Small Strokes Big Oaks

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I have written before about The Laramie Project.  Please take a few seconds to read that post – especially the comments – before reading this one.

This Valentine’s Day, I was fortunate enough to see a former student in a production of The Laramie Project.  It was, quite honestly, one of the most wonderful moments of my life.  As a teacher, you always know that you’re doing important and meaningful things, but it is not often that you get to see just how important and meaningful these events really were.

I was accompanied to this show by Tim, who had never seen the play even after as much as I talked about it, and another former student, Mike, who was also cast in our production of the play before it was canceled.  We were able to have a late lunch with Mike and Collin (the student who was in this production of the play) and we reminisced a bit about the show and about what it meant to them to hear that it was canceled.  I knew it upset them, but I don’t know if I ever knew the extent to which it upset them.  And I don’t think I let on to them how much it upset me.

When the show was canceled, that night and for about three days afterward, I had to sleep on my couch with the TV on so I would have something to concentrate on besides the thoughts running through my head.  I was so sad and felt so helpless.  Here I was, trying to make a difference in these students’ lives, and instead I had just opened them up to the heartbreak and rejection they must have felt.  I felt responsible for it, because I was the one that brought up the idea of this production, knowing full well it may be canceled at any time.

And the worst part about it?  I did nothing.  I didn’t fight the decision.  I tried to tell myself that I couldn’t fight it for a few reasons: 1) I promised those kids a play, and they had seen enough productions canceled during their high school years for one reason or another, so I had an obligation to put on the show.  I asked the students if they wanted to drop out after it was canceled, and none of them did, so we found a new play and moved forward.  2) Quite frankly, I needed the stipend I received for the drama program.  3) I knew I was leaving the school at the end of that year (although the kids did not know that until much later) and, as a second year, non-tenured teacher looking for a new job, I didn’t want to burn any bridges by causing a big stink about it.  But I feel guilty about that a lot.  Here I am, touting myself as an activist, and what did I do?  Nothing.  I pushed forward and did the best I could with my time left at the school, but said nothing about the show until much later.

It didn’t even make any sense that they canceled the play in the first place, and I could have fought it, and fought it well.  The play isn’t really about a gay man; that is simply the backdrop for the event of the murder.  Even Matthew Shepard’s murder is just a backdrop for the townspeople’s feelings.  To quote Mike from yesterday: “The play isn’t even about being gay!  It is about how it’s not OK to beat the [crap] out of someone and leave them alone to die.”  And it really is about that.  About how it’s not OK to hate, and how hate this severe is often ignored until it manifests itself in a violent way like this, and what that hate and its violent manifestation can do to an entire town, an entire nation.  An entire world.  The backdrop to this play could have just as easily been any violent tragedy spurred on by hate.

And, most importantly, the play ends with hope – something on which we must focus if we are going to see any changes made.  Just before the end of the play, Dennis Shepard gives a statement at the trial of Aaron McKinney, saying he will not seek the death penalty in this case, and describing to the audience that Matthew was not alone out there.  He had the beautiful Wyoming countryside and the stars and the moon and the beautiful night sky and the wind and God.

In the face of this terrible tragedy, we see hope.  And, as I saw Collin deliver the last lines of this play, I thought: Maybe in the face of what must have been a tragedy for these students is hope, too.  Maybe they will see changes in their lifetime, and maybe they will be agents of those changes because of their experiences.  And maybe this time, I can help them.

I certainly hope so.

From the program