The Washington Post - USA (2020-10-20)

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 20 , 2020. THE WASHINGTON POST EZ SU C3

about in this country?’ ” The experience of collectively contemplating the impact of an election can be moving, and agonizing, Rohd says. Four years ago, he staged an eight-hour election-night version of “The Race” at Arizona State Univer- sity, where he teaches civic practice and theater. Bulletins from CNN appeared on a jumbotron, and the participants watched as the early indications of a victory by Hillary Clinton shifted to

ever-clearer signs of Donald Trump’s win. For Clinton parti- sans, Rohd recalls, the event took on a searing, stunning sense of what in a democracy could go wrong. On this occasion, Goldman observes, the tenor of the conversation is apt to be wildly different from it was in 2008, when the country was on the verge of selecting its first Black president. The mood was predominantly one of hope back then; this time,

BY PETER MARKS

“What’s keeping me sane is not
winning debates,” Michael Rohd
says. “It’s imagining futures.”
Which is why “The Race” is
back. The brainchild of Phoenix-
based Rohd and his Sojourn
Theatre, this exercise in civic
theater made its debut at
Georgetown University a dozen
years ago, on the eve of another
catch-your-breath election. On
Tuesday at 5 p.m., it opens its
virtual doors for free through the
auspices of Georgetown’s Labo-
ratory for Global Performance
and Politics for 90 minutes of
scripted and spontaneous com-
mentary with an online audi-
ence. Not to replicate what’s on
cable news, but to help to define,
through theater, what democra-
cy means today.
“In 2008, the conversation of
‘The Race’ was about what a
leader looks like,” says Derek
Goldman, the lab’s co-director
and chairman of performing arts
at Georgetown. “Almost by defi-
nition this time, this moment is
about the system, and who it
serves.”
More than a decade ago, “The

Race” was in the vanguard of an effort by theater makers to en- gage audiences collaboratively in discourse on issues of the day. The practice has become far more prevalent: Witness the Broadway success of “What the Constitution Means to Me,” in which Heidi Schreck invites the audience to vote nightly on the results of a debate on the docu- ment between her and a teenage student. (It’s now on Amazon Prime, in a filmed version direct- ed splendidly by Marielle Hell- er.) “The Race” in 2008 — and in some iterations around the country in subsequent election cycles — gathered spectators in thea- ters to explore their views of participatory democracy, partly through improvisatory skits: One feature was “Presidential Speech Karaoke,” in which audience members volunteered to stand and read portions aloud of actual candidate speeches off teleprompters. Initially, the plan was to revive the in-person format for the new Georgetown version, but covid-19 scuttled that proposal, as it has hundreds of other live theater events.

The fallback is this online version, in which five actors from the original production, who were Georgetown undergradu- ates in 2008, plus eight current students, lead viewers through some dramatized playlets. It’s all in service of prompting civil dialogue. “This is an adaptive vision to sort of say, ‘What can we do that is meaningful in this moment to rekindle what made ‘The Race 2008 ’ exciting?” Gold- man says. Rohd adds: “The goal of the show is for people to be open to having a conversation about things they may disagree on publicly.” Another element will incorpo- rate remote contributions from six of the lab’s international theater fellows — from Vietnam, South Africa, Mexico and other places — to generate talk about a subject Americans rarely consider: how the rest of the world sees the race for the presidency. “I got to spend three hours talking with them,” Rohd says of the fellows, who will lead groups of the audience in virtual breakout- room discussions. “I asked: ‘As folks not living in the U.S., what do you wish we were thinking

it would be fair to assume that those who enter “The Race” will be in a far more worried state about the fate of American democracy. (Some 130 theatergoers will have the ability in the Zoom webinar format to participate directly in the discussions; all others signing up will be able to simply watch.) T he means by which voters communicate have changed a lot since 2008, certainly in terms of the prevalence and power of social media. Rohd argues, though, that platforms such as Facebook and Twitter have not supplanted theater as the most dynamic method of sharing sto- ries and expanding minds. “I think you’d be hard pressed to find people who say they collabo- rate and imagine through social media,” Rohd says. “We don’t have enough civic spaces in this nation in this moment — and haven’t for a long time — where we can gather and imagine together.” [email protected]

The Race, presented by Sojourn Theater and Georgetown University’s Laboratory for Global Performance and Politics. Tuesday at 5 p.m. Admission is free. https://bit.ly/ 2FGdf7Q

CRITIC’S NOTEBOOK

‘The Race’ wants voters to weigh in

JONATHAN ERNST FOR THE WASHINGTON POST Amelia Powell performs in the 2008 interactive play “The Race,” which is being reprised in time for the 2020 election.

professional settings punctuate the text. These accounts are weighted by data on the effects of racism on women of color, from Georgetown University research on racial perceptions to the Indi- an Law Resource Center’s find- ings on the rates of violence inflicted upon Native women. “White Tears/Brown Scars” is a stunning and thorough look at White womanhood that should be required reading for anyone who claims to be an intersection- al feminist. Hamad’s controlled urgency makes the book an illu- minating and poignant read. Yet, she would balk at being called ahead of her time. Of forward- thinkers, Hamad writes, “It’s not merely that we are behind them, it’s that we all too often resent those bold thinkers for what they tell us about our society and ourselves.” Hamad is a purveyor of such bold thinking, the only question is, are we ready to listen? [email protected]

Rosa Boshier is a writer and artist whose work has appeared in Los Angeles Review of Books, the Guardian and Vice, among other publications.

