The very first thing I did when I came to New York City four years ago to become a professional actor was change my name. I didn’t want people to peg me as a certain ethnicity because I was afraid of being seen as only a “terrorist” actor. And having been spoiled with the opportunity to play some very choice roles in Florida, I couldn’t see myself taking a step back. Within the first 6 months I learned two things:

1. Colorblind casting is a joke.
2. I was a privileged actor in Florida which somehow was more accepting of actors of color playing white roles.

I also learned that there was such a thing as an Arab-American/Middle Eastern Acting community. Something VERY foreign to me as I had been (self)identifying with Caucasian communities for the first 16 years I lived in the U.S. To be able to rediscover my ethnic identity and to be able to share it with people of the same ilk – to be able to talk in the same language others found abrasive and eat the same foods others found”gross” – was so liberating and joyous.

But the more I became entrenched in the community and in the acting business I realized just how difficult it is to have a career and/or to “make it” as an ethnic actor (anything other than black of Latino – not that they don’t have their own share of casting problems, but as a whole they have jumped over the hurdle my community faces).

In the first two years I was met with the confused stares of casting directors when I would show up to musical and play auditions that were looking for “any race.” Invariably, I was always asked where I was from (which I learned to ignore and say “Florida” which was true). On one occasion, I was told, “I’m not sure what we would do with you.” And on another I was less than overjoyed to overhear, “God, it’s like Slumdog Millionaire out there.”

You know, it’s not my problem if you don’t know “what to do” with me just because I am an actor of color. How about judging me based on my talent and ability to take direction?

I know many of the casting directors in NYC. Some of them I am really friendly with. Some of them I would sooner set on fire. But regardless of how I feel about them, I often wonder what they think about the situation. I have known a small handful who have consistently called me in for roles that were CLEARLY described as Caucasian – and on some occasions I have booked those roles and have been so thankful for the opportunity and for the open-mindedness of the casting director to take a chance. But for the rest, it’s just so much easier to cast white and create a whiteout in the roster.

And the answer is simple really. It’s more than a lack of imagination – it’s the assumption that audiences feel more comfortable and can identify and connect better with Caucasian actors because the majority of entertainment consumers are white living in a majority white country. So who do we blame? Audiences or the folks behind the creative tables?

There are so few meaningful characters of color that aren’t reduced down to the basest stereotype, and I get that that stems from a social agenda and undercurrent of anti-Arab (or what have you) sentiment. And I know this is just the first step in progressing and creating more acceptance of our images so that we CAN play the more progressive roles. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that black actors only played slaves and housemaids (and God forbid if one of THOSE movies gets made nowadays). Latinos no longer just play gang members and drug runners (though there are more than enough of those roles). And, yes, I have even seem some Middle Eastern roles that had some meat and depth to them.

But invariably those roles are all deeply connected to their ethnicity. As if you couldn’t play a Middle Eastern without the character dealing with some issue of that ethnicity. Why not an Iranian architect who is just that an nothing more? An architect who happens to be Iranian and not running from the Shah or connected to Ahmadinejad.

And, by the way, the same holds true for theatre which is supposed to be the last bastion of openness and exploration and frontier-breaking. I swear, if I have to see another play that is there to create or assuage white guilt for some war or refugee I will barf on myself. We have so many more stories than that and are capable of playing more than those roles. My peers are some of the most amazing actors, but they rarely seem to be allowed to show that.

Even as a playwright, I have been told that I would be more easily produced and accepted if I changed roles to Caucasian or wrote mostly for Caucasian characters. The gall that audiences are only accepting of or receptive to those kinds of plays is gross. I get giving in to the sensationalism of a national emotion. Americans were angry post-9/11 so all the Middle Eastern characters were schemers and terrorists and people watched for a feeling of revenge they could not exert in real life. It’s morbid and unfair but psychologically logical. We’re not in those days. We shouldn’t be. And if we keep pushing those kinds of roles then the national consciousness is never going to change.

