Poking the WASP Nest: Young People, Applied Theatre, and Education about Race [11, 1 ed.] 9789004505582, 9789004399945, 9789004505599

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Poking the WASP Nest

Innovations and Controversies: Interrogating Educational Change Series Editors Julie White (Institute for Sustainable Industries and Liveable Cities, Victoria University, Australia) Kitty te Riele (Peter Underwood Centre for Educational Attainment, University of Tasmania, Australia)

Editorial Board Sanna Aaltonen (Finnish Youth Research Society, Finland) Airini (Thompson Rivers University, Canada) Angelo Benozzo (Università della Valle d’Aosta, Italy) Lyndal Bond (Victoria University, Australia) Tim Corcoran (Deakin University, Australia) Carlo Corroto (Otterbein University, Ohio, USA) André de Quadros (Boston University, USA) Ye Hong (China University of Political Science and Law, China) Max Hope (University of Hull, UK) Roger Slee (The University of South Australia, Australia) Elizabeth St Pierre (University of Georgia, USA) Jennifer A. Vadeboncoeur (University of British Columbia, Canada) Rui Yang (The University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong)

volume 11

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/icie

Poking the WASP Nest Young People, Applied Theatre, and Education about Race

By

André de Quadros, Dave Kelman, Julie White, Christopher Sonn and Alison Baker

leiden | boston

All chapters in this book have undergone peer review. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 2542-9302 isbn 978-90-04-50558-2 (paperback) isbn 978-90-04-39994-5 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-50559-9 (e-book) Copyright 2021 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau Verlag and V&R Unipress. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Acknowledgements ix List of Illustrations x Notes on Authors xi

PART 1 Setting the Scene 1 Tackling Racism: Community Theatre, Critical Inquiry, and Epistemic Disobedience 3 1 Laying the Conceptual Foundations 4 2 Placing This Study 7 3 The Structure of This Book 9 2 Researching from Somewhere: Our Personal and Collective Positioning 12 1 Alison Baker 12 2 André de Quadros 14 3 Dave Kelman 16 4 Christopher Sonn 18 5 Julie White 21 3 Crafting an Approach across and through Difference 24 1 Bringing Applied Theatre and Research Together 26 2 Working across, with, and through Diffference as Intra-Action 28 3 Methodological Approach 29 4 Conclusion 30

PART 2 Applied Theatre: The Arts Education Project 4 Looking Inward: 6 Hours in Geelong as Process 35 1 Who Were the Actors? 36 2 Applied Theatre 37 3 6 Hours in Geelong 40 4 Devising Process 41 5 Characters 41

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Contents

6 Authoring Process 44 7 Play Excerpts 47 8 Conclusion 52 5 Looking Outward: How Community Audiences Viewed 6 Hours in Geelong 53 1 Geelong After Dark 54 2 School Interactive Performances 55 3 The Community Performance Events 63 4 Conclusion 68

PART 3 Theorisation and Perspectives: Interdisciplinary Discussion 6 Applied Theatre: The Practitioner’s Dilemma 71 1 White Privilege, Race, Power Relations, and Positionalities 72 2 The Slippery Nature of Artistic Meaning in Context 74 3 Individual and Group Identity 75 4 The Nature of the Challenge 76 5 Processes and Practices for Negotiating Intersections in Making 6 Hours in Geelong 78 6 Group Authorship 79 7 A Provisional Offfering 82 7 “People Don’t Know Our Story”: Exposing Coloniality through Counter-Storytelling 85 1 Critical Studies of Race, Decoloniality, and Stories 86 2 Unpacking Stories through the Lens of Coloniality 89 3 Young People Negotiating Coloniality in Everyday Lives 90 4 Conclusion 97 8 Essentialism and Cosmopolitan WEIRDness 98 1 WEIRDness, Essentialism, and Coloniality 98 2 Entanglements of Racism, Theatre, and Theory 104 3 Analysis of Racism and Identity in 6 Hours in Geelong 105 4 Embracing Complexity 109

Contents

PART 4 So What? Implications for Practice 9 Schooling, Racism, and Powerful Conversations 113 1 Context for Conceptualisation 114 2 Schools as the Site for Discussions about Race 117 3 Conceptual Framework for Powerful Conversations 121 4 How Teachers Can Overcome Obstacles 124 5 Conclusion 128 10 Community Arts: Politics and Privilege 129 1 Community Arts in Context 129 2 Politics and Privilege in Community Arts Practice 131 3 Race as Context for Practice 132 4 Implications 135 11 Aftermath and Afterwards 137 Appendix: 6 Hours in Geelong Script 141 References 194 Index 209

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Acknowledgements This book would not have been possible without the support of numerous colleagues over the years, too many to name. We are indebted to Western Edge Youth Arts for providing a home for the theatre work. The project was funded through the Community Resilience Initiative of the Department of Premier and Cabinet of the Australian state of Victoria. Kitty te Riele, series co-editor, believed in the book, and we are grateful for her confidence in our work. Boston University research assistant, Emma Chrisman was brilliant in her facilitation of the final product and worked closely with us to get the book to the finishing line. Authors frequently single out individual people to whom to dedicate a book. Although we are deeply indebted to our nearest and dearest, this book would not exist without the hundreds of cultural informants and collaborators from far and wide, stretching through geographies and centuries. We dedicate this book to them.

Illustrations Figures 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6

The Norfolk prison in Massachusetts, the birthplace of André’s prison work (photograph by André de Quadros). 15 The group André co-directs, Common Ground Voices/La Frontera, at the Mexico-US border (photograph by Luke Leidiger). 16 Anti-racist street theatre in Geelong (photograph by Nicola Dracoulis). 18 A sign racialising space during apartheid in South Africa (photograph by Christopher Sonn). 19 Members of CIDRN from the South African “Voices of Displacement” project launch (photograph by Liss Gabb). 20 Julie’s grandparents on the ship migrating to Australia in 1948. 22

Table 5.1

Responses to school performance. 59

Notes on Authors Alison Baker is an associate professor in Youth and Community Studies in the College of Arts and Education at Victoria University in Melbourne, on the land of the Wurundjeri of the Kulin nation. Her research focuses on the implications of structures that produce inequality in the lives of various disenfranchised groups as well as those in positions of privilege. Her research also focuses on young people’s experiences of racialisation and other forms of oppression, particularly their subjectivities, identity, and belonging across contexts. Her research draws on theory in critical community and liberation psychologies, in addition to feminist and critical race scholarship. Alison’s research mobilises creative and participatory research methodologies, specifically visual and sound storytelling modalities to explore and develop young people’s sense of social justice and capacity for action. André de Quadros is an ethnomusicologist, music educator, and human rights activist, with professional work in the most diverse settings in more than 40 countries, spanning professional ensembles; projects with prisons, psychosocial rehabilitation, refugees, and poverty locations; and victims of torture, sexual violence, and trauma. He is a professor of music at Boston University, where he holds affiliations in African American Studies, the African Studies Center, the American & New England Studies Program, the Center for Antiracist Research, the Center for the Study of Asia, the Elie Wiesel Center for Jewish Studies, the Initiative on Cities, the Institute for the Study of Muslim Societies and Civilizations, Latin American Studies, the Pardee School Initiative on Forced Migration and Human Trafficking, the Prison Education Program, and the Frederick S. Pardee Center for the Study of the Longer-Range Future. He is a visiting professor at Victoria University, Australia. In 2019, he was a Distinguished Academic Visitor at the University of Cambridge. Recent publications are his 2019 book, Focus: Choral Music in Global Perspective (Routledge), and a 2020 co-edited book, My Body Was Left on the Street: Music Education and Displacement (Brill). Dave Kelman is an independent drama educator, writer, researcher, and youth theatre director. He has worked in this field of practice for over thirty-five years in Melbourne, Australia and Leeds, UK. His current work includes an acclaimed youth theatre project with young people from refugee backgrounds, and innovative artists residencies in schools. As the director of North Youth

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Theatre, with the Bluebird Foundation, and as Artistic Director of Western Edge Youth Arts (2006–2019), he has directed, facilitated, written, and/or produced many widely acclaimed community youth theatre works in challenging contexts. He also directed an innovative artists-in-schools programme working in a wide range of primary and secondary schools, developing rich pedagogic processes. He is a regular lecturer in arts education at the University of Melbourne and has a PhD in drama education. He has published widely on applied theatre and drama education. Christopher C. Sonn is a professor at Victoria University, Melbourne, Australia on the land of the Wurundjeri of the Kulin nation. He is a fellow of the Institute of Health and Sport. His research is concerned with understanding and changing dynamics of oppression and resistance, examining structural violence such as racism and its effects on social identities, intergroup relations, and belonging. He holds a visiting professorship at the University of the Witwatersrand, South Africa. He is co-editor of Decoloniality and Epistemic Justice in Contemporary Community Psychology (Springer, 2021), Creating Inclusive Knowledges (Routledge, 2018), co-author of Social Psychology and Everyday Life (2nd ed., Palgrave, 2020), and associate editor of the American Journal of Community Psychology and Community Psychology in Global Perspective. Julie White has worked in academic research positions at Victoria University in Melbourne since 2013, where she is currently an associate professor. She previously held teaching and research posts at The University of Melbourne and La Trobe University. Her major interests include education policy, theory, and practice and the intersection between education, health, and law. She has expertise in research methodology, education in youth justice, the education of young people with chronic health conditions, and changing university contexts and has published extensively on these topics. She has supervised 15 PhD students to completion, published more than 80 articles, chapters, and books and has undertaken many research projects including two large Australian Research Council funded projects. Prior to her academic roles in universities, she worked as a teacher educator and a teacher in primary, secondary and technical schools, colleges, specialist schools for students with disabilities, and intensive English language schools for refugees and migrants.

PART 1 Setting the Scene

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CHAPTER 1

Tackling Racism Community Theatre, Critical Inquiry, and Epistemic Disobedience

We are in Geelong, Australia, in 2017—the whole ensemble, ten young people of colour with two White actors and a White trombonist dance onto a stage in front of a mostly White audience and sing: “If you have a racist friend, now is the time, for your friendship to end.” It is a ska1 anthem that emerged in Britain in the early 1980s, perhaps a simpler time, when people believed racism could be identified and ended if we just had the will to do it. In this performance of the song, however, there seems to be something uncomfortable in the singing of it, something not quite joyous, something accusatory perhaps. What if you still have a racist friendship un-ended? And what if your friend’s racism is subtle, complex, and hard to pin down? These thoughts sit with us as we watch the young people sing their hope for a better world. This is a book that is, in part, about how to avoid being a “racist friend” when initiating arts interventions that attempt to change the narrative on race. It is perhaps unsurprising that such projects are fraught with difficulty, because the all-pervasive ideologies of racism and White supremacy have been a central pillar of colonisation and coloniality, continuing to shape many nations including Australia, which some have labelled a settler colony. Many have theorised practices of hierarchisation, domination, and exploitation as expressions of race and racism within a broader matrix of power around the world (see Chapter 8). Yet, in part because of the unevenness of the global knowledge economy, many theories and conceptions of race, racism, and their reproduction are based on writing and theorisation that draws from the history of United States-based race relations. This knowledge base is important. However, scholars have pointed to the need to build understandings of the varied ways in which race and racism are expressed in different contexts, given their persistence, malleability, and continuity as is reflected in movements such as Black Lives Matter, Indigenous and Tribal Sovereignty, and other movements across various countries. While much writing stems from studies of race relations in the US, this body of literature and the various movements have shown the connections between the local and global, past and present, and, in particular, the pernicious ideologies of racism and White supremacy. The book seeks to trouble Australian race relations by examining them in a specific locality and through a particular arts practice, and in doing so, enrich © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2021 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_001

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knowledge about racialised experience and the transnational relevance of critical studies of race. Racialised experience is not the only focus; considerations of politics within families, intergenerational dialogues, social mobility, aspirations, artistic challenges, and associated responsibilities are also presented. These phenomena travel confidently beyond national boundaries alongside the interrogation and contestation of conventional conceptions of race, multiculturalism, and inclusion, and intersect with other structures. The examples forwarded were in the context of intentional school and community conversations and offer the potential for powerful learning about race that is also applicable well beyond the place-based case study site.

1

Laying the Conceptual Foundations

Important to this book are the ways in which wasp (White, Anglo-Saxon, and Protestant) is defined and problematised. It is the backdrop upon which we have positioned this book, partly as an act of resistance to the idea that we have advanced beyond the ethnocultural foundations of Anglo-Saxon (itself a problematic term) Whiteness, replacing it with a multiethnic society with only vestiges of wasp in it. In fact, there is wider body of writing that calls into question the dominance of knowledge uncritically rooted in European and American assumptions, worldviews, and traditions. For example, Connell (2007) in Southern Theory, Grosfoguel (2007), and others in different fields argue that in using Foucault and such frames of thought as critical lenses, we continue to genuflect to Eurocentric epistemologies. Others such as Mallon (1994) have signaled to the dependence on thinkers like Gramsci, Guha, Derrida, and Foucault as a continuation of epistemic obedience. Indeed, we recognise persistent obedience to conventional forms of enquiry and reliance on certain theorists, but we also seek to engage with expanding our ecology of knowledge through interdisciplinary inquiry and anchoring work in the experiences of subaltern groups. Through these steps we seek to engage with epistemologies from the South including involving young people as knowers (Santos, 2007). This commitment to relational epistemology is necessary if we are to move forward to new horizons, new understandings or frameworks, renewed and resistant epistemic disobedience, and pluriversal knowledge (Mignolo & Walsh, 2018). The reckless act of poking a wasp nest is, of course, asking for trouble, an act of disobedience. Evoking this idea of risk and trouble has remained a central aim in this project and in this book. Troubling the political, process, and community aspects of marginalised young people’s lives is important, particularly

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given the intense negative media and political attention on particular identity groups. Rather than taking a risk-averse stance in this inquiry, we lean in, actively moving closer towards risk. As with Pandora’s box, the danger of lifting the lid is that many other complicated problems begin to emerge. The impetus for this project was an applied theatre project in a regional Australian city. This book draws the varied aspects of the project together to offer a range of perspectives about how culturally diverse young people are marginalised and consequences of this. Beginning with the artistic process at the heart of this project, the book then turns to different disciplinary, theoretical, and personal standpoints. We are an interdisciplinary group of researchers from the fields of drama, music, education, and community psychology engaged in a collaborative research project with a youth theatre group to investigate shared questions and concerns about race and exclusion. The theatre project sought to challenge and educate about everyday racism and outdated norms. The research in this project involved extended interviews with the actors and close observation of the theatre development process, which included workshops, performances, and presentations to schools. The major idea behind this book is how applied theatre could intensely impact perceptions and identification of racism and exclusion, and, more broadly, how racism can be understood, interrogated, and dismantled in community and educational settings. A core aim is to establish stronger connections between practice and theory to better challenge and counter racism. The book examines how communities can be enriched by the challenges and dialogues generated by applied theatre and how productive ways forward could be forged. Theorisation is presented from a range of nuanced critical theoretical standpoints that diffractively employ a range of perspectives on race. The interweaving of applied theatre practice, as expressed in a qualitative research narrative, with a range of theoretical analysis and discussions is what makes this book unusual. In part, our approach has been influenced by theorists who advocate for narrative knowing such as Laurel Richardson (1990) who emphasises “the unavoidability of narrative within the social sciences” as a way of engaging with “human values, sensibilities and ambiguities” (p. 21). The exploration of human desire, struggles, tensions, and everyday meaning-making through the voices of the actors is one part of our narrative. The other part of our narrative involves the key ideas of counter-storytelling and powerful conversations as strategies for effective anti-racism interventions. The applied theatre project was based on young people telling their own personal stories of everyday life, about the prevalence and nature of racism as they experience and witness it in Geelong and beyond, and constructing

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counter-narratives to challenge it. By counter-narrative we mean alternative, suppressed, or omitted narratives that challenge White-streamed or mainstream cultural assumptions and the power structures underlying them. These narratives have their foundations in the lives, social and cultural histories, and experiences of people who are not typically represented and who do not always have access to resources required to circulate narratives into mainstream contexts. Counter narratives are complex, however. They are not always produced in response to mainstream or dominant group stories about others; these narratives are also produced away from those contexts in safe spaces, and they include resistant, healing, and restorative narratives (Zavala, 2016). When narratives are told through applied theatre and other community arts mediums, they bring an embodied and affective quality that can trigger transformative forms of witnessing for audience members. Yet, in some instances in the context of arts-informed pedagogy, counter-narratives can also throw up unintended meanings; they can oversimplify or sound preachy and didactic, causing those watching to retreat further into their racial corners. To be effective counter-narratives must balance authenticity with entertainment. They must embrace nuance and complexity but in essence they must counter the dehumanising of people because of the colour of their skin, or their culture, or some other form of violence. To generate and group author such a counternarrative is complex and demanding. Counter narrative production involves creating a space in which hard and hurtful experiences can be dramatised and crafted into a coherent political artistic statement that just might have an impact on dominant racist narratives in positive ways. These safe spaces are intentional, based in relationship and trust building, and can be empowering in allowing actors to narrate their complex personhood and the forms of structural violence that they navigate, as well as bring into clear focus possibilities for empowerment, solidarities, and connection (Sonn & Baker, 2015). Creating settings that are safe is pivotal to the generation of powerful conversations as an important way for communities to address the entrenched issues of race and White supremacy that pervade post-colonial societies like Australia. We draw on a Freirean (1998) conception of robust, open, and honest dialogue, full of respect, in which everyone defends their position but also engages, listens and is open to change. These are the types of conversations we believe need to be had if we are to move the anti-racism agenda forward. Dialogue cannot exist, however, in the absence of profound love for the world and for women and men. The naming of the world, which is an act of creation and recreation, is not possible if it is not infused with love. Love is at the same time the foundation of dialogue and dialogue itself. (Freire, 1998, p. 77)

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We need to find a way to say the things that cannot be spoken in such a way that they do not hurt or diminish but are open to critique and analysis. The challenge with this conception is that in relation to race there are “right” answers: racism is intolerable in any form. Balancing this imperative with the need to create space for dialogue about the nuances and peculiarities of racism is a complex and challenging art and one that lies at the heart of the applied theatre practice examined in this book. Our conception of the cultural context and settings for exploring counter-narratives draws from Bhabha’s (2004) notion of third space. In the third space, “all cultural statements and systems are constructed in this contradictory and ambivalent space of enunciation” (Bhabha, 2004, p. 53). In this space “hierarchical claims to the inherent originality or ‘purity’ of cultures are untenable” (p. 53). Thus, in line with the push towards epistemic disobediences and pluriversality, we seek to understand the contradictions and ambivalence of anti-racist practice and to engage with the complexities of the various ways in which race and racism are produced, contested, reproduced, and transformed, through interconnected micro and macro ways of knowing, doing, and being.

2

Placing This Study

The city of Geelong is the location of the study at the heart of this book. It is located seventy-five kilometres southwest of Melbourne in the south-eastern state of Victoria. It is a rapidly growing city of two hundred and eighty thousand people situated on a picturesque bay, with its palm tree-fringed, re-developed foreshore adjacent to the central business district with oil refineries and other industrial architecture in the background. Previously known for Ford car manufacturing, now a vaccine hub, and currently known for its intermittently successful Australian rules football team, the city is undergoing a process of urban renewal and demographic change. However, it remains less culturally diverse than the rapidly evolving suburbs of outer Melbourne and is still a predominantly White town with strong Anglo-Celtic roots and significant populations of post-war migrants from southern Europe. According to 2016 census data, the city has significantly higher numbers of people who identify as having English, Irish, or Scottish heritage than the Victorian state average. It also has 5% less graduates and significantly fewer people who speak a “non-English language” at home (12% compared to 28% state average). The only community that could be described as “people of colour” that has significant numbers is the recently arrived and growing Indian community at just under 1% of the population. As a place to examine issues of race and racism, Geelong serves a number of purposes. It is a place of rapidly changing demographics where the encounter

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between new migrant and refugee communities of colour and White “settler” communities is still relatively new and, as such, we hope it serves as an example that can be usefully compared to contexts across the Anglophone world and perhaps beyond. The specific study is of an anti-racist applied theatre project involving a group of actors from refugee backgrounds working with Dave Kelman, one of the authors of this book and an experienced theatre practitioner. We have placed some importance on the experiences of the actors as we extrapolate from this study and consider the lessons and approaches that we think are applicable much more broadly. The voices of the actors are woven into the multi-disciplinary theorising that we have undertaken. In our conception, these young people aspiring to be artists inhabit a cultural “third space,” a contact zone or encounter space, literally and figuratively, in which they attempt to change their society for the better with courage and optimism (Bhabha, 2004, p. 53). We have tried to honour their voices and included those in the book in different ways, verbatim, as part of a story, and sometimes as excerpts to illustrate theoretical, conceptual and practical insights. Importantly, we have taken on a position that enables young people to negotiate their complex life worlds. Throughout the year-long project in the south-eastern regional city of Geelong, this group of young immigrants and former refugees developed applied theatre performances and workshops for schools that explored issues of identity, belonging, and exclusion in powerful ways that had a profound impact. The artists brought stories from their lived experience to the performances. While this place-based case study was set in Australia, it nevertheless has strong international research, artistic, and community connections in particular through the circuits and flows of knowledge, ideas, and understandings of race and racism in the social and cultural formations of countries in the global South. As researchers and practitioners, we have sought to craft practices of “beingwith” in the research and practice relationship. We have contested the notion of zero-point epistemology (Mignolo & Walsh, 2018) as we position ourselves in the next chapter. Our positioning means that we speak from somewhere and that the analysis that we offer about, in, and through our various positions allows us to push beyond the strictures of our disciplines and to enact the tenets of critical studies of race and other emancipatory pedagogies. The tenets include: – Speaking from somewhere, a location, a positionality; – Embracing a decolonial attitude in support of humanising praxis; – Creating intentional settings to witness the testimonies of those who bear the burden of racism; – Tackling White supremacy and its expression through embodied, creative, and cultural research and practice.

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Rather than limiting this study to descriptions of problems—and handwringing—this book ventures beyond our analysis, to raise serious and provocative questions like, “So what?”, “What next?”, “By whom?”, and “When?”

3

The Structure of This Book

This text is divided into four parts that each contain two or three chapters. The first part of the book sets the scene. In this chapter we have brought together local and global histories of colonisation and current day expressions of racialisation. We have sought to draw attention to concepts such as coloniality of power that comes from decolonial studies and Southern theories as well as methods for epistemic justice such as powerful conversations and storytelling. Through the metaphor of the wasp we surface the troubling consequences of White supremacy. We lay out the geographical and cultural contexts of the case study from which the broader theoretical discussion about arts practice for anti-racist praxis emerges. In Chapter 2, each of us positions ourselves in relation to anti-racism with autobiographically relevant sketches. Following this introductory material, we present a research overview, “Crafting an Approach across and through Difference.” In a dialogic presentation, we work through the epistemological commitments and explore our methodological and analytic approaches that span across inclusive and creative research, theatre practice, and personal and professional boundaries. The purpose of this chapter is to open up possibilities for transdisciplinary exploration across difference, whilst also articulating how we have mobilised theory and practice to challenge racism and move toward epistemic justice. In the second part, two chapters examine the applied theatre project in detail. In the first of these, Chapter 4, we take an inward look at the actors and how they experienced the creative process. This chapter draws heavily on the voices of the actors and includes descriptions of the characters that they created and excerpts from the play script that they co-wrote. In Chapter 5, by contrast, we look outward at the community audiences and their responses to the applied theatre work. The chapter examines different performance styles, techniques and contexts including an in-depth analysis of interactive performances that aimed to generate powerful conversations with school students. This chapter uses a range of audience response survey data to discuss the efficacy of the various community performances that were undertaken during the project. The third part of the book takes us to theorising and to perspectives on interdisciplinary discussion.

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In Chapter 6, we interrogate the dilemma that faces practitioners working in the challenging field of anti-racism. This is a discussion about ethics and the key concept of group authorship that poses fundamental questions about the power dynamics at play within arts projects that aspire to generate social change. The chapter includes a discussion of applied theatre and ethnodrama and the contradictions inherent in these hybrid artistic forms. There are two chapters that make coloniality and racism major foci. Chapter 7 advances a decolonial standpoint to engage with the stories the young people shared during interviews and focus groups that were conducted at different points during the project. A decolonial standpoint seeks to make visible how coloniality is evident in people’s everyday understandings of self, intercultural relations, and belonging, while also creating alternative and counter-stories of resistance, strength, and belonging. The chapter argues that young people have complex subjectivities layered through experiences of displacement that produce racialisation and its effects such as intergenerational conflicts. The actors also speak of their belonging in terms of place and relationships that are important sources of strength. Importantly, the young people reiterated the power of creating intentional settings for dialogue, truth telling, and witnessing. Through the embodied, creative project, they were afforded the opportunity to be agents of change and to be knowers and creators of narratives about their lives. Chapter 8 examines the complex issue of essentialism in relation to antiracism. Drawing on cultural psychology, the chapter considers the cultural difference between Western societies and those in other parts of the world in relation to the issues involved in the artistic expression of cultural identity. The chapter suggests such expression can be a form anti-racist resistance that avoids the reification of culture and the reinforcement of colonial racist narratives. This discussion also considers the claims of Australian multiculturalism and cosmopolitanism. These ideas are used to problematise contemporary applied theatre practice and the dehumanising impact of White normativity. In the final part, we consider implications through three chapters building on the theoretical discussion in Part 3 and then projecting it into practical applications, given that our book concerns both schools and community. In Chapter 9, attention is drawn to the education sector and how structural racism could be challenged in schools. The context for this discussion focuses on the Black Lives Matter (blm) movement and the covid-19 pandemic. The potent school-level workshops conducted by the young actors in Geelong led to our conceptualisation of “powerful conversations.” The argument is advanced that teachers are very well placed to lead important dialogue about racism with their students. But importantly, they need to be adequately equipped to lead this form of dialogue with their students.

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Chapter 10 builds on the conception of powerful conversations developed in Chapter 9 and takes us to community settings. Significant learning occurs in informal settings, like community arts organisations. How do these public pedagogies work and how are important social issues interrogated? The ways in which racism is encountered and countered in community arts organisations is contrasted with the constraints and privileges of professional arts organisations. In the final chapter, we bring together some of the diverse threads of this book and address an international audience. As well as reaching some tentative conclusions, we have tried to identify some areas that require further investigation such as intersectionality, the relationship of theory to practice, the connections that can be made between community arts and education practice, and participatory research approaches as a means of validating narratives that counter racism.

Note 1 “Ska” is a Jamaican musical genre from the 1950s.

CHAPTER 2

Researching from Somewhere Our Personal and Collective Positioning

When positionality statements first became a practice, they were connecting the researchers ontologically with the research material. For us, as co-authors, we construct ourselves in these statements, telling the readers what we feel they might want to know about race and us. Each of us wrote our initial draft statements independently, with almost no orientation discussion, and although our statements differ wildly, they possess what Bruner (1991) describes in SelfMaking and World-Making as two essential qualities—culture-confirming and exceptionality. Thus, we confirm ourselves culturally and dialogically, and then individualise ourselves. Holland et al. (1998) see this process of self-making as placing ourselves in an interrelated social order where we exist at particular points in this social structure.

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Alison Baker

Like many White people growing up in settler colonial nations, I have occupied and continue to occupy a position in the centre of the racial landscape, one which has been characterised by an ontological ease and privilege. My story is also one that is shaped by experiences of migration, mobility, and of having access to spaces and opportunities that, in many ways, reflects what Sullivan (2007) terms ontological expansiveness. By this she refers to how “White people often manifest a way of being in the world (often nonconscious) in which they presume the right to occupy any and all geographical, moral, psychological, linguistic, and other spaces” (p. 302). Whilst my experiences of migration and mobility are undeniably a result of White privilege, it has also served to unravel and disrupt the often “unmarked and unnamed” ways of being and doing that are deeply engrained in Whiteness (Frankenberg, 1993). Thus, I trace my awareness of racism back to my experiences as an undergraduate at the University of Memphis, Tennessee where I attended as a student-athlete. Growing up in two countries—Australia and Canada—with colonial legacies rooted in White supremacy, perhaps it isn’t that surprising that I was ignorant of the workings of Whiteness. Bailey describes ignorance as something that is actively produced in such societies, creating “epistemic blank © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2021 | doi: 10.1163/9789004505599_002

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spots [that] make privileged knowers oblivious to systemic injustices” (Bailey, 2007, p. 77). I had never seen inequality and racial injustice so palpable as in the heart of the South. The first year I was there, the Ku Klux Klan marched in the streets on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. On campus, Black and White students rarely mingled, and the cafeterias, dorms, and social groups were segregated (de facto), a visible reminder of a painful past marred by White domination through slavery and the Jim Crow era. Over the five years of my degree, which shifted to also focus on sociology, I learned more about race relations—in conversations with my teammates, in the classroom, in the community, and in the written narratives and stories that aren’t often articulated in whitewashed accounts of history. Coming up against overt racism exhibited by so many White Southerners, I understand now that at least part of how I saw and constructed my own Whiteness was reliant on and comforted by being different from them. It wasn’t until I pursued a Master’s and a PhD at North Carolina State in community psychology and a concentration in public health and Afrikana studies that I gained some of the theoretical tools like critical race and feminist theories that drew attention to the histories, structures, and processes which maintain and produce difference. Methodological tools such as photovoice and documentary arts (narrative) brought about different ways of being together across racialised, gendered, and classed lines through their privileging of an ethics of relationality and attention to power in knowledge making. For my PhD research I moved to a small surfing village in El Salvador for three years where I undertook a study into community living conditions and young people’s political identities. My shift in location from the global “North” to the “South” was geographic but it was also a significant shift in language/culture, identity, and belonging that was shaped by gendered norms, class, nationality, and race. In this place I was deemed the extranjera/gringa or White female foreigner. Whilst not a derogatory term, in the town I lived in it did become associated with the habits of those from Europe or the Americas who come to the village and are consumers of culture, people, and environmental resources. I found myself consciously and actively resisting stereotypes of gringas as promiscuous party girls who were also failing to fulfil normative gender roles such as having children. In this new racialised and gendered landscape, the workings of patriarchal dominance made many everyday spaces unsafe for women to navigate together or on their own. These complex workings of race-classgender-nationality-language, paired with close connections formed with Salvadoran women and other community members in the village, fundamentally changed my subjectivity and ways of being and doing. Since returning to Australia ten years ago to pursue a postdoctoral fellowship, I have continued to work to mobilise the privileges afforded to me by

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Whiteness and in my role as an academic alongside young people from a range of cultural backgrounds to challenge racial injustice and work toward epistemic justice. Central to navigating the entanglements of race, privilege, and other dynamics of oppression and engaging in critical psychosocial praxis (Sonn et al., 2013) are collective spaces in the academy and community in which we can grapple with and remain vigilant to the “‘turns,’ ‘crossing,’ and ‘walking’ of lines in and out of silence, across boundaries and worlds [that] speak to the complexities of intersubjective spaces and the ongoing struggle to carve out ways of being, together” (Baker et al., 2017, p. 210).

2

André de Quadros

As an immigrant, I thought I knew where I belonged until it became clear to me recently that I didn’t really know. From the moment I was born, I couldn’t travel outside my country. People from predominantly White countries, such as Australia, the UK, and the US, could travel wherever they wished, subject, of course, to finances. When I was growing up in India, you couldn’t get visas to travel abroad; even passports were hard to get. A lot hasn’t changed. If you are a person from a predominantly White country, the world is yours, but if you are from a predominantly brown or Black country, that’s a different story—borders and walls appear. And I’m not even talking about the almost insurmountable walls and borders for refugees. When I was barely five, my family was exiled from independent India to Portuguese India even though we had all our material possessions and everyday lives in Bombay. We were smuggled back to India in an elaborate scheme of car decoys and boats, following which we lived in hiding for weeks.1 In recounting this history, I understand Bruner (1991) when he asserts that, in autobiographical writing, the child is not the father of the man, as in the Wordsworth (1802) poem. Rather, the adult reclaims and reconstitutes their identity in a dynamic and evolving sense. I am writing my positionality in a way I would not have done were this to be twenty years ago. Now, I can say that my family was an asylum-seeker family when I was a child. Now, I can be open that my father, a physician, deceived the Australian government in the early 1960s that we were partly European, in order to escape India and to be accepted in Australia during the White Australia Policy. We were the only brown family that we could see in the Melbourne of 1965. It’s not all terrible, and I can’t say I’ve been badly done by. After all, in India, we were sitting at the apex of caste and class privilege. But when I went to the White world, I experienced a different hierarchy. Even privileged brown

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people find a distinct social stratification when they travel to the West. I have been frequently interrogated by customs officers and border control, even after I changed my citizenship to a White one. By the time I went back to Australia in 1975, there were brown and Black people there legally. In India, I had already discovered my addiction to musicmaking, and in Australia, I gave full expression to my three devotions—conducting orchestras and choirs, engaging in community music, and teaching. After more than two decades in Australia, I moved to the US for a professorship at an elite institution, albeit one with a social justice mission. But I felt completely silenced about expressing my views on race, coloniality, and supremacy. Perhaps to give myself a sense that I was doing something meaningful, I started work in prisons (see Figure 2.1), refugee environments (see Figure 2.2), war zones, and many more dark settings. I seized on the opportunity to dismantle the prevailing domination of Eurowhite-thinking, so pervasive in my field, to create an arts pedagogy that was focused on justice and equity. Now, even when my professional life takes me to American prisons, slums in Latin America and India, and refugee shelters in Mexico, I feel an irrepressible surge of disquiet and resentment. I experience the same feeling when I travel through academia and see epistemologies so White-centred and the presentation of academic work in Eurocentric conventions. Is Mbembe (2017) right when he says that Europe has been demoted to lesser power? Are we really entering some kind of new, more egalitarian epoch? We won’t know for centuries, and I won’t be around to see.

figure 2.1 The Norfolk prison in Massachusetts, the birthplace of André’s prison work (photograph by André de Quadros)

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figure 2.2 The group André co-directs, Common Ground Voices/La Frontera, at the Mexico-US border (photograph by Luke Leidiger)

3

Dave Kelman

I grew up in Britain in the 1960s and 1970s when overt racism was widespread and I was exposed to unconcealed racist behaviour at a young age. For example, as a child, my grandfather used to delight in telling me vile racist jokes about the West Indian and South Asian communities that had migrated to the English midlands in the 1950s and 60s. I went to school in rural Scotland where I was subjected to virulent anti-English prejudice. As an adolescent I witnessed mass displays of violent race hate and fascism on English football terraces in the 1970s. I began my working life as a drama teacher in a high school adjacent to Leeds United football ground in the mid-1980s. The school was mostly White with about 20% of students from Pakistani backgrounds. Almost every item of furniture and room in the entire building had some type of racist or fascist graffiti on it. Swastikas were the decoration of choice for many White students. When I put a poster of Nelson Mandela on my classroom wall, students broke in at lunchtime and whited his face out with correction fluid. In my first year of teaching, there was a large-scale gang fight between White and Pakistani students that was quelled by police in riot gear patrolling the school grounds. The hierarchy of the school administration seemed oblivious to the problem. When I suggested there might be a problem with talking to parents seated at a desk with a large swastika scrawled on it, the hapless duty headteacher only remarked that there was a bit of a problem with graffiti.

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In this extremely troubling and challenging context I began my work as an anti-racist educator. Trained in process drama, I did schemes of work about apartheid and cross-cultural relationships. I started a youth theatre that told stories of young people rejecting racism. Outside of the classroom, I campaigned on the terraces of the football ground, writing and distributing an anti-racist football fanzine to thousands of football fans. I demonstrated for the end of apartheid and marched against the fascists in cities across England. In the school I built strong relationships with both the White and Pakistani youth but was largely unsuccessful in bringing them together in a shared cultural space. My youth theatre was always inclusive of people of colour and strongly anti-racist but was primarily a White cultural space although this was at least partly because of cultural barriers in the conservative Pakistani community to young people engaging in theatre. One of the students that I taught became the leader of the London suicide bombers who perpetrated a major Islamist terrorist atrocity in 2007. I gave up teaching in 1994 and collaborated on an early hip-hop dance/theatre work that inverted the plot of Shakespeare’s Othello—he was a White man living in a predominantly Black society—to create a piece of radical anti-racist youth theatre that toured Northern England. I migrated to Australia shortly afterwards earning my living as an actor and community theatre worker. I toured Australian schools with my own theatre-in-education play that made connections between contemporary Australian racism and Anne Frank. As a community youth theatre maker, I have worked with Vietnamese, Iranian, Somali, Ethiopian, Pasifika and Congolese diasporic communities (among many others) and have co-created many public performance works with hundreds of young people that addressed themes of race, racism and cultural identity. One example was a work called One Nation, A Play Against Racism created with a very culturally diverse cast in 1998 to oppose the rise of the eponymous far right party in Australia. I also developed as a reflective practitioner researcher and have theorised and published on anti-racism. What does this amount to in terms of situating myself? Anti-racism has been a dominant narrative in my working life, and I am sure that this was a response to the racism that I experienced as a child and young adult and chose to reject. Reflecting on this body of work I am deeply aware of its flaws, complexities, and contradictions. Anti-racism is a contested and shifting cultural space and each narrative of change has a counter-narrative of resistance, exploitation, or unintended consequences. The complexity of the issue grows as I become more aware of it and the potential to do harm as well as good. What do I think I have achieved in all this work? Frankly it’s very hard to say. Perhaps the main

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figure 2.3 Anti-racist street theatre in Geelong (photograph by Nicola Dracoulis)

claim I would make is that as an artist I have chosen to speak out about racism when this was often not an easy or popular thing to do and in doing so have encouraged others to do likewise. This isn’t enough, but it is a start.

4

Christopher Sonn

I embarked on a PhD programme in the early 1990s filled with questions about identity, displacement, and the violence of systems of oppression. I left South Africa with my parents and two brothers at the height of anti-apartheid protest in the Western Cape, and across the country in the mid to late 1980s. I had made it through one year of mass rallies and protests that had interrupted study at university. I had enrolled in a degree to become a teacher, one of the limited options for people who, like me, were classified as “coloured,” as a sort of non-designation in the racialised hierarchical systems that organised privilege and opportunity for White people, and disadvantage and dispossession for bulk of South Africa’s Black population. Leaving South Africa for Australia was meant to be temporary, and the more we unpack our family story in Australia and in South Africa, the more complex and complicated the story of oppression, resistance, and displacement becomes. My initial studies provided insight into the impacts of the apartheid system (linked to slavery and colonialism) on individuals, families, and communities; the impact was felt in the hurt, pain, and sacrifice, but also people’s struggles for dignity, community,

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figure 2.4 A sign racialising space during apartheid in South Africa (photograph by Christopher Sonn)

and belonging—a struggle that continues. The violent system and, in particular, its divisive and demeaning ideology that asserted White superiority and Black inferiority, enacted through segregation and space management practices (e.g., Figure 2.4), caused psychic, psychological, and other forms of harm and suffering across generations. We arrived in Australia in the mid-1980s, a period characterised by a discourse of multiculturalism. We felt welcomed; after all Australia was a strong supporter of the anti-apartheid movement. Other South African families who came at the same time buffered the settlement experience for our family—we provided mutual support and opportunities for social connection. We learned very quickly the crude systems of racism and racialisation that we needed to navigate. We were among a handful of families who had dark skin in the suburb where we initially settled. The label “coloured” was obsolete in the Australian discourse; we were Black, made Black. We joke that the apartheid system created a cocoon, and you knew that the system was racist. The covert expressions of racism in Australia were less clear, not as easy to pin down, read, and understand. Hence, much of my focus of inquiry was to understand this oppression, from the perspectives of South African immigrants and, later, with students and colleagues from different diasporas who are ethnicised/racialised and First Nations communities. Along with this emphasis was the desire to challenge academic knowledge; the seemingly biased depiction of racialised groups as damaged, violent, and deficit; and the blatant epistemic violence and scientific racism that underpinned inquiry in my home discipline of social psychology. My second migration took me to Western Australia. This second migration brought to the foreground much of the un- and under-metabolised meanings of displacement and the impacts of racism and racialisation on my sense of self and my ancestral communities and country. I found sanctuary, nurturance, and solidarity in a common struggle with Aboriginal scholars and researchers.

