Muscovado: A Disturbing, Powerful Play that Heralds an Extraordinary New Voice

A school night, in the midst of a busy week, and a very full day of teaching is almost enough to dissuade one from venturing across the river for pretty much anything. Add a blustery, rainy day, and Clapham Commons seemed even further away from my north London office. Still, I had tickets and company to nudge me along, so off I went...to the Holy Trinity Church, that almost forgotten spiritual - and political - home of William Wilberforce who campaigned for the abolition of the slave trade.  It seems apt, in retrospect, that I went to the church - for the first time, last night - to see Muscovado, written by the startlingly talented young playwright Matilda Ibini, and produced by Burnt Out Theatre. 

The brand new play had an initial run of ten days as part of Black History Month, but I might as well tell you right off the bat, it should be running at a major venue, backed by Britain's theatre big-wigs, and be seen by a LOT more people.  And frankly, if British Council and other tax-payer funded organisations are listening, they should be sending this one abroad too! 

We were greeted by a cheery atmosphere at the entrance, and my first reaction was surprise, and gladness, at very racially diverse, mixed audience -  in terms of race, ethnicity, class and nationality. Sadly, theatre-going in London - despite all its diversity - can be a strangely mono-racial phenomenon and I often feel marked out as the 'odd' one in most audiences. There were other little welcoming signs: in addition to the usual glasses of wine, there was the option of a warming, lovely rum punch. And much welcome it was after my cold, exhausting day! There was also a stand from the Caribbean Cafe selling the most delicious, restorative, food; ladies, you saved my life! 

As the doors opened and we streamed into the church, we were greeted by Parson Lucy (played by James G Gunn), and other characters from the play were already dotted around, seated in pews, eerily lit by candle light, or slowly weaving their way through the shadows. It can be tricky to perform in a space that isn't a formal theatre, but the director Clemmie Reynolds used the space well, and placing the actors in the church established an early complicity and intimacy with the spectator that made the play itself much more disturbing. 

The play itself unfolds in 1808 on the Fairbranch sugar plantation in Barbados. The timing is key as a year before Wilberforce had successfully pushed through the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act in British parliament. On the Fairbranch plantation however, the Act brings little change to the slaves' brutalised lives, and commercial calculations of its owners. The set was sparse yet effective, with props moved around, and the church surroundings were used fully to stage, with the audience seated in the pews in the chancel, and a few chairs spilling out into the nave. 

The plot skilfully weaves together multiple characters including the plantation owner's wife and daughter, the local parson, and various slaves. However, Muscovado keeps the owner of the plantation as an off-stage yet all-powerful, sinister presence/absence. It is a masterful choice, signalling the invisible pervasiveness of racial, gender, and class privileges that continue to this day. It is this off-stage evil 'deity' who repeatedly rapes his wife, Kitty, and in a grotesque coming-of-age ritual, is also the invisible rapist of the distraught child-slave Willa (who may/may not be his daughter).

While the most upsetting parts of the play are familiar to us from slave narratives - the whippings, humiliations, brutal violence in guise of discipline, the casual but persistent degradations and dehumanisations of quotidian plantation life - they draw power from a source that is not often seen on screen or stage. Muscovado presents the Fairbranch slaves as fully formed humans, not merely as props for a morality play; they dream, they dare to laugh and love, they find hope and strength in unexpected places, and most importantly they continue to resist by reasserting their humanity in innumerable small acts, words and thoughts of defiance and courage. The script has - perhaps unsurprisingly - been compared to Twelve Years a Slave. 

I would reject that comparison. I found Muscovado more humane and more powerful of the two as it finds little need to make narrative and commercial compromises. Unlike the film, the play offers no easy resolutions. But it also refuses to let historically dominant narratives push slaves to the sidelines of their own history. Instead Muscovado offers one of the few instances where non-white bodies - and even more importantly female black bodies - occupy centre stage, in all their fullness, complexity, grace, and tragedy. 

There has been a long tradition - in writing, art, and performance - of silencing and erasing the female nonwhite body from our stories, stages, screens and imaginations; Muscovado is compelling for its powerful insistence on placing the ignored, fetishized, brutalised black female (and a single male) bodies, lives, and beings at the centre of its narrative. By keeping the sexual and non-sexual violence inflicted on the black female body off-stage, it refuses to let the audience revert to the default practices of fetishization we have been taught and thus distance ourselves.  Furthermore, by similarly keeping Miss Kitty's rapes off-screen, it forces us to examine both the similarities and brutal disparities of gendered violence; and yet by performing Willa's invisible violation on-stage, the play also refuses to excise the role of race in gendered violence.

