Decima Francis - The Power of Drama

by Decima Francis

It has been my good fortune to have made my living doing a job that is both fulfilling and rewarding. Note that I did not say 'easy.' I recall when, at the age of seven, I arrived in England, finding myself surrounded by little English children who were still playing in sandpits and, to my dismay, still reading Janet and John books. I was invited to play Snow White in the school play. Now, under any circumstances whatsoever, did I resemble Snow White, not even in one's wildest imagination? I was not amused.

Conspicuously tall for my age, reed like [very thin] constantly cold and itching ad nauseam from wool cardigans, socks and skirts, disgusted with my daily breakfast of cereals, cornflakes, oats, toast, eggs, marmalade, tea and its variations, I was not going to put up with playing Snow White, as well as put up with the torture of a new country, a new culture and a new language. As far as I was concerned, they spoke it so badly I had to strain to understand it.

Still, I remember putting it down to the fact that their noses were so long and that was why they spoke in this fashion. I pitied them. I had no intention of playing a white person. The white skin that I was seeing was not what I was used to back in the West Indies. That was golden bronze, not the insipid transparent Dresden china look of these English people. My parents had brought me to hell. I was sure. It was not natural. Anyway, I knew they had not read the story correctly. Snow White was white with rosy cheeks and a rosy apple; everybody knew that. I did not want to be white, and I was not going to do it.

I was not that keen on the idea of a girl and seven dwarfs anyway. I thought she was stupid. Now, had they decided to do a play about Anansi the spider (an old African folklore), or Briar Rabbit, or an African princess, or, better still, Cinderella (or Cinders, as it is commonly known), I could have justified my role. There would have been room for exotica, maybe I summarized: Perhaps they called her Cinders because she spent so much time making the fire and living outside in the sun, she was sunburnt. At least one could invent a good reason and give a good argument, but Snow White it was. And I had to play her. I started sneaking back into the house instead of going to school and hiding in the outside loo in the backyard. Soon they called my mother to the school. I gave some lame excuse, which was quite ridiculous: something about socks and colors, exactly what my very good brain decided to wipe out not long after the event.

Well, play the role I did, and that is when I learned the power of drama, the theatre, communication, and real learning. I knew nothing about being white except from the books my mother had sent from England. Fine, if you like Postman Pat and Spot the dog. The monotonous, robotics existence of English suburban life as it seemed to me-did not have the excitement of a sudden tropical rain, the excitement of the sun disappearing beneath a blanket of dark clouds, the kids running out and whooping it up in the vegetation in the warm, the down pouring rain, the wonderful smell that come from the lush garden, the sun that suddenly and miraculously appeared and instantly dried everything up everything regained, children tying sardine cans to the back legs of land crabs, chariot races under the stilts of the houses, children climbing massive tree trunks, harassing tropical bees, watching humming birds feed with their fine long-needle like beaks, their tiny wings flapping so that they seemed to stand still and not move at all, or watching pelicans school their young teaching them how to dive for fish.

Swimming in the warm, clear Caribbean was the cause of my many beatings with a switch from the awful cup whip tree. I was sure my grandmother had prayed to God to have it especially installed next to the house. The fruit of the tree had a foul smell when opened, but the gourds made perfect bowls when cut in half, quite perfect. I spent my whole life as both my mother and grandmother would say 'daydreaming' which, of course, meant I was tardy How they offended me with their ignorance and presumption? Daydreaming? I ask you! No, I was in the case of my unknowing but dearly loved grandmother merely paying close attention and noting in my memory every color, smell, thought, awareness, sensation and future speculation that would have baffled Einstein, who people said knew everything. The red headed boy would pull the legs off every insect he could find, and blew up frogs had said that Einstein knew everything. I could never work out why the white children had to kill things to find out how they worked. It was so much fun to imagine the possibilities and there were so many options. Mind you, if you really look quite hard at the object in question it was quite simple to work out and if not, why not observe one that had died naturally. I often felt that they would have liked to have pulled me apart to see how I worked, because they could not see my veins and I could see theirs.