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I learnt about the myth of Terra Nullius, dispossession, and the plight of Aboriginal people, a story that resonated strongly with my own story rooted in the untold stories and social lies of the settlement of the Cape in 1652 by Dutch and subsequently British colonists. Indigenous writers were expressing ways of knowing, doing, and being, producing knowledge on their terms, for them and by them. In New Zealand, Linda Smith (1999) wrote about decolonising methodologies and in Australia, authors articulated Indigenist approaches (see Rigney, 1999) around the country and on Country. With ostensibly White collaborators, we turned our gaze looking towards power and to Whiteness studies, searching for ways to move psychology students from “helping” toward critically walking alongside into making visible power. We asked how normativity, dominance, and superiority (i.e., Whiteness) are produced and maintained, through discourse and practice in everyday settings, research, and community arts and cultural development (see Green et al., 2006). The various roots of scholarship—migration and acculturation studies; critical, liberation and Black psychology; Whiteness studies; and decolonising methodologies, provided our team with theoretical and methodological resources to create and advance the emancipatory aspirations of community research and action, especially critically reflexive inquiry that seeks to transform oppressive psychological and social realities. This truncated story shows a journey and effort to connect the struggles for personal and collective liberation and to utilise my role as a researcher and academic to partner with various groups made other through various forms of structural, symbolic, and cultural violence. We established partnerships

figure 2.5 Members of CIDRN from the South African “Voices of Displacement” project launch (photograph by Liss Gabb)

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between the Community Arts Network in Western Australia (and agencies in Melbourne such as cohealth Arts Generator and Colour Between the Lines) and our research collective, the Community Identity Displacement Research Network (CIDRN). Through critical community and arts enquiry, these partnership teams teams have sought to promote and encourage ways of knowing and doing from the inside and alongside communities (including Aboriginal groups, young people from the African Diaspora) to affirm, restore, and repair ways of being diminished by coloniality and racism. Figure 2.5 represents members of the group presenting the Voices of Displacement project, I Can’t Place You, sharing stories from the South African diaspora.2 Michelle Fine (2018) asks, to whom is the university responsible? In response, I say that the university is an important site for knowledge production, and it is at the interface of community-university that I/we continue to use power afforded by my role as researcher/academic to strive and respond to calls for epistemic justice and to produce knowledge from the margins and in collaboration for liberation.

5

Julie White

Even my name is White. And I have no hero’s tale to tell. Like many others of my generation, who grew up in the 1960s and 1970s, I absorbed the casual racism learned from my family, at my school and in my neighbourhood. I grew up in a lower middle class new suburb with “Australians” and “New Australians” who mostly came from Italy, Greece, and Malta. My father was also a migrant, but he came from Wales, in the UK, and was White. So, we escaped the derogatory names. At lunchtimes, I joined with the others to sneer at the kids with salami sandwiches for lunch, feeling superior and satisfied with vegemite and white bread. I remember a serious discussion about race when I was at high school, after we read Black Like Me (Griffin, 1961), a non-fiction account of a White man darkening his skin so he could experience being Black in America. As Manzoor (2011) later commented, “today the idea of a White man darkening his skin to speak on behalf of Black people might appear patronising, offensive, and even a little comical” (para. 7). I was as outraged as the next person at the lack of humanity depicted in Griffin’s (1961) book. But most of all, I learned that racism was an overseas problem and that racists are to be found in the Southern states of America and the apartheid system in South Africa. I had no insight into Australia’s profoundly racist history or its everyday racist and exclusionary practices. I was on track to become another member of

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figure 2.6 Julie’s grandparents on the ship migrating to Australia in 1948

the smug and self-satisfied middle Australia that John Howard played in the 2001 Children Overboard affair. Fortunately, Gough Whitlam’s government had abolished fees in the 1970s, so I could go to university. I did not meet any First Nations people until I began working as a teacher in Fitzroy. Among other things, I taught English language to newly arrived migrants and refugees in Melbourne’s outer suburbs. I remember being called “Wog Lover” by other students and was troubled by the underlying resentment they expressed towards these newcomers. One boy offered me the heartfelt advice that I shouldn’t waste my time on “those people.” I was a young teacher and was shocked at the entrenched racism learned from homes, where some people are perceived to be worth more than others. This same attitude was portrayed in the ugly hatred and intolerance shown in Go Back to Where You

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Came From (McPhee, 2011), the Australian television series that also simulated racist experiences. So, as a researcher, I make no claim about my credentials or contribution about race, but I have watched, listened, read, and thought my way to some understanding. But I have no hero’s tale to tell.

Notes 1 For a detailed account of this personal history, see de Quadros (2020b). 2 See and hear more about I Can’t Place at https://www.sasoundportraits.com/

CHAPTER 3

Crafting an Approach across and through Difference In this chapter we focus on articulating our research approach and framework. First, we discuss those involved in the research project and complexities of working across and through difference. We unpack our research team and history, teasing out our epistemological and methodological commitments by bringing reflexivity into conversation with diffraction. Second, we look into how we navigated our collaborative research project alongside the actors in a way that stayed true to inclusive knowledge commitments. We are keenly aware that knowledge-making in research, similar to participatory theatre discussed in Chapter 5, can act as a form of ventriloquy—taking the experiences of young people and transforming them into neatly packaged truths. Thus, part of our focus was to enact processes of inclusive knowledge-making, intimately tied to the participatory theatre-making process, in a deliberate move toward epistemic justice in our context. In this book we have written with each other, mobilising theory, our experiences and the many forms of data to critically examine problematic understandings of race and racism. We have delved deeper into belonging and the important forms of relationality that are created through applied theatre. Diffraction brings us into ways of thinking that are generative and seek to make a difference in the world, a move toward epistemic justice and inclusive approaches to knowing. Importantly, boundary-crossing between disciplines, practice, and our own histories and identities is central to this move. In forming solidarities alongside young people who have been marginalised we must work against the Western approach of understanding and doing difference as something captured, integrated, and, ultimately destroyed (Minh-Ha, 1997). In our approach to this research and the writing of this book, we respectfully cross disciplinary, theoretical, and methodological boundaries to “congeal agency,” be generative and responsive, and ultimately “make a difference” (Barad, 2007, drawing on Kleinman, 2012, p. 76). We should be clear that our aim was not to engage in reflexive thinking in order to provide an account of our research that acknowledges our various positions of privilege and moves on or beyond. We are acutely aware of the dangers of reflexivity as a self-indulgent exercise that releases us from the tensions of working across boundaries of power and privilege by naming our © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2021 | doi: 10.1163/9789004505599_003

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respective positions and acknowledging how they shape our research (Pillow, 2003). Reflexivity as a corrective tool in qualitative research that can account for personal positions and their influence on analysis and interpretation can reproduce colonial relationships, whilst simultaneously attempting to bury the researcher’s power over the subject (Pillow, 2003). Nagar and Ali (2003) note that “[i]f our goal is to transform the power hierarchies embedded in knowledge production, it is clearly not going to happen merely through a discussion of how we represent others and ourselves” (p. 360). Instead, we must work with and through the complexity that unites us and shift our reflexive thinking to that which focuses on the “economic, political and institutional processes and structures that provide the context for the fieldwork encounter and shape its effects” (Nagar & Geiger, 2007, p. 269). This also means a shift from just thinking to doing as we will unpack in the coming section. This is where diffraction became important in framing our approach because it works against the reproduction of binaries and divisions and seeks to disrupt linear understandings knowledge-making. In our research, our team, our ways of working together, the nuances of participatory theatre processes, our data gathering activities—focus group interviews, observation notes, conversations, the script—and our theories were in constant conversation with each other. Jackson and Mazzei (2011) encourage qualitative researchers drawing on diffraction in their approach to “think with theory,” a move away from normative, habitual, and reductionist modes of analysis so we might produce “emergent and unpredictable” readings, as data and theory intra-act (p. 261). An important distinction here is Barad’s (2007) theorisation of intra-action (versus inter-action), with a focus on how entities are always being constituted through their relationship, making them inseparable. Thus, woven into theory and data are of course traces of the researchers’ layered lenses, their unique relationship with the world, but also with each other and the actors. Diffraction also marks a deliberate pivot away from reflexivity because the assumption of “I”—the researchers as knowers—is constantly challenged. Haraway (1996) differentiates between reflexivity and diffraction by conceptualising the former to be a critical consciousness of sorts, with careful attention to “how differences are being created in the world and what particular effects they have on subjects and their bodies” (p. 273). She contests that we must work with and through reflective paradigms, but that we must move beyond that and think diffractively if are to engage in a critical, self-accountable, and just interaction with the world. If, as Davies (2014) notes, reflection simply documents difference, whilst diffraction produces difference, how then did we go about producing difference and mapping its effects in our work? We were uniquely positioned as

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a team to do this boundary crossing that Barad (2007) speaks of because we bring different disciplinary traditions and a broad range of theories into conversation with each other. This, Barad regards as a dialogic reading of insights “through one another,” provoking unexpected new thoughts and theories (p. 30). Throughout each chapter, we each wrestle with power, privilege, voice and the importance of enacting community-engaged research and theatre practice, particularly how it resonates across young people’s everyday lives and in school and public spaces. If as Pillow (2003), Nagar and Ali (2003), and Nagar and Geiger (2007) note, our focus on reflexivity needs to go beyond individual and personal stories to examine how historical, social and economic forces have shaped knowledge production in Eurocentric traditions and specifically in our context, we need theory. In our many conversations and our writing, theory has, as MacLure (2010) states “gotten in the way” (p. 278). For this reason, we draw on a range of theories in our scholarship and bring these into our analysis and our narrative throughout the book. We mobilise critical race theory, scholarship on Whiteness and decolonial theory, as well as feminist, educational, and participatory theatre scholarship. We look to counter-storytelling, dialogue, and an emphasis on the affective and embodied strands that come together to enable and disrupt. In thinking with theories, we reach across and through participatory research approaches and applied theatre to create a space for new readings of the Australian racial landscape. From our vantage point, participatory approaches are more than methodological, they are epistemic. These approaches have values grounded in relational ways of knowing, feeling, seeing, engaging with place, and thus understanding the world and the racial landscape.

1

Bringing Applied Theatre and Research Together

Before we dig deeper into the lead up and background of our research work together, it is useful to briefly situate our research approach and commitments to inclusive knowledge-making, particularly in relation to the applied theatre1 project. Whilst these values and practices will be drawn out through this chapter, it is worth explicitly identifying this constellation of theories, practice, and issues and what they stand for. In a special journal issue we edited entitled Creating Inclusive Knowledges: Exploring the Transformative Potential of Arts and Cultural Practice (see Sonn & Baker, 2016) we conceptualised community pedagogies that included a collection of work that blurs the lines between cultural practice and creative knowledge-making and is driven by political and ethical commitments of liberation-oriented work (Freire, 1970; Montero, 2007). The

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researchers, community practitioners, artists, communities, and organisations undertaking these emancipatory endeavours draw on critical theories, creative and arts practice, and a relational ethic to seek out possibilities for change. In reflecting on examples featured in that collection, we identified some key tenets of their standpoints and approaches: 1. An explicit focus on working alongside2 those on the front line of social inequality and valuing their knowledge and experience; 2. The use of participatory, creative methodologies, and/or cultural practice in research and/or social change interventions; 3. A decolonial approach to expose systems and narratives that oppress particular groups and using arts and research to develop counter-stories; 4. Valuing multiple voices and knowledge forms to create public pedagogies (theatre pieces, visual arts, etc.) to evoke reflection and action through dialogue; 5. Exploring the possibilities for particular settings to become “sites of encounter” or communities of practice that allow for the interrogation of power and privilege, with attention to the personal-political nexus. At its core the 6 Hours in Geelong project, as a community arts project, held many of these values and practices at the core of their focus. The actors were from a range of backgrounds and walks of life; they were the writers of their own stories. Their lived experiences and knowledges brought to the forefront the importance of hybrid or fluid identities and the complex bridging roles young people of refugee and migrant backgrounds play in their families and communities. As is clearly explicated in Chapter 5, workshops and storylines were developed through young people’s eyes and voices. Careful attention to historicity and local context were central to crafting counter-narratives. Through the workshops they conducted in schools and on the streets, the actors brought to life the complex dynamics of racism, privilege, and power. A cornerstone of participatory theatre is its ability to engage diverse audiences in dialogue. In line with community pedagogies, this theatre becomes an important site of encounter—not only amongst the actors themselves but also the various audiences they have engaged. Mary Louise Pratt (1991) conceptualises these sites as the contact zone: “Social spaces where cultures meet, clash and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power, such as colonialism, slavery, or their aftermaths as they lived out in many parts of the world today” (p. 34). As articulated in Chapter 5, Dave Kelman worked alongside the artists as part of this process, navigating relations of power and composing a script that brings people into new ways of thinking, seeing, and feeling the world. In such spaces, working across difference through reflexive praxis forms an important part of inclusive knowledge-making and action.

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Working across, with, and through Difference as Intra-Action

In this section we draw attention to different personal and professional histories and the genealogy of our research collaboration and context to articulate our diverse “readings” in the field, of each other, and our broader context. Our very ways of being together in and out of the research context, our conversations in the car, cafes, and hallways—both with each other and with the actors—became entanglements with theories, life stories, and lines from the script that led to more questions than answers. This type of interconnected activity encompasses far more than the thoughts of separate researchers. It delves into the entanglement we have with each other; in places, histories, and moments; as well as our individual disciplines and orientations. It cannot be reduced into clean lines that trace researcher positionality and their effects, nor can it claim to distil out specific ways in which power exists in one of us at any given point and in another. It’s messy. This entanglement requires us to collectively sit with the discomfort of never really knowing what happened, how it felt for others, or what might have changed as a result. Our coming together to do this project was not at random, although as is often the case there are definitely serendipitous happenings at play. For example, Julie happened to have met Dave in her previous work as an education expert working with the state Arts Centre’s artist in the school programme. He was employed as a teaching artist undertaking theatre work in schools. Julie met André in and supervised his doctoral research. Chris and Alison began collaborating in 2013 on research exploring participatory and community arts in relation to youth identity and belonging whilst both working at The Victoria Institute for Education, Diversity and Lifelong Learning. When Julie joined the institute in 2015, she connected with Alison and Chris and brought the team together through a series of fruitful seminars and meetings. Exposure to each other’s “work” was important, but coming into conversation with each other made it apparent that our synergies came from deep-seated concerns about the racism, Islamophobia, and ongoing tensions faced by young people from refugee and migrant backgrounds. Separately we had been working alongside groups of young people experiencing marginalisation including those at home living with chronic health conditions (White, 2014, 2015a, 2015b) and in youth justice facilities (White et al., 2018, 2019; Moylan et al., 2021), in community arts in prisons and through international choirs (de Quadros, 2016, 2019, 2020a), and participatory theatre in schools (Kelman & Rafe, 2013; Kelman, 2017), education, sports, and alternative community settings (Sonn & Quayle, 2013; Baker-Lewton et al., 2017).

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As we have each outlined in Chapter 2, we each have different experiences of migration, some of us multiple migrations, some chosen, others displaced by political circumstances in home countries. Running through those experiences are feelings of nostalgia, anger, and hope, tied to processes of conditional belonging and cultural disruption. Our experiences of race and White supremacy, have in one way or another shaped our work in racial justice and brought us into intra-action and a point of congealing agency.

3

Methodological Approach

As the project unfolded, we sought to enact the principles of collaboration, empowerment, and situated knowing and to supporting the development of theatre for change-making skills and tackling racism at individual and community levels. This meant that we had to negotiate the aims of the project through the various phases and parts of the collaboration. As researchers, we aimed to work collaboratively with young people in a way that honoured their knowledges, but also contributed to their craft and work as a participatory theatre collective. Whilst Dave had an ongoing connection with the actors as a theatre practitioner, the rest of the research team did not. Thus, in designing our methodological approach, it was important that we were present and were able to establish a connection with the young people. As we outlined earlier, we did this by being observing actors in workshops and engaging in focus group interviews at different points in the theatre-making process so that young people were able to debrief, reflect, and unpack their experiences. We set out to make the research useful to the development of the theatre piece as a form of public pedagogy, but also to look closely at the process of participatory theatre making from a range of theoretical perspectives to present a range of readings of the work. Thus, rather than pushing for homogeneity and sameness in developing our methodological approach, we leaned on diffraction as a way to hold complexity and embody relational epistemology (Langhout, 2016; Montero, 2007). Methodologically we drew upon critical and participatory traditions of inclusive knowledge-making that sought to both create a space for the actors to analyse and interpret their experiences and arts practice and to trace the complexities of their work in public spaces. Similar to Langhout (2016), we mobilise diffraction because it allows us “to examine how entanglements can create change, and how waves can constructively or destructively interfere with each other” (p. 325). In using diffraction, the young people’s stories and their analysis became entangled with ours, our

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positionalities, and our subjectivities as well as our critical engagement with theories, methods, and practice. Our data generation, which was approved by our institutional ethics committee, was carefully planned around the participatory theatre process and: – Actor observation took place across the life of the project, including attending theatre-making sessions, all phases of scriptwriting, workshops in schools, and after the final performance; – Group interviews with the actors were facilitated at the start of the project and after the public performance, and held at the end of rehearsals or group gatherings. In these focus groups we aimed to bring questions to the actors to facilitate reflexive thinking about their artistic process and broader contexts of public performance; – The script was developed for 6 Hours in Geelong; – Audience feedback was solicited after the public performance as well as school and street workshops; – There were many conversations amongst the researchers, including those in cars on the way home after rehearsals, interviews, and performances.

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Conclusion

As noted in Chapter 1, the history of a place is so important in shaping a sense of community and belonging. The actors lived in Geelong, a regional town that has a different dynamic to the city in which the university and researchers are located. Defining who constitutes the community, understanding their histories, the diversity within each community, and their past relationships with universities are central to doing collaborative research. The group of actors, all of whom came to Australia as migrants, but were brought together by participatory theatre, working to develop a shared goal, vision, and sense of belonging. The actors created a distinct and organic sense of community through their theatre project by bringing together their stories and projecting them into public spaces. As we will explore further in several chapters, this group of young people hailing from different countries, with very different migration stories, religions, cultures, and gendered and racialised experiences, came together to challenge the ways in which identities were being imposed upon them and negative representations were being projected into public discourse. As we will come to see in Chapter 4, this space also becomes an important place of respite for young people, where experiential knowledge was placed at the centre of art-making and differentiation was a source of power for change.

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Notes 1 The term “applied theatre” refers to practices that stand outside mainstream theatre, frequently in non-traditional locations and with excluded populations. See Applied Theatre/ Drama (2006). 2 Working alongside is key to an enquiry into lived experiences, see Clandinin (2006) for example.

PART 2 Applied Theatre: The Arts Education Project

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CHAPTER 4

Looking Inward 6 Hours in Geelong as Process

Ten young actors from diverse ethnic and cultural backgrounds “walk the space” in a classroom in a community centre on a chilly evening in Geelong. They walk rapidly in random patterns. The voice of the director cuts across the space. “Talk to yourself about what you think your culture is, in any language you choose.” The space is suddenly filled with voices, varying from murmurs to declarations, a profusion of accents and languages. Everyone wants to speak. Everyone wants to say, “Yes I have a culture and it is who I am.” This chapter gives a brief outline of the applied theatre project providing a common point of reference for the extended discussion of the cultural context in which it took place. Applied theatre is performance-based work that is designed to deliver social outcomes whilst maintaining artistic integrity; we think that it is the genre of practice that most appropriately defines this project. The project involved the co-creation of a piece of devised theatre by ten young people from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds who lived in Geelong. The finished work was titled 6 Hours in Geelong. The project was directed by Dave Kelman working with three younger facilitating artists who also performed in the play. The role of the project director is interrogated in detail in Chapter 6. The project was funded by the Victorian State Government as part of a community resilience initiative and the young people were paid $25 an hour for their involvement. It was a requirement of the funding that the project should create original narratives that countered racism and Islamophobia. It took place over a nine-month period with the group meeting weekly in a classroom space in a community centre. There were three major performance outcomes: one a street theatre performance at a festival in Geelong; eight interactive workshop performances in local schools and two performances of a “finished” work at the Geelong Arts Centre, a regional theatre, to school and community audiences.

© koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2021 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_004

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Who Were the Actors?

There were ten young people involved in this project, between the ages of 18 and 21. None of them was born in Geelong, although they had all lived there for a number of years. There were six men and four women. They were from the following countries: Congo, Zimbabwe, Afghanistan, Turkey, Samoa, and New Zealand. Some were studying at university or in vocational education institutions and others were working or undertaking apprenticeships. For some actors, their experience of life in their country of origin was one of extreme poverty: I’m not from here, I’m from Congo. I was raised there, but we had to move because of the wars and stuff. So I was raised in Tanzania. And way back home, it was so tough. It’s not really easy for you to get a job or for your family to save money to send you to school and stuff. So they would only pick one person in the family who they really trust to send to school and they would help the rest of the family. All of them had experienced some degree of cultural displacement: I’m culturally lost because I was born in New Zealand and I moved here when I was seven with all my family, my brother, my sister, my mum and dad. But it’s just us here. So they know the culture and some of the language and how we are, but I’m the only one that doesn’t. For some of the actors this sense of displacement was extreme: I lost everything, you’re just taken to a new place and you’re a nobody, and nobody knows you, you’re just crap. It totally changed my life because I was someone. This sense of loss was balanced by an enduring pride that the actors felt in their complex sense of cultural identity as illustrated here: To be Congolese, in Congo there’s many cultures and those cultures, I’m one of the cultures in Congo so in a group I’m Mushi, I would say that. To me, being Mushi’s really special. It feels different to others because everyone’s got their own cultures, and the way they value their own culture, that’s the way I value mine. Being who I am, I’m proud of myself and I could go outside and say I’m this person and whoever disagrees with me, it’s their own problem but I know who I am and I value that.

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Applied Theatre

Applied theatre is a term used to describe a wide range of practices where the social outcomes for actors and/or communities are considered to be of primary importance. Thompson (2003) offers a definition that outlines many of the key aspects of this practice: Applied theatre is a participatory theatre created by people who would not usually make theatre. It is, I would hope, a practice by, with, and for the excluded and marginalised. It is, at its best, a theatre that translates and adapts to the unfamiliar. It is a theatre wedded to vital issues and one that values debate. In circumstances where fear is dominant it can be a theatre of celebration. In circumstances where celebratory escapism is dominant, it can be the theatre of serious enquiry. It should aim to be a theatre that somehow balances the pragmatism involved in making itself relevant in difficult environments with the idealism of a belief in transformation. (p. xvi) G. White et al. (2015) problematise the term applied theatre because it can suggest an intervention that is applied to rather than something that is created with a particular community. The importance of working “with” rather than doing something “to” a community is a fundamental tenet of community arts practice, but the precise nature of working “with,” the democratisation of process and the sharing of artistic control, is rarely subjected to close scrutiny. As Thompson (2003) indicates in the quotation above, the highly contentious term “transformational” is often used to describe applied theatre practice but whilst there may be a reasonable basis for using this term in relation to the experiences of actors there is very little evidence that the arts in general and theatre in particular can have any “impact” at a community level. Much of the discourse around transformation originates in the work of Augusto Boal whose seminal text Theatre of the Oppressed (2000) has been hugely influential in developing an approach that allowed spectators to shape the action of a dramatic scene by demonstrating how they might change the situation, facilitated by a “joker.” Boal (2000) summarises his practice thus: The poetic of the oppressed is essentially the poetics of liberation: the spectator no longer delegates power to the characters either to think or act in his place. The spectator frees himself; he thinks and acts for himself! Theatre is action! Perhaps the theatre is not revolutionary in itself; but have no doubts, it is a rehearsal for revolution. (p. 155)

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This rhetoric is of its time and context, but Boal’s practice continues to be widely employed and is the basis for the utopian idea that performing a successful intervention to oppression might lead to individual or even societal transformation. In his writings Boal (1995) developed the idea of the aesthetic space: The aesthetic space allows democratic interchange, allows us to say, “ok, that’s the way things are but not the way things should be, and now I’m going to create an image of how I want the world to be.” (p. 49) Interesting here is the continued emphasis on an idealised world rather than, for example, a deeper exploration of why the current situation has arisen. Practitioners such as Chinyowa (2014) have adapted and developed Boal’s practice to try to embrace greater nuance and complexity beyond the simplistic oppressor-oppressed binary of Theatre of the Oppressed whilst retaining the aspiration of transformation. This approach has something in common with the concept of performative counter-storytelling; cultural interventions challenge dominant cultural narratives that oppress marginalised groups and replace them with alternatives that are empowering, inclusive, and self-authoring by the communities that they represent (Maxwell & Sonn, 2020). Neelands (2004) posits a dialectic between the aesthetic and the social in drama practice and uses the term “para-aesthetic” to describe dramatic work that values social learning over aesthetic concerns whilst noting that such practice is generally perceived as having a lesser cultural status (p. 50). Prentki (2018) draws on the trickster tradition in Western and other art to suggest a process that “can start from stories grounded in the reality of life before taking us into the dream worlds of transformation” (p. 167). In such worlds, “existing experiences” combine with “the foolishly inspired audacity to imagine other ways of seeing and doing” (p. 167). He describes the liminal aesthetic space of an applied theatre process as “a critical, reflective space where ethical transformations can be tried out, replayed and amended without terminal consequences” (p. 167). He further suggests the subtle ways in which individuals may be transformed through this experience; “with transformation we may understand that something profound has changed within us without being able to articulate the nature of that change even for ourselves, never mind communicating it to others” (Prentki, 2018, p. 167). Prentki’s (2018) conception of playful explorations in an aesthetic space bring us back to the need to understand applied theatre as an artistic form

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reliant on symbol and affect and not exclusively a narrative medium. G. White et al. (2015) emphasise the need to “develop a more nuanced understanding of the role that the special capabilities of art—particularly beauty—have to play in social change” (p. 4). At the heart of this discussion about the nature or even the possibility of transformational community arts practice is the idea that community artists can inspire personal and social change by presenting positive alternative narratives about oppressed/marginalised communities that counter dominant racist narratives. The process used to create 6 Hours in Geelong did not conform to this approach and resisted a simplistic “positive images” representation of marginalised communities because the ensemble sought to communicate complexity. Their goals are captured in what Bhabha (2004) calls the “social articulation of difference, from the minority perspective,” a process he describes as “a complex, on-going negotiation that seeks to authorize cultural hybridities that emerge in moments of historical transformation” (p. 3). The counter-narrative of 6 Hours in Geelong was an attempt to embrace the complexity and nuanced exploration of contradictions that Bhabha is describing, in other words, a narrative of cultural hybridity. It was an exploration in a liminal aesthetic space of possibility—one night in Geelong in which it is possible for people from diverse backgrounds to share their experiences of racism and their deeply held beliefs about culture. This exploration demonstrated that a society based on open respectful dialogue about difference might be achievable. To what extent it achieved “beauty” is very hard to assess and contradictory to the medium, but through the use of songs, dance, film components, and poetry it was creating meaning through an aesthetic medium. In terms of artistic form, 6 Hours in Geelong was classically Brechtian using songs and films to “alienate” the audience from an empathetic engagement with characters and encouraging them to think more analytically about the situation being presented. Brecht’s “device of making strange” or “verfremdungseffekt” (Willett, 1977, p. 178) is of course much debated and was labelled “the theatre of Auschwitz” by English playwright Edward Bond who suggested that Brecht’s Epic theatre was authoritarian because it told its audience what to think (Katafiasz, 2005, p. 25). What this debate illustrates is that it is not enough for a theatre maker to merely present a counter-narrative, the counternarrative must be embedded in an artistic form that shapes the meaning of the dramatic narrative, but this is only revealed in the act of performance when an audience engages with the narrative and is or is not changed by it. The precise nature of the narrative and aesthetics of its telling are what do or do not effect change, and there is the very real possibility of generating unintended

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meanings once the work enters the public domain through public performance. Particularly when it is addressing issues of cultural racism, there are potential consequences and a real possibility of doing harm if synthesis of narrative and aesthetic form is misjudged by the artists. On the one hand, a bland positive statement that promotes racial equality in simplistic terms may allow a White audience to feel virtuous and remain ignorant of the real experience of people of colour in their community. On the other hand, a narrative that reveals and critiques racism may provoke a racist backlash. A narrative that is based on an exploration of hybridity may also alienate. There are no simple answers or solutions, just an aspiration to deepen an audience’s understanding of complex and challenging issues. In the next section, we describe the performance, characters, and processes of its development.

3

6 Hours in Geelong

3.1 Summary 6 Hours in Geelong was a sequence of dramatised interactions between fictional characters of similar ages (19–22 years old) and from the same cultural backgrounds as the young people who created and acted them. Although the events of the play take place on a single night out in Geelong, the work could not be described as “naturalistic” because each scene explores social issues pertaining to race and culture from different characters’ perspectives. For example, an African Australian woman is exasperated by the racism she has experienced when trying to get a job, a Turkish Australian woman wears hijab as a political statement, and an Afghani Australian man talks to an African character about the need for solidarity in the face of racism. So, the play was a vehicle for talking about race, identity, and social inclusion rather than a “realistic” drama. To avoid this dramatised discussion becoming boring and didactic, the play was interspersed with jokes, slapstick comedy, songs, and projected film clips of individual characters walking the streets of Geelong delivering short interior monologues (see Appendix for the full script). The plot was linked by the story of Sam and Jackson, two White Australian characters played by older White Australian actors. Sam is a rookie policewoman who argues against her colleague’s apparent bias against African young people and dates Jackson who holds views that reflect subtly racist attitudes. The play culminates in the young people rejecting a nightclub in Geelong because it is not culturally inclusive and instead going to dance together at a friend’s home.

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Devising Process

The play was created through a devising process. Devised theatre covers a very broad spectrum of practices and processes. Commonly in community contexts it involves developing material through improvisation “on the floor” that is then documented (often filmed and transcribed) and shaped into a performance text or script. The precise nature of what is improvised and how this material is processed into a performance are at the centre of the practice. The devising process raises questions of authenticity, authorship, and artistic control that are considered in Chapter 7. This approach encourages personal narrative creation by enabling actors to draw on their own and each other’s experiences but to re-interpret these experiences as fiction. This has the advantage of distancing the individual from the story they are telling, providing a degree of privacy and protection. This highlights the need for the devising process to be a safe space where actors can take calculated risks about what they choose to share of their own lives. The devising process of 6 Hours in Geelong was conceived as a form of counter-storytelling as discussed above. At the suggestion of one of the actors, it was agreed early on in the process that the dramatic material pertaining to racism should be based on events that actors or their friends and family had directly experienced thus enabling them to respond to any criticism of these narratives by stating they were a reflection of “real life.” These real life stories however, complicate the nature of the counter-stories being told because they deal with the complexity of real life and not simply positive narratives of racial harmony. The process therefore involved the construction and critique of interwoven narratives that presented multi-dimensional issues that treated all the characters fairly and ultimately constructed a nuanced, antiracist counter-narrative.

5

Characters

The process of making 6 Hours in Geelong began with the cast being asked to walk randomly in the workshop space and talk to themselves in their mother tongues about what they understood their culture to be. From this starting point, they generated the characters, who although similar to them in age and cultural background are not them. The characters were the same cultural/ethnic background and age as the actors. The actors drew on their own and each other’s experience of racism and related issues to create the characters and the stories of the play. In Schechner’s (2003) classic phrase, they are “not me, but

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not not me” (p. 197). The play was always intended to be explicit in its messaging and to this end it focused on issues of race. The characters were developed with this in mind and were to some extent cyphers designed to explore particular viewpoints, however the ensemble also worked hard to introduce nuance and complexity into the characters ensuring they were more than this. The characters the actors chose to create tell us something about who the actors were. There is not a direct correspondence; the ensemble was always clear that they were working in fiction, and some chose to create characters that were very different from their own personality, but the characters they created do indicate their perception of the issues they were exploring and in particular their experience of racism. – Marley is an African Australian man in his early twenties who is unemployed and is cynical and disillusioned about his life in Australia. Brought up in Rwanda in poverty he migrated to Australia with the expectation of a better life but is surprised and angered by the racial discrimination he experiences there. Like many young people, Marley would like to have a car and he feels excluded because he doesn’t own one. He has an ambiguous relationship to his older brother Big who he loves and looks up to but also resents because Big is studying at a university and is determined to “succeed” which amplifies his own sense of failure. – Mercy is an African Australian woman in her early twenties who is desperately trying to get a job but constantly faces rejection which makes her feel victimised. She came to Australia as a refugee from Tanzania in her teens. Facing significant pressure from her family to contribute economically, she feels ashamed of her perceived failure to gain employment. She is becoming increasingly aware that her race is a significant factor in employers rejecting her. She empathises with Marley. – Zareen is a Turkish Australian Muslim woman in her early twenties who feels torn between defending her faith and living the life she wants to live. Born and brought up in Australia in a Turkish speaking household she has her own interpretation of religious adherence but being a Muslim is important to her and she is proud to be one. She does not habitually wear the hijab but chooses to do so when she believes her faith is under attack and she wants to make a political statement in support of other Muslim women. – Big is an African Australian man in his mid-twenties who quotes Malcolm X and is self-righteous in his political certainty. Intellectual and driven, he is determined to succeed through the educational opportunities available to him since he came to Australia from the Congo as a refugee in his teens. Big has earned money and owns a good car of which he is proud. He remains ambiguous about Australia however, perceiving widespread racism and a lack of acceptance of different cultures, which leads him to be dismissive of

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Australian society’s lack of what he calls “culture.” He is angry and proud and sees strong connections between the struggle of different racialised groups in Australia. He loves and cares for his brother Marley but he is frustrated by what he sees as Marley’s refusal to take advantage of the educational opportunities available to him. Kea is a Māori woman in her early twenties who has grown up in Australia and has lost touch with her Māori culture. She has experienced family violence from her father and is angry about this. She is a strong feminist who is dating Yacoub, an Afghan Australian man, and she demands respect from him as a woman but without fully understanding his culture or the issues their relationship may cause for him. Yacoub is an Afghan Australian man in his mid-twenties who is dating Kea. He is fed up with having to defend his Muslim faith and identity and wants to live his life without having to be accountable to his community. Born in Afghanistan but brought up in Australia he perceives the widespread Islamophobia in Australian society but he doesn’t think it is his responsibility to oppose it. He is a committed Muslim but sees his faith as a private matter that he interprets on his own terms. He has a strong relationship with Kea but becomes frustrated when she wants him to acknowledge his relationship within his Afghan community, because there is pressure on him to marry a Muslim woman. Yassin is an Afghan Australian man in his mid-twenties who feels an intense responsibility to stand up for his Muslim faith and identity but who can be dogmatic in his beliefs. Born and brought up in Afghanistan before coming to Australia in his late teens as a refugee, he is enthusiastic about the opportunities that Australia offers him but he is angered and hurt by the Islamophobia he and other members of his community experience. A devout Muslim he has strong beliefs about how women should conduct themselves and the respect that younger people should have for their elders. He is fond of Zareen but is challenged by her more liberal interpretation of Islam. He struggles to be open-minded to the society he is living in so that he can stay connected and relevant. He is a passionate anti-racist who supports Big’s assertion of a political alliance between racialised communities. Lucia is an African Australian woman in her early twenties who loves White western culture and who is in denial about racism. Born in the Congo and coming to Australia as a teenager, she has tried desperately to fit in with the mainstream White culture of Geelong. She seems to be in denial about racism, perhaps preferring to believe that it doesn’t exist or is very minimal. She is in a relationship with Zondo which she finds challenging because he is more assertive of his African identity.

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– Zondo is an African Australian man in his early twenties who feels lost and alienated in Australia and sees himself as the victim of police racism. He was born and brought up in Zimbabwe and came to Geelong as a migrant with his parents a few years ago. He is experiencing a profound sense of cultural displacement compounded by the significant racism he experiences. He grew up in a city ghetto in Zimbabwe and misses the comradery of his life there. He experiences police racism that gives him a strong sense that he will never be allowed to integrate on his own terms into Australian society. He resents and rejects the pressure he feels to assimilate into Australian society. – Sam is a White Australian rookie policewoman in her mid-twenties who is idealistic about her job. She has a powerful sense of justice but is naive about police racism. She has found it difficult to find romantic relationships since joining the police and dates men on Tinder in search of love. – Jackson is a White Australian small business owner in his late twenties who was born and brought up in Geelong and who thinks he should be able to criticise migrants to Australia, who he perceives as not assimilating successfully, without being called a racist. He strongly believes that Australia is not a racist country and that everyone gets a fair go. He has been convinced by media coverage that there is an “African gang” problem in Melbourne that may spread to Geelong and he doesn’t want this to happen to what he believes is a successful multicultural city.

6

Authoring Process

The process of creating 6 Hours in Geelong started with the characters and then developed through small group improvisation that explored fictionalised versions of events that the actors (or their friends/family) had directly experienced. These small group improvised scenes formed the basis of a promenade street theatre performance at a festival in Geelong (Geelong After Dark). This event took place early in the process and had a strong influence on the shape of the final play because it situated the action on the streets of Geelong, emphasising the local nature of the dramatic narrative. To build on this experience, the facilitating artists asked actors to write short character-based monologues that were to be performed “live” whilst short films were projected showing the character walking through the streets of Geelong at night. The process was grounded in the play’s characters, location, and in the actors’ reality. This is how one actor reflected on the unfolding narrative: Yes, it’s talking about things I want to talk about because if there was anything I wanted to bring in this show, it wouldn’t be denied because

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the first day we said we need to tell the story or make a show about what really goes on in our lives, in our everyday lives or in other people’s lives, what goes on in reality. Anything that I experienced or other people experienced, they could bring it and they could also add it to the play. It was crucially important to the actors that their voices were heard and that all stories were accepted. They spoke highly of their experience of this inclusive process and how it developed their own cultural understanding: I think—I’m just going to fully speak—for me, it’s broadened my empathy for people as well. I’ve always been aware of racism and stuff like Islamophobia and stuff like that and I’ve always been educated in that area and I’ve always wanted to do something about it but I guess working with these guys, hearing their stories, hearing the experiences that they’ve gone through really makes it real for myself and it makes me want to act on it even more. I think it’s given me a lot more to think about and it’s also broadened my thinking in terms of how people act in society and the stuff that’s going on in society and stuff like that. I think that’s changed, yeah. I think it’s broadened my thinking in social issues. What is significant here is that this actor believes the play-building process has broadened his understanding of social issues by developing his thinking further from an already strong base. Another actor was explicit about it being the performed nature of the process that changed her way of seeing: Like the issues you were talking about like the African issue or the Muslim issue or cross-cultural relationships. When we’d perform those type of scenes, for me personally, it makes me understand how somebody from a different culture or from somebody else’s perspective, from a different perspective, whereas you always want to get it from your own perspective but when you actually see how these other people see it, it actually influences the way you see it, too, because you’re trying to see it on both tables, you know what I mean, both eyes. In this environment of cultural exchange, there was a degree of fearlessness in approaching challenging and even taboo issues—such as the assertion of an Islamic identity or challenging police racism—but this was tempered by a need to consider the impact of the work on a community audience: I’ll cross any line and I’m not afraid to turn around and put something in a—I’d go full-on, man, you know? You go away and you’re thinking how

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do I do this in a way to get a person to at least think about it because if you go too full-on, though, people turn around and tend to get intimidated or you’re playing the victim card sort of thing. I turn around and look at what it is that we’re doing, assess it and be like, okay, these were the good things that happened and I think this worked but I think this could become a little bit better so you assess how can I make things better? I’m in a constant process of writing, editing, “does this sound right?”, “we need to work at this.” The director will come up to me with an idea and be like, “does this sound okay?” “Yeah, it sounds great” or “no, this needs to be different.” That’s what it’s about. We’re thinking about how do I do this better. This statement about the willingness to take risks in the play-building process shows a level of sophistication and crucially a critical analytical overview of that process that is an essential dimension to the process of authorship. I think, with the way we work, we turn around and have a meaning and a reason as to why we portray everything, and because of that, and because of the story that we have behind the things that we’re doing and the reasoning behind it, I don’t tend to worry how people are going to react because I just feel as though they will get [it]. We have put in enough work. We have put in enough emphasis within our story for them to understand. There is a confidence in the robust nature of the process being manifested here—“we have put in enough work”—and a confidence that the story being told has been interrogated and its potential impact considered. This illustrates the need for the actors to take responsibility for and ultimately control the process. The level of actor control achieved in this process is demonstrated by some of the actors independently forming their own writing group away from the process, bypassing the project director: I wrote a lot of the Muslim scenes myself. The scenes that I’m usually in, the Muslim characters and things, we have a group chat on Facebook and we always share things on that. Well, when the director emails us the scripts or ideas I usually—As soon as I have a laptop I type back, and I usually write it in my own space where I can really think about it. Most of the actors had learned English later in life as an additional language and some lacked the written English language skills or the confidence necessary to write their own scenes and the ability to analyse a complex written text in English. The process for these actors involved filming and transcribing

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improvised scenes so that the actor’s exact words were used. These scenes were all subjected to critique and adjustment by the ensemble: We always have time to talk at the end of each session and we can add our own experiences and just create more scenes and things. And say what we liked and what we didn’t like and we want to improve. Before the project director used this material to draft a script, the whole story was summarised by the director and read out to the actors who simultaneously enacted it in mime so that they embodied the story. This is how one of the actors described this experience: That’s why we did what we did today, to see it all together and then kind of flesh out ideas like, “this doesn’t seem truthful, this doesn’t seem believable.” What we’re presenting and what we actually want to talk about. A recurring theme in the process was the need for the events being enacted to seem truthful or believable, tying the work to lived experience. Once the story had been agreed upon, a first draft was written by the project director and a Vietnamese Australian scriptwriter using the actors’ writing or words transcribed from improvisations. This first draft was then read and subjected to a major critique and revision process by the ensemble: There’s total redrafting and editing, and then we present it. It’s always going to be changing until rehearsals start. The key emphasis within this process was on enabling the actors to control the material and its meanings, not just to provide the characters, words, songs, and stories but to be active collaborators in crafting these elements into a complete artistic statement. The role of the project director in this process is moot, but it is important to note that this role involves providing the structure within which creativity can flourish. Creating an environment in which creative freedom can exist without controlling and dominating the process is precisely the challenge that a project director faces in trying create an aesthetic space of acceptance combined with rigorous critique.