Why should we be afraid to write plays and movies about the Palestinian-Israeli conflict that is pro-Palestinian?

Why can’t we write about the Armenian Genocide?

Why can’t we write about a family living in Ireland who just happen to be Indian?

Recently, a new group popped up on Facebook that some friends of mine are involved in: AAPAC (Asian American Performers Action Committee). The frustration Asian American actors feel not being represented fairly on the stage is completely legitimate. How did we go from 2 decades worth of Asian-American characters in movies, TV, plays and musicals, to almost none? Is it because there is no longer the backdrop of war?  The “Japs” and the “Chinks” and the “Commies” are no longer the enemy so why bother putting them on the screen or on the stage to suffer for the enjoyment of the injured national identity, right?

The change has to happen as soon as the word hits the page. It has to happen with a writer doesn’t back down to a producer. It has to happen when a producer realizes that audiences are not idiots and they should take the risk and believe in people wanting good stories not good guys. It has to happen with casting directors who fight to make people think of different options and directors who can see something beyond the ethnic association of skin color. And it has to happen every time we enter a room and bring the confidence of our talent with ego-stance that it doesn’t matter what ethnicity I am, I’m damned good and you should cast me.

And for those who think this is crap, take a moment to carefully read through the statistics below. They are accurate, shocking, sad, but unsurprising.

If any of this stuff interests you, you should check out the following:

• Aladdin, Al-Qaeda, and Arabs in U.S. film and TV
• Colorblind Casting or Color-Consciousness?
• And this response to “Don’t Tell Anyone Your Real Name, or You’ll Never Work Again”

Ethnic breakdown of casting in New York City Theatre*
( 2006-07 to 2010-11 Seasons)

Caucasian: 80%
African American: 13%
Hispanic American: 3.6%
Asian American: 2.3%
Middle Eastern/ Arab American: 0.7%
Native American: 0.1%

Non-Traditional Casting by Ethnicity

46% of the roles played by actors of color were roles that did not specify race (non-traditionally cast).  Tthis number, however, was still only 9% of total roles available.  African Americans were far more likely than any other minority group to be cast in a role which did not specify race.  Breakdown by ethnicity as a proportion of all roles which were non-traditionally cast:

African American: 62.8%
Hispanic American: 20.7%
Asian American: 15%
Middle Eastern/ Arab American: 0.6%
Native American: 0.07%

Broadway

When looking at Broadway as a separate industry, the representation of Asian Americans dropped significantly to 1.5 %:

Caucasian: 82%
African American: 12%
Hispanic American: 4 %
Asian American: 1.5%
Middle Eastern/Arab American: 0.25%
Native American: 0.17%

Ethnic breakdown of Casting at the Largest Non-Profit New York  Theatre Companies
2006-07 to 2010-11 seasons:

ATLANTIC THEATRE CO
Caucasian: 95%
African American: 3.5%
Hispanic American: 1%
Asian American: 0.5%

ROUNDABOUT THEATER COMPANY:
Caucasian: 90%
African American: 8%
Hispanic American: 1 %
Asian American: 1 %

PLAYWRIGHTS HORIZONS:
Caucasian: 86%
African American: 12.4%
Hispanic American: 1.1%
Asian American: 0.6%

THEATRE FOR A NEW AUDIENCE:
Caucasian: 83%
African American: 14%
Hispanic American: 2 %
Asian American : 1 %

VINEYARD THEATRE COMPANY:
Caucasian: 74%
African American: 21%
Hispanic American: 2.5%
Asian American: 2.5%

LINCOLN CENTER THEATRE:
Caucasian: 76%
African American: 17.5%
Hispanic American: 4 %
Asian American: 2.5%

MCC THEATER:
Caucasian: 84.5%
African American: 5.8%
Hispanic American: 3.8%
Asian American: 3.8%
Arab American: 1.9 %

NEW YORK THEATRE WORKSHOP:
Caucasian: 73%
African American 12 %
Hispanic: 3%
Asian American: 4%
Arab American: 8%

