I guess it’s because I grew up in a very “white” background. Or that I fit the “W.A.S.P” niche of Americans perfectly. I can probably count on my fingers the number of culturally, religiously, and sexually diverse people that I knew. I went to Catholic schools, too. Not to throw any dirt in Catholic education’s direction, but it doesn’t usually attract much diversity. My parents were typical suburban hermits, the kind that poked their eyes through the blinds and gawked at the new “blacks” that had dared to move into their neighborhood and threaten their small, sheltered lives. My friends were just like me, blindly swallowing the injustices that our parents had force fed us without ever questioning why. All of us had never had any contact with the outside world, so why should we think about things that would never affect us?

So anyway, I was a bigot. I was completely oblivious to my own harsh feelings on different people, simply because I had never had to confront them. Being oblivious, however, is no excuse, and does not change the fact that I never had any desire to associate with people who were not exactly as I was.

Politics were nothing but a game to me. Whenever politics had begun to become an important issue with our parents, my friends and I would pretend to care in the most horrible way. We would simply mimic whatever our parents had told us that particular morning, amidst angry brown coffee stains on oppressed ivory newspapers, no matter how inflammatory our words would be. We’d call for the demise of liberal tendencies and all whom they represented with smiles on our faces, as if it were some hilarious joke. No one would ever question us, of course, because they all agreed with us. We’d turn down any and all independent thought in favor of mindless conformity. This lack of effort on our parts was the result of my youthful mental decay and political inactivity.

It was not until my high school years, unfortunately, until I began to shake the cobwebs off of my mind and expand my realm of comfort to include the rest of the outside world. I had went to a diversity youth camp, simply looking to fill my hypocritical, mandatory, high school service hours with apathy. What I found, however, were all of those people whom I had only read about: Those “blacks,” “Muslims,” and “gays” that were the stuff of legend. I was shocked to learn that each of these people was just like me, contrary to all of the stereotypes which had been reaffirmed by countless adults in my life up until that moment. I aged more in that week of camp than I had my entire life.

Kyle was the first homosexual that I had ever met in my life, though I didn’t know it. We had spent the entire week in the thralls of friendship, having an absolutely wonderful time together. As my cabin counselor, an adult, and an overall human being, I completely idolized Kyle, and still do to this day. At the end of the week, in one of our various conversations, the topic of sexual preference came up. It was at this time that I learned of Kyle’s homosexuality, to my absolute horror. I asked myself, “How could someone who had been such an exemplary person to me be so different?” What resulted was a breaking of glass, a melting of ice, and the glorious rebirth of my once vibrant mind. I came to the conclusion that maybe I had been led astray, and all of the stereotypes which had been beat into my head all of my life simply held no water to reality.

As is usual with situations of change, reality sought to intrude on my revelation. As I went home, I told my parents of my ordeal. Their response to discovering that my cabin counselor was gay was to frantically ask me, “My God, are you alright? Did he touch you?” Half scoffing, half laughing, I walked away from my parents at this statement, both literally and figuratively. This was my first crisis in ideals with my environment, but it only inspired me to change my environment for the better.It certainly would not be my last.

With Kyle’s shining example constantly in mind, I then tried to establish a diversity club at my Catholic high school. While my school was completely lacking in diversity, my goal was to establish awareness within my surroundings. This was, as expected, an extremely daunting task within my high school environment. Many of the school’s faculty had ridiculed me for such an idea, though it had only spurred me on to work harder towards the club’s inception. After much hardship, I established my club and began to enrich the singular environment from which I was spawned.

As I began to think for myself more and more, my political views began to carry over into the lives of those whom I cherish. After much chiding, I had eliminated my parents’ use of racial, sexual, and religious slurs. I began to surround myself with people who thought for themselves, regardless of their political or religious backgrounds. The diversity club took off, with fun and eye-opening activities for our members to interact with other students their age. I found as I began to mature in this way more into my own person, a great sense of fulfillment and inner peace gradually came to me, most likely the result of not being a political tool of oppression for others.

I then came to Albion college and was overwhelmed at the abundance of free thinkers and unique personalities that I then found myself surrounded with. I found it a thoroughly enriching environment to develop my own persona. As I met more people who had their own unique opinion on each issue, I eventually cast off my mask of hypocrisy and dove headfirst into the waters of the unknown. I was both anxious and excited to see where this new environment would take me. Only good things would come of this, I knew it.