7

Play Excerpts

To give a flavour of the script (see Appendix) that was generated by this process, we are including some short excerpts from it, illustrating some of the

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tensions between the characters and the cultural territory being explored. In this excerpt, Kea talks to Yacoub about her perception of sexism in his Afghani Muslim culture: Kea : Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub: Kea: Yacoub:

Kea:

Yacoub:

You want to come Jacob? Yacoub. What? My name is Yacoub. I’ve been calling you Jacob since we starting dating. Yeah well, my name is Yacoub. Why didn’t you tell me? I wanted to make it easy. Now it’s a little harder. Your name is your name. I should always say it right. Thank you. So. People in the community have been “talking.” Is that why you have to change? No that’s not it. You know that thing that we talked about before with Yassin? That shit about the way I dress? Yeah. What about it? I’m sorry that you had to find out like that. It was news to me that people were talking. I don’t need this. I carry myself with enough dignity to know I did nothing to deserve it and you should stand up for me. It’s just the way things are. It’s not the way it should be. It’s not the way you used to be. You didn’t like the way I used to be. You complained about me taking everything as joke. Yeah, but you’ve let other people’s opinions of us come between us. 50% of a man’s Din in Islam is marriage. Which means 50% of my entire test in this world is based on the person that I’m with. It is why people tend to talk so much. So let them talk. They don’t know who I am. This is about me and you. They have no say in the decisions that we make. I understand this is complicated but I am willing to learn about your culture and religion but you need to respect me as your partner. I do respect you. And you’re right we should talk more, like this.

This scene comes from near the end of the play and was improvised and then written by the actors towards the end of the devising process. It aims to walk a

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line between Kea’s right to demand respect as a woman and Yacoub’s assertion that his Islamic beliefs do respect women. The issue is not resolved but both character’s viewpoints are honoured. This advocacy for respectful dialogue across cultural divides is echoed in a short monologue that another Afghani Muslim character, Yassin, delivers whilst a short film is playing. The monologue, written by the actor playing Yassin, is a moving exhortation to himself to stay open in the face of the huge challenge of living in a country that does not understand or respect his culture: You gotta be respectful to other opinions. You gotta be positive. You’ve got to be open, you’ve got to be open. Another scene from near the end of the play is an argument between Lucia and her friend Mercy. Lucia is angry because she thinks Mercy has made a move on her boyfriend Zondo and in her anger she lashes out, blaming Mercy for living in the past: Mercy: Lucia:

Mercy: Lucia:

Mercy: Lucia:

Lucia, there is nothing going on with me and Zondo. We were just talking about Africa. You think I care about you and your Africa? What were even you talking about? Living in mud huts? Eating with your hands without washing? Eating beans? Yum yum! I think I’ll stick to sushi thanks. Little kids running around singing? You think I’m going to believe this? You don’t understand Lucia. We were talking about how hard it is coming here and not being respected like you thought you would be. It’s not my problem if you can’t get a job. My life here is perfect. Didn’t you know, I’m going to be a model? We’re here now. We have to make it work. You’re crying for something that we’ve left behind. It doesn’t exist anymore. Stop Lucia stop. Why are you saying this? I thought you were my friend. Do you want to make me cry? Are you happy now? No I’m not happy. How could you even think I was happy?

Again this scene was also devised by the actors towards the end of the process and is a deliberate challenge to the idealising of Africa that some characters indulge in in the play. Although Lucia claims her life is perfect, she is every bit as fragile as Mercy. What these excerpts illustrate is that the play attempts to explore complexity and contradiction without judging its characters; the exception to this is the character of Jackson. Jackson is a White male character, he is a little older than the other characters and was played by a professional actor employed

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specifically for the purpose of representing a White racist character. Towards the end of the play the character accuses Marley, an African Australian character, of trying to steal his car and grabs hold of him in an aggressive way. When the matter is resolved this is the conversation that he has with Sam, a young policewoman that he is dating: Jackson: What the heck was that eh? You saw the kid. You know what he was up to. I don’t get you Sam, whose side are you on? You’re supposed to be a cop. Sam: He hadn’t done anything wrong. Jackson: But he was going to and you know it. Sam: No I don’t. You walked out and you saw a criminal and I saw a scared boy. Maybe a boy who would like to have a nice car one day. In this country we’re innocent until proven guilty. Ever hear of the fair go? Jackson: How about a fair go for me Sam? Don’t I have rights? Sam: Of course you have rights. But you don’t have the right to make judgments about people because of the colour of their skin. Jackson: It’s not about colour, it’s how they are. They’re different from us. We have our values and our way of life and it’s different from theirs. I reckon it’s better than theirs to be honest and I really don’t understand why I can’t say that. Sam: You can say what you want, but I don’t have to listen to it. You know, on that first date, I thought you were a really cool guy and okay, I admit it, I’ve got a bit of a thing for beards, but some of things you say are really cringe worthy and it stinks! Jackson: Stinks! Like what? What did I say? Sam: All that “us and them” stuff. Why do you have divide people up like that? What are you afraid of? Jackson: I’m not afraid of anything. (Pause) I’m just saying … Sam: Are you? Well, I’m just saying “goodbye” Jackson. At the conclusion of this scene the whole cast—including the actor playing Jackson—sing the 1980s song by the Specials “If you have a racist friend” that urges people to reject such friends as a Brechtian (Willett, 2018) commentary on the scene. The scene is interesting for a number of reasons, firstly the decision to give voice to “cultural racism,” the “they are not like us” argument, which is directly rejected and condemned by Sam and by the authorial voice of the play. This decision to didactically promote an overt political position is artistically questionable because it attempts to tell the audience what they should think rather than allowing them to make their own decision, but this

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is balanced by giving voice to claims of cultural superiority that are normally taboo in public discourse in Australia with the exception of far right political parties. The play explores racial profiling by the police but does not unambiguously represent and condemn police racism. Although one African Australian actor had a direct experience of overt police racism which was represented faithfully in the play, the rookie policewoman character is presented sympathetically. The ensemble’s decision not to be more direct in criticism of police racism was influenced by a number of factors: the desire to reflect the actors’ experiences (most of them had not had problems with the police), an awareness that the play would be shown to large numbers of young people and the need for its messaging to be acceptable to schools (who were providing the audience), and in line with community expectations about what young people should be exposed to. Although there was no direct interference from the state government funding body, a direct critique of police conduct would not have aligned with stated social cohesion objectives of the project. These are just some of the more obvious issues that arose in the project and they illustrate the complex and nuanced artistic decisions that were involved in its creation. Amongst the actors there were some with a strongly developed sense of the specifically artistic nature of the process of trying to generate change through their artistic talent: I see us coming together as different minority groups and trying to use our talent to teach other people on what’s happening around the world. If I came towards a person and I try to tell them to change and I’m not entertaining them or anything and I just try to tell them what you’re doing is wrong, this, this, this, the percentage of them accepting my information and changing is going to be low. If I fascinate you with my talent, maybe you like the way I dance or maybe the way we sing or the way we act and you are intrigued, you respect us as performers and educated people, that’s going to help in you changing yourself as in maybe I want to be like those people and these people are telling me that is not right. That implores yourself to change. That’s what I mean. We’re just trying to use our talent. Others believed that the play might create social change based on a notion of “telling it like it is”: Yes, the play shows what is really happening and what people need to see, because if you don’t show them what they need to see, then it is going to

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be—it will still be the same thing. You do this, they reject. You do this, they deny. You do this, they say something else. But, the thing that we did, we showed them what is really happening and what step they need to take to allow those changes to take over.

8

Conclusion

In this chapter, we have looked inward to describe what 6 Hours in Geelong was and how it was perceived by the people who created it. What emerges is that the actors saw the play as a reflection of their experiences and that they had a strong sense of having co-authored it. They believed that it would educate the broader Geelong community about racism and would have a positive social impact. The actors gained knowledge of each other’s cultural perspectives through the process and had great respect for these narratives of identity. They saw themselves as representing both their specific cultural communities and more broadly people of colour in Geelong and they took this responsibility very seriously. Seeing themselves as artists, they utilised their talents to achieve social outcomes. The next chapter changes perspective to look outward at how the play was seen by youth and community audiences in Geelong.

CHAPTER 5

Looking Outward How Community Audiences Viewed 6 Hours in Geelong

Down a dark laneway in Geelong, thirty people follow a guide who encourages them to come along for the ride. They leave the bustle of the street festival with its costumed performance artists and packed bars and walk into the darkness. At the end of the alley, lit by torch light, three young African-Australian actors argue about how racist Geelong is. One quotes Nelson Mandela. The predominantly White crowd looks a bit uncomfortable but they stay for the end of scene and then applaud. “That was nice,” a young man says as they walk back to the bright lights of the festival. In this chapter we consider audience responses to 6 Hours in Geelong and what they can tell us about how the work was received by people in the city. There were three different performance works created in this project: a street theatre piece that was performed at an outdoor festival (Geelong After Dark); an in-school interactive workshop performance, and a “finished” performance work that was performed to a community audience in a mainstream theatre venue. The first two formats had their own intrinsic value and contributed to the development of the final performance work. This three-pronged approach was taken partly to meet the audience number targets of the funding body (state government), but also as a way of opening the process to public engagement. The performance at Geelong After Dark enabled the ensemble to get a feel for how a Geelong audience that reflected the predominantly White demographic of the city might respond to a counter-narrative that explored issues of cultural identity and racism. The school performances were a further testing ground for the material. Exploring a variety of narratives, these performances enabled the ensemble to get a sense of what culturally diverse young people living in Geelong thought about racism and how they understood the concept through the powerful conversations that were generated. The Geelong After Dark and school performances were a form of artistic research that fed into the process of building the complex counter-narrative of the final version of 6 Hours in Geelong. The final version was performed in a mainstream theatre venue and allowed the ensemble members to develop their use of the text-based theatre form that was best suited to the nuanced narrative they wanted to deliver. Below, we describe each performance work and use different data to reflect on how it was received by performers and audiences. © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2022 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_005

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Geelong After Dark

Geelong After Dark is an outdoor performance and visual art event that takes place over the city centre of Geelong at the start of May every year. It is a very popular event and attracts large crowds to city streets. The ensemble performed a number of short, improvised scenes at this event in laneways off what has recently become the “arts precinct” of Geelong. The performance involved group leaders gathering audience members together and leading them down the laneways to view the scenes. One involved a song and dance routine by an African Australian character who is told she “dances like a White girl” by her African Australian boyfriend. Another involved Afghani characters discussing why a woman might or might not choose to wear a hijab and a third scene involved an older African character lecturing his younger brother about the ideas of Malcolm X. The scenes were highly unusual for a mainstream Geelong audience and perhaps a little confronting in their direct handling of issues pertaining to race. One of the facilitating artists who was leading large groups of audience members to the site of various scenes reflected on the street performance: I think the group that I had responded really positively to each performance that they watched. There were some parts where there were some women cheering on when you were doing a speech about wearing hijab. There was, when you were doing your Nelson Mandela speech, there were some males in the audience that were really like, “Yeah man, that’s cool.” Really appreciating what he was saying. There was a lot of people that loved Lucia’s energy in the performance, and stuff like that, and were really into it. The positive response to this performance gave everyone in the cast a common experience of acting their characters on the streets of Geelong at night and telling their stories to a largely White audience. This experience helped frame the final work by situating complex discussions about culture, race, and identity on the streets of Geelong at night. The result of this experience was the conceptualisation of 6 Hours in Geelong because it gave the work a very distinct and concrete sense of space and place. The concept of a single night out in which issues of race and culture are freely debated and people can redefine themselves as people of colour who, despite their differences, can unite against racism in Geelong, their city, became clear to the actors because they had experienced a version of it at Geelong After Dark.

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School Interactive Performances

As part of the development of 6 Hours in Geelong, some of the actors also toured an interactive theatre work to schools, based on the characters in the play, that was less nuanced and more explicitly anti-racist in its content. The spaces for these performances varied but were often school gyms or halls presenting different limitations for each performance that the young actors had to adapt to whilst working in a performance style that was as close to naturalism as the setting would allow. The work was performed ten times in state schools with economically disadvantaged student demographics and one Catholic sector private school. The total audience was 800 young people, mostly in between 14 and 16 years of age. The performances began with an introduction providing an indication of what was to come next and how, after brief performances of difficult scenarios pertaining to race, students would be invited to contribute ideas about how issues could be resolved. The workshop began with an instance of overt racism directly addressing a particular societal issue—a public attack on a Muslim woman—but then moved towards more nuanced scenarios that were closer to young people’s everyday experience. The actors clarified that they were not portraying themselves during the performance but fictional characters, even though the scenarios were based on their personal experiences. In the later scenarios volunteers from the audience were sought. The scenarios and associated questions for the audience were: 1.

A woman wearing hijab is abused on a train by a racist older White man. What is the best way for the other passengers travelling in the train to respond to this?

2.

An African Australian man drops litter and is told by a White woman that “in Australia, we don’t drop litter.” Is this racism? How should he respond?

3.

Various scenarios were presented around a relationship between an African Australian man and a woman from Māori/White background. Are relationships between people from different cultural backgrounds possible? What are the complications?

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4.

A Turkish Australian woman speaks on her phone in Turkish on a train. A White woman asks her to speak English. Does she have the right to speak in her own language? What should she say to the White woman?

5.

An African Australian school girl is having lunch alone because she feels she has been bullied by other girls because of her race. Another girl tries to encourage her to have lunch with the others. Should the African Australian girl agree? Should the other girl have lunch with her or her other friends?

6.

An African Australian boy plays basketball alone. A White boy asks him to play footy with other boys but he refuses saying they don’t pass him the ball or treat him with respect. Should the White boy stay with the African Australian boy or go to play footy with his friends?

2.1 Pedagogy The interactive performances drew on the ideas of Augusto Boal, particularly Forum Theatre (2000), but it also used aspects of playback theatre and process drama to create a hybrid theatrical form. Forum Theatre is a dramatic structure whereby audience members are encouraged to enact short scenes representing issues in their life and then audience members are invited to take over from the original actors to enact possible solutions to the problem. This form is facilitated by what Boal calls a “joker,” a role that is invested with significant power because they shape the dramatic action. In playback theatre (Fox, 2008) a “conductor” takes on the facilitation role, inviting audience members to tell stories that are then spontaneously enacted by trained actors. The storyteller, who is an audience member, is then invited to reflect on the presentation. Process drama is based on role play and is a theatrical form that is designed to work without an audience per se. Through its many and varied conventions, process drama takes on a number of the characteristics of both Forum Theatre and playback but without the pressure of performing for audience. The school performances were created through process drama and used techniques drawn from all three forms to structure interactions with the school audiences. The key facet of the theatre under discussion is its interactivity and this must be genuine for it to be effective; that is to say, it must ask real questions

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to the audience about what characters should say or do and it must accept their suggestions. However, there is also a need to mediate these suggestions through the facilitator role so that the work is clear in its moral messaging about a social issue, because an unmediated discussion has strong potential to cause harm. If one considers the whole workshop/performance event, starting with cast introductions, the facilitator’s framing of the scenarios, the scenes, the questions asked by the facilitator, the selection and re-framing of audience responses, and the actors’ use of the audience’s suggestions, then this series of nuanced interactions might be described as a dialogue in which young people’s responses are explored and responded to through dramatic action. As pedagogy this is dynamic, fluid, responsive, immediate, and engaging. The facilitator must “read the room,” frame questions, gather responses from the audience, and restate these so everyone can hear them, sometimes re-framing them in the process and sometimes commenting on them. All of this must be done at speed so that the dramatic tension of each frozen moment is not dissipated. Knowing when to stop the action, how long to hold each moment, and when to let the actors run on are artistic decisions based on perception of audience engagement and the need to focus the action on character dilemmas that the performance group wants the audience to engage with. Decisions about what commentary to make, what questions to ask, and what dialogue to accept for the actors are based on an intuitive reading of the audience: How engaged are they? Is there a degree of complacency that should be challenged? Are they feeling too confronted and therefore need to segue to something more comfortable for a while? It is important that an atmosphere of respect and acceptance is fostered so that young people feel able to express an opinion without being personally criticised. 2.2 “Risk” and Ethics The performance group discussed contingencies at some length in planning the interactive performances so they knew what to do if they experienced any form of direct abuse. They were also very clear that in the context of a one-off event they had to be explicit in their messaging and ultimately the didactic “message” that racism was unacceptable was paramount. However, they also wanted to be authentically responsive to the students’ suggestions and allow for nuance in the dialogue they were setting up. There was, therefore, some risk that if they had mismanaged some of the interactions, they may have exacerbated underlying tensions in the school communities. There is also the wider ethical concern of a White middle-aged male director mediating young people’s interactions concerning racism and particularly controlling the responses of the actors who were adults from diverse cultural

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backgrounds. There were some safeguards built into this dynamic because the actors had chosen and created the dramatic material and ultimately had control of what they said and did, and they used this agency to shape the dramatic material on the floor. There is also an ethical issue around exposing the inexperienced actors to the challenge of this work, involving the restrictions of the school context and the highly charged nature of the content being explored. The actors after all had to concentrate on acting, and in the heightened moment of performance may well have viewed the interactions through the lens of the character they were acting and found it hard to guide the discussion. This being the case, they wanted and needed the safety net of an experienced professional, who is not in character, to mediate the work. This issue of an older White facilitator mediating the performance work of younger artists of colour is explored further in Chapter 6. 2.3 Audience Engagement It is extremely intimidating for young people to have to speak spontaneously about a complex and challenging topic in front of a large group of their peers and this was a significant constraint on the work. Generally, there were more responses from older students than younger ones and more engagement in girls’ schools and schools where there was a majority of students of colour in the audience. Often a small number of students would provide a majority of the responses but the facilitator asking all the young people to vote on particular choices that characters faced democratised the process. The actors also moved in amongst the audience and spoke to individuals to generate responses that they then fed back to the whole group. It was certainly possible for large groups of students to stay silent and not contribute and this did occur in a number of schools. This part of the project was delivered under challenging circumstances: terrible performance spaces in which school students were often asked to sit on dirty floors; having either too much time or too little; a complete lack of context; and a lack of any ownership or engagement from most teachers, although some were very supportive of the performance. 2.4 Audience Response Data Audience response data are useful to assess aspects of engagement and impact. The survey was created for evaluation purposes to enable the community arts organisation to report against proposed outcomes for the project. We acknowledge there is a clear bias in the survey questions which were designed to produce positive evaluative data for the project, and therefore any conclusions that may be drawn from the data that was collected must be treated with caution. Surveys and pens were distributed amongst the young people at the end of the performance by the performers, often as the young people were leaving

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for their next class. Although the young people could complete their survey anonymously, they were often not able to do so in private and their response might be seen by peers, teachers, or actors meaning that they may have felt pressure to respond in a manner that would be perceived positively by any of these groups. They were often filling the survey in in a hurry and may have chosen to quickly tick whichever box seemed most convenient. Young people who did not value the performance may have chosen not to fill in a survey making the responses unrepresentative particularly of young people who may have found the performance boring, or disagreed with its political stance. Out of a total audience of 878, there were 477 responses. The survey asked the young people to assess the performance on a 5-point Likert type scale. The responses are listed in Table 5.1. 2.5 Interpreting the Responses From these data it seems clear that the young people felt mostly positive about the performance experience delivered by young actors of colour. The table 5.1  Responses to school performance

Prompt

Response Excellent

Very good

Good

ok

Poor

351

102

22

2

0

Strongly agree

Agree

Neither agree nor disagree

Disagree

Strongly disagree

The performance gave 231 me new information or perspectives about racism.

207

32

8

1

The performance made me think about the issues being explored.

238

204

25

1

0

This performance might change how I behave in the future.

229

163

65

8

5

I thought the performance was:

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reasonably high rating for the quality of the performance represents an appreciation of the young actors’ commitment and skill but also a general approval of the experience. Over 90% of respondents “strongly agreed” or “agreed” with statements suggesting they had gained knowledge about racism and had been stimulated to think about the issue. Even allowing for the reservations expressed above, these seem like high numbers, suggesting that for these young people there was a gap in their knowledge that they saw the performance addressing (albeit in a very limited way), and it was an issue they wished to engage positively with. For the last statement, 82% of the responders ticked “strongly agree” or “agree” that “this performance might change how I behave in the future.” What does this indicate? The word “might” makes the question ambiguous. For some responders it may have been just a way of showing general approval of the performance whilst others may have felt they had learned something significant enough to change their behaviour, which is an interesting perception and a measure of the power of the experience. The surveys also asked young people to add a written comment. In some contexts, this was easier to facilitate than others, depending on time, teacher support, and physical space (if they were sitting on the floor). The comments are overwhelmingly positive about the performance although there are two quite interesting caveats: One young person says they would have liked to see a scene of racism towards White people. This is an interesting suggestion that would have allowed discussion of institutionalised power and the introduction of concepts such as White privilege and White normativity to become part of the dialogue. Another comment critiqued the facilitator saying he should have let the scenes flow more. This is a perceptive comment and indicates the delicate balance involved in facilitating audience interaction. There were a number of responders who commented positively on the interactive nature of the work indicating that this format was valued: I loved watching my fellow classmates being able to interact with the world being presented. One theme to emerge from this data is the number of comments about the work being funny, which was intentional because humour confers status in a school performance context. There were also a number of comments about the characters and scenarios being “relatable,” that is, resonating with the young people’s lived experience. Another theme was a positive perception of

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the quality of the acting. The majority of the comments however talked about the seriousness of the issue and the value of addressing it through theatre: I thought the performance was great but I have never experienced racism so it made me think. It opened some people’s minds about people with different race, culture, religion. I liked the performance which makes me happy that there should not be racism in Australia, all should be treated with equality. I love the performance because it gives a better perspective to the people that are racist. I liked the performance as it shows how much people can be arseholes and don’t treat people right. I loved this. I do not believe I am a racist however I am in a racist and homophobic household. I love that there is action being made on these issues. They did a really good job acting. The way they set things up is really good. The stories really made me think about racism and it also made me more aware of people’s feelings. Thank you for performing. I think the performance really spoke out to everyone it gave us a really good perspective and I really loved it. I think this is so good I would do this if I could because it’s a good way to teach people. The acting was incredible and the issues were very interesting to speculate about. I really enjoyed it and think it has opened a lot of minds to the issue of and surrounding racism. These comments strongly indicate that some young people wanted to engage with this issue positively, saw it as important and pressing, appreciated the opportunity to discuss it, and were stimulated to think more deeply about it. Comments from teachers also support this interpretation:

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I think the girls really got a lot out of this. The audience interaction was great. Loved it! Great how you explored less talked about issues and how you made it comfortable to talk about. I think it was eye opening for the students and touched on very important topics. Wonderfully engaging for the students and audience overall. Highly enjoyable. Very well done, fantastic. It’s important to bring these hard issues into our conversations and media. Perhaps significant here is the narrative around making the exploration of “hard issues” more “comfortable.” 2.6 Summary In summary this data suggests the following: – Young people liked having their older peers act characters that they could relate to and they like to see their lives and issues represented. – There is a significant willingness to engage with this issue; young people want to learn about racism. – The interactive theatre medium is valued by young people as a way to learn. Another inference that may be drawn from the comments and the high levels of approval for the educative nature of the work (as indicated in the statements about knowledge and thinking) is that there is a gap in the education system and young people do not generally have the opportunity to freely discuss issues of race and cultural identity. One interpretation of the high levels of agreement with the statement “this performance might change how I behave in the future” is that there is a perception that there is a problem and some behaviours should be changed. Whether the young people are thinking about racist attitudes that they themselves hold or the need to act to challenge other people’s racism isn’t stated, but the response to the statement does indicate the perception that racism is a live issue for many of these young people. Given the ambiguity of the question, this data might be interpreted as meaning some of the responders meant behavioural changes that were not related to racism, but given the overall picture that emerges from the data this seems unlikely.

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Ultimately it is hard to assess whether an intervention of this sort has any lasting “impact” because this was a one-off event. However, this project indicates that work of this sort has significant potential for generating respectful and productive dialogues about complex issues in schools. This potential is discussed further in Chapter 9. The interactive theatre form used in this project has room for further development and would undoubtedly have been more effective if the cast members had been taught to facilitate the performance. This would be entirely possible but not simple because the role includes the skills of theatre director, teacher, and performer and each of these skill sets needs to be properly developed for the role to work optimally.

3

The Community Performance Events

Having examined the interactive workshop performances in schools, we will now consider the major public outcomes of 6 Hours in Geelong. A performance event describes the whole social interaction from first arrival of performers and audience in the performance space—backstage and the theatre foyer— until when they have left this space. The first performance event for 6 Hours in Geelong was to three hundred school students from a number of different schools including a private Catholic girls’ school; a low socioeconomic status (SES) state girls’ school; a low SES, mostly White, co-educational state school; and a very culturally diverse, very low SES state school. The students were mostly aged between 13 and 14 years old. This is how one of the actors read their response: I found that [a] few of them found it very, very confronting. You would turn around and actually look at them, at times, and they would just full put their head down. They were very intimidated by the scenario, and I think it’s because it resonated with them. I think it absolutely resonated with them and they could relate to it. Another emerging artist took this line of conjecture a stage further: I think those kids are sitting there really thinking about what they are watching. I think they were sitting there going—maybe, replaying moments in their mind or going through things. Who knows? Some of these kids probably come from racist households. Some of these kids probably come from domestic violence households. I definitely think it spoke out to them, a lot, which I think was a really good thing for them to see.

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A large number of the students stayed to talk to the cast on stage at the end of the post show Q&A session. One of the actors described a very intense interaction she had with a young woman as she was leaving: I got a few people coming up to me and saying, “Your character actually—like, do you go through that?” and I’m like, “Yes,” but it’s not just about me. It’s about everyone else that goes through that. You know, it’s kind of different to the whole racism. It’s a different issue. And, they said, “Yes, I have trouble—” This one girl, she was Muslim. She was wearing hijab. She was from one of the schools, and she said, “I have been seeing this Australian guy and my parents don’t accept it at all. We have been trying to hide it for a few months now, and your character actually helped me because I feel like I might stand up to them and actually tell them this is what’s happening.” I was like, “Just be careful. If that’s what you want to do.” She was still very young. She was about 15 or 16. But she learnt something from my character, as well. It’s hard to extrapolate from this very limited data about how the performance might have affected the young people in the audience. Given the numbers who wanted to talk to the cast on their way out of the theatre—a performed act of solidarity—we might conclude that it had resonated with some of the audience quite deeply. The evening performance attracted an audience of around 250 people to the 300-seat theatre. Many arrived late, there was a constant procession of mainly young people of colour arriving in the auditorium whilst the performance was taking place. There was some talking in the audience in languages other than English particularly in response to characters on stage talking in Dari or Swahili. Some moments in the play provoked immediate responses from some audience members, as reported by one of the researchers: Two women were talking when they [the characters] really had in depth argument about what each one was doing, about Africa and about opportunities. She was quiet the whole time but on that scene, she was like: “Yes you’ve got to take your opportunities, you cannot let these things do this to you and this and this.” The actors seemed quite comfortable with a theatre etiquette in which people respond in the audience rather than watching in silence as in Western bourgeois theatre:

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And, with theatre, and also performing it, it’s in live-time so seeing people’s reactions and then after the performances talking to people and how it made them feel, and I just think it’s—Theatre, it brings people together and it helps us connect and vice versa. I suppose that’s just a really good way because I think humans are wired that way and you have to connect through similar experiences and things. Yes, it gets people talking about it. For the ensemble of actors there were key moments that they felt very deeply. An example is when one of the Congolese background women sang an original song about not conforming to a White Australian perception of beauty, entitled “Am I Not Beautiful?” There was a powerful moment in the performance when she seemed to struggle to sing the words. This is how they reflected on it: Yes , when your voice cracked, I think we all died. We were like, “Oh, my god, how will I hold it together.” It wasn’t cracking, it’s just that it made sense, now. Like, I felt it. Yes, we could feel that you felt it. I felt it and it became really emotional. When I am emotional, I can’t sing. It’s hard. Your voice is so authentic for the audience. It makes us connect more. Another actor talked about how the words spoken by one of the characters stayed with him after the performance: The whole weekend, I was thinking about your character. All the words were coming in my mind, and I was like, “You are a legend.” Feedback that the actors received personally illustrates a clear difference between how the work was perceived by young people of colour as opposed to White young people. Here is one of the women in the ensemble talking about a response she received from someone in her community: She said: “I really followed it. I really followed everyone’s journey. I followed everyone’s character.” She goes, “And, I really liked every character

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that came on, like, I really invested my time and my focus to that person because they just held my focus.” Do you know what I mean? She goes, “And, the whole way through, I just really got it and I really understood what was happening, and it just flowed really well.” Yes, she was like, “I can’t fault it. It was amazing.” Even allowing for a friend’s desire to be supportive and positive there is a strong sense of identification apparent here that contrasts with this report of young White audience member’s response that evidenced a psychological distance in life worlds: Yes, I had one of my good friends brought along a couple of friends, and yes, they were all White, and they were like, “So, those stories, how true are those stories?” and I was like, “Dude, those stories are real. Those stories really happen to people. What you saw on stage today, is real life events that has happened to people in this cast.” They were like, “Really?” They felt like—they were like, “Do they really get discriminated like that?” “Yeah, dude, that’s what happens.” Yes, they were touched by it, and then one of them was like, “You know, people need to see this that are going to be racist towards these people, and people need to see this to open their eyes,” and stuff, so yes, they were moved and they were educated, I think. They definitely left educated, which was good. In contrast to the person of colour’s obvious connection to the characters and experiential communality, these White audience members are seemingly disbelieving of the experiences although simultaneously touched by the event and keen for other White people to have similar encounters because they valued it and felt they had learned from it. The evening performance received a somewhat hesitant standing ovation. In the Q&A forum at the end of the night, an older White man said: “I’ve lived in Geelong all my life and this play has given me a new perspective on my city.” 3.1 Audience Response Surveys Fifty-eight people filled in audience response surveys, only eleven of whom reported speaking a language other than English at home. They were asked to score statements from one to ten based on the degree to which they agreed with them. The statement: “This performance provided me with insight into culturally diverse young people’s lives” scored an average of 7.

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The statement: “This performance gave me new ways of thinking and understanding” scored an average of 7.75. Thirty responders rated the artistic merit of the performance as “Excellent,” twenty-two as “Very Good,” and two as “Good.” No other ratings were received. It is hard to conclude much from this data beyond it indicating a high level of support for the intentions of the project. The relatively high average score for the “new ways of thinking and understanding” statement may suggest that the audience was genuinely informed to some extent by the play. The limitations and dangers of using such metrics to evaluate arts practice are manifold (Kelman, 2017) although this approach is increasingly becoming the norm within the Australian arts industry. The responders from non-English backgrounds were mainly young people who described the work using terms like “awesome” and “amazing” but some outlined a deeper relationship to it: I felt very connected and affected by the culture verses religion confusion. I too have at times said nothing when I should have spoken up. There were strong and articulate positive voices amongst the White responders for whom “truthfulness” and “real” were recurring adjectives and some went into detail about what they valued about the experience: Thank you for sharing your experiences and your voices. It’s so valuable in our community to understand and respect each other. Deep gratitude. Gives others a view about their understanding of each situation related to cultural belief/racism etc. But there were also some caveats. One responder said “often attitudes are ‘too’ perceived in racism” suggesting that they thought the actors were perhaps being over-sensitive. Another said: “It would be good also to see some sort of disabled people involved,” either making a connection between different marginalised groups or conflating them, depending on how you interpret the comment. There were numerous comments about the cast not speaking loudly or clearly enough and perhaps needing to use microphones. A group of young people from Chinese, Karen, and African backgrounds left the collective comment: “We liked when they were together, showing we can stand together.”

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Conclusion

Based on the information that we gathered for 6 Hours in Geelong, we can be reasonably confident that it did have an impact on the different audiences. The project achieved the following: – It was a meaningful and important educative process for the actors. – It provided some race awareness training in schools. – It provided a community event that didn’t merely celebrate cultural diversity but that explored its complexity in ways that provoked some careful thought from its audience. 6 Hours in Geelong created artistic experiences in three very different contexts: poorly equipped and maintained state school classroom venues, the laneways of the city at night, and a mainstream theatre venue. The audiences in each of these contexts had a different relationship to the performance. They had either stumbled upon it at a night-time street festival, had it imposed on them as a school student, or paid to attend the performance at the theatre. Each performance event had its own particular dynamics and aesthetics, but all engaged audiences in complex interactions that discussed race and identity in a localised context. In some moments the play had a powerful emotional impact but also used alienation devices to provoke reflection on the characters’ actions. It provided a catalyst for people of colour to connect their experiences with those of other people and for White people to begin to understand racism in their city. Perhaps the most significant outcome was that people from diverse backgrounds came together to take part in a performance event—that is, both as project actors and audience members—that embraced cultural complexity and promoted dialogue. In doing so they demonstrated that such encounters are possible and can create the basis for powerful conversations about racism. The rest of this book explores through various analyses what an applied theatre project of this sort reveals about the social context in which it took place, and how social, educational, and cultural interventions might be effective in addressing the issues of race in a variety of contexts.

PART 3 Theorisation and Perspectives: Interdisciplinary Discussion

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CHAPTER 6

Applied Theatre The Practitioner’s Dilemma

6 Hours in Geelong was in some ways a hybrid project. The actors were paid and were working to an agenda imposed by an arts organisation, which was delivering a state government community intervention designed to counter racist narratives and promote social inclusion. However, the actors were also acutely aware of racism and personally motivated to try to educate the Geelong community about these issues. So, they were both paid actors working in applied theatre and community actors creating participatory theatre based on their own personal stories and lived experiences. Participatory community theatre is often framed in terms of the metaphor of “giving voice” or the notion of “empowerment.” Both of these terms however can be deeply problematic if decontextualised and abstracted from power relations in and between various groups. The actors in this project already had “voice” after all, and such a diverse group of people does not speak with a single “voice.” Indeed, each person may have a number of embodied “voices” which they use in different social contexts, just as they may literally speak numerous languages. The term “empowerment” similarly begs the question of who is being empowered by whom, to do what, and on whose terms? Thompson (2003), in his searing appraisal of his own applied theatre practice, characterises the notion of “giving a voice” as an ethical problem, rather than an “easily offered solution” and “empowerment” as requiring an examination of how power is being exercised within the group and in the wider society (p. 7). Thus, empowerment requires that one also have a clear understanding of power. This chapter explores the complexities of practice in this space. Focusing on the particular dilemmas and choices that Dave Kelman faced as the director of the project, some sections of the chapter are written in the first person and offset in boxes, whilst other sections provide a theoretical commentary on Dave’s narrative. Our aim is to explore some of the complexities of the project and the many challenges it posed in order to illustrate some of the problems and possibilities of applied theatre practice.

© koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2021 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_006

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White Privilege, Race, Power Relations, and Positionalities It’s important to start this exploration with my own social position and critical interrogation of my practice as someone who is not from the same geographical or cultural communities as the actors with whom I was working, but who has a long-standing professional engagement with those communities. This work was always extremely challenging, and its impacts were fleeting and to some extent ambiguous, or at any rate hard to assess. Part of the reason for this, as I came to understand, was that my social identities, as shaped through White privilege, created distance between my experiences and those of the young people with whom I worked. Whilst this distance had some advantages, it also prevented me from fully comprehending the experience of the people I was working with, because of differences of class and culture. I have always had a clear understanding that as a White person who grew up in post-colonial Britain I am likely to harbour unconscious racism, and there is no easy way to remove such biases from my practice.

Whiteness is a set of cultural norms against which “otherness” is defined: “To be White is to be colourless, normal” (Salter, 2013, p. 193). It is a key constituent of the social construction of race, racism, and identity formation: “In a world filled with White privilege, habits that privilege Whiteness will result, and these habits in turn will tend to reinforce the social, political, economic, and other privileges that White people have” (Sullivan, 2006, p. 4). White privilege is not only “nonconscious” it also resists “conscious recognition of racism that characterizes habits of White privilege” (Sullivan, 2006, pp. 4–5). The ingrained, unconscious nature of White privilege makes it impossible to simply eradicate it from one’s behaviour. So much for me. What of the actors? As detailed in Chapter 4, they were young people who had arrived in Australia as refugees or migrants. They were experiencing varying degrees of social exclusion and economic disadvantage. Their relationship to Australia was ambiguous however; on the one hand it was a place of safety and significant opportunity and on the other it was a place of racism and cultural alienation. Most of the actors had an existing relationship with me and had built up a degree of trust through previous, less challenging theatre projects. Nonetheless the question remained: How might

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they respond to a White theatre-maker encouraging them to explore material that was deeply personal, confronting, and potentially placed them in an antagonistic relationship to their adopted country? Coming from such different places—geographic and cultural—the relationship between myself, the project director, and the actors was fraught with challenges but also generated new possibilities. There was a clear imbalance of power in my relationship with the actors. I had significant knowledge of theatre-making and the status of a being an older, highly educated project leader. However, even in unequal relationships, “everyone has both the possibility to exert some kind of power, and the use of different resources to negotiate” (Montero, 2006, p. 150). The young people were, after all, experts in their own experience and had various other cultural resources, as outlined in Chapter 4. They were engaged in the project on the basis that they should create theatrical material based on these experiences, and I was professionally and morally committed to achieving this. As an experienced anti-racist community theatre-maker, I had clear ideas about how the project should be developed. This was based on my knowledge of the theatre form and an understanding of the cultural context of contemporary Australia. But there were risks that my perspectives and assumptions would become part of the problem.

bell hooks (2014) describes similar issues that relate to applied theatre: “Cultural studies re-inscribes patterns of colonial domination, where the other is always made object, appropriated, interpreted, taken over by those in power, by those who dominate” (p. 126). The project actors could be described as living on the margins of Australian society. They were economically disadvantaged; some were still developing their English and socialised predominantly within their own cultural communities. Some of them faced the additional challenge of having limited access to education because of their migration status. hooks (2014) powerfully satirises the appropriation of oppressed people’s stories by White researchers: No need to hear your voice when I can talk about you better than you can speak about yourself. No need to hear your voice. Only tell me about your pain. I want to know your story. And then I will tell it back to you in a new way. Tell it back to you in such a way that is has become mine, my own. (p. 152)

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In my experience of both my own earlier practice and other practitioner’s work I have observed, this “rewriting” of people’s experiences is a common feature of community arts practice. It becomes a form of ventriloquism, when the words of the controlling professional artist are spoken by community actors, who sometimes have become so enmeshed in the creative process that they may even believe the words are their own. Bannon (2018) articulates a similar critique of collaborative performance work more broadly: “Projects said to be collaborative are—when you scratch the surface—little more than homogenised, with the play of personal power often defeating the possibilities of finding otherwise insightful outcomes” (p. 221).

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The Slippery Nature of Artistic Meaning in Context

Whilst such “ventriloquism” is unquestionably bad practice, it is easy to see how this might occur because crafting a coherent dramatic work is a complex and challenging business. A community of individuals coming together to express their concerns is powerful and inherently political (Montero, 2009, p. 150) but can have unforeseen consequences. This is illustrated by a recent case study that describes how a participatory theatre project in Berlin, involving asylum seekers from Middle Eastern backgrounds, provoked a racist backlash when it was performed to a community audience. This led the authors to conclude that there are limitations on such practice that are “associated with a specific socio-political climate” (de Smet et al., 2018, p. 253). The socio-political context in which 6 Hours in Geelong took place was highly charged because at the time African Australian youth were being demonised in the media and by politicians as violent gang members, including by the “moderate” then Prime Minister (Hutchens, 2018). There was also a commonly perceived racist association between people from Muslim communities and terrorism (Williams, 2019). Countering these racialised narratives is not straightforward, however, because theatrical representations of oppressed communities are open to artistic interpretation. To illustrate the point, consider bell hooks’ critique of Spike Lee’s ground-breaking 1989 film, Do the Right Thing: Strategically, the film denies the problematic nature of identity and offers a simplistic view that would have skin color be all encompassing. Such a narrative does not challenge conventional thinking about the “meaning” of race and its relation to identity formation. (hooks, 2014, p. 177)

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Lee’s film (1989) told Black stories and created Black characters that powerfully critiqued racism, but hooks (2014) suggests this representation also reinforced popular White prejudices: “Again the portraits of Black men conform to popular stereotypes in the White imagination. Rather than threaten White audiences, they assuage their fear” (p. 179). What hooks’ (2014) critique reveals is that mobilising strategic essentialism for empowering purposes can also have unintended consequences such as reinforcing stereotypes, illustrating the immensely complex and slippery nature of cultural representation in an aesthetic medium, and how even an acclaimed African American film director might get this wrong.

