by Harold McMillan

Rest my heroes
Rest my elders
Rest my children
I hold this holy matrix now.
Let this nation be reborn,
Let this nation be reborn.
-- from Clayangels by Daniel Alexander Jones, Todd Jones

Austin playright, actor, performance artist, smart guy, cultural warrior Daniel Alexander Jones speaks articulately about something he calls the oppressive discourse in American culture. I agree with a lot he has to say about this discourse, so naturally it is something that I too want to talk about. After all, this column is really just a way for me to talk about stuff that interests me. My mission here is to provoke some thought in you, stir you up, and even perhaps spark a response. Sometimes the problem for me is the packaging of what's on my mind. Oppressive discourse as a concept is a nice package. And I thank Daniel and his brother Todd for the more than appropriate wrapping (rappin'). If we are all lucky enough they will soon revive their excellent autobiographical performance piece Clayangels. That's where I got the phrase oppressive discourse, but more than that, Clayangels gave me a lot of soulful food for thought.

So, for those of you who missed my last installment I'll try to quickly bring you up to speed. You see, I was trying to communicate how the play Clayangels hipped me to this way of talking about issues like ethnicity, race, culture, family, being American, being African American, being an artist, being an African American artist, being an African American artist working in Austin, being in the audience of the work of African American artists in Austin, being a working African American artist in a growning, changing Little Texas City where only about 11 or 12 percent of the population is African American, and how and/or if any of this matters when any or all of the rest of this is considered in the considering of these issues.

Now, I don't know if all of this came up for everyone who saw Clayangels (well, I know all of it didn't for all those folks who saw the play the night that I did), but let me tell you, every last one of these issues and more ran across my mind as I sat through this short piece of brother-love and pain, hope, memories, and visions/dreams of how life in American (in Austin) could be, but isn't. Clayangels is anything but angry. The messege of the piece, and I suspect of the of authors as well, is hopeful, questioning, prayerful -- let this nation be reborn. My feelings may be a bit cliched, but the feeling is kinda "I see it how it is, and I ask why does it have to be this way." And for Daniel and Todd that IT is big and very far reaching. And that is good.

In my last column I got so into the Clayangels characters, the Misses Lillian and Vivian and their similarity to my real-life Aunt Virgie, that I ended up losing part of what I wanted to say about the discourse and the play in general. Well, my Aunt Virgie did die this past weekend. And her non-spectacular-but-significant stories of being a slave's granddaughter, respected neighbor, strong black woman in (Greenville, Texas) the city that prided itself in being the "home of the Blackest land, the Whitest People" died with her. I got hung up there because of an emotional, personal real-life example -- rest my elders. For me, my Aunt Virgie's stories and her death just amplified the importance to Austin of the kind of cultural/artistic work represented by works like Clayangels.

Clayangels, on the surface, has nothing to do with the last generation of grandchildren of African slaves in Northeast Texas. But for me, and some other Austinites who saw the play, the play starts to fill in part of that big hole (that just might be getting smaller...did you see Pill Hill?) that seems to have an established place in the theatrical seasons of Austin's playhouses.

Come on now! Yes we do sing and dance. Black folks also get sick and die, get divorces, marry and have kids, do a lot of other non-spectacular things, and believe in various versions of an American dream. The American Dream thing seems to be something, for Daniel and Todd, that has particular interest. I think that is where my interest in their piece comes into play also. Clayangels conjures a vision of this American Dream (with very high, but fair standards) in a way that it sits comfortably in a well articulated and reasoned, heartfelt emotional world view. That's a lot, but I think these brothers were right there, just right there when they were going through the changes to put this piece together. And for me, a vision of the American Dream that doesn't show one has some concept of how that view fits into a global picture, well, it just ain't shit.

In Austin we've got this situation where there are a number, a good handfull (Sharon Bridgeforth is definitely one), of very talented folks doing that kinda on-the-edge-of-comfort cultural/artistic work. Within that handful, there are also these folks who happen to be black folks, African American artists, persons of color with unique points of artistic view on life in Austin, in Texas, in America, in the world (there are too other groups, but my focus here is with black folks). Among the problems that exist for this group of folks is that thing of supportive/critical discourse of the work -- among the artists, their audiences, the media, cultural gatekeepers, and themselves. Yes, it boils down to community, communication and expectation. And in Austin, believe it or not, all of those can be pretty hard to come by. Just stop and think about it for a minute: you're black in a Texas town where less than 13 percent of the population is Black, and within that population you also happen to find yourself as part of the city's arts community, and you're telling your stories to audiences (and other artists) who happen to be in that small percentage of folks who also happen to support the cultural arts in Austin.

Now, take another intellectual leap with me. Your Blackself also has an even smaller presence when you consider the percentage of folks who view, for instance, live theater. And a smaller presence when you consider the city's other producing dramatic (or any other) artists. Smaller still when you consider the folks in the media who cover the arts. Smaller still when you consider the folks who run/program playhouses and executive produce shows.