I digress to Snow White. There I was on the stage, skinny, black and resentful, pretending to be this white girl with a house full of dwarfs and an evil stepmother. There I was, and I had power. I looked out at the audience of adults, and all colors and hues were staring back at me. The teachers were sitting with the other children and I had a choice. "Should I do it? Should I stand there and cry or tell them "I don't want to play any white girl?" I stood there forever it seemed, and I decided to play this little white girl and observe the reaction. After all, I was in control and if I had to do it, I would do it my way. So having listened carefully and very patiently to how they spoke I stuck my nose up to the best of my ability and played what I thought I would be like if I were white. I gauged the audience reaction by the millisecond and adapted my character to get the right response. Then it was over, to the thunderous applause-that was it. I knew then that if I focused everything on the job at hand and nurtured with care and attention my growth and development, and kept my integrity, and submerged what I now know to be my ego and what I then thought was my divine right of superiority, I could do anything and do it well.

What I understand to be a profound truth from that experience was, that we as human beings can be anything. But to do it well, we have to acknowledge who and what we are first. And with that as the basis, the world is your oyster, as they say.

Acting, drama, theatre has since then and probably always will be for me a place for personal growth, healing, education and knowledge. Through theatre one can submerge one's racial and cultural identity for a short time, and investigate, analyze, observes, and emotes the human condition that is at the core of society or civilization.

My fight is for racial acceptance, not approval. It is for racial tolerance within the realms of the imagination from where our greatest transformation occurs. If we place ourselves in another person's life experiences truthfully; if we use the in ability to imagine, to think of the consequences of our actions; if we have the courage to examine our actions through drama perhaps we would better understand and would make better choices.

I am still investigating my existence through theatre that is my life, my stage, my vehicle of expression, "My Universal Shout" as Shakespeare quite rightly put it.

Many have tried to put me off. Blacks and Whites have tried to limit my areas of expression by telling me that I should concentrate on Black issues or White theatre only etc.; But I live in this world first and foremost, and choose my right as a human being to express my 'Blackness' in any arena of my choice. The millions who have gone before us, those who have suffered for our freedom, did so that I may do whatever takes my fancy. I may acquire knowledge from who ever has it, and I may define and experience my uniqueness, my individual blackness and my womanhood for myself.

My work has taught me that whatever I do as an individual, good bad or indifferent, represent my role, this is the time I live in, it will one day change-I have always taught and will continue to teach through theatre, that individual. For we are not invisible men, women and children. We are not "Blacks," a mass, one animal, but individual expressions of what it is to be a black human being, male or female and all that it entails. I was educated to have the best, no to demand it and expect the best and all the riches that life has to offer, and to express my uniqueness through it. This of course leads one to the height and depths of despair, joy and wonderment.

I have often found the best in the most unlikely places. I have sometimes found joy in the most piteous circumstances. The observation and reflection of humanity that is theatre, gives one the advantage to acknowledge the commonality of human kind-the opportunity to play all is available. I have my job! Nothing compares with the unfolding of a human being when he or she receives love, attention and confidence after struggling fundamentally with self-imposed boundaries, inhibitions, ignorance, fear, frustration, and culturally imposed limitations. To see them acknowledge and express publicly their interpretation of their view of the world, of their experiences, and their dreams. Through drama they experience the richness of life for themselves.

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Decima Francis-actress, teacher, director-is the Artistic Director of the Roxbury Outreach Shakespeare Experience or The R.O.S.E. and was awarded the Woman of the Year honor in 1981. She went on to become the first and only black female director of the Royal National Theatre in Great Britain.

Ms. Francis has worked constantly within inner city communities, at all levels of education and in the highest cultural areas. Apart from the many drama clubs and groups that she has started for people of all ages, she is most proud of the 15 young black actors and actresses who made up her company at The Royal National Theatre. There they received the best (4 months of it) training for the Shakespearean stage. There they investigated Shakespeare's language to discover which dialects best suited the text. They researched and collaborated on a documentary called "The Black Poppies," a piece on the black soldier from 1936 to the present.

Ms. Francis has just completed the first stage of an international cross-cultural exchange for minority achievers and students to share and experience the unique and wonderful expression created by the diverse cultural experience of the African Diaspora.

Her work within the education system continues here in the Boston public schools and this costly agenda welcomes funds and support. For those in need are always those without the means to come by it. Let us provide the means to come by it.

D. Francis July 89

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