3

Individual and Group Identity

The concept of identity is at the heart of this project, and the play-making process involved actors creating fictionalised characters that were versions of themselves based on their individual and group identities. Montero (2009) comments that the construction of community identity is significant because it may lead to a sense of belonging that, in turn, produces knowledge and the demand for rights. This sense of community identity was something that the project aimed to generate. However, as Benhabib (2002) argues, cultural identity is multi-dimensional and individual identity should not be subsumed into a group identity, “individual claims to authentic self-expression need not run in tandem with collective aspirations to cultural recognition” (p. 52). While fully cognisant of the position of racialised minorities and the oppression they face, Benhabib (2002) highlights the potential for these oppressions to be exacerbated if there is a hierarchy of “authenticity” that privileges collective identity. Why should the individual’s search for an authentic selfhood be subordinated to the struggles of any of these collectivities, unless we have some ontological or hierarchical ordering of the groups to which the individual belongs, so that one group, more than other groups, can be said to portray a more authentic expression of one’s individuality? (p. 53) Benhabib (2002) does not argue against group identification as a response to marginalisation and oppression, but affirms an individual’s right to have multiple facets of identity within a group identity: “We can and should do justice to certain claims of recognition without accepting that the only way to do so is by affirming a group’s right to define content as well as boundaries of its

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own identity” (p. 70). Her argument continues with an important question: “Can there be a politics of recognition that accepts the fluidity, porousness, and essential contestability of all cultures?” (p. 68). Racism often projects negative stereotypical group identities onto individuals but assumptions about collective identity by White people can also be a more subtle form of racism—even if that identity is perceived positively. On the other hand, group identity can be mobilised for resistance, as hooks (2014) makes clear in her description of the marginal space: This “we” is that “us” in the margins, that “we” who inhabit marginal space that is not a site of domination but a place of resistance. Enter that space. This is an intervention. I am writing to you. I am speaking from a place in the margins where I am different, where I see things differently. I am talking about what I see. (p. 151)

4

The Nature of the Challenge Put simply, and in view of the discussion above, here is the challenge that I faced as a practitioner in trying to enable these actors to create this piece of anti-racist, pro-social inclusion theatre: I must understand my own White privilege and build trust so we can co-create collaborative work that presents not just racialised group identities but also individual identities within that framework. The work must convey the reality of racism and the complexities that the actors negotiate in everyday contexts without presenting the characters as either victims or aggressors to a potentially antagonistic community audience. It must be cognisant of the social context that it was addressing but not beholden to it. It must be authentic but still work as an entertaining art work. Above all, it must be group authored by the actors and not ghostwritten by myself using the actors in a ventriloquist act.

This framing of the complex issues involved in creating 6 Hours in Geelong indicates the significant challenges faced by applied theatre practitioners who seek to work in anti-racism. There is a need for these practitioners to be hypervigilant of power dynamics, both of themselves in relation to the actors and the dynamic within the actor group. They must also be aware of the particular social context in which they work at a number of levels, from the international to the local community. They must consider the audience

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for the work and what is required to make a successful performance, because exposing vulnerable actors to a negative performance experience could be very damaging. Above all, there is a need for them to be highly skilled analysers of dramatic narrative and the range of possible meanings—both intended and unintended—the work might generate. This complex agenda highlights the need for applied theatre practitioners to have long term engagements with communities so they can more fully comprehend the context in which they are working. In the area of race politics, as soon as an artist strays from the clichéd imagery of racial harmony—which is itself problematic—they are in heavily contested cultural territory. Before any group of artists can create work in this cultural space, they must have the ability to decode the narrative and symbolism of the work and decipher the contextual meanings which arise. This is further complicated because there is no one set of meanings. People of different ages, cultural backgrounds, races, genders, levels of proficiency in English, and general levels of education will all experience the work differently. As a highly educated and experienced theatre maker, I was the person in the group best equipped to “read” the work as it developed but I was of course still reading it from my own perspective which was different in many ways from that of the actors. As outlined in Chapter 4, the actors of 6 Hours in Geelong were not a homogeneous group and each actor had their own individual take on the issue of racism, but they also saw themselves as carrying the burden of representing their cultural communities.

All this matters, because there is significant potential to do harm. In this project, there was clearly a danger of stigmatising the actors and the communities that they represented by presenting them as alienated, “whinging” victims, rather than positive citizens with agency. On the other hand, a treatment that underplayed racism and moved to a more celebratory narrative of successful multiculturalism would have rendered racism invisible. It would have also glossed over issues that give rise to social division, creating a dangerous illusion and potentially exacerbating the problem. “Strategies deployed in the name of participatory dialogue, giving voice and empowerment for the marginalised usually create the illusion of liberation while they reinforce, or even perpetuate the prevailing oppressive structures” (Chinyowa, 2015, p. 12). Thompson (2009) frames the nature of the problem as requiring “an advocacy of the private (a politics of the intimate) and a critical encounter with the public” (p. 34). His argument is for the deep trust and exposure of intimacy

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within the process but also a conscious understanding of the multifaceted contexts in which the work takes place. This analysis suggests the need for a process that is deeply personal but also highly conscious of the nature of theatrical meaning-making.

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Processes and Practices for Negotiating Intersections in Making 6 Hours in Geelong At the start of the ten-month process of creating 6 Hours in Geelong, I explained its anti-racist and social inclusion agenda to the young people, but added that although this agenda was the basis on which they were being paid for the project, it was essential that the play reflected their stories and what they wanted to say. That it had to be, in this sense, “authentic.” As part of this early discussion, one of the more experienced actors said that we should make sure that all the events we showed in the play were based on the “real life” experiences of the actors or people they knew personally so that, if challenged, they could say the play was the “truth.” This became a recurring theme in discussions about the work because of course the concept of “truth,” in relation to theatre as with anything else in this “post-truth” era, is at best somewhat slippery and contentious.

Montero (2002) writes about what she calls the “unpredictable character” of “reality,” concluding, “if reality did not exist, it would have to be invented, which is what we collectively do every day” (p. 574). She describes “truth” as “only the fleeting moment in which we find shared meanings for our life events” and “knowledge” is characterised as “a continuous movement between uncertainty and certainty” (p. 579). This analysis suggests the unique role that the arts can play in trying to describe a constantly shifting social world and its power relations while highlighting the considerable challenge involved in this task. The decision to fictionalise the work is important because it placed the actors at a distance from the people they were acting, providing a degree of protection. “Acting is scary enough but without the protection of a role, it can be like standing naked in a spotlight that spreads no warmth” (Prendergast & Saxton, 2015, p. 282). A further dimension to this need for distance is that the actors saw themselves as “representing” their cultural communities. The actors believed they

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would be strongly associated with any actions their fictional characters enacted and therefore needed to be extremely careful about what these fictitious characters said and did, especially given that their communities were marginalised and subject to racial vilification. Gallagher and Jacobson (2018) label their work as “theatre of the real” and argue for a greater degree of artistic flexibility in creating work with marginalised communities that seeks to address difference (p. 40). They suggest: To judge theatre of the real, according to its true-to-life-ness is to delimit its potential resonances, in a world desperate for ethical relations across difference. Theatre of the real’s enactive potential lies precisely within its multiplicity, fluidity, and incomplete or refracted reveals. (Gallagher & Jacobson, 2018, p. 52) These arguments against theatre that attempts to be too “real” contrast with the approach of the widely acclaimed American practitioner Jonny Saldaña (2011) who describes his ethnodrama as “essentialized fieldwork reformatted in performative ‘data displays’” (p. 212). This suggests a dramatic form that is comparable to drama documentary, but Saldaña also allows himself room to re-arrange his “data displays” in aesthetic ways, which he argues have “integrity to truthfulness as well as truth” (p. 212). At this point, one might be reminded of Polonius’ advice to Laertes in Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1603/2005): “This above all, to thine own self be true and it must follow, as the day the night, thou canst not then be false unto any man” (1.3.78–81). The problem of course, is how does one know if one is being true to one’s self? How does a community theatre practitioner know whether they are being true to what the actors want to represent? A partial answer to this issue is ensuring the work crystalises the views and standpoints of the diverse individuals, by creating it through a process of group authorship.

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Group Authorship If 6 Hours in Geelong was to authentically represent the artists who were performing it, then they all had to be the group authors of the work. This is an approach that I had developed over decades of work with culturally diverse communities, most notably on a project called the Flemington Theatre Group (Sinclair & Kelman, 2012).

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Group authorship is critical because the whole ensemble will be identified with the finished work and its political standpoints. This is important because each actor needs to have skin in the game. They must be committed to the artistic statement by having made a contribution to it. Above all, in a text-based art form, who authors the words really does matter. “The oppressed struggle in language to recover ourselves, to reconcile, to reunite, to renew. Our words are not without meaning, they are an action, a resistance. Language is also a place of struggle” (hooks, 2014, p. 146). The word “author” is deeply resonant of power and in this context, the colonial control of the voices of people of colour: “Re-writing you, I write myself anew. I am still author, authority. I am still the coloniser, the speaking subject, and you are at the centre of my talk” (hooks, 2014, p. 152). In Saldaña’s (2011) work, to qualify as “ethnodramatic,” a play script must consist of “approximately ninety percent verbatim extracts from empirical materials” i.e., actor voice (p. 206). This attempt to quantify group authorship is important (having dismissed the alternative as a form of colonial ventriloquism) but there remains a key role for the artist from outside the community to aesthetically shape the material. Saldaña (2011) characterises this approach as a way of presenting a deeper “reality”: Ethnotheatrical artists don’t necessarily heighten or skew reality through their imaginative writing and staging, but they seem to endow their productions with aesthetic forms that create hybrids of performative ontologies ... Our ethnodramatic productions are not just representational and presentational exhibitions, they are also analytical acts. Ethnodramas are not play scripts in the traditional sense, but essentialized fieldwork reformatted in performative “data displays.” Reality on stage now seems to acquire not a reductive but an exponential quality—hence reality. (p. 206) The “reality” which Saldaña (2011) argues ethnodramatists construct is an artistically crafted analysis providing insight into the social context in which it was created. Such work is in a delicate relationship to “reality” because the aesthetic shaping of the “data” must open it up to multiple viewpoints and not close it down. Whilst this is a legitimate aspiration, the key issue is who does this aesthetic shaping because, arguably, they are the real author of the work. Saldaña (2011) sees the role of the aesthetic shaper of the work—the playwright—who uses this shaping to provide analysis and insight, as the responsibility of the “ethnodramatist” i.e., an artist most often from outside the community. The playwrighting role is an inescapable necessity through which

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the artist brings coherent meaning to the words of actors generated within a devising process. But if this role is to avoid controlling or even manipulating the actors’ words, then it requires checks and balances, as Saldaña acknowledges. So, the process of co-construction requires structured opportunities for actors to review, discuss, and alter the shape of the final work in a drafting process. This process of engendering conscious group ownership of the process and product was employed to create 6 Hours in Geelong. It required setting up and maintaining a scripting development process that enabled all twelve of the actors to raise sensitive issues with which they had a deep personal connection. It involved creating an exploratory space where the actors could express and examine what they wanted to say, through dramatic improvisation. It then required recording and transcribing the actual words that each individual wished to use, and editing and weaving these words into a coherent and entertaining script which authentically represented the politics and cultural perspectives of each individual. This was a pedagogical process that involved actors learning and teaching about active citizenship (Montero, 2009) as well as artistic production. If it was to be effective, this process required the development of the actors’ understanding of the actions and motivations of fictional characters. It also required the actors to understand the meaning of those actions in the overall narrative, to a point where they could critique the work and had the agency to make changes. To do this effectively, the actors had to engage with the highly contextual narrative meaning of the evolving play. Narrative is one of the fundamental modes through which we make sense of the world. We swim in a sea of stories and it is often hard to discern narrative meaning in such a fluid environment, because a story is an ambiguous metaphorical representation of experience that can be interpreted in multiple ways. The sequence in which events occur within a narrative will often impact on its meaning (Bruner, 1996). To further complicate matters, 6 Hours in Geelong was of course not a lecture presentation but an art work. Ultimately its success or failure as a social intervention was dependent on how successful it was at engaging feelings as well as intellect. Thompson (2009) critiques a “communicative model of art” that emphasises precise messaging as not being grounded in the “stimulation of affect,” the deep engagement of the senses and emotions that is the defining characteristic of art (p. 125). Saldaña (2011) writes about a tension between creativity and “credibility and trustworthiness” when grappling with an ethnotheatrical aesthetic (p. 41). If the narrative is too obviously didactic, it may alienate its audience. If it is too emotive, the audience may feel manipulated. Making artistic judgements about a dramatic narrative is the stuff of artistry and involves myriad aesthetic and political judgements.

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If the judgements are primarily those of the facilitating artist, in this instance, the older, White facilitating artist—who is not part of the cultural or geographic communities of the actors—then this is deeply problematic. Without such judgements, however, the work lacks artistry and is ineffective at engaging an audience. The role of the facilitating artist making participatory theatre with community is to try to enable the actors to make as many of these key artistic judgements as possible, through rigorous dialogue. Freire’s (1998) dialogic pedagogy is relevant here. For Freire, “dialogue…is full of curiosity and unrest. It is full of mutual respect between dialogic subjects. Dialogism presupposes maturity, a spirit of adventure, confidence in questioning, and seriousness in providing answers” (p. 99). It is important that agents in the dialogue retain and actively defend their own identities. It is not a process of reducing everything to a common “right” answer but is a respectful exchange of ideas within the complex and shifting power dynamics between the artist leader and the actors (Freire, 1998). Deep listening is another important aspect of this dialogue: “In learning to listen, we capture ways of attending, suspending, and delving into the shaping of meaning through time” (Bannon, 2018, p. 217). This is a process of “intuitive, openminded experimentation, resilience, and perseverance” (Bannon, 2018, p. 216) and it requires constant renegotiation as it develops.

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A Provisional Offering

6 Hours in Geelong involved the stories of twelve characters, woven together into a written script that aimed to create a picture of the lives of young people of colour in the city. They are shown adapting to the society they found themselves in, and revealing and discussing complex and shifting identities. The way into this web of complex ideas for the actors was through the characters (described in Chapter 4), created through the process described above. Their investment in these characters, who were similar to themselves but also significantly different, enabled the actors to make demands about what their character should or should not do, trying to ensure they were presented positively and the issues the character faced were resolved at least to some extent in the play. This process generated a script that was nuanced and layered but that also offered positive outcomes for characters. I estimate that it comprised around 80% words generated by the cast, either through

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their writing or through recorded improvisations, with the remainder written by myself and the Vietnamese Australian script consultant. Although the actors provided the clear majority of the words spoken and developed the dramatic narrative, I was still the playwright who shaped the work and ultimately the primary author of a group authored work. This continues to trouble me for number of reasons. It troubles me because in trying to ensure that all the actors’ voices were properly honoured, the work was too long and overly wordy. It troubles me because of its focus on race and racism, the play placed too great an emphasis on group identity, and not enough on individual identities. It troubles me because the more challenging aspects of the work, police racial profiling, gender issues, and the complexity of Islamic identities in contemporary Australia, were not fully explored and were to some extent glossed over.

How might these shortcomings have been overcome? It would have required more time than these actors were able to commit to because the complex negotiations of collaborative practice take a lot of time (Bannon, 2018). It would have required the final script to be workshopped in greater detail and be subjected to a group editing process. During that process, the actors would have had to develop greater levels of trust, understanding, and agency with each other, so that my own role within the process would have become less dominant, and the group would have become a fully functioning democratic artistic collective. Such an outcome may be possible but would be enormously difficult to achieve. Consequently, applied theatre work is often not fully realised and to some extent this is the nature of participatory art-making: it seldom feels complete and never perfect. One thing the play never intended to do was provide its audience with a simple narrative affirming the values of multiculturalism through positive stories of racial harmony. Such a narrative would not reflect the reality of contemporary Australia and would be a dangerous distortion, allowing White people to feel good about themselves and effectively silencing the voices of people of colour. Theatre is a medium that transforms “raw experiences into palatable forms” (Schechner, 2003, p. 30) but to do this is inherently risky because it exposes people to uncomfortable stories and damaged feelings. It is particularly risky for the tellers of those uncomfortable stories, if, as in this case, they come from marginalised and vulnerable communities. The co-creation of the script involved myriad complex political and ethical questions and for Bannon

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(2018), “practical ethics” are fundamental to “collaborative, co-creative performance” (p. 217). This raises the key question: Did I have the right to lead the actors into this highly charged cultural territory? My answer to this uncomfortable question is “yes,” if the actors made a conscious choice to go there; in order to do that, they needed to be engaged in a creative process that gave them very high levels of agency. Ultimately, it’s all about the authenticity of the process. The process of 6 Hours in Geelong was far from perfect but it was responsive to the needs of individual actors. It was flexible, adaptive, informed, dialogic, democratic, rigorous, and above all ethical. Bannon (2018) writes about the need for what she calls “socially responsive and responsible artists” to be guided by our ethics (p. 193). This is not a simple matter, because it involves multiple decisions throughout the process, “ethical relations are always lived embodiments, that ask us to be still and to attend carefully to, and with, silence and contemplation” (Bannon, 2018, p. 193).

A collaborative artistic process is not a fixed thing. It is renegotiated differently each time, based on how the facilitating artist responds to the needs of the actors, and the particular circumstances in which they are working. This process is the essence of the work—but it is contested and challenging cultural, political, and ethical territory to inhabit. It requires a constant analysis of power relations and group dynamics as well as continual reflection on whose voice is being heard, what is being said, and the implications of the emerging dramatic discourse. The use of both arts theory and race and cultural theory provides the language and conceptualisations that enable the practitioner to navigate this contested territory.

CHAPTER 7

“People Don’t Know Our Story” Exposing Coloniality through Counter-Storytelling

While this project was conducted in a specific place it is important to understand the wider context of race relations in Australia. Numerous reports have shown that a large percentage of “multicultural youth” report having experienced some form of discrimination or unfair treatment, with most such experiences occurring in everyday public spaces (Wyn et al., 2018). The basis for discrimination varies and includes sexuality, age, disability, ethnicity, and appearance. The Victorian Equal Opportunity and Human Rights Commission confirms that stories of discrimination and exclusion arise daily, with more reports received in 2017 than in previous years (Department of Health and Human Services, 2017). Within the contemporary context of Australia, significant outgroups are identified to be Middle Eastern, African, Jewish, and South Asian (Indian, Pakistani, or Sri Lankan) communities (Kamp et al., 2017). Nyuon (2018) wrote an opinion piece calling out the problem of the demonisation of African Australians in mainstream media. Others have similarly raised questions about the role of media in racialising African gangs, calling attention to the longer history of Australian race relations. Budarick (2018) noted of this reporting: “It is the result of far more entrenched attitudes toward race in Australia, one that involves objectified notions of racial or cultural hierarchies and a newly reinvigorated politics of fear of migrants” (“Alternative voices” section). Through mainstream news media, dominant narratives construct and portray people from diverse backgrounds in negative ways, as not belonging—traumatised, deviant, and risky outsiders (Windle, 2008), frequently blamed for their circumstances. Dominant narratives carry stories that “actively devalue people and other stories are not recognized as valuable at all. Some stories empower people and others disempower people” (Windle, 2008, p. 805). However, these dominant narratives are homogenising and often harmful and they conceal the range of resilient and resistant stories born out of everyday struggles. The current project can be viewed as a place-based intervention into experiences of marginalisation and exclusion for young people from diverse social and ethnic backgrounds. Viewed in this way, community participatory theatre can provide significant opportunities for young people to create stories from the margins to express alternative narratives often concealed or drowned out by dominant stories, as well as their aspirations and desires for change. © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2022 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_007

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The focus of this chapter is to draw on interview data that we collected at different phases of the study with actors and to develop deeper insight into the stories that they narrated about their everyday lives, including what drew them to the project, and what they had hoped it would “do” for them and their communities. A cursory reading of the transcripts conveys stories of discrimination and everyday violence of racism, but also stories of aspiration, capacity, community, and caring—part of the radically proactive ways young people are expressing agency and resisting oppression. Our analysis of the stories draws from different theoretical resources and approaches that emphasise the lived experiences of actors and the situated examination of how young people negotiate and give meaning to their experiences within broader intergroup and societal relations. In the next section, we provide a brief outline of the theoretical orientation as a frame for this analysis.

1

Critical Studies of Race, Decoloniality, and Stories

As noted in Chapter 2, our research foci include examining migration, displacement, peace-building, community-making, anti-racist theatre, and inclusive schooling. Our focus on oppression, displacement, and community was in part inspired by experiences of immigration and displacement and examining the experiences and impacts of the oppressive systems in such places as South Africa, United Kingdom, Canada, and India (Agung-Igusti & Sonn, 2020; de Quadros, 2020a). The importance of histories and context became clearer through our studies of colonialism, oppression, and resistance, so too the need for research and action that is reflective, critical, and empowering and attends to the complex ways in which people enact resistance in their everyday lives. Collectively, our work has sought to craft spaces and ways to witness, understand, examine, and contest the dynamics of power/privilege and dispossession. We also consider how power/privilege and dispossession are produced and reproduced through symbolic and cultural means as well as in every setting with attendant and differential consequences for people who suffer the brunt of marginalisation and exclusion. This approach is informed by what Weis and Fine (2012) refer to as critical bifocality (see also Fine, 2018). For these authors, critical bifocality is a theory of method—a means through which researchers can understand these circuits of links: Structural conditions are enacted in policy and institutions as well as the ways in which such conditions have come to be woven into community relationships and metabolized by individuals. We seek to trace how the

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circuits of dispossession and privilege travel across zip codes and institutions, recruiting resources, opportunities, and human rights upward as if deserved and depositing despair in low-income communities of color. (Weis & Fine, 2012, p. 173) Put another way, context is key to understanding lives, to understand the ways social, ideological, cultural, economic, and historic dimensions constrain and afford opportunities for people to construct meaningful lives. Critical bifocality as an approach resonates with efforts in the Australian context to explicate and challenge the various ways in which colonialism, in particular racism and the ideology of White supremacy, continues to shape the lives of racialised (and unmarked) people in terms of their sense of self and community, and broadly their capacities to aspire. Quijano (2000) coined the term “coloniality of power” to name the “social hierarchical relationships of exploitation and domination between Europeans and non-Europeans built during centuries of European colonial expansion emphasising cultural and social power relations” (p. 95). For Quijano (2000) and others engaged in decolonial scholarship (see, for example, Grosfoguel, 2016; Lugones, 2010; Maldonado-Torres, 2016), meanings of race and racism shift over time and must be understood with the colonial histories of empires. Moreover, understanding the politics of who is included or excluded from belonging to a nation and in everyday places is a question that must be informed by the longer histories of colonialism and coloniality. In the Australian context, this entails considerations of how Eurocentrism is expressed in norms and cultural practices that valorise “Whiteness” and disparage, demonise, and devalue differences according to race, gender, sexuality, and ability. Moreton-Robinson (2015) argued that Australia was founded as a settler-colonial nation on the theft of land, the dehumanisation of a racialised “other,” and simultaneous construction of the myth of a national White identity that has become ingrained and reproduced institutionally and culturally. She writes that: Belonging to the new nation…was racialised and inextricably tied to the accumulation of capital and the social worth, authority, and ownership that this conferred. The Indigenous were excluded from this condition of belonging…The White body was the norm and measure for identifying who could belong. (Moreton-Robinson, 2015, p. 7) Maldonado-Torres (2007) wrote that coloniality is evident in everyday life and it is produced and reproduced through symbolic, cultural, and material practices. He noted that:

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coloniality survives colonialism. It is maintained alive in books, in the criteria for academic performance, in cultural patterns, in common sense, in the self-image of peoples, in aspirations of self, and so many other aspects of our modern experience. In a way, as modern subjects we breathe coloniality all the time and every day. (p. 243) Different theoretical and methodological tools from critical studies of race and critical psychology have been important to link everyday experiences to macro-structures (Dutta et al., 2016). These approaches have provided epistemological and conceptual resources to extend psychosocial inquiry into the ways that racialisation and other forms of violence operate through discursive, symbolic, and material means and impact the everyday lives of people, including through what is referred to as “everyday racism,” micro-aggressions, and the internalisation of racism (Sonn & Lewis, 2009). The symbolic and cultural resources that are conveyed via stories, ideologies, and narratives about self and others can be viewed as sites of power to understand the intersections of identities available to different social actors. These resources can be used to resist and process experiences of oppression as well as express agency and capacities for resistance and self-determination (Collins, 2000; hooks, 2014; Lugones, 1992). As noted by Campbell and Jovchelovitch (2000), personal and social identities are “shaped and constrained by the material and symbolic power relations in which they are located” (pp. 267–268). In narrative and critical constructionist approaches (Gergen, 2015; Rappaport, 2000) as well as critical race theory (Ladson-Billings, 2003), liberation psychology (Martín-Baró, 1994; Montero & Sonn, 2009, Montero et al., 2017), and feminist scholarship (hooks, 2014), stories and storytelling have been highlighted as modalities that “can help us build new forms of relationships across diverse populations and social positions to conceptualize and create better settings and worlds” (Stewart, 2011, p. 203). Smith (1999) has emphasised the importance of stories and storytelling as part of the decolonial project: To hold alternative histories is to hold alternative knowledges. The pedagogical implication of this access to alternative knowledges is that they can form the basis of alternative ways of doing things…Telling our stories from the past, reclaiming the past, giving testimony to the injustices of the past are all strategies, which are commonly employed by Indigenous peoples struggling for justice. (p. 34) Sonn et al. (2013) suggested that stories provide a means through which to “explore the mundane and routine ways in which social structures penetrate social relations in everyday settings and in particular, a means to understand

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the historical and continued exercise of, and responses to, racialised power relations” (p. 296). In critical education, Zavala (2016) described the decolonial project as one that seeks epistemic intervention that makes visible the cultural logic of colonialism. It centres knowledge from the margins, and it advocates for a diversity of approaches to knowledge production. It is a deeply deconstructive project seeking to create new ways of being, seeing, and doing, beyond colonialism, capitalism, and heteronormative patriarchy. Counter-storytelling is a key strategy for enacting the decolonial imagination along with healing and reclamation and has also been a central approach employed by social justice educators (Bell, 2010) and critical race theorists (Ladson-Billings, 2003; Solórzano & Yosso, 2002; Yosso, 2015) among others to promote epistemic justice. Epistemic injustice refers to the ways in which “standard” knowledge production practices, often rooted in Eurocentric conceptions of the world, have caused harm to people and groups whose ways of knowing, doing, and being have been erased, silenced, or abnormalised (Fricker, 2007). Several authors across different disciplines have highlighted the importance of dialogue and naming the social world based in Freirean (1970) critical pedagogy. Through naming the world (Mansell, 2013) and practices of deconstruction and reconstruction of social and cultural realities, new forms of consciousness can emerge (Freire, 1970; Montero, 2007). Thus, “language as a tool for the construction of reality, especially the reality of the experiencing self and the way in which the concept of self is ... linked to language, narratives, others, time and morality” (Crossley, 2000, p. 40) is an important way to understand how people deconstruct and process experiences, express wilful subjectivities (Ahmed, 2014), complex personhood (Gordon, 2008), and everyday resistance (Rosales & Langhout, 2020). Thus, within this approach, we were interested in understanding coloniality of power/knowledge, understood as symbolic/ structural violence evidenced in racism and racialisation in the lives of young people and the ways in which they navigate this through everyday resistance.

2

Unpacking Stories through the Lens of Coloniality

Within this broader theoretical framework, we explored the stories that people shared about themselves, their communities, and everyday lives. Our reading focused on what the young people were sharing about their lives, their dialogues with people, places, stories, and understanding within the broader context of oppression and resistance. Importantly, we approached the research and analysis as witnesses to the stories (Stein & Mankowski, 2004). We also engaged with the stories as translators; that is, we transformed the stories

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of the young people into “research” stories reading diffractively through our theoretical and conceptual lenses. By reading the stories through the lens of coloniality of power, and listening closely, we understood the various ways in which the young people were narrating their desires and aspirations within the circuits of power and dispossession and in particular the intersections of race/Islamophobia/gender. In the next section, we present the actors’ voices as well as our own to convey what young people narrated and what they sought to transform.

3

Young People Negotiating Coloniality in Everyday Lives

3.1 Stories of Place: “It’s a Good Mix of Country and also City” The group shared information about how they became involved in the project and the various ways in which they have developed better understandings of themselves, skills in communication, social networks, and deep ties with each other. As with many arts-based projects, these actors lauded the joy and fun of being involved and having the opportunity to advocate, influence, and educate the “wider” community about their lives and those of others close to them. In our interviews, we ask actors about where they lived and what they enjoyed about living in the town. Most responded positively about their geographic community, “it’s great,” “I love it,” and “yeah it’s good.” It is a town that reflects the broader shifts in groups constituting Australia’s culturally diversity make-up and how this is evident in the transformation of local communities: Geelong is becoming more multicultural. You know, when I was in primary school it was mainly Australian [read White] kids but in high school, the high school I went to, North Geelong, was all different races. My whole friend group was from different races so it’s becoming more diverse so that’s good. Respondents liked different aspects of the town stating the ease of getting around, the sense of safety compared to a bigger city like Melbourne, the proximity to the beach. The following excerpt captures the sentiments of the group: It’s generally quiet and it’s a good mix of country and also the city, whereas Melbourne is just a big city and there’s a lot of traffic. While actors reflected positively on the opportunities that flowed from involvement in this project and the town they live in, they also communicated

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through the performance the complex social, cultural, and racial layers that they have to negotiate in their everyday life. 3.2

Stories of Displacement: “I Had to Leave My Stuff Back Home, and Like, Emotionally and Spiritually” Some spoke powerfully about the experiences of migration and the forms of displacement and loss that ensues. One speaker relayed what they wanted to convey through the performance—the sacrifice, the deeply felt experiences of uprooting, or root shock (Fullilove, 2016), “the destruction of all or part of one’s emotional ecosystem” (p. 11) that both voluntary and forced migration can entail: It means a lot. It’s like, I represent my country. Zimbabwe is a different thing to what other people go through, and it’s like, coming here, I want to try and show people what I had to go through. I lost everything, and I came here and lost connections with people from where I came from, connections which were beneficial to me, ways to make money or just for protection around me and how to feel safe. So, to lose everything like that, to lose the people who look after me and who were there for me all the time no matter what happens, I would be able to behave in a certain way, and not face those circumstances, the circumstances that I face here, just because I had protection there. The experience and meaning of displacement are also captured in the following excerpt that conveys loss and pain, a narrative about a previous self and a current self that is only partially known in the current context, and through an invitation to witnessing they may be able to address this non- and often misrecognition. Yes. I mean, I lost everything, in terms of physical stuff, I had to leave my stuff back home, and like, emotionally and spiritually, I lost friends and can’t communicate with them 24/7 like I used to. And they’re the people who know me best, you know what I mean. I mean, I’ve met people here and they all understand me, but they don’t understand me to the extent of the people I grew up with, the people who know me better and know who I am. So, there’s a sense that, if I’m able to show that to people on the stage, they can understand me better. While some of the stories conveyed vividly the psychosocial impact of uprooting and displacement, responses to questions about involvement shed some

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light on the challenges facing those who are born in Australia. These responses convey the complexity of embodying or “being” multicultural, both the tensions and challenges of being raced, marked and culturally in between, and the various processes involved in reclamation, reconnection, and healing. This is narrated in the following excerpt: Ok, so I got involved with Western Edge1 when I was 14. I’m 23 now so it’s been 10 years. I got involved because I was culturally lost. I was born in Australia; both my parents are Samoan and moved here and tried to adapt to White culture. So, I don’t even know my language. But the opportunity to join Western Edge, they asked me to get to know my culture and to interview my parents, that’s why I stayed with Western Edge because it’s all about identity…. The person communicated the sense of being lost and alienated and the slow process of reconnecting through oral histories and how this can contribute to healing, especially the process of creating a sense of self within the context of “White culture.” The experience of loss and what it entails for familial relations are conveyed and echoed in the next excerpt by one speaker, a child migrant: I’m culturally lost because I was born in New Zealand and I moved here when I was seven with all my family, my brother, my sister, my mum and dad. But it’s just us here. So, they know the culture and some of the language and how we are, but I’m the only one that doesn’t. The pressures of Whiteness, of adapting to a society that valorises a particular way of being and its effects across the African Australian diasporas are powerfully present in this excerpt: I’m like a Black girl who came to Australia and trying and assimilate into the culture and be like Australian kids. I still don’t know the reason why but, yes, it’s just my character to share. Because African kids like this, yes, my sister has friends that their parents tell them you can’t talk to any Black people. They’re Black. They told, “You can’t talk to any Africans,” because apparently they’re more White, as you know, they fit in with White people. The challenges for identification are further conveyed in how people named themselves within broader narratives that mark them as others often based on their physical appearance or cultural markers such as dress. For example, one

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person noted: “I would say I’m an Australian by the citizen, but I’m from Tunisia. Unless you have the citizen in the Australian bit if not, I don’t know. That’s what I say. ‘I’m Australian because I have the citizenship,’” and another commented: “I remember I say that once when I was at a swimming pool and someone asked me, ‘Are you Aborigine?’ and I couldn’t answer. I just said, ‘Yeah.’” Another person problematises the category of Australian asking “what is an Australian?” They claim formal belonging which brings into question the idealised representation that equates being Australian with Whiteness. The person noted that: I guess that begs the question, what is an Australian? What does an Australian look like? Because, we can be born here and we’re an Australian citizen but—I feel like—because most of us are Australian, are born here. Some of them haven’t been overseas, and the way they think about refugees is different from if the refugees themselves present the way they were, and it’s very educational. Many of the stories showed the complexity of place-making for the young people, but other stories conveyed more powerfully how symbolic and cultural violence was expressed in the narratives of young people and what they wished to share 3.3

Stories of Symbolic Violence: “I’ve Experienced a Bit of Racism, Being Muslim” The previous excerpts touch on aspects of displacement and the challenges that emerged as people construct identities and community within local settings and a broader sociocultural context of what narrators named “White culture.” In some of the narratives, actors highlighted the impact of direct as well as symbolic. The excerpt below references both forms of violence and how some of this is the result of the conflation of Muslims with terror as well as how the hijab becomes a site for violence. The actor hints at epistemological ignorance (Sullivan, 2006) and “lots of questions” for the local community that need to be answered: I’ve experienced a bit of racism, being Muslim. It’s a bit of a challenge. Especially for my sisters and my mum because they wear a hijab. Especially living in this area, it’s tough because they’ve been subjected to racism on the street. People telling them, “Why are you wearing that, take it off.” Actually, one woman from the Afghan community was stripped of her scarf from her head, and I thought, there are a lot of questions

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that this community needs answered. For example, why do Muslims wear a hijab? And that’s why one of the characters represents herself with a hijab. There’s also a lot of questions, people think that a lot of Muslims are terrorists. Many have written about the violence against women and how the hijab is often a site for violence. Noble (2005) uses the concept of ontological security to describe the effects of the increased violence on Muslim women. Violence, direct and symbolic, undermines this sense of security and capacity for agency as it is based on misrecognition or non-recognition. Other authors have argued that the reduction of public spaces for people can impact their psychological wellbeing and capacity to act (Oliver, 2004). The effects of these forms of violence on people’s sense of agency and preparedness to express identities are conveyed in the following excerpt: For me, also, it’s like a key thing that I want to show is how difficult it can be to maintain the pride for your culture and where you come from, and you want to express it every day but also trying to fit in with, like, a White society. You know, like Australia is, and it’s difficult and sometimes it makes you feel ashamed if you don’t speak up for your—and also, there’s a growing fear of speaking up. I’m Muslim so saying I’m Muslim in some situations, I sometimes don’t say anything. I just pass the question because it’s—I’m scared of how people are going to react. Sometimes it’s just things like that. Examples in the previous sections show how people are othered along dimensions of race, while the examples here refer specifically to dominant narratives that construct Muslims as a terrorist other. These dominant narratives harm and flatten the diversity of Muslims as religion and its various expressions across ethnicity in various countries around the world (Ali, 2019). In addition to Muslimness, another person used the metaphor of the ghetto. In the excerpt, the ghetto is used to reference deep tacit knowledge and cultural resources enculturated over time within a living world. Within migration, much of that is lost, sacrificed. Ghetto invokes the notion of closeness and proximity with some and of being an outsider, and that the embodiment of the “ghetto-ness” and forms of ghetto capital cannot be concealed, are not valued, and won’t be accepted by un-named normative majority. The only path to acceptance is erasure—assimilation. People don’t understand that because this society is all they know. They don’t know about how somewhere else things happen way differently.

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They don’t want to accept that where you come from, you can take the child out of the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out of the child because the ghetto raised the child. So, there are still signs of the ghetto, there are still signs of the ghetto within the kid even though the kid is out of the ghetto. And this society does not accept that part of the child. They want the child to be like them, that’s the only way they can accept him. These excerpts speak to how people’s various social and cultural resources can be undervalued, seen as out of place, and incompatible with the norms of the home culture. To name these experiences, to make them public is an important part of the process of problematising pressures to assimilate and to find ways to validate experiences. 3.4

Stories of Becoming and Resistance: “Yes, It’s Just a Way of Showing Them What We’ve Been Through” A central goal of decoloniality is to make oppressions visible and to centre the voice of those often silenced, pathologised, and misrepresented. Sonn and Baker (2015; see also Bell, 2010; Zavala, 2016) have highlighted the various ways in which community based arts projects, such as theatre, are a means for creating settings for counter-storytelling about race and racism that can contribute to reclamation, healing, and inserting new narratives and expression of complex and multilayered lives from the margins into the public sphere. Counter-storytelling challenges dominant group narratives and can expose race-neutral discourse to show how racialised privilege operates through ideologies that normalises disadvantage while also ensuring the maintenance of unearned privilege. Counter-stories challenge taken for granted stories that are often circulated through mainstream media and political discourse, stories that present and reinforce stereotypes of racialised, ethnicised, and oppressed groups as underserving, deviant, violent, culturally incompatible, and outside the scope of justice (Bell, 2010). The expression of counter-stories is an act of decoloniality “to look within and undo/rework the decolonising oppressive structures from the inside-out and then look again from the outside-in” (Segalo et al., 2005, p. 7). In the stories that people narrated they emphasised their own experiences, of taking a leap and letting others “into our world.” For example, one actor remarked: In a way, people get to see, because most of the stories we do they’ve happened in our lives, we’re talking from experience. So, we’re letting them into our world, so they can maybe one day interact with you in society, not on the stage, and have learned something new about you and your community and where you grew up. So that when they interact with you

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in life, they have a better understanding of you and the way you behave and why you are like that. Another commented that: Well, you know, how we send out messages to people because we have been through stuff that they don’t know so we want to show them what it’s like to be in our position that we were in before we got this opportunity. Yes, it’s just a way of showing them what we’ve been through and what’s happened for us to overcome it, or what’s been done for us to overcome. This gifting of experience is more than letting in; it seeks to disrupt epistemological ignorance and coloniality, the normativity of Whiteness. In addition to reaching out and sharing with others, the group also valued intra-communal dialogue and sharing. For some, the opportunity and the space created are an outlet, a place where people can engage in dialogue, deconstruct, and affirm experiences. I think with the stuff that’s happening in the world, and we all have our issues, everyone has their internal conflicts that they feel, it’s a really good outlet to come here every week and talk about these things, whereas you can’t always express them with your family or with your friends that are outside this group, because not everyone understands. The desire for recognition and the importance of it is powerfully communicated in the excerpt. One of the narrators who pointed out the burden of misrecognition also noted the need for empathy. Through the performance as a form of public pedagogy, people’s hurt is communicated and the effects of dominant discourses on their lives made visible. And, it’s kind of like what I think the big people say, like politicians and things. They say how it affects the little people, how it affects us and how people perceive us when—You know how they say there are a few bad apples in every—I don’t know, bunch, tree? I don’t know. But, because of a few people that put on a persona for Islam, the persona that they’re religious, and they commit acts of terror and things like that, it comes back around to us and moderate Muslims they deal with it daily, the backlash after every terrorist attack, things like that. Yes, I think that’s how they can empathise with us.

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The settings created for young people fulfill multiple functions, none more important than collective engagement in challenging coloniality. This is made possible through counter-storytelling, deconstruction, and developing capacities to enact everyday resistance.

4

Conclusion

This chapter explored the different ways young people narrated their experiences in terms of 6 Hours in Geelong. Drawing on a critical constructionist frame and the decolonial practice of counter-storytelling that centres the voices of those marginalised, we generated several key narratives to show the complex and multi-layered ways in which people experience oppression, how they make sense of those experiences, and how they contest, resist, and seek to bring about change. Like Weis and Fine (2012) as well as liberation scholars (Freire, 1970; Montero, 2007) and critical race scholars (Solórzano & Yosso, 2002), our analysis shows that counter-storytelling draws on notions such as deconstruction and denaturalisation that can surface the matrices of oppression and empower marginalised groups as social actors. Counter-storytelling shifts the focus to the wider social, cultural, and historical landscape, and the discursive and symbolic conduits for oppression and spaces for practices of freedom made visible. Counter-storytelling is a dialogical justice-oriented practice. In this project, counter-storytelling was made possible through the creation of a community of learning in which people could safely name and process their various experiences of racism, inclusion, displacement, culture, and more. The group was mentored and supported in the process of devising a theatre performance, and through this process acted as change agents. The approach adopted in the project was dialogical and centred the voices of racialised and ethnicised groups. These young people narrated their lives through various dialogues about culture, migration, race, and place, through which they contested racism and asserted their complex personhood.

Note 1 Western Edge Youth Arts is a community arts endeavour in Melbourne’s western suburbs.

CHAPTER 8

Essentialism and Cosmopolitan WEIRDness This chapter interrogates applied theatre practice in relation to the essentialisation of cultural difference and issues of representation. It draws on critical multiculturalism, feminist, and decolonial theories to offer new insights into how young people construct identities, foster relationships, assert their humanity, and negotiate belonging in an aesthetic “third space” (Bhabha, 2004). Our aim is to push the boundaries drawn by static conceptions of culture and difference and to examine the intentional ways young people engage in processes of place-making within the constraints of structural and symbolic power relations.

