“Why theatre?”

 Friends, acquaintances, extended family members, and even artists in other mediums ask me this question regularly. Most times, it’s accompanied by a puzzled smile and a furrowed brow, a friendly face that communicates the rest of their unfinished question: “Why theatre now?” Why pursue a career in theatre, a notoriously rocky industry, at a time when the country’s arts and culture sector is already in a precarious state of decline? In an urgent call to action released this March, the Professional Association of Canadian Theatres (PACT) painted an alarming picture of an industry in crisis. Since 2019, theatres’ operating costs have, on average, increased by roughly 35 to 41 per cent while their attendance rates have decreased by nearly half. Clearly, the theatre industry is not doing enough to entice audiences back to live theatre post-pandemic. Once a cheap, popular form of entertainment, theatre has become synonymous for much of the public with artistic elitism, an art form reserved for the few well-off retirees or wealthy business people who can afford it. 

So why should the average person spend time and money to attend the theatre when streaming services offer a near-endless array of film and television options to watch from the comfort of their own home? The answer to this question lies in live theatre’s capacity to build community and engage its audience members with the political and social realities of our current moment. In a time when the scale of violence and suffering around the world can feel as all-consuming as it is daunting, theatre must not be reduced to detached escapism—rather, the art form must engage with the world around us. 

Strong as I am in these convictions, my original “why” for getting involved with theatre was fairly straightforward and entirely apolitical: My parents believed I needed an outlet for my incessant chatter and big feelings. Perhaps they assumed (not incorrectly) that my boisterous personality and dizzyingly high energy levels made becoming a theatre kid a natural fit. Whatever the case, they signed my eight-year-old self up for a summer drama camp, which I attended for a week and fell in love with all things theatre. 

Having found the activity that made me the happiest, I stuck with theatre throughout the rest of my schooling. I acted in plays, took musical theatre lessons, and got involved with improv, forming a close circle of like-minded theatre kid friends along the way. Ever the entertainer, I loved the feeling of making people laugh or smile with a silly voice or song. As I entered high school, I began to see the art form as more than a fun pastime for the artists and easy entertainment for the audience. By working on plays that used the imaginary to grapple with themes of political violence, mental illness, and sexual assault, I saw how audience members connected with and were moved by the stories happening onstage. 

Katherine Zien, an associate professor dually appointed in the Department of English’s Drama & Theatre and Cultural Studies streams, spoke to why theatre’s live format might make it especially effective at engaging audiences with political and social issues. While reading a book, watching a movie, or looking at a painting whose content is political can certainly prompt reflection, it is far easier for the viewer to disengage with these forms of media if they have a dissenting opinion, feel discomfort, or even react with disinterest; all they have to do is put down the book, turn off the screen, or walk away from the artwork. By contrast, the tacit social contract of the theatre—the societal norm present in most traditional theatrical spaces that the audience sit quietly, watch the show, and only make noise when it’s finished—dissuades audience members from disengaging with a piece of theatre, even when it explores difficult subject matter. 

“[As an audience member] I’m going to just try to follow along with whatever you’ve put out there for me, and […] I’m going to generously give my time and money over to this thing,” Zien remarked in an interview with The Tribune. 

Zien acknowledged that, while there is no way to know how an audience member will react to or engage with political content, the simple act of sharing space with the performers may make the audience more open to listening. 

“When you think about going and sitting in a space with strangers and respecting people who are performing, […] there’s a real act of care and generosity that I see there.”

While my understanding of theatre’s potential to engage with wider issues was still forming, these early experiences with more politically-minded theatre bolstered my dedication to the art form. By the time I was approaching graduation, I felt ready and excited to audition for post-secondary theatre programs. Then, the COVID-19 pandemic stopped me in my tracks. As the world ground to a halt in March 2020, theatres everywhere shuttered their doors. Now in university classes or acting conservatories, I watched as the upperclassmen friends I’d made during my early high school years spent their days trying to do voicework and movement in front of computer screens. Meanwhile, we watched, helpless, as hundreds of thousands of people died, many of whom belonged to vulnerable and underserved communities. We watched in horror as videos of the murder of George Floyd circulated online, forcing folks across the United States and Canada to contend with the brutal violence and discrimination embedded in our policing systems. All the while, tides of doubt crept into my mind, lapping away at my convictions about the importance of theatre, wearing them down until one thought remained: Why theatre? What was the point of trying to be a theatre artist at a time like this? 