From colonialism to the elec-
tion of Donald Trump, Hamad
takes a closer look at how White
women’s performance of victim-
hood keeps White male patriar-
chy in place. “It is true to say
white women were subordinated
in settler-colonial society,”
Hamad writes. “It is not true to
say they were bystanders to the
colonial enterprise, and it is cer-
tainly not accurate to imply they
were victims of comparable
standing to the colonized popula-
tions.” The “protection” of White
women has been the selling point
for atrocities perpetrated by
White men, from lynchings to
refusing asylum seekers. As the
literal bearers of White society,
White women were tasked with
ideal womanhood. Therefore,
their protection, and the subse-
quent continuation of white su-
premacy, are part of the same
equation. Hamad asserts that by
“keeping this false image of im-
peccable white Womanhood
alive, white masculinity was ab-

BOOK WORLD FROM C1 solved of its terrible crimes and
black sexuality could be demon-
ized and mythologized.”
Hamad, who lives in Australia,
offers a global perspective as she
deftly renders the reach of this
“maternal colonialism.” White
women’s “care” and commitment
to Western notions of civility
helmed the mass removal of
Indigenous children from their
communities in Australia and
North America from 1880 to

They lobbied for school
segregation, eugenics and the
creation of a women’s KKK chap-
ter as active warriors for the
continued institutionalization of
White supremacy.
Hamad is concerned with how
this imbalance of power affects
feminism. She argues that the
feminist movement can never be
equal if the complexity of women
of colors’ experiences are not
acknowledged. She points out
that Aboriginal women, who are
2 percent of the total Australian
population, make up 34 percent
of the female prison population.
Native women in Canada have

alleged forced sterilization up until 2019. Hamad calls upon “feminists who prioritize the concerns of white, middle-class women as though they are repre- sentative of all women” to recog- nize their myopic view of womanhood. She claims that beyond clueless, this fallacy of a univer- sal feminism is also toxic, citing writer Audre Lorde’s definition of tokenization: “an empty ges- ture designed to placate and even silence our demands for more equitable treatment.” In both public and personal life, Hamad follows the progres- sion from the White damsel in distress trope — a strategically wielded innocence — to the damsel in defense: that quick escalation of defensiveness when White domination is threatened. Obvious recent ex- amples include Amy Cooper, who hysterically called the po- lice on Black birdwatcher Chris- tian Cooper, and “BBQ Becky,” a White woman in Oakland, Calif., who feigned tears after alerting authorities about a Black family

White women’s tears of complicity

allegedly grilling in an undesig- nated area. Hamad points out that White women’s tears do not work when White men are the culprits. She points to the confirmation of Brett M. Kavanaugh to the U.S. Supreme Court as evidence. De- spite Christine Blasey Ford’s tearful recollection of Ka- vanaugh’s alleged sexual assault, he was sworn in.

The referential nature of the collection is a testament to Hamad’s commitment to com- munity. In some instances the book reads more like an oral history. Hamad’s conversations with scholars, journalists, hu- manitarian employees and other professional women of color about their experiences with White women’s defensiveness and gaslighting in personal and

HENRY EVERINGHAM “White Tears/Brown Scars” author Ruby Hamad.

“It’s like you just want to shake
them. What’s wrong with you? Do
you not see what’s happening
here?” says Trish Collins, a 54-
year-old nurse and Biden voter
from Unionville, Conn. “The size
of the rock that you have to be
living under to not know what’s
going on in this country right now.
I mean, there are no rocks that
big.”
Brandon Straka, a Trump sup-
porter and founder of #WalkAway,
a group aimed at getting Demo-
crats to vote Trump, attributes
undecided voters’ ambivalence to
the mainstream media. “If people
actually knew the truth, there
would be no question,” he says.
Tim Michaels, 50, a consultant
in Portland, Ore., blames it on
stubbornness — particularly
among Bernie Sanders supporters
who refuse to commit to Biden.
“They’re trying to pretend as
though they’re deliberative rather
than idiots,” Michaels says.
Eden Dranger is a 33-year-old
television writer and Biden voter
in Los Angeles. “I feel that unde-
cided voters are out of touch with
what is at stake,” she says. She
recently tweeted: “If you ever feel
stupid, just remember that there’s
still undecided voters.”
Was it always this way?
Not necessarily. You might re-
call Ken Bone, a mustached man
in a red Izod sweater. The unde-
cided Bone appeared at a town
hall debate between Trump and
Hillary Clinton, asking a question
about energy policy, and charmed
viewers with his gentle, genial
presence. He became an unlikely
folk hero. People wrote him songs
and dressed as him for Halloween.
(One company put together a
“Sexy Ken Bone” costume.) Bobby
Moynihan played him on “Satur-
day Night Live.”
After Bone reemerged recently
in a Newsweek article (undecided,
once again!), Ryan Zaharako, a
42-year-old marketing copywriter
and Biden supporter in Phoenix,
tweeted that Bone and other un-
decideds are “a special kind of
moron.” It got more than 11,000
likes. Zaharako told The Washing-
ton Post he feels a little bad about

