Genderblind and raceblind casting seem like the equitable words to use these days if you don’t want to sound like a bigot; but what do they actually mean? Usually, blind casting means that someone will be considered for a role “regardless of their features,” so genderblind and raceblind mean someone will be considered regardless of their gender or race. This often signifies that their own identity will not be important to the work they are doing, and this is an issue where we, as artists, must be critical.
I suggest raceblind, genderblind, and other “blind” casting remain as tools to deconstruct the innate sexism, cissexism, racism, ableism, and heteronormativity of a work’s core materials that artists cannot alter. What we can’t change, we transform, and we do it as a challenge—asking the audience to look at a famous work from another angle and to examine the new dynamics of these well-known characters.
In the development of new works, however, these tools should not be used. It’s better for there to simply be diverse roles for actors, rather than having to consider diverse actors in spite of their identities.
“But Cy,” you ask, “What words will I use if I have not specifically imagined a character’s ethnicity, gender, and sexuality? What if I would like to find people first and build the character with the actor? What if it doesn’t matter all that much?”
I’d like to suggest we make use of another term: “open casting.” It doesn’t imply the “regardless of/in spite of the text” that blind casting does. Instead, it indicates that the creators are open to seeing what individual actors can bring to the table. As well, “it” (someone’s ethnicity/gender/sexuality) always matters. The idea that these qualities of a character sometimes don’t matter is deeply rooted in the cultural idea that there is a neutral, default identity. Cishet white men dominate books, movies, and news. They are not only artists, but everyone. A white able-bodied cishet male actor is seen as a neutral canvas, unmarred by the connotations of their skin and their body.
Except that this is not neutral and treating it as such only solidifies the harmful idea that it is. My ethnicity, gender, and sexuality are not additions to this baseline form, they are separate and their own.
We all say we support equitable, diverse narratives. We, as a community, know theatre isn’t as diverse as it should be. We know there’s a problem, and we know our side on that problem; so why aren’t we doing anything? Consider how in the past three years at VCDS, there have been four white cis men directors. That’s not that many out of 17 shows, but keep in mind that, in our culture, white cis men have the largest amount of freedom and credibility. If anyone is able to (and therefore should) branch out, it’s them. Of those four, only one directed a show not written by a white cis man.
Why is this a problem? Out of 17 shows over three years, 11 were written by cis white men. In fact, the entire 2016-2017 VCDS mainstage season was written by white cis men. The only show in the season written by someone who wasn’t a cis white man was the student-written UofT drama festival production, A Perfect Bowl of Phở.
I’m not saying we have to only work with the most diverse set of people we can find and only do very diverse plays. As a marginalized artist, I am not saying this is our fault or that we have failed our own people. In this culture, our identity is under constant scrutiny. It is easier for us to pay homage to the old white cishet man classics, because they will always be taken seriously. If we take a show from an author like us, about us, it becomes an agenda, because a marginalized author is not seen as having the same versatility. Their stories are always shaped by how they navigate the world. The issue is, the white cishet man author is the same, but his experiences are perceived as accessible and universal. This creates a pressure on artists, especially marginalized artists, to stick to the established canon instead of branching out.
“But Cy, if we make things too diverse blah blah white noise?”—there is no such thing as too diverse. I’ve been made to relate and empathize with these characters and stories for most of my life. Remember what I said about the default? The constructed idea is that you are neutral because you are the majority. Your stories are as relatable to me, as mine are to you. I’m not saying they aren’t relatable, just that diverse works are denied the universality given to works from that white, cishet canon.
To writers, don’t shy from writing your stories. Be explicit. Tell me of your identity, your illnesses, your body, your mind—your experiences that are unique to yourself. Write good roles for queer people, and women, and people of colour, and trans people. A throwaway line about a guy’s boyfriend, Jufran; menstruation—it’s an inch that makes a mile.
To performers, be loud and vote with your feet. Don’t be in productions that demean you on any level and, if you don’t want to walk out, talk it out. Talk to your director, your fellow actors, the crew, and the writer if you can. If you must do the work, find ways to do it without playing into the harmful structures it supports.
To directors, I know it’s pitch season. We’re all thinking about what to do next year. Consider more authors, and be mindful of them; how much space do both of you take up? How loud is your voice and who does it speak over? There is a wide gap between how much white, cis-man writers are put on versus anyone else. This is a gap we can’t close on our own. Sometimes it’s not your place to explore someone else’s identity. But in the case that identity isn’t core to the narrative, you can be mindful and hire a dramaturge.
You know, a dramaturge: that person you hire because you don’t know what it was like living in 1930s Brooklyn. It’s not a big change to have them help you navigate the intricacy of say, womanhood, either. It’s their job.
Find plays by different kinds of people instead of recycling the plays you already know. Do your research, and explore. Find narratives you can honour, and that you want to. I don’t think anyone should do art that their heart isn’t in; but I think it’s key for us all to consider different kinds of stories and different kinds of ideas. It’s the only way we can grow as people or a community.
This is my challenge to you. If you say you care about diverse theatre and want to support diverse stories, and believe in diverse artists, act like it. Throw out your ideas of neutrality and the default. I don’t expect you to be sorry—that’s worthless. I expect you, and I expect all of us, to be better.
Cy Lian “he/him” Macikunas is a trans, biracial, bisexual, bipolar, short and angry theatre artist. Come check out the workshop results of his play A Brand New Sky in early April, and the VicPride! WordPress where he hopes to post a campus theatre diversity report as well as a few lists of plays by marginalized artists.
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