Shaken and unsure, I ultimately made the difficult decision to leave theatre behind and enroll in Cognitive Science at McGill. In my first year of university, I deliberately took a break from performing. I convinced myself it was for the best; trying to get involved with university theatre would have meant voluntarily spending even more hours in front of my computer screen on Zoom. While I still loved the art form, I felt too jaded to dedicate my time to it; what use was escaping into a play in the midst of the very real issues around me? 

By the time lockdown restrictions began to ease up during my second year, I decided to return to acting, if only as an extracurricular. I missed the joy of working with others on a shared passion project. Eager to fill this missing piece of my social life, I joined Tuesday Night Cafe Theatre (TNC), a nonhierarchical student theatre company. 

This desire to make friends and be a part of a larger community is a common motivator for joining theatre and was echoed by Molly Frost, U3 Arts, a student theatre artist and the current Executive Director of TNC. Having arrived at McGill in the fall of 2021, when most classes were still being delivered in a hybrid environment or in-person with strict masking restrictions, Frost joined McGill’s Savoy Society and later TNC with the hopes of branching out and meeting folks outside of her program. 

 “It was very fun […] meeting the people on the exec team, and seeing the space. Not to sound corny or cliché, but I kind of fell in love with it. […] It was a great sense of community,” Frost said. “I think [being in theatre] just sort of like fast tracks a path to friendship, […] even if you’re not, like, best friends seeing each other all the time, it still [provides connections with] people that you know and that you care about and respect.” 

Alongside my search for this sense of community, I was drawn to TNC because of their expressly political mandate, which dictates that the company produce plays that are experimental, subversive, and engage with intersectionality. This commitment to political engagement helped assuage my worries about theatre’s tendency towards navel-gazing. 

While some may believe theatre should be apolitical, I believe art does not exist in a vacuum. Whether it’s embedded in the text itself, the casting, or apparent by omission, theatre will speak to its sociopolitical context. Catherine Hernandez, an acclaimed author, screenwriter, and playwright, expressed her belief that artists have a responsibility to engage with their real-life context.  

“To me, activism and artmaking is dreaming of possibilities. When you are part of a movement, you contribute your talents, whatever they may be,” Hernandez wrote in an email to The Tribune. “I’ve chosen the role of an artist by dreaming new worlds into being, where all people have a place; have an equal right to live and love with equal access to resources.” 

Historically, theatre’s ephemeral format has proven useful to artists looking to explore and disseminate more radical political messaging while minimizing the threat of financial or political repercussions. 

“Theatre has often benefited from being overlooked. [For instance,] Latin American theatre artists [living under] dictatorship have really benefited from not always being recorded,” Zien explained.  “They could do and say things that were subversive because it was live.”   

This upside to being overlooked resonates with student theatre companies like TNC, whose budget is comprised of funding from the Department of English, ticket sales, donations. The group is not beholden to the desires of Students’ Society of McGill (SSMU), the potential censorship of governmental arts organizations, or the whims of the theatre-going public. As such, it may be easier for them to weather the potential financial risks that come with taking a controversial political stance.

By contrast, artists like Rahul Varma, co-founder and current Artistic Director of Teesri Duniya Theatre, are all too familiar with the threat of censorship and financial ruin to political theatre. Founded in 1981, Teesri Duniya is a prominent professional theatre company whose works centre on a diverse range of BIPOC voices. While many other companies stayed silent on their positions or released vague statements in response to the horrific events of Oct. 7 and Israel’s ensuing siege on Gaza, Varma insisted that Teesri dive in headfirst. 

“I think that it surprises me that in the theatre community, the response has been pretty mute, and many of the theatre artists are privately talking about it, but not publicly,” Varma expressed. “We as theatre artists, what we have is a voice and our craft. If we suppress our [voices] and talk privately but not publicly, we are basically breaking our connection with the public. We are an instrument of communication, and we do communicate with artistic beauty [….] If we do not do this, we are just betraying our own sector, our own craft, our own discipline. So I think that silence is not an option. By default, silence goes to support the dominant force.”

To ensure Teesri’s actions were going beyond lip service, Varma shelved previously planned productions and instead spent late 2023 and early 2024 preparing an entirely new season entitled “Staging Freedom.” Described as “a theatrical response to war, occupation, and genocide,” this new theme tied together various plays, workshops, and events focused on championing Palestinian rights. 

Despite facing budget cuts to his operational funding from various governmental organizations that he maintains are a direct result of his company’s outspoken stance on Palestine, Varma believes that the community’s response has made the high-stress changes worth it. Audiences received the company’s first show of the season, Two Birds One Stone by Natasha Greenblatt and Rimah Jabr, with open arms. A touching auto-fictional account of its two playwrights’ friendship and their respective connections to the occupied Palestinian territories, the piece’s series of moderated post-show talkbacks offered an avenue for productive, engaging community discussions. 