My first and biggest accomplishment of my adult life, I believe, was my first voting experience. I had spent much time learning about each candidate and finding our which of their ideals I agreed with. After much deliberation, I selected my candidates and sent in my happy, content absentee voting ballot. On election night, as it was announced that my presidential candidate nomination had won, I felt a feeling of immense pride. I truly felt as if, at that moment in time, my adult life had finally begun. I truly started living as my own individual on that date, and my political identity will only continue to grow from there. My “stinger” has long since been left behind and I no longer blindly work for the “hive.” I only hope that, as I grow, my surroundings will grow with me.

Many people will avoid seeing a particular movie or enjoying a particular band simply because other people do. By doing so, they are shutting themselves off to the possibility of a truly great experience. The same is true of theater, but a bit more dangerously so. Theater, with its often profound theatrical insights, often is victim to the same unwarranted indifference. Incendiary theatrical messages are often despised by the general public, so these are usually the pieces that these “rogues” flock to. This is, however, not always the case. Often, very popular plays or musicals contain truly deep messages, and are accepted as such by the populace at large. The “indie theatergoer,” however, will have none of this, and turns away to some more underground theater. This is just as grave an oversight as it would be to look over the more incendiary piece, in my opinion.

My case-in-point, for lack of a better term, would be “Rent.” I find some of the political and artistic messages in Rent to be quite profound, despite the cheery appearance. Due to the incredible popularity of “Rent,” however, a formidable tide of disbelief and scorn has risen in its wake. Many people with whom I’ve spoken to about “Rent” dislike it, without knowing why. While the reasons may be entirely different, I believe that they’re simply being vain. I do not buy into the concept that a piece of theater should be despised simply because of its popularity, and I believe that such grounds of thinking defeat the purpose of art.

It is a very tempting idea to simply reject that which others enjoy with no real grounds to do so. The gains of such a gambit are purely selfish, I believe, and should be avoided at all costs. Being “different” doesn’t always equate to being “better.” In some cases, it can just mean “closed-minded.” Some things are respected and like, with the reason being that they simply deserve such treatment. So, please, think twice about why you dislike something: Is it really your opinion, or someone else’s?

The lack of any real motivation is true with any artist in any art form. After delivering their paralyzing speech, every “radical” must step off of his or her soap box and lend a hand with the rest of their peers. Plays like “Rent” raise this interesting question as homeless destitutes implore the “artists” of the performance to simply lend a dollar. The fact that artists can be satisfied with only talking is nothing short of vanity, and is a crime just as heinous as the injustice itself.

One of the most powerful aspects of Tim Miller’s Glory Box, in my opinion, was the fact that he had cited various ways to become involved in homosexual rights in his theater program. Ideas, contacts, and support were all offered to each and every member of the theater that night, something that few playwrights feel a need to do while supposedly fanning the flames of change. While talking and awareness are indeed important, these are not the sole elements of political change. One must stand up and do something about it.

It is the duty of the artist, just as it is the duty of the average human being (as most artists would prefer not to think of themselves as), to help solve the issues which they preach about. In the words of the immortalized Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, you must “be the change you wish to see in the world.” I myself am only active on the immediate level of change, participating often in community service for others. Perhaps one day an opportunity to make a societal change in my world will fall in my lap, and I hope to be ready and receptive to that opportunity when it comes. I believe that all people, artists included, should also do what they can now and search for any way to be involved in the future of their world.

When a person sets out to act, he or she has more than a character in mind. Obviously, from the outside, the person is merely emulating another figure for the audience. The actor, I believe, is more deeply relaying truth to the receptive audience. Each actor has a message that he or she wishes to deliver to the public, and in order to deliver this message each respective actor must become more than just a character: He or she must become an ideal. The point of acting, in my opinion, is to actively personify an idea in an effort to make this idea more accessible for the ignorant masses. A person can either become this idea solely by his- or herself, or this person can work with a whole cast of fellow actors who each contribute to the concept as a whole.

