1

Co-Creating Capital: Rural Youth, Stigma, and Applied Theatre Practice

Dissertation

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy

in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

By

Aubrey Helene Neumann

Graduate Program in Theatre

The Ohio State University

2021

Dissertation Committee

Ana Elena Puga, Advisor

Christine Ballengee Morris

Katherine Borland

Beth Kattelman

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Copyrighted by

Aubrey Helene Neumann

2021

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Abstract

Looking at the intersection of applied theatre practice and matters of rural and

intragroup stigma, this dissertation argues that by sharing stories rural youth co-create

social and cultural capital. Such capital, in turn, supplements existing long-term efforts to

address stigma and to a certain extent offsets the limited opportunity structures that

impact rural young people. Drawing on three case studies conducted over the 2019-2020

academic year, I detail the influence of rural and intragroup stigma on the social and

cultural capital of the young rural participants, as well as the subsequent impacts of

applied theatre practice. While all three case studies prioritize participant experience,

they otherwise vary: from an in-school residency facilitated in rural Wisconsin to an

after-school program observed in Nelsonville, Ohio to a touring youth ensemble formally

based in Baraboo, Wisconsin. Although not broadly generalizable, the variety of case

studies provides a breadth of examples intended to spark future applied theatre practice

and research with rural young people.

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Dedication

To my co-creators, who inspired this recipe for applied theatre with rural youth:

Three cups of shared stories Another cup of creative design A whole lotta sass A handful of rural pride One joyous Penguin Dance!!! A drawerful of locker decorations A few teaspoons stare down A sprinkling of #wordshavepower And a whole lot of fun Six happy hearts A dozen or more listening ears The occasional rant A cycle of peer role models A splash of homosexual zebras So many different people, none alike One “Holy Crap” (this is my group) A bowlful of not wanting it to end Another helping of representation One "Hey, that's kind of important" Lots of issues – all at once A healthy dose of “Dicking Around Time” Many lightning-fast rounds of Zoom-Schwarz-Perfigliano Heaping scoops of support Regular check-ins One black and yellow striped hat A gallon of trying (because that’s what TNT does) A big part of life And one thankful facilitator

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Acknowledgments

This dissertation would not have been possible were it not for the expertise and

guidance of my advisor, Dr. Ana Elena Puga. Not only has her invaluable feedback

resulted in a far more rigorous document, but her care and understanding have also

helped me through many a writer’s block. I am likewise immensely thankful for my other

committee members, Dr. Christine Ballengee Morris, Dr. Katherine Borland, and Dr.

Beth Kattelman. Over my time at The Ohio State University, I have greatly benefitted

from the service and teaching of these exceptional scholars and am so grateful to have

their keen eyes on this work. Thanks as well to my colleagues at The Ohio State

University, most especially Nicolas Shannon Savard, John Michael Sefel, and William

Ledbetter; their ready feedback and quick laughter proving that writing is very much a

collaborative process.

Many thanks to all who aided in the realization of my research. I am deeply

indebted to Sharon Moshure and American Players Theatre who helped me to connect

with Midwest High School and Teens ‘n’ Theatre as well as Christine Benedetti and the

Ohio Field School for bringing Stuart’s Opera House to my attention. Without them, the

bright, creative participants chronicled throughout this dissertation would not have made

it to the page. I am likewise grateful to Rachel Barnes and Erica Furukawa for helping to

keep gas in my tank and a roof over my head. As Theatre Department Manager, Barnes’

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expertise and patience proved extremely helpful in navigating research funding requests.

Meanwhile, Furukawa and her family exhibited remarkable hospitality, opening their

home to me over the course of my research. Thanks also to Guillermo Parades Orozco

whose talents in quantitative social research brought greater clarity to the surveys and

interviews used throughout this dissertation.

I would also like to extend my gratitude to those incredible artists, teachers, and

young people who – though not centered in the case studies – significantly influenced the

course of this work, namely: April Deacon and her students at Portsmouth High School;

Jordan Lovejoy and Wyoming East Theatre in West Virginia; and Pegi Wilkes and her

assistant instructors at Cirque d’Art Theatre. I would also like to recognize Ms. W of

Riverside High School (pseudonym); though the pandemic interrupted our planned

residency, I remain thankful for her generosity and willingness to invite me into her

classroom.

As always, a massive thanks to my brother, Cole, and father, John, for their

unwavering love and encouragement. And to my mother, Mary, who has selflessly helped

from day one. She brainstormed potential case studies; kept me company on the round

trip from Wisconsin to Ohio; lifted my spirits through numerous setbacks; and proofread

nearly every page of this document. I cannot overstate the value of my family’s support

over the past two years, indeed over my entire graduate experience.

Last but not least, I would like to express my deepest gratitude to those I

interacted with at Midwest, Stuart’s, and TNT. To Ms. C, Erica Cochrane, Emily Prince,

Skye Robinson Hillis, Scott Rawson, and Ms. S, thank you for welcoming me into your

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space and trusting me with your insights. I will forever be in awe of your work. To the

Midwest, Stuart’s, and TNT participants, thank you for your laughter, stories, creativity,

and kindness. Yes, it’s a long paper. Yes, it got hard at times. No, I never wanted to give

up: your stories kept me going.

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Vita

2012................................................................B.A. Theatre and Mathematics, Lawrence

University

2016................................................................M.A. Theatre, University of Illinois Urbana-

Champaign

2021................................................................Ph.D. Theatre, The Ohio State University

Publications

Neumann, Aubrey Helene. “Transitioning Out of the Role of Trusted Adult in Applied Theatre with Youth: Or How I Found Myself in Need of a Time Machine.” Youth Theatre Journal (2021): n. pag.

Neumann, Aubrey Helene. “A Mother’s Image: Portraits of Ellen Terry by Edward

Gordon Craig.” Texas Theatre Journal 16, no. 1 (2019): 48-62. Neumann, Aubrey Helene. “Book Review: Culture is the Body: The Theatre Writings of

Tadashi Suzuki.” New England Theatre Journal 28, no. 1 (2017): 132-134. Neumann, Aubrey Helene. "Book Review: Theatre and Adaptation: Return, Rewrite,

Repeat." Texas Theatre Journal 13, no. 1 (2017): 114-15.

Fields of Study

Major Field: Theatre

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Table of Contents

Abstract ............................................................................................................................... ii

Dedication .......................................................................................................................... iii

Acknowledgments .............................................................................................................. iv

Vita .................................................................................................................................... vii

List of Tables ...................................................................................................................... x

List of Figures .................................................................................................................... xi

Introduction. Urban Oversight, Rural Experts, and Applied Theatre with Youth .............. 1

Chapter One. Applied Theatre Insights: Complicating Present Understandings of Stigma

Management among Rural Youth ..................................................................................... 46

Chapter Two. Embodying Cultural Capital through Quick Warm-Ups and Story-Based

Exercises ......................................................................................................................... 100

Chapter Three. Disrupting Space and Shifting Bonding Capital .................................... 141

Chapter Four. Not-So-Common Practice: Applied Theatre as a Bridge to Trusted Adult

Relationships ................................................................................................................... 184

Chapter Five. Applied Theatre as Research: Linking Participants, Researchers, and

Readers ............................................................................................................................ 228

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Conclusion. Counteracting Stigma: Applied Theatre in the Pursuit of Context and

Specificity ....................................................................................................................... 272

References ....................................................................................................................... 290

Appendix A. Pseudonyms, Pronouns, and Descriptions ................................................. 308

Appendix B. Midwest High School Artifacts ................................................................. 312

Appendix C: Stuart’s Opera House Artifacts .................................................................. 314

Appendix D: Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) Artifacts ............................................................ 317

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List of Tables

Table 1.1 Midwest Locale, Enrollment, and Revenue Comparison ................................. 67

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List of Figures

Figure 2.1: Monomoka Monologue by August ............................................................... 126

Figure 2.2: Shared Script by August, Jo, That, and Others ............................................ 128

Figure 3.1: Scenic Design by BM and Others – Ice Shanty, Frozen Lake, Truck .......... 161

Figure 5.1: Midwest Thank You Card ............................................................................ 249

Figure A.1: Participant Self-Identification Form ............................................................ 308

Figure C.1: Full Monomoka Monologue by August ...................................................... 315

Figure D.1: Teens 'n' Theatre (TNT) Ground Rules – August 21, 2016 ......................... 318

1

Introduction. Urban Oversight, Rural Experts, and Applied Theatre with Youth

“Prepare to park your car. You will need to walk to your destination,” instructs

the GPS as I approach Midwest High School for an applied theatre residency.1 Despite

the instructions, I have no trouble pulling into the high school’s large parking lot and

finding a space ten yards from the front door. I chuckle for a moment, pondering the

irony. Over the past six months, I have read a great deal about the experiences of rural

young people in the United States, with discussions of political polarization, decreasing

rural populations, and shrinking rural economies all underscoring the experience of rural

youth.2 Yet little scholarship includes the perspectives of the young people themselves –

an unsurprising fact given Katherine J. Cramer’s recent scholarship into what she deemed

“rural consciousness.” After interviewing rural Wisconsinites from 2007 to 2011, Cramer

concluded that many see their rural identity as “more than an attachment to place;” rural

consciousness, she continued, “Includes a sense that decision makers routinely ignore

rural places and fail to give rural communities their fair share of resources, as well as a

sense that rural folks are fundamentally different from urbanites in terms of lifestyles,

values, and work ethic.”3 Recalling Cramer’s scholarship, I wonder if the incomplete

directions – which indicated no way to access the school from the road – are yet another

example of this urban oversight. With mapping services focused on urban areas, this rural

school got painted as a space apart, unable to be reached by normal means.

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Then again, perhaps the incomplete directions should be attributed to the close-

knit nature of the Midwest community. After all, an administrative welcome on the

school webpage contends that Midwest is “the center of the communities it serves.” What

need is there for GPS directions when so many locals have been driving to Midwest since

they themselves attended high school? Perhaps no one in the community had ever noticed

the faulty directions, let alone bothered to bring the oversight to the attention of the

mapping services.

In the days that followed at Midwest, I learned the answer was likely a bit of both.

The building, which also housed Midwest elementary and middle schools, served roughly

300 students, all of whom were greeted daily by the principals (who held the doors open

every morning despite the increasingly chilly weather). Ms. S, the English teacher who

had generously invited me into her classroom for two weeks, had indeed grown up in the

area.4 One of Ms. S’s students voiced his desire to return to Midwest after obtaining his

teaching certificate – just as his older sister had done before him. I had the good fortune

of visiting over Halloween and seeing the high schoolers turn out in the hallways to

celebrate their young counterparts’ costume parade – elementary school-aged Annas and

Elsas filling the hallways with a Harley Quinn and delightful jelly fish thrown in for good

measure. The local community had also turned out en masse that week to support the

girls’ volleyball team in a bid for the regional title. With so many knowing the way to

Midwest by heart and, as Ms. S later pointed out, so few strangers, I wonder how many

even noticed the flawed directions.

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Yet as I facilitated the residency, I also noted signs of the rural consciousness

identified by Cramer burbling to the surface at Midwest. Although overwhelmingly

upbeat and cheerful, participants occasionally voiced feelings of being overlooked or

worse, dismissed; sentiments many rural studies scholars have attributed in part to

negative rural stereotypes. In 2011 for instance, Daniel T. Lichter and David L. Brown

asserted that despite rapidly blurring rural-urban spatial and social boundaries, “[R]ural

areas and small towns often remain misunderstood and are too frequently ignored,

overlooked, or reduced to stereotypes in the public and scholarly discourse.”5 Later

listing some of these stereotypes, Lichter and Brown contended, “Rural Americans are

commonly viewed by big-city dwellers as hicks, hay seeds or rubes, derisive labels that

unfairly paint rural people as unsophisticated, uncultured or uneducated.”6 Andrea

Sharkey also underscores negative rural stereotypes in her 2002 master’s thesis analyzing

the connections between stereotypes and rural outmigration. Seeing rural communities

depicted as “dull and uneducated” in the media can lead rural youth to seek fulfillment

elsewhere.7 These negative rural stereotypes in turn contribute to rural stigma. As defined

by sociologist Erving Goffman, stigma are categorical attributes seen as deviating from

acceptable norms.8 This perceived deviance leads others to discriminate against

stigmatized groups and individuals, as evidenced by some political discourse. What Craig

Howley and Aimee Howley refer to as the “blame-the-hicks response” rejects complexity

and nuance in favor of name-calling and other rural stigma-based insults.9

Rural young people are also subject to positive rural stereotypes that are no longer

indicative of their current experience. As rural education scholar James A. Bryant Jr.

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declared in 2010, “The quaint image of the little red schoolhouse that many Americans

cling to is utter fantasy.”10 Positive stereotypes of a bygone era lead some government

officials to overlook the very real problems of poverty, deteriorating facilities, and low

teacher retention rates found in some rural areas. Yet there is hope: positive stereotypes

can also have a beneficial effect on rural environments. Just as negative stereotypes lead

some rural youth to leave home, positive stereotypes encourage others to stay. Though

the rural young people in Sharkey’s study felt largely under and/or misrepresented in

global media, local representations of their community as “safe, friendly, and spacious”

promoted a sense of community cohesion and made the young people more inclined to

stay in the area.11

What’s more, theatre has the potential to impact these stereotypes in meaningful

ways. Theatre has a history of perpetuating negative rural stereotypes, as investigated by

Jo Robinson in Theatre and the Rural (2016). 12 Utilizing a combination of script

analysis, theatre reviews, and rural studies, she tracks numerous rural stereotypes from

Shakespeare’s work through to contemporary European productions. Such stereotypes

can also be seen in American playwriting. For instance, Rodgers and Hammerstein’s

Broadway smash hit Oklahoma! (1943) furthers a number of rural stereotypes: young

men are either violent or ignorant; young women are twitter-pated or indecisive. Though

some, like the protagonist Curly McLain, are commended for their moral compass, all are

portrayed as somewhat backward with the musical ending in celebration after the death of

the disturbed Jud Fry.

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Highlighting the volatility of these representations, Robinson argues that theatre

“could have a key role to play in both producing and potentially changing understandings

of the rural, challenging dominant views of the relationships between urban and rural

which can affect the political, social and cultural lives of the nation.”13 Despite

Robinson’s primary focuses on applied theatre for rural audiences as well as traditional

(Western) theatre for urban, suburban, and rural audiences alike, her words ring equally

true of applied theatre with rural youth. The scope of the work is different of course; Jeb

Butterworth’s award-winning play Jerusalem (2009), also analyzed by Robinson, will

reach more people than a forty-student residency in rural Wisconsin. Yet though the

immediate audience is small, when coupled with existing efforts to address rural stigma

as well as limited opportunity structures, applied theatre with rural youth can indeed

contribute to the “political, social and cultural lives of the nation.”

With this dissertation, “Co-Creating Capital: Rural Youth, Stigma, and Applied

Theatre Practice,” I originally set out to evaluate the benefits and limitations of utilizing

applied theatre to research and address the impacts of rural stigma on rural young people.

How might employing applied theatre as a research methodology, in keeping with Peter

O’Connor and Michael Anderson’s 2013 formulation of Applied Theatre as Research

(ATAR), help to address misunderstandings of the rural?14 According to Lichter and

Brown, “Most Americans know rural areas indirectly, i.e., from a distance rather than

through direct experience.” With so few rural youth voices in academic (and arguably

public) discourse, ATAR appeared a promising methodology for providing much needed

insight into the lives of rural young people. I similarly speculated that the representational

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nature of applied theatre practice would lend itself to the interrogation of rural stigma,

while pondering the limitations of often brief programs with youth.

Yet in keeping with the emergent and collaborative nature of applied theatre

practice, another question soon revealed itself. While I observed both performances of

pride in rural epithets and the internalization of negative rural stereotypes, many of the

participants appeared far more interested in matters of intragroup stigma. In contrast to

rural stigma, which stems from outside rural communities, intragroup stigma refers to

stigmatization amongst rural young people. In some cases, intragroup stigma was still

tied to rural stereotypes, with young participants stigmatizing one another based on

degrees of rurality – or the extent to which one resembles negative rural stereotypes.

However, the participants also encountered stigma related to more-or-less disparate

characteristics, including sexual orientation, gender, mental health, family makeup, race,

and ethnicity.

Studies across the disciplines of rural education, health care, and social work

indicate that such stigma compounds the adverse effects of already limited opportunity

structures – by which I mean the outside factors which lessen the opportunities available

to rural young people. A qualitative 2016 study of 34 LGBTQ+ youth living in rural

areas, identified four areas of need: reduced isolation, social acceptance and visibility,

emotional support and safety, as well as identity development. The author of the study,

social welfare scholar Megan Pacely, asserted in a later interview that many of these

needs arise not from the community itself, but from a lack of resources and broader

stigma. “From a developmental perspective, gender and sexual minority youth are just

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youth trying to figure things out like anybody else,” claimed Pacely, “but they have all

these other stigmas to deal with as well.”15

Health services scholar, Janessa M. Graves, and colleagues draw a similar

conclusion regarding mental health stigma. After observing that incidences of rural youth

suicide far outpace those in urban areas, Graves et al. call for increased access to mental

health care in rural areas as well as decreased stigma. “Improving availability of mental

health care in rural areas, alongside interventions to increase awareness, decrease stigma,

and reduce access to lethal means of suicide, are critical for addressing rural-urban

disparities in youth suicide.”16 While the extreme nature of suicide may cause other

mental health issues to go overlooked, participant feedback indicates that even less

drastic issues can significantly impact the experience of rural youth.

Such stigma is not unique to rural areas; the characteristics above have long been

stigmatized, with rural and non-rural residents alike condemning non-normative behavior

and believing ensuant negative stereotypes. Nor is stigmatization necessarily more

pronounced in rural areas. However, intragroup stigmatization does manifest differently

in rural communities where, as the young participants informed me, “stuff spreads fast”

and “everyone knows everyone.” The close-knit nature of many rural communities

increases the difficulty of stigma management – a term Goffman employed to detail the

ways in which stigmatized individuals endeavor to minimize the negative impacts of their

stigma.17 With less ability to control information, many of the young rural participants

turned to self-silencing or isolation, which consequently limited their ability to form

constructive relationships with certain peers as well as local adults.

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Revised to better account for participant interest, this dissertation now examines

rural and intragroup stigma. I question the benefits and limitations of utilizing applied

theatre to research and address the impacts of both rural and intragroup stigma. Drawing

on sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s concepts of social and cultural capital – which in

simplest terms contend that interpersonal relationships as well as cultural dispositions,

goods, and institutions carry value – I examine the hidden impacts of rural and intragroup

stigma management.18 I conclude that existing management practices inhibit participant

self-efficacy and constructive relationships with others, negatively impacting the social

and cultural capital of rural young people and their communities. I then analyze the ways

in which applied theatre practice as well as ATAR methodology provide opportunities to

co-create capital and in turn counter rural and intragroup stigma. Although not broadly

generalizable, the three case studies detailed below provide a breadth of examples

intended to spark continued applied theatre practice and research with rural young people

in the future.

In autumn of 2019, I conducted the Midwest case study, facilitating an eight-day

applied theatre residency over the course of two weeks. The school of roughly 100

students served three neighboring villages and the surrounding Wisconsin countryside.

Over the course of the residency, I worked with four of Ms. S’s five classes: the

equivalent of Senior English, Junior English and Sophomore English as well as an

elective course only tangentially related to the other classes. The lesson plan for each

class varied based on engagement, attendance, and class-length (most classes lasted forty-

five minutes, with the Sophomore English lasting a full hour and a half). Roughly half the

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elective students were also in one of the English courses, so I tried not to repeat exercises

unless the students asked me to. Instead, I drew inspiration from the community-engaged

devising techniques of Albany Park Theater Project, as well as past physical theatre

workshops, playwriting assignments, and theatre games accumulated over twenty years

of involvement in theatre.19 Of the approximately forty students who participated in the

residency, seventeen agreed to have their work and survey responses included in this

dissertation.

Autumn of 2019 also saw me driving out to Nelsonville, Ohio to observe an arts

education program at Stuart’s Opera House – a regional performance arts center with a

long history of community engagement and arts education. As the assistant facilitator,

Ms. C, playfully noted, Nelsonville is in fact the second largest city in Athens County.20

At an estimated 5,130 inhabitants as of 2019, however, Nelsonville is also the smallest

city in Athens County, which speaks to the rurality of the county as a whole.

Administrated by Education Director Emily Prince and facilitated by playwright Sky

Robinson Hillis the program spanned the course of nine weeks, meeting Fridays from

4:00 to 6:00pm. With one week off for Thanksgiving, this also amounted to eight

workshops, though longer in length than the Midwest classes. While Robinson Hillis

adjusted her facilitation style over the course of the program to better serve the

participants in the room, most workshops involved a mixture of informal chatting, check-

ins, meditation, guided writing, sharing sessions, script readings, and free writing.

Program participants were recruited from local middle and high schools, with many

receiving full scholarships. Of the approximately dozen students who attended over the

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course of the program seven agreed to participate in this dissertation – though one of the

seven dropped out of the program after the first day and is therefore not included.

In spring of 2020, I reconnected with former members of the Teens ‘n’ Theatre

(TNT) youth ensemble to complete a final, albeit modified, case study. The program,

which began in 2016 as an offshoot of the Creative Alliance of Baraboo’s Play in a

Weekend program, had folded in spring 2019 due to limited grant funding and participant

attenuation. I had spoken briefly with former co-facilitator, Erica Cochrane, and

participant, Samuel, over the summer about observing a potential, participant-led

iteration of the program, but ultimately the participants – many of whom were by then

seniors in high school – voted to focus their efforts elsewhere rather than pursue the

participant-led model. Letting go of my original aims to conduct ATAR methodology, I

adopted a more archival approach to this case study, interviewing participants, analyzing

scripts, and reading articles to better understand the ways in which TNT’s practice

unintentionally incorporated ATAR methodologies.

With the goal of using theatre “to help teens open up a dialogue about real life

issues that they face,” TNT created scripts based on issues identified by the youth

ensemble, adult facilitators, audience feedback, and a local youth psychologist.21

Cochrane’s husband and co-facilitator, Scott Rawson, would draft the scripts, and then

the ensemble would read the scripts aloud, offering feedback to help make them more

relatable to teenage audience members. After a number of revisions, as well as input from

the local arts community, TNT then staged and toured the productions throughout the

surrounding area. Though technically the largest city in Sauk County, Baraboo still

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qualifies as a small-town or rural area by many accounts – with an estimated population

of 12,165 in 2019 – as do many of the locations where the ensemble performed.

Over the course of three years, the group created and toured two productions:

Cutter (2016) and Hurt People (2018). Cutter tackled issues of abusive relationships,

social pressure, and cutting as well as how best to deal with parental separation, unite

against bullies, and support friends who exhibit signs of suicidal ideation. Hurt People

then revisited the same characters, introducing LGBTQ+ themes and highlighting the

impacts Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs). The ensemble developed and rehearsed

these plays during weekly meetings (four hours every Sunday during the school year)

with additional ad hoc rehearsals as needed.

Cochrane and Rawson’s priorities shifted over time, from focusing on the

experience of audience members to that of the participants themselves. With the

transition came a greater emphasis on supporting ensemble members both on- and off-

stage, as well as the incorporation of relevant documentaries and visiting experts into

weekly meetings. To get a sense of this progression, I spoke with Brayden Turner, who

participated in the early stages of TNT, as well as Samuel and Isaac who participated in

the latter stages.22 At its height, TNT had over twenty members, so Brayden, Samuel, and

Isaac by no means form a representative sample. Older members, like Brayden, were

difficult to get in touch with, as many have already gone away to college. While

Samuel’s mother generously reached out to more recent members, Isaac was the only

other participant to volunteer, leaving me to speculate as to the low response rate.

Perhaps those who did not respond had less to say about the program – skewing my

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findings towards more impactful readings. Perhaps the negative publicity directed at

Baraboo High School in 2018 (and detailed briefly in Chapter 4), made recent

participants wary of speaking to outsiders. And perhaps the low response rate was to be

expected, with the higher response rates of the previous case studies attributable to the

success of ATAR methodology. Midwest and Stuart’s participants were, after all, far

more likely to speak with me at the end of the case studies than at the beginning.

REVIEW OF THE LITERATURE

This study lies at the intersection of rural education and applied theatre with

youth. Though education itself is not the fix-all many want it to be, rural education

scholarship addresses the impact of rural stigma, and to a lesser extent intragroup stigma,

on rural young people. Such stigma impacts the self-efficacy of rural young people as

well as their relationship with others – both significant aspects of applied theatre with

youth. Despite this overlap, rural education and applied theatre with youth are rarely

considered dialogically in the United States. Rural scholars have only recently gained a

critical foothold in education scholarship and have yet to explore the role of theatre, let

alone applied theatre, as a complement to more traditional forms of education.

Meanwhile accounts of applied theatre with rural youth tend to look abroad rather than

examine the experience of rural young people closer to home. Below I hypothesize the

reasons for this current oversight, while reviewing the existing literature in more detail.

Rural Definitions

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In 2013, Michael Corbett beautifully summarized the impossible dilemma facing

rural education scholars, and indeed anyone wishing to define the rural: “The rural is a

boundless complexity whose shape shifts with our attempts to describe it. So inevitably,

we do what we always do: we soldier on as though we know what we are talking about.

We set aside the basic question and get on with the business of thinking about rural

education anyhow.”23 John Cromartie and Shawn Bucholtz clearly demonstrate the

“boundless complexity” of the rural in “Defining the ‘Rural’ in Rural America” (2008).24

As Cromartie and Bucholtz underscore, definitions of the rural variously rely on

administration structures, land-use, and economic concepts, all of which outline different

boundaries. For instance, the administrative concept of the rural looks to municipal or

jurisdictional boundaries, but the land-use concept looks to population density over a

contiguous area. What’s more, definitions of the rural often employ very different

population thresholds within bounded areas. Narrower definitions might dictate that only

populations of less than 2,500 constitute as rural, while broader definitions could include

populations of as many as 50,000.

These multiple definitions in turn lead to vastly different understandings of rural

America. Most notably, the percentage of the population defined as rural varies greatly:

from 7.1% when recognizing only those areas with population less than 10,000 according

to the economic concept to 49.2% when considering all areas with population less than

20,000 according to the administrative concept.25 Much of the problem with these

definitions lies in their approach. As geographer Keith Halfacree underscored in his 1993

literature review: “Such empiricism accepts that the rural exists and concerns itself with

14

the correct selection of parameters to define it.”26 This approach discounts the role that

humans and other beings play in the creation of space.

Here, I again follow Robinson – whose discussion of rural representations in

theatre draws on Halfacree’s three-fold architecture – in contending that “[t]heatre’s

representations of the rural can also operate as a conceived space, performing key cultural

work in establishing and reinforcing understanding of rural lives and experience…”27

Through applied theatre exercises, the lives of rural participants take center stage, in turn

defining the lived space of the rural. Together rural localities, representations of the rural,

and the everyday lives of the rural form a tri-fold architecture. All three, Halfacree

stresses, interact to produce the totality of rural space.

To form a better understanding of this space, at least as it relates to the young

rural participants, I begin from the same sort of pragmatic definitions critiqued above.

Because the discussion of rural youth often centers economic concerns, I use the Office

of Management and Budget (OMB) definition of rural. As an economic institution, the

OMB’s definition focuses on counties as opposed to say contiguous areas, which are

often more indistinct and easily altered. Unless otherwise noted, I consider all counties

without a core urban area of more than 50,000 people as rural.28 However, I do not stop

with this empirical definition; Halfacree’s concepts of rural localities, representations of

the rural, and everyday lives of the rural are in many ways intertwined with the main

research questions of this study. Interrogating rural and intragroup stigma requires

comparisons between the lived space of rural youth participants and the conceived space

of the rural representations.

15

Keeping with the lived space of the rural, I take up the language of the rural youth

participants and their adult counterparts – many of whom used the terms “small-town”

and “rural” interchangeably. I similarly adhere to local concepts of communities. When I

asked what they meant by community, Midwest High School participants often referred

to the school itself, observing that their community consisted of all those who attended

Midwest, their families, and other adults in the area who turned out to support the

students. Although a few Midwest participants did not associate themselves with this

community, claiming their desire to leave, nearly all agreed on the existence of singular

Midwest community. Conversely, participants at Stuart’s Opera House asserted the

existence of multiple communities, noting that rumors in the school didn’t always make it

to the town and vice versa. Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) participants similarly observed

multiple communities developed around shared activities and spatial boundaries. The

TNT program provided one such community; participants also belonged to high school

clubs and acknowledged school- and town-wide communities as well.

In adopting these more colloquial understandings, I do not mean to ignore or

devalue existing definitions and theories of community. Indeed, the fields of rural studies

and applied theatre are both rich with scholarship on the matter.29 Rather, I aim to

prioritize the lived experience of rural youth participants and their adult counterparts.

This allows me to move beyond the OMB’s somewhat arbitrary definition and simplistic

representations of the rural to embrace the “boundless complexity” of rural space.

Rural Education: The Consequences of Rural Stigma and Potential of Theatre

16

“Managed as it has been by rural people, themselves lacking in educational

insight, penurious, and with no comprehensive grasp of their own problems, the rural

school, except in a few places, has practically stood still.”30 Elwood Cubberly’s 1922

critique exemplifies much early rural education scholarship: based in harmful rural

stigma and indicative of cultural misunderstanding. Urban reformers like Cubberly

expressed concern over the apparent stagnation of rural schools; they saw the schools as

inefficient for failing to respond to increasingly urban labor markets and disconnected

from the broader national economy. The reformers largely overlooked rural education’s

ability to foster local community and prepare students for life in a rural environment. A

closer analysis of rural education scholarship overtime reveals the significant impact of

rural stigma on rural young people and establishes the broader stakes of applied theatre

with rural youth.

Patricia J. Kannapel and Alan J. DeYoung trace the development of the “rural

school problem” in their 1999 review of rural education literature.31 Urban reformers’

imbalanced critique of rural education led to the reformation of rural schools in an urban

image. Without the assets of an urban environment, these schools were doomed to subpar

performance. Those students who did excel were forced to seek employment in urban

areas, weakening rural communities. These trends have continued into the twenty-first

century where standardization efforts like No Child Left Behind and Race to the Top

neglect to account for differences in rural settings.32

Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson’s Rural Education and the

Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World (2010)

17

further explores the impacts of stigma on rural young people. Contributors Paul Theobald

and Kathy Wood trace rural representations from colonial America through to the twenty-

first century in order to explain disengagement among today’s rural youth.33 While the

early sections adopt a more historical approach, Theobald and Wood’s later analysis

veers into the realm of media studies, underscoring negative rural depictions from comic

strips of the early twentieth century to the sixties crowd-pleaser The Beverly Hillbillies to

the Saturday Night Live’s reoccurring sketch “Appalachian Emergency Room.” Theobald

and Wood conclude that these negative depictions perpetuate anti-rural biases, leading

many “rural youth to see themselves as nonparticipants in the American experience.”34

Addressing this problem in the same anthology, Howley and Howley underscore the

ways in which rural educators are uniquely situated to counter such rural stigma and help

students imagine different possibilities.35

Given the lasting impact of stigma on rural education, scholars have so far

overlooked the potential of theatre with rural young people, with a few notable

exceptions. Susan L. Groenke and Jan Nespor’s contribution to Rural Education touches

on the darker side of theatre practice.36 While observing student-devised skits in a high

school English class, the two noted racist undertones. Three white, rural young men used

theatre to critique interracial dating in a school-approved exercise. Though Groenke and

Nespor’s observations serve as an important cautionary tale – inviting rural young people

to share their stories risks troubling results – the potential of theatre with rural young

people extends beyond this single narrative. In the same collection, Corbett recounts a

rural elementary school theatrical production aimed at engaging the community in a

18

discussion of the local fishing industry. This chapter speaks to the educational potential

of theatre, but perhaps due to the age of the participants (preteens), largely disregards

student voices.37

In Critical Links: Learning in the Arts and Student Academic and Social

Development (2002), Larry Kassab acknowledged the effects of poetry and drama on oral

communication in his 1984 dissertation.38 Drawing on teacher and student reflections as

well as his own observations, Kessab concludes that the workshop not only improved oral

skills and confidence, but also enhanced self-esteem and self-image. He hypothesizes that

the latter may have resulted from the supportive workshop environment, a finding I

further develop in Chapter Three. Though Cynthia I. Gerstl-Pepin criticizes Kessab for

failing to differentiate between the effects of the environment and that of the arts, I

contend that applied theatre lends itself to supportive learning environments and vice

versa. Heather M. Moorfield-Lang observes a similarly positive impact in her 2008

dissertation “The Relationships of Arts Education to Student Motivation, Self-Efficacy,

and Creativity in Rural Middle Schools.”39 Noting the lack of student and rural

representation in arts education, Moorefield-Lang set out to investigate and represent the

voices of rural students.40

Collectively, the work of Groenke, Nespor, Corbett, Kessab, and Moorefield-

Lang highlights the great potential of theatre with rural youth to foster community and

improve self-image but does little to connect these outcomes with the harmful impacts of

rural stigma described earlier in this section. This dissertation takes up Moorefield-

Lang’s call for greater attention to student and rural voices while focusing more

19

specifically on the impact of applied theatre with youth in regard to rural and intragroup

stigma management.

Applied Theatre Definitions

As a collaborative art form, which emphasizes both relationships and

representation, applied theatre is ideally suited for researching and addressing stigma. Yet

to understand how this research works requires a fuller exploration of the breadth of

practices that fall under the “umbrella term” of applied theatre.41 Applied theatre has

variously been defined in terms of place, politics, participants, and intent. The term

originally arose in universities during the 1990s to describe a wide variety of theatrical

practices taking place outside of traditional (Western) theatre spaces. Such work has

existed for decades, but the meteoric rise of applied theatre terminology suggests a desire

to study these practices more collectively for professional, ethical, and political reasons.

As Helen Nicholson elucidates: “Its popularity implies a willingness to question whether

there are family resemblances between the different practices and ways of working

applied to community settings, and an interest in investigating their shared concerns and

common principles.”42 Those practices most relevant to this dissertation include but are

not limited to: community-based theatre, Drama in Education, popular theatre, Theatre

for Social Justice, Theatre for Development, Theatre for Young Audiences, Theatre for

Youth Third Space, Theatre in Education, Theatre of the Oppressed, and youth theatre.