Hernandez has been similarly vocal about her pro-Palestinian perspective, both through her words and her actions. Earlier this year, she removed her novel Behind You from consideration for the 2024 Scotiabank Giller Prize in protest of the relationship between the award’s primary sponsor and Elbit Systems, an Israeli weapons manufacturer that serves as a primary supplier to the IDF. 

“I want people to understand that the ability to speak up for what is right is not some magical talent you’re born with. It’s a skill. And like any skill it takes practice and bravery.

This last year has been a personal exercise in learning to be brave despite being among the hundreds of authors who have experienced censorship and repression due to our activism. I have lost opportunities and employment. The future of my career is uncertain.,” Hernandez expressed. “But what I fear most is the continued violence worldwide due to predatory capitalism. As an artist, I know my work—be it my paintings or writing—is to encourage others to be brave with me.”    

Theatre, like all artforms,  is inextricably intertwined with the social and the political. The choice of what scripts to platform, how to run a company, and the emphasis placed on community-building are all reflective of one’s values. As audiences, we must continue to support local theatre and engage with politically conscious productions. As theatre makers, it is crucial that we use our voices and our platforms to speak truth to power and explicitly oppose violence and injustice through our works. Theatre is at its best when it is community-oriented and politically-minded, and we must do all we can to keep it that way. 

I have a major headache. Literally: I have a headache because of my major—or lack thereof, I suppose. 

Most people are shocked to hear that there is no Indigenous Studies major at McGill—fellow students, my family back home, and even this university’s professors. In 2024, the Center for World University Rankings (CWUR) ranked McGill as the second-best university in Canada and 27th-best in the world. McGill cannot be a “world-class” university without adequately addressing the dismal state of its Indigenous Studies program.

Indigenous studies and contemporary Indigenous issues are the crux of my academic being—I live and breathe for Indigenous studies. My dad, Mi’kmaq from Listuguj First Nations reserve, started me off young. I was 11 years old, reading excerpts of Richard Wagamese’s //Indian Horse// to my seventh-grade class (which was definitely not age-appropriate for an 11-year-old). I’ve since expanded my library to include books like Suzanne Methot’s //Legacy// and Darryl Leroux’s //Distorted Descent//, and a deep yearning has grown in my soul to learn more about this country’s relationship with the first peoples of this land to mark a path of decolonization. 

When I committed to McGill, I knew that was no Indigenous Studies major, but I decided to make the best out of a mediocre situation. I accepted that I would have to cobble together a make-shift Indigenous Studies program through a Sociology major and Indigenous Studies and Political Science minors. Even though I couldn’t pursue the major I dreamed of on paper, I figured I would still get an excellent education at one of the best schools in the country.

But my God, is McGill’s current program a pain in the ass.

 I greatly underestimated the disparity between the Indigenous Studies program and other disciplines. There are real academic gaps between the Indigenous Studies program at McGill and other departments in the Faculty of Arts. The difference between a full major program or “just a minor” in Indigenous Studies goes beyond what will be written on your diploma. Without a major, there is no opportunity to write a thesis for an honours degree, fewer courses available, and less incentive for professors to come to McGill to broaden the program’s reach. 

Indigenous Studies is a highly interdisciplinary field, so when there are only a handful of professors available, students get pigeonholed into one or two areas of scholarship and don’t have the opportunity to specialize in what they are passionate about within the Indigenous Studies minor. For example, Nina Barry, U2 Arts, who is pursuing a Psychology and Behavioural Science double-major and an Indigenous Studies minor, believes that the increased array of courses that a fully-fleshed-out program could offer would open up more diverse learning opportunities.

“One thing I am really interested [in] is mental health facilities for Indigenous communities, and I would have loved to be able to combine my passion for psychology and my passion for Indigenous Studies, but that’s just not really something that’s offered here,” Barry said in an interview with //The Tribune//.

Comparatively, the Political Science department at McGill, which also takes an interdisciplinary approach to a complex discipline, contains five main fields that are all equally developed: Canadian Politics, Comparative Politics, International Relations, Political Theory, and Methods. While students in Political Science majors need to take classes in each area, you could easily focus on international politics of diplomacy in South Asia if that’s where your heart lies. 

Meanwhile, in Indigenous Studies, there are only six courses with the INDG course code available during the 2024-2025 academic year, two of which do not have professors associated with them yet. Students in the minor program, like myself, are forced to fill in the gaps with complementary classes in adjacent departments. While these classes do present opportunities to learn more about Indigenous issues, they often have non-Indigenous Studies-related prerequisites that make filling your minor requirements just that much more difficult.

