“I Don't Feel Sad. I Feel Angry.” the Above Quote Is From

“I don’t feel sad. I feel angry.” The above quote is from the popular Netflix Series Sex Education. Aimee says this quote on Season 2 Episode 7. Aimee was a victim of sexual assault that greatly affected her day-to-day life. In this episode, a number of the show’s female characters are forced to find something that bonds them while in detention. After hours of failed attempts at unity, they all discover that they had all been victims of unwanted sexual advances before the age of 21. Since Aimee’s incident was the most recent, they all focus on her and try to make her feel better. Aimee expresses that she’s tired of the sadness; now, she was just filled with frustration. The girls take her to smash some shit in a beautifully cathartic moment. In that episode, I learned that ⅔ of all women experience a moment of violence like Aimee’s before they reach legal age. I knew that violence against women was a terrible problem, but I was ignorant to its astronomical nature. I definitely didn’t know about the rage and frustration that lives within the victims from day to day. Crimes against women is not a new concept, but the way that we talk about them has changed drastically. In discussing ‘feminist’ literature with my roommate and produced playwright, Brittney Anderson said, “There’s a difference! Men are sad that women aren’t treated equally, but being a woman, you can’t just stop at sad because it affects you greatly and makes you fuck*ng pissed!” The conversation really opened my mind. In literature, the stories of assault victims have been policed to really only center around the depression that comes with trauma. It teaches audiences that sadness is the only acceptable response to trauma. Thanks to this culture shift, I’m learning about the true complexities of these experiences and the importance of catharsis in regard to processing and healing from trauma. Perhaps, the most important experience in regard to this enlightenment was seeing Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again at the University of the Arts. Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again was commissioned by the Royal Shakespeare Company in 2014 as a part of the Midsummer Mischief Festival. The festival was inspired by the famous quote penned by Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Laurel Thatcher Ulrich: “Well-behaved women seldom make history.” Four playwrights were recruited to write pieces in response to this quote, and in result, audiences were given Alice Birch’s Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again. Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again centers around women and the lives of women. In a somewhat allegorical fashion, Revolt tells stories of r*pe, oppression, agency, safety, and freedom. Every story is centered around women and focus on the dismantling of language and vocabulary surrounding womanhood and sex. The play is unapologetic and bold: words that are usually denied from the female vocabulary. The play doesn’t politely ask us to listen; it screams at us until we have no choice but to comply. There’s no such thing as the perfect play, however. The piece was penned by a white woman, and as I previously stated the narratives of black women do not always coincide with the narratives of white women: especially not with all of the colors in between. The production premiered at The Other Place and the Royal Court Theatre with Robert Boulter, Scarlett Brookes, Ruth Gemell, and Mimi Ndiweni. Of these actors, one of them was black, all British, and all cisgender. The show and cast then traveled to the Latitude Festival. There was also a prominent performance at the Soho Repertory Theatre. This production was directed by Lileana Blain-Cruz and featured Daniel Abeles, Molly Bernard, Eboni Booth and Jennifer Ikeda. Of the four actors, two were white, one was black, and one was asian, all were cisgender: this production was also directed by a woman of color. Over the years, the production has gotten more and more inclusive of actors and artists of different races, but it begs a question. Does multiracial involvement in productions of the play make the play itself more intersectional in its feminist discussion? Apparently not. During callbacks for the production at UArts, the play’s prominent white voice brought up some concerns in the room. Thankfully, director and favorite resident white woman Allison Heishman had enlisted the help of Tamanya M.M. Garza, renowned Philadelphia Latinx artist, to check Heishman’s own unconscious bias as a white artist by sitting in on callbacks. I think having Tamanya in the room definitely created a space for discourse. I spoke to Symphony Thompson, one of the students who spoke up at the callback. The actors were allowed to pick their own callback groups, and Symphony’s group consisted of black women and nonbinary folx, and they felt disconnected from the material: “we discussed the scene and how we feel it’s very white feminist and doesn’t represent other bodies.” The group then cut their callback short, and brought their concerns to Allison and Tamanya. The lack of representation in the script made the actors concerned about how the bodies that aren’t represented in the play would be treated once rehearsals started. “We asked how brown and black bodies would be treated in this space. I said that for this play to be called ‘Revolt’ and to circle around revolution so much, you can’t use that word and only tell one specific story.” Thankfully, Allison and Tamanya are goddesses. “Tamanya was so supportive of us asking those questions, as well as Allison, and explained that while she is not perfect, she cares about each individual and will do the work.” And “the work” was precisely what they did. Allison did one of the bravest things that a director can do: admitting that she didn’t have all the answers. She put the wellbeing of her actors ahead of her own ego and declared that she needed help. She worked with the administration to officially add Tamanya to the artistic team. Together, the two sought to broaden the conversations conducted in Revolt. When asked about her vision for the process going forward, Allison said that she wanted the show to include more voices: “particularly we were interested in reflecting the experiences of women of color.” They were faced with the age-old conundrum: how do we alter this established play without being sued for copyright infringement? Instead of just banging their heads on the wall, Allison and Tamanya came to their solution. “As Tamanya and I dug deeper into the project she proposed that her work be focused on an entirely new piece that would be devised by the ensemble using a series of poems written by Annaliesse Garza, and eventually expanding to include some pieces written by the ensemble as well.” (Heishman) Instead of trying to force blackness into a story written through a lens of whiteness, Tamanya decided that the best course of action was to supplement the story with black narratives. Between vignettes of Revolt, the ensemble members that represented the people whose stories were left out of Revolt would come out and perform devised pieces that together created Burn. The movements involved in Burn were some of the most raw and vulnerable pieces of theatre that I have ever seen. I became increasingly interested in the process of creating the pieces and how Tamanya facilitated the room in order to create a space where the actors felt safe enough to be so vulnerable. Tamanya said that that environment is only possible if the process is driven by the actors: “the process was always meant to be open and guided by the ensemble to meet its needs.” There were rules set into place that dictated how the space would be run in order to put the voices of the women of color in the cast first. These intentions were very evident on the other side of the table. Symphony said it best: “she [Tamanya] made it clear that she was going to privilege the black and brown bodies in the room first since that is an opportunity we rarely, most of the time never get.” The focus was set on the performers of color: their safety, their agency, and their voices. Tamanya went on to describe the kinds of policies and systems that were set up in the rehearsal room including: “safe space protocols, confidentiality agreements as well as agreements that we would not touch each other ever without asking for consent and that we would work to make space for every voice in the room that wanted to be included.” These protocols seemed to work wonders because Symphony described the experience as very supportive and safe. Once the space was established as safe, the real work could begin. The majority of the movements in Burn were part of a group of poems written by queer Mexican-American writer named Annaliesse Garza who also happened to be Tamanya’s sister. These poems provided the basis to the Burn script, but all of the performers involved in the devising were given the opportunity to write or submit their own poetry to be added to the script. In my opinion, this is the best and probably the only way to give a voice to your ensemble. Once the group committed to the language, it was time to start walking in the stories. They worked as a group to devise blocking to pair with the words through improvisation exercises and a lot a lot of discussions about power dynamics and what kind of things and people the ensemble wanted to portray.

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