Article 4
[Rob Weinert-Kendt’s “Raising Native Voices, Then Amplifying Them,” below, is
the first article in this series I’m posting on Rick On Theater that doesn’t appear in the print edition of the
Theatre Communication Group’s American Theatre; it’s published only on AT’s
website. In his piece, Weinert-Kendt presents an interview with Randy Reinholz,
co-founder, with his wife, actress Jean
Bruce Scott, of Native Voices, an organization that supports and promotes
theater by the United States’ indigenous peoples. Hosted now at the Autry Museum of the
American West In Los Angeles (founded by and named for the original “singing
cowboy,” Gene Autry), New Voices was launched 25 years ago at the University of
Illinois, where Reinholz was a professor, and has been working for a quarter of
a century toward a surge of interest in and focus on native American theater.
[As always, I urge ROTters to go back and read Articles 1 and 2 if you haven’t yet. “Native Women Rising” by Madeline Sayet was posted on 24 March, Frances Madeson’s “Indigenous States” on 27 March, and “Law of Nations” by Celia Wren on 30 March.]
[As always, I urge ROTters to go back and read Articles 1 and 2 if you haven’t yet. “Native Women Rising” by Madeline Sayet was posted on 24 March, Frances Madeson’s “Indigenous States” on 27 March, and “Law of Nations” by Celia Wren on 30 March.]
RAISING NATIVE VOICES, THEN AMPLIFYING THEM
by Rob Weinert-Kendt
After
years of nurturing writers and performers, the work of L.A.’s Native American
theatre is finally paying off.
If
there is a resurgent tide of Native American voices in the American theatre of
late—and
based on the stories in this special issue, there certainly seems to be—a lot
of the credit can be traced to a seemingly unlikely place: a theatre program
that runs out of the Autry Museum of the American West in Los Angeles. Randy
Reinholz, who has run Native Voices at the Autry with his wife, Jean
Bruce Scott, for 20 years, was at first skeptical himself about partnering with
the institution named for the singer of “Tumbling Tumbleweeds.” But to his
pleasant surprise, he found that the Autry had a real appetite for telling the
whole story of the conquest and settlement of the American West in all its
bloody complications and from all perspectives, including Native Americans’.
So this
actor, director, and theatre professor, a member of Oklahoma’s Choctaw nation
who’d started Native Voices a few years before at Illinois State, relocated the
program to L.A., where the Native population, the nation’s second-highest,
numbers more than 50,000, and film and TV opportunities have attracted many of
the nation’s Native actors and writers.
Native
Voices has since found not only a local audience for their work but a national
one: Their roster now includes more than 34 full productions, 20 tours, 23
new-play festivals, and 13 playwrights’ retreats. The impact of their training
and nurturing generations of Native talent is harder to measure, but it has
clearly paid dividends in both the quantity and quality of artists now working
at all levels throughout the American theatre, from Oregon Shakespeare
Festival, where Off the Rails, Reinholz’s own Native-themed riff
on Measure for Measure, played last year, to
Alaska’s Perseverance Theatre, where Reinholz recently directed the
premiere of Lucas Rowley’s dark comedy William, Inc.
I spoke
to Reinholz recently about the slow but sure rise of Native theatre and the
challenges.
ROB
WEINERT-KENDT: One reason we decided to do a special issue on Native
American theatre is that this seems to be a moment of raised or renewed
consciousness about Native artists and themes, both at culturally specific
institutions and at historically white theatres. But obviously this is not new
to you.
RANDY
REINHOLZ: Right.
Actually this is what our plan was: to make a path for Native people into the
professional theatre. It took longer than we thought, and we’re glad to see it
happen. As you know, theatre’s so collaborative, and obviously it takes money,
but it also takes a building, a space, a staff to make it happen. And as we
started trying to move our storefront ideas into proper theatre spaces—that
just took longer than most of us expected.
In
addition to the influence of your organization, why do you think this wave of
Native work is cresting now?
I think
it’s generational. Certainly Spiderwoman, Hanay Geiogamah, Tomson Highway,
Bill Yellow Robe were a generation before, and they were allowed in the back
door of the theatre occasionally. But Native Americans were mostly told, “You
can’t act because there aren’t plays by Native Americans, and you can’t write
because there are no Native actors.” So there was a prejudice, and a
self-fulfilling prophecy by well-resourced theatre institutions, that Native
Americans simply weren’t part of the discussion or part of the reflection.