1

WEIRDness, Essentialism, and Coloniality

The term weird—Western, Educated, Industrialised, Rich, and Democratic— has been coined by Henrich et al. (2010), who argued that research claims in the social sciences have been based on Eurocentrism. Their study outlines research that found there were significant differences relating to, for example, perceptions of fairness and punishment between people of different cultural backgrounds and that weird people were outliers at the extreme end of the spectrum in relation to these perceptions. In another example they also found that the children of weird communities had “impoverished interactions with the natural world” compared to Indigenous communities and that they are “unusual in their egocentric bias vis-à-vis most other industrialised populations” (Henrich et al., pp. 67–68). Numerous studies have found that weird populations also have “more independent views of self than non-Westerners” (Henrich et al., p. 70). Amongst other considerations, what this research points to is the existence of significant cultural differences between people in Western societies and people from other cultural backgrounds. This research has wide-reaching implications because as well as indicating that Western social norms are outliers compared to global norms, it also suggests that there are significant differences between different cultures in relation to, among others, the concept of self and moral values. What is indicated here is the value of enabling people from diasporic communities to critique the society in which they live because they may be doing this from a position of cultural difference (Henrich et al., 2010). Although the © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2022 | doi: 10.1163/9789004505599_008

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cultural differences revealed by Henrich et al. are not fixed and static, if we accept that they exist at all, then an aesthetic space such as applied theatre, in which different social values and beliefs can be examined and explored, is of importance because it can generate critiques of Western social norms that are not normal at all. This is not to suggest that conceptions of culture and difference should be thought of as static. However, if we wish to engage with the intentional ways young people engage in place-making processes within the constraints of structural and symbolic power relations, then the essentialising of cultures—who does this, why, and what the consequences of this may be— is central to the discussion. Identity is of course fundamentally relational: “Relationality involves our forming and being formed, both individually and culturally, in relation through our engagements and practices” (Hoagland, 2007, p. 99). The nature of relational identity formation is that it replicates the oppressive power structures of the society in which it occurs making it hard for individuals to form identities that are not infected by these oppressions: “We are all positioned to remain loyal in particular ways to relationality framed by ignorances fostered in the logic of oppression” (Hoagland, 2007, p. 109). However, the concept of identity as being fixed and untransmutable is an imposition that in itself, is an act of coloniality. Román-Odio’s (2013) discussion of immigrant artists argues that those who have been: stripped of their history, language, identity, and culture seek to reconnect to an unconscious reservoir of meaning, “to the nepantla1 state of transition between time periods, and the border between cultures” (Anzaldúa 1993, 110). In this context, identity becomes an ongoing activity and a framework for a complex composition that melds disparate selves and the collective dreams and experiences that are held together by memory… Identity, like a river, is always changing, always in transition. (p. 56) We note here that fluidity is being described as a dynamic mix of “collective dreams” and memories. Like the young artists engaged in 6 Hours in Geelong, the artists referred to above straddle different cultures, maintaining connections to who they were in their country of origin but changed by their immersion in weird society. The importance of a cultural space in which this can occur is affirmed by Hoagland (2007) in her analysis of relationality and ignorance: “Identities are interactive; our possibilities emerge from within the collectivities we engage. Within these collectivities are the possibilities of the interdependencies of non-dominant differences” (p. 110). The concept here is of people from non-dominant cultures creating new identities that replace existing colonial relationalities. Bhabha’s (2004)

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definitive characterisation of the process of cultural expression as being one in which “all cultural statements and systems are constructed” in a “contradictory and ambivalent space of enunciation” effectively ends any sense of “historical identity of culture as a homogenizing, unifying force” (p. 55). Cultural identity formation is a process, and there are inherent dangers therefore in trying to represent cultural identity artistically because in trying to explore difference we may essentialise people from particular communities. Underlying this essentialising are a number of problematic assumptions: that their ethnicity triggers desires for intra-social cohesion, that collective identity is static particularly when framed within religious or gender difference, and that their sense of collective identity does indeed give them a polarity of identity difference. Mbembe (2019) traces the origins of essentialism to colonialism, arguing that colonisers needed to differentiate themselves so radically from the people they were subjugating that they had to “constitute them as physical objects of various sorts” turning them into what he calls “type images” (p. 47). This process of reification proceeded thus: These images largely corresponded to the debris of these natives’ real biographies, their primary status before the encounter. Thanks to the imaged material thus produced, an entirely artificial secondary status of psychic objects came to be grafted onto their primary status as authentic human persons. (Mbembe, 2019, p. 47) Mbembe (2019) continues his argument by analysing how for people subjected to this dehumanising process the dilemma became how to free themselves from these imposed “psychic motifs” (p. 47). Referring to these imposed colonial identities as “bad objects,” Mbembe argues that for the colonised “the bad object and I are never entirely separable. At the same time, we are never entirely together” (p. 47). This fraught relationship between colonised people and the essentialised identities that colonisers have imposed upon them illustrates the complexity of people who are part of colonised communities. There are challenges for colonised people to represent their cultural identity through theatre in a contemporary Australian context in which racist and colonial attitudes still persist. In recent work in the emerging field of cultural psychology, Nunes de Abreu (2020) analyses the legacy of colonialism in terms of “White normativity” that “relentlessly reduces anything non-White to being a function of Whiteness by denying true autonomy and accepting difference only to the extent that it functions as a means to reinforce ‘White universalism’” (p. 305). He concludes his analysis thus: “Race produces particular, generalizable ways of experiencing,

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perceiving and being in the world, which in turn reflect our individual and collective identities and experiences as racialised bodies” (p. 308). Given the “generalizable” nature of this experience, a sense of collective identity may be important for cultural groups who have been denied “true autonomy” in a White universalist society, but to what extent does this correspond to an essentialised identity? Werbner (2015) defines essentialism thus: The charge of essentialism attaches to any form of analysis which may be said to obscure the relational aspects of group culture or identity, and to valorize instead the subject in itself, as autonomous and separate, as if such a subject can be demarked out of context, unrelated to an external other or discursive purpose. (p. 228) However, Werbner (2015) also allows for the possibility of a group of people who are racialised by a White mainstream “self-essentialising,” an act that she describes as “a rhetorical performance in which an imagined community is invoked” (p. 230). “To lump all forms of objectification together as essentialist is, from this perspective, to essentialise essentialism. It is to conflate two opposed relational fields—of objectification and reification” (Werbner, 2015, pp. 248–249). This is an attempt to distinguish between a community of people defining themselves in cultural and racial terms and the imposition of a fixed identity onto a community by others, which is a racist act even when well-intentioned. If essentialism is a complex and ambiguous term as Werbner (2015, p. 235) departing from Bhabha (2004) suggests, then racism and anti-racism by extension are terms and concepts in urgent need of problematising. Recent discourse has drawn together the threads of multiculturalism and even conventional anti-racism as connected to coloniality. The colonial power paradigm is indeed an organising notion, a principle, of Eurocentric global capitalism. We are living in an age of global coloniality, distinct from colonialism. The colonial era founded on Eurocentric economic domination has given way to global forces of interwoven dominative exploitations around race, gender, and class hierarchies. Grosfoguel (2007) discusses: the coloniality of power as an entanglement or, to use a Third World Feminist concept, intersectionality (Crenshaw 1989, Fregoso 2003) of multiple and heterogeneous global hierarchies (“heterarchies”) of sexual, political, epistemic, economic, spiritual, linguistic and racial forms of domination and exploitation where the racial/ethnic hierarchy of the European/non-European divide transversally reconfigures all of the other global power structures. (p. 217)

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Given this entanglement, there are obvious issues with essentialised cultural identities that prioritise a response to the “racial/ethnic hierarchy” over other identities, giving rise to what Gilroy (2016) refers to as the “ethnic absolutism espoused by ‘identity politics’” (p. 101). These concerns, in addition to questions about the desirability of intra-social cohesion for people from ethnic minorities and whether a sense of collective identity does indeed generate a polarity of identity difference, as mentioned above, indicate the challenging cultural territory that arts practice that seeks to be anti-racist inhabits. This is because perceived cultural differences that emerge in very diverse societies may be a racist imposition or an identity that some members of minority cultural groups chose to accept, as Wievorka (2015) argues: Our societies are characterised by the co-presence of many different cultures, and by their fragmentation: cultural differences are produced and reproduced in this context, being subject here and there to ethnicisations and even racialisations which are not necessarily rejected by the members of these groups. (p. 148) A dilemma for the would-be anti-racist is therefore about “how to prevent these separate expressions of identity from becoming factors of racial hatred or violence” (Wieviorka, 2015, p. 149). Modood (2015) in his discussion of British Asian cultural identity and the history of anti-racism in 1980s Britain problematises the political concept of “blackness” that was intended to unite Afro-Caribbean and South Asian British communities in the cause of anti-racism, precisely because it prevented the expression of cultural difference: This meant one was denied a language in which to debate cultural difference and the extent to which Asian cultural differences were increasingly being racialised; a language in which to give expression to ethnicity while seeking, at the same time, to oppose racist stereotyping and public expressions of contempt, as well as right-wing “culturalist” constructions of identity; a form of words to express loyalty to one’s own minority community within a public discourse of equality and civic integration. (Modood, 2015, p. 158) Returning to the Australian context this discussion about artistic representation takes place within the public discourse of civic integration that is centred on the policy of multiculturalism. Originating in Canada and seen in policies in immigrant societies worldwide, conventional approaches to multiculturalism

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are in contestation with theories that emphasise the fluidity of identity. In Australia, multiculturalism was a natural outgrowth of the White Australia Policy (Poynting & Mason, 2008), part of a four-stage ethnic affairs policy: “(1) The exclusivism of the ‘White Australia’ policy; (2) Assimilationism, with basically laissez-faire strategies of settlement; (3) Multiculturalism: state assisted and demanded by immigrant communities; (4) ‘New Integrationism’: state imposed and demanded of immigrant communities” (p. 232). Poynting and Mason’s designation of the New Integrationism, not labelled as such by government policy, appears to be a systemic shift away from the equal rights and justice imperatives of multiculturalism. Originally conceived as a way of recognising the culture of the immigrant, multiculturalism moved away from the assimilationist rhetoric of the 1960s to pave the way for the inclusion of other cultures within certain state-imposed limitations. Although the policy of the Commonwealth Government, as presented in new rhetoric, uses multiculturalism, it is clear that the imperatives are different. Nonetheless, Australia as a multicultural society has been a badge, a kind of symbol for the ways in which the public narratives and educational and cultural discourse are constructed, and the policy has attracted strong popular support over a number of decades. If multiculturalism generates “defensive and rigid postures concerning cultural preservation” some see cosmopolitanism as an alternative that is “more open, fluid and individualistic” (Moran, 2017, p. 252). This model, it is claimed, better reflects the nature of a globalised world where cultural boundaries shift and individuals inhabit more than one cultural group, giving “more room to cultural development and change” (Moran, 2017, pp. 252–253). However this perhaps utopian model of a trans-cultural society is in danger of understating the challenge that diverse communities face from racism, for, as Valdez (2019) maintains: Yet, this exclusively negative engagement with identity has prevented cosmopolitan scholars from theorizing the importance of race-based forms of domination prevalent domestically and internationally, which are tightly connected with race-based forms of mutual identification, both of the controlling, essentializing kind, and of the solidaristic, contestatory kind. (p. 117) In response to this critique, Glick Schiller (2014) argues for a cosmopolitanism that is more open to the “otherness of the other” and critiques the naivety of cosmopolitan urbanism: “the concept of openness to the difference of the stranger, rather than being universal and transhistoric, reproduces the racialising binary logic and boundary making of nation state building processes” (p.

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103). Glick Schiller (2014) argues for a diasporic cosmopolitanism that is based on connections between diverse communities that are in a dynamic state of flux based on common interests of their situation: “A concept of diasporic cosmopolitanism and comparative studies of city making allow us to see the possibilities of encounters based on situated partial mutualities and shared aspirations of the displaced” (p. 109).

2

Entanglements of Racism, Theatre, and Theory

These perspectives on policy and theory are relevant because 6 Hours in Geelong was funded and conceived as a theatre project that promoted Australian—or more specifically Victorian—multiculturalism, but may in fact have essentialised the communities it represented and fueled cultural racism and the discourse of difference. By considering this issue in relation to the project, it is our intention to suggest ways in which theory may be applied to analyse and develop arts and education practice that relates to anti-racism and the expression of perceived cultural identities. This legacy of colonialism leaves a hard residue that continues in post-colonial societies like Australia. One has only to consider the recent dehumanising of Aboriginal Australian rules footballers by large crowds of White Australians to see this process of racist reification still in play in contemporary Australia (Grant, 2019). Faced with this continued process of being dehumanised, Mbembe’s (2019) argument may have relevance—that people face a choice between choosing an origin story or rejecting any notion of collective identity: “In the ordeal of extreme vulnerability, many are tempted by some repetition of the originary, while others are attracted by the void” (p. 184). The latter choice, he suggests, leaves people rootless and nameless: “In addition, does not letting go of everything or nearly everything, renouncing everything or nearly everything, mean that one is henceforth ‘nowhere,’ that one no longer answers to anything or to any name?” (Mbembe, 2019, p. 185). Mbembe’s (2019) analysis of the colonial legacy on a world that is increasingly made up of migrating peoples indicates some of the deep cultural complexity involved in addressing this issue and its attendant racialised narratives. This picture is further complicated by the particularities of individual experiences and the different racialisations experienced by different cultural communities in different contexts. Issues of gender, sexuality, and poverty intersect with these experiences leading us to the question: How might theatre be a locus of this discourse about racism and identity?

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Analysis of Racism and Identity in 6 Hours in Geelong

As discussed in Chapter 4, the characters in 6 Hours in Geelong were created to represent different viewpoints pertaining to race and identity in a consciously contrived discourse taking place over the course of a night out in Geelong about how they were impacted by racism and how they thought they should respond to it. In this respect it might have reduced characters to cyphers who represented attitudes and opinions that could have been seen as essentialising. However, the characters were generated by the actors and directly represented experiences of and responses to racism that they considered important to share with the wider community. In this regard their dramatic representations could be seen as self-essentialising, enabling them to claim cultural identities that were embodied narratives of resistance. The play also explored issues of gender and poverty although not in as much detail. Furthermore, it examined complex relations across cultural communities in ways that resonate with the aspirations of cosmopolitanism discussed above. For example, it enabled actors from diverse Muslim backgrounds to enter into a debate about how to respond to widespread Islamophobia, staging a dynamic discussion about different Islamic identities that different characters manifested and that changed in the course of the play. This dramatic discourse resonates strongly with Modood’s (2015) need to find “a form of words to express loyalty to one’s own minority community within a public discourse of equality and civic integration” (p. 158). The play was an attempt to embrace the complexity of expressing cultural difference without fuelling racist narratives. Although the funding imperative to directly address racism and Islamophobia led to an over-emphasis on racialised identities that were essentialised, the actors created and embraced these essentialised character identities and they used them as a platform to make political comments to the wider Geelong community. At one point in the play a character states: “Australia doesn’t have a culture. That’s an opinion from me. It doesn’t have a culture.” In saying this, the actor, who wrote these words as well as delivering them in performance, was critiquing Australian society in ways which resonate with Henrich et al.’s (2010) findings concerning weird societies’ unusual emphasis on individualism. All the characters in the play were shown as flawed individuals as well as representing different viewpoints about race. At the heart of this discussion is the principal question: Did the play represent the complex identities of the actors in ways that were ultimately detrimental to them as individuals or their communities? By considering this question in relation to theory we hope that we may be able to extrapolate some learnings for arts practice in general in this field.

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We have defined 6 Hours in Geelong as applied theatre, distinct from participatory theatre or community theatre, because it had a specific social agenda that was in this case imposed on it by the state government funders of the project. In line with this brief, it was designed to be a social intervention that raised awareness about racism and Islamophobia. A recent Australian work on applied theatre (Freebody et al., 2018) problematises such work: This leads us to question: If we see the world through its problems worth fixing, are we approaching the theatre work and the actors from a deficit perspective? If so, why has this come about? And does it matter if we are? We argue that it does. A deficit perspective of actors, related specifically to their “problem” (of youth, offending, culture, gender and so on) has two key factors at play: the understanding of an individual’s personal circumstances based on their problem (i.e., a person is this race/gender/ context); and a perceived failure and/or lack of ability of that group of persons to be empowered or productive in their current circumstances. (p. 6) In this analysis, 6 Hours in Geelong can be seen as presenting a “deficit perspective” on the communities that it represented because of its focus on race. It is perhaps significant that the authors of this work describe “race” as a problem, rather than racism for example, and state that to understand someone’s personal circumstances based on their race is a “deficit.” Does it then follow that applied theatre practice that deals primarily with issues of race, racism, and cultural identification is fundamentally flawed, regardless of the particularities and nuances of the artistic practice? If as practitioners engaging with such “problems” and “deficits” we cannot find ways to meet this challenge then we may be left with a practice that resists engaging with issues of race and identity at all because of the all-encompassing nature of this critique. In looking for ways forward it may be helpful to consider the transformation narrative that is a defining characteristic of applied theatre practice, because as Freebody et al. (2018) point out, “applying theatre to something indicates that this application can change at least one element of that thing” (pp. 5–6). Augusto Boal is a highly influential practitioner whose claims about transformations were central to his practice. In his Theatre of the Oppressed (2000), he argues that Brechtian and Marxian theatre seeks to subvert the practice of theatre that has systemically deprived marginalised people of voice. Boal’s Forum Theatre is very widely used in many contexts and indeed formed part of the basis of the interactive performances in schools that were part of 6 Hours in Geelong. In this medium, the “joker” figure holds significant power because they guide the action using the suggestions of the audience and encouraging

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audience members to become involved in showing how oppression might be changed. The power invested in this role undermines the democratic nature of this theatre form and illustrates that processes of collective creation are always complex and to some extent problematic. Boal (2000) characterises such interactions as follows: The Joker’s function is not to transform but to stimulate the conditions that might give rise to transformation by inviting Forum Theatre actors to act and speak in ways that are not typically available to them. Boal’s intentions for the transformative power of the Theatre of the Oppressed are clear: “…the act of transforming is itself transformatory. In the act of changing our image, we are changing ourselves, and by changing ourselves in turn we change the world.” (as cited in Prentki, 2018, p. 168) If this sounds utopian, perhaps that is because it is! Prentki (2018) himself is skeptical about Boal’s claims: “There is much hanging on this ‘in turn’ and the evidence that the personal transformations of applied theatre are reflected in social transformation is, at best, slight” (p. 168). Prentki prefers a more modest conception of transformation that emphasises change at the level of the individual not the social and that is never complete but is processual in nature: “Perhaps the transformative action, however, is not the achievement but the attempt, the process. Transformation is an attitude, a propensity to which neither beginning nor end can be ascribed” (p. 170). Brecht’s Epic Theatre (Willett, 2018) remains an important reference point for all political theatre and has some relevance to this discussion. Brecht’s emphasis is not on empathy but on understanding. His conception of characters is not of individuals with agency but of people whose “social impulses” are dictated by the social and historical context in which they find themselves. Brecht extends this approach to his contemporary dramas: If we ensure that characters on the stage are moved by social impulses and that these differ according to the period, then we make it harder for our spectator to identify himself with them. He cannot simply feel: that’s how I would act, but at most can say: if I had lived under those circumstances. And if we play works dealing with our own time as though they were historical, then perhaps the circumstances under which he himself acts will strike him as equally odd; and this is where the critical attitude begins. (Willett, 2018, p. 30) In 6 Hours in Geelong the characters are to a degree trapped by the circumstances in which they find themselves, they cannot find work or social acceptance in a

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society that racialises them. The attempt then is not to generate sympathy for the characters who are not necessarily “likable” but are responding to the circumstances in which they find themselves, perhaps generating some thought amongst audience members as to why this should be. What this approach does not do is provide the sort of simplistic, feel good solutions that might be generated through Forum Theatre or imposed by a playwright creating positive images of multiculturalism. But might such approaches be a more effective ways to combat racism through theatre? For example, might scenes in 6 Hours in Geelong involving conflict with the police or with an Islamophobic racist have been transformed through utopian interventions by characters who, for example, spoke truth to power or displayed solidarity across cultural communities? This argument gives rise to further questions about practice, such as: Might theatre works that celebrate cultural diversity and represent racial harmony be more effective in transforming social attitudes? If a play represents racism does it normalise and encourage it? Is the only acceptable representation of an oppressed community a positive one that shows the world as we might like it to be rather than as it is? If as practitioners we answer “yes” to these questions then we may end up promoting “racial silence, colourblind rhetoric” or the notion that an “emotional investment in a universal subjectivity (‘there’s only one race: the human race’) would be all it takes to make racism magically disappear” (Nunes de Abreu, 2020, p. 305). These questions give rise to another more fundamental question: Who is entitled to make decisions about what is or is not an appropriate way to represent racialised communities? If the actors in an applied theatre project have genuine agency then they can make their own decisions about whether they create work that addresses racism. The complex processes by which such agency may be achieved and the issues involved in them are the subject of Chapter 4, but it requires a rigorous engagement with the complex power relations involved in such work, as Freebody et al. (2018) acknowledge: “Every applied theatre project, and its intent and success, requires that the power structures which govern the involvement of actors is considered anew, through the discourse of the work, and is problematized” (p. 9). Returning to the perceived issue of the “deficit perspective” discussed above (Freebody et al., 2018), when people of colour live in a society that has still to come to terms with the corrosive legacy of colonialism and where they are frequently racialised, then they may reasonably choose to represent themselves as having a group identity that presents “race” as something other than a deficit, for example by exploring solidarity and resistance. In that case, framing such representations as a “deficit perspective” may be part of the problem.

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6 Hours in Geelong presented all of its characters as flawed in an attempt to create three-dimensional characters who were grappling with the complexity of living in a racist society where different cultural communities, genders, and individuals experienced different levels of oppression that they perceived differently, drawing on the experiences of the individuals who created the work. This representation may be seen by some as problematic, because any negative representation of these marginalised communities could feed racist attitudes and narratives. On the other hand, a utopian theatre work that presented people of colour in exclusively positive terms and modelled a society where racism didn’t exist or was easily overcome runs the considerable risk of silencing people who have experienced racism and allowing White people to minimise the problem or to believe it can be easily solved. Nunes de Abreu (2020) sees “White normativity” as fundamentally dehumanising: “It treats the supposed strengths and weaknesses stereotypically ascribed to other racial groups as evidence that non-White people are not ‘people’ in the same way Whites are” (p. 302).

4

Embracing Complexity

By presenting complex, flawed characters, albeit with a focus on their racialised identities, did the play humanise or dehumanise these people? Perhaps it did both at the same time. Trying to create an arts practice that can work effectively in this contested cultural space is the challenge facing practitioners who choose to enter this field. The complexity of representing race and/ or perceived cultural identity in a society that still carries the hard residue of colonialism at its heart poses fundamental questions about the nature of applied theatre and indeed other arts practices. The discourse around essentialism is central to this challenge. So is the relationship we make as artists to state sanctioned multiculturalism. The space between colonial reification and cosmopolitan colour-blindness that denies all forms of collective identification is the space the practitioner must aim to inhabit. It is not a comfortable space to work in, but it is one in which people may be recognised for their common humanity whilst allowing room for the expression of cultural difference. Mbembe (2019) evokes this aspiration powerfully whilst remaining deeply aware of the struggle involved in achieving it: Instead, the aim is to convoke ... the figure of a human out to make great strides up a steep path—who has left, quit his country, lived elsewhere, abroad, in places in which he forges an authentic dwelling, thereby tying

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his fate to those who welcome and recognize their own face in his, the face of a humanity to come. (p. 186) There are no simple answers to the questions we have posed in this chapter, but we hope they illustrate the need to move away from the simply congratulatory elements of community theatre and the obviously noble elements of working with young displaced people, which is crucial if we are to understand what we are doing and deepen its effectiveness. This leads to a broader question: as social scientists, artists, teachers, and activists, what are the research approaches that allow us to think more deeply about how we conduct our work and create a critical and self-reflective space? Furthermore, when scholars, activists, and arts leaders/educators design work, how might they reflect on avoiding these pitfalls?

Note 1 “Nepantla” is a word from the Nahuatl indigenous Mexicans, meaning a place in the middle.

PART 4 So What? Implications for Practice

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Schooling, Racism, and Powerful Conversations One of the purposes of this book is to examine different aspects of racism in Australia, including how young people could be better equipped to identify and counter racism and other forms of exclusion. Further, how Australian society should acknowledge its history and change its racist structures is a key interest. The educational context is an especially important one for raising these concerns and an appropriate site for conversations about race and racism. The chapter begins by briefly considering the impact of the low-key but significant workshop programme for schools that ran alongside the creation of the 6 Hours in Geelong public performance. The extraordinary response of students in ordinary schools inspired this chapter which focuses on how dialogue about race and exclusion can occur with young people. The workshops were carefully prepared and managed and elicited sincere and thoughtful responses from students (see Chapter 5). This is indeed cause for hope and subsequently this way forward for teachers was conceptualised. The intensification of the Black Lives Matter movement and the covid-19 pandemic that started in 2020 provides the backdrop for the argument that schools are the logical place for these important concerns to be addressed. The usefulness of inclusive education for our work is considered next. The concept of “powerful conversations” is introduced and questions are raised about how schools could contribute so much more to countering racism and exclusion. We develop some ways into thinking about what schools can and should do, forwarding key conceptual points about educational values and cultures and creating safe environments in which young people can investigate racism. These points serve as a framework for this discussion about anti-racism and school-level conversations. Inspired by the applied theatre workshop programme, questions are raised about how powerful conversations could be safely and routinely held with young people in schools addressing racism, exclusion, and Australia’s colonial history. The level of responsibility involved with opening up such conversations is high, requiring sensitivity and careful planning—and knowing what to do when conversations take a negative turn. The safety of individual students is paramount, particularly those on the margins. Danger exists in raising these issues—especially for young people of colour or those who are otherwise excluded. Serious consequences can arise including the symbolic violence of increased taunts and escalated bullying and the alienation of young © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2022 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_009

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White people and hardening racist attitudes. However, fear of negative consequences does not sufficiently justify avoidance of powerful conversations with students. How schools could better promote belonging and successful identification, examination, and challenging of racism and other forms of discrimination is the central concern of this chapter. Finally, the everyday obstacles and constraints that have the potential to discourage teachers from holding powerful conversations is examined in light of the perennial curriculum question about the purpose of schooling. Further, if teachers are not encouraged and supported to initiate and successfully manage powerful conversations about racism and inclusion with their students, then where should this occur? It’s clearly important, so shouldn’t we make time and effort to ensure it’s done well? We intend that this chapter builds on the theoretical analyses of the previous section to provide a useful starting point for teachers, schools, and school systems looking for a way forward. So, with the events of 2020 as background, the argument unfolded in this chapter is that powerful conversations about race should take place in schools. The major challenges facing teachers is considered, particularly in relation to limitations on teachers’ capacity, time, knowledge, and confidence to hold these important powerful conversations about race with their students. And finally, the chapter proposes how teachers could be assisted to undertake this important work and who should bear responsibility. Education, after all, involves far more than the mere transmission information implied by shifting education online during the covid-19 pandemic.

1

Context for Conceptualisation

The main impetus for this chapter was the immediate and intense impact of the workshop programme that was conducted in Geelong schools. This programme was developed alongside the 6 Hours in Geelong public performance. As outlined in Chapter 5, these workshops were delivered to over 800 students in ordinary schools. They were received with great enthusiasm and there were strong indications that they had been a highly effective way of raising awareness, knowledge, and perspectives about racism. The extraordinary response by students, and the silence of their teachers, generated thinking about how teachers could safely and effectively enter into dialogue with their students about such important issues to effect change. In addition to these workshops, 2020 provided another important stimulus that led to this conceptualisation about the role of teachers and learning in

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relation to race and racism. That was the resurgence of the blm movement which resonated loudly in Australia. After we became accustomed to the covid-19 lockdown, the Australian media reported extensively on the blm movement in the United States. People were on the streets across the country and loudly objected to institutionalised racism and police brutality. While at first Australia seemed a distance away, clear parallels became increasingly obvious with structural racism and entrenched racist brutality. While tied to events in the US, blm resonated globally and, in Australia, brought renewed attention to the over-policing and over-incarceration of Aboriginal and Torres Straits Islander people and the continuing horror of Aboriginal people dying in custody. The moment and movement in this context put these ongoing inequalities, with roots in a much longer history of colonisation, dispossession, and struggles for survival into the public sphere, thereby raising awareness and ensuing calls to action. As Coe (2020) has observed, a deliberate silence has engulfed Australia for 200 years. Symbolic violence (Bourdieu & Wacquant, 1992) occurs when the dominant hegemonic power unconsciously normalises the status quo of oppression and dominance. Basic figures demonstrate this power imbalance including that the life expectancy for First Nations Australians is approximately eight years lower than for the rest of the population. This group is significantly over-represented in our prisons, comprising 3% of the overall population but 30% of those in prison. Disturbingly, 50% of incarcerated youth are Indigenous. In addition to entrenched symbolic violence, physical violence routinely inflicted on First Nations Australians is normalised and state sanctioned (McQuire, 2020). The 1991 Royal Commission that investigated deaths of Indigenous Australians in custody (Anthony, 2020; Indigenous Deaths In Custody 1989–1996, 1997) clearly demonstrates this in the following way. Since that report was published thirty years ago, no convictions for associated police brutality have been recorded, which is astounding (McQuire, 2020) in itself, with widespread racism being held responsible (Whittaker, 2020). Somewhat unexpectedly, given it has occurred during the covid-19 pandemic, this second wave of the Black Lives Matter movement has signalled that we are now in a time of some hope and change: Our messages are now starting to resonate—to be anti-racist is to be anticolonial. Settler-colonial Australia must decolonise and transform out of their romanticised history books to a new way of thinking and viewing the world. This must start with the recognition of Indigenous sovereignty.

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Fact. Then, and only then will we be free to rebuild, live and engage from an Indigenous critical standpoint of family and relationships where respect is principled in all and every living thing. This is the aspired outcome. This is Black liberation in Australia. (Coe, 2020, para. 7) Australia’s history of slavery (McGaughey, Maguire & Larkin, 2020; Gleeson, 2020) is less well-known than America’s (Anthony & Gray, 2020), and when the Black Lives Matter movement became an international one, tens of thousands of Australians also marched in the street. Nevertheless, strong criticism was levelled at protesters, particularly from conservative politicians and associated media. The Australian Prime Minister had to apologise for his ignorant statement that Australia had no history of slavery (Murphy, 2020), which appears to be a widely-held community perception. In addition to First Nations Australians, racialised and negative policing has also been reported with young people of African and Pasifika heritage being repeatedly stopped and searched (Horyniak et al., 2017; Windle, 2008). Conservative politicians and popular media have routinely linked young Black Australians from African heritage countries with crime and gangs (Majavu, 2020; Baak, 2019; MacDonald, 2017; Gatt, 2011). The 6 Hours in Geelong performance consciously raised awareness about racism towards this group. The importance of teachers holding powerful conversations with their students about race is very timely. It is unacceptable to continue ignoring issues of race, given this very recent history, widespread participation in street marches and significant media coverage about The Black Lives Matter movement, both internationally and in Australia. To conclude the contextualising section of this chapter, we acknowledge the importance of not speaking on behalf of others, and recognise that specialist expertise exists on all of these topics including Australia’s colonial history and the First Nations Australians. To illustrate the problem, we draw attention to a small but significant notice placed in Victoria University’s daily staff bulletin by the Director of Victoria University’s Moondani Balluk Indigenous Academic Unit, Karen Jackson. The notice encouraged university staff to educate themselves and included the following quotation: The two scholars most cited (and tweeted) on racism and privilege are White. They are the most heard and the most visible and both have had #BlackLivesMatter applied to posts about them at a far higher rate than the many thousands of Black writers who have been doing this work for decades/centuries. It perpetuates the idea that White people understand racism best, and that only they can solve it. Dangerously, it suggests that racism actually has nothing to do with Black people. To counter this

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and to respond to the call, Black voices should be listened to first, rather than last. (O’Sullivan, cited in Jackson, 2020) Racism and racialisation are rooted in systems of domination and subjugation. These systems afford privilege and disadvantage. Turning our gaze towards a critical examination of Whiteness and privilege is required as it is expressed and maintained in the Australian context. As Moreton-Robinson (2011) has noted, we need to understand and challenge Whiteness as a system. Further, those with positions of privilege, and who benefit from oppressive systems, need to take responsibility for dismantling White supremacy and its expression in everyday discourses and practices, including in teaching and learning. The final contextual factor for the development of our work on this chapter resulted from schools being closed during the pandemic. Much has subsequently been discussed and written about the challenges for families and children, having to manage schooling in the home (Reimers & Schleicher, 2020). Teachers quickly adapted to online learning throughout the world and concern had been raised about student progress (Brown et al., 2020) and final year students. However far less is known about teachers’ work and how this dramatic change has impacted them. While all teachers have had to quickly develop digital skills and planning for distanced learning, little focus has been on understanding what is involved in the work of teachers. A google scholar search (21/6/20) using three search terms: “school,” “teaching,” and “covid-19,” resulted in 19,300 scholarly publications. Scanning these revealed that most describe specific subjects or university courses with the majority focused on techniques for online teaching or perceived impacts on students of online learning. A year later, three times as many articles (60,500) using the same search terms were yielded. The complexity of teaching under these circumstances is still not a focus, with the interest mostly being on the “delivery” of tasks online. Teaching is not about mere delivery of content and is much more complex. Like other professions, it requires specialist knowledge and making nuanced judgement calls that act in the best interest of learners. This points to the need for teachers to be encouraged to educate themselves about race and dialogue facilitation processes so that they become suitably equipped to hold powerful discussions with their students.

2

Schools as the Site for Discussions about Race

As Haw (2017) argued, racism and systems of privilege have received a considerable amount of attention in discursive research, but limited attention has been given to discourses that challenge racism. How could teachers be

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equipped and supported to hold powerful conversations with their students about race and discrimination? In turn, if achieved successfully, these conversations could be expected to better equip all young people to identify and counter racism in addition to other forms of exclusion. Schools remain the logical choice for broad reach across society and the site of choice for these important concerns to be raised, particularly if we understand racism as a problem that must be addressed by the dominant population rather than communities and individuals who are subjected to racism (Moreton-Robinson, 2011). But how can schools contribute to countering racism? Just stating that they “should” is not sufficient. Nor is it helpful for another mandated requirement to be just added to the long list of items for which schools must take responsibility. Appropriate and adequate education in both factual information and pedagogical processes for teachers are essential if they are to undertake these conversations. Given the entrenched and historical racism in Australia (Slee, 2015; Marr, 2011), conversations with children and adolescents that challenge racism require planning, expertise, and care. They need to be managed carefully because firstly, values and beliefs learned in the home and through social media will frequently be challenged, potentially provoking a backlash. Secondly, the potential for additional bullying and exclusion is increased for some students. Until recently, most Australians have been surprisingly unaware of Australia’s racist history and existing structural and institutionalised racism. Illustratively, the Australian Prime Minister’s apology for his lack of knowledge of this history may have served to influence complacent Australians (Murphy, 2020). Many condemned him at the time, but we see it as a possible cause for hope. As a White, middle-class man; a member of a large evangelical Christian church; and the leader of Australia’s conservative political party; it was indeed noteworthy that he apologised. The significance of the admission of his ignorance and insensitivity should not be overlooked. The resurgence of the blm movement in 2020 raised awareness throughout the world, but in Australia the general reaction, at first, was that it was an American concern. In Australia, activists quickly turned the spotlight inwards and well-attended rallies were organised for each capital city as well as regional centres and towns. Despite concerns about increased community transmission of the covid-19 virus accompanied by specific appeals from health officials asking people not to attend, Australians did attend in the thousands. This raised awareness of racism in Australia in a way that has not happened before. During 2020 racism became a mainstream concern. Therefore, it is timely to now focus attention on schools and how racism could be addressed

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well in that context. Children bring to school the values they have absorbed in the home and increasingly through social media. As racist perspectives are likely to emerge during discussions of racism at school, teachers need to be equipped to have these very important conversations. Racist perspectives occur through ignorance and omission and tend to be accompanied by an overly developed concern for White sensibilities rather than for people who are subjected to racism. So how could teachers be supported to raise awareness and challenge racism in Australian classrooms? And how could routine engagement in powerful conversations led by teachers be supported? Racism remains a delicate topic for educators (Gillborn, 2005; 2008) and for Australian teachers raising this issue with their students can appear challenging and fraught with difficulties. Strangely, in Australia a perception exists among many that this society does not operate on class or race lines with a cultural mythology of egalitarianism running counter to reality (White, 2017). Under examination, the sensitivity of the topic for teachers is likely to result from teachers often not being sufficiently informed themselves, and not wanting to cause offence to White students, parents, and community members. Given widespread historical understandings and cultural myths about egalitarianism and the “fair go,” a tendency exists for White people to express denial in discussions of race (Cretton, 2018; DiAngelo, 2011). Strangely, a higher level of sensitivity about race is afforded to White people in Australian society than to those who are subjected to racism. Land’s (2015) work on White sensibilities is illuminating and belongs in this discussion about teaching about racism in schools. Conceptions of inclusive education (Barton, 2003; Slee, 2011) promised hope for ensuring that all belonged in schools and signalled an end to exclusion, not only for children with disabilities, but for all students. However, this hope is dissipating with one key figure recently commenting: Perhaps it is naïve, but I had accepted “belonging” as a conceptual and practical precondition or element of community and inclusion. Ergo, I had assumed that inclusive education embraced a commitment to dismantling exclusions that formed the foundations for the oppression of vulnerable individuals and population cohorts. Education, through its principal vehicle—the school, set itself the not insignificant goal of optimising viable and sustainable futures for all based on values of fairness and justice…That this has not been secured is hardly surprising…Ours is a world that is most precisely mapped according to deep divides of concentrated privilege. (Slee, 2019, p. 909)

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Inclusive education was a significant idea when it was introduced, but appears to have little to offer the challenges considered in this book, especially in this chapter, where the focus is on how teachers could be supported to introduce powerful conversations about race with their students. For our purposes, the inclusive education discourse seems to be stuck at the point of arguing that these discussions should be held. And that people shouldn’t be racist. Further, through appropriation of the language of inclusive education, that discourse appears to have been hijacked by “special” education, which refers to separate schools or classrooms for special students. In special education, students are grouped with others who share similar impairments (e.g., school for the Deaf). For the sake of the argument, special education (nowadays often referred to as inclusive education) would see people who have experienced racism being educated together, even though this racism is all that they have in common. This sounds more like exclusion than inclusion. One of the important ideas underpinning inclusive education, before it lost its way, echoes contemporary thought explained in queer theory, among others. Rather than the “other” (e.g., the child in the class who is the victim of racism) being the focus, it is the rest of the class (or society) that should be examined and in the context of our discussion, that should be required to change. This makes particular sense in light of Moreton-Robinson’s (2011) sustained argument that racism is a White problem. If we accept that this is the case, the implications for education and other community practice are profound, because it places a significant emphasis on White people to take responsibility for racism and finding ways to become part of the solution to it without appropriating the cultural space of people of colour. Refocusing our dialogue away from inclusive education is an important distinction we make. Roger Slee is a significant figure in the inclusive education field and to draw attention again to his recent comment (2019), the very admirable “goal of optimising viable and sustainable futures for all based on values of fairness and justice” has not been achieved (p. 909). Appealing to fairness and justice (from those in power) is a worthy aim, but as a strategy for change (to serve the victims of racism), has not yet proved successful. As Slee (2019) argues, “ours is a world that is most precisely mapped according to deep divides of concentrated privilege” (p. 909). Rather than reproduce banal and obvious conclusions such as “teachers should,” as seen in many articles published under the banner of inclusive education, this investigation aims for a more significant contribution, rather than to replicate the tired arguments often rehearsed in the inclusive education field. To appropriate MacLure’s (2010) argument, the purpose here is to interrupt and to offend.

