Plays, Poetry and Ponderings from OPC Artists
Left to Right: Gideon Jeph Wabvuta in Mbare Dreams (OPC 2015); Director Logan Vaughn with Inda Craig-Galván in library reading of Inda’s Welcome to Matteson! (OPC 2019); James Morrison in Leave Your Fears Here (OPC 2019); Luis Alfaro in St. Jude (OPC 2012); Richard Cabral in Fighting Shadows (OPC 2013); Steve Connell at OPC Benefit 2019.
Posts from the Pandemic Front
We have asked our OPC artists to respond to these extraordinary times in which we find ourselves. Here are some of their latest contributions – literally from around the world.
Their creative meditations take the form of plays, poetry and posts imagined and written in the isolation of their homes. Our writers reflect upon where we are right now, what brought us here and, more importantly, where we could and should be going tomorrow. We hope these offerings bring some solace, joy and insight.
Stay safe. Stay healthy.
And stay imagining a better tomorrow.
Robert Egan
OPC Artistic Director/Producer
May 21, 2020
Richard Cabral
Playwright & Actor
EVOLUTION OF A PANDEMIC
Never want my children to endure the pain
Wrong-doing society
Not wanting my contribution
Not wanting my folk to thrive
Capital, Conquest, Hunger and Power
The Dream — rainbow skies, free air
Honest wage for honest work
No war, no corruption, no more bloodshed
America we see you . . .
Emilio Zapata assassinated – Mexican Revolution 1919
Catholic Priests murdered – Cristero War 1926
300 students gunned down – Tlatelolco Massacre 1968
The poor tired of being dirt poor
Tired of dirt floor and wood fire
Mexican men and women
Given nothing but broken land
Barren and dirt desolate
Mexico we see you . . .
Coming by the thousands
Tens then hundreds of thousands
Must work for the family
Nuevo Laredo, El Paso, Texas and San Diego
The “Barrios” of East Los, Chicago, Bay Area
El Paso - Houston - Dallas
Scattered up the East Coast Line
“Si Señor, Gracias Por El Tabor.”
America we see you . . .
Fruit pickers, nannies, housekeepers,
Dishwashers, construction workers, mechanics
Thriving economies equals
Poor workers carrying it on their back
American Dream creating American Profit
Big Boss Voice whispering
“You’re as good as I tell you
Now get back to work!”
Mexico we see you . . .
Language stripped
Culture stripped
If you do not know where you stand
The unemployment line will tell you
Systems of poverty, fueled by urban warfare, alcoholism
Systems of self-racism
Where the rich stay richer while we believe we can get richer
The American Dream on opioids
America we see you . . .
Innocent Child, product of this system
Broken community, broken home,
Produces a broken Child
No clear mentorship
Young Brown Brothers and Sisters
Illegal deportation of the Mexican 1930s
Flogged by U.S. Military “Zoot Suits Riots” 1940s
Stripped of their homes Dodger Stadium 50s and 60s
Los Angeles we see you…
More liquor store than library
More drug dealer than museum curator
More taco truck than medical clinic
Child of the Barrio
Evolution of a Gang Banger
Evolution of the Homie Pandemic
Killing us
Because we are forever unseen
But we see you . . .
Awarded Homeboy Industries’ “Homeboy Hero Award,” given to a former gang member and “graduate” from the Homeboy program who has most profoundly transformed his or her life, Richard Cabral developed his solo show “Fighting Shadows” with OPC in 2013, and two years later, received an Emmy nomination for his supporting role in the TV drama “American Crime.”
James Morrison
Playwright & Actor
TIME ALONE
My son calls us a lot from college. When he’s got a few minutes to kill, walking to or from class alone, on his way to dinner by himself, first thing in the morning, last thing at night. He just calls to check in, to say hello and tell us he loves us. He’s also the only college boy in the history of the world who will hold his dad’s hand walking across campus, too, so…
Anyway, that’s who he is and he’s secure in that. This time he calls while he’s standing in line to see “Parasite” in a movie theatre just off campus. We all watched it together at home over Christmas break and enjoyed it, so he wanted to see it again. I ask who he’s seeing it with.
”No one. I’m seeing it by myself.”
“Oh, how come?”
I’m not sure why he needs a reason. Maybe I don’t want him to be alone.
“Bryce couldn’t come after all. He has to study. So I just decided to come by myself. Oh! We’re going in!”
“Okay. Well, have fun and uh, I’ll be up late, so give me a ring walking home so you can tell me about how different it is the second time.”
“Okay, bye, love you!”
When he’s out at night, I always try to think of ways to tell him to call me when he gets back to his dorm without it sounding like I’m the dad asking him to call me when he gets back to the dorm so I know he’s safe. Even though I know he will and not that he’d care anyway. Like I said, he’s not like most kids.
