My Name Is Matt

I want to know what your name is. I want to know what it is you fall asleep thinking about. I want to know what wakes you up at night. I want to know what you wake up in the morning bound to do.

It’s fair that I start. My name is Matt. I’m a cynic, but I’m in recovery. I go to meetings, but we call them performances.

I think it’s appropriate that 2008 was a leap year. To me, 2008 felt much longer than just an extra day. As it was for many of you, my year was regulated by caucuses and primaries and Super Tuesday and conventions and lines at polls and recounts. Wasn’t it easy for us to get swept up? Apathy and ambivalence seemed blissfully rare. I’m not the only one who read more blogs than I had thought existed. I’m not the only one who volunteered for multiple campaigns. I’m not the only who gave more political contributions than I probably should have. I’m not the only one who worried about the consequences of a tanking economy. Or ballot initiatives. Or war. You’ve done all those things, too.

Since November 4th, pundits have grown fond of saying that, regardless of where one sits on the political spectrum, the election of our first African-American president is momentous. Surely it is; Barack Obama would have had trouble voting 50 years ago. But I would be disappointed if we treated January 20th as merely a longed-for antidote. We have too much to do.

That’s why we’re producing My Name Is Rachel Corrie.

A little history… Last January, Emigrant Theater produced Tanya Barfield’s Blue Door at the Guthrie. We were proud of the production and very grateful for its reception. However, Jess and I decided we needed a little rest. Blue Door was our fourth production in eleven months; Jess directed all four, and she and I produced all four. For an organization run by only two people, that’s a lot of work to throw ourselves into. Jess and I decided to spend a few months evaluating ET’s goals.

Over the summer, we spent time considering our Five-Year Doctrine. Which is to say, we again took up the question: How can theater act as service to our community? Surely we must call them actors for a reason.

In August, out of curiosity, we read My Name Is Rachel Corrie. Like some of you, we were familiar with the play through news reports of the controversy when its U.S. premiere in New York was announced. I’m a fan of the work of so many working playwrights, many of whom are our neighbors here in the Twin Cities; I can’t help reading a play without thinking about how we might be able to produce it. For someone eager to produce, it felt strange to read a play of words not written as a play— and eerie knowing I couldn’t have a conversation with the “playwright.”

But I found myself reading the play aloud. (I couldn’t resist the first time I read THOM PAIN: based on nothing either.) I’m not an actor, and not just because reading aloud brings out my old speech impediments. While I’m happy to say my drag role as Sister 6 in Hillbilly Wedding brought down the house my sophomore year in high school, join me in my gratitude that my college professors directed me down other paths! But I read the play aloud. I read the play aloud because I saw in Rachel Corrie a young woman who wanted to make a difference. It’s easy to call Rachel naïve; it’s easy to say she was underinformed; it’s easy to claim her facts were wrong. It’s hard to say she didn’t want to try.

My name is Matt, and I want to try. I’ve always thought things can be better. I’m one of those people for whom things means the way of life around me. I’ve always thought we’ve had so many opportunities to make things better. I volunteer for nonprofits I believe in. I write to representatives and senators regularly. I made a resolution in 2007 to email the President once a week (the one resolution I managed to fulfill). I’ve volunteered with four political campaigns in the past eight months. But it’s easy to be involved when we have people to elect. My name is Matt. I like politics— well, I love politics, but I love conversation more. We gave Emigrant Theater its name because we believe that each of us— and all of us— have places to go. So we might as well talk about it.

Tell us your name. Tell us what it is you fall asleep thinking about. Tell us what wakes you up at night. Tell us what you’re bound to do when you wake up in the morning.

Tell us.

Don’t tell us because you’ll get free tickets to My Name Is Rachel Corrie (if you email us by January 20th). Tell us because you’re not done thinking about things. Tell us because you’re not done thinking about that better place we can live in. Tell us at contact@emigranttheater.org, and we'll post.

Welcome to the journey!

We at Emigrant Theater created this blog to accompany our upcoming production of My Name Is Rachel Corrie, which opens May 8, 2009, in Minneapolis.

We’ve chosen to produce My Name Is Rachel Corrie because at ET we believe the play speaks deeply to our need to work to improve our community. Like all of you, we at ET have our own individual beliefs about what “improvement” means, and they’ll surely differ from what “improvement” means to each of you. So much the better. This blog isn’t for us; this is for us to ask you. This blog is for you. If you feel passionately about where you live, or what you volunteer for, this blog is for you. If you’ve ever complained about taxes or your representative, or to your representative, or about social service or social injustice, this blog is for you. If you’ve ever voted, this blog is for you. This blog is for you regardless of what it is you’re passionate about. Tell us.