This commentary is by Eric Peterson, who was producing artistic director of Oldcastle Theatre Company in Bennington for 48 years and taught at the high school and college level.
Teaching has become a dangerous profession. Classrooms have become minefields. Over-criticized and underpaid teachers are leaving the profession at a record rate. Each year between 2016 and 2026, 270,000 teachers are expected to quit their jobs, according to the U.S. Labor Department.
There is a plethora of reasons, but they often have to do with teachers being attacked for assigning reading that some consider too provocative, too political, too sexual, too liberal, or simply too much.
Teaching is challenging enough without having to worry each time an assignment is given that a parent might object. So, instructors wonder if a lesson plan that once seemed completely benign might now seem controversial. Should certain topics, books, films be avoided? Teachers ask themselves, am I prepared to go to the mat to fight for this book or do I want to play it safe?
It can lead teachers to self-censorship. Classrooms should be a space where exploration is encouraged. The best teaching happens when the focus is on the students, their needs, their hopes.
I co-taught a daily high school theater course for 26 years. Most years we would devote the fall semester to producing plays written by the students. Some of the students’ plays were presented toward the end of the marking period. The number of students in the class varied but was often between 15 and 20, so it was impossible to present all the plays they had written. Some were eliminated because of complicated production values that we couldn’t create in an evening of anywhere from 10, or more, short plays. Others didn’t live up to the goals of the playwrights.
The students’ plays were read by both teachers, and out loud for the entire class, several times during the writing process. We and the students would make comments following the reading. Each student would then rewrite in anticipation of another reading days later. The final year of class (my co-teacher was retiring, and I was very busy running a theater company), a play was submitted by a student who was taking the class for a second year. We had students who took the class as many as three years; some would take it for half of the year and then, the following year, for another half-year.
The play that was likely to be controversial was about two teenage boys who were working together after school at the same store. Over the course of the play, they got to be friends as an attraction developed. At the end of the scene, the boys kissed.
The playwright, before the play was read aloud in class, announced that, if the play was chosen to be presented in “The Evening of Short Plays,” the kiss could be avoided if it made the two actors uncomfortable.
As was the custom, we began rehearsing more plays than could be presented to an audience made up primarily of relatives, friends and schoolmates. The plays were directed by my colleague and me.
We discussed possible ramifications if the administration was upset by the play, but decided the play was too important to the class. It was a declaration of who some of them were. This was our last year teaching the class, so what were they going to do? Fire us?
I directed the play that became known in class as “The Kiss.” I discussed at length with the two cast members, and the playwright, the possible reactions to the play. The writer strenuously asserted that the kiss was not absolutely mandatory, that he would be fine if the cast decided to cut it. He proposed an alternative or two.
But all three said the kiss was important. The two actors decided they both wanted the kiss to stay.
The actors and I also discussed the “kiss” among the three of us, without the playwright. I wanted to make sure they were comfortable with the decision and not simply wanting to please their friend. They were, and as we discussed the motivations of the characters, I realized how important it was to them. It would be an opportunity to make a strong statement, declaring to their classmates, friends and relatives that same-sex relationships were worthy of exploration in an evening of plays written and performed by high school. students. It was part of their world.
They began including the kiss in rehearsals. Kiss? It was less a kiss than a peck, but it advanced the deepening relationship of the characters as the playwright had conceived it.
The performances took place, not at the school, but on the stage of the theater where I worked. The students enjoyed being on a “professional” stage, and the space was more intimate than the much larger school auditorium. The students also served as stagehands, changing the barebones sets, after each play was presented.
When it was time for the play with the “kiss,” I moved to where I would have the clearest view of not only the stage, but also the audience. The first few plays had been well received and the audience had been appreciative, applauding enthusiastically.
I nervously watched as the play began. The boys were giving confident performances; the audience was laughing in the right places. I was trying to watch both the performance on stage and the reaction of the audience when the kiss happened, which wasn’t easy, as a “peck” happens quickly. There were no shouts, no boos. One older gentleman looked aghast, but it might have been indigestion from a hurried dinner. We heard later that someone’s grandmother had been a bit taken aback. But as one of the students said, “That might be a good thing.”
All three performances went well. All the plays were greeted warmly by the audience. The playwright felt accepted. The two actors were elated. The class felt emboldened. The sky did not fall, and the teachers were not fired.