While applied theatre remains a catch-all term used to describe a wide variety of

theatre practices, scholars continue to develop more nuanced definitions. Some, like

20

Phillip Taylor, employ problematic transformational rhetoric.43 Others, like James

Thompson, situate applied theatre at the intersection of social justice and community

interests.44 Still others chronicle how applied theatre has often been compared

unfavorably to its “pure” counterpart.45 Keeping these ongoing discussions in mind, as

well as my own interest in the lived experience of rural youth, I adopt Tim Prentki and

Sheila Preston’s 2009 definition: applied theatre invites non-theatre-professionals to

participate in theatrical creation about their lived experience.46 Within the context of rural

youth and stigma, this invitation creates space for young rural participants to represent

themselves in ways that complicate existing understandings of rural and intragroup

stigma.

Prentki and Preston further differentiate between applied theatre for, with and by

participants.47 Though the distinctions remain somewhat blurry, applied theatre for rural

youth tends to involve the performance of an adult touring company followed by a

talkback or workshop of some sort. Theatre with rural youth involves participants in

“devising or creative exploration” which may or may not lead to a final performance.48

Theatre by rural youth necessitates a final performance in which the young people

themselves perform. Given my interest in embodied understandings, I have opted to focus

on applied theatre with and occasionally by rural youth – although in the case of Teens

‘n’ Theatre (TNT) one can see elements of all three.

Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR)

21

I was attracted to Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) as a methodology in part

because it seemed like a relatively democratic way to not only heed Moorefield-Lang’s

call for greater attention to rural youth voices but also expand the impact of temporally

limited applied theatre practice. First coined by O’Connor and Anderson in their 2013

article “Applied Theatre as Research: Provoking the Possibilities” and later expanded

upon in their edited collection, Applied Theatre: Research – Radical Departures (2015),

ATAR utilizes applied theatre as a research methodology.49 Rather than focus solely on

the ethics and efficacy of the practice – as much applied theatre research does – ATAR

utilizes applied theatre to discover and disseminate elements of the participants’ lived

experience.

ATAR assumes a democratic approach – casting the research participants as co-

researchers and focusing on matters that are relevant to them – and bears much in

common with other collaborative methodologies like Community-Based Participatory

Research (CBPR), Participatory Action Research (PAR) and arts-based research. Indeed,

a closer look at the many similarities between PAR and applied theatre helps to better

comprehend ATAR methodology as utilized in this dissertation. According to applied

theatre scholar-practitioner Helen Cahill, both “are centrally concerned with dialogue,

praxis, participatory exploration and transformation…[and involve] collective processes

of enquiry, action and reflection.”50 Applied theatre programs often follow a cyclical

pattern: participants or the facilitator identify a broad area of inquiry; theatre games and

exercises help participants and the facilitator to determine how their lives intersect with

that area of inquiry; exercises are then followed by collective reflection, which in turn

22

leads to future areas of inquiry. ATAR, like PAR, then shares the outcome of these

inquiries more broadly, reaching academic audiences outside the immediate scope of the

program itself.

By engaging participants in an ongoing dialogue, I promoted a more equitable,

though still unequal, division of power between myself and research participants. Casting

the research participants as co-reachers was an act of power on my part, as were many of

my actions. I choose the research subject, selected what findings to include and exclude,

interpreted those findings, and had final say in what appears on the page. At the same

time, the I relied on the active involvement of my co-researchers, without whom the

methodology would have fallen apart.

Other scholars have incorporated aspects of applied theatre into their collaborative

research methodologies, albeit not utilizing ATAR terminology. Kathleen Gallagher –

whose exceptional research into theatre with urban youth I recount in more detail below –

prefers the more open-ended “educational ethnography” to the often facilitator-led

PAR.51 Gallagher’s long-term research projects, however, allow her a degree of

flexibility not available in the short-term case studies that form the backbone of this

dissertation. While my research began with intentionally broad questions about the lived

experience of rural youth in hopes of allowing participants greater choice regarding the

final areas of inquiry, the time constraints of the case studies prevented truly youth-driven

practice.

Applied Theatre Practice in “Developed” and “Developing” Countries 52

23

Though little scholarship exists addressing the impacts of applied theatre practice

with rural youth in “developed” countries like the United States, the work of

intergenerational theatre companies suggests both the potential and limitations of such

practice.53 Now based in Los Angeles, Cornerstone Theater Company spent its early

years from 1986 to 1991 adapting classics to accommodate local individuals and culture

in small towns across the United States. Sonja Kuftinec’s Staging America: Cornerstone

and Community-Based Theater (2003) chronicles the participation of many young people

who starred in productions such as The Marmath Hamlet (1986) and The House on

Walker River (1988) – adaptations of Hamlet and The Orestia, respectively.54 Former

participant, Rod Prichard credited the adaptation of Hamlet with creating opportunities

for increased self-expression. Kuftinec further hints that Prichard’s performance as

Laertes did much to counter his reputation as the “local bad boy;”55 his sobriety over the

course of the rehearsal process likely helped as well. Unfortunately, Prichard returned to

drinking after Cornerstone’s departure, anecdotally suggesting that the impacts of applied

theatre are spatiotemporally limited – an important consideration given the brief nature of

both the Midwest High School and Stuart’s Opera House case studies.

In contrast to Kuftinec’s discussion of intragroup stigma, Roadside Theatre

dedicates itself to subverting regional stereotypes and celebrating local culture. Founded

in 1975 as an offshoot of Appalshop – a media, arts and education center located in

Whitesburg, Kentucky – Roadside welcomes audience members of all ages into the play

creation process through their popular story circle methodology. Roadside’s artistic

24

director, Dudley Cocke, attributes the theatre’s long tenure to the primacy of audience

members and significance of the work:

When we travel around the country, we often run into audience members who have Appalachian roots, but there’s been so much stigma around working class and poor “hillbilly” culture that they may feel ashamed of their background. They arrive at the play incognito, then when they see something of beauty and truth on the stage that reflects them, the pride that swells up is huge.56

This reflection speaks to theatre’s ability to counter the impact of negative Appalachian

stereotypes – stereotypes which bear much in common with rural stigma more broadly.

In the case of both Cornerstone and Roadside, however, distinguishing between

the experience of rural young people and their adult counterparts can be challenging,

creating a need for more specifically youth-focused work. Yet as previously mentioned,

applied theatre research with rural youth occurs predominantly in “developing” rather

than “developed” countries. The reasons for this divide lie outside the scope of this

dissertation, though I imagine geographic distance and funding opportunities play a large

role. Below I review the more relevant urban and suburban case studies, while

simultaneously acknowledging rural differences.

Much applied theatre with urban and suburban youth in “developed” countries

centers on how youth see themselves represented – a useful touchstone given the close

relationship between representation and stigma. As previously mentioned, Gallagher’s

The Theatre of Urban: Youth and Schooling in Dangerous Times (2007) and Why

Theatre Matters: Urban Youth, Engagement, and a Pedagogy of the Real (2014) both

serve as exemplary models of applied theatre with youth.57 Amongst her many findings,

Gallagher notes a desire to correct negative urban stereotypes. For instance, Gallagher

25

opens the latter text by quoting a bright, young Toronto student, pseudonym Marbles.

When asked what she wants shared with the world, Marbles responds, “The truth…that

we’re not all wastrels that do drugs all the time. And we do learn…”58

Preston underscores a similar interest in negative labels during a 12-month

participatory drama project with young women at an urban high school in London.59 The

project, aimed at social inclusion, inadvertently promoted fixed-moral identities.

Preston’s conclusions, as well as those of one participant, warrant quoting at length:

“They picked us out because we’re ‘bad,’” proclaims Michelle triumphantly in the dance studio…It worried me that the project itself and its unspoken premises (despite the facilitators attempts to redefine the project around the young people’s interests and needs) might have reinforced a label by being interpreted as a project for ‘bad girls’; for the ‘unbad’ girls they had become ‘bad’ by association.60

Following sociologist Ray Rist, Preston contends that the very perception of negative

labels has the potential to impact behavior. This dissertation expands on Gallagher and

Preston’s findings to also contemplate the impact of negative stereotypes, or stigma, in a

rural setting.

I have likewise taken into account the twenty principles of Theatre for Youth

(TFY) Third Space proposed by Stephani Ethridge Woodson – whose analyses of self-

efficacy and “third space” significantly inform latter chapters.61 Though Woodson’s

examples all occur in urban and suburban environments, a number of the principles she

identifies prove useful in examining applied theatre with rural youth, namely: “Children

and youth are acknowledged experts on both being themselves and the meanings of their

lives,” “Overall community well-being depends on interdependent and complex flows of

capital, collective placemaking, and human agency,” and “Children and youth are agents

26

and assets within their communities.”62 Yet Woodson’s call for public performance, I

argue, overlooks the value of non-performance based practice – like that employed at

Midwest High School and Stuart’s Opera House, as well as to a lesser extent Teens ‘n’

Theatre (TNT) – when deployed alongside Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR)

methodology. While Woodson rightfully critiques programs that place the onus for

change on the participants themselves, ATAR creates alternative stages, in this case a

dissertation and various conference presentations, for the dissemination of the

participants’ expertise. Though admittedly filtered through my own perspective, ATAR

creates a public audience for applied theatre programs, which for pragmatic or ethical

reasons prioritize participant experience over a public-facing final product.63

Only when looking abroad to “developing” countries do we find consistent

scholarship about applied theatre with rural youth. In broad strokes, this scholarship

adheres to one of two narratives: alternately celebrating the efficacy and questioning the

ethics of applied theatre practice. Following lauded pedagogist, Paulo Friere, and theatre

scholar-practitioner, Augusto Boal, some scholars underscore the ways in which their

work contributes to the “conscientization” of rural youth, arguing that raising awareness

and encouraging action leads to better health, education, and gender relations.64 Others

note the potentially colonial and/or neoliberal nature of applied theatre, chronicling the

ethical conundrums they’ve encountered over the years and outlining opportunities for

more progressive practice.

Scholar-practitioners from this latter group – such as Mark Fleishman, Paul

Dwyer, and Thompson – have greatly aided in the conceptualization of this dissertation.

27

65 Although I have opted to conduct research in the United States, the country of my

birth, my position as an academic who has lived primarily in urban and suburban

environments creates the risk of imbalanced power dynamics similar to those that arise

when facilitators from “developed” countries conduct programs in “developing”

countries. Following Fleishman’s analysis of the resistive potential of storytelling as well

as Thompson’s cautions against forced speech, I see storytelling and silence as equally

valuable forms of participation and endeavor to make space for both in this dissertation. I

likewise take into account Paul Dwyer’s call for a “slow theatre,” one in which

facilitators dedicate a large swath of time to working with and getting to know applied

theatre participants. Unfortunately, given the challenges to working with youth – the

demands on their time, matters of consent, and outside interests – I have had to forgo this

recommendation. Instead, I consider the possibility of practicing “fast theatre” ethically.

Little Changes, Small Achievements, and Brief Moments

Much has been made of the capacity of applied theatre with youth to promote

self-esteem, community belonging, and future aspirations. Nicholson provides one of the

more restrained analyses when she claims: “Theatre is one space for people to extend

their horizons of experience, recognizing how identities have been shaped and formulated

and, by playing new roles and inhabiting different subject positions, finding different

points of identification with others.”66 As an applied theatre facilitator, I wholeheartedly

agree with this analysis. I’ve heard participants’ eloquent poems aspiring to a different

reality than that in which they currently find themselves, seen seemingly disparate

28

participants come together to act out their stories, and felt the growing sense of

accomplishment as participants succeeded in areas they never thought possible.

However, overstating the benefits of applied theatre practice runs the risk of

overlooking limited opportunity structures and placing the onus for change squarely on

the shoulders of youth participants. Transformative discourse in particular has the

potential to promote the colonial and neoliberal agendas warned against above. The

question becomes who or what is being transformed and why? Are participants being

transformed, or are they transforming their surroundings? Have the participants called for

this transformation, or is an outside agent imposing it upon them? Is the proposed

transformation truly possible, or are participants being set up for further disappointment?

To sidestep these many ethical quandaries, I endeavor instead to seek a theatre of

little changes, small achievements, and brief moments. Gallagher explains this approach

best in describing her work with homeless youth: “As an applied theatre intervention, we

came to rely on the fleeting weekly moments, a positive exchange, a small sense of social

togetherness, an appreciative laugh during an improv, the risk and pleasure of taking on a

role, for a moment, and thinking otherwise.”67 This momentary approach reflects both the

“theatre of little changes” proposed by Michael Balfour and the “politics of small

achievements” conceptualized by Lefbvre and called for by Nicholson.68 All three of

these approaches celebrate intangible, aesthetic affects alongside small-scale, utilitarian

accomplishments.

Both aesthetic affects and small accomplishments can complement – though not

replace – existing, long-term efforts to address rural and intragroup stigma as well as

29

limited opportunity structures. For rural youth to take advantage of these efforts, they

must both believe in their own abilities and secure the support of others. By promoting

the social and cultural capital of rural young people, applied theatre can encourage rural

youth to embrace opportunities if and when they do arise.

METHODOLOGY

Young people are undoubtedly the experts of their lived experience. While

young people may interpret such experience differently, they know it better than

anyone. This expertise has led a small contingent of scholars to call for greater

attention to and incorporation of youth voices in scholarship. Some youth scholars

have adopted critical ethnography as a means for making space for both their

voices and the voices of their young research subjects.69 Others have assumed

increasingly collaborative approaches through the use of applied theatre-based

research methodologies.70 Though applied theatre scholars have often drawn on

practical examples from their own work, efforts to establish these practices under

the single heading of Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) remain in early

stages.

In keeping with ATAR methodology, this dissertation centers three applied

theatre programs, and much of the evidence stems from creative artifacts, hour-long

interviews, wrap-up surveys, and my own field notes. At Midwest, I collected seventeen

anonymous wrap-up surveys – one for each student who agreed to participate in the

research – and conducted an interview with Ms. S. At Stuart’s, I conducted a group

30

interview with four of the six participants (August, James, Jo, and Lu) as well as

individual interviews with Education Director Emily Prince, facilitator Skye Robinson

Hillis, assistant facilitator Ms. C, and a participant (Michelle) who was unable to make

the group interview. With TNT, I conducted three virtual interviews: one with co-

facilitators Erica Cochrane and Scott Rawson, one with former participants Samuel and

Isaac, and one with former participant Brayden Turner. When necessary, as with TNT, I

also incorporated archival materials such as scripts and news articles. Though further

distilling the young participants’ perspectives through the lens of an additional adult – be

they playwright or journalist – these archival materials provide examples of the issues

raised by the former ensemble members in interviews.

These case studies are illustrative in nature and not meant to provide a

comprehensive understanding of applied theatre with rural youth in the United States.

Applied theatre is a contextually specific practice; and rural is a broad term used to refer

to a wide variety of communities and locales. Nor do I aim to evaluate these three very

different studies in relation to one another. Not only do they differ in intent, structure,

participants, and facilitators, but my own relation to each study is also different – serving

variously as facilitator, participant observer, and traditional researcher. With this diverse

array of case studies, I hope to provide a breadth of examples that will spark future

applied theatre practice and research with rural youth; for although the benefits of applied

theatre have been often overstated, little changes to social and cultural capital can

meaningfully supplement existing efforts to address rural and intragroup stigma, as well

as limited opportunity structures.

31

My analysis regards such capital, as well as stigma, through a sociological lens.

Drawing on Bourdieu’s concept of capitals, I analyze the impact of rural and intragroup

stigma on the social and cultural capital of the young participants both leading into and

during the case studies in question.71 In particular, I consider embodied cultural capital

alongside three forms of social capital identified by scholars following Bourdieu. For

instance, I utilize political scientist Robert Putnam’s concepts of bonding and bridging

social capital to delineate between participants’ relationships with one another and with

their adult counterparts, respectively.72 I similarly interpret the World Bank’s concept of

linking capital, attributed to social scientist Michael Woolcock, to refer to relationships

between the young participants and those adults outside their rural communities.73 To

further elaborate on these various relationships and subsequent capital, individual

chapters invoke the work of psychologist Albert Bandura, philosopher Michel Foucault,

social policy scholars Ariella Meltzer, Kristy Muir, and Lyn Craig as well as a wide array

of applied theatre scholar-practitioners.

Goffman’s seminal text, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity

(1963), indicates clear connections between stigma and capital. The discrediting nature of

stigma can impact a stigmatized individual’s relationship to self and others, consequently

altering social and cultural capital. The Social Psychology of Stigma (2000), edited by

Todd F. Heatherton et al., reinforces many of these connections, though still addressing

social and cultural capital indirectly.74 By incorporating such sociological studies into

existing discussions of rural and intragroup stigma, I provide insight into not only the

impact of stigma on the social and cultural capital of rural young people but also how

32

such impacts might be mitigated and capital reforged. Given the representational and

relational nature of applied theatre practice, I argue that ATAR is ideally suited to such

interrogation.

A Note on Neoliberalism

Amidst concerns that applied theatre rhetoric may perpetuate the harmful impacts

of neoliberalism, invoking Bourdieu’s concepts of capital may appear misguided. Jenny

Hughes and Nicholson clearly elucidate this critique in Critical Perspectives on Applied

Theatre (2016):

One such challenge is economic; funders in all sectors and settings expect to see outputs, outcomes and evidence of the work’s impact and efficacy, and students also hope to increase their ‘employability’ as a result of their expensive university education. In part, this economic imperative has upheld an emphasis on applied theatre as a mode of personal and social problem-solving in which predetermined goals are realised, and this can mean that applied theatre is conceptualised in ways that serve neoliberalism well. This lack of criticality can sometimes be obscured by an apparently activist rhetoric: applied theatre transforms, promotes well-being, improves quality of life, and moves people on.75

Hughes and Nicholson critique rhetoric that celebrates the impact of applied theatre

practices on individuals and their communities without taking into account the broader

power structures, which often situate such populations in precarious positions. As the

scholars warn, such rhetoric risks concealing the impacts of neoliberalism and causing

more harm than good.

My aim in adopting Bourdieu’s concepts of social and cultural capital is not to

further obscure and complicate the already opaque relationship between applied theatre

and neoliberalism, but rather to utilize the familiar concept, “capital,” to establish the

33

value of young participants’ relationships. In underscoring the relational outcome of

applied theatre practice with rural youth, I aim to help justify future programs and

identify best practices for relationship-building (though given the nature of applied

theatre practice, I am more inclined to view the latter as guidelines for the development

of contextually-specific best practices). This pragmatic use of capital is in keeping with

Michael Etherton and Prentki’s 2006 declaration, “Practitioners cannot escape into a

postmodern fog of contingency since so many parts of the lives of those with whom they

work are governed by the contending master narratives of neoliberal economics and

human rights.”76 Given the neoliberal economies in which so many of us function, rural

youth included, concepts of social and cultural capital provide a useful short-hand for the

relational value of applied theatre practice.

At the same time, I resist the tendency to see social and cultural capital as merely

subsidiary to economic capital. Although occasionally social capital served as a means to

an economic end – as in Chapter Four where a Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) facilitator helped

one of the former ensemble members secure a job at his company – far more often the

evidence indicates that increased social and cultural capital warrants consideration as an

end unto itself. In keeping with this break from neoliberal ideology, I also critique power

structures that privilege urban society over rural communities. As Gregory M. Fulkerson

and Alexander R. Thomas contend in their conclusion to Urbanormativity: Reality,

Representation, and Everyday Life (2019), “The overarching neoliberal policy shift

towards deregulation, devolution, privatization, and fiscal stress, is one that favors urban

society.”77 The shift from collaboration and community support to competition and

34

outside mechanisms has disproportionately hurt rural populations, so much so that

Fulkerson and Thomas later combine terms to assert an “urbanormative neoliberal

shift.”78 In underscoring the wide ranging impacts of neoliberalism, I also identify the

limitations of applied theatre practice with rural youth – arguing that the practice may

serve to complement but not replace existing efforts to address rural and intragroup

stigma as well as limited opportunity structures.

So, though I pragmatically embrace the concepts of social and cultural capital

throughout this dissertation, I counter this neoliberal bent by highlighting the value of

social and cultural capital (apart from economic capital), underscoring the neoliberal

nature of urbanormative power structures, and calling for a practice which complements

rather than replaces existing activism. In doing so, I heed Hughes and Nicholson’s call

for a critical perspective, namely one which “starts from a recognition that theatre-

making is inevitably entwined in networks of power and exploitation, however, [it] also

encourages artists and researchers to seek out a presence in those networks that

complements the resistant practices that are immanent there rather than adopting more

acquiescent relations that flatten out practice and reflection.”79

CHAPTER OUTLINE

Chapter One. Applied Theatre Insights: Complicating Present Understandings of Stigma

Management among Rural Youth

This chapter complicates present understanding of stigma management methods

by highlighting the variety of methods exhibited across all three case studies. At Midwest

35

High School, a number of young participants openly embraced rural stigma and appeared

to take pride in discrediting rural stereotypes. Participants vocally self-identified as “yee-

yeers” or “hicks” (both rural epithets) and readily depicted common rural pastimes such

as hunting, farming, and four-wheeling. Yet other participants appeared to internalize

rural sigma, regularly belittling their own abilities and emphasizing communal needs over

assets. Though less inclined towards performances of pride in discrediting rural

stereotypes, some participants at Stuart’s Opera House also appeared to internalize rural

stigma and adopt deficit-based rural narratives.

In addition to rural stigma, all three case studies revealed the complex nature of

intragroup stigma. While high school rivalries and community divides often underscored

degrees of rurality – with some rural youth stigmatizing others for more closely adhering

to negative rural stereotypes – other instances of intragroup stigma centered around

relatively unrelated attributes. Although social norms surrounding gender, sexuality,

mental health, family structure, race and ethnicity appeared far less rigid in these case

studies than rural stigma might suggest, these norms still perpetuate intragroup stigma.

Participants at Stuart’s and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) managed such stigma through self-

silence and isolation. Underscoring this wide variety of stigma management methods – as

well as the subsequent impacts – allows for greater insight into the potential benefits and

limitations of applied theatre with rural youth, potential explored in later chapters.

Chapter Two. Embodying Cultural Capital through Quick Warm-Ups and Story-Based

Exercises

36

An abundance of self-deprecating remarks at both Midwest High School and

Stuart’s Opera House, in conjunction with the deficit-based narratives detailed in Chapter

One, indicate a connection between rural stigma and negative self-concepts. Some

participants who internalize rural stereotypes of ignorance and backwardness are quick to

conclude that they lack the intelligence or ability necessary to complete even simple tasks

– a mindset I contend decreases embodied cultural capital by diminishing self-efficacy.

This chapter follows existing studies of applied theatre and self-efficacy to

determine how quick warm-ups and generative, story-based applied theatre exercises

impacted self-efficacy at both Midwest and Stuart’s. In particular, I examine how such

activities advance the four major contributors to self-efficacy, as detailed by psychologist

Albert Bandura.80 Quick and generative exercises may pose social risks due to their

public quality and break with everyday activities but are – given careful scaffolding from

facilitators, a strong emphasis on participant agency, and the short time frame of the

exercises – relatively safe. Participants have the opportunity to see their fellow students

succeed in unexpected ways, all the while experiencing the joys of play and plenty of

verbal support. Consequently, quick warm-ups and generative story-based exercises are

useful in off-setting low degrees of self-efficacy brought about by internalized rural

stigma.

Chapter 3. Disrupting Space and Shifting Bonding Capital

Applied theatre disrupts everyday space and interactions to create heterotopias:

spaces in which participants can both stage existing circumstances – allowing them to be

37

further interrogated – and experiment with alternative social performances.81 Gallagher

previously applied the Foucauldian concept of heterotopia to drama classrooms she

observed in Toronto.82 This chapter explores how applied theatre residencies that disrupt

standard classroom practices and programs that take place outside school-settings provide

further opportunities to interrogate intragroup stigma and break with existing social roles.

At Midwest High School, the impact of the heterotopia on intragroup stigma was

evidenced in small but meaningful ways: a few students attempted to shift the bonding

capital of the larger group in positive directions. Yet such work remained risky –

particularly given the spatiotemporal limitations of the residency. The heterotopic nature

of applied theatre practice appeared more evident at Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT), where a

smaller, sub-group of voluntary members joined together to provide support and

destigmatize oft-stereotyped attributes. While doing little to impact overarching bonding

capital, applied theatre in voluntary settings can provide a much-needed retreat for

stigmatized young people and rural teens more generally. The work in voluntary settings

can then be brought back to the larger group, as seen with TNT.

Chapter 4. Not-So-Common Practice: Applied Theatre as a Bridge to Trusted Adult

Relationships

While a few applied theatre scholars and practitioners have underscored the

personal benefits of healthy participant-facilitator relationships, the broader value of such

relationships remains overlooked. This chapter analyzes the nature of participant-

facilitator relationships as well as the impact of such relationships on the bridging capital

38

of rural young people and their communities. Incorporating evidence from both Stuart’s

Opera House and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT), I contend that participants may come to see

facilitators as trusted adults – or non-parental adults with whom participants feel

comfortable talking and occasionally seeking advice. Such relationships in turn

counteract the at times harmful silence brought on by intragroup stigma.

Although the concept of trusted adult relationships remains somewhat amorphous

– attributable to intuitive understandings as well as the concept’s relevance across

multiple disciplines – recent social policy studies highlight the many benefits of these

relationships both to the young people as individuals and their communities at large. This

chapter underscores the connection between trusted adults and bridging capital, while

also proposing avenues for fostering trusted adult relationships with applied theatre

participants. While trusted adult relationships rely on a young person’s confidence in an

adult figure and consequently cannot be forced, facilitators may demonstrate their

integrity through regular check-ins. I detail how facilitators invited participants to speak

about aspects of their lives outside the program and contend that such check-ins offer a

promising course for future applied theatre practice.

Chapter 5. Applied Theatre as Research: Linking Participants, Researchers, and Readers

This chapter evaluates how my presence, as a suburban-turned-urban outsider

with ties to the academic world, influenced the linking capital of the rural youth

participants, while also examining the potential impact of Applied Theatre as Research

(ATAR) on rural youth more broadly. The archival and virtual nature of my work with

39

Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) limited my personal interactions with the former ensemble

members. However, evidence from both Midwest High School and Stuart’s Opera House

suggests that my presence prompted small but arguably significant impacts, from

demonstrations of unexpected hospitality to acknowledgment of much appreciated

support. At times performances of pride in rural stigma reached the point of hostile

bravado, with a few participants adopting counterproductive antics and anti-liberal

sentiments. Yet psychological studies would suggest that working through such hostile

bravado in the relatively egalitarian and informal space of applied theatre practice can

ease subsequent contacts between the participants and outsiders like myself, promoting

increased linking capital in the future.83

A lack of continued correspondence indicates that much of this co-created linking

capital dissolved upon my departure. However, by disseminating ATAR findings, not

only to the young participants but also to academic readers, this dissertation has the

potential to promote further linking capital. While existing ATAR scholarship focuses

predominantly on capacity building and dissemination of research back to participants,

ATAR’s ability to promote the linking capital of participants – and those who find

themselves in similar circumstances – provides a promising avenue for future study.84

1 To promote participant confidentiality, the name of the high school, classroom teacher, and participants have been replaced by pseudonyms.

2 I use the term youth to refer to individuals age 11-19. This definition is somewhat arbitrary but based on the ages in which students often attend middle and high school in the United States.

40

3 Katherine J. Cramer, The Politics of Resentment: Rural Consciousness in Wisconsin and the Rise of Scott Walker (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 5-6.

4 Ms. S (Midwest teacher) in discussion with the author, October 31, 2019.

5 Daniel T. Lichter and David L. Brown, “Rural America in an Urban Society: Changing Spatial and Social Boundaries,”Annual Review of Sociology 37 (2011): 566.

6 Lichter and Brown, 570.

7 Andrea Sharkey, “Access to Global Communication for Youth in Rural Communities and Its Relationship with Out-Migration,” (master’s thesis, Concordia University, 2002), iii.

8 Erving Goffman, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1963), 6.

9 Craig B. Howley and Aimee Howley, “How Blue Was My Valley? Invited Paper for the AERA Special Interest Group on Rural Education,” Journal of Research in Rural Education 33, no. 4 (2018): 1.

10 James A. Bryant Jr., “Dismantling Rural Stereotypes,” Educational Leadership 67, no. 3 (2010): 54.

11 Sharkey, iii.

12 Jo Robinson, Theatre and the Rural (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016).

13 Robinson, 16.

14 Peter O’Connor and Michael Anderson, “Applied Theatre as Research: Provoking the Possibilities,” Applied Theatre Research 1, no. 2 (2013): 189-202.

15 Mike Krings-Kansas, “Rural LGBTQ Youth Want These 4 Kinds of Support,” Futurity, University of Rochester, last modified June 21, 2016. https://www.futurity.org/rural-lbgtq-youth-1187552/; and Megan S. Paceley, “Gender and Sexuality Minority Youth in Nonmetropolitan Communities: Individual- and Community-Level Needs for Support,” Families in Society: The Journal of Contemporary Social Services 97, no. 2 (2016): 77-85.

16 Janessa M. Graves et al., “Association of Rurality with Availability of Youth Mental Health Facilities with Suicide Prevention Services in the US,” Jama Network Open 3, no. 10 (2020): 3.

17 Goffman, 51.

18 Pierre Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital,” in Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education, ed. John Richardson (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1986), 241-58.

19 Descriptions of exercises appear in the body of this dissertation, with specific parties credited in the endnotes.

20 As with the Midwest case study, the names of the assistant facilitator (Ms. C) and the participants have been replaced by pseudonyms. 21 “TNT - Teens ‘n’ Theatre,” Creative Alliance of Baraboo, last accessed February 20, 2021, http://www.cabtheatre.org/p/tnt.html.

41

22 Over the age of eighteen at the time of the interview, Brayden opted to use his given name. The other participants in all three case studies completed forms detailing how they would like to be referred to in the research. For ease of reading, their pseudonyms, pronouns, and any requested descriptors are included in Appendix A.

23 Michael Corbett, “Improvisation as a Curricular Metaphor: Imagining Education for a Rural Creative Class,” Journal of Research in Rural Education 28, no. 10 (2013): 2.

24 John Cromarty and Shawn Bucholtz, “Defining the ‘Rural’ in Rural America,” Amber Waves, USDA, last modified June 1, 2008, https://www.ers.usda.gov/amber-waves/2008/june/defining-the-rural-in-rural-america/.

25 Cromarty and Bucholtz, “Defining the ‘Rural.’”

26 Keith Halfacree, “Locality and Social Representation: Space, Discourse and Alternative Definitions of the Rural,” Journal of Rural Studies 9, no. 1 (1993): 23.

27 Robinson, 14.

28 Cromarty and Bucholtz, “Defining the ‘Rural.’”

29 For examples from rural studies, see Alan Peshkin, Growing Up American: Schooling and the Survival of the Community (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982); and Mara Casey Tieken, Why Rural Schools Matter (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press). For examples from applied theatre, see Jan Cohen-Cruz, Local Acts: Community-Based Performance in the United States, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2005); and Schulamith Lev-Aladgem, Theatre in Co-Communities: Articulating Power, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). For interrogations of the notion of community, see Iris Marion Young, "The Ideal of Community and the Politics of Difference," Social Theory and Practice 12, no. 1 (1986): 1-26; and Vered Amit, "An Anthropology Without Community?" in The Trouble with Community: Anthropology Reflections on Movement, Identity and Collectivity, eds. Vered Amit and Nigel Rapport (London: Pluto, 2002), 13-70.

30 Ellwood P. Cubberley, Rural Life and Education: A Study of the Rural-School Problem as a Phase of the Rural-Life Problem (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1922), 102.

31 Patricia J. Kannapel and Alan J. DeYoung, “The Rural School Problem in 1999: A Review and Critique of the Literature,” Journal of Research in Rural Education 15, no. 2 (1999): 67-79.

32 Kai A. Schafft, Kieran M. Killeen, and John Morrissey, “The Challenges of Student Transiency for Rural Schools and Communities in the Era of No Child Left Behind,” in Rural Education in the Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 95-114.

33 Paul Theobald and Kathy Wood, “Learning to Be Rural: Identity Lessons from History, Schooling, and the U.S. Corporate Media,” in Rural Education in the Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 17-33.

34 Theobald and Wood, 27.

42

35 Craig B. Howley and Aimee Howley, “Poverty and School Achievement in Rural Communities: A Social-Class Interpretation,” in Rural Education in the Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 34-50.

36 Susan L. Groenke and Jan Nespor, “‘The Drama of Their Daily Lives’: Racist Language and Struggles Over the Local in a Rural High School,” in Rural Education in the Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 51-71.

37 Michael Corbett, “Wharf Talk, Home Talk, and School Talk: The Politics of Language in a Coastal Community,” in Rural Education in the Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 115-32.

38 James S. Catterall and Cynthia I. Gerstl-Pepin, “Summary: A Poetic/Dramatic Approach to Facilitate Oral Communication,” in Critical Links: Learning in the Arts and Student Academic and Social Development, ed. Richard J. Deasy (Washington, DC: Arts Education Partnership, 2002), 41-42.

39 Heather M. Moorefield-Lang, “The Relationships of Arts Education to Student Motivation, Self-Efficacy, and Creativity in Rural Middle Schools,” (doctoral dissertation, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 2008).

40 Moorefield-Lang, 3-4.

41 Judith Ackroyd, “Applied Theatre: Problems and Possibilities,” Applied Theatre Journal, last accessed December 15, 2013, http://www.griffith.edu.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0004/81796/Ackroyd.pdf. Quoted in Helen Nicholson, Applied Drama: The Gift of Theatre, 2nd ed. (Palgrave Macmillan, New York, 2014), 4.

42 Nicholson, 3.

43 Philip Taylor, Applied Theatre: Creating Transformative Encounters in the Community (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2003).

44 James Thompson, Performance Affects: Applied Theatre and the End of Effect, 2nd ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 5.

45 Nicholson, 8.

46 Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston, “Applied Theatre: An Introduction,” in The Applied Theatre Reader, ed. Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston (Routledge, New York, 2009), 9.

47 Prentki and Preston, 10.

48 Prentki and Preston, 10.

49 O’Connor and Anderson, “Applied Theatre as Research,” 189; and Peter O’Connor, and Michael Anderson, eds., Applied Theatre: Research – Radical Departures (New York: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2015).

43

50 Helen Cahill, “Research Acts: Using the Drama Workshop as a Site for Conducting Participatory Action Research,” NJ: Drama Australia Journal 30, no. 2 (2006): 62.

51 Kathleen Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban: Youth and Schooling in Dangerous Times (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007), 55.

52 Though I struggle with the distinction between “developed” and “developing” counties – with the events of the past decade proving that the United States is far from fully developed – the terms provide a useful shorthand for the geographically disparate practices noted in this section. Because of the English-centric nature of this text, I specifically refer to the “developed” countries of Australia, Canada, United States of America, and the countries making up the United Kingdom. As for “developing” countries, I speak to both those countries commonly classified as “developing” and those countries thought to blur the line between “developing” and “developed” (such as Brazil and India where much applied theatre occurs).