I’m a
first-generation college student in my family. I think higher education was
accessible for a number of folks, and it seems that theatre wants people with
those credentials, particularly in administrative positions, working within the
system. I had the privileged position of being at a university, so I had health
insurance and a salary. A number of us had institutional positions where we
were the one Native person who somehow broke the mold. Then we made space for
this new generation, and you have a number of artists in their 20s, 30s, and
40s who are really making some noise now.
And I
think theatres were embarrassed. I remember at the TCG National
Conference in San Diego [2014], it was the first time that there were spaces
identified as safe affinity spaces for black, Latino, Asian. And there were
also a large number of Native Americans there, about 8 or 10, and at about the
third meeting where people were talking about what was going on, I said, “You
have to come up with a phrase where you mention there are Native people in the
audience, because even people of color are erasing us.” I think that was a
consciousness-raising moment for the people of color in TCG.
How
did Native Voices get started, and how did it end up at a Western heritage
museum named for a Hollywood cowboy?
First
of all, something that would be interesting to put somewhere in your article,
is that our papers are archived now at the Autry, and we’re looking to make
them available digitally. Our hope is that we can make readily known the
strategies we employed, the kinds of funders we had, and how our evolution
progressed, so that the next generation of companies can happen faster. We need
these companies geographically spread throughout the country.
So I
was a professor at Illinois State, and they liked a Moliere play I directed, so
they asked me to direct a contemporary play from my culture. I didn’t know of
any Native scripts; I’d always wanted to work on Native plays, I just didn’t
know any. We met Bill Yellow Robe and we learned of Native Earth in
Toronto, a company founded by Tomson Highway and Larry Lewis. We went up to see
their staged readings, met Drew Hayden Taylor, who was the artistic director at
that time and is a wonderful playwright. He shared some of his favorite plays.
And we met Joseph Dandurand and Marie Clements—she’s a Governor’s General Award
winner in Canada. [The Governor General’s Awards are a collection of annual awards presented by the Governor General of Canada, recognizing distinction in numerous academic, artistic, and social fields. ~Rick] They became our first cohort, and we brought them to Illinois
State in 1993 to see if a predominantly white institution could adequately
serve Native playwrights and mount a Native play. From that we learned that we
had Native students, and people who had been disenfranchised within their own
program. It was my second year at Illinois State.
We had
this gathering called Native Voices. We read the plays, and saw how they fit on
our students. We found a play we could produce, and we did the same thing again
the following year, ’94 and ’95. From that work, we started meeting some other
people who were working in Native communities. We were actors in Los Angeles,
so we used to return there each summer, and we went over to the Autry to say
hello. They were anxious for us to look at some of their exhibitions and
galleries from a Native perspective. You know, it’s very difficult to look at
Western history, particularly 30 years ago, with a Native lens, because it was
mostly about conquest and colonization. We were a little embarrassed, wondering
how we would say anything to the Autry—but it turned out they actually wanted
to have a difficult conversation and to bring their own institution into the
21st century. We soon realized that one of the best things we could do would be
to put Native people in charge of their own stories on stages, with examples of
the issues in Native communities in Indian country and in America. We started
in 1999 with Marie Clements’s one-woman show, Urban Tattoo.
So the
Autry had an appetite for tough stories, and we found an audience in Los
Angeles that also was interested in that. Our audiences tend to be about 30 to
40 percent Native, depending on the year. Then there’s also a theatre community
in Los Angeles that is mostly denigrated and marginalized by the East Coast, it
seems, and they were anxious to be part of another voice being enfranchised.
So here
we are 20 years later, making space for Native people to be the center of a
play, at a time when Native people have mostly stood to the side and said “yes”
and “no” as actors. As they got the chance to play leads in stories that
resonated from their own cultures, you started seeing a lot more Native people
showing up in theatre and on television, so that when Oregon Shakespeare Festival
went to cast my play Off the Rails a few years ago, they were
confident they could find the actors. Actors Equity let them know there were 39
Equity members that had Native American heritage in the United States, and they
were shocked. There are a lot more in the Screen Actors Guild, because
television is hiring Native people. That paradigm is moving now. People are
starting to feel less like outsiders in that conversation, and thinking, “I
could do something.”
It
does seem that if you’re doing a play anywhere in the U.S. that requires Native
actors, you need to go to L.A. and talk to Native Voices. It reminded me of
that way East West Players started both as a theatre company to stage
their own work but also as a talent database for Asian-Pacific Islanders. Have
you compared notes or talked shop with other culturally specific theatres or
theatres of color?
