The Censorship Conundrum

There is a fine line between censorship and good taste and moral responsibility. ~Steven Spielberg

Every Teaching Artist who has been in the field for any length of time has most likely had to make decisions involving censorship. As Teaching Artists, we spend a good deal of our energy helping our students to silence their Inner Critics and encouraging them to produce raw work first and apply critical thinking later.  However, this method of work can be fraught with peril.

 I often tell my older students that censorship has less to do with what is "allowed" and far more to do with understanding the audience.  I especially emphasize this point with student playwrights.  You may write anything you choose, I tell them, using whatever language you think the play requires.  I promise that I will read whatever you have written, and I promise that I am unshockable (yes, sometimes I have regretted that promise.)  I promise to give you feedback. But what I can't and won't promise is that the play will be produced, or even read aloud in the classroom.

In a similar vein, the canon of dramatic literature is filled with important prize-wining plays that simply cannot be produced in a school environment.  The merits of any one of these plays can be debated at length, but it ultimately comes down to this: a student may read a novel under the guidance of an English teacher that contains adult language, situations and themes that are considered appropriate for that particular student in that particular school, depending on grade level, overall curriculum, community norms, etc. But put that same material up on stage, performed by student actors, and suddenly everything changes.  A dramatic version of many novels routinely read by high school freshmen would quickly ring down the curtain (and probably leave the director looking for another job.)

Simply put, the power of "acting it out" changes the dynamic of how the material is perceived, both by the actors, and certainly by the audience.  A clear understanding of this fact is essential for those Teaching Artists who work in schools.  Ultimately, this concept is at the very heart of why art matters: art affects us deeply, and often in ways that are difficult to understand or even express.  As Teaching Artists, we must remain acutely aware that we are working with powerful stuff. We must not take that responsibility lightly.
(For more on this topic, please see my post The Power of Enactment.)

Sisyphus at the Precipice

Outside, the rain is falling. The long days of summer live only in memory, and for those Teaching Artists who work in schools, the initial fervor of the new school year has faded into the daily grind of classes, rehearsals, assessments and grades.

We stand at the precipice of danger. The vast bulk of the school year stretches ahead, and even now some may feel that there is more work to be done than ever. Like Sisyphus, we already feel the weight of rolling that boulder up the hill of another year.

Rarely does that boulder have anything to do with our students. Far from it; as Teaching Artists we draw our energy and our satisfaction from our time with our students. Rather, the boulder we push valiantly against seems more often to be made of administrative duties, budget realities, inadequate facilities and colleagues who don’t always understand or value what we do. We are in danger of letting that boulder roll right back over us, leaving us flattened in its path.

We can’t escape the boulder entirely, but we can lighten it to a less unwieldy weight. We can begin by practicing the presumption of good will. The moment we begin to presume the best, the boulder gets, if not smaller, at least far more manageable.

Here are a few suggestions:

To practice the presumption of good will, I must strive to:

o Believe that all of my colleagues, both in the arts and throughout the school community, are acting in good faith.
o Listen.
o Not assume I know all the issues factored into any given decision.
o Not assume I know what other people think.
o Not base my opinion of any group-students, parents, colleagues- on the most critical, disgruntled or loudest 20%.
o Believe that the success of others does not diminish me.

As Teaching Artists, we can endeavor to be resilient in the face of adversity, cheerful when challenged, and strive to positively impact our community because we believe in our work. We believe in our students. We know that art matters.

Begin Again

Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop. ~Lewis Carroll

The first day of school is here.  For Teaching Artists who work in schools, the early rhythms established by our own school days come back to us with ease. We who spend our lives in schools have the satisfaction of completing one year, with all its triumphs and disappointments, tying it up in the neat bow of commencement and putting it on the shelf.  Another year behind us.  A great year, a not-so-great year, it really doesn't matter, for whether we are sorry or thrilled to see it end nothing can make it last a moment longer.

Some might then have a summer of rest, or move on to other work for a season.  Perhaps we travel, or putter at home, or dive into our own artistic projects with enthusiasm.  But at the end of that season, the old familiar feelings return. It's time for another year. Another crop of students.  New ideas are born and old assumptions challenged.  The real new year arrives, not with the false gaity of New Year's Eve champagne and party hats, but with the serious business of books and lectures and brown bag lunches.

The first day of school is here, and it is time to begin again.