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Conceptual Framework for Powerful Conversations

The idea has already been discussed in the early part of this chapter that schools and teachers are well placed to contribute much to countering racism and exclusion. In this section, the concept of “powerful conversations” is introduced and outlined. Here we offer a framework to support anti-racism measures through guidance and support for powerful conversations with school students. Powerful conversations occur in classrooms every now and then. They challenge and change thinking and confront what is assumed and known. And they are highly engaging. This kind of classroom conversation has the capacity to open minds, but requires a significant level of safety, skill, and expertise. And before these elements are employed, powerful classrooms require the teacher to be knowledgeable. In Australia, the 2020 Black Lives Matter movement successfully communicated the message to White Australians that in order to support change, they needed to take responsibility to educate themselves. In combination with the covid-19 pandemic among other unsettling dynamics, blm created conditions for beneficiaries of colonialism, racism, and other systems of violence, to begin to take responsibility and perhaps even to enact change, addressing absences, ignorance, complicity, and the violence of racism in their spheres of influence. Powerful conversations are one way to encourage individual students to listen carefully, to think in new ways, and to speak frankly, but respectfully. They require students to enter into robust and challenging conversations that involve them articulating and defending their views whilst always being open to learning and change. The importance of teachers entering into dialogue with their students in personal and authentic ways should also be underlined. Racist attitudes should never be acceptable, and teachers always have the responsibility to shut down racist comments and call out bullying and denigration. In addition to managing the dialogue, educating themselves about Australia’s White-centric history, structures, and attitudes is required. Little wonder that teachers are likely to require some assistance to initiate and sustain these powerful conversations. Powerful conversations require teachers to lead students to ask questions and think in ways that take them beyond existing ways of thinking. A lot can go wrong in these discussions in classrooms, especially about race. Conversations can go wrong for students of colour, who could readily be expected to voice their perspectives and defend the need for change. Harassment and bullying, often concealed and coded to avoid teacher scrutiny, can easily occur after these discussions. And it can go wrong for the whole class when White students, like

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many family members, tend to get defensive as a first reaction to challenges about race (DiAngelo, 2011). So, high levels of sensitivity are required, in addition to increased knowledge. Development of teachers’ professional capital (Specker Watts & Richardson, 2020) is crucial, particularly related to knowledge and the capacity to skilfully conduct dialogues with young people. This is not a topic about which teachers should expected to speak “off the cuff” without adequate preparation. Examining race inequity in UK education, Gillborn (2005) characterised education policy as an act of “White supremacy.” Drawing on the work of bell hooks (1989), Gillborn argues that this term is much more suitable than “racism” as it more accurately reflects the deeply embedded and taken-for-granted power relations that resist change and retain privilege. While those familiar with these concepts do not have a problem using the term “White supremacy,” this is a term that is likely to provoke resistance from mainstream Australia, including teachers, students, and the families of the students, unless it is carefully defined and contextualised. The success of powerful conversations about race and discrimination with school students relies on a number of pre-conditions, including extensive preparation and planning. Teachers’ need to develop their knowledge and selfeducation is a significant part of this, including developing an understanding of challenging terminology like “White supremacy” that is widely accepted in international discourse on race. In this section, several perspectives are forwarded to assess how teachers could be assisted to venture into the important work of initiating, leading, and guiding powerful conversations about White supremacy, race, and discrimination with their students. 3.1 Teacher Knowledge Several important conditions have already been identified. Firstly, the knowledge of teachers should be sufficiently developed and updated to ensure it is factual rather than based on opinion, belief, or even prejudice. A recent report (Farquar & Millington, 2020) outlined how, following an earlier presentation about diversity, one Australian teacher had shared her racist opinions during a cooking class, including offensive comments directed at the four Indigenous students in the class. And materials commonly used in classrooms continue to imply that Australians are White (Moore, 2017). 3.2 Planning and Forethought Secondly, a high level of planning is required by teachers before powerful conversations about race are attempted. And the major reason for this assertion is that significant potential exists for such discussions to go horribly wrong. This

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is likely to have very real and negative consequences for individual students, while others may be influenced by forceful peers to adopt racist points of view or to disengage from the dialogue. 3.3 School Culture Roffey (2017) forwards four elements of classroom and school culture that can assist with limiting the attraction of extremism and radicalisation in young people: 1. Foster an inclusive environment 2. Education beyond the academic 3. Encourage empathy 4. Make students’ voices heard All four attributes are found in schools that succeed in engaging all students, not just the highly motivated. They apply to all students and move the idea of education away from exams and curriculum as content towards curriculum as being something far more complex. Indeed, curriculum theorists (e.g., Doll & Gough, 2002) have referred to curriculum being not so much as the race to be run, or the documented course of learning, which is usually how the term is used. Instead, they take the word back to its Latin root to argue that it has much more to do with the runner running the race. This student-focused approach is important for establishing the culture and conditions of classrooms and schools in which powerful conversations can safely be held. Put another way, another condition for these dialogues to be undertaken rely on students having a strong feeling of connection with their school and teacher as well as a sense of belonging and safety. These ideas are not at all new in the field of education. Freire (1970) and Sizer (1992) are old texts but retain currency. Freire’s third chapter (1970) on the importance of dialogue for learning is highly relevant with its emphasis on “united reflection and action” about a world that is to be “transformed and humanized” (p. 61). Sizer’s common principles (Coalition of Essential Schools, 2020) share educational values and connect with Roffey’s (2017) key points listed above. 3.4 Teaching about Race Little has been uncovered in the scholarly literature about how teachers should go about teaching Australian school children about race. And professional publications for teachers or textbooks about teaching about race are thin on the ground. We argue that teachers would benefit significantly if resources and sophisticated professional learning was developed for teachers.

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Teaching teachers (and subsequently teaching students) about racism should be engaging as well as challenging. Whilst we understand that it is not possible for schools to replicate the 6 Hours in Geelong workshop experience created by the team of actors (see Chapter 4), some of the characteristics of these workshops may provide a starting point for teachers generating powerful conversations. For example, the use of fictionalised scenarios provides distance that allows students to talk more freely by addressing the motivations, words, and actions of fictitious characters that they can then make their own relationship to. The posing of open questions and exploring areas of moral ambiguity that address the complexity and nuance of racism encourage students to think for themselves and draw their own conclusions. The facilitation and guidance of such conversations requires particular skills that demand training and practice, such as the ability to think on one’s feet and respond in the moment, although of course many teachers have already developed these capacities.

4

How Teachers Can Overcome Obstacles

In this section the context for teachers to undertake this work is examined and several constrictions that limit the capacity of teachers to initiate and manage powerful discussions with their students are identified. Traditionally, curriculum scholars have argued that the purpose of schooling is to pass important knowledge from one generation to the next. With the politicisation and bureaucratisation of curriculum in the West, the question “Who decides what knowledge is important?” is inevitably raised. Australia has a racist history, and this has been passed from one generation to the next (White, 2017). How that can be disrupted, challenged, and overturned is of most interest here. Increasingly the teaching profession has become managed (Codd, 2005). Trust in teachers has been overridden by various standards and accountability measures (White, 2010) and much has been written about increasing bureaucratic control of teachers’ work over the past twenty years (e.g., Burnard & White, 2008; Ball, 2003; Troman & Woods, 2001). Seemingly neutral and fair curriculum standards are particularly favoured by those who are not educators. Sets of standards map out expected learning at specific ages and times. These are generally considered to be objective, but they do not take account of the unequal starting points for students, English language familiarity, cultural capital, and other social indicators. As Morley (2003) observed many years ago, standards are usually justified with the argument that they provide a set of

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organising principles and a structure that are accessible to all, but they actually represent “a positivist concept of knowledge based on objective truths to be communicated, memorized and measured” (p. 44). Government educational standards are not based on research or evidence and impoverish meaning in education. They serve to directly contrast the ideas forwarded by Freire (1970) and Sizer (1992) alongside the more recent and large curriculum theory and pedagogy literatures. Testing regimes have increased alongside the steady decline of teachers’ discretionary power and capacity for professional judgement. Many valuable classroom hours are now spent preparing for national tests. However, evidence has not shown that education resources are more equitably distributed, nor has learning been shown to have improved as a result of these measures. The question of “whose interests are served?” leads to the answer, “not students or teachers.” Pre-service teaching programmes and licensing for teachers has also been overrun with standards. Sadly, to gain teacher registration in Australia, standards must be demonstrated with clear fidelity (White, 2012). Significant social concerns, such as the one raised here about teachers being the appropriate people to discuss the complex issues of White supremacy with their students, do not feature in the currently accepted version of quality teaching. Instead, teachers have been conceptualised as technicians rather than professionals. Implementation of others’ ideas is what is measured. Further, university courses for pre-service teaching qualifications are externally accredited using measurements and standards that exclude philosophical, historical, psychological, and sociological perspectives. Raising these limitations on the professional autonomy of teachers in this context is important for our discussion. While many of these concerns have been well-rehearsed in the education policy literature of Western countries for the past twenty years, familiarity with these ideas outside that field is not widespread. This demonstrates why the simplistic expectations demonstrated by saying that “teachers should” takes little account of the constraints facing teachers. This contextual information for teachers’ work is important. In addition, it is likely that many teachers may lack confidence and autonomy resulting from these long-term constraints. Given the tendency in Australia to deny issues of race and class, the recent wave of the blm movement saw First Nations Australians consistently sending the message that White people should educate themselves. Little opportunity exists for teachers to undertake courses of professional learning to learn more about Australian racism and how to plan for powerful conversations with students. As this is a professional issue, employer and professional organisation assistance is now

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called for. Our argument is that teachers should be encouraged to hold these difficult conversations, but this requires them to be appropriately supported and equipped. This provides a chance to challenge widespread inter-generational prejudice and ignorance. We have identified the following three steps as an important way forward: 1. Teacher professional subject associations and employers (e.g., Departments of Education) should develop quality resources and courses for teachers to learn about Australian racism and about how to teach with skill and sensitivity. 2. Teachers should be provided with knowledge and guidance at a local level (like literacy or maths coaching) so they are confident to hold powerful conversations. 3. Clear expectations should be established that these powerful conversations should be routinely held in schools. Teacher professional subject associations, Departments of Education, and school districts and regions should develop resources and courses of study that equip teachers to undertake the finely grained learning and planning required. In this chapter the argument has been forwarded that schools are the logical place for powerful conversations to be undertaken about race. We have argued that the logical way for this to occur is through teachers being fully equipped with knowledge, understanding, and strategies they devise for their classroom practice. The substantial body of scholarly knowledge about professional teacher learning points to the significance of long-term and substantial programmes that are linked to theory and practice. These programmes offer a safe environment for teachers to learn from each other. Importantly, teachers need to commit to change before change in practice will occur. Like other professionals, teachers require good arguments and evidence before they would consider changing their work. Given teachers have endured many initiatives to change their practice, that have been mostly imposed by bureaucratic employers and often lacking evidence, the profession is wary of mandated change. Nevertheless, discussions about race and discrimination are beginning to be held in Australian schools. One of Australia’s larger schools, Greater Shepparton Secondary College, was found to be “a picture of systemic racism and cultural exclusion” (Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 2021, para. 1). While the media reported on that with some outrage, an earlier Australian study found that teachers tend to mostly discuss racism in response to student questions and the extent of discussions about racism depends upon: – Teachers’ personal and professional capability; – Awareness of racism; – Consideration of its relevance in their classrooms;

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– Whether or not they feel supported in the broader school and community context (Priest et al., 2014). A moral panic about critical race theory has recently been imported from the US into Australia (Wilson, 2021; Lentin & Bargallie, 2021). The Australian Senate attempted to ban its use in Australian school curriculum (Anderson & Gatwiri, 2021), despite education being a state (not a national) right. What is not known, however, is whether government education departments would encourage or fund the development of teacher learning for the powerful conversations advocated for in this chapter—especially now that critical race theory has been politicised. Nevertheless, we suggest that teacher professional learning would have significant impact in schools if teams of teachers were invited to join participatory action research projects, where they could work together to: – Learn about race – Learn about Australia’s history and that of other nations – Undertake theoretical reading – Give presentations to peers – Critically assess available resources – Work collaboratively with peers – Design units of work – Conceptualise and classroom activities – Identify and create suitable resources – Trial classroom activities they had co-designed – Discuss these trials with peers – Iteratively refine classroom activities Until this sort of professional learning opportunity is available to teachers, individual teachers who want to organise their own classroom conversations—or collegial learning for teams of teachers—may find the advice of Anderson et al. (2020) an excellent starting point. They identify nine key things teachers can do when discussing race with their students: 1. Provide accurate, historical context 2. Explain racism is not just done by ‘bad people’ 3. Show the impacts of unintended harm 4. Encourage students to be brave in calling out racist behaviour 5. Explain there are hierarchies within racism 6. Be aware of students’ racial trauma 7. Model inclusive behaviour 8. Ensure diversity in the curriculum 9. Focus on change, not blame or shame (Anderson et al., 2020).

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Conclusion

In light of our commitment to provocation about education, race, exclusion, belonging, and young people, we have continued to poke the metaphorical wasp nest in this chapter. Equipping and supporting young people involves positive modelling and questioning, while providing opportunity for intelligent and skilfully guided conversations. In turn this requires the careful but creative development of the dialogic pedagogies that can generate powerful conversations. The chapter has examined why it is important and why it is that teachers may not yet be appropriately equipped to support this dialogue with their students. Addressing issues of White supremacy and exclusion in classrooms inevitably will involve risk for teachers. However, we assert that the more widespread risk of not identifying and investigating racism in schools is far worse. Equipping and supporting Australian secondary school teachers would form a positive step towards bringing casual, overt, historical, and entrenched racist attitudes into the light, where scrutiny and challenge can be undertaken. Rather than the convenient but unhelpful conclusion frequently put forward by researchers, we do not just point a finger at teachers saying, “you should.” We have tried to recognise the complicated and nuanced challenges for teachers and the systems in which they work.

CHAPTER 10

Community Arts Politics and Privilege

We begin this chapter with a discussion about the emergence of community arts and its development as a space and place for counter-cultural work. We move through this to a discussion about how “race” is encountered in community arts practices. In this context, we discuss how 6 Hours in Geelong was constituted in a community arts organisation, posing the questions about how such an organisation made this kind of work possible. Finally, drawing from the lessons of 6 Hours in Geelong we consider how community arts organisations and leaders might create opportunities for similar work. While this book is less a place for detailed accounts of pedagogy, and more about larger questions of race and community, we do want the book to be of assistance to those who work in community and in education who are struggling with similar questions to ours.

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Community Arts in Context

In Chapter 9, the conceptualisation about how schools could counter racism was directly influenced by the workshops conducted in schools by the young actors that developed the 6 Hours in Geelong performance. However, 6 Hours in Geelong was organised and presented by a community arts group outside the school system. Therefore, we consider it vital that the implications of this work for community arts organisations is examined. In dividing this discussion on implications between the two chapters, we are not suggesting that there is a systemic binary division between educational institutions and community organisations. Indeed, schools frequently function as self-contained communities, with embedded informalities and community engagement, while community arts organisations may work as educational entities, offering courses, sometimes for credentials. We suggest that all community arts organisations are engaged in implicit public pedagogy (Giroux, 2004), or learning outside formal classroom settings. Sometimes and in some cases community arts organisations explicitly interrogate significant societal ideas and systems, in particular those that contribute to oppression, marginalisation, and exclusion. For example, as a distinctly Australian expression of practice, Community Arts and Cultural Development (cacd) (Quayle et al., 2015) is a key site for critical © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2022 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_010

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engagement with systems of power, culture, and social identities. The fact that the Australia Council for the Arts (n.d.) has a category of arts practice defined as cacd suggests that community arts as critical cultural work is an established practice, epitomised by the slogan, “by, with, and for the communities” (para. 4). The emphasis here is clearly on community arts being community driven, although precisely what this means in practice is often unclear for various reasons including the contested notion of community. Community arts initiatives are structured as informal, non-institutional sites, playing an influential role in shaping perceptions, interfacing between local government and local communities, and attending to issues such as community division, social disadvantage, and lack of social cohesion. Particularly in Australia, but also in other Western countries, local governments often engage with community arts organisations, and for various reasons, they can enact local government or municipal agendas and initiatives. While non-institutional grassroots communal activity has been happening long before we had formalised institutions advocating for community arts, the genre of activity that has come to be known as community arts appears to have become more prevalent in the 1960s and 1970s in the Western world, particularly in the UK and countries with close cultural ties to it. Matarasso (2013) noted that in the 1970s “community arts was used to describe a complex, unstable, contested practice developed by young artists and theatre makers seeking to reinvigorate an art world they saw as bourgeois at best, and oppressive at worst” (p. 215). Jeffers (2018) suggests that the growth of community arts in the UK was part of a counter-cultural wave of arts-making that connected people to art in a unique way. The well-known English theatre collective Welfare State was particularly influential in this movement (Kershaw & Coult, 2006). The distinctiveness of this community genre shaped arts-making in institutions and public policy. In other contexts, numerous community arts projects started to emerge in local councils in the 1970s, and by the turn of the century, it was commonplace for local Australian councils to have community arts units. There are also broader umbrella community arts organisations not located in councils such as Multicultural Arts Victoria (mav) that pursue social inclusion, access, and equity, goals consistent with government policy (Azmat et al., 2015). In their interrogation of the emergence of global and local community arts, Goudzwaard and Droogers (2000) point to increasing interconnectedness through sharing of ideas, expertise, and shared resistance to conservative values. Community arts is based on a view that everyone has a right to participate in cultural life, which includes the creation and enjoyment of art. In the community setting, collaborative arts-making is constructed by professional and/

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or non-professional artists, co-operating as equals, for purposes and to standards they set together, and whose processes, products, and outcomes may not be known in advance (Matarasso, 2019). As such, community arts practice is framed as connected to cultural democracy because the arts seek to make production accessible and equitable and to strengthen and sustain communities through fostering social cohesion. Some have suggested that community arts are part of a counter-cultural push and has become increasingly engaged with justice and equity matters, both in local and interconnected global contexts. To that extent, this book, because of its focus on race and racism, has been concerned about the ways in which local communities are interacting with global issues and how the global constructs flows of knowledge that shape identities in the local.

2

Politics and Privilege in Community Arts Practice

The shifting focus of community arts to social justice is an observable phenomenon, for, as Graves (2005) argues, the arts make culture meaningful. Grassroots community arts can serve as corrective to more established power systems, while contributing to non-Eurocentric arts development. In terms of their focus on democratising culture and justice-oriented practices, community arts organisations in various contexts arguably are playing an influential role in changing the practice of more mainstream professional arts organisations. In Western society, the stratification of cultural organisations has the “elite” professional organisations sitting atop a relative mountain of funding and resource privilege. These arts organisations privilege a Eurocentric aesthetic and tend to be symphony orchestras, dance and theatre companies, and major art galleries. Many of these organisations in Australia have, in recent times, been called to interrogate inherited practices that may reproduce privilege and racist power structures. The deep-seated issues within these ways of working have frequently become difficult to detect and privilege certain forms of arts-making over others. We forward the argument that the systems and structures of privileged and well-funded arts practice can reproduce symbolic and structural exclusion, undermine the push to democratise cultural practice, and achieve access and equity in culture and arts production. Given this, it is vital that we engage with critical theories of social change in order to make visible the dynamics of power and privilege in arts. Theorisation about identity politics and justice (Fraser, 2008; Fraser & Honneth, 2008) goes some way towards understanding reproduction and representation. Reproduction of exclusion and privilege happens in ways that call

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into question the extent to which people of colour have been co-opted into reproducing racist systems. As early as 1961, Fanon (1952) saw decolonisation as not only the process of wresting political independence, but also about identity and larger frames. Simply changing the colour of representation, as so frequently happens in arts organisations, creates a false sense of inclusion and does not necessarily transform the deeper logics of coloniality. In this landscape of arts-making, counter-cultural community arts can get relegated to the periphery, from where they are expected to call out racism and to seek to dismantle such forces. As community arts organisations struggle with decolonisation (Sonn & Quayle, 2013), they may be more likely to succeed, where mainstream professional arts organisations are only able to advance their practices by changing the colour or ethnicity of representation. One might argue that mainstream professional companies are more dependent on market forces, while community organisations seek validation in participation. We hope that some of the theoretical perspectives outlined in this book in relation to arts practice and race will be of use to practitioners and organisations engaged in the decolonisation project, particularly as the culture of arts organisations generally does not encourage theoretical engagement, and the field of community arts practice is under-theorised. In this vast tapestry of community arts, each art form or interdisciplinarity has its own specificities of label, practice, and forms of engagement. Elsewhere in the book, we discussed the differences between applied theatre and community theatre. The qualifier of “applied” as distinct from “community” is peculiar to theatre; there is no such specific modifier in visual arts or music. While applied theatre has emerged as a distinct genre, a space where communities develop protest, find healing and consolation, and make meaning of deep issues (Abraham, 2021), what is particularly significant here is that this project is located in the distinctiveness of community theatre.

3

Race as Context for Practice

Even though community arts may not be seen as a politicised field, and indeed, producing art that reflects self-expression of the community can be viewed as inherently non-political, it can no longer escape politics, particularly the politics of race. In this regard, as we indicate earlier in the book, race in Australia is seen through a wide-angle lens that takes in the widespread genocide of First Nations people, slavery, the White Australia Policy, and contemporary manifestations of racialised immigration. Policy-making in the arts has sought

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to capture this within diversity discourses. A number of key principles of such practice to support the promotion of cultural diversity in the arts have been identified by Mar and Ang (2015): – Truly relevant and energetic creative work will come from working across cultures. – Building cultural capabilities is best served by developing strong cross-cultural partnerships. – Inclusive and dialogical curatorial processes are a key means of enhancing diversity of cultural expressions (p. 7). Mar and Ang (2015) emphasise cross-cultural partnerships. Such partnerships raise a number of questions about the conception of “culture.” As suggested in this book, the notions of identity and culture are not static or essentialised, but something created in the process of dialogue and expression, therefore, all artistic interaction might be seen as “cross-cultural.” One way to understand the meaning of “communities” that may be involved in cross-cultural practice is described by Kuppers (2019), who gives a clear sense of the dynamic and situated nature of community that may emerge in the context of cross-cultural interactions: Community arts have moved on from early conceptions. In particular, many contemporary community performance practitioners recognize that there are no “basic” and given communities: most community projects will emerge through self-selection, through provisional and temporary identification with a specific group’s aims. Everybody has multiple identities and works through different roles. (p. 16) The use of the term “cross-cultural” in this discourse illustrates the need for arts workers in this field to be aware of essentialist framings of cultural diversity that reduce complex multi-dimensional cultural interactions to more simplistic representations. Stephenson and Scott Tate (2015) refer to “competing values, norms, goals and interests in a self-defining community at a point in time” by way of illustrating the complexity of arts practice in this space (p. 5). The emphasis on strong cross-cultural partnerships (Mar & Ang, 2015) also raises questions of who can represent or speak for a given cultural group and on what basis may they do so. These questions are to some extent addressed in the emphasis on “inclusive and dialogical processes” (Mar & Ang, 2015, p. 7) that the authors believe should underlie all cross-cultural arts practice. As we have attempted to illustrate in our analysis of 6 Hours in Geelong, such

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inclusive and dialogical processes are complex and highly sophisticated interactions that need to be constantly renegotiated, reviewed, and refined to meet the particular needs of each changing community context. Kuppers (2019) characterises artistic endeavours of this sort as an improvisation, suggesting an organic and performed nature practice: In community performance projects, the aim of inclusion, openness, and movement toward a mutually agreed goal can only ever be improvisational. To me, the point in community performance is in this improvisation, this balance: in allowing oneself to be part of something, giving up some autonomy in order to win a different kind of self-expression and empowerment. (p. 16) This delicate and responsive improvisational performance cannot however obscure the fundamental relationship between the arts practitioner and the communities that they are working with, a relationship that has to be understood within the broader context and history of race relations. Cohen-Cruz (2015) draws attention to the importance and complexity of this relationship: “What draws artists to become involved in particular neighbourhoods and how is that relationship reciprocal?” (p. 58). We would add, what are the implications of our social locations and positionings in the process of relationship building and reciprocity? These questions go to the heart of arts practice with culturally diverse communities and encourage artists to reflect on the nature of their relationship to a given community and what they are willing to put in as well as what they will end up taking out. This is particularly relevant, when, as is often the case in community arts in Australia, the arts worker is White and is not from the same economic or cultural community as the people with whom they are working. As we have highlighted in earlier chapters, critical reflexivity and understanding of the politics of our locations are essential to the processes of understanding and moving towards the democratising goals of community arts practice. A further dimension to the relations between different positioned arts practitioners and community is offered by research that highlights the systematic underpayment of community arts professionals, particularly regarding the duty of care that they have when working with vulnerable marginalised communities. Belfiore (2021) comments: Effectively, socially engaged arts practice’s survival is reliant on what we may call an invisible subsidy on the part of the creative professionals. This phenomenon in itself is nothing new, but it requires us to ask: Whose

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burden should project actors’ care really be? If, as it seems to be the case, it is effectively artists who often end up taking charge of such duties, should they not be trained to do this safely and appropriately? Should creative professionals not receive themselves psychological and emotional support to deal with the pressures of working with highly vulnerable groups and communities? And most crucially, should this emotional labour not be acknowledged, recognised and suitably remunerated? (p. 13) These systemic issues of worker exploitation and the lack of training and support for community artists working in challenging community contexts add to the need for arts organisations, funding bodies, and individual artists to develop an understanding of discourse on race and culture and how it may impact on the myriad complex and delicate cultural interactions in community arts practice. Sonn and Quayle (2013) have argued for mobilising critical theories of race and Whiteness in order to understand how privilege and advantage are maintained in micro and macro practices. They note that ignorance or “blindness to underlying dynamics of race and thus coloniality ultimately has material implications in terms of how blame is afforded, decisions made about solutions, funding distributed, and accountability for change determined” (Sonn & Quayle, 2013, p. 446). It is perhaps significant that this perspective is largely absent from the current literature on community arts that prefers to couch its practice in terms of “citizen agency” or “community social capital” (Stephenson & Tate, 2015, p. 4). The main assertion we make is that community artists working in culturally diverse contexts need to carry with them an awareness of racism that is an integral part of their process/practice. This involves asking some hard questions of themselves as practitioners and interrogating the shifting power dynamics of the artistic communities that they create work with. To do this is challenging and uncomfortable, but without this dimension to practise, community artists run the risk of minimising the issue and reproducing existing power structures that have systematically disadvantaged communities of colour.

4

Implications

How then can community arts organisations make sense of the world around them to create work that speaks sensitively to social issues? How might they find authenticity and integrity in the formation of their practice? Finally, how might they develop ways of engaging in self-critique? To frame this discussion, we refer back to the original purpose of this book, which is to provoke and

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to challenge. We applied for funding, the project was designed with specific actors, using principles of devised theatre, and then the work was performed for and in community. In our recounting of this work, we do not have hard or empirical evidence of impact assessment. But we understand only too well that the impact of theatre and performance on audiences are hard to measure (Iverson, 2013). We invite readers to consider how we used theory to interrogate our practice regarding issues of race and we encourage them to apply a similar approach to their own community arts practice.

CHAPTER 11

Aftermath and Afterwards We started writing this book well before the murder of George Floyd and the current wave of racial consciousness. Although the place-based study in Geelong is already well behind us, the issues we raise, the stories we tell, and the questions we pose continue to be relevant. We do not argue that this book is timely, for to suggest that would be simplistic. Our intention is not to imply that a deep dive into racism through community theatre is suddenly more relevant than in earlier times. The spread of coloniality and its attendant brutalities have been with us for far too long. What we assert here is that racial injustice and other manifestations of bigoted violence can never be justified. And this is whether they occur through Islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, ethnocentrism, ageism, xenophobia, sexism, or classism. These all require urgent attention and fundamental change. The case study around which this book was developed helped us to present an argument for the ways in which the arts, specifically theatre, can create spaces in which difficult and powerful conversations about race can begin to be had. We hope it will have become clear by now that we do not offer 6 Hours in Geelong as a model of exemplary practice. Rather, it is an example of work that had great integrity and was highly effective in generating powerful conversations. Of course, it was also imperfect and, in many ways, incomplete. This is the nature of such practice—it is messy and complex. It takes place in challenging contexts where the narrative of the applied theatre work is interwoven with the narrative of the complex lives of the actors. This interweaving is both the strength and the weakness of this work because it provides a counter-narrative that is conspicuous by its absence from mainstream arts settings. Moving beyond this specific case study, we argue that no simple or even entirely safe way of generating powerful conversations about race exists. However, these conversations have been for too long suppressed and need to be held, if we are to move on from the corrosive legacy of colonialism that pervades societies like Australia. Given the range and depth of issues that we have identified that are inherent in applied theatre work of this type, there may be an understandable reluctance on the part of White practitioners who work in the arts or education to engage in this area of practice at all. This is not a “safe” option, however, because it effectively continues to silence the voices of people of colour. Further, White practitioners need to understand that racism is above all a White problem and that there is a moral imperative to engage © koninklijke brill nv, leideN, 2022 | DOI: 10.1163/9789004505599_011

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with it despite the challenges involved in so doing. By way of guidance to all practitioners we offer encouragement to engage with theory and to apply it to practice in this space. For those in academia, we encourage the grounding of theory in the messy business of anti-racist practice, whether this be arts-based or other types of education and community activism. We argue that it is only through an ongoing dialogue between theory and practice that lasting change will be achieved. As we have tried to show in this book, work towards social change is possible. We have tried to show this through various settings, practices, and disciplines. Our own relationships and collaboration demonstrate the inherent richness of dialogue for social change. In critical PAR [Participatory Action Research] projects we furnish modestly fugitive spaces for critical knowledge production among community activists, researchers, artists, youth and education workers. We curate inquiry in humble and humbling corners to explore the capillaries of structural violence and cultivate radical possibilities beyond our current horizons. (Fine, 2018, pp. 94–95) In many ways our approach resonates with the traditions of participatory and community-based inquiry evident across various fields. Our commitment was to respond with, and in partnership with, the young people to the issues of racism and racialisation, and to craft ways of knowing and doing that would be attuned to dynamics of power in research and community arts practice. Through our approach, the goal was to democratise enquiry and understand history, context, and situated processes of community, identity, and belonging. We mobilised what Michelle Fine (2018) refers to as just methods and processes to deconstruct old scripts and create new narratives, identities, and possibilities for being. The performances presented to the public served as an invitation to wider community dialogue. Storytelling was the vehicle to elevate stories from the margins. This served to bring into full awareness the experience of others, and by doing this it limits those who can say they did not know. As a public pedagogy, theatre worked effectively as a tool for aesthetic interruption, to trigger powerful conversations, and to awaken a sense of injustice. Audience members witnessed the stories of others—about migration, family, hopes, and more. In schools, dialogue was facilitated to provide the opportunity for the development of empathy, knowledge, and insight into privilege and the normativity of Whiteness. The spaces of encounter produced through this form of

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storytelling are an important site for critical dialogue that destabilises harmful social categories and tired scripts. For the young people who were involved, participatory theatre and storytelling were affirming and made it possible to understand the various challenges and complexities they navigate at the intersections of race, generation, gender, and religion. This project provided insight into the cultural resources available in their heritage communities, which provide important bases for their identity-making. It created a space where people from different communities of colour could begin to build alliances and perform solidarity. It also provided insights into the tensions that arise as they navigate mainstream narratives and norms about gender, beauty, and belonging. These complex narrations contest binarised and essentialist conceptions of self and other and static representations of culture. Instead, our familiar academic frames are disrupted as we are invited to witness and think afresh our ways of knowing and doing and to anticipate the decentring of the academic gaze. This in essence is an invitation to engage deeply with our disciplines, knowledge production, and standpoints—to embrace the discomforts, pain, and joys of creating new ways of being and the intra-connectedness of liberatory practices inside, outside, and at the interface of our communities.

Appendix

6 Hours in Geelong Script Acknowledgement of Country. Film: 18:00 pm and Station Rap My town, Your town, Black town, White town [x2] Sam

A night in Geelong is not for the weak, We walk around longing & desperately seek,

Zareen

Searching for the answers you will not find That’s observed by a system so unkind

Yassin

Everywhere I go, young people are lost, Not really sure what society wants,

Kia

No opportunities, Where equals not equal So unfair with people who deceive you

Lucia

When you open your eyes, Don’t be surprised A lot of these people don’t like to compromise

Mercy

After I applied, they just replied, “You didn’t get the job because you’re not qualified.”

Zondo

Aye Big, hey man what’s wrong?

Big

I don’t know man, I think I miss home.

Zondo

But I always thought that you liked Geelong.

Big

And you’ve always known it’s not the same as home.

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My town, Your town, Black town, White town Geelong [CHORUS] Stuck in the past, in this town Geelong, I’m chasing my dreams but my dreams are gone If I’m true to myself then I won’t belong In this town Geelong, The lost town Geelong My town, Your town, Black Town, White Town,

Geelong Geelong Geelong Geelong [x2]

Scene 1 7 pm Little Malop Street. Mercy meets Marley. They greet each other. Marley has been waiting for her. Mercy:

Don’t ask.

Marley:

(Laughs) What was it this time?

Mercy:

Bar job at Bambys.

Marley:

Bambys! (Laughs)

Mercy:

Guy wasn’t even listening to me. Seriously, he was on his phone when I was answering his questions. Stop laughing! It’s not even funny.

Marley:

You think I don’t know that? So how many is that now?

Mercy:

I lost count. They take one look at me and start looking at their phones.

Marley:

(mimics this) “Do you have qualifications…”

Mercy:

That’s exactly what he did! Hey there’s Big! Maybe he’ll give us a ride home.

(Enter Big whistling ‘War’) Mercy:

Hey Big.

Big:

Hey Mercy, you coming out with us? We’re meeting Zondo and Lucia, we’re going dancing.

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Mercy:

Nah, I’m going home.

Big:

It’s Friday night, come and have some fun.

Marley:

She got rejected again.

Mercy:

It was only for a bar job but…

Marley:

At Bambys!

Big:

Bambys!

Mercy:

The guy wasn’t even listening to me.

Big:

That’s shit Mercy, but don’t give up. ‘Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, contains its own lesson on how to improve.”

Mercy:

Did you just think of that?

Marley:

Nah, it’s Malcolm X. ‘Every defeat, every…’

Mercy:

Malcolm X. He was American right? Are you studying him?

Big:

I read a lot of stuff. I’m going to be a lawyer.

Marley:

Bullshit. He delivers pizzas for Dominoes.

Big:

That’s temporary. Anyway what do you do all day? You should get back to studying.

Marley:

You always say study. Study what?

Big:

When Malcolm said he wanted to be a lawyer at school they told him he should be a labourer. “Without education, you’re not going anywhere in this world.”

Mercy:

Did Malcolm X get anywhere?

Marley:

Yeah, but they shot him for it.

Scene 2 7:15 pm Geelong Waterfront. Yassin and Yacoub walking down street. Yassin:

You hear about Mustafa?

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Yacoub:

Nah.

Yassin:

He’s marrying Fatima this month. A beautiful couple uniting in the name of Allah.

Yacoub:

Okay, here we go again.

Yassin:

Of course, you know how it works in our religion.

Yacoub:

Look, you really need to shut up about Kea.

Yassin:

You should find yourself a girl who can at least cook a meal.

Yacoub:

She can cook…

Yassin:

Cook what? Sausages and chips?

Yacoub:

Since when was cooking a prerequisite of being a Muslim?

Yassin:

Okay, forget the cooking thing, but it just isn’t going to work out. You’re setting yourself and her up for heartbreak (Kea is coming. Switches to Dari) You think with the way that she dresses people in the community aren’t going to notice you and her.

Yacoub: (Dari) What do you mean ‘ the way she dresses’… (Enter Kea) Kea:

Hey guys. (She links arms with Yacoub)

Yacoub: (Dari) You better shut up about this now. Yassin: (Dari) Why? Can’t we speak our own language in front of her? Kea:

Hey, hey Jacob. Hello!

Yacoub:

Sorry Kea…

Yassin:

Jacob?

Kea:

What were youse talking about?

Yassin:

We were just talking about Mustafa, he’s getting married.

Kea:

Really?

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Yacoub:

Nah. Yassin was talking about you. He says people in the community are talking.

Kea:

About what? (Silence) About what?

Yacoub:

How you dress…

Kea:

How I dress! What is that supposed to mean?

Yacoub:

I just thought it was ridiculous.

Kea:

What did you say?

Yacoub:

I just…

Kea:

You didn’t say anything! Jacob? I’m not going to let anyone tell me how I should dress, you get that right?

Yacoub:

Sure I get that.

Yassin: (Dari) This is exactly what I am talking about. Yacoub: (Dari) Just shut up Yassin. (Yassin laughs. They hear Zareen singing from down the street) Kea:

Is that Zareen?

Yassin:

Of course it’s Zareen! Wearing the hijab, dressing so nicely. Being a real Muslim. (He sings in Pashtun)

Kea:

I didn’t know you wore a headscarf.

Zareen:

I do now. You like?

Yassin:

It’s beautiful.

Yacoub:

Yeah it’s nice. I was just wondering why you’re wearing it when you never did before.

Zareen:

I just want to wear it now, ok?

Yacoub:

Because of what happened on the train?

Yassin:

What happened on the train?

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Yacoub:

Nothing happened on the train.

Zareen:

‘Nothing’ happened on the train?

Kea:

What happened on the train?

Yacoub:

It was no big deal…

Zareen:

Yes it was a big deal. We were coming back from Melbourne this evening and this guy gets on at North Geelong. There’s no seats, so he goes up to the only woman in the carriage wearing hijab and he says: ‘Hey you, that’s my seat. You, you shouldn’t even be here.’ No one does anything, she just stares at the ground hoping he’ll go away but he doesn’t, he starts again. ‘Why you wearing that for? How do I know you’re not a terrorist?’ He’s getting angrier and angrier, and everyone just sits there doing nothing. Then he grabs her hijab, and it’s another White guy who stands up and tells him that’s enough and he goes off down the train muttering racist abuse to himself. And we watched it all happen and did nothing.

Yacoub:

The guy looked like he was on drugs.

Yassin:

Wait a minute, you were there too?

Yacoub:

Yes I was there.

Kea:

And you didn’t do anything? (Yacoub is silent)

Zareen:

Sometimes it can be hard…

Yassin:

Even if it is hard, we must always stand up for each other. To have no compassion is to be less than human!

(Yacoub laughs) Zareen:

And only hearts that are dark and cold will find it funny.

Yacoub:

It takes a real man to laugh in the face of adversity.

Yassin:

Man! You’re a just a boy!

Kea:

Why didn’t you do anything Jacob?

Yacoub:

Look, I was minding my own business. I’ll let this society be as racist as they want to be to each other.

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Zareen:

So, we’re meant to sit here and do nothing? If we can’t defend our religion in the face of some hate speech, what does that say about us?

Yacoub:

You didn’t do anything either.

Zareen:

I know. I should have.

Kea:

And you should have too.

Yacoub:

Don’t you put that on me. I choose not to put the darkness of the world on my conscience. Sometimes it is better to just stay silent.

Zareen:

We can’t be silent. That’s what they want us to do. If you wear hijab you can’t be invisible. That’s why I’ve put it on and I’m going to keep it on. We must stand up for who we are.

Yacoub:

That’s up to you. What happened in the train was a decision that I made. Let me live with the consequences of it.

Kea:

Come on Zareen, let’s go.

Zareen:

Where?

Kea:

Anywhere. I’ve just got to get out of here.

Yassin:

Yeah, let’s go together.

Kea:

Sorry, girls night out. (Yassin is going to follow)

Yacoub:

Just let them go if they want to.

Scene 3 7:30. Johnstone Park. Lucia sings Ke$ha and dances around an unimpressed Zondo. Sing. Lucia:

What’s the matter babe, why aren’t you dancing with me?

Zondo:

Because you dance like a White girl?

Lucia:

What? You don’t like my singing?

Zondo:

I love your singing, but I hate the song.

Lucia:

What’s wrong with Ke$ha? She’s so beautiful. I saw these amazing boots in Westfield, just like she wears and I realised the reason I can’t look like Ke$ha is because I don’t have those boots!

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Zondo:

You’re sure the boots are the problem here?

Lucia:

(Takes her phone back) Well I just like her music.

Zondo:

I prefer this (Raps Kendrick Lamar)

Lucia:

That’s not your music, it’s American.

Zondo:

Black American.

Lucia:

Who cares about colour?

Zondo:

You kidding me, everyone cares about colour. But if you want something from Zimbabwe, then here you are. (He sings and dances in Shona)

Lucia:

Come on then, let’s go dancing.

Zondo:

Where?

Lucia:

Bambys

Zondo:

‘Bambys’ no way.

Lucia:

What’s wrong with Bambys?

Zondo:

You kidding me, I’m not going there, let’s go and get a drink somewhere else.

Lucia:

No. I am going to Bambys and I don’t care what you think about it. So come with me if you want to.

(Zondo pauses, then follows but she has run off) Zondo

Lucia? Oh not again…

Scene 4 7:45 Geelong Waterfront Yassin and Yacoub Yassin:

We should follow them.

Yacoub:

Why?

Yassin:

Don’t make the same mistake twice brother.

6 Hours in Geelong Script Yacoub:

I didn’t make a mistake.

Yassin:

Whatever. We should just make sure they are ok.

Yacoub:

Oh, I get it.

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Yassin: (in Dari) What you talking about? Yacoub:

You like Zareen (in Dari, then English). You like Zareen!

Yassin:

This is about protecting her dignity. Something you obviously have no idea about.

Scene 5 8 pm Malop Street. Peta and Sam on patrol Peta:

So, your first night shift eh?

Sam:

Yep, first night shift.

Peta:

Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.

Sam:

Sure, we look out for each other. That’s how it works.

Peta:

Yeah, that’s exactly how it works.

(Enter Zondo singing in Shona to himself ) Peta:

Ok, first customer. Go check out that guy.

Sam:

Why, don’t you like his dancing?

Peta:

I love his dancing. I just wonder what else he’s up to. So, are you going to check out Michael Jackson over there or do I have to?

Sam:

Ok. On my way. (To Zondo) Hey mate.

Zondo:

What?

Sam:

What’s your name?

Zondo:

Why do you want to know? I haven’t done anything.

Peta:

Because you’re in a high crime area and I don’t need reasonable suspicion to ask for your details, so I suggest you cooperate. Now, what’s your name?

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Zondo:

Zondo.

Sam:

I’m constable Connelly, Zondo. Do you mind telling me where are you going?

Zondo:

Bambys.