Yeah,
we get together and talk a lot: East West Players, Latino Theatre
Company, Robey Theatre Company. Tim Dang of East West chaired a
board for the L.A. Arts and Culture Commission for the county, and we met for
two years to talk about what we could do to better represent the populations in
the county. Maybe because our population is large in this region, we kind of
merit a demographic consideration, a political consideration, that other parts
of the country feel comfortable ignoring. But I think as the country starts to
come to grips with our love for violence and the taking of things, we will
start to think more about what happened in Native communities, and perhaps have
some interest in that part of our history. We’ve been so excited about erasing
that part of our history as a country.
So,
yes, we have benefited so much from speaking with and working strategically
with other communities. But Native Americans are different, in that this was
once Indian land.
Whenever
we write about theatre work among communities that have been marginalized that
are now getting their story told in some way, we think about three components:
their stories being told at all; members of that community getting the
opportunity to write and perform the work; and finally theatres developing
longterm audiences among that community. It sounds to me like all those
components were part of your strategic thinking.
Also,
you provide training for people at each of those levels. That’s been a big part
of Native Voices. So at times we’ve provided acting classes. We certainly have
always provided playwriting opportunities and places to make work. We’ve had
some ensemble and group creative work. Each of those phases are things that
normal theatre artists just expect to encounter, probably through their theatre
training or a multitude of professional experiences where they get those
opportunities. And Native artists—again, when you relegate everyone to “yes
sir,” “no sir,” “that way,” “this way” lines, you sort of guarantee they’ll
never be brought into the process.
So
that’s been the strategy: to get the artists in position to deliver the work,
so when they’re seen by the greater professional community, they hold up. They
look like they belong. They don’t look like an anomaly, or it’s charity work,
or at an Indian request.
The
play you just directed at Perseverance, William, Inc. [Jan.-Feb. 2018], sounds
pretty wild. Tell me about it.
Well,
we’ve been working in Alaska since 2010. My wife’s family has been there since
the ’70s, going back and forth. That particular play is so specifically
Alaskan. Native people are organized as corporations in Alaska, not as tribes,
by the U.S. government. Of course, that has all the advantages and shortfalls
of any government that focuses on the bottom line in its attempt to serve
people. And so the writer took that set of given circumstances and turned it
into this sort of absurd look at what it means to be Native in Alaska—dealing
with substance abuse, sexual abuse, violence. It’s incredibly funny, but you
sort of have to be deeply aware of Alaskan issues for the jokes to land. In
Alaska, it’s hysterical, but I don’t see it playing too much in the lower 48.
What
struck me is that it doesn’t sound at all like a dutiful historical drama, and
that some of the writing that’s emerging from Native artists seems to
genre-bending, time-hopping, meta-theatrical, playing with the form in ways
we’re familiar with now in the age of Branden
Jacobs-Jenkins and Young Jean Lee. Is that a trend you’re seeing too?
I
totally see where that view comes to you with this particular set of 2017-18
plays. Perhaps my longer view is, after the intentional stifling of Native voices
in American culture, the first thing the group does when they get their voice
back is talk about the oppression. So for the first decade in the States, and
certainly the first 20 years in Canada, Native theatre was all about this
systematized effort to oppress and colonize. Also, any Native play that aspires
to reach beyond a Native audience has to deal with the fact that the audience
doesn’t know much about Native people, is filled with intentional
misinformation about Native people.
But
that’s sort of the first play a playwright writes: They write from their own
experience. You start to hear about families, and then from families, you start
to hear other kinds of issues. And we have a group of theatre artists now
writing their 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th play, and they’ve got other things to talk
about.
Off
the Rails was
30 percent Shakespeare and 70 percent invention, and it’s all about the
boarding school system. It’s a piece of history, but we realized we couldn’t
approach that piece of history from a realistic standpoint, because how do you
stage cultural genocide? Atrocity is pretty tough to put on a stage, and ask
anybody to stay. So we looked at comedy.
Maybe
another way to ask a similar question is to ask not whether Native theatre
artists are developing plays that bend or break the dominant Western forms, but
what have Native artists brought to the form from their own cultures? Is there
a Native aesthetic?
Yeah, a
couple things. Diane Glancy, one of our more accomplished Native playwrights,
talks about how Native plays will always have reciprocity. And part of that is:
I tell a story, which makes you think of your story, which shakes loose her
story. And then when she tells me her story in return, I really start to
understand my story, new and deeper. Native stories by and large are just
retelling old stories with a teaching piece meant for cultural wisdom. So
that’s a big hallmark of Native plays. Often they’re more interesting after
you’ve heard them and thought about them a few times.