53 With the exception of applied theatre with indigenous rural youth as seen in: Josie Auger and Jane Heather, “My People’s Blood: Mobilizing Rural Aboriginal Populations in Canada around Issues of HIV,” in The Applied Theatre Reader, eds. Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston (New York: Routledge, 2009), 283-90; Diane Conrad, “‘Life in the Sticks:’ Youth Experiences, Risk and Popular Theatre Process,” (doctoral dissertation, University of Alberta, 2004); and Kathryn Dawson, “An Alaskan Education: From Service to Sustainability,” in A Reflective Practitioner’s Guide to (Mis)Adventures in Drama Education – or – What Was I Thinking?, edited by Peter Duffy (Chicago: Intellect, 2015), 139-56.

54 Sonja Kuftinec, Staging America: Cornerstoen and Community-Based Theater (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University, 2003). 55 Kuftinec, 50.

56 Clayton Lord, “Interview with Dudley Cocke,” Howlround, last modified March 4, 2012, https://howlround.com/interview-dudley-cocke. 57 Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban, 3; and Kathleen Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters: Urban Youth, Engagement, and a Pedagogy of the Real (Toronto: University of Toronto, 2014), 3.

58 Gallgher, Why Theatre Matters, 3.

59 Sheila Preston, “Back on Whose Track? Reframing Ideologies of Inclusion and Misrecognition in a Participatory Theatre Project with Young People in London,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 16, no. 2 (2011): 254.

60 Preston, 257.

61 Stephanie Etheridge Woodson, Theatre for Youth Third Space: Peformance, Democracy and Community Cultural Development (Chicago: Intellect, 2015).

62 Woodson, 11-12.

63 This difference bears some resemblance to the process-versus-product debate. Woodson views participant experiences and public-facing performance as integral components of the same goal, whereas I contend that given the temporal limitations of many applied theatre programs with young people, a prioritization of participant experience is at times necessary.

44

64 For more on conscientization, see Augusto Boal, Theatre of the Oppressed, trans. Charles A. McBride and Maria-Odilia L. McBride (New York: Theatre Communications Group, 1979). For more recent examples see L. Dale Byam, “Sanctions and Survival Politics: Zimbabwean Community Theatre in a Time of Hardship,” in The Applied Theatre Reader, eds. Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston (New York: Routledge, 2009), 345-53; and Asif Munier and Michael Etherton, “Child Rights Theatre for Development in Rural Bangladesh: A Case Study,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 11, no. 2 (2006): 175-83.

65 Paul Dwyer, “Peacebuilding Performances in the Aftermath of War: Lessons from Bougainville,” in Critical Perspectives on Applied Theatre, eds. Jenny Hughes and Helen Nicholson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 127-49; Mark Fleishman, “Applied Theatre and Participation in the ‘New’ South Africa: A Possible Politics,” in Critical Perspectives on Applied Theatre, eds. Jenny Hughes and Helen Nicholson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 193-211; and Thompson, 43-77.

66 Nicholson, 29.

67 Kathleen Gallagher, “The Micro-Political and the Socio-Structural in Applied Theatre with Homeless Youth,” in Critical Perspectives on Applied Theatre, eds. Jenny Hughes and Helen Nicholson (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2016), 245.

68 Michael Balfour, "The Politics of Intention: Looking for a Theatre of Little Changes," Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 14, no. 3 (2009): 356; Lefebvre, 221; and Nicholson, 34.

69 For examples, see Michelle Fine and Lois Weis, Silenced Voices and Extraordinary Conversations: Re-Imaging Schools, (New York: Teachers College Press, 2003); Schafft and Youngblood Jackson, Rural Education for the Twenty-First Century; and Peshkin, Growing Up American.

70 For examples, see Enza Giannone, “But Now You Can See Me: Devising Theatre with Youth Artist-Researchers in Search of Revelations and Docutheatrciality” (doctoral dissertation, Arizona State University, 2014); Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban; and O’Connor and Anderson, Applied Theatre: Research.

71 Bourdieu, 241-58.

72 Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2000).

73 World Development Report 2000/2001: Attacking Poverty (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001).

74 For a discussion of stigma and self-efficacy, which I deem embodied cultural capital, see Carol T. Miller and Brenda Major, “Coping with Stigma and Prejudice,” in The Social Psychology of Stigma, eds. Todd F. Heatherton, et al. (New York: The Guilford Press, 2000), 246.; for a discussion of relationships between stigmatized and non-stigmatized individuals, which I argue yield bridging and linking social capital, see Michelle R. Hebl, Jennifer Tickle, and Todd F. Heatherton, “Awkward Moments in Interactions between Nonstigmatized and Stigmatized Individuals,” in The Social Psychology of Stigma, eds. Todd F. Heatherton, Robert E. Kleck, Michelle R. Hebl, and Jay G. Hull (New York: The Guilford Press, 2000), 293.

75 Jenny Hughes and Helene Nicholson eds., Critical Perspectives on Applied Theatre (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 4.

45

76 Michael Etherton and Tim Prentki, “Drama for Change? Prove It! Impact Assessment in Applied Theatre,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 11, no. 2 (2006): 139-55.

77 Gregory M. Fulkerson and Alexander R. Thomas eds., Urbanormativity: Reality, Representation, and Everyday Life (Lanham, MA: Lexington Books, 2019), 169.

78 Fulkerson and Thomas, 170.

79 Hughes and Nicholson, 4.

80 Albert Bandura, Self-Efficacy: The Exercise of Control (New York: W. H. Freeman and Company, 1997).

81 Michel Foucault, "Of Other Spaces," trans. Jay Miskowiec, Diacritics 16, no. 1 (1986): 22-27.

82 Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters, 120.

83 Gordon W. Allport, The Nature of Prejudice (New York: Perseus, 1954), 281; and Hebl, Tickle, and Heatherton, 297.

84 O’Connor and Anderson, Applied Theatre: Research, 60-61.

46

Chapter One. Applied Theatre Insights: Complicating Present Understandings of Stigma Management among Rural Youth

Eyes rolled as I approached Ms. S’s fourth-hour elective class with notecards and

pencils. Having spent previous days sharing stories, crafting tableaux, and playing

improvisation games, the students were none too happy to see the return of writing

implements. But I had a better sense of these students than I did six days earlier,

especially since many of them also took English with Ms. S and had consequently

suffered my applied theatre machinations twice, rather than once, a day – something the

students alternately described as a great sacrifice and a fun change of pace. Inspired by

high levels of engagement and positive feedback the day before, I had decided to charge

them with a riskier task: risky for me in the sense that the exercise deviated from more

conventional theatre practices, dropped all pretense of being a game, and provided ample

space for rule breaking, but also risky for the students, in that it asked them to openly

reflect on their rural high school – their community – in front of their peers, their teacher,

and myself.

I instructed the students that we would be writing a “Recipe for Midwest.”

Students would write the characteristics of Midwest High School on notecards, which we

would then revisit, adding recipe quantities and ordering the cards to create a culinary

poem of sorts.1 After some early reluctance (writing, ugh), ideas began flying around the

47

circle. Notecards were passed from student to student – scribbled upon and thrown down

with rapidity – and even more reserved students offered up an idea or two. As our pile of

notecards grew, I encouraged students to identify what was missing: what elements of

Midwest were we leaving out? This prompted one student to add “baseball” and another

“goody goodies” – a label similar to “goody two shoes” describing students who are

ostentatiously virtuous or well-behaved.

A few students took full advantage of the opportunity to use profanity, jotting

down words I had never heard before – some of which had yet to make their way into

Urban Dictionary (I checked).2 I caught what I could, pocketing the offending cards and

steering the exercise in a more school appropriate direction. While the question of how

best to address youth humor warrants further discussion, here I present the final edited

poem as an example of eight young people’s perception of their rural community.

½ cup of Oversized tires 1 cup of THE LAND (RIP) 1 cup of We Not Inbreed 1 cup of Trucks ½ cup of Yee Yeerz Mullets 4 Wheelers Station wagon ¼ cup of Merica ¼ cup of Rap – Countree Farm 1 pinch of track/trap A sh*t load of Jail Softball/baseball 1 pinch Goody Goodie A+ -1 tablespoon Midwest Pride Closeminded Will never return

48

From stereotypical depictions to derogatory epithets, rural stigma features prominently in

this poem. This chapter analyzes how the rural young people I worked with manage this

rural stigma. Do expressions of rural pride constitute a form stigma management? Might

rural stigma contribute to internalized deficit-based narratives, with some young

participants quick to emphasize local needs while overlooking communal assets? What

happens when some rural youth – already subjected to stigma themselves – come to

further stigmatize others? How does the close-knit nature of rural communities alter

available stigma management methods?

Complicating present understandings of stigma management allows for greater

insight into the potential impacts of applied theatre with rural youth. In keeping with

Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) methodology, the beginning of this chapter draws

on examples from the residency I facilitated at Midwest and the arts education program I

observed at Stuart’s Opera House – two very different programs. The Midwest residency

occurred during high school English classes and other non-theatre electives, and

consequently students were required to participate in the residency. Conversely, the

program at Stuart’s Opera House was voluntary rather than mandated; occurred out-of-

school rather than in-school; and consisted predominantly of middle school rather than

high school students. As a result, participants at Stuart’s appeared far less guarded in their

responses, speaking directly to instances of stigmatization only hinted at during the

Midwest residency.

Most notably, Stuart’s participants spoke at length about matters of intragroup

stigma – or stigmatization amongst rural youth. As detailed later in this chapter, the

49

participants’ stories highlight the difficulty of managing stigma in rural and small-town

communities. Many of the participants, themselves subject to intragroup stigmatization,

resorted to concealing their stigma or avoiding non-stigmatized others entirely. Archival

research into the Creative Alliance of Baraboo’s now disbanded Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT)

program – whose touring performances blurred the lines between voluntary and

involuntary, out-of-school and in-school, as well as middle school and high school –

supports these findings while revealing the hidden impacts of such stigma management.

None of these examples is meant to be indicative of all rural youth or even all of

the rural youth who participated in these three programs. The group consisting of all

young people from rural areas is necessarily heterogenous, and as psychologists Carol T.

Miller and Brenda Major underscore in their summary of stigma and self-esteem studies,

“[T]here is not a one-to-one relationship between exposure to environmental stressors

and adaptational outcomes. Some stigmatized groups fare well whereas others do not, and

some individuals within a stigmatized group fare better than do others.”3 Rather than

generalize the experience of all rural youth, the examples I cite here serve to complicate

existing discussions of rural youth and stigma management. As explored in the following

section, rural stigma management involves far more than the choice to simply stay or

leave.

Rural stigma impacts various youth differently, in some cases prompting

performances of rural pride in other cases leading young people to internalize deficit-

based narratives about their communities. Furthermore, rural stigma can also lead young

people to stigmatize one another based on degrees of ruralness, with some purported to

50

adhere more closely to negative rural stereotypes than others. Even non-rural stigma

manifests differently in rural and small-town communities. Because information spreads

quickly and relationships are often stratified, many stigmatized young people resort to

concealing their stigma or avoiding non-stigmatized others entirely. Later chapters

analyze how these stigma management methods detrimentally impact the social and

cultural capital of rural youth and their communities as well as the potential of applied

theatre to curb these negative outcomes.

STIGMATIZATION OF RURAL YOUTH

Rural stigma has long been thought to play a role in outmigration.4 More recently,

Paul Theobald and Kathy Wood’s “Learning to be Rural: Identity Lessons From History,

Schooling and the U.S. Corporate Media” (2010) not only traces the development of

negative rural stereotypes, as discussed in the introduction, but also highlights the impact

of subsequent rural stigma. These stereotypes, Theobald and Wood contend, lead to

deficit-based narratives, in which rural is less than urban, and urban migration is

necessary to succeed. Here I interpret “narratives” to mean thought processes: the stories

individuals and communities utilize to make sense of the world. Deficit-based narratives

overemphasize needs at the expense of assets. For example, such narratives make rural

youth quick to recall low standardized test scores but slow to remember the benefits of

extracurricular knowledge; they also lead rural communities to worry about low

enrollment rather than celebrate exceptional student-teacher ratios.

51

Rural schools are forced to adhere to urban educational models, resulting in

harmful school consolidations. Raised to think of their schools as inferior, rural students

approach college with less confidence, and many rural professionals, including teachers,

eagerly seek positions in urban areas. These events in turn perpetuate messages of rural

inferiority. “Some reject the message and stay,” Theobald and Wood conclude. “Others

accept it and leave the countryside behind. In either case, the social capital, or

wherewithal of rural communities when it comes to improving their circumstances is

negatively affected.”5 Though I share Theobald and Wood’s concern about messages of

rural inferiority, their dichotomous conclusion lacks important nuance. What of those

who reject messages of rural inferiority but feel forced to leave to pursue desired career

paths? Or those who come to believe that rural is less than urban, but do not have the

resources needed to leave the area? I will take up Theobald and Wood’s contention

regarding social capital at the end of this chapter. For now, I consider methods of stigma

management overlooked in their conclusion.

Accepting and rejecting present two absolute forms of stigma management. The

words suggest a singular event, one in which a decision is made once and never

reconsidered or renegotiated. While this may be the case for some rural inhabitants,

others are far more likely to oscillate between these two extremes. Leaving may be

temporary, as evidenced by high levels of return migrants – individuals in their early to

mid-thirties who move back to the rural communities of their youth after spending some

time in urban areas.6 Meanwhile staying may require its own cache of stigma

52

management methods, which may or may not be immediately apparent to those who

utilize them.

In defining “stigma management,” Erving Goffman implies that stigmatized

individuals consciously employ strategies to minimize the negative impacts of their

stigma.7 Yet Goffman’s previous work on the performance of self suggests alternatively

that stigmatized individuals may actively participate in stigma management without

knowingly doing so. Goffman’s groundbreaking text, The Presentation of Self in

Everyday Life (1959), employs theatrical metaphor to explain human social interaction.

More specifically, he asserts that individuals are always performing for one another,

attempting to craft the way others see and interpret their speech and actions. As Goffman

elucidates, “Sometimes the individual will be calculating in his activity but be relatively

unaware that this is the case.”8 Here “activity” refers to that performance of self but is

equally applicable to the inherently performative aspects of stigma management. For

instance, one common method of managing stigma is denial, in which individuals who

possess a certain stigmatizing attribute nevertheless refuse to see themselves as

discredited on account of that stigma. While some individuals consciously chose denial,

others may arrive at this form of management inadvertently.9 Even those originally aware

of their performance may come to believe in it over time. “[W]e find that the performer

can be fully taken in by his own act; he can be sincerely convinced that the impression of

reality which he stages is the real reality.”10 While Goffman’s invocation of a “real

reality” may give contemporary scholars pause, it is reasonable to conclude that certain

53

performative methods of stigma management may go unnoticed by the very individuals

who enact them.

Below I outline one such method, utilized by students at Midwest High School to

better manage rural stigma. Performances of pride, while not necessarily intentional, help

to minimize the impact of rural stigma among some Midwest participants. However, a

proliferation of deficit-based narratives remains. Students engage in an ongoing

renegotiation of stigma as they continue to evaluate their relationship to discrediting rural

stereotypes. Given the pragmatic, and hopefully ethical, lens through which I have

elected to view applied theatre practice – namely as a theatre of little changes, small

achievements, and brief moments – the representational artform is ideally suited to

intervene in these ongoing renegotiations of stigma.11

Rural Stigma: Performances of Pride and Hostile Bravado

Students at Midwest High School acknowledged rural stigma but were quick to

contend that it did not affect them. This self-proclaimed lack of interest was perhaps most

evident in Ms. S’s first-hour class. Consisting of all seniors, the class had shown early

enthusiasm and participated actively, but by the middle of the second week, their

engagement had waned. Rather than spending another day wheedling students to

participate, I opted for what seemed the more pedagogically sound option: to gather in a

circle and talk about life in rural areas. And so, I found myself posing the question to the

participants directly: “In what ways, if any, do negative rural stereotypes impact you?”

54

Tonny responded first with a nonchalant shrug, “They don’t.” Seeking additional

viewpoints, I turned to his classmates. Heads nodded all around in affirmation with some

of his more vocal classmates voicing their agreement. What I read as a lack of concern

with rural stigma, Ms. S interpreted differently. “I don’t know if you noticed this but for

every negative stereotype you put in their lap they agreed, and then they were like, ‘But

that’s why we’re cool.’ They’re owning it...it’s almost like they’re kind of proud. They’re

proud of their hick nature, their rural nature.”12 Though speaking of my discussion with

the seniors, the rural pride that Ms. S underscored also appears in the “Recipe for

Midwest.”

Midwest students frequently embraced discrediting stereotypes, as seen by the

inclusion of “THE LAND (RIP)” and “Merica” in the poem – although both terms

require additional explanation. For those unfamiliar with the reality television show Teen

Mom 2 (2011-Present), THE LAND refers to a swath of rural property purchased by

reality television star Janelle Lauren Evans and her ex-husband David Eason. While

living together on the property, rumors of domestic abuse and alcohol-induced violence

abounded; fans expressed concern regarding the two’s parenting abilities; and Eason

regularly posted racist and homophobic statements on social media. Accusations of

animal cruelty in 2019 eventually resulted in the couple being removed from the air, and

Evans leaving THE LAND, which prompted fans to mourn the loss of the property,

“THE LAND (RIP).” Yet THE LAND still exemplifies much of the toxicity

encompassed by negative rural stereotypes. Though I doubt THE LAND accurately

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depicts the lives of any of the young rural participants, the reference certainly embraces

the rural stigma associated with the property and its inhabitants.

“Merica” provides a more widespread example of negative rural stereotypes.

Although the word originated in the early 19th century as a simple contraction of

America, events of the 21st century have given rise to more polarized meanings. “Merica”

now serves as both a patriotic anthem and term of derision used to mock or criticize those

who adhere to the more harmful aspects of United States nationalism. Though the exact

origins of this divide are difficult to trace, both connotations are commonplace, making it

difficult to claim the former without also embracing the latter.13 One example of the

duality of this term can be found in the lyrics to “Merica” by Henry Granger Smith.

Released in 2016 and attributed to Smith’s alter ego Earl Dibbles Jr., the song alternates

between extreme patriotism and parodic hyperbole with verses celebrating United States

military victories and technological advancements alongside braggadocios claims, such

as “And before we're done/ Yeah we'll probably send a man to the sun.”14 At the time of

writing, the music video has received over four million views on YouTube and was so

popular with Smith’s fans he included it on his major-label debut Remington (2016)

alongside more traditional country songs. Much as Smith’s fans celebrate the extreme

patriotism along with the implicit critique – that those same patriots would be

overzealous and/or unintelligent enough to send a man into a burning ball of gas and

plasma – the participants’ inclusion of “Merica” inevitably embraces both positive and

negative connotations of the term.

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Ms. S’s first hour class also embraced rural stigma in a post-exercise reflection.

Students had spent a class period acting out autobiographical stories on the World’s

Smallest Stage, a classroom desk.15 One student narrates the story, while another

illustrates the action using facial expressions and hand movements, and a third student

contributes sound effects. In a concerted effort with Ms. S to help students practice

reflection and analysis, I then asked students to collectively identify common motifs

running through the performances. Their list included: animals, vehicles, accidents,

outdoors, injury, and bad decisions. In response to this list Tonny observed, “Cars and

chickens. That sounds like Midwest.” Though neither “cars” nor “chickens” are

particularly discrediting, the gross oversimplification certainly plays into concepts of

rural ignorance and backwardness.

The rural pride Ms. S described was even more evident in the students’ treatment

of rural epithets. Returning to the poem, “Yee Yeerz” is the latest in a line of rural

pejoratives. Like “Merica,” the term bears multiple meanings as evidenced by diverging

entries on Urban Dictionary:

Yee yee is the term used when a southerner is excited. Can be used as a war cry. These are the kind of people you want in your group due to the fact that they will risk it all for the fun of the party or to protect those who need it.16 A "Yee Yee" is one of those assholes at your school that wears camo jackets for no reason, cowboy boots all the time, blue jeans, and drive those obnoxiously high up trucks with giant ass tires…17

Given the more flattering nature of the first entry, one might assume that Midwest

students had a similar definition in mind when they included “yee yeerz” in their poem.

However, there are marked commonalities between the poem and the second definition.

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Though neither “obnoxious” nor “giant ass,” trucks and tires make their way into the

recipe – “oversized tires” even receive first billing. And while this particular class of

students didn’t wear an abundance of camo, their schoolmates certainly did.

Here again students appear to accept the wild, fun-loving connotations alongside

more derogatory ones. The explanation for this duality appears tied to the students’ love

of scene making. Members of the senior class regaled me with their antics, most notably

driving side-by-side down a highway at 45 miles per hour just to frustrate the poor souls

stuck behind them. Ms. S, who often finds herself subjected to similar antics, provided

additional insight.

Neumann: Do you think that there are people that they like to annoy more than others? Ms. S: Oh, for sure. Oh, yes absolutely. You know, old people. Anybody who’s going to give them what they want. They ultimately want a scene. They want you to cause a scene. I’m a very loud person. You noticed this morning where I was legitimately trying help a kid, and he’s like, “Why are you yelling at me?” And then they’re all like, “Why are you yelling at me?” And then they get louder, and then I get louder, and that’s what they wanted. Cause it’s fun, and you know they’re not going to get in trouble.18

Midwest students are not alone in their scene making. Teens all over are known for their

antics – by turns called immature, irritating, and thoughtless. What’s of significance here

is how these antics overlap with rural epithets like that of “yee yeer.”

Embracing discrediting rural stereotypes and epithets is in keeping with

Goffman’s conception of “pride in illness.”19 Though the analogy to illness is off-putting

in the context of rural stigma, this phrase simply refers to the way in which well-

organized communities with longstanding traditions endeavor to take pride in shared

stigma rather than hide or downplay their stigma to appease stigmatizers. Similar

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attempts to take pride in otherwise stigmatizing attributes can be seen among other

marginalized groups, from the “Black is Beautiful” movement to Development, Relief,

and Education for Alien Minors or DREAMer protests to pride parades celebrating

LGBTQ+ acceptance and achievement. Although much scholarship surrounding stigma

management focuses on hiding and downplaying stigma – known respectively as passing

and covering – pride also proves a useful form of stigma management.

Psychologists Michelle R. Hebl, Jennfer Tickle, and Todd F. Heatherton note that

self-acceptance and openness “have been found to be predictive of the well-being of

stigmatized individuals.”20 These findings suggest that expressions of pride contribute to

stigma management: pride fosters self-acceptance and openness which in turn promote

the well-being of stigmatized individuals. Consequently, expressions of pride are perhaps

better understood as performances in the Goffmanian sense. Regardless of their

consciousness of the performance, some young people enact pride as a means of

controlling both how they are seen by others and how they see themselves. Grins and

laughter from many of the participants would indicate the relative success of these

methods. However, performances of pride can yield negative results as well, as indicated

by one of Ms. S’s greatest worries.

When asked about her hopes and concerns for the students, Ms. S had quite a few

but first and foremost among them were issues of rural migration. “I worry that they’re

never going to make it out of the cornfield. That’s my biggest worry for them, and if they

do make it out, they’re going to get their asses kicked for being ignorant. That’s my

biggest worry…[that and] that they make it out and don’t come back.”21 Not adhering to

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the neoliberal aspirational discourse critiqued by some rural scholars, Ms. S wants

students to find their own definitions of success, which she acknowledges may or may

not include a four- or even a two-year degree.22 Yet she does emphasize the importance

of broader experiences, hoping that her students have a chance to discover life beyond the

“cornfields.” As for returning, Ms. S appears torn, wanting the students to return – to

ensure the continuation of the school and communities she loves – but only on their own

terms, not because an “ass kicking” shamed them into retreat.

This distinction calls to mind a report by John Cromartie, Christiane von

Reichert, and Ryan Arthun. The 2015 report sponsored by the United States Department

of Agriculture analyzes return migration patterns in rural areas, differentiating between

late and early return migrants. As opposed to early return migrants in their late teens and

early twenties, late returners are more likely to be married, well-employed, and highly

educated. In other words, these late returners are more often pulled by rural family

relations and community ties than pushed by negative experiences in urban or suburban

areas. Early returners, on the other hand, are more frequently pushed by such

experiences. As Cromartie, Reichert, and Arthun elucidate, “Young workers, especially

those with limited education and job-search skills, are especially prone to make initial

moves based on imperfect information and to face difficulties securing employment in

new destinations.”23

Whereas Cromartie, Reichert, and Arthun emphasize economic factors that may

push early returners to immigrate back to their rural origins, Ms. S cites equally important

sociocultural factors closely tied to matters of rural stigma. Managing rural stigma with

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performances of pride may lead young people to act in ways that exaggerate stereotypes

of ignorance or backwardness, which can then lead to negative consequences when rural

young people venture into more urban and suburban areas. As Goffman asserts more

generally, “Instead of cowering, the stigmatized individual may attempt to approach

mixed contacts with hostile bravado, but this can induce from others its own set of

troublesome reciprocations.”24 Ms. S’s “ass kicking” serves as one possible reciprocation,

with rural young people criticized and shamed into retreat. The polarizing repercussions

of such exchanges result in a breakdown of much needed social capital, with those

already inclined to stigmatize rural youth given ample evidence to reinforce their beliefs,

and those in rural areas left feeling increasingly “misunderstood and disrespected by city

folks.”25 In the chapters to come, I explore how rural youth use applied theatre to foster

social and cultural capital, while also noting the shortcomings of this type of artistic

intervention.

Rural Stigma: Internalizing Stigma and Deficit-Based Narratives

Performances of pride carried over into anonymous wrap-up surveys (for a list of

questions see Appendix B). When asked what I should communicate to my readers about

the perspectives of young people in rural areas, one student enthusiastically boasted,

“Small town is where it’s at cause everybody knows everybody.” However, many were

more moderate in their replies – with one student emphasizing, “[P]eople in rural

communities are no different than anyone else,” and others underscored more troubling,

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deficit-based narratives. Regarding the perspectives of young people in rural areas, two

students wrote:

We didn’t grow up with a lot of nice things. We grew up in the woods and dirt. Whenever I see a kid who grew up in the city, I’m jealous of all the opportunities and experiences they’ve already had. Small-town schools don’t always have everything that big schools have to offer in the school. Small schools have just the same amount of potential as big schools do, with such smart students that aren’t always noticed how much talent is there.

Although the second student underscores rural potential, by and large both replies

exemplify the deficit-based narratives noted by Theobald and Wood. Rural is less than

urban. Rural youth get “woods and dirt;” urban youth get “opportunities and

experiences.” Rural schools are small and consequently do not offer all that big

(presumably urban or suburban) schools do.

Similar deficit-based narratives arose at Stuart’s Opera House. When asked what

it was like to grow up in a small town, the conversation quickly turned to drugs and

crime. James explained, “For me, in this small town, we have drug problems, crime - a

lot of it. A lot of kids are not in the safest areas.”26 Jo had a similarly bleak response:

I’ve moved a lot, so it’s kind of just like.…I never stay in one place. But I mean like a lot a lot of drugs especially in my life, so it’s kind of just like, “There’s a crack head - a normal day.” I leave my house at six. I’m up at five. So I’m just: get up, get ready, I’m on the road. You got this crack head walking down the street with a bag over his head. It’s sad. It is really sad. Like in basketball you can’t call like suicides “suicides” any more; it has to be “ladders” or “line drills.” Because there is a lot of that and drugs and crimes and like they said. It’s sad living in a small area where you hear every little thing. So a lot of mood swings.27

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Michelle and Ms. C echoed this latter sentiment, observing that drug use, criminal

activity, and poverty are far more conspicuous in smaller communities. As Michelle

elucidated, “I think that’s why it’s sort of more noticeable here, is because it’s more

serious here because it’s happening to our friends and our family. And our little cousins.

And our little sisters.”28 Though Michelle also underscored the value of her fellow

participants, by and large the participants responses perpetuated deficit-based narratives,

focusing on communal needs rather than assets.

Though not unique to rural areas, deficit-based narratives arise from and feed into

rural stereotypes of ignorance and backwardness. What’s more, the regularity of such

deficit-based narratives left me wondering as to their overall impact. How might deficit-

based narratives affect the students who espouse them? And might deficit-based

narratives be in some way responsible for the “-1 tablespoon Midwest Pride” in the

students’ culinary poem?

Theobald and Wood contend that deficit-based narratives arise due to an

abundance of interconnected causes, including but not limited to rural stigma:

[D]espite the fact that rural dwellers possess differing levels of intellectual leverage over cultural messages, differing levels of a sense of self-efficacy or agency, and differing kinds of familial and community upbringing, all rural dwellers are nevertheless recipients of the messages from the dominant culture regarding what it means to be rural…The reality is that the messages are ubiquitous and therefore cannot fail to influence the way rural people come to think of themselves.29

I am inclined to agree with Theobald and Wood, though the breadth of their argument

prevented them from providing more than a cursory analysis of these interconnected

causes. My work with Midwest and Stuart’s provides insight as to the nature of that

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interconnectedness within a specific context. After first taking a closer look at the

repercussions of deficit-based narratives, this section assumes an inductive approach,

considering what elements of the deficit-based narratives at Midwest and Stuart’s are

primarily attributable to limited opportunity structures and which more likely stem from

other sources, such as rural stigma.

Contemporary understandings of deficit-based narratives arise from the fields of

community development and education. In 1993, John P. Kretzmann and John L.

McKnight wrote Building Communities from the Inside Out: A Path Toward Finding and

Mobilizing a Community's Assets as a means of critiquing existing needs-based methods

of development. As Kretzmann and McKnight elucidate, focusing solely on community

deficits perpetuates an ethos of helplessness and dependency on outside services:

“Because the needs-based strategy can guarantee only survival, and can never lead to

serious change or community development, this orientation must be regarded as one of

the major causes of the sense of hopelessness that pervades discussions about the future

of low income neighborhoods.”30 Needs-based methods lead to deficit-based narratives,

which may be internalized by those in the community. In contrast to needs-based

development, Kretzman and McKnight propose asset-based development in which

members of the community are encouraged to draw on their own strengths, inviting

outside help as needed. Though it risks placing the onus for change on marginalized

communities rather than the marginalizing structures, asset-based methodology continues

to pose a promising avenue for addressing deficit-based narratives.31

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Within the context of educational scholarship, deficit-based thinking attributes

student shortcomings to personal, familial, or cultural characteristics. Individual students

may be treated poorly on account of certain stigmatic attributes, as detailed by Sharon M.

Ravitch and Nicole Mittenfelner Carl in their 2019 guide to applied research in

educational settings. The scholars define “deficit orientation” as the perspective in which

“individuals are viewed in stereotypical or other negative ways.”32 Other educational

scholars have focused more collectively, looking at how school failure is often attributed

to students and teachers, particularly when the students belong to racial minorities and/or

are of low socioeconomic status. Although asset-based thinking may have a role to play

in countering this deficit-based narrative, scholars emphasize the need to look externally

at the structures inhibiting school success. One of the foremost scholars on “deficit

thinking” in education, Richard R. Valencia, has repeatedly advocated for greater

attention to “how schools are organized to prevent learning, inequalities in the political

economy of education, and oppressive micropolitics and practices in education.”33 Here

again the deficit-based thinking is on the part of outsiders, looking to perceived student

deficits rather than limited opportunity structures. Yet such thinking may also impact

student perspectives. Valencia speculates that deficit-based thinking leads to increased

student anxiety, which in turn lowers academic performance. While ATAR may help to

expose impacts of deficit-based thinking among outsiders, non-performance oriented

applied theatre practice is well suited to address internally directed, deficit-based

narratives.

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If one reads Valencia alongside Ravitch and Carl, then negative stereotypes may

allow outsiders to overlook limited opportunity structures. Consequently, any attempt to

delineate between the impacts of rural stigma and these external structures is inevitably

flawed. Rural stigma obscures limited opportunity structures, which prevents the

structures from being properly addressed. Limited opportunities structures in turn

perpetuate a message of rural inferiority, further supporting discrediting stereotypes. Yet

juxtaposing empirical data often associated with external structures alongside theories of

stigma can help to better understand the perspectives of Midwest and Stuart’s participants

while also creating opportunities for future asset-based development.

Rural Stigma: A Closer Look at Midwest

“Small schools have just same the amount of potential as big schools do…” After

spending two weeks at Midwest, I am certainly inclined to agree. The question becomes

what messaging is this student receiving to the contrary? Why is this something they’ve

asked me to write about? Perhaps limited resources are to blame, as this student explains,

“Small-town schools don’t always have everything that big schools have to offer in the

school.” The quote calls to mind political scientist Katherine J. Cramer’s concept of

“rural consciousness.” 34 As I summarized in the introduction, rural conscious describes a

sense of identity that extends beyond mere geography. In particular, rural consciousness

involves a belief that urban and suburban decision makers routinely withhold resources

and ignore rural places. Though not blaming decision makers for limited resources, the

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student certainly has a sense that their school and the potential of its students has been

overlooked.

Cramer primarily focuses on understanding the heuristics of rural thought rather

than evaluating its accuracy. However, she does assess the empirical justifications for

rural consciousness. While Cramer concludes that rural residents in Wisconsin pay less in

taxes and receive more in state aid per person than their urban counterparts, she also

underscores “solid and understandable” reasons for rural consciousness.35 Less

government representation, potentially higher costs of living, and school consolidations

all contribute to a sense that rural communities are treated unfairly.

The empirical evidence pertaining to Midwest is similarly mixed. Table 1.1

catalogues locale, enrollment, and revenue data for the Midwest School District as well

as three of the largest school districts (Milwaukee, Madison, and Kenosha) and three of

the best school districts (Elmbrook, Whitefish Bay, and Mequon-Thiensville) in

Wisconsin.36 Analysis of the data reveals funding patterns in keeping with Cramer’s per

capita findings. While its total revenue is significantly lower than that of the other school

districts, Midwest School District receives greater funding per student. Furthermore, it

receives less local revenue per student than all except the Milwaukee and Kenosha school

districts, meaning that a good portion of the Midwest School District’s total revenue

arises from outside the community. Yet the question remains: is Midwest’s total revenue

sufficient? In other words, can the school provide the same quality of education as its

urban and suburban counterparts?

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Table 1.1 Midwest Locale, Enrollment, and Revenue Comparison

This question appeared particularly pertinent in discussions of teacher turnover.

When Midwest hired Ms. S for the 2017-2018 school year, she was the latest in a slew of

English teachers – thirteen to be exact. As Ms. S explains, she was the senior class’s

thirteenth teacher in seven years. Such a statistic would be less unusual in larger schools

where students might take two courses from two different instructors each year. At

Midwest, however, where one person teaches all the middle school English classes and

another person teaches all the high school English class, the turnover is startling with

students’ averaging a new teacher every semester.

