Adam Goodes. Sandra Bland. Cecil the Lion. Bronwyn Bishop.
Four vastly different stories that have filtered through news
and social media over the last few weeks, that have basically nothing in common
– except they are all about systemic abuses of power. Goodes and Bishop are
intensely local stories that have vied for our attention in Australia. Sandra
and Cecil are both stories we’ve heard a hundred times before – and this week,
we argued about which should outrage us more.
All of them important. None more important than any other.
Bishop may have resigned today, but the system she was using to her own
advantage continues. Goodes may not have played football this weekend, and the
tide of support has turned toward him – but those who booed him last week
probably still wish they could boo him this week. And some, hopefully, have
woken up to themselves.
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| I Am A Miracle. Photo by Pia Johnson |
I Am A Miracle by
Declan Greene and directed by Matthew Lutton, currently playing at the
Malthouse Theatre, was inspired by a miscarriage of justice – a severely
mentally-handicapped man executed in Texas in 2012. In some ways, the play is
about that miscarriage of justice – but the full scope of the work touches on
the divine and the structural problems of society that lead to his impoverished
upbringing and his death.
It’s a response to Marvin Lee Wilson’s execution, but
actually tells three entirely different stories: a soldier in an 18th
Century Slave Colony in Surinam; a man – suffering from Alzheimers - and his
wife in modern day Australia; and the story of an Angel, watching over Marvin
Lee Wilson, trying to change the course of history.
Comparing Goodes to Bishop or Sandra to Cecil, the media –
both traditional and social – reduces the importance of all of them, except in
the way questions have been raised. The status quo has been questioned. The public
won’t just accept “that’s the way it is” anymore.
We don’t think an Indigenous football player should be abused
for being proud of his heritage. We don’t think a politician should get a free
ride. We cannot accept the narrative of a healthy, happy black woman dying
while incarcerated. We don’t believe a dentist should be able to hunt and kill
lions for sport.
But what will change exactly? What can be changed? How can
we affect change?
That is the question at the heart of I Am A Miracle. This is society as it has been built by history. These
are the problems that history has caused. What can we do about people who are
marginalised? What can we do about these systems of power that create the
spaces for people to be marginalised.
The solider in Surinam (played with such power by Melita
Jurisic) is part of a society that keeps slaves, but he has empathy for them.
Can he change the world he lives in?
The man with Alzheimers (Bert Labonte in another outstanding
performance, after his multiple characters in Birdland) loses his memory before
our eyes. How can we change the outcome of his story?
And the Angel (vocalised by Hana Lee Crisp, in a stunning
operatic performance) can do nothing so much than try to change all of history –
create a miracle – to save Marvin Lee Wilson’s life.
Is the only thing that can change the outcomes of all these
stories the titular miracle? Or can we be inspired by this piece of work to
challenge our assumptions and find the miraculous in the every day?
In an interview with Radio National, director Matthew Lutton
– recently appointed the Artistic Director of the Malthouse Theatre – was asked
whether it was the Malthouse theatre’s responsibility to always tell new
Australian stories.
Lutton said:
“It’s certainly not going to be a company where every story
we see on stage is explicitly about Melbourne right here now in tangible ways but
it will always be connected to the contemporary thought, the contemporary
moment. But Malthouse needs to think broadly... we need to be re-evaluating
ourselves in history, re-evaluating ourselves politically and personally.”
I Am A Miracle
were the last words of a man executed in 2012 in Texas. This play, written for
him, is about him, about a soldier, about a man and his wife and the pressures
of Alzheimer’s disease. It’s set now and at the beginning of time itself.
It’s not about Adam Goodes or Sandra Bland or Cecil the Lion
or Bronwyn Bishop or asylum seekers locked up outside the arms of our laws or
enemy combatants still in Guantanamo Bay or Al Jazeera journalists imprisoned
in Egypt for doing their job.
But, by some small miracle of theatre, it is.
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