I've Been to The Mountaintop: The Power of Theatre

 Last week, I attended a performance of The Mountaintop at our local community theatre. I'm friends with the director, a young Black man who is a teacher and who has been in productions I've directed and acted in. We've grown close over the past year or so, after some assumptions on both our parts were ironed out and we discovered we had more in common than not. 

I knew more than the average audience member about the process that went into this 2-person "simple" show, depicting the night before Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination. Despite being in a small city, our community theatre struggles to attract actors of color. We have an outreach committee devoted to breaking down barriers, from the audition experience to what it's like to attend a show in our space for the first time. We want to encourage as many voices as we can to share their stories in our -- soon to be their -- space. 

A 2-person show is hard, ya'll. There are no freaking breaks for anyone. This 90-minute show required two actors -- one playing MLK, the other playing a supposed-maid -- to be on stage without a break or a musical number the whole time. (The director did add an intermission, to allow for a respite, though brief.) Nevertheless, this is wicked hard. 

The premise of the show is that a maid comes to MLK's room and he bums a smoke from her, then starts talking about the work, about the journey ahead, about the lack of progress in civil rights. Before too long, we learn that the maid is actually an Angel of Death of sorts, who has been sent to usher Martin (Michael, by some) to the next life. He doesn't feel he's ready. He's not confident in his predecessor. He knows he still has more to offer -- and yet. It's time. 

On my way to the theatre, I listened to a YouTube video of King's "I Have a Dream" speech, and then a bit of a video about MLK's "I've Been to the Mountaintop" speech, given in support of the sanitation workers in Memphis before his death. 

Ya'll, I will be completely honest with you. I've always loved MLK's work. Teaching his "Letter from Birmingham Jail" was one of my favorite pieces in AP and Honors English 11. (That part where he says I don't usually answer criticism because it would keep my SECRETARIES -- plural -- from the real work, is just fire.) But, until I became a principal in a building with many students of color -- I didn't "get" it. And I couldn't, as a middle-class White woman. I don't blame myself; it's just a reality. Now that I am regularly talking with young children of color, encouraging them to pursue their dreams, asking them to be leaders, telling them I love them -- the message of MLK's life simply hits different. 

During the show, a young Black man whom I've acted with before was seated near me. I could hear him attempting to stifle his sobs as Martin received the news of his impending death, as his words from 1968 continued to ring true today: "Don't they see that love is the most radical weapon?" and "What is a man who doesn't speak his conscience?"

In the end, as MLK predicted, "the tallest tree is felled first," and as we all know, he was assassinated long before he felt his work on this earth was done. The audience was left with the very clear message that there is still work to be done, and that it is ours to do. 

As the lights came up, I approached the young Black man whose cheeks were wet with tears. I said, "Can I give you a hug?" and he simply nodded. I was at a loss for words, but simply said, "I see you. You matter. You aren't alone." Another fellow actor approached us and offered solace as well. 

And I share this, not for anyone to be like -- Wow! Look at Denise! What a great person! No, not at all. I share it to encourage you to look for ways to show light and love to others who may feel unseen, unworthy, or hurting right now in this world we live in. After all, only light can drive out darkness.