When he calls me walking home, I ask how he liked seeing a movie in a theater all by himself.
“I’ve gone to a movie by myself before.”
I know he hasn’t.
“Okay, but… so how’d you like this one?”
“I loved it. It’s such a beautiful film, I love Bong Joon Ho as a director. The script is so –“
“No, I mean how’d you like seeing it by yourself?”
“Good. It was good.”
“So, you didn’t mind it?”
“No, I like my own company, so it’s easy.”
And man, for some reason this hits me hard, really hard, and I mean that in a good way, a melancholy but grateful way. He said it with such ease. Like it was something he’s known all his life and just takes for granted. I’ve heard him say so many things that would never have occurred to me at his age, but I’d never heard him say anything so… I don’t know… I mean – and it throws me back to all the time I spent alone as a kid, in my 20s, all through life. So much time, slow motion time, gazing out the window counting cars on an endless freight train time, daydreaming about the future time, listening to records time, dead hours, purposeless days. Sad days and lonely days. But I remember that how I get through hard times or good, it doesn’t matter, depends on whether or not I like my own company. And I usually always do. Always have.
Even when I question myself or am angry or disappointed in myself, regretful, bored, tired, lonesome, lost, afraid, through self-doubt or self-loathing, I always hold and protect a place for accepting myself, liking myself, as I work, play, cry, laugh, fight, surrender, stumble, fumble, run or coast through it all. I know that my isolation will pass. The aloneness will pass. So I can crave it again and find it again and live in it again. In that isolation. That solitude. My recovery depends on it. My recovery from… all the things I’m still recovering from, which sometimes feels like everything. So, I seek out solitude as a measuring device to reveal how much I like my own company. And I do. But I didn’t know how to articulate it when I was his age. No one taught me that. And I don’t know how I learned it. I’m not sure it can be taught.
And so when my boy said that, it gave me such relief. I’m glad he feels that way. It’s going to make his life a lot easier. Still, I hope he’s not alone more than he wants to be. Even though I know he’ll be okay if he is. Because he likes his own company when he’s alone.
An actor for over 40 years, James Morrison has worked at many of America’s foremost theatres as well as on London's West End. He has hundreds of TV/film credits including the role of Warden Murphy on “Twin Peaks: The Return” and Bill Buchanan on “24.” James developed “Leave Your Fears Here” at OPC 2019.
Inda Craig-Galván
Playwright
WHY DIDN’T KALINDA JUST KILL NICK?
A short play
CHARACTER LIST:
ALIYAH - African-American, 30s-50s. She's a writer expectedly between gigs but now on indefinite coronacation.
JAMAL - African-American, 30s-50s. He's Aliyah's loving husband, who still works outside of the house 5 days a week. Clearly, doesn't understand all the house rules brought on by The Rona.
PRODUCTION NOTES:
Despite what you might infer, this is DEFINITELY not the playwright's life right now. Also, the character of Aliyah prefers her greyhounds made with gin, not vodka, because she is not a monster.
ALIYAH, a writer, lies in bed eating cookie breakfast for the third time this week and washing it down with a tall Hendrick’s gin and grapefruit.
Her husband, JAMAL, enters. He’s looking more at his phone than at Aliyah.
ALIYAH No! What is even happening right now?!
JAMAL What’s going on? Are you watching the news? I’m on Twitter – what’s going on?
ALIYAH What are the writers doing to Kalinda? I don’t understand what is Nick even about. She could just kill him. She could’ve killed him, several times. They’ve literally held guns on each other, like, three different times – or she has a gun pointed at him and he’s just sitting there. Just kill him!!! Kalinda was this strong, dope female character with this complex friendship with Julianna Margulies, which is so cool to see women on TV who aren’t just, like, “We both like purses and men with penises, let’s be best friends for life,” but then they fell out but now they’re almost back to being cool again. And she’s got this dope job. Kalinda, not Julianna Margulies, but her too. So what do they do? They turn her into this maybe-abused victim to British dude – and I only say “maybe” because she’s maybe kinda abusive too and it’s real muddy –
The point is, she needs to FUCKING MURDER NICK.
JAMAL Who’s Nick?
ALIYAH Her husband.
JAMAL How many of those you drink this morning?
ALIYAH If it were a Sunday, and I were out with my girls having brunch, nobody would question a bloody mary or a mimosa. But because I’m at home, a greyhound signals a problem?
JAMAL It’s an eight a.m. greyhound, Babe.
ALIYAH Don’t knock the bus schedule.
JAMAL Cute. Don’t get crumbs on my side of the bed?
ALIYAH There are no sides.