Moreover, the script fully explores the complex web of relationships, oppression and brutality of slavery and racialised oppressions. It does not shy away from messy hierarchies of gender and race: Kitty is not only fully complicit in the exploitation and brutalisation of slaves, she is also the mastermind who realises the ban on slave trade can be subverted by using her own slaves as 'breeding stock.'  Yet, she is at the same time, also a raped, desperate, isolated wife who can find few allies and fewer friends and can drunkenly order a house slave to help her kill herself.  

Muscovado also confronts the role of the church, and its clergy in upholding, maintaining, and actively promoting slavery, thus also reminding us of the ways organised religion - and religious scriptures - were, are, and can be used to justify the most inhumane and unjust practices and structures. Parson Lucy's hate filled racist rant took on particular resonance when delivered from the Holy Trinity Church's pulpit.  I couldn't help but imagine that Wilberforce himself had likely heard similar justifications of slavery and wondered yet again about how and why some (so few) of us refuse the dominant narratives of our times, and the necessity of such dissent. 

The play is both powerful and disturbing, and more so for its insistence on complexity. The dialogue is both unflinching and at times scorching. Despite a myriad range of characters, the script maintains tight control of each character's trajectory.  If there are some loose ends, such as for Olive's fate, they offer a glimmer of hope, however false, in a bleak setting. The end is shocking, upsetting and unpredictable, perhaps because the motivations of all involved are clear and familiar, but also because the multiple layers of complicity are rarely explored in narratives about slavery, or indeed contemporary race and racism. 

The actors were well suited to their part, and I walked away once again wishing there were more room for talented non-white actors on British stage. Alex Kissin as Asa, DK Fashola as Elsie and Shanice Grant as Olive brought both emotional power and physical vulnerability to their parts. It is a credit to the script, the director and the actors, that despite the brutal setting and theme, it still provoked empathic and not only discomfited laughter. 

The Holy Trinity Church made a symbolically apt setting for the play although the acoustics are not ideal. I do wish however that Muscovado would find a longer run and larger stage for itself: it is ambitious, complex, powerful, and it delivers dramatic, emotional and political punch. That it is the work of a playwright not yet twenty-three is both extraordinary, and exhilarating for the promise it holds for the future. 

Full disclosure: I know the playwright Matilda Ibini who graduated from the Creative Writing programme where I teach. However, she did not take many classes with me and I can certainly claim no hand in her growth and stature as a writer. I am however very privileged to have watched her grow as an intellect and a writer during her degree. 

White, Middle-Class Male Seeks "Reality"

First of all a confession: of all columnists spouting their views in British mainstream media, I believe Johann Hari to be one of the best. His arguments are well researched and well made. Plus, his liberal (as opposed to left-of-centre) views are refreshing in a world where opinions of everything from the colour of Michelle Obama's clothes to piracy off the coast of Somalia are tainted by ideological petrification and intellectual sloppiness.

Which is why I was disappointed to read his piece on reality and the contemporary novelist this morning. Suddenly I realised that Hari's views are not much different from the British mainstream.

First of all there is the ridiculous assumuptions that "reality" is some how "over there" - in lands far away like India and Africa but not in the middle-class havens of London, Manchester, Glasgow. More problematic is the implicitly classist conceit that this over-there-reality must be about war/poverty/violence.

Then there is a more troubling aspect: Hari blithely describes the location of Arvind Adiga's new novel as "typical Indian city." While, this might sound like nitpicking to some but most Britons take great pride in explaining the uniqueness and difference of the various parts of their tin-pot island. Thus London is automatically assumed to be world apart from Manchester. And god forbid if you ever describe Glasgow or Edinburgh as "a typical British city" to either a Scot or an Englishman! Yet a country of over a billion people, seventeen official languages, every major religion can somehow be reduced to "typical". I would LOVE to know what qualifies as a "typical Indian city" - Mumbai? New Delhi? Guwahati? Hyderabad? Patna? But hey, the white man will establish the "uniqueness" of his location but "over there" is just all a "typical" massive (w)hole.