“It’s sad [because] I and other Indigenous students came to McGill expecting the Indigenous programming to be as strong as McGill’s counterparts. Unfortunately, that is not the case,” said Rune Hartgerink, U1 Arts, an Anishinaabe student majoring in Sociology and Archeology and minoring in Indigenous Studies.

Mateo Itzam Jimenez-Haham, Maya Mam U3 Arts student at McGill, began his academic journey here as I did: He wanted to major in Indigenous Studies but compromised by doing the minor instead and registering in Sociology. 

“I barely took any classes in that major because it wasn’t really what I wanted to study,” Jimenez-Haham said. 

However, with the help of Professor Noelani Arista, director of the Indigenous Studies program, and former professor Jimena Marquez, they created a 46-page proposal for an ad hoc Bachelor of Arts degree which allowed Jimenez-Haham to design his own course of study.

“If [McGill] really wanted to [create an Indigenous Studies major], they would, but they don’t. They’ve been reluctant. They’ve been dragging their feet,” Jimenez-Haham said. “[McGill] made a minor [and] said a major would just soon follow. It’s been about a decade, and even despite many people advocating for its implementation, it still is not a reality. I’m really hopeful that this ad hoc BA can show [McGill] that people are genuinely, really wanting this [major] to be a reality and hopefully speed up the process a little bit for everyone.”

In December 2023, A McGill hiring freeze issued “a complete halt of all new hiring, both academic and administrative.” The freeze, coupled with within-faculty tensions, led some professors to leave the university. My fears grew about the future of Indigenous Studies at McGill. Like many of my peers in more niche areas of study such as Music Composition, I worried that McGill’s current financial situation would disproportionately affect departments that are already struggling.

At Concordia, First Peoples Studies is a BA with a major and a minor. However, First Peoples Studies is not a department, as it is housed in the School of Community and Public Affairs. As it is not its own department, they do not have direct access to the budget, but these barriers are not unique to First Peoples Studies. 

The Tribune spoke with Nicolas Renaud, Huron-Wendat and Québecois Assistant Professor and Director of the First Peoples Studies program at Concordia University, about the impacts of having a major program in Indigenous Studies. 

“There are certainly other majors in culturally based studies, about a given people or nation in various parts of the world, so there’s no reason that the first people of this land wouldn’t be included in the subjects of this university,” Renaud said in an interview with //The Tribune//.

However, he advised caution around assuming that adding a major would automatically make the university more decolonial or inclusive of Indigenous students and faculty. 

“Yes, it’s better if they can be a major, [but] it’s not the only criteria of how a university will offer something meaningful about Indigenous people,” Renaud said. “A university might not offer a major in the field and yet be a good place for Indigenous students and profs, based on other aspects of the environment it provides and the space given to Indigenous perspectives.”

Further west, the University of British Columbia (UBC) has an exemplary First Nations and Indigenous Studies (FNIS) program. One of the strengths of the FNIS program at UBC is their research practicum where students work to meet the research needs of one of over a hundred Indigenous organizations that have partnered with UBC. Not only does it prepare students to be effective researchers, but the projects are designed based on the unique research needs of local Indigenous organizations. 

Linc Kesler, Oglala Lakota emeritus professor at UBC, was the first director of the FNIS program and developed its curriculum. After establishing an Indian Education Office at Oregon State University, Kesler was well-prepared to design the curriculum of a strong and meaningful Indigenous Studies program: Oregon State’s Ethnic Studies department, which Kesler helped to create in the middle of a budget crisis. At UBC in 2008, which was also in the midst of a budget crisis, Kesler explained that the new President made the “very wise decision that the university should address the budget crisis by forming a strategic plan to guide the priorities and funding.” Kesler used this opportunity to incorporate plans for an Indigenous Studies program into the revised budget. 

“There’s no point in being daunted by a budget crisis,” Kesler said.

On their website, McGill states that they “will heed the call of the [Truth and Reconciliation Commission] by engaging and collaborating with Indigenous communities to identify, explore and advance ideas, initiatives and plans that will embed Indigeneity in the life and activities of the University while seeking to enhance the presence and success of Indigenous students, faculty and staff at McGill.” In the 31st of their 52 Calls to Action, McGill also states that its programs’ “success aligns with experience at other institutions in Canada and the United States where full-blown Indigenous or Native Studies programs have been proven successful for the past several decades.” While this language sounds encouraging, the lack of classes and no major program in sight makes one wonder how much institutional support there really is behind these statements. 