UNDECIDED FROM C1

the mean tweet, but given the life-or-death stakes he sees in this election for many people — especially people of color and immi- grants — he thinks a harsh tone is justified. Frank Luntz thinks undecided voters are just convenient scape- goats, especially for nervous liber- als looking for someplace to put their overflowing vitriol toward the president. Luntz, a Republi- can political consultant, knows the Undecideds better than anyone. He runs focus groups with undecided voters, soliciting their reactions after presidential debates. And, like a passenger on Se- daris’s proverbial plane, “All I get is s---,” he says. From critics, that is, who think his panelists are full of it. Luntz thinks that’s an unfortunate sign

of the times. “One of the problems in Ameri- ca is that we used to celebrate those who weigh all the issues, who weigh all the attributes, and make a careful and informed decision,” he says. Now, “we condemn them because they haven’t joined us in our declaration of who we support.”

I

s that what the Undecideds have been doing? Carefully weighing the issues, all the way down to the wire? Greg Shugar, 47, of Boca Raton, Fla., says the undecided people he knows think of themselves as apolitical. They’re not waiting on answers to policy questions. “If you are curious about what’s going on,” Shugar says, “you are not undecided.” As for the Undecideds he sees at the televised town halls, Shugar

doesn’t believe they’re actually undecided. And it’s true that some undecided voters are more decid- ed than they let on. The conservative Washington Free Beacon re- ported last week that an audience of supposed Undecideds at an NBC town hall had previously de- clared support for Biden on MSNBC. And Luntz himself recently called out a member of his focus group who seemed heavily pro-Trump. “I don’t believe that it’s possible that you could vote for Joe Biden, even though you said it in the screener,” Luntz told her during the Zoom session. “I’m going to challenge you right now. I don’t think you were honest in your application to come into this focus group.... Y ou’ve got to be honest because it makes people like me look bad, and it makes the polling

profession look bad.” According to the polling profession, undecided voters constitute 2 to 8 percent of the electorate this year, depending on who’s doing the polling. That’s much less than in 2016, when the Undecideds were 13 percent of the voting public by November. So yes, they do exist. And some think Decideds should consider being a bit more diplomatic. “The more attacking I feel from one side, it pushes me away from that candidate,” says Samantha Thomas, 32, of Cape May, N.J. “Sway me, and do it kindly. You catch more flies with honey.” Kurt Malz, 61, says people “can- not believe that I’m undecided, and it pisses me off.” A boat sales- man in Tampa, Malz voted for Trump in 2016 but has been turned off by his temperament

over the past four years. But he distrusts Biden, “a career politi- cian.” He consumes media on the left and right, has voted for Demo- crats and Republicans — he even voted for Ralph Nader in 2000, in Florida (no regrets). “ I believe that I’m intelligent enough,” he says. “I’m asking a lot of questions. There’s a lot of things I don’t like. And I ’ve not gotten that aha moment, you know?” Jon, a 38-year-old from North Carolina in Luntz’s focus group, requested that only his first name be used, because he runs a company with his family name in it and feared harassment. He works in a conservative industry but has lib- eral friends. He has experienced such animosity from both sides that he avoids telling people he is undecided. “At least if you pick one side, you’re with roughly half the population,” he says. “But if you sit in the middle, then everybody’s mad.” “It is like needing to go to the bathroom and your choices are the men’s bathroom or the women’s,” Jon says. “You can’t just stand there and go in your pants.” Indeed, decisions will be made. But Undecideds might not be the decisive factor. When there are fewer undecided voters, it can reduce the chance of a last-minute surprise. When campaigns have fewer people to persuade, they can focus on their base instead. The winning side might not be the one that sways more Undecideds but the one that gets their Decideds to the polls, says Lee Miringoff, director of the Marist College Institute for Public Opinion. “There’s a greater incentive for campaigns to just move on and find other groups of people who are already supportive of them,” Miringoff says. In any case, Undecideds still have a couple more weeks. Ameri- ca’s most famous undecided voter has made his decision: Bone has announced he will be voting for Libertarian Party candidate Jo Jorgensen, making him the most hated kind of voter of all: a third- party voter. [email protected]

What unites the nation today? Disdain for the Undecideds.

JIM BOURG/AGENCE FRANCE-PRESSE/GETTY IMAGES Genial, red-sweatered undecided voter Ken Bone got his 15 minutes of fame at a 2016 town hall debate in St. Louis when he asked Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump about their energy policies. It was a simpler time: In 2020, it would be 15 minutes of infamy.

The Washington Post - USA (2020-10-20)

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