JAMAL Here we go.
ALIYAH Yes. We are going there. If we were sexing, we wouldn’t pick a my-side/your-side. But when we’re sleeping, there are side restrictions?
JAMAL Got a lot of hypotheticals to back up your choices this morning. Brunch, sexing...
ALIYAH You want a cookie?
JAMAL A cookie meaning...?
ALIYAH A cookie.
JAMAL Sure.
(He sits next to her and takes a cookie.)
JAMAL I’ve always had my side of the bed.
ALIYAH It’s always been dumb, Boo.
JAMAL I’m not changing now.
ALIYAH Nobody’s asking you to. I’m just saying it’s dumb.
JAMAL You think it’s more dumb now?
ALIYAH Whoa. Are you rethinking it now? WHAT?! Okay, Rona. You better bring about a change in society, ma’am.
JAMAL Stop.
ALIYAH You are, aren’t you?
JAMAL Rethinking everything.
ALIYAH Wow.
JAMAL What about you?
ALIYAH What do you think? I’m day drinking.
(They sit there for a moment. Rethinking.)
ALIYAH We’re gonna get through this.
JAMAL Yeah?
ALIYAH I don’t know.
JAMAL Yeah.
(They curl up together. Jamal takes the remote and presses “play.”)
JAMAL Which one is Kalimba?
ALIYAH Kalinda.
JAMAL Kalinda. That her?
(Aliyah sets her drink and plate of cookies on the side table. She takes the remote from Jamal, turns off the TV.)
ALIYAH You want a cookie?
JAMAL A cookie meaning...?
(They kiss)
(Lights fade)
(End of play)
Winner of The Kennedy Center Rosa Parks Playwriting Award and the Humanitas Play LA Award, Inda Craig-Galván developed “Welcome to Matteson!” at OPC 2019. She also writes for television including ABC's “How to Get Away with Murder.”
Steve Connell
Playwright & Performer
TO WHOMEVER IS LYING IN THE DARKNESS
WATCH VIDEO
Equal parts actor, comic, poet, and motivator Steve Connell is a transformative and sought after entertainer who has enjoyed private performances for President Obama, Oprah Winfrey, Maya Angelou, Norman Lear and many others. He joined creative forces with Sekou "The Misfit” and Robert Egan to develop “The Word Begins” at OPC 2005.
Luis Alfaro
Playwright & Performer
PANDEMIC PEN PAL
If this pandemic ever ends, I promise never to take for granted the amazing friendships that have allowed me not to go crazy in… well… a pandemic.
Trieu Tran and I met a number of years ago. I know he was at Helene Gordon’s ranch, Twin Peaks, in Ojai, the summer we both went up to work on plays. We had some lovely conversations at the Kirk Douglas Theatre in Culver City when we were in rep with our solo shows. Before all this viral pandemic went down, my friend Chuy and I went to Greenway Court on Fairfax to see the Artists at Play production of “The Chinese Lady,” which Trieu was so heart-breakingly striking in. A couple of weeks later, I was doing a workshop at Playwrights’ Arena and I asked director Jon Rivera if we should ask Trieu to work on the play. He said yes, and we had a good week of trying to make sense of a new work.
Then Safer-at-Home shut it all down.
That first week was like, hmm, other than the panic of everyone around me, this isn’t that different from my regular writer’s life, minus the fact that I am out basically every night of the week. But, of course, everyone is freaking out and I am single and thought nothing about getting food, toilet paper or even a mask. A few days later, things get way more intense and everyone gets more intense and I could feel my Koreatown neighborhood really on edge. And then, all of a sudden, it is the middle of a day, in the middle of the week, and the most crowded neighborhood in all of Los Angeles is a ghost town. I start to get stir crazy, but I ride the wave of anxiety with six hours of Zoom teaching and early homemade dinners and to sleep at eight and up at five.
One night, PING, a message, “how u holding up?” and a friendship begins.
We talk about how we have been in community for years, but how little we know each other. Some laughs, some foreign language vulgarities, L.A. vs Boston hot air, and fill in some biographical details on who we think we are.
A week or so goes by, he offers to go get stuff for me. I offer to make him some food. The Koreatown to Glassell Park line is established. He starts telling me about his passion, jiu jitsu, and we talk about Sam Shepard, Jiehae Park and others, and then circle around to world affairs, acting, Spanish bad words, being racially profiled at the market, and other topics that modern day pen pals in a pandemic text about.
And then, of course, more days go by, more PINGS to say hello, ask if I need anything, offers to shop or get specifics, some fears, some angers, music sharing, and then you just start telling each other everything, as good pen pals do.
So, that was like March 21st and here it is middle of May, and it’s early morning but I am already grading, and I hear a PING from the phone, “U have package out front.”