Teacher turnover is a problem for rural schools nationwide. However, as

journalists Samantha Hernandez and Max Cohen note, the trend has been particularly

acute in Wisconsin since former Republican Governor Scott Walker “all but eliminated”

collective bargaining in 2011.37 Even without taking into account limited access to urban

or suburban amenities, many rural teachers feel undervalued and underpaid. Rural stigma

may have a role to play in this exodus as well. As Theobald and Wood argue, the idea

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that urban migration is necessary to success “contributes to a tendency among new

teachers and administrators to be constantly on the lookout for their chance to work in

urban and suburban schools after paying their dues in rural schools.”38

High levels of teacher turnover not only pose a threat to quality of education but

also students’ sense of value. Students notice teacher turnover, as evidenced by the

following exchange between Reyna and Ms. S:

Reyna: How long have you been at Midwest? Ms. S: Three years. Reyna: Wow, you’re old! I mean…

Reyna quickly corrected herself. Ms. S is in her mid-thirties and not old in the

chronological sense. Rather Ms. S has been at Midwest longer than many of her fellow

instructors. High teacher turnover not only disrupts students’ education, but also sends a

message to students: their teachers would rather be elsewhere; their school isn’t good

enough to secure instructors for the long term.

High teacher turnover may in turn contribute to the low standardized test scores

that Midwest has experienced in recent years. With the institution of the No Child Left

Behind Act in 2001 and its replacement, the Every Student Succeeds Act in 2015,

standardized tests have become increasingly important measures of school success. Rural

scholars have critiqued the tests for failing to account for differences in rural settings, and

many in education have questioned whether the tests accurately measure or predict

academic success.39 Despite these doubts, standardized tests remain a central component

of the United States public school system as well as university admissions. Accordingly,

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when Midwest ACT scores came in just below the state average for the fifth year in a

row, the administration opted to revamp their curriculum in an attempt to improve student

scores. However in Ms. S’s ACT prep class, students (or at least the louder ones) seemed

less-than-optimistic about their chances to do well on the college preparatory exam.

There is also the matter of life after high school. When I asked the senior class if

they intended to stay in the area, Tonny again acted as spokesperson. “There are two jobs

within fifteen minutes of here. Bartender or drug dealer.” Though arguably hyperbolic,

Tonny’s assertion provides yet another example of how limited opportunity structures

may lead to deficit-based narratives. According to United States Census data for the years

2014 to 2015, employed individuals over the age of 16 from the village in which Midwest

is located tended to work in the following industries: manufacturing; educational

services, health care and social assistance; retail trade; and agriculture, forestry, fishing

and hunting, and mining.40 Admittedly many of these positions require a longer commute

than Tonny stipulated, with employed individuals traveling on average just over thirty

minutes to work. Results from the same survey suggest that unemployment rates fell

below the state average of 2.7 percent, indicating circumstances far less dire than

Tonny’s claim would suggest. Yet his classmates nodded along in agreement. I followed

up with Harrold, a bright young man who despite slyly switching names with Tonny on

day one had been an active participant throughout the residency. Harrold had expressed

an interest in becoming a physical education instructor. In response to my question as to

whether he’d like to teach at Midwest after he earned his degree, Harrold pointed out that

there are only two physical education positions at Midwest; he didn’t like his odds.

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The empirical causes of this discrepancy, between quantitative data and

qualitative perspectives, would require more analytical skill than this applied theatre

scholar can provide. However, scholarship in rural studies provides a few possible

explanations. Tonny and his classmates may not see as many opportunities because of the

lengthy commutes required by some jobs. What’s more, Tonny and his classmates may

not see the right kind of job opportunities. Rural studies scholars Michael Corbett and

Martin Forsey bemoan the diffusion of neoliberal discourse within rural education: “This

aspiration discourse encourages rural youth to transform themselves into credentialed,

skilled neoliberal subjects, which we argue, has implicit spatial and mobility implications

for them.”41 In other words, rural schools may inadvertently train students to overlook

existing or potential job opportunities nearby in favor of more competitive and

distinguished positions elsewhere. And of course, as the more mischievous participants

would likely point out, drug dealership is likely to be an underrepresented field of

employment in survey data.42

Low overall school funding, high teacher turnover, below average test scores, and

uncertain career opportunities are merely a few empirical explanations for the

proliferation of deficit-based narratives at Midwest. Given that many Midwest students

see their school as synonymous with the community (as explained in the introduction)

and that my work occurred in the high school, I have opted to focus on school-based

factors. Examination of empirical data at the regional or, conversely, familial level would

make for a promising area of future study.

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Yet empirical data alone cannot explain the preponderance of deficit-based

narratives at Midwest. Despite the limitations listed above, the community also boasts

many assets. There may be low overall funding, but the school possesses a garden,

orchard, forest, sheep barn, greenhouse, chicken coop, and aquaculture tank. These

features, many unthinkable in larger more urban settings, provide students with numerous

educational, entrepreneurial, and recreational opportunities. And although one student

bemoaned the lack of a more developed drama program – the school hosts a talent show

once a year – Midwest also supports a half dozen or so clubs and activities as well as

multiple sports teams. Students may struggle with standardized tests, but they can speak

Spanish, shoot arrows, engrave wood, garden, make soap, cheer, sing, play instruments,

compete, and much more. And while teacher turnover and unclear career opportunities

need to be addressed, students are capable of much more than they claim to be, as

discussed further in Chapter Two.

I contend internalized stigma led some Midwest participants to focus on deficits

in lieu of these collective and personal assets. Goffman contends, “Given that the

stigmatized individual in our society acquires identity standards which he applies to

himself in spite of failing to conform to them, it is inevitable that he will feel some

ambivalence about his own self.”43 Within the context of this dissertation, Goffman’s

claim suggests internalized rural stigma leads some young people to view themselves and

their communities with ambivalence. Though contemporary stigma theorists rarely speak

in terms of inevitabilities, some Midwest participants did appear to internalize stigma

resulting in a preponderance of deficit-based narratives.44

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Rural Stigma: A Closer Look at Stuart’s

As for the troubling abundance of poverty, drugs, and crime noted by the Stuart’s

participants, the empirical evidence here is unfortunately less mixed. The United States

Census Bureau estimates the poverty rate in Nelsonville, Ohio, where Stuart’s is located,

was roughly 36.5% in 2019. While the website cautions that comparisons between

poverty rates at different geographic levels may be less accurate due to methodological

differences, the corresponding county and state rates of 30.7% and 13.1% respectively

indicate a greater degree of poverty among Nelsonville inhabitants.45 Nelsonville also

appears to have been hit disproportionally hard by the opioid epidemic. Orman Hall, a

former director of Governor John Kasich’s opioid action team and current executive in

residence at Ohio University’s College of Health and Science Professionals, observed

that while Athens County has faired far better than the rest of Ohio, the cities and towns

of Glouster, Nelsonville, and Chauncy remained the most affected areas of the county.46

Athens County Prosecutor Kelly Blackburn further cautions, “I think we’ve got

opiates on the fall and meth is on the rise, and meth has made people a little more violent,

a little more dangerous.”47 Nelsonville Police Chief Chris Johnson confirms this account

at city level noting that his department has seen a similar rise in meth-related crimes,

despite, or perhaps because of, decreased heroin usage. According to Johnson from 2015

to 2018 calls to his department nearly doubled from 2,301 to 4,287 and calls for service

relating to “narcotics” jumped from 16 to almost 70 – suggesting higher levels of crime

and drug use in the area.

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Amidst this cycle of poverty, drugs, and crime, communal assets can easily go

overlooked, and yet the communal assets are many, as exemplified by Stuart’s Opera

House itself. The historic performing arts center welcomed 30,000 visitors in 2019 for a

combination of live performances, private events, and arts education programs.48 Stuart’s

further estimates that an average of 7,000 students a year participate in the center’s

various arts education programs: from the flagship After School Music Program (AMP)

to programs in music production, Appalachian music, drama, creative writing, and

poetry. Other Stuart’s programs involve collaborations with Arts West and the Federal

Valley Resources Center to maintain a Southeast Ohio Musical Lending Library as well

as partnerships with local schools to support touring theatre performances, artists in

residence, and visiting artists. Stuart’s also houses ABC Players, an area community

theatre with which many of the Stuart’s participants had previously been involved.

According Education Director Emily Prince, Stuart’s offerings are so vast as to bring into

question participant need: “This is sort of a fear that with Stuart’s and our arts education

program, our kids aren’t underserved anymore. They’re served very well.”49 Prince went

on to suggest that the fear stems from funding structures, which require demonstration of

need to secure grants and support.

Located on the main square, Stuart’s operates alongside many other organizations

that also aim to benefit local youth and artists. The Hive, sponsored by Integrated

Services for Behavioral Health, supports local youth by providing a free creative space

for kids and teenagers to spend time. Next door to The Hive, the Starbrick Gallery serves

as an arts cooperative, celebrating the talents of local artists, and across the way from

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Stuart’s one finds the Foundation for Appalachian Ohio, a regional philanthropic

organization. Though Ms. C cautions that the shops around the square are seen as a bit of

a liberal bastion – not necessarily representative of the broader communities – the square

itself regularly hosted public events where neighbors greeted neighbors, revealing strong

communal ties independent of the more liberal organizations.

According to Prince, however, local assets often go unrecognized, particularly by

area youth, as evidenced during an interaction between visiting folk-rock duo, the Indigo

Girls, and students from the local high school. Prince recalls with joy:

[O]ne of the students said, "Why did you come here?" Amy Ray says, "You mean the Nelsonville?" And the kid says, "Yes.”

“Everybody wants to come to Nelsonville everybody knows about Nelsonville in Stuart's Opera House and what a great supporter of the arts this community is and how fun it is to play here and help people really care," and I wish, I had recorded it looks like astounding and to see all these kids from Nelsonville-York High School who have never or are not told enough. How valuable they are as individuals and that their town is to sit up a little straighter and to feel a little bit you know, the perception of Appalachia in the wider world.50

While Nelsonville faces high levels of poverty, drugs, and crime, Prince makes clear that

deficit-based narratives negatively impact young people in the area. Citing the work of

former Stuart’s employee Ellie Dudding, Prince critiques a 2006 photograph by Matt

Eich depicting a shirtless young boy in a dirty duct-taped window, which has become an

emblem of Appalachian Ohio.51 Comparing this photograph with Amy Ray’s response

reveals contrasting narratives of the same communities: one perpetuates harmful rural

stigma; and the other inspires a greater sense of self- and community-value. As with the

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Midwest residency, the non-performance-based program I observed at Stuart’s could do

little to address the limited opportunity structures contributing to the poverty, drugs, and

crime noted by participants and corroborated by scholars and public officials. However,

as the exchange above indicates, applied theatre has a role to play in disrupting the

deficit-based narratives and inspiring a greater awareness of personal and communal

assets, which, as Chapter Two argues, may help to rebuild embodied cultural capital

negatively impacted by rural stigma.

INTRAGROUP STIGMA AMONGST RURAL YOUTH

As a representative art form focusing on asset-based development, applied theatre

is ideally suited to intervene in these deficit-based narratives and offer additional options

for managing rural stigma. At the same time, applied theatre provides a promising avenue

for addressing intragroup stigma. Whereas the previous section discussed the

stigmatization of rural youth, intragroup stigma in this context refers to stigmatization

amongst rural youth – simply put, stigmatization enacted by rural youth against one

another. Such stigmatization may still be tied to rurality. Within the context of rural

youth, young people may stigmatize one another based on degrees of rurality, the extent

to which others are seen to adhere to rural stereotypes. Rural youth may also stigmatize

one another for characteristics more-or-less disparate from rural stereotypes, such as

sexual orientation, gender, mental health, family makeup, race, and ethnicity.

Such stigmatization is not unique to rural areas. The characteristics above provide

fertile ground for stigmatization, with rural and non-rural residents alike frowning upon

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non-normative behavior and coming to believe negative stereotypes. Nor is such

stigmatization necessarily more pronounced in rural areas. Indeed, the rural youth I

worked with regularly impressed me with their openness. A number of participants at

Midwest verbally acknowledged sexual orientations that deviated from heteronormative

expectations, went by names and pronouns different from those they had been assigned a

birth, and candidly discussed mental health issues. At Stuart’s Opera House, participants

were even more outspoken in their discussions of potentially stigmatizing characteristics.

In weekly check-ins, participants shared stories of same-sex crushes and relationships,

anxiety-induced panic attacks, and challenges at home. At Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT),

participants celebrated opportunities to represent oft marginalized positionalities, as

Isaac, a former participant, extolled in an interview: “Okay, so, um, we did a lot of

performances for the Baraboo School District, and it did contain like, I played a gay

character...that was cool to visually represent because I - my school wouldn't do

something like that. And I was like, ‘Hey, that's kind of important.’”52 Yet as these same

participants helped me to see, intragroup stigmatization does manifest differently in rural

communities where “stuff spreads fast” and “everyone knows everyone.” Drawing on

examples from Midwest, Stuart’s and TNT, this section explores how intragroup stigma,

based on degrees of rurality as well as disparate characteristics, manifests differently in

close-knit rural communities.

Rural Intragroup Stigma: Rivalries and Insults

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As Goffman originally observed, “The stigmatized individual exhibits a tendency

to stratify his ‘own’ according to the degree to which their stigma is apparent or visible.

He can then take up in regard to those who are more evidently stigmatized than him the

attitudes that the normals take toward him.”53 In the context of rural youth, the so-called

“normals” are national media producers and other outsiders who stigmatize rural

individuals, connecting rurality with discrediting stereotypes such as ignorance and

backwardness. Some rural youth adopt the attitudes of the stigmatizer in order to separate

themselves from others who they see as adhering more closely to these stereotypes.

Such stigmatization, according to what I am calling “degrees of rurality,” is

evident in the third line of the “Recipe for Midwest.” The culinary poem calls for “1 cup

of We Not Inbreed.” At first glance, the line appears a mere refutation of a discrediting

rural stereotype.54 However far from negating rural stigma, the missing auxiliary verb and

improper conjugation play into a stereotype of rural ignorance. If not meant to contradict

rural stigma, as the comically incorrect grammar would suggest, then what purpose does

this line serve? The answer lies in a common and widespread tradition: high school

rivalries. In this case, Midwest High School has a rivalry with nearby Islet High School.55

While onsite, I frequently heard the phrase “Islet Inbreds” bandied about amongst

students, and when decreasing numbers led the administration to consider a football co-

op with Islet, the students soundly critiqued the plan on account of the animosity between

the two student bodies. Such rivalries are not specific to rural high schools but, as they

tend to draw on regional stereotypes, provide fruitful material for the continued

discussion of rural stigma.

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Though geographically close, there are marked differences between the two high

schools. Islet is located near a town of 5,000 while Midwest serves three villages, each

with no more than 500 people. Roughly a third of Islet students qualify for free or

reduced-price lunch, while closer to a half of Midwest students qualify, indicating

different financial means. Islet itself is over one and half times the size of Midwest, with

grade sizes numbering into the high thirties. As Ms. S pointed out, this can mean the

difference between a single class offering per grade level or multiple offerings, which in

turn affects social dynamics and scheduling practices.

However, the schools also share much in common. Both schools qualify as rural

according to the county-based stipulations of this dissertation. The two schools offer co-

operative extracurricular opportunities, with shared wrestling, cheerleading, and track

teams: a cooperation which allows the small schools to share resources and ensure full

team rosters. Students struggling at Midwest often transfer to Islet and vice versa as

explained by Ms. S and evidenced by one of her students. Cas, an enthusiastic student

with past theatre experience, was looking forward to transferring to Islet the following

semester. When I inquired as to why, he responded diplomatically that while there are

good and bad aspects to both schools, he needed to try something different.

Despite shared rural status, cooperative extracurriculars, and overlapping student

populations, the rivalry between the two schools remains alive and well. I later asked Ms.

S about Islet, questioning whether the rivalry stemmed from a true rift between the

communities or was exaggerated for the sake of entertainment. Her first response,

complete with theatrical analogy, implied the latter. “It’s like Romeo and Juliet. We’re

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Montagues and Capulets, but a lot of our students hang out together; they date.”56 The

existence of interpersonal connections between the students led me to conclude that the

rivalry was predominantly for show – giving fans something to chant at sporting events

and little more. When I voiced this conclusion to Ms. S however, she wavered:

Neumann: So the discussion of rivalry is more for show? Ms. S: I think so, yes. Yeah, I think so. Because several of our kids will go to their dances. I can’t explain it really. It’s just weird. In some circles you have to be afraid. Sometimes I ask, ‘Are you an Islet-liker or are you a hater?’ I know that if I were to leave Midwest and if I were to get a job at Islet that would be a complete stab in the back. So, there’s that fine line. Neumann: Okay, so some of it is just for show and some of it is very much felt? Ms. S: Yes. Yes.57

The rivalry is both wholly affected and deeply felt; disregarded by some yet dreaded by

others; varyingly inconsequential and vitally important. Ms. S’s response makes clear

that the rivalry is deeply ingrained in the community’s consciousness. “Islet-liker” and “-

hater” act as labels, indicating collective identities that extend beyond simple associations

with Midwest. As Midwest’s rivalry with Islet makes clear, high school rivalries can

serve to perpetuate intragroup rural stigma.

Midwest students are not alone in this practice. At Stuart’s Opera House, Prince

observed similar distain between students from different schools. Her proposal to stage

Romeo and Juliet with students from a nearby high school brought protests from current

participants. The current participants, according to Prince, declared that the collaboration

“wouldn’t work” because students from the two schools “don’t get along.”58 Here again

intragroup stigma on account of degrees of rurality may be at play. While both schools

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are within a half-hour of Stuart’s Opera House, one serves more populous communities

and consequently has a larger student body.

Participants residing in Nelsonville may also find themselves subjected to

intragroup rural stigma, with some nearby Athens residents referring to Nelsonville as

“Nelsontucky.”59 Athens is considerably larger than Nelsonville, with an estimated

24,536 people to Nelsonville’s 5,130 in 2019. Both lie within Athens County, however,

which qualifies as rural according to the stipulations of this dissertation. Rural studies

scholar Karen Hayden deems portmanteaux such as “Nelsontucky” metonymic insults in

which the stigma of one location is ascribed to another. In this case, the rural stigma

associated with Kentucky is being ascribed to Nelsonville as a means of emphasizing

Nelsonville’s higher degree of rurality. In this instance, it appears familiarity reduces

contempt. Stuart’s programming frequently brings together young people from both

Nelsonville and Athens; the resulting collaborations, Prince asserts, work “brilliantly.”60

Yet this need not always be the case, as Goffman underscores in his discussion of

the tribally stigmatized (those stigmatized according to group affiliation rather that

physical deformity or personal attributes): “Normals who live adjacent to settlements of

the tribally stigmatized often manage quite handily to sustain their prejudices.”61 The

continued prejudice brought about by close quarters and intragroup segmentation

appeared plainly in my interview with Prince. After discussing the stigmatization of rural

youth in her area, Prince contended:

And it turns into in Nelsonville, I’ve observed, a sort of fierce pride in who’s from here and who’s not…So there are kids, a lot of whom aren’t in our programs and wouldn’t be, from the families who are from here, cause they wouldn’t send their kids to a program on the square because of “That’s where all the poor people are.”

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This is a broad stroke, but it happens. And I think there’s one kid in drama club whose parents are a little iffy about her being in drama club.62

A few minutes later, this distinction arose again in relation to a local pejorative. Prince

explained that a local surname has become a slur akin to the label “hillbilly” and been

applied to many, regardless of family name. The division along family lines, or presumed

family lines, exemplifies intragroup stigma. Stigmatized as dirty and poor in media

images, some Nelsonville inhabitants adopt similarly stigmatizing attitudes towards those

whose families are seen as not “from here.”

Although I did not encounter evidence of school rivalries or metonymic insults in

my time at Stuart’s, Prince’s measured analysis inspires confidence. She has worked in

Nelsonville for over a decade – volunteering at Stuart’s before being hired as a

development director in 2012 – but she is not “from here.” Prince speaks with the caution

of an outsider and diplomacy of a community-engaged arts organizer, quick to

acknowledge that these are merely her “observations” and that she is speaking in “broad

strokes.” Perhaps the program I observed was too small to witness these divides –

consisting of roughly a dozen students all from the same school, most from the

immediate area. Or perhaps as seen at Midwest and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) – and

explored in Chapter 3 – the Stuart’s program created a space apart in which these

divisions were temporarily lifted.

Intragroup Stigma: The “Thin Disguise” of Silence

Many studies of intragroup stigma follow Goffman in considering segmentation

by the degree to which the shared stigma is apparent or visible, in this instance degree of

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rurality.63 However, stigmatized individuals can also stigmatize other group members for

characteristics disparate from their shared stigma, as seen with Midwest High School,

Stuart’s Opera House, and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT). Participants observed that rural

young people at times stigmatize one another for characteristics more-or-less unrelated to

their degree of rurality.64

Such stigmatization is less apparent in the Recipe for Midwest, though Ms. S

spoke to it when addressing her concerns for her students.

I worry about them because we are so rural, and we’re so traditional. Like you noticed, I will take credit for training them not to say the R-word, not to say retarded. And you saw it. A couple students slipped, and they were corrected. I worried about them with LGBTQ issues. I worry about if they identify that way, like being comfortable enough to come out or tell someone or get the help that they need. We saw today mental health is a real, real issue here, and it has such a stigma.65

In addition to the stigmatization underscored by Ms. S, I also observed young people

stigmatizing one another on account of family makeup, and, to a lesser extent, race and

ethnicity.

Examples of intragroup stigmatization based on these disparate characteristics are

not meant to perpetuate stereotypes of rural closemindedness – indeed explicit instances

of stigmatization were few and far between. However, some participants did seize upon

the opportunity, provided by applied theatre practice, to confront or counter stigmatic

beliefs making intragroup stigmatization a fertile area of study. And though I hesitate to

make general comparisons regarding stigmatization in rural versus urban (or suburban)

areas, participant choruses that “stuff travels fast” and “everybody knows everyone” lead

me to believe that intragroup stigmatization based on disparate characteristics manifests

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differently in rural areas. Information control is difficult making methods of stigma

management more limited.

Consider Jo’s cautionary tale. The talented young writer shared this story during a

group interview the last day of the Stuart’s program:

I think it was about a year ago when I came out to my dad as bi-sexual, and he threatened to move me away and said that I wasn’t his daughter for it and all kinds of stuff. And that’s whenever I just went around saying like, “Oh yeah, I’m straight.” Like I didn’t want anyone to judge me as myself. In the school I told one person about it, and then it went around to everyone. So, then I started saying I was straight again.66

Though not trying to conceal her bisexuality from either her father or her friend, Jo does

wish to control who has access to such information. Given the quick and widespread flow

of information, Jo resorts to passing as her only means of information control: by

claiming she is straight, Jo avoids any potential stigmatization. Some might believe Jo

fortunate, able to hide her bisexuality and avoid much of the prejudice and discrimination

faced by those with more visible stigma. However, sociologists and psychologists alike

have long theorized the negative interpersonal consequences of concealed stigma.

Goffman originally underscored many of these impacts: feelings of isolation,

fraud and fear as well as guilt over withholding information in otherwise close personal

relationships.67 Such responses, of course, depend on a number of variables, as

summarized in 2007 by John E. Pachankis. The clinical psychologist asserts that the

cognitive, affective, and behavioral outcomes of concealable stigma depend on the

prominence of stigma, the threat of discovery, and the consequences of discovery.68 In

Jo’s case the consequences of discovery loom large, as represented both by her father’s

threats and the fear of being judged as herself. On the one hand, these are not necessarily

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consequences of her rural locale. Yet on the other hand, the close-knit nature of rural

communities, in which word of mouth travels quickly, certainly contributes to the threat

of discovery. Jo must choose who she confides in carefully, for fear that information will

easily spread throughout the entire school and broader community. Due to the increased

threat of discovery in rural areas, passing individuals, like Jo, are more likely to be

negatively impacted while attempting to hide their stigma.

Even in places where the threat and consequences of discovery prove more mild,

young people of oft-stigmatized positionalities may lack the support to speak more

openly, as elucidated by former TNT participants Brayden and Isaac. Though they

received far more parental support, Brayden and Isaac both observe the need for more

communal backing. Brayden recalls feeling great anxiety due to one principal’s

homophobic message:

I know I went to a small Lutheran parochial school, and in fifth grade I had my first crush on a boy. And then eventually at eighth grade, we got a new principal, who had a new catechism class with us. And he was like, "Homosexuals are going to hell." And I was just like – I just like lost it, a little; more like, I just end up getting like really stressed and like, anxious about all that stuff.69

Brayden further asserts a desire to speak openly about his experience as a young gay

man. He hypothesizes that had TNT existed when he started middle school, he might

have had an outlet for discussing his identity and been able to avoid much of the anxiety

he experienced. As is, Brayden describes his frustration with his high school health class,

which at the time only addressed “straight sex.” As Brayden elucidates, “[M]ore than

anything, I just wanted to be like, ‘Hey, we exist. Let's talk about it.’”70

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While noting some of the structural issues at play, Isaac also calls for greater

attention to LGBTQ+ and mental health issues in rural and small-town environments:

[S]mall towns do get overlooked for like mental health things and like these newer issues – not newer issues, obviously LGBTQ people have been around forever – but these topics, like talking openly about depression or something; rural towns miss a lot. We don't get – we get left behind and the cities just like progress. And it's like, "It'll get better when you move to a city once you graduate. And then people will be open about all these topics and stuff." But there's nothing there for the people who can't do anything about it right now.71

Because of the structural nature of the problem, applied theatre can do little but draw

attention to the lack of mental health professionals. However, Isaac’s implicit critique –

that unlike in cities where people will openly discuss oft-stigmatizing attributes, in small-

town and rural areas such topics are to be avoided – recalls Goffman’s discussion of

“forbidden” places.

According to Goffman, there exist out-of-bounds places, where those of

stigmatized identities may not reveal their stigma for fear of expulsion. Yet Goffman also

notes that non-stigmatized individuals may go to great lengths to avoid acknowledging

another’s stigma. He contends the act of exile is “often so unpleasant to all parties that a

tacit cooperation will sometimes forestall it, the interloper providing a thin disguise and

the rightfully present accepting it, even though both know the other knows of the

interloping.”72 In other words, stigmatized individuals hide their stigma, and non-

stigmatized individuals pretend to fall for the disguise.

Both at Stuart’s and TNT, young participants who possessed attributes or engaged

in activities that might otherwise be stigmatizing could avoid the harmful impacts of such

stigma merely by remaining silent on those subjects. Non-stigmatized (or at least more

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successfully passing) individuals would in turn accept the “thin disguise” of silence as

sufficient proof of belonging. While contemporary research tends to focus less on

forbidden spaces, the call for LGBTQ+ “safe” or open spaces in social work scholarship

on rural youth indicates that less “safe” and open spaces abound.73 Goffman eschews

analysis as to the impacts of this tacit cooperation on the stigmatized individual, though

one might extrapolate that if the passing individual does not necessarily suffer in the act

of passing, enacting a “thin disguise” may yield similarly variable results. Yet as Chapter

Four will explore, silence that prevents young people from talking to and connecting with

trustworthy adults limits social capital and preemptively forestalls the benefits of such

relationships.

Intragroup Stigma: Isolation and Stratification

Alternatively, the quick and widespread flow of information makes it easier for

non-passing individuals, those not able to or not interested in concealing their stigma, to

find one another. When asked how the open and supportive nature of programs at Stuart’s

Opera House compared to that of the local school, Michelle asserted, “I think it’s not as

big of a problem around here as it is in other places because we have such a tiny school;

and it’s something that – it’s easy to find other people here I guess, like a lot of these

people are friends. But I can picture a bigger world, and I think it’s not as supportive out

in the world as it is here.”74

Pachankis contends that isolation from similarly stigmatized individuals may

negatively impact an individual’s daily life.75 A direct inverse proves impossible, in no

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small part due to the existence of intragroup stigma. Spending time with similarly

stigmatized individuals does not necessarily impact the individual’s daily life in positive

ways. However, there appears some truth to Michelle’s claim, as evidenced by

friendships among Stuart’s participants. Many openly identified as LGBTQ+ and had

been friends long before joining the program. A couple of them even spoke with ease

about same sex relationships, suggesting that they could find potential partners in the

area, although mention of online dating indicates that some of these partners were further

afield. TNT similarly provided a space for LGBTQ+ participants and their allies to come

together in a supportive environment. Isaac recalled his uncertainty coming out as trans to

first Rawson and then the ensemble; but in both instances, TNT responded with

acceptance and support. Cochrane contends Isaac’s experience was by no means singular,

“A number of the kids were able to come out as gay or bi or trans, and it opened up a lot

of additional ability to, to express themselves and to feel whole, I guess.”76

Yet Michelle’s supportive narrative masks many of the challenges recounted by

these same LGBTQ+ participants. Jo certainly didn’t feel supported in her attempts to

come out. Her doubts about joining the program reveal a marked contrast between the

supportive environment she experienced at Stuart’s and the environment she expected

based on her time at school. “At first, I was just like, ‘Oh these are going to be like the

people in school,’ and not going to be as they are. Everyone’s so supportive here, and it

just kind of makes my heart happy.”77 James, who jokingly joined the program to be

more of a “stereotypical gay,” echoed Jo’s sentiments. He contended, “If I ever did this in

school, I would be more closed off than I was before I got here. Like I don’t trust half the

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people in my grade.” In addition to not trusting many of his fellow classmates, James also

noted that a few of his classmates were openly homophobic, sexist, and racist, indicating

that at least some of this distrust results from intragroup stigma.

While the former TNT participants did not speak directly to their school

experiences, Cochrane and Rawson launched TNT for the specific purpose of helping

“teens open up dialogues about real life issues they face.”78 Given their previous

experience working with youth – in the Creative Alliance of Baraboo’s Play in a

Weekend program – Cochrane and Rawson’s aims suggests a need for open dialogue.

And TNT’s plays, which former participants confirm dealt with the issues teens in their

area face, often depicted in-school bullying on account of sexuality as well as mental

health and family make up. While the quick and widespread flow of information may

make it easier for similarly stigmatized individuals to find one another, stories from both

Stuart’s and TNT illustrate that rural and small-town schools may be far less supportive

than Michelle’s claim suggests.

Part of this discrepancy arises from Michelle’s own positionality as a straight,

cisgender individual. Michelle wholeheartedly agreed with my observation that

participants at Stuart’s appeared open to and welcoming of various aspects of each

other’s identity. Her following statement clearly embraced this openness while at the

same time setting herself apart:

I definitely agree that it’s here. And I definitely agree that it should be here. And I think it’s a good thing. And I like that it didn’t take a lot of prying. These kids were open with it, and even if you didn’t understand it – like I don’t understand that, and I can’t relate to that personally – but when they say that, I’m like, “Oh yeah, totally cool.” Like, “Nice, that’s your name now. I’ll try to remember it as best as I can. Just be patient with me, I’ll be patient with you.”79

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One of the oldest participants, Michelle strove to be a role model and welcome all to the

program. Yet she repeatedly asserts that she can’t understand or relate to those in non-

normative positions – whether referring specifically to those assuming new names or

more generally to all those of non-normative positionalities. Perhaps this self-proclaimed

inability to relate makes it difficult for Michelle to see the challenges LGBTQ+

individuals face.

Or perhaps Michelle is far more aware of these challenges than she lets on. Over

the course of the program, Michelle often spoke of the many roles she played in life. At

Stuart’s, she acted as a role model, befriending new members of the group and sharing

stories she thought might inspire younger participants; at home, she attempted to keep

things light-hearted and warm so that her father would be less inclined to notice the

absence of her brother (who the family had recently placed in a care facility for health

reasons); and when speaking with me, she played the positive town spokesperson. After a

somewhat rambling final statement veered towards local critique, Michelle stopped

herself, sighing, “I was doing so good.”80 Aware that rural stigma is easily perpetuated,

Michelle may have attempted to negate narratives of rural closemindedness by arguing

that her school is better place for commonly stigmatized individuals than a bigger or

more urban school would be. Although Michelle’s perspective certainly complicates one-

sided narratives of intolerance, her observations fail to account for the causes of the

intragroup friendships she detailed. Are the stigmatized individuals Michelle described

friends with one another by choice or by default? Are they supported or isolated?

Connected or disconnected?

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Stigma can often be isolating and lead to detachment. According to Goffman,

non-passing individual may choose “to alienate himself from the community which

upholds the norm or refrain from developing an attachment to the community in the first

place.”81 Such alienation is evident in James’s self-reported stigma management methods.

“I’m not going to name names but there’s a few popular people that I do not want to talk

to. There’s a few people I barely know, that I know are homophobic and sexist, racist, all

that stuff. I keep them away. I just freak them out and then they go.”82 Miller and Major,

referenced previously for their summary of stigma and self-esteem, emphasize the costs

of such divides in their analysis of stigma management methods. Avoiding normative

communities restricts stigmatized individuals’ access to resources, limits the potential for

destigmatizing interactions, and “severely circumscribes” the freedom of stigmatized

individuals.83 Individuals become isolated, and relationships become stratified, negatively

impacting the social capital of rural young people, as well as the communities to which

they belong.

Though the connection between social capital and rural youth outmigration in the

United States remains underexplored in existing scholarship, the aforementioned report

by Cromartie, Reichert, and Arthun reveals likely correlations. The scholars conducted

300 interviews in 21 rural communities with high levels of both youth outmigrants and

return migrants. Many of those who did chose to return indirectly cited high levels of

social capital, emphasizing for instance the support of family and friends as well as tight-

knit social networks. The researchers also note, albeit in more general terms, that high

levels of social capital encouraged the success of return migrants, “Strong community

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ties made it easier to translate their education and training into economic and social

benefits.”84

While constructive social capital is already quite strong in many rural

communities, one wonders if increased social capital brought about through applied

theatre practice might complement existing efforts to address structural barriers and

further boost this trend toward return migration. As detailed in Chapter Three,

stigmatized individuals and their allies frequently utilize applied theatre activities to

address intragroup stigma, effectively challenging stratified social roles and connecting

with their classmates.