Damn! For these black artists, who are their peers, who is their audience, who are their critics, who are their producers/employers in Austin? Yeah, that brings us back to all kinds of issues long discussed and still (for some) unresolved. Because of the way our Little City is built, these questions are valid ones to ask. Everyone -- yellow, green or otherwise -- who is here, is here because of things about Austin they consider to be positve attributes. The downside of that, regardless of what side of the table you sit, is that there are just not very many black folks here. That is the case in the larger venue of America-in-general, but, believe me, it is very pronounced here in Austin. And that is why I come back to the discourse itself. Believe me, it is a hard row-to-hoe in Austin for black artists, when they really want to talk Black, to truly connect with the primary audience with whom they are really attemping to speak.

I think I can safely say that most folks in the African American arts community have reason to think on these issues from time-to-time. And although I suspect these issues cross the minds of others, for them there is a level of understanding and appreciation that is probably missing. It's like the retelling of a story that's supposed to be funny, and you just don't get it. You know, sometimes you just have to be there. There aren't that many of us there sometimes.

Let me try to pull this back together a bit. Remember? We were talking about this oppressive discourse concept. Opressive, as in down-pushing. Discourse, as in conversation. And while I'm at it, let me throw in the concept of critical mass -- you know, that point at which it gets heavy enough to mean something significant. Maybe I can now make a connection that makes sense to someone other than myself. In a vibrant arts scene such as the one here in Austin, one of the things that inspires and motivates artists is the scene itself. The insider-scene, the community, the media, the audiences, other artists, training, technique, personal and collective history all come together to influence the quality and content of the work produced -- conjured -- here. Being an African American artist in this scene adds a dimensional spin that is unique.

So, if you are an African American artist in Austin, born in and of a culture that has done much to color the soul of what it's like to be American, the reality of the numbers here presents a whole 'nother set of issues with which to deal. Here we go. In the larger discourse of cultural and artistic work in Austin, how does the African American artist find critical mass of community, thought and conversation to effectively tackle issues that allow his/her artistic vision to speak specifically to black folks and, at the same time, to artists, audiences and critics in general? The element of critical mass is probably really the major player here. Individual black folks in general, and certainly individual black artists in particular, are hard-pressed to present to us the quintessential African American experience. The smaller the community, the more limited view of the culture we are afforded. black folks do, think, and say all kinds of things. But when the fish bowl is so small (as it is in Austin), only a limited view is possible. And within the small view of the small fishbowl are too limited interpretations of what is possible, accepted, and appropriate. This situation provides a great proving ground for in-your-face-without-appology cultural work.

It is also fertile ground for this infamous oppressive discourse.

And before some of you miss my point, this is not about white folks who just don't understand. It's bigger than that. See, there are white folks who -- conceptually -- do understand, brown folks who say "amen," black folks who won't acknowledge it, and biracial (and other) folks who wonder why we are wasting time arguing about misplaced priorities. And for some of us, it's the misplaced priorities that make this discourse oppressive, not just to black folks, but for all of the players in the conversation.

The question of "Is there is a legitimate place for ethnic-specific African American artistic and cultural work in Austin?" has been answered. Yes, there is and should be that place. Among the larger questions are those that relate to the quality and content of that work. Is there a place for work by African Americans that deal more with questions of gender than ethnicity? Does an autobiographical piece, written by a black man, that primarily focuses on questions of what it means to be American rate as African American art? Can a play about bi-racial brothers (black/white) really address issues of the black experience in America?

The answers to all of the above rhetorical questions is and should be a resounding YES. The element that is most oppressive here in Austin is our (low) level of diversity in the arts community in general and in the African American community in specific. Black folks have lots of stories worthy of telling. But in such a small African American arts community, there will necessarily be only a few stories that get told. The challenge for the folks who work in this situation is to avoid the tendency to repeatedly have appropriate content dictated to them by others.

The success of Austin's popular string of African American musicals is indeed a good thing for the scene. Yes, black folks do sing and dance, quite well, thank you. But we also do things such as: deal with death, vote Republican, have lots of money and education, drop out of school, take illegal drugs, marry white folks and have kids, and believe it or not, many of us moved here and are not directly connected to the Old East Side Family hierarchy. If our conversations about local contemporary African American expressive culture do not begin to more thoroughly address issues such as these, then we are out of step with what is real. Unless the conversation opens more, it is indeed an oppressive discourse in which we involve ourselves.

This was not meant to be a review of Clayangels. I saw it. I recommend it highly. But the larger issue for me is that I heard Daniel and Todd Jones in their piece tackle the kinds of issues that more and more should find discussion in conversations that deal honestly with life in black America. I hope you too will follow the development of Daniel Alexander Jones as he continues to let us know what's on his oh-so-thoughtful mind.