An aside here: If Adiga's first book's superficiality (most likely a result of an over-arching ambition to write the "Indian" novel rather than just a brilliant one) is any indication, it is precisely his short-hand rendering of the Said-ian "typical" Indian characteristics that make him such an "exhilirating" writer for the likes of Hari. After all, why complicate your life - and reading - with ideas, views, insights into the "non-typical" India or any other "over-there" that you would acquire from the likes of a Mahashweta Devi or an Amitav Ghosh? After all their litarary "reality" gets a little too uncomfortably confrontational for white British middle-class men with pretensions of liberality.

(Mind you - for those of you ready to jump down my throat - I am not saying that Hari is racist! Unfortunately all of us have racist assumptions, most of which we deny or are unaware of. And to paraphrase Ella Shohat, its the "unthinking" racism that is the most insidous and dangerous).

Then there is the glowing recommendation of Adiga's Boyle-like attempt to write like a "journalist" about what he doesn't know. Without even going into the merits of Adiga's research and its literary rendering, Hari's statement itself is problematic.

Having worked as a journalist in Latin America and Asia, I have despaired of far too many of these well-meaning journalists who "research" places they write about without ever bothering to learn the language, understanding the culture, or indeed caring about the context of the stories they email back to the publications back home. Worse still, all these purportedly objective journalistic accounts are not only deeply judgemental and flawed, they actively construct views, opinions of the "over-there" by elision and omission, and thus aid and abet trade, diplomatic and military policies that countries implement.

So journalists are hardly the benchmark of those who go out to learn and write about "reality." And while it has become fashionable to complain about the deterioration in journalistic standards in the past decade, Western "journalistic" standards were always deeply flawed when it came to covering "reality" in over-there-lands! In fact, novelists would be better served if they focussed on particular subjective realities, providing depth, context, integrity and compassion to their stories, rather than imitating the falsely objective, exploitative, limited viewpoints that journalism requires!

Finally, Hari's paean to the apparent resuscitation of the "realist" novel by Adiga (and I assume others of his ilk) is particularly grating. The "realist" novel was a product of a particular time, place and culture, all of which are part and parcel of Hari's cultural inheritance. However the realist novel was also an aspect of the intellectual imperialism that wreaked - and continues to wreak - as yet unacknowledged havoc on colonized cultures across the globe.

Realism may have served a particular purpose in Europe and America, but it represents a form of intellectual and creative colonisation beyond these geographical/political and cultural boundaries. For far too long, writers from Africa, Asia, Latin America were told to write in "realist" forms and forced to eschew non-realist, non-linear narrative traditions that their own cultures had developed in the centuries prior to colonization. "Realism" was enlightened, modern, intellectually superior to the non-linear, non-realist narrative traditions of Africa, Asia, Latin America, we were told constantly and consistently. Colonised writers took up the form, to prove they were as good as their colonial masters, to attain intellectual credibility and readership, to show the masters that they too "could"!! This is why Marquez, Borges, Rushdie had such an impact on their home cultures - they unshackled the novel from its colonial-realist shackles, demonstrating that "reality" could be narrated in myriad ways and not only the one foisted upon us by our former colonial masters.

For writers from postcolonial nations who are still struggling to overcome the far-longer lasting legacies of intellectual and creative colonisation, Hari's views are not deeply familiar but also depressingly common. Its just horribly disappointing to read Hari espouse them.

As I said at the beginning, Hari is one of my favourite British columnists and I look forward to reading his work. And yet this morning, I was forcefully reminded that just as electing a bi-racial president has not made America post-racial, overt professions of liberalism has not removed the "unthinking Euro-centrism" or the long standing cultural, intellectual, creative imperialism implicit in British public discourse.

Shilpa-Gate 2: Karan Thapar, Get a Reality Check

With more racist remarks against Shilpa Shetty being aired in the past 48 hours on Channel 4's Celebrity Big Brother, you would think the English-language press in India would pause in its usual pompous declarations. But no such luck from our old guard of "Macauley's elite" baba-log.

Today's Guardian quotes Karan Thapar as saying: "What this seems to be is that a middle-class young Indian woman has come face to face with [British] working-class crassness. It is unfortunate but she is being paid $680,000 (£346,000) to go on the show."

RIGHT Karan!

Which world do you live in?

Beyond the rarified air of your South Delhi posh residential neighbourhood, the five star social scene, and political intrigue of the Dilli durbaar, there is a larger world: A world where a lot of us "middle-class" Indians take up jobs in UK, Australia, USA, and many other countries. We take up these job to promote our careers, to make money, and yes, to experience new places and things. And yes - in many cases we get paid LOTS of money for the jobs we do.