CONCLUSION: APPLIED THEATRE AS MEANS OF REDRESS

As demonstrated throughout this chapter, Midwest High School, Stuart’s Opera

House, and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) participants employed a variety of strategies to

manage both rural and intragroup stigma. At Midwest, participants variously embraced

rural stigma through performances of pride and internalized rural stigma resulting in

deficit-based narratives that downplayed local assets. Stuart’s participants similarly

internalized rural stigma but also spoke to stigma only hinted at during the Midwest

residency. At both Midwest and Stuart’s, high school rivalries and metonymic insults

perpetuated intragroup rural stigma, with rural youth belittling one another according to

degrees of rurality. I deem this stigmatization amongst rural youth, intragroup stigma and

note that it may also be wholly disparate from rural stigma. Though not unique to rural

areas, such stigma manifests differently in rural and small-town communities where

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“stuff travels fast” and “everyone knows everyone.” Participant testimony from both

Stuart’s and TNT indicates a desire to discuss oft-stigmatizing attributes openly (a desire

seemingly shared by some Midwest participants, as I discuss in Chapter 3). Yet due to the

difficulty of information control, some participants resort to a “thin disguise” of silence in

order to manage their stigma. Others openly acknowledge their stigma, but feel

compelled to withdraw from their local communities, leading to individual isolation and

stratified relationships.

This diverse array of stigma management methods provides a strong contrast to

the stay-or-leave dichotomy laid out by Theobald and Wood. Some rural youth who

accept the message of rural inferiority may leave, but others stay – whether by choice or

circumstance. Other rural youth may reject the message and stay, but this approach may

still lead to unintended outcomes. Though often successful, in that they minimize the

immediate negative impacts of rural and intragroup stigma, the forms of stigma

management outlined in this chapter can have lasting impacts. As seen in this chapter

through discussions of outmigration and polarization, existing stigma management

methods further the negative impact of limited opportunities structures by depleting the

social and cultural capital of both rural youth and their communities. Only by

acknowledging this wide array of stigma management methods can scholars address their

hidden impacts. In particular, a better understanding of these various stigma management

methods and their subsequent impacts provides significant insight into the potential of

applied theatre with rural youth.

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While non-performance based applied theatre practice can do little to address

limited opportunity structures, distinguished applied theatre scholar Helen Nicholson

champions the impact of applied theatre on social and cultural capital: “As an artistic

practice it is generally understood that knowledge in drama is embodied, culturally

located and socially distributed. This means that knowledge is produced through

interaction with others, and that this reciprocity between participants generates new forms

of social and cultural capital.”85 The following chapters examine the nature of said capital

and highlight ways in which rural youth may use applied theatre to address stigma while

rebuilding social and cultural capital depleted by existing stigma management methods.

To avoid placing sole responsibility for change with the rural youth themselves, Chapter

Five also recounts the ways in which Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) may disrupt

rural stigma and provide those inclined to stigmatize rural youth a greater understanding

of their lives. After all, rural youth are the undoubted experts of their own experience, we

had best start listening.

1 This exercise is a variation on one led by Albany Park Theater Project for the Community-Engaged Devising Training program at The Ohio State University in 2017-2018.

2 For those unfamiliar with the site, Urban Dictionary was begun by Alan Peckman in 1999 as a means of tracking popular words or phrases not found in standard dictionaries. The crowd-sourced online dictionary provides one of the widest collections of slang phrases making it an ideal resource for all those working with linguistically inventive teenagers.

3 Carol T. Miller and Brenda Major, “Coping with Stigma and Prejudice,” in The Social Psychology of Stigma, eds. Todd F. Heatherton, Robert E. Kleck, Michelle R. Hebl, and Jay G. Hull (New York: The Guilford Press, 2000), 246.

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4 See for example, David Hajesz and Shirley Dawe, “De-mythologizing Rural Youth Exodus,” in Rural Employment: An International Perspective, eds. Ray D. Bollman and John M. Bryden (New York: CAB International, 1997), 114-135; and Andrea Sharkey, “Access to Global Communication for Youth in Rural Communities and Its Relationship with Out-Migration,” (master’s thesis, Concordia University, 2002), iii.

5 Paul Theobald and Kathy Wood, “Learning to Be Rural: Identity Lessons from History, Schooling, and the U.S. Corporate Media,” in Rural Education in the Twenty- First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 32.

6 Economic Research Service, Factors Affecting Former Residents Returning to Rural Communities, by John Cromartie, Christiane von Reichert, and Ryan Arthun, ERR-185 (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Agriculture, 2015).

7 Erving Goffman, Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1963).

8 Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (New York: Anchor Books, 1959), 3.

9 Miller and Major, 259.

10 Goffman, The Presentation of Self, 10.

11 Kathleen Gallagher, “The Micro-Political and the Socio-Structural in Applied Theatre with Homeless Youth,” in Critical Perspectives on Applied Theatre, eds. Jenny Hughes and Helen Nicholson (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2016), 245; Helen Nicholson, Applied Drama: The Gift of Theatre, 2nd ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 34; and Michael Balfour, "The Politics of Intention: Looking for a Theatre of Little Changes," Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 14, no. 3 (2009): 356.

12 Ms. S (Midwest teacher) in discussion with the author, October 31, 2019.

13 Citing posts on the website Democratic Underground in 2003 and a progressive blog in 2004, Dictionary.com traces the pejorative connotations of “‘Merica” (as well as the alternative spellings “Murica” and “‘Murica”) to political commentary. Though attempts to verify the existence of these posts failed, the insult does appear to be tied to the Texan dialect of then President George W. Bush and some who voted for him. By the early 2010s the term had been popularized on various social media sites and achieved the dual connotation that it bears in 2020. “Murica,” Dictionary.com, last accessed September 25, 2020, https://www.dictionary.com/e/slang/murica/.

14 Granger Smith, “Earl Dibbles Jr – MERICA (Official Music Video),” YouTube, February 25, 2016, video, 4:43, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cb1b0tAR-3s. 15 This exercise is a variation on one led by Quinn Baurdriedel of Pig Iron Theatre Company for the “Something From Nothing,” a physical theatre workshop at The Ohio State University in 2017. I believe the exercise was inspired in part by the work of Forced Entertainment. See for instance their 2016 performance Complete Works: Table Top Shakespeare.

16 Shane742, “Yee Yee,” Urban Dictionary, last modified June 25, 2018, https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Yee%20Yee.

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17 After deciding to edit students’ responses for propriety, it felt it most equitable to do the same to all sources. This decision inspired both relief and fear – relief that I would not be perpetuating the toxic spew often found on the internet and fear that my intervention would obscure the vitriolic nature of some rural stereotypes subsequently diluting the significance of the discussion. ‘l’ent, “Yee Yee,” Urban Dictionary, las modified December 01, 2017, https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Yee%20Yee.

18 Ms. S in discussion.

19 Goffman, Stigma, 38.

20 Michelle R. Hebl, Jennifer Tickle, and Todd F. Heatherton, “Awkward Moments in Interactions between Nonstigmatized and Stigmatized Individuals,” in The Social Psychology of Stigma, eds. Todd F. Heatherton, Robert E. Kleck, Michelle R. Hebl, and Jay G. Hull (New York: The Guilford Press, 2000), 293.

21 Ms. S in discussion.

22 For a critique of neoliberal aspirational discourse as it relates to rural migration see Michael Corbett and Martin Forsey, “Rural Youth Out-Migration and Education: Challenges to Aspirations Discourse in Mobile Modernity,” Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education 38, no. 3 (2017): 429-44. 23 Economic Research Service, 3.

24 Goffman, Stigma, 17-18.

25 Katherine J. Cramer, The Politics of Resentment (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 12.

26 August, James, Jo, and Lu (Stuart’s participants) in discussion with the author, December 13, 2019. The interview was held at Stuart’s Opera House and supervised by Skye Robinson Hillis (Stuart’s facilitator) and Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator). 27 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion. 28 Michelle (Stuart’s participant) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019. Michelle had a conflict and was unable to attend the last day of the program. She readily agreed to a separate interview, which was held at Stuart’s Opera House and supervised by Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator). 29 Theobald and Wood, 18.

30 John P. Kretzman and John L. McKnight, Building Communities from the Inside Out: A Path Toward Finding and Mobilizing a Community's Assets (Chicago: ACTA Publications, 1993), 5.

31 See for example Peter Block, Community: The Structure of Belonging, 2nd ed. (Oakland, CA: Berrett-Koehler, 2018); and Gary Paul Green and Anna Haines, Asset Building & Community Development, 3rd ed. (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2012).

32 Sharon M. Ravitch and Nicole Mittenfelner Carl, Applied Research for Sustainable Change: A Guide for Education Leaders (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Education Press, 2019), 206.

33 Richard R. Valencia, “Conceptualizing the Notion of Deficit Thinking,” in The Evolution of Deficit Thinking: Educational Thought and Practice, ed. Richard R. Valencia (Washington, DC: The Falmer Press,

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1997), 2. Also see, Richard R. Valencia, Dismantling Contemporary Deficit Thinking: Educational Thought and Practice (New York: Routledge, 2010).

34 Cramer, 5-6.

35 Cramer, 110.

36 Following the National Center for Education Statistics, the local and enrollment data is drawn from the 2017-2018 school year. The revenue data, including per student amounts, is drawn from the 2015-2016 school year. For more information, see “Search for Public Schools,” National Center for Education Statistics, accessed February 3,, 2020, https://nces.ed.gov/ccd/schoolsearch/. Following Niche, a private, online, data analysis company, school district size in 2020 was based on student enrollment according to the NCES. For more information, see “Largest School Districts in Wisconsin,” Niche, accessed February 3, 2020, https://www.niche.com/k12/search/largest-school-districts/s/wisconsin/. Again following Niche, school district quality in 2020 was based on academics, teachers, culture and diversity, overall experience, health and safety, resources and facilities, clubs and activities and sports according a variety sources. For more information, see “2020 Best School Districts in Wisconsin,” Niche, accessed February 3, 2020, https://www.niche.com/k12/search/best-school-districts/s/wisconsin/.

37 Samantha Hernandez and Max Cohen, “Back to School, Without a Teacher: Inside the Struggle to Keep Teachers at Rural Schools,” USA Today, last modified September 9, 2019, https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/education/2019/08/28/teacher-first-day-of-school-back-teaching-jobs-salary/2018092001/.

38 Theobald and Wood, 31.

39 Kai A. Schafft, Kieran M. Killeen, and John Morrissey, “The Challenges of Student Transiency for Rural Schools and Communities in the Era of No Child Left Behind,” in Rural Education in the Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 2; and Eric Hoover, “An Ultra-Selective University Just Dropped the ACT/SAT. So What?,” The Chronicle of Higher Education, last modified June 14, 2018, https://www.chronicle.com/article/An-Ultra-Selective-University/243678.

40 “American Community Survey: Narrative Profiles,” United States Census Bureau, accessed February 4, 2020, https://www.census.gov/acs/www/data/data-tables-and-tools/narrative-profiles/2018/.

41 Corbett and Forsey, 430.

42 The participants would be correct insofar as public facing, county level data regarding drug usage remains sparse. A statewide report published in 2019 by the University of Wisconsin-Madison contends, “While death rates due to other major causes have fallen in the last 10 years, opioid deaths have skyrocketed and now kill more Wisconsinites than car crashes.” The Wisconsin Department of Health Services provides county level data pertaining to alcohol and opioid related deaths and hospitalizations, as well as the use of county services for matters related to substance use, but not county level usage of opioids or drugs more broadly. While the county in which Midwest is located ranked below the state average for both opioid related deaths and hospitalizations per 100,000 people in 2018, the neighboring county, which offers greater health services ranks higher. Will Maher, Poverty Fact Sheet: Wisconsin’s Opioid Crisis (Madison, WI: Regents of the University of Wisconsin System, 2019), 1; and “Alcohol and Other Drug Use Statistics,” Wisconsin Department of Health Services, last modified September 22, 2020, https://www.dhs.wisconsin.gov/stats/aoda.htm.

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43 Goffman, Stigma, 106.

44 Miller and Major, 246.

45 “QuickFacts: Ohio; Athens County, Ohio; Nelsonville City, Ohio,” US Census Bureau, accessed September 26, 2020, https://www.census.gov/quickfacts/fact/table/OH,athenscountyohio,nelsonvillecityohio/PST045219. 46 John Higgins of OHIO News, an electronic news source sponsored by Ohio University, cites the following statistics, “Turning his attention to local statistics, Hall said Athens County’s data dramatically shifted from the rest of the state from 2010-2017. The overdose death per 100,000 population in Ohio in 2010 was 13.09 and rose steadily each year to 40.99 in 2017. In Athens County, a 9.21 in 2010 peaked at 18.41 in 2011 and has slowly decreased over the years to 9.21 in both 2016 and 2017. Trimble Twp., York Twp. And Dover Twp. (Glouster, Nelsonville and Chauncey) appear to be the most affected areas of the county.” John Higgins, “Area Drug Task Forces Gather to Discuss Opioid Epidemic,” OHIO News, Ohio University, last modified November 20, 2018, https://www.ohio.edu/news/archive/stories_18-19_11_task-force.cfm. 47 Conor Morris, “Meth Blamed for Record Year in Athens County for Slayings, Criminal Cases,” The Athens NEWS, last modified January 6, 2019, https://www.athensnews.com/news/local/meth-blamed-for-record-year-in-athens-county-for-slayings-criminal-cases/article_c28bdaec-11de-11e9-8010-73d3387d1a5c.html. 48 “2019 Annual Report,” Stuart’s Opera House, accessed September 30, 2020, https://stuartsoperahouse.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/AnnualReport2019.pdf. 49 Emily Prince (Stuart’s Education Director) in discussion with the author, December 13, 2019. 50 Ami Tamar-Santo Scherson, “‘From a Human Doing to a Huma Being:’ The Impact of Nonprofit Arts Education Programs in Rural Appalachia” (honor’s thesis, Ohio University, 2019), 35-6. 51 Emily Anne Epstein, “A Hidden American Anger,” The Atlantic, last modified December 4, 2016, https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/2016/12/carry-me-ohio/507539/.

52 Isaac and Samuel (former TNT participants in discussion with the author, April 4, 2020. The interview was supervised by Samuel’s mother. 53 Goffman, Stigma, 107.

54 For a discussion of inbreeding as it relates to rural stigma, see Karen Hayden, “Stigma, Reputation, and Place Structuration in a Coastal New England Town,” in Studies in Urbanormativity: Rural Community in Urban Society, eds. Gregory M. Fulkerson and Alexander R. Thomas (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2014), 67-86.

55 As with Midwest, I have changed the name of the rival high school to promote confidentiality. 56 Ms. S in discussion.

57 Ms. S in discussion. 58 Emily in discussion.

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59 Prince in discussion. Also see, Chef Yak, “Nelsontucky,” Urban Dictionary, last modified February 09, 2004, https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=nelsontucky.

60 Prince in discussion.

61 Goffman, Stigma, 53.

62 Prince in discussion.

63 For example, see Richard D. Harvey et al., “The Intragroup Stigmatization of Skin Tone Among Black Americans,” Journal of Black Psychology 31, no. 3 (2005): 237-53; and Alana J. Gunn and Kelli E. Canada, “Intra-group Stigma: Examining Peer Relationships Among Women in Recovery for Addictions,” Drugs: Education, Prevention and Policy 22, no. 3 (2015): 281-92.

64 I employ the caveat “more-or-less” as means of acknowledging that many of the disparate characteristics described may be seen in contrast to negative rural stereotypes. For instance, LGBTQ+ individuals may be considered less rural because they do not adhere to heteronormative stereotypes of rurality.

65 Ms. S in discussion.

66 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

67 Goffman, Stigma, 73-91.

68 John E. Pachankis, “The Psychological Implications of Concealing a Stigma: A Cognitive-Affective-Behavioral Model,” Psychological Bulletin 133, no. 2 (2007): 330.

69 Brayden Turner (former TNT participant) in discussion with the author, May 6, 2020. 70 Brayden in discussion. 71 Isaac and Samuel in discussion. 72 Goffman, Stigma, 81.

73 For example, see Megan S. Paceley, “Gender and Sexual Minority Youth in Nonmetropolitan Communities: Individual- and Community-Level Needs for Support,” Families in Society 97, no. 2 (2016):77-85; and Wendy Hulko and Jessica Hovanes, “Intersectionality in the Lives of LGBTQ Youth: Identifying as LGBTQ and Finding Community in Small Cities and Rural Towns,” Journal of Homosexuality 65, no. 4 (2018): 427-55. 74 Michelle in discussion.

75 Pachankis, 328.

76 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion. 77 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

78 “TNT – Teens ‘n’ Theatre,” Creative Alliance of Baraboo, last accessed March 12, http://www.cabtheatre.org/p/tnt.html.

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79 Michelle in discussion.

80 Michelle in discussion.

81 Goffman, Stigma, 129.

82 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

83 Miller and Major, 264.

84 Economic Research Service, v.

85 Nicholson, 44.

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Chapter Two. Embodying Cultural Capital through Quick Warm-Ups and Story-Based Exercises

“We’re too stupid for this.” Roughly ten minutes into the first day of my

residency at Midwest High School, and Nemo, one of the more out-spoken seniors, was

already admitting defeat. I was leading the class through what I thought was a well-

scaffolded, low-risk game of “Snaps.” Students stand in a circle. One student has the

“snap” and makes eye contact with another student, snapping their fingers (or clapping)

to send the “snap.” The other student then snaps or claps to receive the “snap” and the

cycle continues.1 I started by having the students send the snap to the person immediately

to their right, and then opened it to the whole circle, before inviting students to endow the

“snap” with creative qualities (i.e. light, heavy, fast, slow, direct, indirect). Only then did

I introduce a second “snap” to the circle.

In scaffolding the exercise, I hoped to offer students immediate success while also

identifying a challenge we could return to in future classes. As soon as I introduced the

second “snap” the students began to struggle, sometimes getting stuck with a snap and

other times losing a snap in the middle of the circle. Nemo, already frustrated by his

inability to snap, resorted to clapping multiple times in the face of an unaware classmate.

Eventually the classmate noticed, but by then Nemo was done, declaring “We’re too

stupid for this,” before stepping away.

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Participants expressed similarly negative sentiments throughout my time at

Midwest and Stuart’s Opera House. That same day at Midwest, Onion, a cheerful,

enthusiastic sophomore, claimed, “I’m not an expert at anything,” and a few days later

Nikki, a quiet but engaged junior, murmured, “I don’t have any stories.” At Stuart’s, Jo

balked upon finding out a character she’d volunteered to play was enrolled in an AP

English class. She contended bashfully, “I’m not that smart,” leading Skye Robinson

Hillis, who was facilitating, to promptly reassure Jo that she was merely playing a

character. Many of the other participants were quick to lightheartedly disparage their own

work: “Why am I writing this;” “This is so stupid it’s funny;” “This is more embarrassing

than what you just did.”

There are of course many factors that play into these self-deprecating remarks.

Students want to get out of an activity, cannot think of something to say, or do not wish

to look uncool in front of their classmates. Even a seemingly low-risk exercise like

“snaps” can pose a threat to a student’s performance of self – their ability to regulate their

classmates’ opinions of them. For instance, Nemo resorted to clapping because he

couldn’t snap his fingers. Even though I assured students from the start that clapping and

snapping worked equally well, Nemo’s classmates took note of his inability. Nemo, in

turn, appeared eager to direct attention away from his snapping skills, or lack thereof. Yet

the abundance of self-deprecating remarks in conjunction with the deficit-based

narratives explored in the previous chapter led me to draw a connection between negative

rural stereotypes and these responses. Internalizing rural stereotypes of ignorance and

backwardness, some participants are quick to conclude that they lack the intelligence or

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ability to complete even simple tasks – a mindset I contend decreases embodied cultural

capital by diminishing self-efficacy.

As outlined in the introduction, renowned sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, along with

his co-researcher Jean-Claude Passeron, first introduced the concept of cultural capital in

1973 when addressing the major outcomes of education.2 Bourdieu later expanded on the

concept of cultural capital, situating it in terms of economic capital and proposing three

states: embodied, objectified, and institutionalized. Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital

has been widely critiqued for overlooking non-dominant cultures. Yet the concept of

embodied cultural capital, which describes “long-lasting dispositions of the mind and

body,” proves useful when exploring the impacts of rural stigma – perpetuated by the

very dominant culture Bourdieu exposed.3 As Bourdieu elucidates: “The notion of

cultural capital…implies a break with the presuppositions inherent both in the

commonsense view, which sees academic success or failure as an effect of natural

aptitudes, and in human capital theories.”4 Viewing the speech and actions of young,

rural participants through the lens of embodied cultural capital avoids the supposition that

the youths’ are lacking as individuals in favor of a critique of broader cultural norms.

In particular, this chapter views self-efficacy as a form of embodied cultural

capital that can be adversely impacted by rural stigma. According to psychologist Albert

Bandura, who first coined the term in 1977, “Perceived self-efficacy refers to beliefs in

one’s capabilities to organize and execute the courses of action required to produce given

attainments.”5 Perceived self-efficacy – referred to hereafter as self-efficacy in keeping

with existing applied theatre scholarship – in turn impacts human accomplishment and

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personal well-being in significant ways, from establishing higher goals early in projects

to demonstrating greater resilience after failures or setbacks. The declarations of low

intelligence and ability described above suggest a lack of self-efficacy, which has the

potential to negatively impact participants beyond the realm of applied theatre practice.

While much has been made of applied theatre’s ability to increase self-efficacy

through forum theatre-based practices, scholarship surrounding story-based practices,

such as those used in this study, remains sparse.6 Forum theatre-based practices, adopted

from the work of acclaimed theatre practitioner and activist Augusto Boal, invite

participants to enact or intervene in everyday events. In “Interactive Theatre and Self-

Efficacy” (2007), Suzanne Burgoyne and her colleagues describe a program, which cast

teachers as spect-actors in classroom situations that centered matters of diversity. The

program resulted in greater self-efficacy – particularly with teachers who already had a

basic understanding of “diversity issues.”7 Burgoyne et al. invoke Bandura’s concepts of

mastery and vicarious experiences, contending that the teachers grew in self-efficacy as

they both actively intervened in potential classroom scenarios and watched others take

action.

Applied theatre scholar-practitioner Stephani Etheridge Woodson and her

interdisciplinary collaborators similarly incorporate Bandura’s concepts in their 2017

discussion of The People’s Cook Project. In contrast to Burgoyne et al.’s forum-based

practice, The People’s Cook Project “combines cooking classes with theatre-making

activities revolving around personal and communal stories framed through devised

performance, communal eating and spoken word.”8 Instead of focusing solely on mastery

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and vicarious experience, Woodson et al. take into account Bandura’s four major

contributors to increased self-efficacy: mastery experiences, social modelling (or

vicarious experience), improved physical and emotional states (also referred to as

physiological and affective states), and verbal persuasion.9 This chapter follows suit by

exploring how applied theatre practice, even without forum-based spect-acting or non-

theatrical skill building, such as the cooking classes, has the potential to increase

participant self-efficacy.

In particular, I argue that quick warm-ups and generative, story-based applied

theatre exercises adhere to Bandura’s description of mastery experiences, while also

creating opportunities for vicarious experiences, improved physiological and affective

states, and verbal persuasion. According to Bandura, “Persistence in activities that are

subjectively threatening but in fact relatively safe produces, through experience of

mastery, further enhancement of self-efficacy and corresponding reductions in defensive

behavior.”10 Quick and generative exercises may pose social risks due to their public

quality and break with everyday activities, but are – given careful scaffolding from

facilitators, a strong emphasis on participant agency, and the short time frame of the

exercises – relatively safe. Participants have the opportunity to see their fellow students

succeed in unexpected ways, all while experiencing the joys of play and plenty of verbal

support. Consequently, such quick and generative applied theatre exercises are useful in

off-setting low degrees of self-efficacy brought about by rural stigma.

After further developing the concepts of cultural capital and self-efficacy within

the context of applied theatre practice with rural youth, I consider how quick warm-ups

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and generative, story-based applied theatre exercises contributed to feelings of self-

efficacy at Midwest and Stuart’s. The immediate nature of Applied Theatre as Research

(ATAR) methodology proves highly beneficial in the exploration of self-efficacy.

Archival studies, like that conducted with Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT), may overlook

difficulties, as facilitators and participants alike remember the results of activities but not

the trepidation that may have proceeded them. Consequently, this chapter focuses on the

ATAR findings from both Midwest and Stuart’s to better understand the impact of quick

and generative practice on embodied cultural capital amongst rural youth participants –

an impact that quickly disproved the participants’ self-deprecating claims.

Despite Nemo’s early assertion of ignorance, by the end of the week he and his

classmates could keep two “snaps” going with ease. After early reticence, Nikki found

her stories. And Onion identified not one but two areas of expertise to share with the

class. At Stuart’s, participants wrote plays about murderous spies, tunnels to China, and

homosexual zebras, subsequently volunteering to read their work aloud as their desire to

share overcame self-doubt. These are the small changes to look for in applied theatre

practice, moments of asset-based thinking that interrupt deficit-based narratives:

narratives that result from a complicated amalgam of rural stigma and limited opportunity

structures. These moments are not meant to cover up these structures – indeed I have

endeavored to use applied theatre examples to shed light on their negative impacts – but

rather reveal that, as one Midwest participant attested to learning, “Everybody has his

own good stories to tell.”

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SELF-EFFICACY AS EMBODIED CULTURAL CAPITAL

Following rural development scholars, Mary Emery and Cornelia Flora, this

chapter assumes a broad definition of cultural capital, namely: “Cultural capital reflects

the way people ‘know the world’ and how they act within it, as well as their traditions

and language.”11 Emery and Flora focus on knowledge or perception in conjunction with

action, providing fertile ground for discussions of self-efficacy as colored by rural stigma.

Whereas Bourdieu’s original concept of cultural capital arose from a desire to address

unequal educational outcomes and, consequently, values “legitimate” culture above less

dominant cultures, Emery and Flora’s definition sees merit in dominant and non-

dominant cultures alike.12

Applied theatre scholar-practitioners (as well as those working in the tangential

arts of community-based performance and community cultural development) often adopt

similarly non-hierarchal definitions, highlighting aspects of the local culture in the hopes

of encouraging asset-based thinking. For instance, Jan Cohen-Cruz defines cultural

capital as “a set of resources: the particular music, performance, poetry, folk wisdom,

customs, food and dress that are frequently sources of collective strength and pride and a

way to bring people together.”13 In conceptualizing a practice akin to applied theatre that

she deems “Theatre for Youth Third Space,” Woodson follows Cohen-Cruz arguing that

cultural capital exists in the answers to questions such as: “What are the language, skills,

patterns of dress and value systems of the community? What do people have pride in?

How do they express and perform their pride?”14 By these accounts, both Midwest High

School and Stuart’s Opera House are rich in cultural capital.

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At Midwest, students demonstrated their skills through a wide variety of

extracurricular activities. On the first day of the residency, a number of students missed

second hour because they were participating in the all-conference honors choir. Another

day, a student skipped class to track a deer she had injured while bow hunting the night

before – the ethical choice according to her fellow classmates. And Charlie, a fan of

musicals who lamented the lack of a more developed drama program, had to miss the last

days of the residency to participate in the National Future Farmers of America

convention. Not all extracurriculars removed students from class: one student worked at a

local factory when not in school; others helped their parents on family farms; and a

number participated in sports, which Ms. S assured me received support from both the

student body and community at large. Towards the end of the residency, half the students

turned out decked in white to show support for the girls’ volleyball team who were

playing for the Division 4 regional title later that evening. However, this show of pride

was short lived, with students quickly condemning the team the next day after a

disappointing loss. In the previous chapter, I highlighted participants’ seeming pride in

perpetuating negative rural stereotypes. Yet when reflecting on skills and values, many

students were quick to downplay their achievements, neither expressing, nor performing

pride.

In contrast to Midwest, participants at Stuart’s were more inclined to share their

outside accomplishments. While weekly check-ins often underscored academic struggles,

we occasionally received reports of good grades, and students often shared their extra-

curricular successes. After Jo celebrated a recent basketball win, one of the less vocal

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participants proudly added that their wrestling team had recently won a match. Michelle

enthused over a youth group retreat, and the majority of participants expressed pride in

past theatrical experiences. Unfortunately, these expressions of pride were often at odds

with participants’ feelings about the broader community. As noted in the previous

chapter, even those actively seeking to highlight community assets often found

themselves circling back to discussions of drugs, crime, and poverty. As Ms. C attested,

she tries not to perpetuate it, but, given the small-town environment, she also “can’t

ignore it.”15

Woodson contends that cultural capital may be identified by asking: “What do

people have pride in?” and “How do they express and perform their pride?” Yet what of

communities in which deficit-based narratives are so engrained as to make these answers

difficult? Cornelia Flora, Jan L. Flora, and Stephen P. Gasteyer speak to this conundrum

in their discussion of self-confidence as it relates to the cultural capital of non-dominant

groups:

Distinct cultural capitals can coexist. The self-confidence to act positively towards oneself and others requires a pride in one’s culture and background rather than a complete rejection of it. Individual and social problems arise when cultural capital is given up or stamped out. Indeed, it is impossible to completely appropriate the cultural capital of the dominant group. Individuals who do try to replace their own cultural capital with that of the dominant group are vulnerable, marginal to both their group of origin and the dominant or hegemonic group.16

Within the context of rural stigma, Flora, Flora, and Gasteyer’s scholarship indicates that

some rural individuals may overlook local cultural capital in the attempt to adopt the

cultural capital of the dominant, or in this case urban, group, leaving them vulnerable and

lacking in self-confidence. More specifically, the rural development scholars contend that

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by acknowledging local cultural capital, an individual increases their ability “to act

positively towards oneself,” an ability closely tied to matters of self-efficacy.

Though not included in her discussion of cultural capital, Woodson does take self-

efficacy into account when outlining best practices for Theatre for Youth Third Space.

Following the work of social psychologist Roy Baumeister, Woodson contends that

purpose, value, efficacy, and self-worth are central components of the human need for

meaning, and as such, should be taken into account when conceptualizing and evaluating

theatre programs. Although not citing Bandura directly, as she and her collaborators do in

their analysis of The People’s Cook Project, Woodson’s definition closely resembles that

of Bandura: “Simply put efficacy means feeling capable and strong. Having a meaningful

life is more than having goals and values; you must also feel that you have some

capability to achieve these goals and realize these values.”17 Woodson is quick to

distinguish, however, between the benefits of taking efficacy into account and the

potential downfalls of emphasizing self-esteem above all else. Woodson argues: “The key

to the planning process rests in remembering that community cultural development’s

ability to foster change and build capital depends on being understood as art: not

education, nor self-esteem structures.”18 Though explicitly defining efficacy, Woodson

operates under an assumed definition of self-esteem, which I interpret to include feelings

about oneself not directly tied to matters of ability.

Consider for instance, a memorable moment at Stuart’s. Jo and a friend had

arrived early for the workshop and were chatting with the facilitators and myself.

Suddenly Jo declared she was a good singer and asked if we wanted to hear a song she’d

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been practicing. Pulling up the background music on her smart phone, Jo staged herself

six feet in front of us and began to sing – the first thin notes quickly giving way to full,

rich sound as she relaxed into the music. With the sunlight gleaming in and her voice

flowing between pure and soulful phrases, it was one of the most exquisite performances

I ever attended. In this instance, Jo had a high sense of self-efficacy in her ability to sing

the song well and a correspondingly high self-esteem, feeling proud enough of her ability

to wish to share it with the facilitators and myself. I, on the other hand, have a low degree

of self-efficacy when it comes to singing – I am terrible – but because my feelings about

myself are not tied to my singing ability, my self-esteem remains unaffected.

Woodson cautions that applied theatre practice aimed at developing individual

self-esteem risks pathologizing participants, because such practice tends to underscore

individual deficits rather than highlight communal assets. I contend that situating

Bandura’s concept of self-efficacy within the context of embodied culture capital avoids

such pathologizing by viewing low-self efficacy as an outcome of dominant cultural

norms, such as those contributing to rural stigma, as well as limited opportunity

structures.

Furthermore, I endeavor to heed applied theatre scholar-practitioner, Jonothan

Neelands, who warns that focusing predominantly on misrecognition – which I read here

to mean rural stigma and deficit-based narratives – obscures the need for much needed

redistribution. As Neelands elucidates, “[T]he psychological approach to identity and

misrecognition displaces the challenge to the social injustices and economic inequalities

that are integral to misrecognition, so that misrecognition becomes a free-standing

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cultural harm uncoupled from the social-structural underpinnings of misrecognition.”19 In

grounding my analysis in Bandura’s social cognitive theory, I emphasize the importance

of self-efficacy alongside other core determinants, namely: knowledge, outcome

expectations, goals, perceived facilitators, as well as social and structural impediments.20

While I argue below that applied theatre can have a positive impact upon rural youth in

the form of increased self-efficacy, such practice must be aligned with existing efforts to

address these other core determinants in order to maintain lasting change.

In conjunction with these other core determinants, self-efficacy can greatly

increase participant success and well-being, as elucidated by Bandura in an entry for

Encyclopedia of Human Behavior (1994):

A strong sense of efficacy enhances human accomplishment and personal well-being in many ways. People with high assurance in their capabilities approach difficult tasks as challenges to be mastered rather than as threats to be avoided. Such an efficacious outlook fosters intrinsic interest and deep engrossment in activities. They set themselves challenging goals and maintain strong commitment to them. They heighten and sustain their efforts in the face of failure. They quickly recover their sense of efficacy after failures or setbacks. They attribute failure to insufficient effort or deficient knowledge and skills which are acquirable. They approach threatening situations with assurance that they can exercise control over them. Such an efficacious outlook produces personal accomplishments, reduces stress and lowers vulnerability to depression.21

The higher a participant’s self-efficacy the more likely they are to set grand goals for

themselves and embrace the challenges involved in pursuing such aspirations, which can

in turn result in greater achievement. Participants with low levels of self-efficacy, on the

other hand, may set lower goals for themselves, or alternatively, be quick to give up in

the face of failure. Such resignation certainly appeared evident in Nemo’s proclamation

of defeat at Midwest, or August’s tendency to shut down (staring with frustration at the

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blank page) when their ideas weren’t readily available at Stuart’s. Bandura also lists

positive mental health benefits, which, working outside of the medical profession, I am

unqualified to comment on but certainly warrant further exploration – particularly given

the high levels of stress, anxiety, and depression detailed by participants in all three case

studies.

There remains some question as to the scope of self-efficacy, with scholars like

Bandura arguing that self-efficacy is inherently state- or task-based, while others like

Timothy A. Judge and Gilad Chen arguing for the additional existence of trait-based,

general self-efficacy.22 While such a debate is certainly relevant to discerning the impact

of applied theatre practice, I side step this quagmire by focusing on self-efficacy as it

relates to performative and collaborative tasks. Often known as “soft skills,” I argue that

building one’s sense of self-efficacy as it relates to creation, problem solving, teamwork,

focus, and public speaking can aid participants beyond applied theatre practice, even if no

over-arching sense of general self-efficacy exists. I am by no means the first to draw

attention to applied theatre’s impact on soft skills. By connecting soft skills to questions

of self-efficacy, however, I aim to reveal exactly how applied theatre contributes to self-

efficacy, as well as underscore the impacts of internalized rural stigma and deficit-based

narratives on the embodied cultural capital of participants.

