Category: Letter

This month I went to various locales, frantically searching for The Rake, which I
could not find. It is the best publication I have seen around
here for a long time. I am quite addicted to it and begin to look for it at the end of each month. A teenager told me that you had stopped printing it, and now it is only online.

I want to plead with you to not do that. It does not seem smart to
neglect the many people who enjoy sitting in an easy chair, in bed,  or
travelling with their copy. Admittedly, I am a baby boomer. There are
so many of us who feel that way, even if we are internet savvy. But even
the teenager said he felt it was not good to have it only online,
that it is limiting. Please re-consider your decision. I will sign up for a subscription — promise.

Thank you for letting me express this concern.

Living in the small rural town of Santo Tomás, in Nicaragua, is hard, but
without my Rake it would be downright unbearable. Luckily, my brother
and various friends know that I love keeping up to date with Twin
Cities affairs, and have enough compassion to send me The Rake every once
and a while. Semana Santa, the holy week before Easter, is especially
rough. There is absolutley nothing to do but sweat and watch religious
processions. Two days before the procession of the positions of the
cross these young men ambushed me in the middle of reading. The day
after, they were off to "bring the devil." Their role is to run
through town screaming, scaring small children, and mocking the pious
Catholics that walk in the processions. 

Recently, I saw The Syringa Tree at the Jungle Theatre and then two
days later I saw 9 Parts of Desire at the Guthrie. Both shows designed
and directed by Joel Sass.  When I sat watching The Syringa Tree I
forgot that Sarah Agnew was performing the text playwright/actor Pamela
Gien had written to perform herself. A white European American playing
a white European South African didn’t make me flinch. On the other hand
I could not forget during the entire show of 9 Parts of Desire that
Katie Efirig was not Arab American. She was performing a show
playwright/actor Heather Raffo had written for herself. Heather Raffo
is an Iraqi American.

As an Algerian American I wanted to be able to look up on stage and see
a North African or a Middle Eastern sister looking back at me. Then
again, why shouldn’t we be able to tell other people’s stories of other
places and languages? Why should we confine casting to race and
ethnicity? I imagine Efrig and the entire creative team of 9 Parts…
have learned a lot about Iraqi people, about straddling two worlds; and
isn’t that useful in building a stronger society? Getting deeper into
each other’s humanity so that we understand each other and are less
likely to kill one another or point fingers or jeer or assume things
that are just not true?

But. But. But.

What about subject position? Perspective? Would you cast a white
American woman as someone half Japanese and half white American? Or
Indian? Or Jamaican? Is it okay to have an actress who could pass? Who
has, like Sass said when speaking to Dominic Papitola of the Pioneer
Press, "the right look." We could say, okay, I buy she’s part Arab cause
she’s got dark features. Ironically enough Heather Raffo has blond
hair. So does my Algerian step mom.  In the history of theatrical
performance we have in our vocabulary "black face," "yellow face," "red
face." Now it seems we have entered into… olive face?

Under the current political conditions Arab Americans are
being profiled, ridiculed, and blamed for most of the world’s problems.
All of a sudden being Arab, and especially Arab American, has weight and
meaning for mainstream America. So what does that mean when a white
American creative team produces a play about an Arab American
experience?

Many of the audience members were white middle-aged women. They
reminded me of the women who often ask about the origin of my name and
struggle to see where Algeria is on a map. What a wonderful thing art
is when stories such as 9 Parts of Desire are told at a classy place
like the Guthrie for these women to see the complexities and strength
of Arab women. Iraqi women.

Finally, our story is starting to be told on the big stage. Finally, the mainstream is interested in listening. But wouldn’t it be better if a mainstream audience could see an Arab perform?