CLASSIC STAGE COMPANY
Caucasian:  85.5 %
African American: 6.5%
Hispanic American: 3%
Asian American: 4%
Arab American: 1.0%

PUBLIC THEATRE:
Caucasian: 64%
African American: 21%
Hispanic American: 5.6%
Asian American: 6.5%
Arab American: 3 %

SECOND STAGE THEATER:
Caucasian: 80%
African American: 8.7%
Hispanic American: 4 %
Asian American: 6.4%
Arab American: 1 %

SIGNATURE THEATRE:
Caucasian: 47.5%
African American: 44.9%
Hispanic American: 2.4%
Asian American: 5.5%

THE NEW GROUP
Caucasian: 88%
African American: 2%
Hispanic American: 2%
Asian American: 7%
Arab American: 1%

MANHATTAN THEATRE CLUB
Caucasian: 86.5%
African American: 11 %
Hispanic American: 1.0 %
Asian American: 1.0%
Arab American: 0.5%

*includes new shows that opened on Broadway during this period (with the exception of “Soul of Shaolin”, a special event imported directly from China), subsequent replacement casts, and the seasons of the fourteen largest non-profit theatre companies. Does not include shows which opened on Broadway prior to this period but may still be running or Commercial Off Broadway shows.  Special Note: Ethnic classification was not self-identified though significant effort was made to research interviews and bios which might indicate ethnic self-identification. Asian American actors include those of East Asian, South Asian (India and Pakistan) and South East Asian origin. 

I know I’ve only been in the playwriting game for a hot minute, but having been a writer for a very long time there are some issues that span across most all the writing disciplines. What started this particular rhetorical rant is a blog post by playwright Mat Smart. Admittedly, I have never read any of his play. In fact, I didn’t even know who he was until someone pointed out the blog post. I’ve never heard his name before. But I read his post and reacted with a reaction that was part guffaw and part nausea.

Mat just falls into the broad category of white writers who have all the force of the patriarchy behind them. It’s easy for them to bitch and moan about the deterioration of their field by weaker or less inspired/talented writers, but they do so from a comfortable and uninformed height. His post just smacks of condescension and I wonder if he has even read ANY work from emerging playwrights. I am a little offended, as a writer, an actor, and an audience member, that he has a problem with plays that are not typical narratives. Essentially, he’s just hoping for whitewashed theatre that is antiquated and doesn’t raise the bar or stakes. And I wish I could say he was in the minority here, but the typical fare on the American stage (both on and off Broadway) just supports what he is pining for.

But that is what the economics of theatre supports – there is no support for emerging playwrights. There is no effort to revitalize the form and to keep it going by infusing new ideas and movements. For God’s sake, you have organizations giving $30-$60k to playwrights like John Guare and Tony Kushner in an effort to support playwrights and keep the American theatre going. Um…they don’t need the money. Playwrights of their caliber don’t need the support to keep them going. Their coffers are more than comfortably full and they will continue getting produced long after they are dead thereby keeping their estates stocked for all time. WHERE is the support for emerging playwrights? Most of the fellowships, competitions, and what not that I have seen always end up going to playwrights who don’t really need the help because they have already rounded the emerging corner. I am sure the pool is difficult to wade through because every day someone else thinks they are are a playwright and want to write, and how do you ferret out the promising ones from the hacks. And really, being a hack doesn’t mean you won’t get far: look at some plays being produced and books being published – talent is not a pre-requisite it would seem.

And maybe it’s all a part of a very narrow view and perspective of those who control the gateways. I’m a playwright of color who chooses to write about issues of color, occasionally couching them in a white world/perspective. But people still have no clue what to do with that – the get confused if they can’t envision a star in a production or the play doesn’t fulfill some NatGeo need that will create or assuage white guilt. There is very little forward momentum to expand and truly reflect the modern world in the American theatre. True, there are some small organizations who have sprung up precisely to support artists of color, but unless they get major support and exposure what will be the point? It’s all fine and dandy to be producing work in some dive in the lower east side, but that doesn’t push the movement or the call to action. It’s all about precedence and all it takes is one damn good work to push the envelope and make people go: Oh! Yeah – totally – this makes sense and should be done more often.