Another
thing that happens, not in all Native plays, but in a lot of Native plays—there
are a lot of spirits onstage. There are a lot of other people, from other
worlds. A play like Mary Kathryn Nagle’s Sovereignty [see Article 3, 30 March], you might say
it ping-pongs back and forth between the present and the past. But a Native way
of looking at that might be that those are just spirits that augment the
contemporary story, and you can’t really understand the contemporary story
unless you know this information that the spirits are bringing.
I would
say, too, that music is interpreted differently. There’s almost always music
and dance in Native plays. And the music has different meanings based on how
well you know it. It’s easy to make a parallel with Western cultures in terms
of ideas of faith: If you come from a system of faith, there are certain songs
that come from that tradition that have different meaning to people who come
from that faith than people who are outsiders to that faith. And Native songs,
vocables often, have absolute meaning to people from those traditions, even
though it’s not concrete language.
There
are certain pieces of Native songs that are shared well across tribal
identities. Still, you know, we have over 500 tribes in the country, with
distinct languages, traditions, and cultures. How do we cross those boundaries?
In some ways, I hope that’s what Native theatre brings to the country: the
answers to the problems we’re facing as a country. How do we move beyond the
isolationism that’s in vogue at the moment into bigger conversations with the
rest of the people we should be in conversations with?
So
things are looking up for Native artists and theatres, and you’ve accomplished
a lot in the decades Native Voices has been around. What challenges do you see
ahead for Native theatre?
What
comes up in the TCG conversations about equity, diversity, and inclusion is,
what’s a healthy ecosystem for Americans and American theatre? I think there
has to be a way of continuing to support emerging Native voices as Native
identity continues to evolve, and the idea of what it means to be Native
American is not always influenced by suicide, addiction, violence, degradation.
What are the other pieces of what it means to be Native American? And then, how
are those voices supported and nurtured so that they belong to an American
theatre that is not relegated to the storefronts and the emerging artists,
never to be part of the professional system?
One
exciting thing that happened after Off the Rails is that there
are now nine, maybe 10, Native actors in the company at Oregon Shakes this
season, and Mary Kathryn’s play there now, Manahatta,only has six
Native roles. So those actors are part of the company now. They’re not just
there to do this narrow set of Native roles. And that was super intentional on
OSF’s part. You know, not every American theatre needs to follow that. They all
have their own communities to serve and axes to grind. So where would be some
places we could fit in? You know, William, Inc. is the third
play written by a Native, directed by a Native, with a predominantly Native
cast at Perseverance, and they’ve got another one on the books for next season
and two more in the pipeline.
Who
else is gonna do that work? Where does it belong? And how are we not going to
put all the marginalized voices in competition for a few dollars? What does the
industry want and need, and how can it benefit from these diverse voices? And
what are the revenue streams?
These
are all the questions on your mind at Native Voices.
Certainly.
My wife and I, Jean Bruce Scott, are the co-founders, and next year will be our
20th anniversary in Los Angeles, and our 25th altogether. And if everything
goes according to schedule, we’ll announce the new leadership of Native Voices
in the next generation. So what does that mean, what does it become, and then
how does that fit into a greater whole? You don’t need a beacon of hope. That
might be a good sales pitch, but it’s a terrible way to make theatre. We need
to have an ecosystem. And how do we fit with the East West Players,
Latino Theater Company, Robey Theater Company?
And,
though we often look to the large organizations, maybe there are coalitions in
midsize professional companies. Maybe that’s part of the answer, rather than
constantly looking to LORT theatres for everything. It seems LORT theatres are
exhausted from trying to serve all these constituencies.
[Rob Weinert-Kendt
is editor-in-chief of American Theatre. He was the founding editor-in-chief of Back Stage West and writes about theater for the New York Times, Time Out New York, and the Los Angeles
Times. He studied film at USC and is a composer
member of the BMI Lehman Engel Musical Theater Workshop.
[The next article in AT’s “Staging Our Native Nation” series will
be posted on 5 April. A list of Native
American theaters and resources and the names of more than 100 living Native
American writers and theatermakers will be posted after the final installment
of this series. The AT series, including those articles that
appear in the print edition of the magazine, are available on the TCG website,
accessible from https://www.americantheatre.org/category/special-section/native-american-theatre/.]
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