Obviously, not ever actor has personification in mind when he or she takes a job or chooses to take a particular role. Many actors, as is the case with any art form, are interested in acting solely for money or fame. These actors hunt for their jobs purely on the basis of these selfish aims, and submit any artistic ability that they might have had in the process. It is, in these cases, that the bland, uninspired actors which are the bane of every snooty theater reviewer come to surface and ruin any well-meaning performance. These actors have no interest in ideals or meaning, but simply an interest in themselves.

A good actor almost always has the uncanny ability to channel an idea and act as if he or she is a tangible representation of this idea. In my opinion, a good actor is not merely a person living out their vocation, but a medium who can channel in the underlying soul of the concept at hand. This mystic element is what makes an actor, in my opinion, and any good performance needs actors who do not lack this ability.

There are many different personal issues for art to try and tackle. One of the most repressed and silenced voices in modern-day patriarchal societies is that of the average woman. The many problems facing any given woman in America are as wide as sexuality, personal responsibility, political voice, and basic human rights. Many women, at some point in their lives, feel a clash between their femininity and their identity outside of gender. While many women seek to solve this problem through any specific method, a majority simply push the issue out of their heads and make the issue purely subliminal.

Political theater is the opposite of this phenomenon: Reaching deep into the subconscious mind, pulling out severe issues of importance, and throwing them into the laps of an audience. A frequently spoken mantra of feminism is that “the personal is political.” This statement certainly holds much water in today’s age of repression and mass social silence, and the objectives of political theater are to capture these corrupt “personal” sentiments  and turn them inside-out for examination, ridicule, and progression. Such is the goal of the Feminist Performance Artists and many other political playwrights througout theatrical history. Feminist performers dealt with, and still deal with, issues of maternal obligations, political voice, and the lack of female input vs. the sexual avarice of men. By bringing such issues to light, a purely personal issue becomes an issue for all to ponder. The chief problem with tackling issues of repression is that of recognition, and political theater is just the human, personal experience to create the necessary awareness and empathy to overcome.

My group met several times to create a skit revolving around the topic of torture policies in America. The group meetings were truly enjoyable, with our members bouncing ideas off of one another until a wholly fantastic script which we could all be proud of rose from the ashes. The three other members of my group are truly intelligent, agreeable individuals and I was never once upset or frustrated with the decisions that we made. We never took away or put down, but always were either refining or adding to our piece of drama. What resulted was a powerful emotional display which we could all dedicate ourselves to.

Our group set out with the intention of exposing American torture policies that did not “hold water” (drum on cymbal) and provoking fruitful discussion revolving around past, present, and future American torture tactics. In order to accomplish this goal, our group used direct parallels between the words of the U.S. government and their opposing actions as well as satirizing some of the dehumanization tactics that U.S. officials use to break down the human value of Iraqi POW’s.

Many of the most emotional parts of our piece, namely beating on faceless people then waterboarding them, were wholly inspired ideas of my group mates, and each greatly added to the emotional weight of our performance. I found our piece to be thought-provoking, inflammatory, and powerful; exactly the three traits that I would believe to be most important to a work of scathing politics such as ours. Our performance was certainly far from perfect, however,  and if we were to do our piece over again I would add a stronger finishing scene revolving around the Obama/Cheney interviews. I did find our finish to be the most dry point of our skit, though it was still vital to our success.

The living theater project confirmed for me how powerful the theater can be in exposing policital indecency and bringing about consequential change. I learned also that the drama of everyday life is often never considered; if actors never would portray life in a dramatic or satirical matter, then no one would ever see how truly preposterous their actions are.

Spongebob is an interesting cartoon character in the fact that he appeals to a wide audience. I, an adult of 18 years, still watch him frequently and quite enjoy myself. My parents like him as well, enjoying a few of the jokes aimed at adults, such as satirical depictions of parenting and the monotony of typical American jobs. Obviously the younger generation loves him and his nautical antics.

Interestingly enough, however, I have read several articles of how the homosexual community too relates with Spongebob and his intimate friendship with Patrick Star. Whether this is true or not is of no importance, but having a character who is related to by homosexual viewers is an extremely interesting trait for a children’s cartoon show to have. Even if not, in fact, homosexual in nature, role models who are open with their emotions enough to be themselves are in scarce supply, yet desperately needed.