Or maybe David Ives was right…

The NYC updates and normal blogging will resume this weekend…I hope. Just having a rough time with getting stuff ready for school and dealing with artistic differences and dealing with people and their unmitigated egos. I now understand how Bob Fosse felt when he said he hated collaborating and preferred working alone. I know theatre is all about collaboration, but not with people who have NO FUCKING CLUE what in the hell they are doing. This has gone from a labor of love to whoring myself out for the money. I am not just not happy and not enjoying myself and the only thing that gets me going is the people I am working with in the cast whom I love dearly. I guess in a way this is a good lesson about just sitting back, doing my job, and letting others control everything else. Also works out nicely when it comes to people pointing fingers, as long as my ass does nothing else but choreograph, I am only responsible if the people think the dances look like shit. I know it sounds careless of me, but I am tired of of not being heard and I am tired of this level of bullshit. I know it probably isn’t better in NYC, but I would rather deal with it on an AEA level then a think-i-know-it-all level. ARGH! I am so frustrated…

Well, I feel MUCH better today after 10 hours of sleep and some great medication. Still no clue what is wrong, but who cares, I am getting better.

My Cabaret audition went very well, although I do not remember much of it because I was so zoned out from being sick. I must have done well because I am called back on Thursday for the part I want.

And on a final funny note, cause my ass finna be tired and needs some sleep, I come home to the damn frogs yet AGAIN, but it’s even worse because one of the security lights in the stairwell is on the fritz so it is being all strobe lightish. So I am freaked out because the combination of the two reminds me the closing scenes in Aliens when Ripley goes back to the nest to get the little ratty girl. I was fearing for my life.

So I’ve been busy, which is an understatement. Most of this weekend is a blur to me mostly because I did so much and stayed up so late every night that my recollection is weak due to exhaustion. So where to begin….

The first, and most important, was a declaration of friendship. I battled with this for several days. I know it seems quite odd that friendships require mulling over and decision making in their creation. But I have spent my life making and losing friends and to me, my friends are my life. I live and breath through and with my friends and, to be quite honest, they are my family and always have been. I am thankful for all the friends I have made in my life, but the process of slowly losing touch with most of them due to time and space has been rough on me.

Sara made an interesting point today when I was raving about how happy I was that I never have to worry about matters of the heart or dating bullshit. Frienships are just like any other relationships and to me, in absence of “those” relationships, I have my friendships. Both are exactly the same except for the element of sex (despite the friends with benefits thing). She brought up some examples of my friendships and compared them to lovers and by God she was right. They are precisely the same. I go through the same ups and downs, the same heartbreaks and joys, and the same enjoyment of having close connections with people. And since sex is complete worthless and pointless for me, it works out grand. Of course, this substitution also explains why I occasionally had problems with some of my friends which lead to “break ups,” for lack of a better word.

Anyway, over the years I have become very guarded about the people I let into my life and to whom I lower my defenses. It saves me a lot of heartache and allows me to focus on my close friends. I have surface acquaintance friends galore (for God’s sake, I have 110 people on my buddy list) and I enjoy them just as much as my close friends. The difference is my emotional connection and the degree to which I love them (and again, I use love not in the norm).
But I digress. After four years, I finally let my guard down and let someone in again, and to be quite honest, the experience is not only exhilarating and satisfying, but fulfilling. I make it sound like some Buddhist experience, I know. But to find someone with whom I can so closely connect on all levels, with whom I can both bullshit and talk on an intellectual level, and with whom I can make laugh over and over again to no end is amazing to me.

