Editorial Comment

[Editor's note: This was written before the murder of George Floyd]. I had written a completely different introduction to this issue in February. Then, as the novel coronavirus began to claim more and more lives, I threw it away. How do you write an introduction to a theatre journal at the beginning of a deadly global pandemic as everything that sustains us professionally shuts down? What do you say about our field as people in your home community, a city already ravaged by years of neglect, people who already have health conditions from dirty air and poverty, people who must continue to work and use public transit, are dying? How can you respond when hundreds of protesters carrying rifles march into your state capitol to demand an end to a lockdown that is meant to stem the growing tragedy? As you watch the weary healthcare workers head to the hospital blocks from your home, risking their own health and safety, how do you weigh the comments of people who call for "reopening the economy"? What is the value of a human life?

I look to the writing of David Román, who was editor of Theatre Journal when the attack of September 11th occurred. He was already curating a special issue on "Tragedy" when "history happened in an unexpected, all but unimaginable, way. Like most people, I found the senseless and terrible deaths of so many people and the immeasurable suffering of countless others on September 11th simply insurmountable in terms of sadness and grief."¹ Román follows with his own set of questions about how to respond and takes measure of his own feelings of helplessness. He finds purpose through community and the national rally to support New York and the New York theatre scene: "The theatre was positioned both as a therapeutic antidote to the suffering of the city and as the symbolic core of the city's history and traditions."²

At this writing, Broadway has been closed for two months, and is due to remain closed for at least the summer. When it does open again, theatregoing will not be the same, at least for another year, maybe longer. We are still in this. The tragedy continues to unfold around us and stretch across the globe, stranding people apart and alone.

I was in my role as editor when I attended the Mid-America Theatre Conference (MATC) in early March. The United States had just confirmed twelve deaths and over 200 cases. No one knew what that would mean for us at the time. Hand sanitizer was everywhere, and we all took handwashing seriously. There were murmurs that the University of Washington might move courses online. We were grateful to get to meet in person. Days later, a wave of university and hotel closures would have made the conference impossible. And indeed, ATHE's leadership announced the difficult decision to cancel the in-person meeting in Detroit scheduled for this summer.

One thing I love about the work of editing is how I listen to conference presentations with new ears. And I have been energized by the work of emerging scholars and excited to be a part of bringing them into a broader conversation. I reflected back on the work I heard at MATC, much of it from graduate students and contingent faculty finding their footing in a precarious field. The assistant professors who have mentored them were rightly proud of the work they have done to provide emerging scholars with a home. I was looking forward to seeing the work continue at ATHE, here, in what I consider a second hometown.

The pandemic has upended our academic and arts communities in ways we could not have imagined, and it will continue to have far-reaching effects on how we research, teach, and make art. We must be especially mindful of the emerging scholars, graduate students, and contingent faculty who carry so much of the burden of teaching, those whose careers depend upon the decisions we make. We must advocate for them when we can.

When we emerge from the pandemic many months from now, there...