I go outside and find a bag, but no culprit. That, I have learned, is very much him.
The thing about this pandemic is that not only is it brutal in the illness it carries, but it also exposes character, something our bumbling leadership can’t obscure, and sometimes that character is surprising.
Like the generous act of this morning.
A pandemic can also expose kindness, goodness, and thoughtfulness in the world.
Today, my pen pal, Trieu Tran, dropped off a cloth mask, a box of strawberries, and a David Gray CD. It’s not the contents he left (although they all had to do with something we talked about) it’s that in this offering, he also left himself.
And that is the true test of character.
Thank you, friend.
Luis Alfaro – a 2020 OPC Award Honoree – developed several plays in Ojai including “St. Jude” and “St. Jude – Part Two” (2011, 2012), “Holy Road” (2005), and “No Holds Barrio” (2002). He has also been a director and dramaturge on numerous projects at OPC. His many honors include the PEN/Laura Pels Award, a MacArthur Foundation “Genius” Award and the National Hispanic Playwriting Prize. His pandemic pen pal Trieu Tran developed “Uncle Ho to Uncle Sam” at OPC 2010.
Gideon Jeph Wabvuta
Playwright & Actor
HER DUSTY FEET: A REPORT FROM ZIMBABWE
. . . and we all ended up staying indoors for months . . . never at any moment did I imagine that would be a phrase I would ever have to say in real life. Here we are months removed from the first time I heard about this virus.
I remember hearing about Wuhan, China and a virus late in December and in my mind I thought, this is not going to cross the seas and land in Zimbabwe. It was a surreal feeling, the number of cases and the number of deaths felt like a bunch of impersonal numbers in a newspaper. They were not human beings, just numbers that would give me, not fear, but a weird sense of comfort that it would never get to Zim and if it did – at least knew enough how to protect myself.
I always think about natural disasters, pandemics and ‘acts of god’ the way Hollywood thinks about them. Africa is never included, America saves the world and by world, I mean, the west because Africa is never part of that saving. I thought like every other person in Zimbabwe, America would stop this disease before it spread around the world. Until it started to spread relentlessly from one country to another country – leaving bodies in its wake.
The first recorded case in Zimbabwe jolted me, the son of a Zimbabwean millionaire. He was high up on the social totem pole and if money can save anyone, he should have been invincible. He died because the hospital didn’t have a ventilator. It suddenly felt real, it was now close to home, the numbers in the newspaper had become real people. Panic, panic and more panic which I spilled over to my partner who joined me in trying to buy up groceries before everything in Zim went crazy.
Decked out in our masks we bought our supplies with a lot of people mocking us, laughing at us and some even getting angry. It felt like by wearing masks we were making this virus real to them; we suddenly had become the physical embodiment of the reality of this virus. I get it now, I didn’t then – they were trying the age-old trick, if you ignore it long enough, it eventually goes away.
It is here and in Zimbabwe we are on lockdown, and those numbers have started to climb with neighboring South Africa being like a scientific template we are following. Like I mentioned to a friend of mine – the two countries I have lived in, they both have one thing in common, a politicized pandemic! The phrase itself seems moronic, but I have seen aid material in Zimbabwe being branded with the president’s face for some reason and opposition politicians being blocked from dispersing aid to needy people because it undermines someone’s political influence. I will not talk about the U.S. We are both living in tough times.
It hasn’t been easy here. I have found myself watching videos of people packed in grocery store lines with little care for social distancing or masks and feeling afraid. This one interview struck me hard, a woman in her mid to late 30s, her feet dusty, mouth dry and her eyes dead as a reporter asks her if she isn’t scared of Covid-19. The woman turns slowly as if to conserve energy: “This virus of yours, corona, we don’t see it, but I do see the hunger in my kids’ faces everyday.” It was so simply said and she walked away. I felt guilty because here I was sitting in my house, with food in my stomach screaming that the government needs to enforce the lockdown.
These are strange times and all I’ve heard is that we should come out of this stronger and different and all sorts of hopeful things. But all this has done for me is expose the insidious nature of the world system we currently live in. It has to change, because clearly the people in power have chosen money, power and personal success over the common good of all mankind. All I hope for is that when we get through this pandemic – that it ceases to be business as usual. There must be something we can do to create a world where that woman with the dusty feet and dead eyes and her hungry children are seen and heard by the rest of the world. Let’s create that world . . .
Gideon Jeph Wabvuta’s play writing credits include “The Master’s Shoe,” developed at the Almasi African Playwrights, and “Mbare Dreams,” developed at Ojai Playwrights Conference 2015. Gideon is a member of the OPC artistic staff, working with the OPC Youth Workshop program.