Laramie: Ten Years Later
October 13th, 2009
Laramie: Ten Years Later. [source]
Last night’s performance of Laramie: Ten Years Later here in Austin was at the Zach Theatre, and the proceeds went to OutYouth, an organization which I’ve mentioned previously and which I care a great deal about. As a long-time OutYouth volunteer, I’m incredibly grateful to the cast and crew who volunteered their time, and to all the folks who came.
I went to see Laramie: Ten Years Later last night. It was heart wrenching, both for me as a person, and for the me who is a professional historian. The past is effaced so readily. One episode of 20/20 full of garbage, and half the country believes that one of the most famous hate crimes of the recent past was no such thing. Believes instead that it was a drug deal gone bad. Nevermind that one of the killers is in jail saying — still — that he dislikes homosexuals, spewing hate about Matthew Shepherd, telling people the deceased was some pedophile (a rumor started then discredited). Nevermind that the more repentant of the two men convicted maintains it was absolutely about the man being gay. Nevermind the trial, recorded, documented, transcribed. The police records. The retired detectives and the retired sheriff who maintain they heard those men say those things. They know better. We know better.
Incidents like the one in Laramie are horrible, but they are lessons. We cannot let them go unlearned. The lesson is that bigotry is alive and well. The people of Laramie are no worse than the rest of us, and if there is danger in Laramie, Wyoming or Burkburnett, Texas for certain kinds of people, it is because certain kinds of people are not valued as they should be, and they are at risk not only in those places we might call outposts, but in our whole country.
People need some measure of safety. And I’m not talking touchy feely group therapy safety, I’m talking the assurance that when you walk across the grocery store parking lot, you will not be attacked for who you are. This is perhaps the least we can offer each other. I see acts of courage and bravery from people around me every day of my life. I will not believe that acts of brutality are inevitable. I will not believe that we cannot continue to build a society that is more just, that is kinder, that is braver, that is stronger. We are still learning. We have to be.
American Studies, the discipline in which I am most firmly grounded, often becomes a critique of the United States — and it should be, as there is much improvement, always, to be made in any institution. However, I think it’s important to remember the value of the project. The notion that everyone deserves a fair shake, that “all men are created equal” is a profound notion, and it, like many of the ideas right there at the beginning of this grand experiment, is a principle I personally value immensely. If nothing else, the salience of these ideas demonstrate to me the strength of the project. The United States may be a work in progress, but it’s a grand project. Many of us disagree about key issues, and I’m grateful for that even when it frustrates me. But I refuse to be cynical about the people around me. I do not believe the people of this or any country are cruel or stupid. We may not have it right yet, and we may never, but I believe that we can continue to work for that more perfect union. It is not destiny or fate. It is a project, and it is an immense one. Incidents like the one in Laramie should not serve as a condemnation of anyone, but instead a reminder that democracy requires vigilance.
Last night’s performance — which took place in dozens of theaters across the country and around the globe — is based on a similarly ambitious project undertaken by the WPA. The Federal Theatre Project created jobs and theater, and at one point staged 22 simultaneous performances of It Can’t Happen Here. The work of the Tectonic Theater Project and the work of the Federal Theater Project both have in them a faith in the power of the arts to effect change and to form national consciousness. Although the Matthew Shepherd Act has yet to be signed into law, no one can dispute the impact of Shepherd’s death, the subsequent media coverage, the tireless work of his parents, and, of course, the now years of performances of The Laramie Project.
While the conclusion of last night’s production is ambivalent — some change has occurred, but perhaps not enough — I hope that the production is not a conclusion, but instead another call to action for all of us. Cultural change isn’t magic. It’s not the course of history or the tide of fate. It’s the work of a whole bunch of regular people.