Sam:

Really? I love Bambys.

Peta:

Yeah sure you’re going to Bambys! Look Zondo, I just noticed that T shirt you’re wearing.

Zondo:

Oh you like it?

Peta:

I just wondered where you got it.

Zondo:

My friend gave it to me.

Peta:

That right Zondo, your ‘friend’ gave it to you?

Zondo:

That’s right.

Peta:

Don’t get lippy, that’s not going to help.

Zondo:

I’m not…

Peta:

See that shirt is from my son’s baseball team so I’m wondering how come you’re wearing it.

Zondo:

What are you talking about?

Peta:

Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to come to the police station. You’re going to give me the shirt for evidence, and then you’re going to wait there, until we complete our investigations.

Zondo:

What investigations?

Peta:

Just come over here to the police car.

Zondo runs, Sam and Peta run after him, there is a long chase, first featuring Peta then he is too exhausted, or falls over jumping a fence, then Sam she gets close to Zondo. Sam:

Why are you running Zondo?

Zondo:

Why are you chasing me? (He runs again)

6 Hours in Geelong Script Lucia Film Lucia:

151

It doesn’t matter what colour you are, everyone can be beautiful. I am no different to them. No one cares about the colour of your skin.

Scene 6 8:15 Moorabool Street. Lucia meets Zareen and Kea. She knows them. Lucia is walking along singing Ke$ha. Zareen and Kea are talking. Zareen:

Bambys? Are you serious?

Kea:

It could be a first: ‘woman in hijab dances at Bambys.’

Zareen:

The idiots there would probably think I’m there to blow the place up!

Kea:

Hey, that’s Lucia. Lucia!

Lucia:

Kea.

Kea:

This is my friend Zareen.

Lucia:

Hi Zareen. I’m Lucia.

Kea:

I’ve known Lucia since primary school.

Lucia:

She ate her lunch with me when no else would.

Kea:

The White kids called me ‘caramel.’ I didn’t want anyone else to have to put up with that shit.

Zareen:

No one should have to put up with that shit.

Kea:

So, what up Lucia?

Lucia:

I was supposed to be going dancing with Zondo to Bambys, but he says he hates Ke$ha so I’m going on my own (she sings).

Kea:

I was saying we should go there… Wait! Ke$ha, really?

Lucia:

They play other stuff too. Come on, we can have a girls night out. It’ll be fun.

Zareen:

Yeah that sounds good. Will they play music like this? (Sings and dances Turkish)

Lucia:

Not exactly but it’s a nice place, let’s go and dance, relax have fun.

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Zareen:

At Bambys? I don’t know.

Kea:

Come on Zareen! It’ll be fun, we’ll look after you, I promise.

Lucia:

Don’t you like dancing?

Zareen:

Yeah.

Lucia:

Then you should be able to dance whenever and wherever you want.

Kea:

Never let anyone stop you! (They sing: ‘Ke$ha’).

Zareen:

But you’re not single!

Kea

Who cares!

(They dance off)

Scene 7 8:30 pm Little Malop Street corner of Moorabool. Big, Marley, Mercy. Big:

What you have to understand brother is: “A race of people is like an individual man; until it uses its own talent, takes pride in its own history, expresses its own culture, affirms its own selfhood, it can never fulfil itself.”

Marley:

You think I don’t have pride?

Mercy:

Big, I think you should stop lecturing Marley.

Marley:

Finally someone says something intelligent.

Big:

I’m telling him to get educated.

Mercy:

Not everyone can be like you.

Yacoub and Yassin from off stage. Yacoub:

You like her don’t you?

Yassin:

You’ve been watching too many Bollywood movies with your Aunties…

Yacoub:

I do not ‘watch Bollywood with my aunties’ (sees Marley) Hey Marley.

6 Hours in Geelong Script Marley:

Yacoub. This is my big brother, Big. And this is Mercy.

Yacoub:

Big hah? This is my cousin Yassin, he’s a ‘medium.’

153

(Marley falls about laughing) Big

Very funny. (General saying of ‘hi’)

Marley:

So what’s happening?

Yacoub:

Yassin’s chasing a girl.

Marley:

Good luck with that.

Yacoub:

Have you seen Kea?

Marley:

Nah.

Yacoub:

We think they’re headed for Bambys, but she’s not answering my messages.

Big:

Bambys. That’s where Lucia was heading with Zondo. We should go and check it out.

Yassin:

Come on Yacoub, we need to keep going.

Yacoub:

Yassin’s worried that a woman wearing hijab is going to be harassed in Geelong on a Friday night.

Big:

What do you think?

Yacoub:

I think Kea and Zareen can look after themselves.

Yassin

What would you know? You can’t even stand up for that lady on the train.

Mercy:

What lady?

Yacoub:

He’s giving me shit because some White guy, who was probably on ice was harassing a woman wearing hijab on the train. The carriage was full of people, so why was it my responsibility? I mean, seriously.

Big:

So you did nothing?

Yacoub:

Yeah, but a White guy stopped it.

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Marley:

If it was me man, I wouldn’t have done nothing neither.

Big:

Oh for God’s sake. Why would you not do anything? You’re Muslim.

Yacoub:

Why is everyone trying to guilt trip me? Shit happens okay…

Big:

I just thought your religion would mean more to you than that.

Marley:

So what would you have done?

Big:

I would have stood up for her right to be a Muslim without discrimination.

Yassin:

Regardless of Muslim or not, it is a human responsibility to stand up against discrimination.

Marley:

Listen man, don’t talk to me about ‘human responsibility’ alright? I stand up for myself. I’m involved with my own business and I’ll leave the rest to them, alright?

Yassin:

So that’s what your culture teaches, to only stand up for yourself?

Marley:

You don’t know me okay so don’t talk about my culture.

Mercy:

Yacoub, what would you have done if it was your girlfriend?

Yacoub:

I’d have her back.

Mercy:

Or if she was your mother?

Yacoub:

Don’t do this to me. Look, I made a decision and I have live with it. You weren’t there. You can talk big but you don’t know what you would have done in my shoes.

Marley:

Just tell them man, listen to you three and what you’re saying. You’re telling him what he should have done, like people can’t even make their own decisions.

Yassin:

I’m just saying Black, brown, Muslim, African we need to stand together.

Marley:

‘Black, brown’ whatever! You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Big:

You disappoint me Marley (Tries to take Marley aside).

6 Hours in Geelong Script

155

Marley:

(Brushes him off) You think I care? I don’t need you.

Big:

Push me will you? You have start to listening.

Marley:

I don’t have to listen to you, I can take care of myself (Pushes Big).

Yassin:

Hey hey hey. What are you doing man? (Pushes Marley away from Big)

Yacoub:

(To Yassin) Just stay out of this.

Big:

(To Yacoub) You’re a fool, you know that?

Yassin:

You should be proud to have a brother like Big.

Marley:

Don’t interfere with me and my family.

Mercy:

Stop, stop stop! Why are you guys putting him under all this pressure? God, just calm down.

Big:

You have lost your culture.

Marley:

I haven’t lost my culture but I’ve lost you.

Mercy:

Just stop it! You know what I’ve had enough of this. I’m out! I’m going home.

Big:

Oi Mercy… (Silence) Marley drive her home.

Marley:

I’m not driving her nowhere.

Big:

It’s not safe for her to be walking alone.

Marley:

So now you’re gonna give me your car?

Big:

Just don’t mess up with it.

Marley:

Just give me the damn keys man.

Big:

Make sure you meet me at Bambys.

Marley:

Yeah Bambys. (Leaves)

Big:

He’s lost his culture. In Africa he wouldn’t talk like that.

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Yassin:

Exactly the same as in Afghanistan. But here they only think about themselves. They have no respect.

Yacoub:

Here respect is earned and not just expected. Why are you guilt-tripping Marley for? You call me a fool Big, but you’re the one that’s about to lose his brother completely.

Big:

All he thinks about is money and himself. You know, Australia doesn’t have a culture, it doesn’t have a culture, that’s an opinion on me. It makes people like this.

Yassin:

So why did you give him your car?

Big:

He’s still my brother you know.

Yassin:

Come on, let’s go to Bambys, I’m worried about Zareen.

Big:

Bambys! I’ll come with you? I want to see Zondo with Lucia. Hey Yacoub, did you know that Malcolm X was Muslim?

Yacoub:

Yeah, I knew that. (Dari) Listen Yassin, I’ve had enough of all this shit, I’m going home.

Yassin:

Yeah do that, just think about what I said.

Yacoub:

I have. Your problem is you don’t get the difference between the culture we grew up with and our religion. That’s why people misunderstand Muslims.

Yassin:

I know the difference…

Yacoub:

Whatever you reckon.

Zondo Film Zondo:

Tell me why people got millions of dollars in their bank account while others don’t have a roof to call a home.

Scene 8 8:45 Little Malop Street Mercy and Marley Mercy:

Um you know what, maybe you should listen to Big.

Marley:

Shut up, just shut up, don’t talk to me about Big. That’s not even his real name his real name is Jamari. B.I.G. What sort of a stupid name is that?

Mercy:

Well, sorry.

6 Hours in Geelong Script Marley:

Anyways, do you want to go for a drive down to Eastern Beach.

Mercy:

Big didn’t say you should take the car to the beach.

Marley:

I told you not to talk about Big again.

Mercy:

Oh well, just go get the car and I’ll think about it.

Marley:

Ah, you’ll think about it!

157

Scene 9 9 pm Malop Street. The women. They see a fashion shop. Zareen:

Oh, those jeans. Look at those jeans, damn.

Kea:

Oh yeah damn, look at that size 6 mannequin rocking those jeans! I reckon you would suit them though.

Zareen:

Yeah, maybe I’ll get them.

Lucia:

I’m just not a big fan of these jeans.

Zareen:

Why?

Lucia:

They’re too revealing.

Kea:

That’s the whole point, they’re ripped.

Lucia:

Well, I’ll get cold knees in winter. It’s just not good for my fashion.

Zareen:

But that’s the style.

Lucia:

Would you even wear ripped jeans?

Zareen:

With leggings, why not?

Lucia:

Well, you’re Muslim.

Zareen:

What’s me being Muslim got to do with what I choose to wear?

Lucia:

It’s just weird for you to want to wear stuff like that.

Zareen:

The way others see me doesn’t define my values or make me less of a Muslim. At least I’m not afraid to own my culture and what I really believe in.

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Lucia:

Shut it Zareen, you don’t know anything about me.

Zareen:

I know that you try so hard to fit in with the White girls.

Lucia:

I like what I like, it doesn’t mean I’m not African okay.

Zareen:

So now you understand what I’m saying?

Lucia:

Fine, agreed. But if you wear ripped jeans, you know there will be men looking at your legs.

Kea:

So, it’s a women’s fault right for wearing what she wants and not the man’s fault for looking like a dog with a boner?

Lucia:

I just don’t think they’re very fashionable.

Zareen:

Whatever.

Lucia:

Hey, do you think I could be a model? (Sings. Does model walk and pose)

Zareen:

Yeah sure. I can be a supermodel too! Oh wait, I’m not a privileged White girl who can appropriate the hijab for “fashion” purposes, nah I’ll just get abuse thrown at me instead.

Lucia:

Come to think of it, you never see Africans or Muslims represented on T.V or in the fashion shops. All I see on the T.V is White girls with their proactive products (Does impersonation of ad) Why do you never see a Black face, only White?

Zareen:

Yeah, it’s the same White suburban stereotypes over and over again. It’s like some weird racist cult or something.

Kea:

Hey, wait, Oh my god. That reminds me. Yesterday, I got an Uber back from work and the driver is this White guy, late 40s, said he was an ex-truck driver. So he starts asking me all these random questions like: ‘How long have you lived in Australia for?’ ‘Do you speak any other language besides English?’ ‘What nationality are you?’ Well I must have passed his test because out of nowhere he starts ranting to me: ‘Now I know you’re a true blue Aussie like me, I just want to let you know, I hate Black people. You think Muslims are terrorists? Me too. And don’t even get me started on Indians and how bad they smell.’

Lucia:

What did you do?

6 Hours in Geelong Script

159

Kea:

I told him he disgusts me and to let me out of the car. Then I was late home and that triggered my dad. ‘Kia, where the hell have you been, Miss?’ He get’s upset with me for the smallest reason and when I tried to tell him what happened he cuts me off: ‘It’s his opinion Kia. Freedom of speech. Don’t you go telling others what to do.’

Zareen:

He really said that?

Kea:

That’s what he’s like. He’s hateful. It’s like I’m invisible. (Sings ‘I can fly’ in Māori)

Lucia:

That’s beautiful Kea.

Kea:

It’s ‘I can fly’ in Māori. I sing it when I feel down.

Zareen:

I didn’t know you could speak Māori.

Kea:

I don’t really. I don’t know much about my culture. My dad never tells me anything about it. How am I supposed to look up to a man like that who treats me like I’m worthless? (Pause)

Zareen:

That’s why we need to be feminists.

Lucia:

Oh, you mean fat, ugly women with armpit hair who would tell you that you are oppressed because you wear the hijab.

Zareen:

You’ve been reading too many trolls. This (Hijab) is a choice. I’m not oppressed. There are Muslim feminists you know.

Lucia:

Do they wear the hijab?

Zareen:

Some of them. Like I said, it’s their choice. Feminism is so much more complex than you think.

Lucia:

Isn’t it about hating men?

Zareen:

No, it’s about dressing how you like, it’s about walking down the street without the fear of being raped because oh, your dress was too short. I mean what is that?

Kea:

Yeah what is that? We can’t we dress how we want? Just think about all the women around the world, who get trapped or bashed or shut down by men.

Lucia:

Okay, okay, I get it. But now I just want to go rock my boots on the dance floor, And Kea you can rock your hairy arm pits and curvy body!

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Kea:

All for rocking my curves!

Zareen:

Go on, I’ll follow you. I just need to get some cash from the atm.

Kea:

Are you ok?

Lucia:

We’ll come with you.

Zareen:

No, go. Please. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch you up. (They look at her like they aren’t sure) I’ll come and dance, I promise.

Zareen Film Zareen:

Too cultural to fit in with the West, too Western to fit in with my own. Maybe Yacoub’s right, I should stop caring about something that I can’t change.

Scene 10 9:15 Gheringhap St. Marley is in the car listening to Juicy. He drives to where Mercy is waiting. Turns off ignition, jumps out and leaves keys in car. Marley:

I’m going to get a ginger beer from the Seven Eleven. Then we drive to Eastern Beach.

Mercy:

May be. Nice car!

Marley:

Yep.

Mercy:

And he let you drive it!

Marley:

What’s wrong with my driving?

Mercy:

He never lets me drive.

Marley tries to open car, realises he has locked keys in it. Mercy:

Everything ok?

Marley:

Sure, I’m just… So what happened in the interview?

Mercy

Said I didn’t want to talk about it. What are you doing?

Marley

Nothing. Just keeping the car clean. Big likes his car clean. I’m just polishing the boot here… so the guy wasn’t listening?

Mercy:

Come on it’s clean enough, just let me in.

6 Hours in Geelong Script

161

Marley:

Sure, I’ll just…

Mercy

You left the keys on the ignition?

Marley:

What sort of a stupid car locks itself with the keys in the car?

Mercy:

You’re gonna have to call Big. He’s going to go crazy.

Marley:

No way. You know what he’s like? He’s never going to shut up about it.

Mercy:

Just call him.

Marley:

I think I can get it open.

Mercy:

What are you, a magician? Open sesame!

Marley:

Very funny.

Mercy:

I’m texting Big.

Marley:

Don’t! Give me your nail file! I think I can do this…. (She texts).

Scene 11 9:20 Moorabool St. Big, Yassin Big:

The thing about Marley is, he kind of lacks consciousness.

Yassin:

That is a Big word brother.

Big:

He said…Wait, was that a pun?

Yassin:

What’s a pun?

Big:

Never mind! “If you’re not ready to die for it, put the word ‘freedom’ out of your vocabulary.”

Yassin:

Malcolm X right?

Big:

Yeah. Mandela said the same thing: on trial for his life, he looks the judge in the eye and says ‘I am prepared to die.’

Yassin:

And Bob Marley, he said it too. Yeah, Marley should listen to Marley.

Big: (They sing) ‘Until the philosophy which hold one race superior…’

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(Enter Tona) Tona:

Bob Marley. I love that song. (They all sing)

‘Until the philosophy which hold one race superior And another Inferior… Everywhere is war’ (Marley, 1976) Tona:

Nice song. Hey do you know my sister Kea?

Big:

Yeah I know her, she’s friends with Lucia.

Tona:

You don’t know where they are do you?

Big:

You could try Bambys

Tona:

Bambys huh? Thanks. (Leaves)

Yassin:

So what sort of a ‘war’ is Marley talking about?

Big:

Well not a killing one brother that’s for sure. Violence doesn’t achieve anything. ‘War’ means the struggle against the system, Malcolm X says… (Gets a text) Shit

Yassin:

Malcolm X said ‘Shit’?

Big:

No, Marley’s locked the keys in the car. I gotta go. See you at Bambys (runs off )

Scene 12 9:25 pm Gheringhap St. Sam and Peta approach Marley and the car. Peta stays in the background. Sam:

Hey you. Just step away from the car please.

Marley:

What?

Sam:

What’s your name?

Marley:

Why do you want to know for?

Sam:

Because you’re acting suspiciously. Is this your car?

Mercy:

No it’s…

6 Hours in Geelong Script Sam:

I’m not asking you. Is this your car?

Marley:

Yes.

Mercy:

No.

163

(They both speak at once in Swahili) Sam:

Can you speak English please? You got any id on you?

Marley:

Nah.

Sam:

So you don’t have a driver’s licence?

Marley:

Course I do, what do you think?

Sam:

So just give me your driver’s licence.

Mercy:

(Swahili) Just give it to her Marley.

Sam:

Ok, so I’m just wondering why you were trying to break into this car.

Mercy:

No he wasn’t.

Sam:

I’m not talking to you. Where are you from Marley?

Marley:

Corio.

Sam:

No I meant… never mind. I think you’d better come with me to the police station and we’ll sort it out there.

Marley:

Sort what out? Where I’m from? (Enter Big)

Peta:

In Australia we use keys to get into cars, not nail files.

Big:

Hello Officer. Is there a problem here?

Sam:

Who are you?

Big:

You can call me Big. What’s your name officer?

Peta:

Big? What sort of a name is that?

Sam:

Were you Christened that name?

Big:

Yeah my parents are very ambitious.

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Peta:

Ok, I’ll let that go for now. I’m just…

Big:

You’re just what? Arresting my friend for no reason. I don’t think that’s going to look very good in court is it Officer?

Sam:

Your friend, Mr Big, was trying to break into this car.

Mercy:

He wasn’t.

Sam:

Just be quiet.

Big

Careful officer or I’m gonna be making a complaint. What you should understand is that my friend Marley here had borrowed my car and it seems like he locked the keys in the ignition. But you didn’t bother to find that out did you? You were all set to arrest him. Why? Because he’s Black…

Sam:

Black? What? This has nothing to do with him being Black. He was trying to unlock the car with a nail file for God’s sake…

Big:

So he’s an idiot. Watch me. I’m going to solve this whole problem with a little magic button here (He unlocks car)

Mercy:

(to Sam) Told you.

Peta:

Ok. I get the situation. So this is your car. Did you know Marley had your car?

Big:

Yes I knew.

Sam:

So if you handled this situation a bit better, Marley, and called your friend, or called the racv…

Marley:

Yeah right. racv!

Big:

If you had handled the situation better then…

Sam:

Come on Big (points to nail file) It’s not a good look is it?

Big:

You mean being African?

Peta:

Ok. I’m just going to leave it there this time. You just be careful.

Big:

Sure officer, ‘if you don’t know then now you know.’

6 Hours in Geelong Script

165

(Sam and Peta go. Big hits Marley on the head) Big:

Nail file. You were going to bust into my car with a nail file. You idiot. Say it ‘I’m an idiot’

Marley:

Not my fault cops are racist.

Big:

No, but it is your fault you’re an idiot. Come on, I’ll take you home Mercy.

Mercy:

No I’ll get the bus.

Marley:

Hey your nail file.

Mercy:

Keep it, it might come in handy.

Big:

You sure, Mercy? I can give you a lift.

Mercy:

It’s ok. Enough drama for one night. See you Marley.

Marley:

See you. You going to give me a lift to Bambys?

Big:

No, you can walk. I’m going to find a park.

(Big drives off, Marley walks in other direction. Peta and Sam are walking away) Peta:

That went well! But it’s the smart ones you have to watch. They’ll be squealing discrimination the first chance they get.

Sam:

What if it is discrimination?

Peta:

You mean racial profiling?

Sam:

I didn’t say that.

Peta:

How many Samoan cops did you see at the station huh?

Sam:

Ok I get your point. Look, that’s the end of my shift. Can you drop me off at the station?

Peta:

Sure, come on. You headed home?

Sam:

Nah. I’ve got a date. I’m meeting this guy in Bambys.

Peta:

Bambys! I love that place.

166 Yassin Film Yassin:

Appendix You gotta be respectful to other opinions. You gotta be positive. You’ve got to be open, you’ve got to be open.

Scene 13 9:45, Alley Way, Little Malop Street. Mercy meets Zondo, he is hiding. Mercy walks down the lane way to stop herself crying Zondo:

Yo Mercy yeah?

Mercy:

Zondo?

Zondo:

Yeah

Mercy:

Hi

Zondo:

What are you doing here by yourself, I thought you were with Big and Marley.

Mercy:

You know, just life hitting me up, so you know I just come down here and be by myself.

Zondo:

It’s not really safe to be down these alleys for a girl by herself.

Mercy:

So why are you hiding down here?

Zondo:

The cops want to take my shirt.

Mercy:

Are you serious?

Zondo:

Totally. They say come down the station, I just thought they were trying to pin something on me. So I ran.

Mercy:

I’m guessing you’re a good runner.

Zondo:

Yeah. Life hitting you up, huh?

Mercy:

I feel like I’m never going to be anything.

Zondo:

What do you mean?

Mercy:

I can’t get a job. I’ve tried so hard. I don’t know, I feel like I’m not needed.

6 Hours in Geelong Script

167

Zondo:

Yeah I get you. Like if you assimilate with them they accept you, but if you rather be yourself and represent yourself and your culture, they don’t want to know. Worse they’re scared of you.

Mercy:

Why would they be scared? (pause) I don’t even know how I’m going to go home and tell my parents that I didn’t get the job. It really pains me.

Zondo:

Don’t stress about it, they’ll understand, they know how hard it is.

Scene 14 9:45 pm Malop Street Zareen is at the atm alone muttering to herself, Yacoub finds her. Zareen:

Stupid machine. Ugh! Stupid night. *kicks atm, starts singing* Oh Allah, why is it so hard to make peace in, this world that doesn’t wanna’ see it, a world that doesn’t wanna’ see me… live. (In Turkish) sen büyüksün. I look at this world and it crushes me. Why do we only rest in peace, but can’t live in peace? Why do I feel so alone?

(Yacoub walks up to her) Yacoub:

You worry too much Zareen.

Zareen:

Yacoub! You stalking me?

Yacoub:

Sort of. Yassin said we should follow youse and I disagreed but then I wanted to see Kea anyway and… all roads lead to Bambys. Are you ok?

Zareen:

No, I don’t think I’m okay. (Pause) I feel like I’m stuck between observing the chaos and trying to appreciate God’s good earth.

Yacoub:

Start by ignoring what you can’t change, that might clear your view.

Zareen:

I wonder how it must feel to not care the injustice of this world because they’ll never affect you.

Yacoub:

You’re wrong, it does affect me. But we have the privilege of being in this universe for only a few decades, why spend it worrying about a world you can’t change?

Zareen:

Why spend it not trying to change a world that worries us? Huh?

Yacoub:

Let Allah take care of the world. There are some things in this life we are not meant to understand.

Zareen:

Well I don’t know if I’m ready to give up just yet, ‘Jacob.’ Don’t act like you care so much when you don’t even use your real name.

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Yacoub:

I do care. It’s tragic really. I love my religion, but I know that it can be a lethal weapon to those who seek to use it for evil.

Zareen:

You really think it’s just a source of evil?

Yacoub:

No, of course not. But the fact that it can be interpreted that way by weak minds opens the door for destruction and we pay the price in our own lives because a blinded society acts as if it’s our fault.

Zareen:

It’s like a psychological disease. Why can’t people differentiate between us and them? I’m sick of justifying myself to those who will never want to see the truth. Yesterday, this girl at work says to me “Zareen you gotta’ tell me the truth. You go to mosques and things like that. When you go, do you ever hear anything from isis… like when the next bombings going to be? I mean, for our safety and all.” I said: You think that’s what we do in there?! And he says: I’m not saying all Muslims are terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslim. Like okay then, so I guess Hitler didn’t make the list?

Yacoub:

(Laughs) That is why we shouldn’t give a shit what people think. Liking ourselves in a society that profits from our doubt is a rebellious act.

Zareen:

I hate their selective labelling when it comes to crimes, because it’s not terrorism if the person’s a White Christian right? They think isis represents Islam, but they’re only giving them the religious legitimacy they so desperately seek. I’m fed up of having to explain everything. I feel broken.

Yacoub:

The world won’t change in a day, we can only hope.

Zareen:

I think I’ve lost that hope.

Yacoub:

The light shines brightest through those who have cracked.

Zareen:

(Pause) Yeah… let’s go find Kea.

Scene 15 10 pm Bambys. Little Ryrie Street. Sam meets Jackson in Bambys bar. Jackson:

Sam, over here.

Sam:

Hi Jackson.

Jackson:

A follow-up date from Tinder, must be a record.

6 Hours in Geelong Script

169

Sam:

Definitely a record for me.

Jackson:

What’ll you have?

Sam:

Jack Daniels.

Jackson:

Jack Daniels, Lily.

Sam:

Do you know her?

Jackson:

Don’t be jealous. I’m the bar manager here.

Sam:

You’re the bar manager of Bambys?

Jackson:

Yeah, big shot or what? So how’s your day been?

Sam:

Full-on, I was at work and…

Jackson:

What do you do?

Sam:

Well…I’m a cop.

Jackson:

Really! And I thought I was the big shot!

Sam:

That is I just started being a cop. This was my first night on patrol.

Jackson:

Wow. First night huh? So how was it?

Sam:

You don’t want to know.

Jackson:

Yeah I do.

Sam:

Well. This arvo, I’m down at Eastern beach and this old lady is complaining about some African kid dropping litter.

Jackson:

Well these African kids probably grew up in a refugee camp and doesn’t know the difference. Did you book him?

Sam:

Nah he’d gone. Then this evening I get called to the station because some guy has abused a Muslim woman on the train and …. Nah. That’s enough about me. How was your day?

Jackson:

Well, coincidentally, I interviewed an African kid for a bar job, but her accent was so strong, I couldn’t even understand her….I felt really sorry for her but I couldn’t employ her.

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Appendix

Sam:

Did you listen to her?

Jackson:

That guy on the train, when you say he was abusing someone, what exactly do you mean?

Sam:

I guess like shouting at her and being racist. What?

Jackson:

May be he was just having a bad day.

Sam:

He’s having a worse one now, I charged him with threatening behaviour.

Jackson:

Hard core!

Sam:

That’s me. Then this evening I’m on patrol with another officer and we’re just checking out this African kid and my colleague wants his shirt.

Jackson:

Why, did he like it?

Sam:

For evidence, obviously. But the kid does a runner. I nearly had a heart attack chasing him. Man he was quick!

Jackson:

Do you think it’s genetic that they’re so good at running?

Sam:

What?

Jackson:

Stands to reason, I reckon. If you evolved running away from leopards you’d be good at sprinting too.

Sam:

Leopards? Oh yeah, I see. Look I’m not slow but I couldn’t get him. Then later, we get a call to investigate a suspected car theft and there’s another African kid who gives me a load of grief and it turns out it’s his car and he’s locked his keys inside…

Jackson:

Why didn’t he just explain instead of giving you lip?

Sam:

He was probably just frustrated cos he’d locked his keys inside. His mate turns up and is acting like he’s a lawyer or something.

Jackson:

Really? He’ll probably try putting a complaint in about you…

Sam:

It’s not him I’m worried about.

Jackson:

Who are you worried about?

6 Hours in Geelong Script

171

Sam:

Peta, he’s the senior officer when we’re out on patrol. He’s supposed to be a mentor or something, but, to be honest, he comes over to me like he’s really racist.

Jackson:

Surely that depends what you mean by racist.

Sam:

I mean hating on Black people, cos of their race!

Jackson:

Yeah but it’s not as simple as that. I just think sometimes we’re too quick to call things ‘racist’ you know. It’s that political correctness thing. Like a mate of mine puts this joke on Facebook about Aborigines, and sure it’s a bit offensive but it’s funny too, so I post it and then I get all this crap from people calling me racist and I even get a warning from my boss. I mean whatever happened to freedom of speech?

Sam:

You mean the freedom to insult people because of their race?

Jackson:

No obviously that’s not what I mean Sam. I’m sorry, no need to take offence.

Marley Film Marley:

I never knew racism, I never knew isolation. I never knew discrimination between cultures and colour. All that I learnt when I left my home land.

Scene 16 10:15 pm Alleyway. Little Malop Street. Zondo and Mercy Zondo:

Back home yeah, I had this friend called Blade, you meet him you think he’s a criminal you know, the way he walks you know what I mean. But for me he was like a really cool friend, he used to always look after me. I remember this one day yeah, he takes me to shop, he steals something off the shelf and he passes it to me. And I’m thinking to myself should I just tell the shop keeper that his trying to steal something or should I just walk away. But I walked away you know, I’m loyal, but after I met him outside, I was really mad and furious at him because if I had got caught they would have beat me up. But he just changed the subject and started singing. He always knew the song to get me hyped up. Do you listen to Soul Jah Love?

Mercy:

No. Sing it for me.

Zondo:

Ok (Sings song) Ahhh, that’s my song man, that’s my song. So yeah after that he was like what are we doing? And I’m like lets go back to my house. So we’re walking down this street, Blade he’s always wearing

172

Appendix like a big ass coat and I didn’t know what it was for. So he snatches the neighbour’s chicken, picks it up, puts it under his jacket. This chicken is screaming and he just keeps on beating it, and I’m thinking to myself: ‘do I really want to be hanging around this person.’ But I always did, cause that’s who he was. He had to be like that in order to survive in an environment like that and we’re going to survive here.

Mercy:

You know I think your kind of right. Wait, what happen to the chicken?

Zondo:

We ate it of course. It was delicious!

Mercy:

When you talk like that, you remind me of home. There were always kids on the street

Zondo:

Playing football!

Mercy:

Yes. But here, there’s no one. I met this old White lady who lives on our street and she says ‘my children never visit me, please come and visit me, I’m so lonely.’ They treat old people like a burden. At home we treated our elders with respect.

Zondo:

My neighbours never speak to us but they have a camera trained on our house like they think we’re going to steal from them.

Mercy:

Really? A camera? That’s horrible.

Zondo:

You know, at home, I could never wear skinny jeans. They would say I’m dressing like a woman. This country changes you.

Mercy:

But what if you don’t like what you have to become?

Zondo:

Hey hey, someone’s somebody coming, could be the cops.

(They run and hide. Tona comes on singing, and is about to take a piss, Zondo and Mercy start laughing) Tona:

Oh sorry.

Mercy:

Don’t mind us.

Tona:

What are yous doing?

Mercy:

We’re just …

Tona:

Watching me take a piss.

6 Hours in Geelong Script

173

Zondo:

You’re the one who’s pissing in public.

Tona:

You’re the one down here hiding in the dark.

Zondo:

Yeah, so two people can’t just talk in the dark.

Tona:

Talking? Sure youse were just talking?

Zondo:

What do you mean by that?

Tona:

May be you should go get a room.

Mercy:

How dare you say that! I don’t know what people do where you come from but we don’t do things like that.

Zondo:

Bro, don’t disrespect her like that man.

Tona:

You’re the one sitting in alleyway doing god knows what.

Mercy:

We were just talking.

Tona:

You can talk in the bright lights bro, it’s safer.

Zondo:

You want to know the truth, we were running away from the cops. You kinda look like them so…

Tona:

I look like a cop to you bro?

Zondo:

Well yeah. The cop chasing me was one of you.

Tona:

I know him. Only Samoan cop on the force. I am nothing to do with that guy.

Zondo:

Anyway, ever since that Moomba thing your people have been hating on us and then this cop chases me for my shirt because he thinks I stole it from his cousin, or something.

Tona:

Don’t talk to me about being chased by the cops, they been coming down on us since Moomba too, and I wasn’t even there.

Zondo:

I don’t see you getting chased.

Tona:

Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean I don’t get chased.

Zondo:

Just imagine if I was pissing in public, what they’d say about me.

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Tona:

The same thing that would say about me.

Mercy:

So just chill both of you.

Tona:

I am chill. Look, I’m sorry for coming down your alleyway, I’m just out here trying to look for my sister.

Zondo:

Who’s your sister?

Tona:

Her name’s Kea.

Zondo:

Kea’s your sister? You don’t even look like her.

Tona:

Yeah I get that a lot. You know her?

Mercy:

Yeah. Lucia says she’s with her and Zareen. They’re going to Bambys.

Zondo:

Yeah yeah, Bambys.

Tona:

Bambys? I got kicked out that place by the bouncer.

Zondo:

Me too. It’s wack.

Tona:

Well I need to find my sister, I need to talk to her. You headed there too.

Zondo:

May be.

Tona:

Look let’s just squash the beef.

Zondo:

I ain’t got no beef with you.

Tona:

You sure.

Zondo:

Nah man we were just laughing at you, imagine if I just rolled up here and just starting taking a piss and you with a girl like… you know what I mean, I got no beef.

Tona:

Ay (puts out hand to shake to)

Zondo:

Nah man, you need to wash your hand.

Tona:

Aw shit sorry. We going to Bambys?

Mercy:

So, there is no escape from Bambys.

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175

Scene 17 11 pm Outside Bambys. Little Ryrie Street. Lucia, Zareen, and Kea outside Bambys. Lucia:

Zareen, what took you? Come on let’s go. It’s half price for ladies before midnight.

Zareen:

You mean actually have to pay to go to Bambys? Don’t they pay us?

Kea:

I can shout you.

Zareen:

The money isn’t the issue.

Kea:

What is?

Zareen:

Well, Ke$ha for a start.

Lucia:

Hey isn’t that your boyfriend Kea?

Zareen:

Yeah we met at the atm, that’s why I took so long.

Kea:

Jacob, are you following us?

Yacoub:

No, not at all. Well sort of.

Lucia:

Do you want to come dancing, we’re going into Bambys?

Yacoub:

Look, can we talk Kea?

Kea:

Ok. (They go to one side. Yassin and Big arrive)

Yassin and Zareen Yassin:

You can’t go dancing wearing a hijab Zareen, you know that right?

Zareen:

What? Are you following us too?

Yassin:

We just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Zareen:

Well as you see I am fine.

Yassin:

I see. (Pause) You know it’s absolutely mind blowing you know every time I see you dancing?

Zareen:

That’s nice Yassin but don’t worry, I’m not going to Bambys. I’m gonna go home.

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Yassin:

May be you and I could go get some food? I think we should talk.

Zareen:

Oh, yeah, I’ll go call the other guys. (Yassin mumbles) What?

Yassin:

I said they won’t like Indian. Let’s go. Just me and you and get some spicy food.

Zareen:

Wait, are you saying me and you go eat together? Just you and me?

Yassin:

Yes. I’ll pay.

Zareen:

Ohhhh. Uh, I’m flattered really but I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Yassin:

What’s wrong with that?

Zareen:

Yassin, I don’t…

Yassin:

You don’t what? We can’t just go get some food to talk?

Zareen:

Oh I get what this Is about I’m Muslim your Muslim, let’s just run off into the sun set together right?

(Big and Lucia are waiting) Big:

Lucia.

Lucia:

Big. So are you coming dancing?

Big:

May be but I’ve lost Marley, he’s an idiot.

Lucia:

Well I’ve lost Zondo too, but I messaged him, he’s coming here now. We’re going to Bambys.

Big:

Really? Zondo is going to Bambys! This I have to see.

(Enter Zondo and Mercy) Zondo:

Lucia, Big, what’s happening?

Big:

Zondo, Lucia says you’re going to Bambys!

Zondo:

In her dreams!

Lucia and Zondo Lucia:

Took you long enough to find me.

6 Hours in Geelong Script Zondo:

I was looking for you but then I got some hassle with cops.

Lucia:

The police? What’s going on Zondo?

Zondo:

It was nothing.

Lucia:

Were you even looking for me?

Zondo:

Yeah.

Lucia:

With her?

Mercy:

Hi Lucia.

177

Yassin and Zareen Yassin:

We share the same values you know.

Zareen:

Do you even know me?

Yassin:

I know you look beautiful wearing hijab.

Zareen:

Woah Yassin! Thank you but I don’t really see you in that way, you know we’re friends.

Yassin:

Yeah course we’re friends.

Zareen:

Yeah.

Yassin:

You wanna get some food? I’m hungry.

Zareen:

As friends?

Yassin:

As friends, for now.

Zareen:

Yassin, you’re not hearing me.

Yassin:

We will go get some food, we will understand each other better.

Zondo and Lucia Zondo:

No, no. I just ran into Mercy. Why did you run away from me?

Lucia:

I didn’t run away from you. I just want us to go dancing, at Bamby’s.

Zondo:

So why didn’t you answer my messages?

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Lucia:

I wanted you to come chase me. That’s what you’re supposed to do you know.

Zondo:

Come chase you! Lucia, you know this is not a movie yeah.

Lucia:

I know it’s not a movie, but you know it’s more romantic.

Zondo:

Well I’m sorry if I’m not romantic enough but I got something I need to tell you.

Yassin and Zareen Yassin:

Listen Zareen. I think you really need proper guidance.

Zareen:

What else do you think I need?

Yassin:

I know you were about to make a very big mistake going into that filthy place with your hijab.

Zareen:

It’s only Bambys, it’s not that bad! Anyway, I need you to understand that I am not yours to save. I am my own person.

Yassin:

I understand that.

Zareen:

Good.

Yassin:

Buuuuut….

Zareen:

No buts, Yassin. You’re not hearing me.

Yassin:

We will go get some food, we will understand each other better.

Zareen:

Uh Uh, no no. Thank you, but you know it’s never gonna happen. I don’t want to give you false hope.

Yassin:

What are you talking about? What false hope? I’m trying to be a good person alright. Why are you not understanding me?

Zareen:

Because you don’t get out of your bubble so of course you’re not going to understand. You just see me as Zareen, the girl with the hijab. Do you see anything else?

Yassin:

I didn’t ask you to come with me so I could make a move on you, that wouldn’t be the Islamic way of doing things.

Zareen:

What am I supposed to think when you’re acting like you’re saving me?

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179

Yassin:

I see this society for what it is. It doesn’t respect us. What I see is a girl that is confused and was trying to make a political statement by wearing a hijab in a club. Why?

Zareen:

I know the risks of the choices I make. It is about my rights as a human, and my rights to freedom of choice. I just want to break these stupid stereotypes people have of us…. Look, just let me think about this on my own for a bit.

Zondo, Lucia, and Mercy Zondo:

Lucia, I don’t really think your still the same girl I started dating.

Lucia:

What do you mean? I’m still the same.

Zondo:

I mean like, look at you, you’ve changed.

Lucia:

What do you mean I’ve changed?

Zondo:

You know how you used to be, you used to like African music, African food you used to even dress African sometimes, now you, you’re this.

Lucia:

Yeah but you gotta appreciate how I am.

Zondo:

I’ve tried, for a long time I’ve been trying to understand you and this phase you’re going through but I can’t really continue.

Lucia:

What? What do you mean?

Zondo:

I mean I’m trying to break up with you Lucia, don’t you see?

Lucia:

You going to break up with me?

Zondo:

Yeah…

Lucia:

But I still love you.

Zondo:

I love you too, like a sister.

Lucia:

You cannot love me like a sister, you gotta love me like your girlfriend! I didn’t work hard for this just for you to call me your sister.

Zondo:

Lucia, I’ve given you so many chances.

Lucia:

Chances? Is it because of her?

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Zondo:

No it’s not because of Mercy.

Lucia:

Of course it is. If you didn’t meet her you wouldn’t be calling me your sister. You can’t break up with me. I’m not giving up.

Zondo:

I can’t continue forcing myself to love you okay.

Lucia:

So all this time you’ve been forcing yourself to love me?

Zondo:

Yeah. I’m sorry, we can still be friends.

Lucia:

We can still be ‘friends’! You! You better stay away from my man, he’s not going to break up with me because of you okay? He is my man.

Zondo:

Lucia stop.

Mercy:

Woah hold up.

Lucia:

You hold up. You can’t come between me and my man and say he should break up with me

Mercy:

Oh okay, so this is your man right?

Lucia:

Yeah this is my man.

Mercy:

Well listen that is not my problem alright, I was walking down the alley way and crying okay because my life is falling apart and I bumped into him because he was getting chased by the police and that’s how we met. And then we starting talking about Africa…

Lucia:

You talked about Africa with her? You can’t talk about Africa with me?

Zondo:

Yeah, I can’t.

Lucia:

Why?

Zondo:

Because you act like you’re not even African. Every time I tried to talk about Africa, you always change the subject.