As for this weekend… I spent Friday at rehearsal, then a birthday party, then I crashed at a friends house where I talked to a fellow immigrant until five in the morning. I got up at 9:30, went to pick up the elf (who made the most amazing breakfast I have had in a long time), and went to rehearsal until 4. Then off to a pot luck dinner until about 9:30, then socialized for a little, then came home and got on the phone until 4 a.m. A phone conversation that degraded into pure nonsense…I still cannot recollect much of the last half other than a few snippets about the movie Snatch and a discussion about the animal planet network which involved animal noises (wombat wombat wombat).

I….am…exhausted.

I woke up this morning thinking it was going to be a slow day, but oh no. I had to redesign a site, had to think of a new design for mine, consoled and advised 8, I say 8, people online all at once and fielded two conversations with friends who were in tears. Tonight was the night for EVERYONE to have problems.

On a good note, I had a great dinner that Sara’s out-of-town friend Carlton made and then I came home where I now sit typing this and conversing with my fucking friend . Needless to say it has been a busy and fulfilling weekend full of surprises.

My Saturday night was filled with adventuresome dining at a Chinese buffet, which should be condemned and the building razed. Then, I ventured to play Laser Tag which I have not done in a VERY long time. Needless to say, I sucked at it because I kept inadvertently shooting my own damn pack. This is just another shining example of why I would be worthless in the army. I got so frustrated that I just shot my own pack to get myself out.

After all that fun, I proceeded to what has to be the largest most interestingly decorated (read: ceramic, cow, stuffed fighting fowl, full armor suit, animal prints, and more more more) “mansion” I have ever been inside. If that is what it is like to live in the lap of luxury then sign me up. And that is not about the materialism, but the comfort of it all. I was also subjected to the further tinking of the Elf; however, I was happily relieved of it for a while while the elf pursued other baking goods: nutty tarts (j/k FFJ). The evening ended with a Mission Impossible-esque search party for a missing friend which lasted until 2 in the morning when we finally found him and I attempted to get his attention by throwing mulch chips at the window because there were no rocks around.  Espionage…not my field either. However, it was worth it to also have me hang my head out the window screaming, “Lance! Treat, treat Lance!” and having the getaway car speeding at a whopping 45.

And then there was yesterday. I was happily allowed to partake in a test-making party for a thespian induction ceremony, which turned into a “let’s go get ice cream and then visit a run-down house off of railroad tracks so we can pilfer odd items from the shed.” Yeah, we’re talking a mix of Goonies and Stand By Me. Ah…my Fe-Fe kids done do me proud .

The most interesting part of the day was researching my journals and finding INTERESTING entries which spoke of recent events (I swear I am like Nostradamus sometimes). In my further denial of what is obviously some kind of truth and reality, the little Elf decided on the the question with a friggin’ happy meal toy from McDonald’s. An 8-ball-esque Jackie Chan in a kicking position with a slotted stand that reveals answers when rotated. EVERY SINGLE one of the answers were in the “right” direction and not the ones I “wanted” them to be. I realize I am being ambiguous, but it keeps me safe. Besides, those parties whom this involves know what I am talking about and yet again will find great satisfaction in my relenting to the tinking away of both the chisel and fate/life/coincidence/whatever. So I concede….let the friendship begin/continue/grow and let it go where it is supposed to. Palm lines, veined letters, line letters, Jackie Chan, grandmothers, journals, and on and on and on. I will revel in the joy that it brings and in the amazement I constantly find in the little similarities in life that I thought were relegated to myself. So put in the tray of cookies and bake away!