This theme of originality is stressed heavily throughout the show, and I’ve always appreciated this message. Spongebob is frequently chided by his peers for being to0 cheery and child-like, yet he continues to behave this way rather than conform to the standards of Bikini Bottom. This is the only way that he wishes to live, and he refuses to bend to anyone else’s will. These traits are frequently seen in the strength of characters known to the theater, such as Jean Valjean or Hamlet.

A strong leading character is a valuable proponent of any play, for it creates empathy and participation, points stressed by Anne Bogart, for those who either relate to this protagonist or wish that they could. Most forms of media need a relatable main character with strong morals to get the creator’s intended message across to the perspective audience. An inspiring character can be found anywhere he or she is needed, even in a pineapple under the sea.

On the opposite end of the philosophical spectrum lies the media that seeks to drown the conscious mind of America in the unrealistic happiness of life. The Disney Chanel is the chief propagator of such media, with their rich, beautiful, carefree high schools and their cookie cutter child musicians. This face of the media caters to the same battered, beaten spirit of America and appeals to their desire for all that they dream of yet cannot obtain: Fame, fortune, and material success. Those who wish to forget about their troubles can immerse themselves in a fantasy world provided by multi-billion dollar corporations which know nothing of their financial plight.

These are all examples of the cascading effects of context in theater. A play about valiant war heroes or the joys of government is sure to fail in America’s current economic environment. Take an old play about the power of the people, however, such as “Les Miserables,” and I could forsee a very successful tour in America. Part of the goal of the theater is to perform not only to the mind of the audience, but the spirit. If the audience needs a “pick me up,” then they’ll go to see an uplifting show. If the audience has had enough of fantasy, they will seek out a play based in reality. The context of a play can greatly determine how the audience perceives it or how the actors portray the piece. Context can make all the difference in matters of theater selection, adaptation, and success.

Tolerance, I have come to realize, is simply a form of repression. A person who is tolerated is also a person who is hated. The only difference between hatred and tolerance is a matter of time and concidence. A person who is hated is sure to be discriminated against based on inhibitions based on stereotypes. The same is true of a tolerated being, however, as tolerance gives way to hatred. A person who “puts up with” another human being does not love them, and will seize the opportunity to turn to evil if given the chance. The end result is the same as hatred, but the reaction is delayed.

A majority of the world is satisfied with tolerating others in today’s age. While this is the wrong set of mind, I think, it may, however, be the gradual path to mutual love based on a worldwide recognition of humanity. Maybe this is all that the world is capable of at this time in history. One of my strongest views of the world is that of “social evolution.” What I mean by this is that older generations are the reason for discrimination. They hate, they teach their children to hate, and their children teach their children to hate. Eventually, the younger generation becomes aware of the same basic humanity that every individual posesses and passes this idea onto their children. I believe that with the death of the older generations, the world can progress to a future ruled by love, not by tolerance. As blunt as this may seem, history proves me to be generally correct in my assertion.

Frequently, tolerance is a word thrown around with happy feelings and comforting complacence. This is a skewed expression, in my opinion, underlying the reservations that belie such a statement. Their is no shade of gray, in this case. A person either hates with all of their being or loves, there is no other option. The movement of “tolerance” towards others is a moot one, and should be replaced by an active campaign of love. There is no other alternative. In order to save those who are tolerated today yet hated tomorrow, our humanity neeeds to shine and our love must rise above all.

Death, in a biological sense, is a cessation of vital functions and decomposition of organic bodily compounds. No one can live forever, and death is the method of rebirth and renewal on earth. Without death, the world would have been unlivable soon after its inception.

Depending on your beliefs, death can mean a number of things to you. I believe in life after death, and it gives me hope every day of my life. I think that death is merely the passing from one world to another. Once one has passed away, all of their loved ones, achievements, and legacies are thrown into a completely different light. They, being embedded with the spirit of the recently deceased, are then infused with new life. They are given new vitality, energy, and reason for existence. I believe that all of the elements of a person’s life are given new dignity after death; they have a responsibility to shine with all of the radiance that he or she once did.

And herein lies my complaints with our system of horrible suffering following death. Any person who is dearly beloved is sure to be missed, and any mourner certainly has a right to do so. Not all deaths are peaceful and timely, either, and many unfortunate souls deserve some tears upon their passing. To an extent, however, I view all death as dignified and worthy of happiness. When I finally do pass away, I don’t want those whom I care for to be sad about my death; I want them to be glad over my life.