Lucia:

Look at the colour of my skin, where do I look like I came from?

Zondo:

Yeah but you don’t accept it.

Lucia:

I do accept it.

Zondo:

Well I don’t see it.

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181

Lucia:

Well then you’re blind. Can I take this Black skin off me? Can I take the Africa I was born in out of me? You’re full of crap Zondo. You only want to see me the way you want me to be. But I’m not that. Don’t make me ashamed of who I am.

Zondo:

I’m sorry.

Big Film Big:

I am going to be somebody. Whatever it takes I will do it. I am going to succeed and no one will stop me.

Scene 18 11:15 pm Little Ryrie Street. Yacoub and Kea Yacoub:

So, you going to Bambys?

Kea:

Yes. You want to come Jacob?

Yacoub:

Yacoub.

Kea:

What?

Yacoub:

My name is Yacoub.

Kea:

I’ve been calling you Jacob since we starting dating.

Yacoub:

Yeah well, my name is Yacoub.

Kea:

Why didn’t you tell me?

Yacoub:

I wanted to make it easy. Now it’s a little harder.

Kea:

Your name is your name. I should always say it right.

Yacoub:

Thank you

Kea:

So. People in the community have been ‘talking.’ Is that why you have to change?

Yacoub:

No that’s not it. You know that thing that we talked about before with Yassin?

Kea:

That shit about the way I dress?

Yacoub:

Yeah.

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Kea:

What about it?

Yacoub:

I’m sorry that you had to find out like that. It was news to me that people were talking.

Kea:

I don’t need this. I carry myself with enough dignity to know I did nothing to deserve it and you should stand up for me.

Yacoub:

It’s just the way things are.

Kea:

It’s not the way it should be. It’s not the way you used to be.

Yacoub:

You didn’t like the way I used to be. You complained about me taking everything as joke.

Kea:

Yeah, but you’ve let other people’s opinions of us come between us.

Yacoub:

50% of a man’s deen in Islam is marriage. Which means 50% of my entire test in this world is based on the person that I’m with. It is why people tend to talk so much.

Kea:

So let them talk. They don’t know who I am. This is about me and you. They have no say in the decisions that we make. I understand this is complicated but I am willing to learn about your culture and religion but you need to respect me as your partner.

Yacoub:

I do respect you. And you’re right we should talk more, like this. (Enter Tona)

Tona:

Hey.

Kea:

What you doing here?

Tona:

Is this the boyfriend you didn’t want to tell me about?

Yacoub:

Yacoub, good to meet you. (Puts out hand as if to shake)

Tona:

(rejects hand shake) We need to talk.

Kea:

I told you, I’m busy.

Tona:

Alright. Dad wants to talk to you.

Kea:

So? I don’t give a shit.

6 Hours in Geelong Script

183

Tona:

Look, I get it, but something changed. He was different tonight.

Kea:

What was different? More threats and less violence, or the other way round?

Tona:

Listen. I was sitting in my room getting fuelled up when he barges in. He’s like: ‘So who’s Jacob? Did you know your sisters got a Muslim boyfriend?’ And I’m like: ‘Why should I care?’

Yacoub:

So my community not’s the only community where everyone talks.

(Silence) Kea:

Keep going!

Tona:

He just kept coming at me, and coming at me and coming at me, ‘Who is this boy? How long have been seeing each other? Are they sleeping together? Are you planning to marry him? And I was just like ‘No I don’t know, I’m sorry dad’ but he keeps coming and coming, so I told him: ‘I DON’T KNOW!’

Kea:

You spoke to dad like that? You’re so stupid. You know what his like. You know what he could do to you.

Tona:

Not anymore. I decided, if he pushed it, I was going knock him out tonight. But he didn’t. He said ‘Sorry.’

Kea:

You making this up?

Tona:

I swear it’s true. He said ‘I just don’t want her to walk away from her own culture before she even knows what it is.’

Kea:

It’s his fault I know nothing about my culture.

Tona:

I know and I said that to him. I looked him in the eye and said ‘You lost your culture dad.’ I think he was crying.

Kea:

He cried?

Tona:

Yeah.

Kea:

So what do you want from me? To feel sorry for him?

Tona:

Look all I’m trying to say is that he’s worried about you.

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Kea:

Worried about me?

Tona:

You should talk to him.

Yacoub:

He’s right. You should talk to your dad Kea.

Kea:

What? No. Why should I talk to him?

Yacoub:

Because it sounds like he’s genuinely worried.

Kea:

Now he’s worried about me? Its bullshit, it’s fake.

Yacoub:

Doesn’t sound fake to me.

Kea:

How would you know?

Yacoub:

I don’t.

Kea:

Exactly, just stay out of it.

Yacoub:

I’ve been ridiculed by everyone, including you, for staying silent, but for some reason it’s okay for you to stay silent? How about you stick up for me when your brother blatantly brushed me off before? How about you stop being a hypocrite?

Kea:

How about you shut up?

Yacoub:

(Laughs) What did you say before? Something about carrying yourself with enough dignity to know you did nothing to deserve it and that I should stand up for you?

Kea:

I’m sorry. But you just don’t get it what it is like with my dad.

Yacoub:

You could try telling me.

Kea:

I will. I promise. But there’s no talking to that man. How many tears do we have to shed to get him to understand?

Tona:

Look take it as you will, I just came to tell you, because you’re my little sister and you deserve to know about this.

Kea:

What do you want me to do about it?

Tona:

Nothing. I told you what happened, now do with it what you will. (Turns to go) And Yacoub, I’m Tona.

6 Hours in Geelong Script

185

Scene 19 (Lucia approaches them with others) Lucia:

Hey Kea, come on. Come to Bambys with us. Just us girls. I’m finished with men. You said it was a girls’ night out, so let’s do it.

Kea:

Girls night out still? What about the boys?

Yacoub:

It’s okay, you go have fun.

Kea:

Ok, I will. What about Mercy?

Lucia:

She’s not invited.

Kea:

I see.

Lucia:

I wish I had seen but I was blind to the sort of person he is. But he’s not going to ruin my night, I want to dance at Bambys and I’m going to. So are you coming or not?

Kea:

Yes. Come on Zareen. If you’re not comfortable dancing with the hijab, just take it off, you never used to wear one.

Zareen:

But I do now, at least tonight, and I’m not taking it off.

Yassin:

You’re amazing Zareen, really amazing. But you can’t forget what we spoke about before. Seriously, the people in there will be drunk and they can be crazy. This is not the right place to make a stand.

Zareen:

I just really wanted to dance. I should be able to dance right?

Kea:

Yes! So what are we going to do?

Big:

You could come and dance at my place. The house I’m renting in Corio. It’s got a double garage. I’ve got a great sound system, with some serious base! We could play whatever music we wanted and no one will care how you are dressed.

Zareen:

Sounds good.

Kea:

I’m in. What about you Ja…Yacoub?

Yacoub:

Yeah.

Yassin:

I’m in.

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Lucia:

I not. Not if she comes.

Mercy:

Lucia, there is nothing going on with me and Zondo. We were just talking about Africa.

Lucia:

You think I care about you and your Africa? What were even you talking about? Living in mud huts? Eating with your hands without washing? Eating beans? Yum yum! I think I’ll stick to sushi thanks. Little kids running around singing? You think I’m going to believe this?

Mercy:

You don’t understand Lucia. We were talking about how hard it is coming here and not being respected like you thought you would be.

Lucia:

It’s not my problem if you can’t get a job. My life here is perfect. Didn’t you know, I’m going to be a model? We’re here now. We have to make it work. You’re crying for something that we’ve left behind. It doesn’t exist anymore.

Mercy:

Stop Lucia stop. Why are you saying this? I thought you were my friend. Do you want to make me cry? Are you happy now?

Lucia:

No I’m not happy. How could you even think I was happy? (Sings)

Big:

Has anyone seen Marley?

Scene 20 11:30 pm. Outside Bambys. Little Ryrie Street. Marley sees Jackson’s car Marley:

Big, Big I hate him!, I hate big. Everytime, Big Big Big! He tries to control my life, he tells me what to do. He thinks I can’t look after my self. He thinks he controls my life. Everything I do its always Big thats not even his real name, his name is not even Big, its Jamari … Jamari … Jamari and now he thinks he’s bigger than me, were the same he’s the same as me, I can’t see why he can’t see. Look at this beamer I must be a daydreamer to want to have this, why can’t I have this, why can’t I own this. I want it, I want it! Imagine me driving a car like this, imagine me driving a car like this, imagine me driving a car like this, imagine me driving this car to Big. Imagine what he would think of me, sometimes I don’t even think he is my brother, cause he never listens to me, or what I say. Imagine me driving this car with Mercy? Big is trying to control my life, cause everywhere I go people are against me. People don’t want to listen to what I have to say. People don’t want to listen to what I have to do. Everything, every time it’s always Big, everywhere I go its always Big. I hate him, I hate my Brother. (Moves over to look at car)

(Sam and Jackson in Bambys)

6 Hours in Geelong Script

187

Jackson:

Yeah, nah it’s the same with talking about women or gays, you can’t say anything because of political correctness.

Sam:

Like what?

Jackson:

What?

Sam:

What can’t you say about ‘women or gays’ but you’re not allowed to because of political correctness?

Jackson:

I don’t know, pretty much anything! Australia, it’s a free country, how are we ever going understand each other if we haven’t got the right to say what we want.

Sam:

Ok but just give me an example.

Jackson:

Well… Look, I can’t think of one right now.

Sam:

Right.

Jackson:

Hey I should take a snap of our date, put it Facebook, don’t you reckon?

Sam:

I don’t think so.

Jackson:

Shit, I left my phone in the car. I’ll be right back. I’m only parked over the road. (Sees car) Hey Sam, someone’s trying to break into my car, call your mates. I’m going to nail this guy. (Outside) Oi you, what are you doing huh? Trying to break into my car yeah?

Marley:

No. I haven’t done anything.

(Jackson grabs his arm) Marley:

Let go of me.

Jackson:

Nah man, I’m holding on to you, the police are coming for you…

Marley:

Go the hell of me off me man or you’ll regret it…

Jackson:

You threatening me?

Marley:

Just let me go. I’m going (Pulls, Jackson holds on).

Jackson:

You’re not going anywhere.

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Marley:

I was just looking at the car, that’s all.

Jackson:

You were about to break into my car. You were going to take my phone. You think I’m stupid? Kids like you do this all the time.

Marley:

I didn’t do anything.

Sam:

Let go of him Jackson.

Jackson:

He’ll just run.

Marley:

I’m not running cos I didn’t do anything.

Sam:

Just let go of him, Jackson, you’re hurting him. (Breaks them up, holds Marley) That’s Peta coming now, so just stay calm and let him sort it out.

(Enter Peta) Peta:

So what’s going on Sam?

Jackson:

This kid was trying to steal my car. I caught him red-handed, trying to break in. He’s dead-set guilty. I want him arrested. I want him dealt with.

Marley:

I didn’t do anything.

Peta:

What did you see Sam?

Sam:

Look, I think this is all just a big mistake. I think Jackson might have got the wrong idea and that’s why he grabbed hold of Marley. He didn’t mean to assault him.

Marley:

Yeah he assaulted me.

Jackson:

Assault, what you talking about? He was stealing my car! What was I supposed to do for god’s sake, watch him do it? May be I should have just handed over the keys.

Sam:

Like I said, it’s a misunderstanding. You’re not a criminal are you, Marley?

Marley:

No.

Sam:

And you Jackson, if you apologise to Marley then I didn’t we need to take this any further do we Peta?

6 Hours in Geelong Script

189

Jackson:

I’m not apologising to anyone, especially not that kid.

Peta:

I think maybe you better do what Sam says. Unless you want me to take both of you down the police station.

Jackson:

I’m sorry Marley, I made a mistake. It was a misunderstanding.

Marley:

You should think about it before you go and assault someone next time.

Sam:

May be it’s time for you to head off. (Aside) Don’t be an idiot Marley, just give me the nail file. (He does) Didn’t anyone tell you, you can’t break into a car with a nail file, it won’t work!

Marley:

What you talking about? I needed a manicure.

Sam:

Get out of here.

Scene 21 11:45 Corner of Little Ryrie and Moorabool St. Big enters. Big:

Marley, you alright? What’s going on?

Marley:

Yeah I’m fine, what are you doing man?

Big:

Why are the cops here? Is everything alright? I’ve been looking for you.

Marley:

This crazy guy saw me standing next to his car and they were going to arrest me bro.

Big:

Were you trying to break into it?

Marley:

What are you saying? Do I look like someone that would break into a car?

Big:

Then what were you doing?

Marley:

I was thinking about scratching ‘I hate Big’ into the nice blue metallic paint of his beamer with Mercy’s nail file.

Big:

You really hate me that much?

Marley:

I don’t hate you Big. You’re my brother.

Big:

I have to talk to you Marley. I’ve been pushing you so hard and I just wanted to say I’m sorry you know. Just be you.

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Marley:

Just be me? So now you’re not going to give me all the lectures you always been giving me on who you want me to be?

Big:

Nah, I’ll still give you lectures. But I’ve come to realise that we’re all different.

Marley:

Yeah man, we’re cool, don’t worry about it. What does your Malcolm X say about BMWs?

Big:

He doesn’t say anything about cars. But he did say: “Dr. King wants the same thing I want. Freedom.”

Marley:

So who is Dr. King?

Big:

Martin Luther King was a man who had a dream of a society without racism.

Marley :

I know him. They killed him too, like Malcolm X.

Big:

That’s true. They killed him for having a dream. But Mandela had the same dream, and they locked Mandela up for 27 years but he still came back stronger… And we can do that here in Australia—join with our indigenous brothers and sisters and fight for justice for all people of colour here.

Marley:

You can Big. And I really respect you for that but that’s not who I am.

Big:

I know, little brother. We all have to walk our own path. I know that.

Marley:

So let’s get out of here. (Big and Marley walk off )

Scene 22 11:45 pm. Outside Bambys. Peta, Sam and Jackson. Peta:

Sam, can I have a word please. What the hell was all that about? That’s the second time we pulled up the same kid and you let him off. What is he, your friend?

Sam:

Like I said, it was just a big misunderstanding.

Peta:

Yeah well, the way I saw it, he probably was trying to break into the car and you let him go. Now what is your reason?

Sam:

He’s just a kid, he doesn’t needs a criminal record. And anyway, he hadn’t broken into the car, he might have wanted to, but he didn’t.

6 Hours in Geelong Script

191

Peta:

There’s a reason why I’m in charge Sam. I call these shots not you. Especially when you’re not even on duty. Kids like that are a menace. What if it was your car he was eyeing up?

Sam:

Okay, but I just want to know why you’ve got such a downer on Black kids. You just knocking them off the streets one by one? Is that what this is about?

Peta:

You calling me racist?

Sam:

I’m just calling how I see it really.

Peta:

What do you see? You tell me what you see!

Sam:

Ok, you want to know, what was that earlier on tonight? The kid we chased, with the shirt. What was that?

Peta:

You ever had trouble with Africans?

Sam:

No, I can’t say I have.

Peta:

You don’t know shit then.

Sam:

Don’t know shit about what?

Peta:

You remember Moomba, remember that Apex bullshit?

Sam:

Yup.

Peta:

Big fight between Africans and Islanders. You remember that? My nephew was there. They gave him a real kicking and they stole his shirt off him. He was in the hospital for a month. And that Black kid tonight was wearing the same shirt. Now how do you expect me to react huh?

Sam:

Wait. How’s your nephew? Is he okay?

Peta:

Yeah he’s okay but he nearly wasn’t.

Sam:

So was he fighting?

Peta:

Yeah. He was there for a fight and he got one. Nearly cost him his life.

Sam:

Still, no need to be taking it out on Black people.

Peta:

They are not Black, they are dark brown. We are the same colour, aren’t we?

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Sam:

I guess.

Peta:

You guess. I live it. And don’t say ‘what’ like you don’t know what I’m on about.

Sam:

I wasn’t gunna.

Peta:

So don’t you dare accuse me of ‘pulling a racist act.’ (Pause) Alright. I admit it. I screwed up with that kid in the shirt. We’ve been under the pump to crack down on ‘youth crime in the CBD.’ Stuff happens, my bad. But you messed things up with Marley. No warning, no caution. Shame on you. But look, we’re in the same boat now. So my business is mine and yours is yours. We’ll leave it at that….Cool?

Sam:

Ok, deal.

Peta:

Thanks. I appreciate it. (Pause) Well I’ll let you get back to your date.

Sam:

Some date! (Peta Leaves. Jackson has been waiting)

Jackson:

What the heck was that eh? You saw the kid. You know what he was up to. I don’t get you Sam, whose side are you on? You’re supposed to be a cop.

Sam:

He hadn’t done anything wrong.

Jackson:

But he was going to and you know it.

Sam:

No I don’t. You walked out and you saw a criminal and I saw a scared boy. May be a boy who would like to have a nice car one day. In this country we’re innocent until proven guilty. Ever hear of the fair go?

Jackson:

How about a fair go for me Sam? Don’t I have rights?

Sam:

Of course you have rights. But you don’t have the right to make judgments about people because of the colour of their skin.

Jackson:

It’s not about colour, it’s how they are. They’re different from us. We have our values and our way of life and it’s different from theirs. I reckon it’s better than theirs to be honest and I really don’t understand why I can’t say that.

Sam:

You can say what you want, but I don’t have to listen to it. You know, on that first date, I thought you were a really cool guy and okay, I admit it, I’ve got a bit of a thing for beards, but some of things you say are really cringe worthy and it stinks!

6 Hours in Geelong Script

193

Jackson:

Stinks! Like what? What did I say?

Sam:

All that ‘us and them’ stuff. Why do you have divide people up like that? What are you afraid of?

Jackson:

I’m not afraid of anything. (Pause) I’m just saying …

Sam:

Are you? Well, I’m just saying ‘goodbye’ Jackson.

Sam walks down street and sings Racist Friend Scene 22 Midnight. Big’s place in Corio. Everyone enters behind Big. Big:

Come in everyone. Welcome to my home everybody. Here we can bring back the memories and share our culture without fear of being judged. For this one night in Geelong, we can feel like we are at home.

All dance Big:

(End)

No one cares about Malcolm X. Do you care about Malcolm X? Why do I study philosophy, if no one listens? Sometimes, it feels like I’m talking to my own dreams.

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Index 6 Hours in Geelong 27, 30, 35, 39, 40, 41, 44, 52–55, 63, 69, 71, 74, 76–79, 81, 82, 84, 97, 99, 104–109, 113, 114, 116, 124, 129, 133, 137, 141 ableism 137 Aboriginal 19–21, 104, 115 Abraham, N. 132 access 6, 12, 73, 88, 130, 131 accessible 125, 131 advantage 41, 43, 72, 135 aesthetic space 38, 39, 47, 99 ageism 137 Agung-gusti, R. 86 Ahmed, S. 89 Ali, L. 25, 26 America 15, 21, 116 Anderson, L. 127 Anthony, T. 115, 116 anti-racism 5, 6, 9, 10, 17, 76, 101, 102, 104, 113, 121 apartheid 17–19, 21 applied theatre 5–10, 24, 26, 31, 35, 37, 68, 71, 73, 76, 77, 83, 98, 99, 106, 107, 109, 113, 132, 137 artistic 4–6, 8, 10, 30, 35, 37–39, 41, 47, 51, 53, 57, 67, 68, 74, 79–84, 102, 106, 133–135 artists 8, 27, 35, 39, 40, 44, 52–54, 58, 77, 79, 80, 84, 99, 109, 110, 130, 131, 134, 135, 138 arts aesthetics 39, 68 -based projects 90 interventions 3 -making 30, 83 organisations 11, 129–132, 135 pedagogy 15 performance 35, 39, 53, 58 practice 3, 9, 27, 29, 37, 39, 67, 74, 102, 105, 109, 129–136, 138 practitioner 134 assimilation 94 audience 3, 6, 9, 11, 30, 39, 40, 45, 50, 51, 53–60, 62–68, 74, 76, 81–83, 106–108, 138 Australia 3, 6, 8, 12–15, 17–22, 30, 42–44, 51, 55, 61, 72, 73, 83, 85, 87, 90, 92, 94,

103–105, 113, 115, 116, 118, 119, 121, 122, 124–127, 130–132, 134, 137, 156, 158, 163, 187, 190 Australia Council for the Arts 130 Australian Broadcasting Corporation 126 Australian race relations 3, 85 Azmat, F. 130 Baak, M. 116 Bailey, A. 12, 13 Baker-Lewton, A. 28 Baker, A. M. 95 Baker, Alison 12 Ball, S. 124 Bannon, F. 74, 82–84 Barad, K. 24–26 Barton, L. 119 Belfiore, E. 134 Bell, L. A. 89, 95 belonging conditional 29 sense of 30, 75, 123 Benhabib, S. 75 Bhabha, H. K. 7, 39, 99, 101 Black Lives Matter (BLM) 3, 10, 113, 115, 116, 121 Black psychology 20 Boal, A. 37, 38, 56, 106, 107 Bombay 14 Bourdieu, P. 115 Bourgeois 64, 130 Brown, N. 117 Bruner, J. 12, 14 Budarick, J. 85 Bullying 113, 118, 121 Burnard, P. 124 Campbell, C. 88 Canada 12, 86, 102 Children Overboard 22 Chinyowa, K. C. 38 citizen agency 135 Clandinin, D. J. 31 Classis 137 Coalition of Essential Schools 123 Codd, J. 124 Coe, L. J. 115

210 cohealth Arts Generator 21 Cohen-Cuz, J. 134 collaborative 5, 24, 29, 30, 74, 76, 83, 84, 127, 130 Collins, P. H. 88 colonialism 18, 27, 86–89, 100, 101, 104, 108, 109, 121, 137 coloniality 3, 10, 15, 21, 85, 88–90, 96–99, 101, 132, 135, 137 of power 9, 87, 89, 90, 101 coloniser 80, 100 colour 3, 6–8, 17, 21, 40, 50, 52, 54, 58, 59, 64–66, 68, 80, 82, 83, 108, 109, 113, 120, 121, 132, 135, 137, 139, 148, 151, 171, 180, 190–192 Colour Between the Lines 21 Common Ground Voices/La Frontera 16 community arts 6, 11, 20, 21, 27, 28, 37, 39, 58, 74, 97, 129–136, 138 intervention 71 pedagogies 26, 27 psychology 5, 13 sense of 30, 75 settings 11, 28, 130 social capital 135 stigmatizing 77 theatre 3, 17, 71, 73, 76, 106, 110, 132, 137 Community Arts Network 21 Community Identity Displacement Research Network (CIDRN) 20, 21 Congolese 17, 36, 65 Connell, R. 4 consciousness-raising 89 process 137 conservative 17, 116, 118, 130 cooperation 131, 132 cosmopolitanism 10, 103–105 council 130 counter-cultural 129–132 counter-storytelling 5, 26, 38, 41, 85, 89, 95, 97 countering racism 113, 118, 121 country 14, 18–20, 36, 44, 49, 50, 73, 90, 91, 99, 109, 115, 141, 172, 187, 192 COVID-19 10, 113–115, 117, 118, 121 Cretton, V. 119 critical bifocality 86, 87 critical psychology 88 critical race theory 26, 88, 127 critical theory 26, 88, 127

index critique 7, 40, 41, 47, 51, 60, 74, 75, 81, 98, 99, 103, 106, 135 cross-cultural 17, 45, 133 Crossley, M. L. 89 cultural capability 126, 133 cultural democracy 131 cultural work 129, 130 culture 6, 7, 10, 12, 13, 27, 30, 35, 36, 39–43, 45, 48, 49, 54, 61, 67, 72, 76, 92–95, 97–103, 105, 106, 113, 123, 130–133, 135, 139, 152, 154–157, 159, 167, 171, 182, 183, 193 curriculum 114, 123, 124, 125, 127 standards 124 custody 115 danger 5, 24, 67, 100, 103, 113, 116 Davies, B. 25 de Smet, S. 74 de Quadros, André 14, 15, 23 deaths in custody 115 decoloniality 86, 95 decolonisation 132 deficit-orientation 106, 108 deep listening 82 dehumanising 6, 10, 100, 104, 109 democracy 131 Department of Health and Human Services 85 Derrida, J. 4 dialogic 9, 26, 82, 84, 128 dialogue 4–7, 10, 26, 27, 39, 49, 57, 60, 63, 68, 77, 82, 89, 96, 97, 113, 114, 117, 120–123, 128, 133, 138, 139 DiAngelo, R. 119, 122 diaspora 19, 21, 92 difference producing 25 working across 24, 27, 28 diffraction critical 9, 25 dialogic 29 intra-act 25 theories of 25, 29 discourse 19, 20, 30, 37, 51, 84, 95, 96, 101–105, 108, 109, 117, 120, 122, 133, 135 discrimination 42, 85, 86, 114, 118, 122, 126, 154, 165, 171 displacement 10, 18–21, 36, 44, 86, 97 stories of 91, 93

211

index diversity 28, 30, 68, 89, 90, 94, 108, 122, 127, 133 Doll, W. E. 123 domination 3, 13, 15, 73, 76, 87, 101, 103, 117 drama 5, 10, 16, 17, 31, 38, 40, 56, 57, 79, 80, 107, 165 Dutch 20 Dutta, U. 88 education 5, 10, 11, 17, 28, 36, 62, 73, 77, 89, 104, 113, 114, 118–120, 122, 123, 125–129, 137, 138, 143 educational values 113, 123 elite 15, 131 emancipatory pedagogies 8 empowerment 6, 29, 71, 77, 134 English football 16 enjoyment 130 epistemic ignorance 93, 96 justice 9, 14, 21, 24, 89 counter-storytelling 38, 97 obedience 4 disobedience 3, 4, 7 epistemology Eurocentric 4, 89 participatory 24, 26 relational 4 zero-point 8 equals 85, 103, 131, 141 equity 15, 130, 131 essentialism 10, 75, 98, 100, 101, 109 ethics 10, 13, 30, 57, 84 Ethiopian 17 ethnicization 102 ethnicity 85, 94, 100, 102, 132 ethnocentrism 137 ethnocultural 4 ethnodrama 10, 79, 80 Eurocentric global capitalism 101 epistemologies 4 Europe 7, 15 European colonial expansion 87 Eurowhite 15 exceptionality 12 exclusion 5, 8, 72, 85, 86, 113, 118–121, 126, 128, 129, 131 exploitation 3, 17, 87, 101, 135

extranjera/gringa 13 Fanon, F. 132 Farquar, L. 122 fascist 16, 17 Fine, M. 21, 86, 97, 138 First Nations 19, 22, 115, 116, 125, 132 flows of knowledge 8, 131 Floyd, George 137 Foucault, M. 4 Fox, J. 56 Frankenberg, R. 12 Fraser, N. 131 Freebody, K. 106, 108 Freire, P. 82, 123, 125 Fricker, M. 89 Fullilove, M. T. 91 Funding 35, 51, 53, 105, 131, 135, 136 Gallagher, K. 79 Gatt, K. 116 Geelong 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 18, 27, 30, 35, 36, 39–41, 43, 44, 52–55, 63, 68, 71, 74, 76–79, 81, 82, 84, 90, 97, 99, 104–109, 113, 114, 116, 124, 129, 133, 137, 141–143, 153, 193 genocide 132 Gergen, K. J. 88 Gillborn, D. 122 Gilroy, P. 102 Giroux, H. 129 Gleeson, P. 116 Glick Schiller, N. 103, 104 global knowledge economy 3 Gordon, A. 89 Goudzwaard, B. 130 government 14, 22, 51, 71, 103, 106, 127, 130 Gramsci, A. 4 Grant, S. 104 Grassroots 130, 131 Graves, J. B. 131 Greece 21 Green, M. J. 20 Griffin, J. H. 21 Grosfoguel, R. 4, 87, 101 group authorship 10, 79, 80 Guha, R. 4 Haraway, D. J. 25 Haw, A. L. 117

212 hierarchisation 3 Henrich, J. 98, 99, 105 History 3, 13, 14, 21, 23, 24, 30, 85, 99, 102, 113, 115, 116, 118, 121, 124, 127, 134, 138, 152 Hoagland, S. L. 99 Holland, D. 12 homophobia 137 hooks, b. 73–76, 122 Horyniak, D. 116 Howard, John 22 Hutchens, G. 74 I Can’t Place You 21, 23 identity complex 83, 105, 109 cultural 10, 17, 36, 53, 62, 75, 100, 102, 104–106, 109 group 75, 76, 83, 108 hybrid 27 individual 75, 76, 83 knowledge of 131 lived experience in 27 migrant 27 personal 88 politics 102, 131 professional 123, 125 refugee 42, 43 stereotypes 75, 95 improvisation 41, 44, 47, 81, 83, 134 inclusive action 38 education 113, 119, 120 knowledge-making 24, 26, 27, 29 India 14, 15, 86 Indigenous 3, 20, 87, 88, 98, 110, 115, 116, 122, 190 Indigenous and Tribal sovereignty 3 Indigenous Deaths in Custody 1989–1996 115 injustice 13, 14, 88, 89, 137, 138, 167 integration 102, 105 interconnectedness 130 intercultural relations 10 interdisciplinary research 3 intergenerational conflicts 10 intergenerational dialogues 4 intersectionality 11, 101 Iranian 17 Islamist 17 Islamophobia 28, 35, 43, 45, 90, 105, 106, 137

index Italy 21 Iverson, S. 136 Jackson, A. Y. 25 Jackson, K. 116 Jeffers, A. 130 Jim Crow 13 justice 9, 14, 15, 21, 24, 28, 29, 44, 75, 88, 89, 95, 97, 103, 119, 120, 131, 190 Kamp, A. 85 Katafiasz, K. 39 Kelman, Dave 8, 13, 16, 27, 71 Kershaw, B. 130 King Jr., Martin Luther 13, 190 knowledge from the margins 21, 89 Kuppers, P. 133, 134 Ladson-Billings, G. 88, 89 Land, C. 119 Langhout, R. D. 29 learning 4, 11, 28, 38, 81, 82, 97, 114, 117, 121, 123–127, 129 Lee, Spike 74, 75 Lentin, A. 127 liberation psychology 88 life expectancy 115 local 3, 9, 27, 35, 44, 68, 76, 90, 93, 126, 130, 131 London suicide bomber 17 Lugones, M. 87, 88 MacDonald, F. 116 MacLure, M. 26, 120 Mainstream 6, 31, 43, 53, 54, 85, 95, 101, 118, 131, 132, 137, 139 Majavu, M. 116 Maldonado-Torres, N. 87 Mallon, F. 4 Malta 21 Mandela, Nelson 16, 53, 54, 161, 190 Mansell, J. L. 89 Manzoor, S. 21 market forces 132 Marley, B. 42, 43, 50, 142, 143, 152–157, 160–166, 171, 176, 186–190, 192 Mar, P. 133 Marr, D. 118 Martin, K. 13, 190 Martín-Baró, I. 88

index Matarasso, F. 130, 131 matrix of power 3 Maxwell, C. 38 Mbembe, A. 15, 100, 104, 109 McPhee, R. 23 McQuire, A. 115 Melbourne 7, 14, 21, 22, 44, 90, 97, 146 Memphis 12 methodology creative 27 critical 29, 88 focus groups in 10, 30 interviews in 25, 29, 30 narrative 6, 10, 27 observations in 5, 25 participatory theatre 24, 25, 29, 30 micro-aggressions 88 Mignolo, W. 4, 8 Migration 12, 19, 20, 29, 30, 73, 86, 91, 94, 97, 138 and acculturation studies 20 Minh-Ha, T. T. 25 Modood, T. 102, 105 Montero, M. 75, 78 Moore, R. 122 Moran, A. 103 Moreton-Robinson, A. 87, 117, 120 Morley, L. 124 Moylan, P. 28 multiculturalism 4, 10, 19, 77, 83, 98, 101–104, 108, 109 multiethnic 4 Murphy, K. 116, 118 music 5, 15, 132, 148, 151, 179, 185 Nagar, R. 25, 26 narrative counter- 6, 17, 39, 41, 53, 137 method 40, 81, 106 restorative 6 stories 13 Neelands, J. 38 neighbourhood 21 Nepantla 110 New Australians 21 New Zealand 20, 36, 92 Noble, G. 94 North Carolina State 13 Nunes de Abreu, M. 100, 109 Nyuon, N. 85

213 objectification 101 Oliver, K. 94 One Nation, A Play Against Racism 17 ontological 12, 75, 94 oppression 14, 18, 19, 38, 75, 86, 88, 89, 95, 97, 99, 107, 109, 115, 119, 129 outcomes 35, 37, 52, 58, 63, 68, 74, 82, 83, 116, 131 Pakistan 16, 17 Pandemic 10, 113, 115, 117, 121 participation 116, 132 Participatory Action Research 127, 138 participatory community theatre audience 9, 35, 53–60 characters 41 performance 39 participatory research 11, 26 partnerships 20, 21, 133, 138 Pasifika 17, 116 pedagogy arts-informed 6 emancipatory 8 public 11, 27, 29, 96, 129, 138 performance 3, 5, 8, 9, 17, 30, 35, 39–41, 44, 53–68, 74, 77, 84, 88, 91, 96, 101, 105, 106, 114, 116, 129, 133, 134, 136, 138 photovoice 13 Pillow, W. 26 place-based 4, 8, 85, 137 planning 57, 113, 117, 118, 122, 126, 183 pluriversal knowledge 4 pluriversality 7 police 16, 40, 44, 45, 50, 51, 83, 108, 115, 150, 163, 177, 180, 187, 189 policy 14, 86, 102–104, 122, 125, 130, 132 politics 4, 76, 77, 81, 85, 87, 102, 129, 131, 132, 134 positionality 8, 12, 14, 28 power dynamics 10, 76, 82, 135 imbalance 73, 115 relationships 43, 73 resources 88, 126 powerful conversations 5, 6, 9–11, 53, 68, 113, 114, 116, 118–128, 137, 138 Poynting, S. 103 practice anti-racism 17, 101, 102, 121 collaborative 5, 24, 83, 84 theatre 5, 7, 9, 10, 26, 37, 71, 98, 106

214 Pratt, M. L. 27 Prendergast, M. 78 Prentki, T. 38, 107 Priest, N. 127 Prison 15, 28, 115 privilege 11–14, 18, 24, 26, 27, 60, 72, 75, 76, 86, 87, 95, 116, 117, 119, 120, 122, 131, 135, 167 processes 13, 24, 25, 29, 40, 41, 78, 98, 99, 103, 107, 108, 117, 118, 131, 133, 134, 138 products 81, 131, 158 professional 9, 15, 28, 49, 58, 72, 74, 122, 123, 125–127, 130 131 professional arts 11, 74, 131, 132 psychic harm 19 psychology 5, 10, 13, 19, 20, 88, 100 public health 13 public pedagogy 29, 96, 129, 138 public policy 130 purpose of art-making 30, 83 of schooling 114, 124 Quayle, A. F. 135 Quijano, A. 87 race 3–8, 12–17, 21, 23, 24, 26, 28, 29, 40, 42, 54–56, 61, 62, 68, 77, 83, 86, 87, 90, 94, 95, 97, 100, 162, 171 relations 3, 13, 72, 74, 85, 134 racialisation of migrants 19, 104 of refugees 19 racialised immigration 132 narratives 74, 104 other 87 racism anti- 5, 6, 9, 10, 17, 76, 101, 102, 104, 113, 121 everyday 5, 88 internalisation of 88 migrant 8, 28 refugee 8, 28 racist friend 3, 50, 193 structures 113 Rappaport, J. 88 reflexivity 24–26, 134 refugees 8, 14, 15, 22, 27, 28, 42, 43, 72, 93, 169

index Reimers, F. 117 relationality 13, 24, 99 dialogic 97 relationship 6, 8, 10, 11, 17, 25, 30, 42–45, 55, 67, 68, 72, 73, 80, 86–88, 98, 100, 109, 116, 124, 134, 138 representation 30, 39, 74, 75, 80, 81, 93, 98, 102, 105, 108, 109, 131–133, 139 reproduction 3, 25, 131 research collaborative 5, 24, 30 critical 20, 86, 138 inclusive 9 qualitative 5, 25 resistance 4, 10, 17, 18, 76, 80, 86, 88, 89, 95, 97, 105, 108, 122, 130 everyday 89, 97 responsibility 43, 46, 52, 80, 113, 114, 117, 118, 120, 121, 153, 154 Richardson, L. 5 Rigney, L.-I. 20 Roffey, S. 123 Román-Odio, C. 99 Rosales, C. 89 safety 58, 72, 90, 113, 121, 123, 168 Saldaña, J. 79–81 Salter, C. 72 Santos, B. de S. 4 Schechner, R. 41, 83 school system 114, 129 schooling 86, 113, 114, 117, 124 schools 4, 5, 8–10, 16, 17, 21, 26–28, 30, 35, 36, 51, 53, 55–60, 63, 64, 68, 90, 106, 113, 114, 117–124, 126–129, 138, 143, 151 script 9, 25, 27, 28, 30, 41, 47, 80–83, 141 Segalo, P. 95 self-expression 95, 132, 134 self-making 12 settler colony 3 sexism 48, 137 Shakespeare, W. 17, 79 Sinclair, C. 79 Sizer, T. R. 123, 125 Ska 11 slavery 13, 18, 27, 116, 132 Slee, R. 118–120 Smith, L. T. 20, 88 social change 10, 27, 39, 51, 131, 138 social cohesion 51, 100, 102, 130, 131

215

index social identity 10, 13, 17, 36, 53, 54, 62, 68, 72, 74–76, 87, 99–106, 108, 109, 131–133 social inclusion 40, 71, 76, 78, 130 social intervention 81, 106 social issues 11, 40, 45, 57, 135 social justice 15, 89, 131 social psychology 19 society 4, 8, 17, 39, 43–45, 71, 73, 82, 92, 94, 95, 98, 99, 101, 103, 105, 108, 109, 113, 118, 119, 131, 141, 146, 168, 179, 190 Solórzano, D. G. 89, 97 Somali 17 Song 3, 39, 40, 47, 50, 54, 65, 147, 162, 171 Sonn, Christopher 18, 19, 88, 95, 135 South Africa 18, 19, 21, 86 South Asian 16, 85, 102 Southerners 13 Specker Watts, D. 122 stories 5, 6, 8, 10, 13, 17, 20, 21, 26–30, 38, 41, 45, 47, 54, 56, 61, 66, 71, 73, 75, 78, 81–83, 85, 86, 88–91, 93, 95, 137 storytelling 5, 9, 26, 38, 41, 85, 88, 89, 95, 97, 138, 139 street theatre 18, 35, 44, 53 Stein, C. H. 89 Stephenson, M. 133 Stewart, E. 88 structural racism 10, 115 students 9, 10, 12, 13, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 55, 57, 58, 62–64, 68, 113, 114, 116–128 swastikas 16 symbolic exclusion 131 symbolic violence 93, 113, 115 symbolism 77 systemic injustice 13 teacher(s) education 116–120, 126 sensitivity 119, 122, 126 challenges for 114, 122, 128 teaching 15–17, 28, 81, 117, 119, 123–125 Terra Nullius 20 testing 53, 125 theatre applied 5–10, 24, 26, 31, 35, 37, 38, 68, 71, 73, 76, 77, 83, 98, 99, 106–109, 113, 132, 137 Brechtian 39, 50, 106 development process 5 epic 39, 107

forum 56, 106–108 Marxian 106 of the oppressed 37, 38, 76, 106, 107 of the real 79 theory critical race 13, 26, 88, 127 decolonial 26, 98 entanglements 104 feminist 13, 98 participatory theatre 25, 29, 30, 37, 82 readings of 25, 26, 29 Whiteness 26, 135 third space 7, 8, 98 Thompson, J. 37, 71, 77, 81 Torres Strait Islander 115 Transphobia 137 Troman, G. 124 Underpayment 134 United Kingdom (UK) 14, 21, 86, 122, 130 United States of America (US) 3, 14, 15, 115, 127 Valdez, I. 103 vegemite 21 ventriloquism 74, 80 Victoria 7, 28, 116, 130 Victorian Equal Opportunity and Human Rights Commission 85 Vietnamese 17, 47, 83 violence direct 93, 94 symbolic 93, 94 voice embodied 71 giving of 71 Voices of Displacement 20, 21 Wales 21 WASP (White, Anglo-Saxon, and Protestant). 4, 9, 128 WEIRD (Western, Educated, Industrialised, Rich, Democratic), 98, 99, 105 Weis, L. 86, 97 Werbner, P. 101 West Indian 16 Western Cape 18 White Australia Policy, the 14, 103, 132 White normativity 10, 60, 100, 109

216 White privilege 12, 60, 72, 76 White sensibility 119 White supremacy 3, 6, 8, 9, 12, 29, 87, 117, 122, 125, 128 White, G. 37, 39, 40 White, Julie 118, 119 Whiteness ideology of 87 studies 20 Whitlam, E. Gough 22 Whittaker, A. 115 Wieviorka, M. 102 Willett, J. 39, 50, 107 Williams, R. 74 Wilson, J. 127

index Windle, J. 85, 116 Wordsworth, W. 14 workshop program 113, 114 Wyn, J. 85 xenophobia 137 Yosso, T. J. 89, 97 young people Indigenous 115 of colour 3, 58, 59, 64, 35, 82, 113 Zavala, M. 6, 89, 95 zero-point epistemology 8