But get a reality check Karan!

Our choice to take up these jobs or indeed the money we are paid does not mean that basic rules of civility and workplace regulations or laws regarding workplace harassment do not apply.

Holding a job and getting paid for doing it does not mean we should be sexually or racially harassed or abused, or indeed be subjected to workplace bullying.

Are you really saying that those of us who work abroad have forfeited our right to be treated as human beings? That racism against us doesn't count because we "choose to have these jobs and be paid for them"? That we can be bullied, harassed, abused, perhaps even beaten up or killed because we "chose" to explore new horizons? Will you justify all acts of racism against those of us who live and work abroad as "unfortunate" but "hey, they are getting paid a lot of money"?

Lets get one thing straight: Shetty is in the CBB house to do a job. She is an actress and getting paid to do a TV show is what actors do! Yes, she is getting paid for it, just like her "colleagues" in the house.

NONE of this however means that she ought to be subjected to bullying or racism. If her "workplace" were a bank, or indeed a media house, she would be well within her rights to sue her employers. Why should she forfeit those basic employee rights simply because she is on TV or getting paid for her job?

To indicate - even implicitly - that the behaviour meted out to her is somehow justifiable simply because she "chose" to go on the programme, and because she is getting paid for it is perverse!

But then what can we expect of a "journalist" (or is that a "media personality" now) who couldn't stomach Shahrukh's "policitally incorrect" answer regarding Muslims in India!

Shilpa-gate in Britain: What will Channel 4's CBB do now?

After a long time, I have a post. No excuses really except I have finally been working on the thesis.

And I have been watching Celebrity Big Brother – and yes, this is where my family starts to giggle uncontrollably – because it is RESEARCH! Let me explain – as a student of cinema, my doctorate looks at how films work. More specifically, I look at how commercial Hindi cinema works!

That means all those “first day, first show” scrambles are research. So is incessantly played Hindi film music in my house and office. And all the DVDs and cinema books! To quote a family member, my PhD thesis is a “Laloo-barabar scam!” Be that as it may, my thesis - for the record - is extremely scholarly and theoretical.

Going back to CBB - I began watching the show primarily to see how stars are constructed, and star narratives are built. With Shilpa Shetty entering the house, I had a perfect case study. After all here was an “unknown Bollywood star” as one British tabloid called her. The general British audiences did not know her (except of course the small minority of Hindi film fans, from South Asia and beyond) and she was going up against well-known names and faces from the West. It was the perfect scenario to answer a question that confounds me: do stars have something inherently different that makes them stars, or is their star status a function of media “spin.” Of course, it is most likely a combination of the two but Shetty was the perfect case to study. And what a case study this has been!

She stated her motivation – and thus indicated her screen persona for CBB – by explaining that she wanted to represent India and Indians as “glamorous, modern and intelligent.” So of course she arrived at the house looking radiant, in a pink sari, and proved herself supremely articulate. She emphasised her “Indian-ness” by teaching the firangis to chant “Om” and meditate, cooking Indian food, walks around in gorgeous kurtas and gold bangles, with stunning pashminas and jamawars flung about her shoulders – a picture of Indian cinema diva.

Then came the first clashes – with another “house-mate” named Jackiey (sic) who refused to pronounce her name, decided to call her “the Indian,” wondered whether the star lived in “a shack,” and threatened to “sweep her out of the kitchen with an Indian broom.”

When that particular housemate was voted out by the public, a trio of other British “chavs,” famous for rather dubious reasons “celebrities” decided to gang up on the actress. These “celebs” btw are: a foul-mouthed, pea-brained woman who apparently was ranked fourth on a prior Big Brother show; a former Miss Britain whose crown was revoked for a sex scandal involving one of the judges; and former popstar whose music is apparently unknown beyond British borders (ie, people famous for being famous!).

In the past few days, the three have mocked her accent (which I am grateful Shilpa Shetty has neither tried to adapt nor disguise), told her that she was “just the cook” while others in the house were friends, suggested that she “wanted to be white,” and finally suggested that food prepared by her was making them ill, and that Indians were “unhygienic” for a host of reasons including, eating our chicken raw, eating with our fingers (“who knows where the hands have been”), and that Indians were “thin and sick” because we all suffered from constant food poisoning from poorly cooked food.

