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Theatre Journal 57.4 (2005) 610-612



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Basic black

University of California, San Diego

What is a black play? What is playing black? Hmm? Hmmmm. Well, the question exposes an anxiety, doesn't it? Don't we know by now? Do other groups ask questions like these? For whom are we defining the terms? Why ask? Can a clear-cut answer be given without excluding some things and some ones that should be included? The question, or a permutation of it, has recurred through modern history, and we are at another moment where we can stop and take stock in order to move forward. So perhaps the question itself should be appended with "for now." Or, perhaps I should attend to the anxiety rather than the question. I am currently teaching two African American theatre history courses (one undergrad level and one grad level), and I am steeped in the richness of the performance traditions of folks of the African Diaspora living in the United States. I make a point to provide context for my students so that they do not read the plays in isolation or ahistorically. In order to more fully assess the importance and impact of the material, I ask them to imagine themselves as the playwright, performer or critic who has/had a certain belief about race. I remind them that we must likewise situate ourselves historically in our current moment as we examine the texts and become aware of the fact that the world will not always understand race in the same ways we do now.

This is all to say that I recognize the slipperiness of Theatre Journal's inquiry and am simultaneously loathe and invigorated to step into the rushing stream. Certainly seeking the definition of a black play is significant for, as Brenda Dixon Gottschild explains, language is power and the act of naming is an act of empowerment. "What is not named, or misnamed, becomes an impotent backdrop for someone else's story."41 Historically, some people have articulated strong definitions of a black play [End Page 610] and playing black (W. E. B. Du Bois, Amiri Baraka), while others have been compelled to trouble the terms (E. Patrick Johnson, Suzan-Lori Parks). Black theatre, black drama, black plays have been a ghetto to some, a haven to others. Asking the question these days gets at identity politics; it gets at identity crises.

Though blackness is ubiquitous (maybe because blackness is ubiquitous), we now hear that we are "post-Black" and that post-Black is the new black.42 Does this mean the Negro is no longer in vogue? Is brown the new black? Is brown black? Is trans- inter- multi-culturalism the new black? (I could dig being post-Black if I weren't constantly reminded—for better and worse—of how black I am.) The question is not just theoretical—as I write this I'm looking at The Chronicle of Higher Education's cover story: "Can Black Studies Be Saved?" As the spirit of the '60s dies out, fewer students are majoring in African American studies. Jobs are on the line. Influenced by practical constraints as well as ideological shifts, scholars are scrambling to redefine terms. There is a paradigm shift afoot and folks are anxious—again. But as Soyinka tells us, "To dare transition is the ultimate test of the human spirit . . ."43

Blackness and the naming of blackness have always been elusive, constructed, and performative. Johnson calls it a "floating signifier." The truth of Maya Angelou's poem "The Calling of Names" resonates:

He went to being called a colored man
after answering to "hey, nigger."
Now that's a big jump
anyway you figger.
     Hey, Baby, watch my smoke.

From colored man to Negro
With the N in caps,
was like saying Japanese
instead of saying Japs
     I mean, during the war.

Angelou goes on to further trace nomenclature and misnomers until she arrives at Black. She doesn't make it to Afro-American, African-American (avec et sans hyphen), or "of color." Just as well, perhaps, as we...

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