Courage is Contagious: How I Remembered I was a Theatre Artist

After years of waiting for the theatre to "take me back," I realized something: it’s up to me to create the kind of theatre I’m yearning for.

At the start of 2025, I followed an intriguing link in a Substack article that sent me tumbling, Alice-like, through cyberspace, eventually depositing me on FAIR’s home page. Two clicks later, I felt my eyes well up in gratitude: I had found FAIR in the Arts.

I didn’t know it yet, but this discovery would lead me to re-imagine a new kind of theatre. Actually, it wasn’t “new,” it was the theatre I’d always known and loved: open, accepting, resilient, playful... and dedicated not to individual differences or political preferences, but to creating plays that help us remember our collective humanity.

It may sound like hyperbole, but when I found FAIR, I cried. Yes, my friends will tell you I cry easily—but these tears were hard-won. I had finally found an organization that recognized the unspoken challenges I had faced as a theatre artist since 2020.

Before the world shut down that year, I was gaining traction within the Buffalo, NY theatre world as a director and playwright. I had been hired to work on projects. I had made friends. I had created a writer’s group.

After the world shut down, I hunkered down like everyone else. I took the opportunity of solitude to write a massive play in Elizabethan prose and iambic pentameter about Aemilia Lanier, a possible author of Shakespeare’s works. Every two weeks I brought a few more scenes to the writer’s group, now on Zoom like every other writer’s group during that time.

By 2021 I had finished a first draft, and asked one of my newish theatre friends (I’ll call her Sally) to direct a table read. She said yes, and we worked out the details. I suggested we do the reading outdoors at a park to free everyone from masks. I told her I didn’t want to see my play read by a bunch of faceless actors, and she agreed: too much would be lost.

What I didn’t say was that I didn’t want to wear a mask indoors myself.

Two weeks before the date, Sally contacted me. “I checked out the park. I don’t think it’s going to work — there’s just too much ambient noise, and what if it rains?”

Before I could think of a helpful response, she continued: “But I have great news! I contacted a theatre, and they’re happy to let us use their space! I’ve booked it for the same time and date.”

Stunned, all I could do was thank her and hang up. Sure enough, within the hour, there was an email in my inbox to all of us, explaining the venue change and including something like: “Since we will be indoors, please wear a mask if you’re unvaccinated. I’m sure we all have loved ones we want to protect.”

My heart raced. I was stuck. If I wore a mask, I’d be telegraphing to ten theatre people whom I had worked so hard to befriend that I was NOT ONE OF THEM. If I didn’t wear it, I’d be pretending I was vaccinated.

The day loomed. I didn’t know what to do. I was losing sleep every night, trying to figure out the “right” thing to do.

On the day of, I still didn’t know. I decided to trust my instincts to do what felt right. I knew I wasn’t sick, so that was a plus. I drove to the theatre, parked, and carried in a case of water, sweating profusely all the way.

At the door, Sally greeted me warmly and welcomed me in, keeping her distance. And that was that. I didn’t put on a mask. I didn’t say anything about it. As the other actors arrived, I did the same as Sally — a warm hello, from afar.

It felt lousy.

I had never done that before. I had always spoken up — gently, usually — to share my opinion, even when it was not the prevailing ideology. But this time I caved. I disregarded my integrity, choosing to preserve my working relationship with these people by pretending I shared their beliefs, and all I felt… was sheepishness.

In the end, though, that attempt to “preserve my working relationship” didn’t matter. As the year wore on, I was denied access to all theatres due to my personal health choices. Not only could I not work in any theatre, I couldn’t even set foot inside one.

All the communities that had embraced me – the Waldorf School where I had sent all three children and worked three years as the Administrator/Principal, the yoga studio where I taught, and yes, the theatre community – suddenly felt foreign. Feeling strange, separate, and othered, I faded away from all of them, quietly, with no explanation or remonstrance.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought it would all blow over. These communities would soon reach back out, surely, with some version of “We kind of went overboard, sorry, that’ll never happen again. Where’ve you been?”

But that mea culpa never came.

My husband and I debated endlessly: stay or go? Eventually, we lost whatever faith we had left that New York State would operate in our best interests. By October of 2022, we knew what we had to do. As difficult as it was to leave both my sister and the home where my husband and I had raised our three children, we packed up the house and moved to Florida.

There, emboldened by living in an entirely new place, I launched The Art of Freedom, a Substack publication dedicated to freedom in all realms: artistic, individual, collective, and divine. I came to think of myself as an unlabeled, open-minded skeptic who follows the truth wherever it leads, and endeavored to mirror that evolution within my ‘stack, creating a place where readers of any ideology would feel welcome. Through it, I slowly forged an online community that became a lifeline.

The one gaping hole in my life? Theatre. I had no idea how to muster up the courage to get involved again.

Fast-forward to 2025, as I was weeping upon the discovery of “FAIR in the Arts.” I scrolled down the page… and there it was: “Playwright’s Think Tank.” (What the ?!?) I guffawed. A group of playwrights dedicated to discussing works “without the influence of social/political/theological trends, group-think, and personal bias”? Was I dreaming?

I fired off an email to the Playwright’s Think Tank (PTT), sharing my story and desire to be part of a writer’s group again. The facilitator kindly invited me to a meeting the following evening… and I’ve been a member of the open-minded group ever since.

Courage is a funny thing. Just as moving to FL emboldened me to speak up via The Art of Freedom, joining the PTT six months ago gave me the fortitude to reach out to theatres here in the Tampa/St. Pete area. I’m happy to report that opportunities have blossomed.

What I’ve discovered is that bravery is contagious. The playwrights of PTT do not all agree with one another on much of anything, but they speak their minds freely and send their works out into the world, regardless of the reception. And regularly sharing the company of such people has strengthened my resolve to do the same.

My desire to self-censor is all but gone. Now, when fellow theatre artists make political comments that assume consensus on a multitude of topics, I rarely default into, “Why jeopardize these burgeoning relationships?” Instead, I act from, “I’ll bet we can agree on at least some part of this issue.”

Instinctive, preemptive self-muzzling is what I see as the greatest threat to the arts, specifically within the theatre community. Based on my own experience and that of fellow PTT members and other Substackers who left the theatre, I know I’m not alone.

And this is why I was driven to create “Dear US: One-Acts to Bridge the Divide.” I wanted to produce an evening of differing viewpoints within the physical theatre itself, to cultivate thought-freedom in the place that believes it’s fighting for those very freedoms – even as it suppresses them through an assumption of monoculture. I wanted to help others in the theatre community develop the courage that slowly takes root when you’re surrounded by those who speak their minds.

Joining PTT gave me the resolve to rejoin the world of theatre, and hearing about FAIR in the Arts’ grant opportunity sparked some serious goosebumps— which I pay close attention to. Sure enough, the idea for “Dear US” soon fell into my heart.

After years of waiting for the theatre to “take me back,” I realized something: it’s up to me to create the kind of theatre I’m yearning for — a place where everyone is welcome, and the free exchange of ideas is a given.

I have always been a bridge-builder, a person who facilitates connection in the midst of conflict, who reaches for consensus rather than majority domination.

I’m still committed to building bridges, even at this time of our human evolution when it seems that almost everyone else is burning them down. My mission has always been to invite black and white to step toward each other into grey, and with FAIR’s help in the form of this grant, I’m doing just that.

For more information about the Playwright’s Think Tank, please contact karen.howes@fairforall.org

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