“EVERYBODY HAS HIS OWN GOOD STORIES TO TELL”: CONTRIBUTING TO

SELF-EFFICACY ONE STORY AT TIME

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Responses to the wrap-up survey at Midwest High School reveal a clear move

towards asset-based thinking. When asked, “What, if anything, did you learn from

participating in the applied theatre workshop series,” multiple participants underscored

the importance of working with the resources one has:

Midwest Participant Survey: I learned that even if you don’t have a lot you can still put on a show. Midwest Participant Survey: You can come up with anything in a short time. Midwest Participant Survey: The more creative you are and the more effort you give the better the result.

Far from the deficit-based narratives of the previous chapter, these responses indicate a

shift in perspective, focusing not on a lack of resources, but rather the temporal, material,

and personal assets the participants have at hand. What’s more, in adopting a more asset-

based mentality, participants exhibit a high degree of self-efficacy: they assert that

putting on a show, coming up with anything, and securing a better result are all within

their grasp. While by no means a representative sample – of rural youth in general or

even Midwest participants more specifically – these responses, read alongside the

behavioral shifts of students like Onion and Nikki, indicate a meaningful avenue for

future study.

Rather than attempting to definitively establish the scope of this perspective shift

and subsequent self-efficacy, this section scrutinizes how such changes occurred. As

stated in the introduction, Bandura outlines four major contributors to increased self-

efficacy, namely: mastery experiences, vicarious experiences, verbal persuasion,

improved physiological and affective states. Although present in various degrees, all four

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are evident in both the Midwest residency and Stuart’s Opera House program. A close

analysis of all four contributors within the context of these two case studies provides

insight as to how facilitators may more deliberately craft applied theatre practice to better

counter existing deficit-based narratives perpetuated, in part, by internalized rural stigma.

Putting on a Show at Midwest

Woodson et al. provide a useful definition of mastery experiences in their

aforementioned analysis of The People’s Cook Project, noting: “Mastery experiences [are

those] in which the person is given opportunities to succeed in attainable yet increasingly

challenging performances of desired behaviors.”23 This definition recalls that of

scaffolding, already a best practice in much educational and applied theatre work. Yet

what Woodson et al. leave out, and what I argue is pivotal in distinguishing mastery

experiences from simply scaffolded learning, is the element of healthy coping in the face

of potentially threatening circumstances.

“Research has shown mastery experiences to be the most important factor in

increasing self-efficacy,” Woodson et al. conclude, “and the theatre-making process

aligns quite well with promoting it, especially within the safe, bracket space of trial and

error in the rehearsal process.”24 While Bandura has indeed emphasized the need for

“objective” safety in mastery experiences, he simultaneously underscored the potentially

threatening nature of the activities involved therein. As Bandura explains, “If people

experience only easy successes, they come to expect quick results and are easily

discouraged by failure.”25 With potential threats comes difficulty, which leads to greater

self-efficacy when such threats are ultimately overcome.

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In the field of applied theatre where so much is subjective, Bandura’s

differentiation between “objective” safety and potential threats appears imprudent at best.

As Clark Baim, a registered psychotherapist who specializes in psychodrama, elucidates,

theatre involving personal stories is very rarely safe:

While there are many positive reasons for incorporating personal stories in theatre and drama workshops, and indeed many examples of good practice, such work has inherent risks because it is often conducted with vulnerable groups. Even when groups are not identified as vulnerable or at risk, the nature of the stories shared, the processes used, or the manner in which the story is presented to (and critiqued by) others may make participants vulnerable.26

Sharing stories of personal pain or unresolved conflict – whether coerced by facilitators

or of the participants’ own accord – can promote what applied theatre scholar-practitioner

Julie Salverson deems an “aesthetic of injury” and leave participants with reinforced

feelings of victimhood and vulnerability.27 Likewise, as James Thompson underscores in

a discussion of his work in Sri Lanka, applied theatre can interfere with the power

dynamics of the broader context in which it is practiced – at times leading to harmful

repercussions for the participants.28

However, with the proper precautions, applied theatre may be thought “relatively”

safe – another descriptor Bandura uses to specify the pre-conditions for mastery

experiences. Baim calls for facilitators to be aware of the cultural and sociopolitical

context in which they are practicing as well as “build in constant checks and balances,

where participants are encouraged to ask questions, offer suggestions, and, most of all,

say ‘no’ when activities feel too risky for them.”29 Baim also outlines “The Drama

Spiral” – a decision-making structure intended to facilitate the ethical treatment of

personal stories in applied theatre practice.30 Although deviating slightly from Baim’s

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structures at Midwest, I was careful to create opportunities for participant questions,

suggestions, and choice. Having previously worked with participants stalled in their

tracks at the thought of having to create fictional stories, I opted to start the residency at

Midwest with a call for positive or neutral stories.

In an exercise called “Story of a Name,” I invited participants to share a story

about their name, noting that if they couldn’t think of anything, they were more than

welcome to make up the story.31 The exercise involved some risk – public speaking

remains one of the most common, though not necessarily severe, fears in the United

States – and yet participants also had ample opportunity to modify the activity.32 While

some proudly shared their namesakes or laughed at parental disputes, others wrote down

nicknames, made up fake names, switched names, and even made up stories about being

born on the side of the road. Based on the sly smiles and snickers from fellow

participants, I imagine that last three were all intended as a sort of introductory hazing,

pulling one over on the visiting researcher (a dynamic explored further in Chapter Five).

Nevertheless, I accepted these fake names and stories, reaffirming the students’ ability to

choose what they wished to share and offering verbal encouragement for the successful

completion of the exercise – another contributor to increased self-efficacy. The first

potentially threatening experience overcome, we moved on to more challenging

exercises.

Although Bandura emphasizes the importance of sustained effort, he also notes

that slowly increasing the length of potentially threatening exercises proves a useful

technique for overcoming fears or anxieties. Bandura refers to this technique as

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“graduated time,” and explains, “Phobics will refuse threatening tasks if they will have to

endure stress for a long time, but they will risk them for a short period. As their coping

efficacy increases, the time they perform the activity is gradually extended.”33 Though

the label “phobics” appears overly clinical and consequently hyperbolic in this instance,

Bandura introduces the benefits of graduated time in a discussion of both phobic

dysfunctions and more common social anxieties. Within the latter context, Bandura’s

discussion of avoidance recalls that of Erving Goffman in The Presentation of Self in

Everyday Life (1959). Not only do individuals attempt to craft the way others see and

interpret their speech and actions, but individuals also go to great lengths to maintain

those impressions, avoiding circumstances that might expose their façade or otherwise

prove discrediting.34 Yet applied theatre residencies at schools create just such

conditions, inviting participants to experiment with new ways of being and

communicating in front of an audience of familiar peers. Starting with quick warm-ups

and generative, story-based exercises helps to ameliorate some of the social anxiety that

comes with such experimentation and promotes self-efficacy, as participants see

themselves and their peers overcome potentially threatening exercises. Participants can

then work their way toward longer and more polished performances, as we did at

Midwest, and approach other areas of their lives with increased self-efficacy.

The benefits of graduated time were particularly apparent in Ms. S’s eighth- and

ninth-hour class, which – whether due to age, size, length, or collective temperament –

exhibited the most positive response to the residency.35 Because of the double class

period and high energy levels, I introduced a number of quick warm-ups and generative,

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story-based exercises during the first few days of the residency. From “Story of a Name,”

we transitioned to “I am an Expert in…” – a game in which participants not only have to

speak publicly but also have to claim their expertise in something (though the seriousness

of these claims varied from “I’m an expert in math,” to “I’m an expert in having a mullet

[hairstyle]”).36 This was the exercise in which Onion went from having no expertise to

having too many to narrow down. We finished class with another circle game, before

returning to storytelling the following day. In a variation on story circles, participants

completed the phrase “When I was Young in [BLANK] I [BLANK].”37 The phrases then

turned into stories, which the participants acted out in tableaux. Building on the

efficacious coping of the previous class period, the exercise asked participants to share a

little bit more about themselves – albeit with the entirety of their young life to draw on –

and begin to use their bodies in creative and metaphoric ways. Though not in Ms. S’s

eighth- and ninth-hour class, this was the exercise where Nikki excelled, going from

having no stories to asking if she could tell a third.

We then proceeded to “World’s Smallest Stage,” an exercise that involved both

greater challenge and greater potential threat to the participants’ performance of self. As

observed in the previous chapter, the exercise invites participants to act out stories on the

“World’s Smallest Stage,” a classroom desk.38 One student narrates the story, while

another illustrates it using facial expressions and hand movements and a third student

contributes sound effects. The exercise involved greater challenge, as I asked participants

to craft a full story – complete with beginning, middle, and end. The potential threat, as I

saw it, lay in asking participants to adopt an unusual mimetic approach to both voice and

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movement, with sound effects and metaphoric gesture complementing traditional

storytelling. Participants also had to rely on one another in the sharing of a single story.

By and large, the participants excelled. Onion, Reyna, and their third partner

asked if the story needed to be autobiographical, as in the previous exercises, or if they

could share a fictional story. I agreed to the latter but asked that they put their own spin

on the fictional story, resulting in a delightful adaptation of the three little pigs –

complete with chickens and a helicopter. Exhibiting skilled collaboration, the three young

women shared the roles of narrator, illustrator, and sound effects, managing to seamlessly

integrate their performances with one another. Anabell and Janessa Black assumed a

similarly collaborative approach when sharing a story about running, or rather

skateboarding, away from a suspicious man. As part of a group of four, the two young

woman both served as illustrators acting in almost perfect synchronization and creatively

using their seated bodies to replicate the motion and sound of skateboarding. Though the

application of graduated time was occasionally unsuccessful – with participants in a later

exercise explaining that they thought of revising their scene but chose not to as there

were only a few minutes left to rehearse – a number of participants noted and indeed

celebrated the innovation exhibited in these quick, generative exercises.

When asked what moments from the residency would stay with them, a number of

participants highlighted “World’s Smallest Stage” as well as the subsequent exercise,

which had the participants imaginatively interpreting contextless scenes. Participants

wrote:

Midwest Participant Survey: World’s Smallest Stage because it taught us to learn to work with what we got on hand.

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Midwest Participant Survey: The World’s Smallest Stage because it was very creative and fun. Midwest Participant Survey: The moment that stands out the most to me would be the “no context” script. I am saying this because seeing all my classmates go out of their shell to complete the task or go up, up, and beyond expectations for that exercise; I also thought it was very fun and would like to do something like this again.

Learning to work with what one has on hand aligns closely with the statements of self-

efficacy highlighted at the start of this section. Participants embraced asset-based

narratives, which encouraged them to see the temporal, material, and personal resources

they already had at their disposal. Janessa Black exhibited such asset-based thinking

when she celebrated her group’s use of homemade steering wheels and other hand-crafted

props in the contextless scene. Onion and Reyna’s group also made good use of their

time, choosing to rehearse their “World’s Smallest Stage” story over the break period.

Some participants used their time less well but still managed to collectively draw

meaning from the activity. When Josephina declared that her group’s contextless scene

would have benefitted from more time to rehearse, a fellow group member, Shaq,

disagreed, contending that the group had plenty of time but should have used it more

wisely. Another member of the group, The German (who was indeed of German descent),

smiled wryly, offering a small nod of agreement. This exchange, as well as the reference

to classmates exceeding expectations, speaks to a third major contributor, namely that of

vicarious experiences. Bandura outlines the positive impact of vicarious experiences as

follows: “Through social comparative inference, the attainment of others who are similar

to oneself are judged to be diagnostic of one’s own capabilities. Thus, seeing or

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visualizing people similar to oneself perform successfully typically raises efficacy beliefs

in observers that they themselves possess the capabilities to master comparable

activities.”39 Bandura also asserts that vicarious experiences are particularly impactful in

new or unusual circumstances where “people have had little prior experience on which to

base evaluations of their capabilities.”40 Not only do applied theatre residencies already

encourage participants to act and interact in ways outside of the everyday, but quick and

generative applied theatre exercises further embrace this uncertainty and promote

opportunities for increased self-efficacy. Each exercise introduces unfamiliar tasks,

encouraging participants to continually reevaluate their own capabilities, often in light of

their peers’ behavior.

While such an evaluation can have a positive impact, as indicated in the

participants’ celebration of their classmates’ successes, vicarious experiences can also

negatively impact perceived self-efficacy. Bandura cautions, “Observing others perceived

to be similarly competent fail despite high effort lowers observers’ judgement of their

own capabilities and undermines their efforts.”41 Consequently, the quality of quick and

generative exercises matters when attempting to facilitate increased self-efficacy. The

importance of aesthetics or artistry in applied theatre practice has long been a subject of

contention among applied theatre scholars and practitioners.42 In Theatre, Education and

the Making of Meanings: Art or Instrument (2007) for instance, Anthony Jackson

critiques the social-aesthetic dichotomy originally popularized by Richard Schechner and

Thompson, asserting, “Even in the most proactive interventionist theatre, the aesthetic

dimension of the work is pivotal. Lose sight of the aesthetic, the capacity of such theatre

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is diminished.”43 This assertion comes with its own questions, key among them: how to

define artistry and aesthetics in the context of applied theatre practice?

Rather than endeavoring to answer this question more fully, as Gareth White and

his contributors do in Applied Theatre: Aesthetics (2015), here I focus solely on artistry

and aesthetics as they related to self-efficacy at Midwest. Unlike performance-based

applied theatre practice, which must take into account the aesthetics of the audience, the

quick and generative exercises employed at Midwest needed only to take into account the

aesthetics of the participants. As a facilitator, this involved bearing in mind preexisting

aesthetic preferences as well as fostering a group agreement as to the nature of aesthetic

success within the context of residency. We began by looking at pictures of various

public gatherings, from theatrical performances to concerts to football games, in the

effort to define what constitutes a performance. While many students ultimately agreed to

disagree, the introductory discussion helped to connect the following exercises with the

participants pre-existing notions of theatre. Early exercises were also quite structured,

with success clearly defined. Even when instructed to write a short play for instance, we

generated a list of potential characters, settings, and conflicts before breaking off into

smaller groups to write.44 By clearly defining success and providing limited opportunities

for failure, these early exercises promoted self-efficacy through the both mastery and

vicarious experiences.

The impact of these experiences as well as verbal persuasion was further aided by

the physiological and affective impact of applied theatre. As Thompson testifies in his

preface to the 2011 edition of Performance Affects: Applied Theatre and the End of

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Effect, the affective potential of applied theatre is widely recognized but largely

undervalued.45 Even Woodson and her collaborators in their discussion of “physical and

emotional states” as contributors to self-efficacy focus primarily on the early stages of

applied theatre workshops. Woodson et al. contend:

Improving physical and emotional states, or making sure people are well-rested and relaxed before attempting a new behaviour. Theatre games, warm-ups and ensemble-building exercises help to establish these pre-conditions, both in a general way and in ways specific to the kinds of attitudinal and behavioral changes being encouraged. For example, Karimi [the facilitator] introduces the game ‘Knife/Thank You, Knife’ as a warm-up activity that, in our experience, became a beloved ritual promoting knife handling safety.46

While Woodson et al.’s “beloved ritual” hints at the same emotional response highlighted

by participants at Midwest in their surveys, the following section more explicitly outlines

the benefits of “fun” with regard to self-efficacy.

“I Think I Got into It”: Slowing Down and Embracing Emotion at Stuart’s

A playwright herself, most of Robinson Hillis’s exercises revolved around solo

writing assignments and consequently adhered less closely to the definition of mastery

experiences detailed above. Participants could choose whether or not to share their work:

August often stood up to create more of a stage; That (another participant) regularly

passed entirely; and the other participants fell somewhere in between. This in many ways

reduced the potentially threatening nature of the work, with participants able to decide if

they wished to risk their carefully managed performance of self by sharing their work. As

elucidated in the previous chapter, participants also felt less need for impression

management outside the school environment. At Stuart’s Opera House, participants felt

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more freedom to speak openly about their lives and seemingly stretch themselves as

artists.

The exercises were not wholly without potential threat, however, as evidenced by

participants’ self-deprecating comments, and August’s emotional response to writer’s

block. August was an exceptional performer whose creative plot twists prompted great

praise from their peers, yet when the words weren’t flowing, either due to lack of

inspiration or outside troubles, August would stare at their paper in growing frustration.

The first time this occurred, Robinson Hillis invited them to talk through it in the

neighboring room – a conversation described further in Chapter Four. The second time,

when August claimed they knew no fictional characters and consequently couldn’t

complete an exercise, Robinson Hillis endeavored to work through the block, listing

multiple characters that August might know. Given that August was an avid reader, with

a new book in hand every week, their claim to not know any fictional characters aligns

more closely with Bandura and Goffman’s discussions of avoidance than any lack of

knowledge or imagination on August’s part. Even with the choice of whether or not to

perform and the supportive nature of the non-school setting, participants carefully

manage their performances of self, not wanting to exhibit pride in work that others might

find wanting.

Because the potential threat of many of these exercises lay in the sharing of work,

the program relied less heavily on graduated time. Robinson Hillis regularly gave the

young writers as much time as they desired. While still quick – the writing stage never

lasted more than half an hour – this approach resulted in disengagement amongst some

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but great accomplishments for others. A few participants regularly finished early, turning

to their phones or whispering to one another; however, others surprised themselves with

their ability to write long monologues or scenes. Jo would start off an exercise claiming

she would “write a short one,” only to shake out her hand after twenty minutes gleefully

acknowledging, “I think I got into it.”

Robinson Hillis also gave August more time to write when struggling with the

creative process, resulting in the most memorable performance of the program:

Neumann: Think of a moment from this workshop that will stay with you. And then if you could share that with us and maybe why that stands out. Lu: August’s monologue blew me out of the water. Neuman: And what about it? Lu: Like the shear like… James: Gratitude. Lu: Yea!!!! Neumann: What? Lu: No! Group laughter. James: Not gratitude, like the insaneness of it.47

In the immediate aftermath of the monologue (Figure 2.1), Lu similarly applauded the

work declaring that they were going to cry, while James commended August’s

breathtaking delivery.

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Figure 2.1: Monomoka Monologue by August

Though risking disengagement, Robinson Hillis’ approach created the opportunity

for August to master a potentially threatening experience through creative problem

solving, and the other participants to vicariously experience August’s success. Together

with verbal persuasion from both Robinson Hillis and the participants, the solo writing

exercises featured many of the elements thought by Bandura to improve self-efficacy.

The last contributor, namely improved physiological and affective states, while

present throughout the program, was particularly apparent in the preparatory stages of the

workshop as well as group exercises. Similar to Woodson et al.’s focus on rest and

relaxation in the early stages of applied theatre workshops, Robinson Hillis held the first

Transcription: I am Monomoka. Everyone thinks I’m insane, but I can assure you! I am the most sane person I know! Everyone else are the crazy ones.. but that’s beyond the point. I am <15 [45] but I am wanted for 18 counts of murder…and that’s only for the ones they found. It all started when I was 15…my best friend was unfortunately the second to go. She saw the first murder.. She knew too much.. and now, you’re the… Full monologue in Appendix C.

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thirty minutes of each session for snacks and socializing. While some participants

brought their own snacks – often stopping at McDonald’s or the local convenience store –

other participants snacked on veggies and hummus or tortilla chips and salsa, whatever

Stuart’s provided for the day. With the physical body well-nourished, Robinson Hillis

would then lead students in check-ins and meditation in an effort to care for the

emotional body. Yet the care for physiological and affective states did not stop in the

preparatory stages of the workshop.

Robinson Hillis incorporated playful prompts – a crime of the participant’s

choosing, an interview with a beloved character, a story of impossibilities – and brought

in scripts the students would enjoy. For example, she started the participants with Don

Zolidis’ Game of Tiaras (2015), a hilarious parody of Game of Thrones, King Lear, and

all things Disney, that afforded the participants plenty of opportunities to try out accents

and laugh at the absurd theatricality – even if they weren’t as familiar with the gruesome

television show or Shakespeare’s more adult-themed tragedy.48 However, the potential of

applied theatre to positively alter affective states stood out most clearly in group

exercises, like the shared script (Figure 2.2).

After a particularly lively start to the workshop, Robinson Hillis gathered all those

present in front of the white board, instructing each to call out a word resulting in a list

that included “apricot,” “jingle,” “zebra,” “Obama,” “soldier,” and “homosexual.” The

last word prompted a fit of giggles from many participants and a well-meaning assurance

from That, “That’s okay – there’s nothing wrong with that.” Robinson Hillis then tasked

the participants with writing a script one line at a time, that included all six words from

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the list. The result: a one-page script featuring Billy Bob, Obama, a soldier, and a

homosexual zebra having a delightful if brief encounter at a “homosexual club.”

Though I internally questioned the politics of casting an animal “which could only

be a homosexual,” the LGBTQ+ identities of many of the participants as well as the

lighthearted gender play in the name “Sr. Mrs. Tenders,” quickly set my concerns at ease.

Far from equating homosexuality with bestiality, the reference to gum suggests a playful

queering of the colorful Fruit Stripe gum, which featured zebras on the packaging. All the

while, participants worked collaboratively to draft a (moderately) coherent script,

incorporating all six words from the list.

Figure 2.2: Shared Script by August, Jo, That, and Others

Robinson Hillis took the creative casting in stride, declaring, “It wouldn’t be a

story without a homosexual zebra.” After recovering from yet another bout of laughter,

Transcription: (Billy Bob went to a homosexual club then seen Obama) Billy Bob: Oh my what are you doing here? Obama: I came here for the grape slushies. They’re delicious! (Then Billy Bob watches Obama walk over to a zebra which could only be a homosexual) Sr. Mrs. Tenders: Hello fair gentlemen – ex president of our U-S- of A. I am Sr. Mrs. Tenders the homosexual zebra, owner of my own gum line. (A soldier in a [Rambo] uniform stands up.) Soldier: You hypocrite oh this apricot is good. Soldier: I was very apprehensive when I walked in now I hear jingles!

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Jo inquired, “Have you noticed that we’re hyper today,” to which Robinson Hillis

responded with raised brows, “Have I noticed? I should have known not to do this

exercise on today of all days, but I also thought, ‘What else are they going to do?’”

Though shaking her head, Robinson Hillis’ smile betrayed this seeming defeatism for the

performance it was. As she expounded in a later interview:

It is a strange thing to teach students who are not trying to get a grade, who have nothing at stake, and that’s why it does become sort of a free-for-all at times because I just want them to want to be there. If they were required to be there from whatever time we start to whatever time we end, it might be a little bit different if they could not leave. But they’re not. I want them to keep coming back. I want them to keep growing from their interactions. I want them to keep writing, wanting to write. So, it becomes more of a lax room.49

For voluntary programs, like those at Stuart’s, to make an impact and increase embodied

cultural capital in the form of self-efficacy, they need participants to show up week after

week. As Robinson Hillis notes, facilitators have little control over many factors

impacting participant attendance. Some participants are inclined to follow their friends;

others, especially at the high school level, get busy with jobs and school-supported

extracurriculars, like athletics, band, and choir. What’s more, Stuart’s offers full

scholarships for local teenagers, so as Robinson Hillis explains, “[I]t’s not like their

parents are like ‘I paid X and Y money for this so you better be there.’ It’s not that.

They’re making an effort to be there because they want to be there, and in that sense, I

think it’s like nothing else that I’ve experienced or even heard about as a teacher.”50

With so little in her control, Robinson Hillis embraced moments of positive affect,

like that of the shared script, for what they did accomplish: getting participants excited

about writing, attempting a format not dissimilar from playwriting, and inspiring the

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participants to keep coming back. Jo’s words exemplify this last result. After the group

had finished their shared script, Jo contended that she liked the Stuart’s program because,

“Even if I don’t have friends, I can come here on Friday.” A recent transplant with a low

tolerance for nonsense, Jo looked forward to the fun and supportive environment at

Stuart’s (as quoted in the previous chapter, Jo also claimed Stuart’s made her “heart

happy”).

Read alongside Bandura, one sees how these moments of positive affect likewise

boost participant self-efficacy. “Mood also affects people’s judgments of their personal

efficacy,” Bandura contends, “Positive mood enhances perceived self-efficacy,

despondent mood diminishes it.”51 Though postulating a few explanations for this

phenomenon, Bandura focuses mainly on affective priming theory, which suggests that

positive moods lead individuals to recall past accomplishments while negative moods

lead individuals to recall past failures. Remembering past accomplishments in turn leads

increased sense of self-efficacy, just as remembering past failures diminishes it.52

As with mastery experiences, Bandura cautions that outside factors may influence

the extent to which an affective state influences subsequent self-efficacy. The impact of

affective states on selective recall and ensuant changes to self-efficacy is limited by an

individual’s previous successes and failures.53 A participant with few past successes may

find their self-efficacy less impacted by positive affective states simply because they have

less positive experiences on which to draw – an outcome which points back to the

importance social and structural change in addition to applied theatre practice. Bandura

also advises that individuals are more likely to rely on their “gut reactions” – which I take

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to mean affective responses – in circumstances where much remains unknown and

decisions must be made swiftly.54 Once again, quick and generative applied theatre

exercises often create these very circumstances, with participants called on to interact in

new or unusual ways. The laughter and joy that accompany writing an absurd story of

grape slushies and apricot-loving soldiers encourages the recollection of past success,

promoting increased self-efficacy among participants.

Positive affective states not only encourage increased self-efficacy in the present,

but also contribute towards higher self-efficacy in the future – particularly when

individuals encounter success while in a positive mood.55 Completing the shared script

within the playful and supportive Stuart’s environment has the potential to impact

participant self-efficacy – at least as it relates to soft-skills such as collaboration and

problem solving – far more than a similar success in a less positive environment.

Together these assertions of present and future self-efficacy recall a comparable

argument made by Thompson about the relationship between learning and affect.

Thompson asserts, “Learning is an affective, felt state – comprised of many elements of

awe, fear, love and intrigue – that is only diminished in its banishment of that part of the

body called the mind.”56 While Thompson underscores the importance of affect –

positive or negative – on learning more broadly, concentrating on self-efficacy

necessitates consideration for how participants learn of their own capabilities. Negative

affective states and recollection of previous failures do little to ameliorate the impacts of

deficit-based narratives, and consequently this analysis focuses on positive affect.

Nevertheless, Bandura’s findings support Thompson’s call for greater attention to affect

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within applied theatre practice, a call I have aspired to honor in discussions of self-

efficacy at Stuart’s and Midwest High School.

CONCLUSION: THE ETHICAL TIGHTROPE OF SELF-EFFICACY

“In terms of practice, a sole concentration on social utility is in danger of abandoning the terrain of sensation: of the aesthetic concerns for beauty, joy, pleasure, awe and astonishment. These attributes are often still present in projects but are seen either as means to an end, by-product, wonderful extra or hook to the real work.”

~James Thompson57 According to Thompson, the “real work” of applied theatre has inevitably been described

in terms of social impact, more specifically the effects of participation on “achievement,

personal behavior, confidence, access to human rights, knowledge of curricular and non-

curricular issues, involvement in campaigns for social justice, and the diminution of the

propensity to become involved in a range of ‘anti-social’ activities.”58 Akin to self-

confidence, a focus on self-efficacy risks downplaying the aesthetic or affective present

in favor of future utility. Together with the aforementioned concerns – the potential of

privileging dominant cultures, pathologizing participants, or overstating the task-based

nature of self-efficacy – my inclusion of self-efficacy in discussion of applied theatre

practice risks causing more harm than good.

Yet with self-deprecating statements abounding at both Midwest High School and

Stuart’s Opera House – many tied in part to internalized rural stigma – a decision to

eschew discussions of self-efficacy would prove equally unwise. Consequently, this

chapter has asserted that participants at Midwest and Stuart’s exhibited greater self-

efficacy over the course of the applied theatre residency and program, although it does

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not attempt to establish the scope or degree of this change. By contextualizing self-

efficacy as a form of embodied cultural capital, I aimed to disrupt deficit-based narratives

that, in keeping with rural stereotypes of backwardness and ignorance, would indicate

participants are inherently lacking in self-efficacy. Instead, an emphasis on embodied

cultural capital underscores the ways in which self-efficacy is indicative of broader socio-

structural circumstances. I further examine how quick warm-ups and generative, story-

based applied theatre exercises functioned at Midwest and Stuart’s to facilitate increased

self-efficacy, particularly in relation to soft skills like public speaking, problem solving,

and collaboration.

As previously observed by Woodson et al., applied theatre exercises – even those

not grounded in forum-based theatre – provide ideal conditions for the development of

self-efficacy. In particular, applied theatre exercises allow for Bandura’s four main

contributors to self-efficacy: mastery experiences, vicarious experiences, verbal

persuasion, and improved physiological and affective states. This chapter takes up

Woodson et al.’s earlier study, focusing specifically on quick and generative applied

theatre exercises with rural young people. At Midwest, graduated time mitigated the

social risk, or potential threat, of the activities, allowing participants to excel in

increasingly challenging exercises. Clearly defining “success,” both in the residency as a

whole and each exercise more specifically, allowed even less successful participants to

grow vicariously through their classmates’ successes. Along with verbal persuasion from

their classmates, classroom teacher, and myself as well as positive affective states,

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mastery and vicarious experiences provided abundant opportunities for increased self-

efficacy at Midwest.

While the focus on playwriting at Stuart’s altered the nature of the quick and

generative applied theatre exercises, a closer look reveals that the exercises functioned

comparably, with sharing sessions posing much the same potential threat as the

collaborative exercises at Midwest. In addition to the mastery and vicarious experiences

provided by solo writing exercises, the collaborative exercises at Stuart’s contributed

greatly to the positive affective state of participants, further encouraging an increased

sense of self-efficacy. Although viewing affect as a means toward an efficacious end

adheres to the same utilitarian narrative that Thompson warns against, these case studies

and, I argue, this chapter avoid the worst-case scenarios outlined by Thompson. Far from,

“Practitioners with great knowledge of the issues to be communicated or awareness of the

problems faced by the participants, but with little capacity…for uniting a group in joy,”

both my adult collaborators and I prioritized joy, viewing it as a vital element of applied

theatre practice.59

I had originally worried that Ms. S might not see the value in such joy and come

to question the utility of allotting two weeks of class to mere games. However, my

worries proved in vain, with Ms. S later describing the benefits of positive affect as

follows:

They’re are some awfully silly, silly kids. I did notice – this was my social experiment – when they were being silly, I tried a couple of times just to be firm with my face and be like, “Knock it off.” And the times that they were silly, I would notice that they would just give me the eye and check in with me to see what my reaction was, and the times when I could just let myself be vulnerable and be silly with them, I felt a better, different connection. Like “Oh hey Ms. S is

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seeing me in this different light,” and “Hey I’m seeing her as a person cause she’s ignoring us and working on her stuff. But she heard me, she heard me be silly.” So, I thought that was really cool, and that was something that I hadn’t expected.60

Though speaking more to the social capital detailed in future chapters than the self-

efficacy and embodied cultural capital described above, Ms. S’s “experiment” certainly

underscores the value of affect beyond straightforward utilitarian ends. Meanwhile, at

Stuart’s, Robinson Hillis placed similar emphasis on affect, asserting, “So I made it my

mission to teach [the participants] some things about theatre while trying to get them

excited about writing.”61 Affect – by way of the subsequent emotion, excitement – makes

up a key component of Robinson Hillis’s mission statement.

Thompson likewise cautions that an over-emphasis on utility may lead to

“bleaching accounts of the substance and complexities of the work.”62 Though some

complexities are inevitably lost in the translation from workshop to page, I have assumed

an eclectic approach to my parsing of evidence in the hopes that readers may variously

draw meaning from Jo’s song, Onion and Reyna’s three little chickens, Josephina and

Shaq’s disagreement, August’s writer’s block, James’ “gratitude,” and, of course, the

“homosexual zebras.”

Increased self-efficacy was by no means the only, or even the main, consequence

of these affective moments. However, considered alongside the opportunities for mastery

and vicarious experiences as well as verbal persuasion, positive affective states promoted

the possibility of increased self-efficacy at Midwest and Stuart’s. Those applied theatre

facilitators endeavoring to create similar opportunities, or even, pragmatically speaking,

justify their practice in terms of embodied cultural capital and self-efficacy, would

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benefit from further attention to Bandura’s four contributors as well as the potential of

quick and generative applied theatre exercises. For rural young people, so often steeped

in narratives of rural ignorance and backwardness, there is no substitute for broader social

and structural change. However, quick and generative applied theatre practices can

provide moments of asset-based thinking and increased self-efficacy necessary to

supplement existing efforts for constructive change.

1 Though it bears much in common with numerous theatre exercises, this exercise is a variation on one led by Leslie Struan who served as an artist in-residence at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign in April of 2015. Struan is perhaps best known as the founding Head of Movement at the Royal Shakespeare Company.

2 Pierre Bourdieu, “Cultural Reproduction and Social Reproduction” in Knowledge, Education, and Cultural Change, ed. Richard Brown (London: Tavistock, 1973), 71-112.

3 Pierre Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital,” in Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education, ed. John Richardson (New York: Greenwood, 1986): 243.

4 Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital,” 243.

5 For the first use of the term see, Albert Bandura, “Self-Efficacy: Toward a Unifying Theory of Behavioral Change,” Psychological Review 84, no. 2 (1977): 191-215. For the definition provided see, Albert Bandura, Self-Efficacy: The Exercise of Control (New York: W. H. Freeman and Company, 1997), 3.

6 For examples of the former, see Andrea Baldwin, “Life Drama Papua New Guinea: Contextualizing Practice,” Applied Theatre Researcher, no. 11 (2010): 1-13; Lynn Dalrymple, “Has It Made a Difference? Understanding and Measuring the Impact of Applied Theatre with Young People in the South African Context,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 11, no. 2 (2006): 201-218; and Anne Smith, “‘You are Contagious’: The Role of the Facilitator in Fostering Self-Efficacy in Learners,” Scenario 11, no. 2 (2017): 3-14.

7 Suzanne Burgoyne, et al., “Interactive Theatre and Self-Efficacy,” New Directions for Teaching and Learning, no. 111 (2007): 22.

8 Stephani Etheridge Woodson, et al., “Of Models and Mechanism: Towards an Understanding of How Theatre-Making Works as an ‘Intervention’ in Individual Health and Wellness,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 22, no. 4 (2017): 467.

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9 Bandura utilized various terminology over the course of his career, accounting for the differences in applied theatre scholarship. In keeping with Bandura’s seminal text, Self-Efficacy: The Exercise of Control (1997), I have opted to refer to the four sources of self-efficacy as follows: (enactive) mastery experience, vicarious experience, verbal persuasion, physiological and affective states. 10 Bandura, “Self-Efficacy: Toward a Unifying Theory,” 191.