Shetty has also been called a “dog”, “wanker” and a “fucking cunt,” (the last is still under discussion as Channel 4 chose to beep out the word and many viewers believe the word was the racist slur for Asians in general, ie, “Paki.”). Of course, she has retaliated, although with far more grace and attitude than I would have ever expected from her: “I am not patronising, look it up in the dictionary,” “It’s a name, not a frigging sentence,” etc. However many of the nasty digs have been out of her hearing.

Here it must be said that Shetty has neither backed down nor stooped to the level of the bullying trio. On the other hand, she has played the audience and the three bullies with the skill of a maestro. The softly spoken, articulate, sympathetic, tearful, and fragile-looking Shetty has managed to gain the audience’s sympathy. At the same time she manages to effortless rile up and counter the bullies. This must surely count as Shetty’s greatest performance yet!

Of course more of the narrative has unfolded beyond the boundaries of the text. From the “unknown” Bollywood star to the centre of “race row,” Shetty has managed to acquire a massive sympathetic following in Britain in days (so how is a star made again?) Press has pitched in to support her, and reaction against the racist remarks lobbed at her and her bullying have flooded Ofscom (the media watchdog body) and Channel 4. Net forums seem to be grouping to pressure the show’s main sponsor, Carphone Warehouse into pulling its support. An opportunist Keith Vaz has taken up the issue in the parliament. What a “masterful” star narrative in making! What a pleasure to watch the process (won’t bore you with the technical details of this one).

Within two weeks, Shetty has moved to occupy a volatile intersection of class, race and gender. Her mastery of English and manners (not to mention the “fabulous” lifestyle) has managed to startle and annoy the bullying trio. Her ability to attract masculine support and attention within (and outside) the house is forms the crux of sexual jealousy (bell hooks, you are SOOOO right! So much for Western "sisterhood" bs!). Finally, the race factor burst the floodgates of anger and outrage against her treatment. Channel 4’s refusal to acknowledge the racist bullying and an attempt to “spin” the abuse as having been incited by Shetty herself has worsened the situation. At the close of business (5 pm GMT) on Tuesday, media watchers had clocked 7,600 complaints lodged at Ofcom while another few thousand had been lodged directly with Channel 4.

Shetty – ironically has become the rallying point for the South Asian diaspora in Britain. While terrorism and religious fundamentalism have divided the South Asian communities in Britain on mostly national lines (Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi) over the past years, the current incident has hit viewers across the board, raising personal memories of racial abuse. Moreover, Shetty is not an unknown quantity among the diaspora – she has been a well-known, and often well-loved figure of Hindi cinema for many years and her ill-treatment by CBB housemates has been taken far more personally by viewers than imagined. Perhaps, Channel 4 had underestimated the power of Hindi cinema?

A final factor must be noted here: the internet! Although CBB is only being broadcast in Britain and Ireland, a quick search on youtube.com for “Shilpa, CBB” throws up all the necessary footage required to be outraged on Shetty’s behalf. Same goes for the heavily edited and controlled Big Brother website on Channel 4’s homepage:
http://www.channel4.com/bigbrother/index.jsp. The coverage and forums on http://bigbrother.digitalspy.co.uk/ as well as the bbc.co.uk’s Asian network forums have also been prime movers in mobilising the protests.

So what happens next? Well, Channel 4 better find a quick way to solve the crisis they have on their hands. This afternoon, the show’s live feed was blocked and only reinstated when the bullies had been separated from Shilpa and her support group in the house. The live feed has been since censored to prevent viewers from discovering the reason for the separation (one hopes that Shilpa wasn’t physically attacked in the house – that could have ugly consequences outside).

And they better hope that no Indians with internet access – from home or other parts of the world - get in on the act. After all if Indians with net access could upstage all Hollywod stars to vote Amitabh Bachchan the “star of the millennium” on BBC’s online poll back in 2000, imagine what we could do with a few choice addresses from Ofcom and Channel 4.

Fyi in case you want to follow this one on your own: www.youtube.com (seach for Shilpa and CBB), http://www.channel4.com/bigbrother AND to protest: ofcom.co.uk, bblb@channel4.com, bbbm@channel4.com, AND here is the petition doing the rounds already: http://www.petitiononline.com/Shilpa/petition.html

I know, I know - but I am Indian yaar, and nothing better than some sabre-rattling (nonviolently of course) and rabble-rousing to get things going....