts festivals and their fringes. Her recent publications explore debates over the continued cultural desirability and economic viability of the Adelaide Festival and Fringe. Dr Thomasson is also assistant editor for Contemporary Theatre Review.

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