11 Mary Emery and Cornelia Flora. “Spiraling-Up: Mapping Community Transformation with Community Capital Framework,” Journal of the Community Development Society 37, no. 1 (2006): 21.

12 Pierre Bourdieu and Jean-Claude Passeron, Reproduction in Education, Society and Culture, (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1977).

13 Jan Cohen-Cruz, Engaging Performance: Theatre as Call and Response (New York: Routledge, 2010), 50.

14 Stephani Etheridge Woodson, Theatre for Youth Third Space: Performance, Democracy, and Community Cultural Development (Chicago: Intellect, 2015), 56.

15 Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019 with Michelle in attendance. After having completed her interview, Michelle asked if she chould remain in the room as I interviewed Ms. C. Unsure of how this would impact the interview, I opted to let Ms. C decide. Ms. C agreed, and Michelle stayed in the room.

16 Cornelia Butler Flora, Jan L. Flora, and Stephen P. Gasteyer, Rural Communities: Legacy and Change, 5th ed. (New York: Routledge, 2018), 102.

17 Woodson, 182.

18 Woodson, 144.

19 Jonothan Neelands, “Taming the Political: The Struggle Over Recognition in the Politics of Applied Theatre,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 12, no. 3 (2007): 311.

20 Albert Bandura, “Health Promotion by Social Cognitive Means,” Health Education and Behavior 31, no. 2 (2004): 144.

21 Albert Bandura, “Self-Efficacy,” in Encyclopedia of Human Behavior, ed. Vilayanur S. Ramachandran, 1st ed. (New York: Academic Press, 1994), 71.

22 For example, see Albert Bandura, Self-Efficacy: The Exercise of Control; Timothy A. Judge, Amir Erez, and Joyce E. Bono, “The Power of Being Positive: The Relation Between Positive Self-Concept and Job Performance,” Human Performance 11 (1998): 167-87; and Gilad Chen, et al. “Examination of Relationships Among Trait-Like Individual Differences, State-Like Individual Difference, and Learning Performance,” Journal of Applied Psychology 85, no. 6 (2000): 835-47. For a further summary of the debate, see Charles Scherbaum and Yochi Cohen-Charash, “Measuring General Self-Efficacy a Comparison of Three Measures Using Item Response Theory,” Educational and Psychological Measurement 66, no. 6 (2006): 1047-63.

23 Woodson et al., 475.

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24 Woodson et al., 475. 25 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 80. 26 Clark Baim, “The Drama Spiral: A Decision-Making Model for Safe, Ethical, and Flexible Practice when Incorporating Personal Stories in Applied Theatre and Performance,” in Risk, Participation, and Performance Practice, ed. Alice O’Grady (Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 79-80.

27 Julie Salverson, “Transgressive Storytelling or an Aesthetic of Injury: Performance, Pedagogy and Ethics,” Theatre Research in Canada 20, no. 1 (2009): n. pag.

28 James Thompson, Performance Affects: Applied Theatre and the End of Effect, 2nd ed. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). 29 Baim, 89.

30 Baim, 96. Baim details The Drama Spiral as follows: “The Drama Spiral is a decision-making tool intended to help theatre and arts practitioners work safely and ethically along the continuum from the fictional to the highly personal. In the out rings, participants are involved in creative activities as work at the metaphorical and fictional level. As one ‘spirals in’ towards the center, the rings represent stories that are increasingly personal and sensitive for the participants. Each ring of the Spiral includes four important processes: Identify, Explore, Present and Evaluate.”

31 This exercise is a variation on one led by Albany Park Theater Project for the Community-Engaged Devising Training program at The Ohio State University in 2017-2018. 32 Karen Kangas Dwyer and Marlina M. Davidson, “Is Public Speaking Really More Feared Than Death?” Communication Research Reports 29, no. 2 (2012): 99-107.

33 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 330.

34 Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (New York: Anchor Books, 1959), 208.

35 Containing predominantly sophomores, the participants were on average a year or two younger than those in other classes I worked with at Midwest. At roughly two dozen students, the class was also twice the size of the other classes I worked with resulting a different dynamic to the large group exercises. 36 This exercise is a variation on one led by Albany Park Theater Project for the Community-Engaged Devising Training program at The Ohio State University in 2017-2018. 37 This exercise is a variation on one led by Albany Park Theater Project for the Community-Engaged Devising Training program at The Ohio State University in 2017-2018. 38 This exercise is a variation on one led by Quinn Baurdriedel of Pig Iron Theatre Company for the “Something From Nothing,” a physical theatre workshop at The Ohio State University in 2017. I believe the exercise was inspired in part by the work of Forced Entertainment. See for instance Complete Works: Table Top Shakespeare (2016). 39 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 87. 40 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 87. 41 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 87.

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42 For example, see Michael Balfour, "The Politics of Intention: Looking for a Theatre of Little Changes," Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 14, no. 3 (2009): 347-59; Jan Cohen-Cruz, Local Acts: Community-Based Performance in the United States (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005), 105-28; Kathleen Gallagher, Barry Freeman, and Anne Wessells, "'It Could Have Been so Much Better': The Aesthetic and Social Work of Theatre," Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 15, no. 1 (2010): 5-27; and Gareth White ed., Applied Theatre: Aesthetic (New York: Methuen Drama, 2015). 43 Anthony Jackson, Theatre, Education and the Making of Meanings: Art or Instrument? (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 28. 44 This exercise is a variation on one shared by Brandon Koster while we were both graduate students at the University of Illinois Urbana Champaign. 45 Thompson, xi-xiii. 46 Woodson et al., 475. 47 August, James, Jo, and Lu (Stuart’s participants) in discussion with the author, December 13, 2019. The interview was held at Stuart’s Opera House and supervised by Skye Robinson Hillis (Stuart’s facilitator) and Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator). 48 Don Zolidis, Game of Tiaras (New York: Playscripts Inc., 2015). 49 Skye Robinson Hillis (Stuart’s facilitator) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019. 50 Robinson Hillis in discussion. 51 Bandura, “Self-Efficacy,” 72. 52 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 111. 53 Bandura, Self-Efficay, 112. 54 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 112. More specifically, Bandura contends, “[Individuals] are especially prone to rely on their ‘gut reactions’ when faced with judgmental tasks requiring integration of a large amount of information, when they make global rather than specific judgements, when the affect involves diffuse mood states rather than clearly identifiable emotions, when relevant information is not readily recallable, when feelings are so strong as to shut out competing thoughts on the matter, and when judgements must be made quickly.” 55 Bandura, Self-Efficacy, 112-13. 56 Thompson, 130. 57 Thompson, 118. 58 Thompson, 116. 59 Thompson, 118. 60 Ms. S (Midwest teacher) in discussion with the author, October 31, 2019.

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61 Robinson Hillis in discussion. 62 Thompson, 118.

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Chapter Three. Disrupting Space and Shifting Bonding Capital

“He’s my success story,” Scott Rawson interjected with quiet pride half-way

through a virtual interview.1 His partner, Erica Cochrane, had been recalling some of the

changes they observed in participants over the course of Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT). As

Cochrane and Rawson underscore, their training lies in theatre not youth psychology, and

consequently the two experienced a steep learning curve when they began the program in

2016 as part of the Creative Alliance of Baraboo’s youth programing. Yet over the three-

and-a-half years the couple ran TNT, they recognized significant changes: teen members

who ceased self-harming, LGBTQ+ individuals who came out to the ensemble, a young

woman who overcame debilitating social anxiety to help with teacher trainings, and a

young man who changed his bully-like tendencies. Rawson speculates that the real

turning point for this last participant was the removal of his brother, who broke TNT’s

ground rules regarding matters of confidentiality and shared other participants’ stories

with those outside the program. Cochrane and Rawson describe the “success story” and

his brother respectively:

Cochrane: And he has always been typecast as the dumb one. And the other one is the intelligent one. The dumb one who's like the fun, you know, if you will, like a frat boy kind of, you know, breaking the rules, the bad boy, but he's just the dumb guy. And I think by – and his other brother was removed for many reasons, but mostly breach of confidentiality, but he was very toxic. Rawson: Super toxic.

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Cochrane: Emotional, emotionally abusive - Rawson: Emotionally manipulative - Cochrane: To a number of teens in our group and outside of our group. So, when we removed his brother, this boy was actually able to flourish and be supported by a group and not have to live by that, by that label of the dumb jock who couldn't actually think or be a kind person.2

Cochrane and Rawson’s exchange underscores the powerful impact of stereotypes – and

subsequently, I argue, intragroup stigma – on rural youth. Social relations may become

reified making deviation difficult; only by creating a space apart, both physically and

through the implementation of firm ground rules, can young people begin to challenge

and renegotiate existing social relations. While the removal of the brother points to the

limitations of applied theatre, Rawson’s “success story” indicates that applied theatre has

the potential to generate such a space.

The previous chapter underscored the impacts of applied theatre practice on

deficit-based narratives brought about, at least in part, by internalized rural stigma; quick

and generative exercises proved particularly beneficial in promoting self-efficacy. From

this exploration of self-efficacy, which though situated in a broader discussion of cultural

capital had a somewhat more individual focus, I now turn to an exploration of social

relations amongst rural youth, relations which produce not cultural capital but a

complementary form of resources Pierre Bourdieu deemed social capital. Bourdieu

defined social capital as the actual or potential resources that arise as a result of

interpersonal relationships.3 Sociologist Robert Putnam later expounded upon Bourdieu’s

work in the attempt to differentiate between the resources that result from relationships

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among similar and dissimilar individuals.4 Though Putnam’s work has since been called

to account, in no small part due to the variety and variability of identity, his concepts of

bonding and bridging capital prove useful in analyzing the differing social capital that

results from youth-youth relationships as opposed to youth-adult relationships.5 For the

purposes of this study, bonding capital refers to the resources generated through

interactions between rural youth and their peers. Examples of strong relationships, and

subsequent bonding capital, between rural youth and their peers abounded at Midwest

High School, where choruses of “small school, big family” were common. Participants

relied upon one another for life advice, intellectual conversation, and of course,

entertainment. Examples of existing relationships were sparser in the TNT study, which

took place in the larger (though by no means urban) city of Baraboo, Wisconsin and drew

participants from multiple schools. As a comparison, nearby Baraboo High served 932

students over the 2018-2019 academic year – an enrollment roughly ten times that of

Midwest. Yet close bonds still existed with in the theatre community; as Samuel notes, he

joined TNT in 2017 at the recommendation of his friends who were already participating

in the program.

Yet Putnam cautions that bonding capital need not be constructive in nature.

Citing gangs, white supremacy movements, and the powerful elite, Putnam explains that

bonding capital may have antisocial as well as prosocial results. Though arguably less

extreme than in Putnam’s examples, antisocial bonding capital was similarly apparent in

conversations with the rural youth participants. At Midwest, students regularly joined

together in mocking one of their fellow classmates – a student who embraced his role as

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the target of communal jokes…for a time. Likewise, the young man detailed by Cochrane

and Rawson accepted his role as the dumb jock, adopting bullying tendencies until the

removal of his brother and presence of a supportive community allowed him to break out

of the role in which he’d been cast.

Cochrane and Rawson’s example testifies to the heterotopic potential of applied

theatre practice with rural youth. Through the disruption of physical and social space,

applied theatre creates the possibility of what Michel Foucault deemed “heterotopias” –

counter-sites in which existing relations are “simultaneously represented, contested, and

inverted.”6 Foucault’s critics have long denounced the ambiguity of heterotopias, noting

that his definition is so general as to render the term meaningless.7 Yet Peter Johnson, a

cultural theorist specializing in the concept, argues convincingly that “heterotopias are

most productively understood in the context of Foucault’s insistence on ‘making

difference’ and their adoption as a tool of analysis to illuminate the multifaceted features

of cultural and social spaces and to invent new ones.”8 Following Johnson’s call, this

chapter considers how applied theatre practice creates a space apart from the everyday, in

which participants challenge and renegotiate reified social relations in order to shift

bonding capital in more prosocial directions. The creation of heterotopias can be of

particular import in managing intragroup stigma, allowing otherwise withdrawn

participants to engage and challenge the status quo.

Though not himself subject to an abundance of intragroup stigma, the young man

Cochrane and Rawson describe benefited greatly from the creation of a space apart: a

discovery that in turn benefited more stigmatized participants. Finding himself in a

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heterotopia – one in which his own brother was removed for violating the confidentiality

of the space – the young man was able to experiment with other versions of himself,

which helped to develop relationships with the rest of the ensemble and in turn foster

prosocial bonding capital. Being “supported by a group,” the young man also discovered

how to better support others. He came to acknowledge toxic masculinity as exposed in

The Mask that We Live In (a 2015 documentary aimed at changing gender stereotypes

and culture in America) and to contribute to LGBTQ+ friendly spaces after a poor joke

that he made about personal pronouns led the group to seek outside expertise.9

To better understand how applied theatre counteracted the negative impacts of

intragroup stigma and promoted prosocial bonding capital among the rural youth

particpants, I will begin with a further exploration of terms, drawing on examples from

both Midwest and TNT. I then highlight the ways in which applied theatre supports the

creation of heterotopias by disrupting physical and social space. These disruptions

encourage participants to see both the space and one another differently, inspiring some

to speak out against intragroup stigma. In mandatory settings like Midwest, the

heterotopia impacts intragroup stigma in small but meaningful ways, as a few students

attempt to shift the bonding capital of the larger group in positive directions. Yet such

work remains socially risky for the youth involved – particularly given the spatial and

temporal limitations of applied theatre residencies. The heterotopic potential of applied

theatre is more evident in voluntary settings like TNT, where smaller sub-groups join

together to provide support and destigmatize oft-stereotyped attributes. Work in

voluntary settings can then be brought back to the larger group, as seen with TNT. While

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the participants had been meeting weekly in various out-of-school settings, they then

chose to perform in schools – in some cases performing for their own classmates in the

hopes of shifting overarching bonding capital in more prosocial directions, or as

Cochrane explains it: “At that point they really wanted to see some of that social change

happening in the places where they had to go to everyday. And they were ready to be

those change agents.”10

HETEROTOPIAS: DEREIFYING SOCIAL RELATIONS AND TRANSFORMING

BONDING CAPITAL

Putnam first contrasted bonding and bridging capital in the early nineties, though

he credits Ross J. Gittel and Avis C. Vidal with coining the term “bonding capital.”11 In

his most famous and controversial work, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of the

American Community (2000), Putnam defined bonding capital as exclusionary and

inward looking, tending “to reinforce exclusive identities and homogenous groups.”12

The multifaceted nature of identities makes delineating “exclusive identities” and

“homogeneous groups” a nigh impossible task. Given this dissertation’s focus, I discuss

bonding capital amongst the rural youth participants. While this is by no means a

homogenous group, as noted in the introduction and exemplified by the existence of

intragroup stigma, the social capital that results from rural youth interactions bears much

in common with the bonding capital described by Putnam.

Although far more critical of bonding than bridging capital (the latter examined in

the following chapter), Putnam does acknowledge certain benefits to this more insular

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form: “Bonding capital is good for undergirding specific reciprocity and mobilizing

solidarity.”13 Following sociologist Xavier de Souza Briggs, Putnam observes that such

reciprocity and solidarity can be employed in both beneficial and harmful ways,

concluding, “Social capital, in short, can be directed toward malevolent, antisocial

purposes, just like any other form of capital.”14 In utilizing this terminology, I will

attempt to distinguish between prosocial bonding capital, which interrogates and lessens

intragroup stigma, and antisocial bonding capital, which accepts and reinforces said

stigma.

Midwest and TNT were awash with examples of pro- and antisocial bonding

capital, yet breakdowns in social relations among peers occasionally led to an absence of

bonding capital altogether. This absence of bonding capital harkens to the isolation and

withdrawal experienced by Stuart’s participants, as detailed in Chapter One. Michelle

noted that LGBTQ+ teens at her school tended to form friendships apart from their

cisgender, heterosexual peers, and James recalled “freaking out” more homophobic

classmates to avoid further interactions. While the connection to intragroup stigma is less

clear at Midwest, a few LGBTQ+ students often joined together with a small group of

clear allies rather than interact with their other classmates. General breakdowns in social

relations were more evident, with the same few people always left over after everyone

else had formed groups.15 A wrap-up response survey indirectly reveals another of these

breakdowns. In response to a question about the impact of the residency, one Midwest

student wrote, “I learned more about what can be perceived as theatre, how to connect

with other students, and how to write a decent play.” Learning to connect implies a

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previous lack of connection, in keeping with Ms. S’s assertion that that Midwest is a

family, “A big dysfunctional family where we love each other at the same time we love

to hate each other.”16 Sometimes even in (or especially in) families, connecting can be

difficult.

While the former TNT participants I interviewed were more inclined to highlight

connections with fellow participants than dwell on disconnections with others, Cochrane

and Rawson underscore a sense of isolation felt by some teens prior to joining TNT.

When asked about their hopes for the participants going forward, Rawson responded,

“[T]he biggest thing that we tried to teach everybody is that no matter what you're going

through, no matter what you're feeling, you're never alone, that somebody else is feeling

it. And that while secrets have lots of power – so if you're cutting, and you don't feel like

you can tell anybody – the only thing that has more power than those secrets are

words.”17 Feelings of loneliness and a preponderance of secrecy underscore a breakdown

in social relations and an absence of bonding capital, though the role of intragroup stigma

remains difficult to ascertain. Intragroup stigma may be isolating and lead to self-harm, at

the same time self-harm carries its own stigma making it difficult to discuss with others –

creating a vicious cycle of isolation and stigma.

Former TNT participants are not alone in this predicament. Having worked with

urban and suburban youth in other theatre programs, I am far too familiar with stories of

self-harm, many of which contain elements of intragroup stigma and breakdowns in

social relations among peers. Yet the reification of rural social relations, I contend, makes

deviating from them – whether to create new bonding capital or shift existing bonding

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capital in prosocial directions – more difficult. The term reification stems from Marx’s

concepts of Verdinglichung and Versachlichung, which translate to “making into a thing”

or “object” respectively, and was popularized by philosopher Georg Lukács in his 1923

essay “Reification and the Consciousness of the Proletariat.”18 Though the concept of

reification continues to cause debate among contemporary Marxist scholars, a definition

by Gajo Petrović published in A Dictionary of Marxist Thought provides insight into the

nature of some relationships among rural youth. Reification is “the act (or result of the

act) of transforming human properties, relations and actions into properties, relations and

actions of man-produced things which have become independent (and which are

imagined as originally independent) of man and govern his life.”19 When continued close

interactions lead to reified relations, participants may come to believe such relations are a

given and see little room for renegotiation.

The reification of social relations at Midwest could be seen in communal

storytelling patterns. Participants regularly completed others autobiographical stories, as

was particularly apparent during an introductory exercise with Ms. S’s second hour class.

To get to know the participants and encourage effective storytelling, I invited participants

to share their life story in two-minute, one-minute, and 30-second increments.20 After

having been nominated as the most talkative of the group, BM (an unfortunate

abbreviation that as he explained stands for Big Mexican) began his two-minute story

with a rush of facts interspersed with the odd teaser – engaging, enigmatic lines like,

“Almost killed my mom when I was born. She blames me. I blame her.” As is common

with this lengthier iteration, BM’s list began to taper after only a minute, prompting one

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of his friends to helpfully offer, “There’s butt on your face.” This delightful description

of a skin graft prompted BM to seek additional help. Together BM, his friends, even Ms.

S, wrapped up the two minutes with various stories from BM’s life.

This sort of communal storytelling highlights what many love about rural living –

what Ms. S describes as a sense of “home” and “belonging” that comes with recognition

– but also carries certain drawbacks.21 As one participant noted it their wrap-up survey,

“[I]n rural areas, it’s both a blessing and a curse that everyone knows each other.” This

duality is certainly present in regard to privacy concerns. Ms. S noted the difficulty of

navigating friendships, young relationships, and even simply attending a high school

dances all under the watchful eye of the local community: “They’re constantly being

watched. They’re like these fish teenagers in a fishbowl.”22 In addition to these more

immediate concerns, limited privacy has long-term impacts, as detailed by Howard

Cassidy and Vivienne Watts in their 2005 exploration of applied theatre with rural youth

in Australia. Following a 2001 rural studies report, also out of Australia, Cassidy and

Watts observe that poor reputations, brought about by lack of privacy, may inspire rural

youth to leave their communities and never return.23 Reputations become reified, as do

the social relations of the reputed individual, making the potential for change within a

given community appear less attainable.

Another example of reification can be seen in the character Noah from TNT’s

second original production Hurt People (2018). Though written by Rawson, the fictional

character bears some resemblance to the young man described at the start of this chapter

and was created with input from TNT participants. Whereas Hurt People sees Matt – the

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male antagonist of the previous play Cutter (2015) – devolve into increasingly violent

and harmful behavior, his friend Noah wants to move beyond such antisocial behavior

but struggles to sever the relationship. He exclaims, “I’m tired man. I’m tired of this

school and all the bullshit that goes along with being here. I’m tired of watching my so-

called friend be a dick. I’m tired of not really ever knowing if I’m going to have to fight

someone or not.”24 In a bit of theatre magic, Matt’s erratic behaviors become so blatant

that he gets himself expelled from school – the exceptional circumstances allowing for a

shift in otherwise reified social relations – and Noah finds himself in a better place

academically and behaviorally (though the play, to its credit, ends more plausibly with

Noah merely thinking about joining the track team: “I, you know, didn’t, but I did think

about it.”)25 Without such exceptional circumstances, the dereification of social relations

can be difficult, prompting the need for applied theatre and the heterotopic spaces it can

provide.

In contrast to utopias that exist only in the imagination, Foucault offers

heterotopias as tangible counter-sites, which both reflect and challenge the everyday. In

listing the six principles of heterotopias – universality, functionality, multiplicity,

heterochrony, semi-permeability, and interfunctionality – Foucault cites theatre as a key

example of the third, multiplicity, noting the ability to juxtapose many spaces upon a

single stage.26 Yet the heterotopias to which I refer more closely align with that of

Kathleen Gallagher, one of the first to note the heterotopic potential of drama

classrooms.27 In Why Theatre Matters (2014), Gallagher draws on her research team’s

observations of an urban drama classes as well as interviews with students and the

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instructor to conclude that in-school drama creates a space that is “both a representation

of the real but also a contestation of it.”28 She later expounds, “Students in many drama

classrooms strongly feel the call to engage in a potentially transformative critique of what

they experience as their everyday lives. That such a possibility exists, in schools, is

already a victory. Having the impulse to disturb the usual relations of power in

classrooms and create something as yet unimaginable is no small feat.”29 Drama

classrooms are tangible, in that they take up physical space and allow for human

interactions; they reflect the everyday both in the stories that are staged and the social

performances of the students; yet they may also challenge the everyday by creating space

for alternative stories, social relations, and power dynamics.

In challenging the everyday, heterotopias become what social geographer, Kevin

Hetherington deems “site[s] of alternate social ordering.”30 In what geographer Arun

Saldanha lauds as “the most inspiring use of Foucault's heterotopology” and even his

critic Johnson calls a broadly influential interpretation,31 Hetherington elucidates:

Heterotopia are not quite spaces of transition – the chasm they represent can never be closed up – but they are spaces of deferral, spaces where ideas and practices that represent the good life can come into being, from nowhere, even if they never actually achieve what they set out to achieve – social order, or control and freedom. Heterotopia, therefore, reveal the process of social ordering to be just that, a process rather than a thing.32

TNT’s temporary workshop and rehearsal spaces along with Midwest’s English-

classroom-turned-applied-theatre-space were in many ways more transitory than the

drama classrooms analyzed in Gallagher’s studies. Yet this transiency proves beneficial

if, as Hetherington argues, the temporary nature of the physical space creates the

possibility for alternate social orderings – not better or worse, but different orderings

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which may disrupt reified social relations and highlight opportunities for creating and

shifting bonding capital in prosocial directions.

In 2016, folklorists Linda Wilkes and Bernadette Quinn linked concepts of social

capital, cultural capital, and heterotopias in their study of folk music festivals. The

scholars first draw on Foucault’s six principles to establish the heterotopic nature of the

festivals and then analyze how this heterotopic quality impacts the cultural and social

capital of those who attend the festival and live nearby.33 Their analysis of resultant

bridging and bonding capital bears marked similarities to that which arises through

applied theatre practice:

The data suggest that in its heterotopic state, the potential of this “other” place comes to be seen afresh by a range of festival actors, both local residents and outsiders, and to be exploited in ways that bring a place closer to what might be considered its ideal state. In that brief moment, as the intensification of social relations engendered by the festival goes into over-drive, the accumulative transformation of festival spaces creates a different yet similar, new yet traditional, festival place that temporarily dislodges the ordinary place and it becomes a heterotopia. This sets the scene for bonding social capital to be intensified and gives the potential for bridging social capital, albeit of a very temporary type.34

Wilkes and Quinn contend that this integrated conceptual framework – which they

expand to include cultural capital (explored in the previous chapter) – may provide a

useful lens for others. Indeed, the framework highlights the benefits of evoking

heterotopias and bonding capital in matters of applied theatre with rural young people.

Though employing different terminology, scholars-practitioners often emphasize

the communal aspects of applied theatre practice and ensuing bonding capital. Programs

emphasize community and ensemble building as a means of encouraging healthy risk

taking and more robust practices as well as promoting solidarity, support, and trust – all

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components of bonding capital.35 I adopted similar aims at Midwest, perhaps most

evident in our short closing ritual. At the end of most classes, I would invite, coax, and

cajole participants to stand silently in a circle and breathe deeply while making eye

contact with their fellow classmates. “This is your chance,” I would remind them, “to

appreciate one another for the stories we have shared, the support we have offered, and

the work we have done.” Although at times uncomfortable for the participants – as seen

through fidgets, whispers, and sideward glances – this exercise made manifest the support

and care students exhibited towards one another over the course of the residency. TNT

also shared this communal focus; as Isaac recalled, “But the people in TNT worked so

hard to cultivate an empathetic atmosphere where we can be vulnerable with each other

and support each other.”36

Foucault’s concept of heterotopia has already yielded fruitful insight within the

field of theatre more broadly. Most notably, Joanne Tompkins’ Theatre’s Heterotopias:

Performance and the Cultural Politics of Space (2014) proposes a new methodology for

considering space in theatrical performances. Moving beyond Foucault’s early assertion

that most if not all theatrical performances constitute heterotopias – due to the

juxtaposition of multiple spaces and times in the singularity of the stage, what I refer to

above as heterotopic principles of multiplicity and heterochrony – Tompkins asserts that

a heterotopic performance “rehearses the possibilities of something else, something

beyond that which the theatrical art form generates.”37 Although Tompkins focuses more

on conventional theatre practices in which the audience participates by receiving and

interpreting the performances, her claim within the context of applied theatre practice

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recalls Augusto Boal’s “rehearsal for the revolution.”38 In his foundational text Theatre of

the Oppressed (1979), Boal contends that theatre that invites spectators to take part in and

alter the dramatic action, though not revolutionary in and of itself, serves as a rehearsal

for the revolution.

An element of this rehearsal was indeed present in the work of TNT, as Samuel

explained, “One of the things we did was we’d be given situations like, ‘You see

someone dealing with the abusive, significant other, how do you – what do you do?’ And

then we just had a few minutes to coordinate and then we went and did a bit on that, a

couple minutes of acting.”39 This work served both to generate material, which Rawson

then used as inspiration when writing Hurt People, and to prepare participants to practice

bystander intervention in their own lives; the impact of which Rawson elucidated as

follows: “But these kids that we got to work with, they took this message that we created

back to school with them. And they were able to help each other get through school and

to help other kids and to see what's happening and to work on bystander intervention and

the skills that we brought them.”40

Boal contrasts this work to “truly revolutionary” theatre in which “the people”

control the means of production and employ the artform to their own benefit.41 While this

distinction remains meaningful, particularly in light of concerns about the manipulation

of participants and other more potentially colonial aspects of applied theatre practice,

focusing on applied theatre exercises as a rehearsal for future action risks overlooking

more immediate change.42 Applied theatre is not revolutionary in that it neither creates

dramatic change nor the type of political revolution Boal sought in his native Brazil.

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However, if “little changes” carry significance, as argued by applied theatre scholar

Michael Balfour, and if theatre creates space for alternate social orderings, as I argue

here, then applied theatre with rural youth is more than a rehearsal for future action.43

Applied theatre scholar-practitioners Stephani Etheridge Woodson, Janinka

Greenwood, and Sarah Woodland all invoke post-colonial theorist Homi Bhabha’s

concept of “third space” as means of underscoring the possibilities that arise when

facilitators and participants join together in theatrical creation.44 Though Bhabha’s third

space bears much in common with Foucault’s heterotopias – indeed Edward Soja drew

heavily on both in his own formulation of “thirdspace” – Woodson, Greenwood, and

Woodland’s conceptions of third space all differ slightly from the notion of heterotopia

used in this chapter.45 Woodson emphasizes the importance of product in outlining

practices she deems “Theatre for Youth Third Space,” which ultimately became a

secondary focus in both the Midwest and TNT case studies. Meanwhile, Greenwood and

Woodland highlight the third space created when two cultures meet, whether they be

those of the diverse participants or those of the participants and facilitator. Though by no

means homogenized, many of the participants at Midwest have grown up together and

therefore share similar cultural backgrounds, making the more post-colonial aspects of

Greenwood and Woodland’s analysis less applicable. Latter chapters will explore

relationships between participants and facilitators; here I argue that the relationships

among participants in process-based applied theatre practice deserves further attention.

Viewing applied theatre spaces as heterotopias allows for a consideration of not

only the degree of bonding capital – the solidarity, support, and trust fostered through

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applied theatre practice – but also the shifting nature of bonding capital, from its more

malevolent, antisocial uses to its more prosocial uses that benefit others. The following

section examines which spatial practices encouraged the creation of heterotopias both at

Midwest and among TNT participants, as well as examples of how participants took

advantage of these spaces of alternate social ordering to dereify social relations and

combat intragroup stigma.

FACILITATING HETEROTOPIAS

Applied theatre often necessitates altering physical and social space and as such is

well-suited to the creation of heterotopias. Though the terms “physical” and “social

space” bear some commonalities with Henri Lefebvre’s “perceived” and “lived space,”

they may be better understood in, what I contend is, the more intuitive sense, namely:

physical space details relations to material objects and social space refers to interpersonal

relations. At Midwest, disrupting the physical space of the classroom – first for pragmatic

reasons and then to better support participants as they explored the potentiality of the

room – encouraged students to relate differently to one another and address issues of

intragroup stigma, leading to a more heterotopic space and increased prosocial bonding

capital. TNT created a similarly heterotopic social space through the implementation of

mutually agreed upon ground rules. Because this space was less tied to a physical

location, participants were able to, at least in part, transfer the resultant heterotopia from

where it originated to where it was needed most: inside local schools.

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Both the disruption of physical space and implementation of ground rules are

common in applied theatre practice, yet the broader consequences of these actions often

go overlooked. Facilitators push desks to edges of the classroom to create physical space

for theatre practices. Some of the practices are designed with ensemble building in mind

– circle games that require listening or tableaux exercises that entail collaborative

creation for instance – and subsequently aim towards growing bonding capital, but few

take into account the possibility of shifting bonding capital in more prosocial directions.

Likewise, many facilitators solicit mutually agreed upon ground rules in an effort to

create “safe” spaces – seeking to foster prosocial bonding capital within the rehearsal or

workshop space but not always giving thought to how that prosocial bonding capital may

impact participants beyond the spatial and temporal limitations of applied theatre

practice.

I outline the oft-overlooked consequences of applied theatre practice on prosocial

bonding capital as seen at both Midwest and TNT to encourage more intentional

facilitation practices that support the heterotopic nature of applied theatre and help those

already dedicated to applied theatre with rural youth better advocate for the wide-ranging

impacts of such work.

Disrupting Physical Space at Midwest

The wrap-up survey at Midwest High School asked students to describe a moment

from the residency that would stay with them. Amidst multiple mentions of

improvisation, favorite exercises, and more vague memories of laughing with fellow

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classmates, one response stands out both for its specificity and reasoning: “When we built

the ice shanty…It sticks out because we could build a shanty out of a stack of tables.”

They could, and they did.

What began as an attempt to create space for exercises and ensure active

engagement (no “hiding” behind desks) quickly called attention to the creative potential

of the physical classroom space. When I arrived to introduce the residency, one week

before the actual start date, I noted with delight both the size of the classroom space and

flexibility of the seating arrangement. Students sat in rows, two-to-a-table with roughly

four tables to a row and three rows total. The arrangement worked well for focusing

students’ attention to the front of the classroom as well as limiting distractions during

individual work time; it did not however lend itself to circle exercises or large group

discussions, both common characteristics of applied theatre practice. I requested and was

quickly granted permission to move the desks and chairs, although Ms. S asked that the

desks and chairs be returned to their original position for Test Prep – her only class not

taking part in the residency. I readily agreed and so began the routine of pushing tables to

the edges of the room – occasionally stacking one upside down on top of another to

“save” space – and creating chair circles of various sizes in the center of the classroom

only to undo it all midday. Sometimes students helped; other times Ms. S and I took

advantage of the rest period, homeroom, and after school time to move the tables

ourselves. Needless to say, every time students entered the room it looked slightly

different, a far cry from the more-or-less static and orderly nature of traditional classroom

spaces.

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At first some students resisted this change, perhaps most notably in first hour

where students came in and sat on tables and spare chairs tucked along the wall –

everywhere but the circle of chairs set up in the center of the room. Ms. S too had

encountered student resistance when she previously experimented with other less

traditional seating patterns. However, as we continued, pragmatically moving desks and

chairs about the room to make space for theatre exercises, students began to transform

material objects throughout the space in increasingly theatrical ways. Chairs and tables

became sofas, cars, court rooms, hunting stands, and volcanos. Participants praised one

another’s creativity in post-exercise reflections, a sentiment I echoed, celebrating their

reimagining of physical space.

All four classes altered the physical space in creative ways, but perhaps none

more so than BM and his two friends in second hour. After I observed that many of their

stories seemed to revolve around ice fishing and suggested they focus their final

performance on how (not) to ice fish, the participants quickly began creating a set (Figure

3.1). Four tables stacked on top of one another formed the walls of the shanty, with two

more tables situated perpendicularly and upside down to create the roof. Though Ms. S

and I insisted no one stand on the “roof,” we both tested the structure and determined it

would not fall on anyone’s head anytime soon. The participants who devised the structure

continued to experiment in creative ways. In the second of three scenes, the participants

transformed the top two tables from a roof to a frozen surface, sliding the tables apart to

drop a Koosh-ball-turned-unfortunate-ice fisher into the depths below. In the final scene,

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a few chairs converted the shanty into a truck and a quick bit of improvisation turned the

Koosh ball into frozen soda cans, which exploded out of the back of the vehicle.

