Affirming Queer Youth at an Appalachian Drama Club
By Jane Reagan
“The horse is out of the barn,” the parent of one of my middle school drama student’s says to me at a local bar. A few hours ago, we were all sitting in the audience at the opening night of The Ball of White Lilies, a one-act play written primarily by the 7th and 8th graders at a school where I spearhead the drama club. I run into a few guardians after the performance, as the population of this town hangs around twenty thousand. The parent I run into is talking about the show they saw tonight: “the horse” being queerness and “the barn” being society’s proverbial closet.
We’re in a college town in the foothills of Appalachia, at a time when bills banning gender-affirming care for transgender youth are sweeping through the country. Still, I found myself leading a group of twenty middle schoolers going around in a circle sharing their pronouns. The varied responses included they/them, she/they, all pronouns, and more.
A few years back, I was a teaching artist in an educational touring company. For 9 months we visited a new middle or high school every day, performing one of two shows per visit. Following each show, before we began our talkback, we gave an introduction to pronouns: why they’re important and how to refer to each cast member using their correct pronouns.
In just five years since we were leading those introductions on pronouns, the middle schoolers I’ve encountered have transformed from the students to the teachers in terms of gender-expansive language. This was made clear to me in the first week of Drama Club, when we developed community agreements to hold ourselves to. It became clear to me that these students held one covenant higher than any others: We will respect each other’s identities and do our best to use the correct name and pronouns for each individual.
Drama Clubs, as a matter of course, have been spaces where young people have the opportunity to express themselves in ways they might not have permission to elsewhere. “I know it says this name on the roster, but I’d like to be referred to as this name here at Drama Club,” was a phrase I became accustomed to during my first week with these students. Drama Club is not only a place to experiment with identities different from one’s own, but a place to experiment with one’s own identity.
The goal of Drama Club this year was to write a play and perform it for the community within the span of eight weeks. During the brainstorming process, we whittled down our ideas from broad to specific, eventually landing on something every student was excited about: a masquerade ball. As a group, the students began coming up with characters and determining the relationships between them. Within the first few moments of conceiving the roles they were going to eventually portray, the question I assume many of them were thinking was asked, “Can some of these characters be gay?” To which I responded, “Of course.” Thus began the writing process of a very queer play set in the Middle Ages.
The premise of the show goes like this: The audience is brought into the world of the play where a global monarchy is responsible for rampant hatred, enforcement of unfair laws, and thoughtless killing in the name of the crown. In an effort to change the present, two characters travel back in time to the Middle Ages to change one rotten king’s mind.
The time travelers land in 1492 in a Kingdom called Slipstrum. The treasury has run dry and the King has his mind set on waging war on their neighboring countries. To rally the starving and disillusioned people of Slipstrum, the crown plans a ball to kick off the war. “Come one, come all to the Palatial Masquerade Ball! Adorn thyself in finest garbs and don’t forget to bring a mask! Lord and lady pairings strictly enforced. No witches please.” In the wake of this announcement, we encounter many characters struggling with the fine print. The Alchemist, who’s in love with the Commander, laments “I certainly cannot attend with you as my dance partner.” The Jester, a nonbinary member of the Kingdom argues “Didn’t they say lord and lady pairings only? I’m definitely neither of those things,” and the Princess reveals “I may be a Princess in title, but I am a Knight in my soul.”
We follow these characters and others through the week leading up to the ball, with the two Time Travelers helping them along the way, finding answers to their own question “How do we convince them that the people have the power?” During a therapy session with the King’s Bard, we start to see cracks in the King’s confidence. He reveals his insecurities as a father, as a husband, as a King, and concludes the only way to prove himself is by demonstrating his power through starting a war.
All of our storylines converge at the masquerade ball. The campaign for collective power has succeeded and the people band together to refuse the King’s orders. The Commander and the Alchemist attend the ball together without disguise, prompting the Prince and the Jester to reveal their own romance. The Princess demands to be knighted and serve the Kingdom in the only way that feels honest to them. And the Bard reveals to the Kingdom that the only reason for the King’s War is the King’s insecurities. The Prince and the Princess, revealing their true selves, demand their parents accept them for who they are. In a moment of strength, the King says “If being a knight is the only thing that will make you happy, we won’t get in the way of that. That goes for you too, son.” A compromise is made: instead of waging war, there will be talks of trade agreements. Ultimately, history is changed for the better.
The characters, relationships, and scenarios acted out on stage were thought experiments written by these students. What would happen if a Princess came out as transgender to his dad? Is there a world in which he would be accepted? What if that were me? Would there still be a future for me? Could I be happy? The King most likely represents something different for each member of the Drama Club. For some, he is their parent in the audience who they haven’t yet come out to, for others, he represents the lawmakers who threaten life-changing medical intervention being taken away.
Right before our closing night performance, a student asked that if I congratulated him after the show, that I not use the name he’s been going by in Drama Club in front of his parents, nor use he/him pronouns. I shook his hand and agreed.
As theatre educators, these students entrust us with so much. We have the privilege of knowing them in a way they are not yet ready to be known outside the confines of a theater. Throughout this whole process, I would lay awake at night fearing that a parent would read the script we wrote and pull their student from the play. I feared an audience member would complain that I, being a queer person myself, had brainwashed their child. I feared that our production would be boycotted, shut down, and labeled as perverse. But the fear always lost, and the hope these students instilled in me always won out.
It’s our duty to give these students a platform, not only to fight for what they believe in, but also to play out scenarios that plague their own lives and experiment with their own identities in an affirming space. They have entered a world that is more expansive than ever before in terms of queer and trans visibility, and instead of assuming the role society says they’re supposed to play, it’s our job to give them the opportunity to design their own roles and let them cast themselves.
Jane Reagan (they/she) is a theatre educator, actor, and director based in Athens, Ohio. They are passionate about creating brave and respectful spaces where queer, trans, and non-binary youth can thrive and be affirmed. She is currently working towards her MFA in Acting at Ohio University, where she also teaches an undergraduate course in Drama as Education.
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