Across North America, dedicated Indigenous Studies programs are still relatively new, and many institutions are still in the process of building comprehensive programs. 

“There’s Indigenous nothing happening [at the University of Toronto (UofT)],” said Kesler, who received his PhD from UofT in 1981. “Of course, that was like 50 years ago, but I don’t think it’s a whole lot better now [….] You know, the bar is pretty low. You can become a leading institution by doing anything.”

When it comes to concrete plans, there is little information available online about the trajectory of the Indigenous Studies program. A Google search turns up little else other than information on the minor and two decade-old articles, one from //Anishnbek News// and another from //The McGill Daily//. Both articles are from when the program was first announced nine years ago.

Since the path forward is so vague, let’s do some of the work that McGill’s administration should be doing and imagine what a strong, durable, and meaningful Indigenous Studies program could look like. 

First, there must be collaboration between the university and local Indigenous communities and organizations. The university must exercise humility and base its curriculum on the ideas and needs of local communities. An academic program is just an empty shell without true, meaningful relationships with the people it claims to serve. These connections will serve to pressure the university to continue evolving its program as well as keeping the curriculum relevant. 

“I will tell you that I think in both my experience in Oregon and my experience at UBC, what was critical to the success of both of those initiatives was engagement with the Indigenous community in Oregon,” Kesler said.

Second, Indigenous faculty must be involved in the process of building the program. In an interview with //The Tribune//, Professor Vernon Coburn, an Anishinaabe associate professor and Faculty Chair of McGill’s Indigenous Relations Initiative, emphasized the need for caution in such circumstances. He explained that the University of Ottawa’s Institute of Indigenous Research and Studies crashed before being able to truly take off because it was not created ethically or relationally. 

“It’s been almost a dismal failure,” Coburn said in an interview with //The Tribune//. “I think it was because it was led very narrowly, without engagement from the community and input from Indigenous faculty and staff and the larger university community.” 

Third, the program must be more than a vanity project. McGill has encouraged faculty to begin events with land acknowledgments, only to turn around and engage in a legal battle against the Kanien’kehá:ka Kahnistensera (Mohawk Mothers) over possible unmarked graves at the site of McGill’s New Vic Project at the former Royal Victoria Hospital (RVH). The Indigenous Studies program must be designed as more than a flashy banner on McGill’s website that claims a journey toward reconciliation. 

“A lot of that reconciliation and Indigenization stuff is show—it’s a spectacle, just like reconciliation in general is a spectacle for good conscience of the settler society,” Renaud said. “Real change is very different.” 

Finally, the program must be set up to succeed. Once established, the university cannot treat the program like a “diversity experiment” where if it fails, the Indigenous faculty would be at fault. This highlights discrepancies between Indigenous and non-Indigenous disciplines, which are given more institutional support. McGill has an obligation not just to establish the program but to truly ensure its success and longevity. 

“It’s like offering one person a Cadillac and then offering the other person a little Ford or some other rinky-dink vehicle,” Coburn said. “We can see the differential treatment. And then you blame us for it failing? [They] say, well, look, every time we give the Indigenous people something, it doesn’t work, they break it [….] And look, it’s their own fault that it failed. It’s like, if you helped department X so much, why don’t you give us the same amount of help to succeed?”

“It’s just going to be an embarrassment if you do it off the back of a cocktail napkin. No, this needs to be comprehensive,” said Coburn about the future of McGill’s Indigenous Studies department.

But why do Indigenous Studies programs matter? Kesler said it plainly in an interview: “As to why to do it, it’s pretty simple. Because it’s the 21st century, you’re in Canada, [and] Canada has a long and terribly troubled relationship with Indigenous people. […] If we continue to graduate the leaders of British Columbia and Canada from this university ignorant of this history, what are we doing? We’re failing in our responsibility to provide people with the necessary information to lead this country and this province.” 

Ignorance is a weapon utilized by the settler-colonial state to further its objectives of the elimination, dispossession, and displacement of Indigenous peoples. Settler-colonialism is not a thing of the past, and neither are we as Indigenous peoples. For too long, Indigenous peoples have been ignored, especially by colonial institutions such as McGill. Universities, as self-proclaimed beacons of knowledge and research, cannot afford to enable ignorance. As academics and humans, we must ensure that we orient ourselves onto the right path for the right reasons. McGill has this responsibility not only to Indigenous folks across the country but also to settlers. Only by learning from the past and the present can we guide ourselves and all our relations into the future.