Ok, so I had the most amazing dream last night, which depressed me when I woke up and realized where I was. So I am at a dance competition (which is odd in itself) and my turn comes up. The odd thing is that I am in one of those hotel rooms used during conferences. Even odder is that I am dancing on a tilting platform. But the weirdest, but best part, is that Gwen Verdon is one of the judges. I thought I was going to die. I do this jazz/tap routine with a cane. I am doing things I never thought I could: machine gun riffs, flipping off of walls, split switch leaps. I get done and the entire room erupts in applause and I jump off the platform out of breath and Gwen Verdon gets up, with another judge I could not recognize, and they escort me to the back of the room where they close a curtain around us (like in hospitals–those privacy curtains). They start talking to me but I am so out of breath and focused on breathing that I can’t understand what they are saying. The room clears and more people come in and I am asked if I am ready to do my performance again, which leaves me confused, I thought it was a competition. I say, “I don’t think I can do it that good again.” And I finally hear Verdon say, “Yes you can. And you’re going to be great. You always will be.” I look at her, she smiles, and I wake up.

If I was ever more determined to leave Florida, it is now. All I need is that flippin green card in my hand for my freedom. Even with all the recent problems in NY, I still want to go there. I have been obsessed with living there ever since my first family vacationed there. I remember everything so vividly and I want to be engulfed by that city.

I said goodbye to one of my comp classes today. It was somewhat bittersweet because they are without a doubt the best class I have ever taught in my three years at USF. They were 24 of the best students I could ever ask for. Inquisitve. Curious. Unafraid. Vocal. Talented. I don’t think I will ever have a class like that again. They are a rarity. I will truly miss some of those crazy kids. But I am glad to know they are all progressing in their lives and college careers. It makes me feel good to know that there are people like this going out into the real world. It gives me hope that this society will turn around.

Of course, back at my home front I was in a battle with the pressure washers. I was awakened by the noise and ran to get my plants out of the way. 15 minutes later, he shows up and goes to town on the breezeway and walls. Of course, I am spying because I think it is cool. I am standing behind the door and neglect to notice that he begins cleaning the door. You would think the door would be airtight, but nooooooooooooo. So there I was…sprayed through the crack with steamy grimy water, which got over the carpet and stoop floor. I proceeded to get some paper towels to mop up the puddle and JUST as I am finishing, here he comes again. By now, my glasses are speckled and my white shirt is turning gray. I get some more paper towels, get it dry and AS I am throwing the wads away….there he is again.

Well, after falling asleep at 3:30 and waking up at 8 (both a.m.) I was looking forward to coming home from school and taking a nap. But no. I started writing in the new journal while one of my classes wrote an in-class essay. It was amazing how much just came pouring out. I had to eventually stop because everyone was done and they were just starting at me. I came home and went through all my memory storage boxes and was consumed for four hours looking at everything I have collected (I am a BAD pack rat) and reading all the notes I ever got in high school (except for a small selection which I believe is stored SOMEWHERE, althoughI have no clue). What an acid trip down memory lane. I had forgotten a lot of my high school days. I laughed at things I could remember and strained to remind myself of the situations the notes were about. I found notes from my ex-girlfriend, my ex-best friend, my first year in America, and so much more. I expected the notes to throw me back into a state of hating my life, but I feel so relieved after reading those notes, but saddened because I miss those people. As turbulent as those times were I had the best friends in the world and I loved them dearly. I still do. I wish I could go back and relive all those times. I hope I run into those people one day and although I know things will not be the same, I just want one more chance to smile and give them a big hug.

I have felt like a bi-polar schizophrenic all day long. I have been in a state of binary oppositions since I woke up: sleep vs. wake up, eat vs. don’t eat, work vs. watch TV, go see a movie vs. veg at home, write vs. read. It’s one of those days where I hate my life and feel totally unfulfilled about everything.

I finally left the house to hang out with Sara for a bit. Still felt like crap despite the efforts made to keep me involved. I did, however, buy a new journal. My old one is not even half filled, but it has been about two years since I wrote an entry and I need to start anew. It may sound weird, and Sara agreed, that sometimes a journal has so much negative energy and thoughts that you can’t go back to it and you have to start fresh, and I truly believe that. I find it hard enough to read the old journals let alone keep writing in them. So I got a plain black ringed journal with white pages…no line…no confinement….no rules. Just me and my thoughts. This could either be extremely cathartic for me, or extremely painful….which I guess would fulfill the first.