Figure 3.1: Scenic Design by BM and Others – Ice Shanty, Frozen Lake, Truck

Ms. S also recalled the ice shanty when a question about her expectations for the

residency turned into reflections on what had occurred:

Ms. S: And even the more sluggish students participated and opened up, and I didn’t expect to see a side of the students that I have never seen before, but I did; I saw that side, and I thought it was excellent. Neumann: Because you know those students so well; we were talking about that earlier today.

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Ms. S: Yeah. I mean, I don’t know, second hour? They were excited about the ice shanty. And there was a kid that was like, “Oh this has to be in your paper,” so he called his mom, and she came to sign the paperwork. That was so cool.46

BM had been an active participant all week: participating in a theatrical variation of Two

Truths and a Lie when choir rehearsal left only three students in class; attempting the

two-minute introduction noted above; writing and acting in short skits; and, when

strongly coaxed by both myself and his fellow classmates, partaking in the occasional

improvisation game. While his participation was fairly consistent, his enthusiasm was

less so – smiles were rare, blank stares were common. Perhaps this is why BM came to

mind when Ms. S was searching for examples of her more “sluggish” students

participating in ways she had never seen before.

The disruption of physical space within a highly regulated school environment not

only increased participant engagement in the practice itself, but also influenced the way

in which participants interacted with one another. One of the students in Gallagher’s

study noted the similar deregulation in her drama classroom:

Lydia (White, Eastern European, female, second-generation Canadian, grade twelve student at Middleview): Well, I think, uh, I don’t know, I think you get a chance to talk to people you normally wouldn’t talk to [in the drama classroom], and I also think it’s a more open environment, like, there are no chairs and desks and they’re not like the chairs upstairs, where they’re, like, joined to the desk and you can’t move around or turn to the side. Here you can sit on the ground, you can lie down…I don’t know, you can sit however you want; you can talk to whom you want to; you can move around. and that’s definitely, uh … it changes the way you relate to people.47

Gallagher focuses on more overt exercises of power at urban schools and as such uses

Lydia’s testimony as way into discussions of security, surveillance, and scanning. Yet the

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statement also underscores the impact of physical space on student interactions and

relationships.

The disruption of physical space at Midwest made possible a similar disruption of

social space, creating the “alternate social ordering” of Hetherington’s heterotopias. Ms.

S noted the connection between physical and social space indirectly when assessing one

of the impacts of the residency. “I know for sure they’re going to want to play workshop

games. Thank you for that. And what you taught me is it’s okay to move the tables and

let them be silly one or two times a week.”48 While moving the tables could be taken as a

practical consideration, on the last day of the residency, Ms. S had arranged the tables in

a horseshoe or U-shape. When Ms. S solicited opinions on the new seating arrangement,

the students spoke out in favor of the horseshoe shape – a marked change, Ms. S

contended, from her previous attempts to alter the seating chart. Both Ms. S’s decision to

move the tables and the students’ subsequent support suggest a greater appreciation for

the social benefits of disrupting physical space.

Recollecting the calls of Balfour, Nicholson, and Gallagher for a theatre of little

changes, small achievements, and brief moments, the silliness Ms. S describes warrants

celebration.49 When asked what moment from the residency stood out and why, one

student responded, “The class having fun together and enjoying time with each other,”

and another asserted, “All the comedy my classmates have shown through their acting,

these memories last a lifetime.” These moments stood out to students, indicating a

difference from their everyday experience. Having fun together, enjoying time with each

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other, and connecting to one another, all contribute to strong relationships among

participants in turn yielding bonding capital.

Occasionally, this bonding capital assumed an antisocial quality. Responding to

the same survey question, one student wrote, “I got to yell at [NAME] a lot, and it’s the

only time I can.” As evidenced by this response, disrupting physical space and allowing

for alternate social orderings risks promoting antisocial as well as prosocial behavior.

Students bonded, finding solidarity in their frustration with this particular student, yet no

one appeared to benefit from the arrangement, with the student in question becoming

more difficult as his fellow students ridiculed him.

Although I did my best to mediate this dynamic by both condemning antisocial

behavior and facilitating constructive collaboration, the mandatory nature of the

residency limited my ability to enforce meaningful consequences. Many of the students

leading the antisocial behavior would have seen being removed from the residency as a

reward; while at times I contemplated removal for the sake of the other participants, I

ultimately forewent this option in favor of having participants work through antisocial

tendencies under purview of Ms. S and myself. In light of this survey response above,

however, I question whether this choice implied a certain degree of approval for these

antisocial behaviors. A number of applied theatre scholars have noted the impact of

participants being removed by funding or host institutions – at Midwest, Ms. S did

remove a student for a class period due to distracting behavior – but the question of

whether or not to remove participants, particularly in mandatory settings, would benefit

from further study.50

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While disrupting physical space can lead to antisocial outcomes, participants at

Midwest mostly embraced the disruption in prosocial ways, utilizing applied theatre as a

means to dereify social relations and challenge intergroup stigma. Two clear examples of

this occurred in Ms. S’s eighth- and ninth-hour class where participants bonded over

LGBTQ+ experiences. Tasked with creating a final performance that communicated a

message they felt was important to an audience of their choosing, the participants quickly

set about creating stories of “fake friends,” the struggles of high school, and generational

divides. A thoughtful and welcoming sophomore, Rose, and her group focused on the

power of positive thinking, and the delightful and upbeat Uraka ended up joining a group

that inadvertently espoused pessimistic nihilism. All included wonderfully creative

moments, and as we worked on the performances – with participants reflecting on areas

for improvement and my providing artistic feedback – the messages became far clearer

and the performances more focused. Yet amid this wash of quotidian interactions and

abstract concepts, I admittedly found myself surprised by and drawn to the social justice

work of one particular group: a short performance critiquing the misgendering of

transgender individuals.

The two participants who worked on the original script drew quotes from a news

story to strengthen the arguments of a transgender customer as well as a boss who

soundly chastises his employee for misgendering the customer. The incorporation of

sources and inclusion of more overtly political messaging marked an impressive leap

from the personal stories we had focused on previously (a leap likely aided by regular

current events assignments from Ms. S). The following day, I paired the two participants

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with another small group – careful to choose other participants who would treat the

material respectfully. Those three participants embraced the material, taking on the three

leading roles. Onion, playing a transgender male, showed no qualms about the role, and

despite a tendency to take a slightly unnatural shape when acting – both in this and other

parts Onion lifted her arms away from her body creating a partition like shape – she

played the role with great respect, forgoing caricatures in favor of theatrical realism.51

Overall, the performance exemplified allyship, with students advocating for

transgender rights. While the work addressed the consequences of transgender stigma in a

business setting amongst older individuals, the performance also spoke to intragroup

stigma. In choosing pseudonyms for this study, I asked participants to write down their

pronouns. A couple of participants specified pronouns that were different from their sex

assigned at birth. While one of these participants explained that he was not transgender

but merely attempting to further conceal his identity, others were transitioning or

questioning their assigned sex. At the same time, still other participants had no idea what

I was asking for – unsure why I would request participants to specify their pronouns.52

This lack of awareness, in conjunction with the existence of transgender students at

Midwest, suggests at least a partial culture of silence brought about by intragroup stigma.

Early in the residency a participant tested that culture of silence in a story circle,

when she touched on LGBTQ+ subject matter. Though I cannot speak to potential

consequences outside the classroom, the participants received the story well in class. The

participants nodded along and refrained from the shout-outs that often accompanied

stories in favor of respectful silence: a first heterotopic moment. By pushing the tables to

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the edges of the classroom and facing one another in a circle, we created space for direct

communication and connection. This in turn allowed participants to not only reflect on

life as it is or was – the prompt was “When I was young in [BLANK], I [BLANK]” – but

to take active steps towards creating life as it might be: in this instance breaking the

culture of silence and weakening intragroup stigma related to LGBTQ+ identities.53

In a final performance that advocated for transgender rights, the group built upon

this early heterotopic moment: again showing life as it was, through verbatim text, as

well as actively seeking life as it could be. The final performance dereified social

relations, broke the culture of silence, and fostered prosocial bonding capital in the

process. Despite one early off-handed comment minimizing the transgender experience,

the majority of the class responded positively to the performance and demonstrated

solidarity with their transgender schoolmates, knowingly or unknowingly. The culture of

silence made it difficult to ascertain who was transitioning openly and who was not, but

Ms. S suggested in passing that the performance itself was likely a show of support for

one of the more openly transgender students.

I refer to these as heterotopic moments rather than evidence of a heterotopia due

to their partial and temporary nature. These moments occurred sporadically over the

course of two weeks, and only certain students embraced applied theatre as a means of

addressing intragroup stigma and developing prosocial bonding capital. A smaller

contingent of students actively sought the opposite, taking advantage of the alternate

social ordering to enact antisocial behaviors, often leading to antisocial bonding capital.

And others still, either due to a lack of interest or fear of social risk, continued to act in

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ways that support pre-existing social orders. While Ms. S expressed optimism regarding

possible long-term impacts of applied theatre practice, the short length and mandatory

nature of the residency certainly limited the heterotopic potential of the practice.

Defining Social Space at Teens ‘n’ Theatre

In contrast to the participants at Midwest High School, participants volunteered

for Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) with some staying the full three years. Though the ensemble

did eventually perform in various school settings, workshops and rehearsals took place

outside of the school grounds; consequently, there was less need to disrupt physical space

in the early stages of the program. The facilitators, however, placed a high priority on

fostering a supportive, creative environment, which I contend allowed for the creation of

not only fixed-heterotopias – bound by the physical confines of the workshop and

rehearsal spaces – but also what I deem moveable-heterotopias: heterotopias delimited

only by social interactions and therefore transferable to various physical spaces.

Participants, in large enough numbers, carried the heterotopia of the workshop and

rehearsal space with them into in-school settings, both through performance and more

quotidian interactions.

This heterotopia in turn served to address matters of intragroup stigma and

promote prosocial bonding capital. TNT originated with the intention “to help open up

healing conversations about real issues teens are facing today through theatrical

productions of originally written works teens perform for other teens.”54 From LGBTQ+

bullying to anxiety and depression to parental divorce, many of these issues were

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exacerbated by intragroup stigma in the participants’ daily lives, leading the facilitators to

emphasize the importance of questioning normative expectations. As Cochrane

elucidated:

I think when it comes to how our teens, the teens that we worked with, are different, I think the biggest thing that this work helped them to realize is that they don't have to fit into some mold, that they don't have to accept the norms. Because we specifically watched things, and challenged them, about how important it is to challenge the norms. So whatever those norms are, if they're gender norms, if they're norms about allowing people to say, have microaggressions in the hallway, or what have you, that they felt like they didn't need to just be accepted into some mold or normality.55

In lieu of normative expectations, TNT facilitators and participants crafted their own

ground rules focused on positivity, inclusivity, integrity, confidentiality, respect for each

other, respect for the project, a culture of creativity and care, as well as a good deal of

humor (see Appendix D for an early iteration of TNT’s Ground Rules).

Well-known practitioners from Balfour to Rohd acknowledge the potential

benefits of establishing ground rules or guidelines, but rarely do ground rules receive in-

depth scholarly attention.56 Although Gallagher observes the impact of rules in one drama

classroom, her conclusions point more to the absence of specific or strict regulations than

to the consequences of the existing rules.57 Yet ground rules have the potential to define

the social space of practice and as such warrant greater consideration.

TNT’s ground rules are notable for the way they define TNT as a space apart, an

entity unto itself in which inclusivity and respect are embraced. Ground rules pertaining

to confidentiality, such as “Personal stuff that comes up stays here,” “What happens in

TNT stays in TNT,” and “No gossiping,” as well as a rule specifically forbidding parents

at workshops and rehearsals identified TNT as space unto itself – a “here” dictated more

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by social relations than by physical time and space. With no permanent workshop and

rehearsal space, TNT met at various locations throughout the Baraboo-area, most often

on Sunday afternoons though with greater frequency as performances neared.58

This social space had the semi-permeable boundaries characteristic of

heterotopias, both in terms of membership and personal information or “stuff.” Brayden

chose to leave the program after a year so that he could more fully engage with high

school academics and extracurriculars. Samuel and Isaac joined around that same time,

invited by the ensemble members and facilitators. Personal information also flowed in,

for the most part voluntarily though at times mandatorily divulged; youth psychologist

Jocelyn Miller recommended that all romantic relationships between participants be

disclosed to the group, a ground rule Cochrane and Rawson chose to implement much to

the participants’ chagrin. While much of the personal information shared with the group

remained confidential, some personal information did flow out through theatrical

methods: true stories made their way into fictional scripts and curated personal anecdotes

were shared during talkbacks and inclusivity trainings. According to Cochrane and

Rawson, participants by-and-large respected the ground rules pertaining to confidentiality

and in doing so reinforced these semi-permeable boundaries. However, as noted in the

introduction to this chapter, one participant did begin sharing others’ personal

information outside of TNT, leading the facilitators to ultimately remove him from the

program. As Balfour underscores, establishing ground rules is insufficient; rules must be

enforced to ensure their continued value to the participants.59

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In addition to creating a space apart, many of the rules centered on matters of

inclusivity and respect, which in turn contributed to the dereification of social

relationships and creation of an alternate social ordering, as illustrated by Isaac’s earliest

memory of the group:

[The first day] I came in; I was really nervous because they all knew each other, and I was like, "Oh boy." We hadn't found our space yet. So we were in the AL. Ringling Mansion which is like this big, cold room, and it was great for like walking around doing theatre games, and we all kind of sit on the floor and eat dinner together, whatever… With me coming out as trans, I hadn't told a lot of people before. I was legitimately like, "Oh, boy, I might as well. These new people they have to know."

And then one of the members was like, "I'm not – my family's not okay with that stuff. And I don't come from a background that's okay with that stuff. But I'm going to try and understand you anyway. And I'm going to try and support you." And it was that thing that really meant a lot to me because...I hope most people grow up in atmospheres where they're like, "Oh, you know, it's okay for that." Or even if they don't grow up with specifically being LGBTQ acceptance oriented, they learn to be accepting of other people. But this person was like, "This doesn't come naturally to me, but I'm going to try, because that's what TNT does." They always try so hard, and I love that.60

Noting that TNT had yet to find their physical space, Isaac juxtaposes the sparse, cold

AL. Ringling Mansion with the supportive and metaphorically warm welcome he

received from the group. Here the reification of social relations arises at a familial level,

with the other participant acknowledging their family’s aversion to “that stuff.” Yet

rather than cede to reified positions of cisnormativity, the participant acknowledges that

these positions are not unalterable fact but rather the result of their upbringing and

consequently subject to change.

Ground rules calling for inclusivity and respect highlight the heterotopic potential

of the space. Rules such as “no discrimination” and “acceptance of and be supportive of

everyone,” suggest that far from reified relations or familial givens, no discrimination and

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acceptance are viable choices. In requiring inclusivity and respect for others, the ground

rules shape an alternate social ordering, which allows for dereified social relations and

inspires participants to utilize applied theatre a means for social change within their own

communities.

As Cochrane and Rawson recall, they originally planned to avoid local

performances so as to better respect TNT’s existence as a space apart. Yet, as the

following exchange reveals, the social nature of TNT’s space made a physical shift not

only possible but desirable:

Rawson: [L]et me just start by, "Holy shit were we wrong." So, we work in Baraboo, have all these kids from Baraboo. So, we sat down, we did this whole thing, and initially – and what we told them – and correct me if I'm wrong – what we told them is, "We're going to perform this anywhere but Baraboo. We want you to feel safe. We want you to feel like, you can do this and not be criticized and not be bullied, not have to work on these things and get – anywhere but Baraboo. So, I don't want you to worry about that."

And overwhelmingly everybody went, "That's bullshit." Cochrane: "Why aren't we performing in Baraboo?" Rawson: “Obviously, we're going to perform it in Baraboo first.” We're doing our best to create this safe space, so they can, you know, be themselves and not, you know, be disassociated from their school.

And they're like, "Uh-uh, nope, nope, that's a first place we want to perform." So, it was really their choice to go to their own school and do that.

Cochrane: And I think that is testament to – that they had created not only a safe space where we worked, but they had also created a safe space for each other in the school. And so, they felt empowered enough to be those weirdos up there, you know, poking the bears. Because they wanted to, because at that point they really wanted to see some of that social change happening in the places where they had to go to everyday. And they were ready to be those change agents. Rawson: Yeah, they wanted to change that paradigm. They wanted to shift it. And they wanted to do it in their own backyard.61

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Both facilitators invoke the concept of “safe space,” which though still common in much

applied theatre practice has lately received scholarly criticism for overly simplistic

notions of safety as well as the potential to silence minority critique.62 Yet in this

instance, Cochrane and Rawson appear to call upon the less problematic aspect of the

term. The space is neither “safe” from physical danger nor from discomfort but rather

“safe” from discriminatory practices and “safe” for creative risk-taking. In this sense, the

space described by Cochrane and Rawson bears much in common with heterotopias.

Anti-discriminatory practices provide an alternate spatial ordering, while creative risk-

taking allows participants to support one another in changing the “paradigm.”

Cochrane observes that two “safe spaces” existed: one within the confines of the

TNT rehearsal and workshop spaces and the other at Baraboo High School, where the

majority of participants attended classes. Yet the latter in many ways developed out of

the former, as the alternate social ordering that arose in out-of-school settings then shifted

to Baraboo High School. In transferring the heterotopic qualities of the social space of

TNT to other, more familiar places, participants continued to support one another. Rather

than challenge intragroup stigma by sharing their own personal stories with one another,

however, participants embraced applied theatre performance as a means of

communicating their message to the broader school audience.

Yet the facilitators and participants alike were careful not to overstate the impact

of the performance – particularly on audience members mandated to attend. Cochrane

contends that early performances for volunteer audiences contributed to the goals of TNT

by helping those teens already inclined to prosocial behavior feel a sense of solidarity and

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faith in their ability to create change. “So it gave them some empowerment, for those

teens who were the choir, if you will, to feel more empowered to go out and actually call

people on bad behavior or to go to the teachers or, you know – so to stop just being

passive about what they were seeing.”63 In other words, these early performances were

helping to create prosocial bonding capital, facilitating a sense of connection between

young people and urging active forms of reciprocity, but were not helping to shift

antisocial bonding capital in prosocial directions. As Cochrane further elucidated, “What

we weren't reaching were the people who needed to change behavior.”64

When TNT finally did start performing in school settings, results were mixed. The

mandatory nature of school performances resulted in less engaged audience members, as

Isaac explained, “The kids had to be there. And I think a lot of the kids who were there

were, some of them, were taking it less seriously. And some of them were

worried...because they were surrounded by their entire class, and so I think some people

were worried to talk in that situation about serious issues.”65 However, as Samuel

underscored, even those students seemingly disengaged with the performance and

subsequent talkback may have benefited from the experience, “But we did get a lot of

good feedback. And I think since this did hit close to home for a lot of people, the people

who weren't giving feedback probably were still getting something out of it.”66 Though

hard to prove, this statement does speak to the importance participants like Samuel placed

on their practice. Rawson provides a more demonstrable analysis of the impact of these

in-school performances: “[I]t gave us an opportunity to at least…maybe not teach

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because that's a very, very strong word, but to at least expose them to sympathy or

empathy.”67

Yet mandatory performances were not the only means by which the social space

of TNT was transferred to the school setting. Both Cochrane and Rawson underscored the

many ways in which participants invoked the social space of TNT in their more quotidian

interactions.

Rawson: Now, the thing if I may, I think that we found out is – so I thought...Okay, so here's the idea. We have this great idea, if we can reach one person with this play, I have been successful. That's what I thought. What I didn't think is, I didn't think that this great group of kids – oh my god, I'm going to get all verklempt – this great group of kids is not going to maybe affect all these people who have come to see the play, but they're going to go to school, and they're going to protect each other. And they're going to carry that message in the hallways, and in the classrooms, and in the trenches, if you will… Cochrane: …And all of them were ready to be more authentic, and to stand up for each other, even if it was just stand up for the few people in the group. But almost all of them were standing up for other people, like they all were. They were all practicing intervention. But I think that that switch to like, "I don't have to fit into this pigeonhole of what's acceptable. Now I'm going to break out of that." And that that's a really positive thing.68

Not only were interventions practiced in workshops and rehearsals rooms, but

participants also deployed interventions in everyday interactions. However, as the

repeated invocation of “the group” suggests, such prosocial interventions would not have

been possible were it not for the bonding capital created amongst participants within the

social space of TNT. Mutually agreed upon and enforced ground rules helped to create a

space a part, in which existing norms could be reflected upon and challenged, all the

while cultivating a sense of solidarity and specific reciprocity. In the heterotopic space of

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applied theatre practice, participants not only “rehearse the revolution” but also develop

the bonding capital necessary to later enact change – both on-stage and off.

FINAL THOUGHTS: LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION

Drawing on case studies at both Midwest High School in midwestern Wisconsin

and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) in Baraboo, Wisconsin, this chapter has shown the many

ways applied theatre can contribute to prosocial bonding capital and counter intragroup

stigma amongst rural youth. At Midwest, the pragmatic disruption of physical space

inadvertently highlighted the heterotopic potential of applied theatre practice. Changing

the physical space created the possibility of changing existing social orderings – reified

by the seeming familiarity of the close-knit, rural community. Participants later took

advantage of the alternate social order to deploy applied theatre in prosocial ways. This

heterotopic potential was most pronounced in eighth- and ninth-hour class where

participants utilized applied theatre exercises to break the silence surrounding LGBTQ+

identities and advocate for transgender rights, countering intragroup stigma in the

classroom. The mandatory nature of the residency ensured the presence of participants

who might otherwise have opted to avoid messages of LGBTQ+ acceptance; however,

mandatory settings also carry certain downsides.

While the disruption of physical space may dereify certain social relations, others

remain, as seen in the one participant’s continued antipathy towards his fellow classmate.

In this instance, the less regulated social order created over the course of the residency

allowed for more overt antisocial behaviors. Participants bonded in their frustration over

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their fellow classmate, and given the mandatory nature of the residency, I was left with

few options for repercussions. Other participants may wish to utilize applied theatre for

more prosocial aims but may find the continued social risk too debilitating, particularly

within the confines of a short-term residency.

The TNT case study, conversely, depicts the heterotopic nature of a long-term

program that relied on the involvement of voluntary participants. Rather than focus on the

disruption of physical space, TNT ground rules helped to define a social space apart from

the world in which participants regularly interacted. Participants developed a sense of

solidarity and mutual reciprocity all the while dereifying relations at a familial level –

questioning perspectives passed on by family members – and bonding over oft-

stigmatized characteristics. When a participant broke the ground rules pertaining to

confidentiality, the facilitators removed him from the program rather than risk

compromising the boundaries of TNT’s social space.

Yet these boundaries, as characteristic of Foucault’s heterotopias, remained

somewhat permeable. While participants expected their personal stories to stay within the

ensemble, they actively sought opportunities to share TNT’s message in their local

communities. Much to the Cochrane and Rawson’s surprise, participants asked to

perform in Baraboo where many of them lived and attended school. Voluntary

performances created prosocial bonding capital similar to that created within in the

group, with young people in the audience gaining a sense of solidarity from seeing their

stories and stigma presented on stage; some even went on to later join the program.

Mandatory performances, much like the mandatory Midwest residency, had more mixed

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results. The performances reached those TNT would otherwise have missed: “bullies”

who perpetrate “toxic” norms and perpetuate intragroup stigma. However, facilitators and

participants alike noted the difficulty of assessing the impact of a single performance on

such individuals.

In Samuel’s final thoughts, he says the following of TNT’s impact, “I'm just – I’m

really glad we – I got to be a part of TNT, and I'm really glad that TNT existed because I

think we managed to get out and talk to a lot of people, and I like to think that we helped

some of the people we talked to. But I know we did a lot...and we helped the teens that

were in the group a lot.”69 Teens helping teens – the very definition of bonding capital;

and in this instance, rural youth helping rural youth to dereify relations, interrogate

norms, and counter intragroup stigma both on-stage and off. In many ways, TNT’s work

does reflect Boal’s “rehearsal for the revolution.” TNT participants workshopped

interventions only to then enact them in their hallways. However, to deem these

workshops merely rehearsal for later interventions belies the significant bonds created

over the course of the program. By contrast, a focus on the heterotopic nature of applied

theatre practice underscores – without overstating – the changes that do occur in the

space and better supports Samuel’s claim: “I know we did a lot.”

1 Erica Cochrane and Scott Rawson (former TNT facilitators) in discussion with the author, April 6, 2020.

2 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

3 Pierre Bourdieu, “The Forms of Capital,” in Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education, ed. John Richardson (New York: Greenwood, 1985), 241-58.

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4 Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2000), 22.

5 For example, see Steven N. Durlauf, “Bowling Alone: A Review Essay,” Journal of Economic Behavior and Organization 47 (2002): 259-73; Paul Haynes, “Before Going Any Further with Social Capital: Eight Key Criticisms to Address,” Ingenio, last modified February 2009, https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/36025661.pdf; and Claude Fischer, “Bowling Alone: What’s the Score?,” Social Networks 27, no. 2 (2005): 155-67. 6 Michel Foucault, "Of Other Spaces," trans. Jay Miskowiec, Diacritics 16, no. 1 (1986): 24.

7 For example, see Benjamin Genocchio, “Discourse, Discontinuity, Difference: The Question of Other Spaces,” in Postmodern Cities and Spaces, eds. Sophie Watson and Katherine Gibson (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 35–46; and Arun Saldanha, “Heterotopia and Structuralism,” Environment and Planning A: Economy and Space 40, no. 9 (2008): 2080–96; David Harvey, Space of Hope (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2000).

8 Peter Johnson, “The Geographies of Heterotopia,” Geography Compass 7 no. 11 (2013): 790.

9 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion. The Mask You Live In, directed by Jennifer Siebel Newsom (Oakland, CA: The Representation Project, 2015), film; Cochrane and Rawson invited Nola Pastor, a Prevention Project Coordinator at Hope House of South Central Wisconsin, to discuss matters of LGBTQ+ inclusivity.

10 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion. 11 Putnam, 446; Ross J. Gitttell and Avis C. Vidal, Community Organizing: Building Social Capital as a Development Strategy (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, 1998), 15.

12 Putnam, 22.

13 Putnam, 22.

14 Putnam, 22.

15 As the facilitator, I did encourage participants to interact with a variety of individuals (by assigning groups, requiring students to work with someone they had not worked with previously, or by combining two pairs to form a larger group). I based this decision to intervene on the size of the class, the age of the students, previous groupings, and the day’s activities. The pros and cons of teacher-assigned groups as opposed to student-selected or class-chosen groups have been discussed widely in both academic and public scholarship. For a summary of academic scholarship pertaining to group selection methods, see Kenneth J. Chapman et al., “Can’t We Pick Our Own Groups? The Influence of Group Selection Method on Group Dynamics and Outcomes,” Journal of Management Education 30, no. 4 (2006): 557–69. For a public perspective specific to drama and theatre, see Kerry Hishon, “Pros and Cons: Assigned Groups vs. Class-Chosen Groups,” Theatrefolk: The Drama Teacher Resource Company, last modified March 2, 2019, https://www.theatrefolk.com/blog/pros-and-cons-assigned-groups-vs-class-chosen-groups/.

16 Ms. S (Midwest teacher) in discussion with the author, October 31, 2019. Kathleen Gallagher also encountered the family metaphor while researching an urban drama classroom. She found similarly in talking with a student, that “[The drama class] is similar to a family because you’re closer than people in another class…you still have preferences – same thing in a family, in my opinion.” Kathleen Gallagher,

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Why Theatre Matters: Urban Youth, Engagement, and a Pedagogy of the Real (Toronto: University of Toronto, 2014), 136.

17 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

18 Karl Marx, Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, trans. Friedrich Engels (New York: International Publishers, 1967) and Georg Lukács, “Reification and the Consciousness of the Proletariat,” in History & Class Consciousness: Studies in Marxist Dialectics, trans. Rodney Livingstone (London: Merlin Press, 1971), 83-222.

19 Gajo Petrovic, “Reification,” in A Dictionary of Marxist Thought, eds. Tom Bottomore et al. (Tom Bottomore, Laurence Harris, V.G. Kiernan, Ralph Miliband); emphasis added.

20 This exercise is a variation on “Match Point” and the popular improvisation game “Half-Life.” For a description of the former see Jessica Swale, Drama Games for Devising (London: Nick Hern, 2012), 64. The following hour I adjusted the game to include one-sentence and, at the participants’ urging, one-word stories.

21 Ms. S in discussion.

22 Ms. S in discussion. In 2018-2019, Midwest administration instated a rule requiring parents and spectators to leave high school dances after grand march, a rule which Ms. S explained allows teenagers to “break down and, guess what, bump and grind and be teenagers without everyone in the town watching them.”

23 Howard Cassidy and Vivienne Watts, “Spirit of Place: Using Theatre to Stem the Loss of Social Capital in Rural Communities,” Youth Theatre Journal 19, no. 1 (2005): 34.

24 Scott Rawson, Hurt People, (unpublished script, shared with the author, March 18th, 2018), 28.

25 Rawson, 33.

26 Foucault, 24-27.

27 Kathleen Gallagher also advised a dissertation published that same year about suburban theatre practices and touched on the drama classroom/workshop/rehearsal space as a heterotopic space; Anne Elizabeth Wessels, “Three Performances of the Postmetropolis: Youth, Drama, Theatre, and Pedagogy” (doctoral dissertation, University of Ontario, 2014), 131.

28 Kathleen Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters, 120.

29 Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters, 121-2.

30 Kevin Hetherington, The Badlands of Modernity: Heterotopia and Social Ordering (London: Routledge, 1997), 13.

31 Saldanha, 2091; Johnson, 791.

32 Hetherington, ix.

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33 Linda Wilkes and Bernadette Quinn, “Linking Social Capital, Cultural Capital and Hetertopia at the Folk Festival,” Journal of Comparative Research in Anthropology and Sociology 7 no. 7 (2016): 23-39; Wilkes and Quinn pay particular heed to, what I have summarized as, the principles of multiplicity and semi-permeability. Folk festivals result in a juxtaposition of incompatible spaces within a single “real” place, and oft-times specific knowledge or ability is necessary to cross the semi-porous boundaries of the festival space.

34 Wilkes and Quinn, 34.

35 For a discussion of community building, see Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston, “Applied Theatre: An Introduction,” in The Applied Theatre Reader, eds. Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston (Routledge, New York, 2009), 12; for discussions of ensemble and group building, see Michael Rohd, Theatre for Community Conflict and Dialogue: The Hope is Vital Training Manual (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1998), 41-45; for a discussion of developing communities of practice, Juliana Saxton, “Failing Better,” in A Reflective Practitioners Guide to (Mis)Adventures in Drama or What Was I Thinking?, ed. Peter Duffy (Chicago: Intellect, 2015), 260.

36 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

37 Joanne Tompkins, Theatre’s Heterotopias: Performance and the Cultural Politics of Space (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 3.

38 Augusto Boal, Theatre of the Oppressed, trans. Charles A. McBride and Maria-Odilia Leal McBride (New York: Theatre Communications Group, 1979), 122.

39 Isaac and Samuel in discussion. 40 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

41 Boal, 122.

42 For discussions of manipulations as a result of the donor agenda, institutional forces, and colonial mindsets respectively, see Michael Balfour, "The Politics of Intention: Looking for a Theatre of Little Changes," Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 14, no. 3 (2009): 351; Dani Snyder-Young, Theatre of Good Intentions: Challenges and Hopes for Theatre and Social Change (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 59-78; and Jan Cohen-Cruz, Engaging Performance: Theatre as Call and Response (New York: Routledge, 2010.), 183.

43 Balfour, 347-59.

44 Stephani Etheridge Woodson, Theatre for Youth Third Space: Performance, Democracy, and Community Cultural Development (Chicago: Intellect, 2015); Sarah Woodland, “All Our Stress Goes in the River: The Drama Workshop as a (Playful) Space for Reconciliation,” in Applied Theatre: Facilitation – Pedagogies, Practices, Resilience, ed. Sheila Preston, (New York: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2016), 107-30; Janinka Greennwood, “Within a Third Space,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 6 no. 2: 193– 205; and Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (New York: Routledge, 1994).

45 Edward Soja, Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real-and-Imagined Places (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 1996).

46 Ms. S in discussion.

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47 Kathleen Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban: Youth and Schooling in Dangerous Times (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007), 37.

48 Ms. S in discussion.

49 Balfour, 347-59; Helen Nicholson, Applied Drama: The Gift of Theatre, 2nd ed. (Palgrave Macmillan, New York, 2014), 3; and Kathleen Gallagher, “The Micro-Political and the Socio-Structural in Applied Theatre with Homeless Youth,” in Critical Perspectives on Applied Theatre, eds. Jenny Hughes and Helen Nicholson (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2016), 245.

50 For example, see Sheila Preston, “Back on Whose Track? Reframing Ideologies of Inclusion and Misrecognition in a Participatory Theatre Project with Young People in London,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 16, no. 2 (2011): 259; and Woodland 119.

51 I internally questioned whether casting a female actress as a transgender male overemphasized assigned sex at the expense of gender. However, I ultimately opted not to pose this concern to the group and instead held space for the participants to communicate their message as they chose.

52 In hindsight, I am disappointed with myself for not inviting pronouns at the beginning of the residency. At the time, I was all too aware of my position as an outsider and did not want to alienate myself further by imposing my socially progressive ideology on anyone. However, in forgoing pronouns I missed a significant learning opportunity and the chance to identify as ally to transgender students.

53 This prompt is borrowed from the Albany Park Theater Project as learned during the Community-Engaged Devising Training program at The Ohio State University in 2017-2018.

54 “TNT – Teens ‘n’ Theatre,” Creative Alliance of Baraboo Theatre, accessed July 14, 2020, http://www.cabtheatre.org/p/tnt.html. 55 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

56 Michael Balfour, “The Art of Facilitation: ‘’T’ain’t What You Do (It’s the Way that You Do IT),’” in Applied Theatre: Facilitation – Pedagogies, Practices, Resilience, ed. Sheila Preston, (New York: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2016), 155; and Rohd 45.

57 Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters, 124-5.

58 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

59 Balfour, “The Art of Facilitation,” 155.

60 Samuel and Isaac in discussion.

61 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

62 Mary Ann Hunter, “Cultivating the Art of Safe Space,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 13, no.1 (2008): 5-21.

63 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

64 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

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65 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

66 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

67 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

68 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

69 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

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Chapter Four. Not-So-Common Practice: Applied Theatre as a Bridge to Trusted Adult Relationships

Halfway through an interview with four of the Stuart’s Opera House participants,

the group caught a glance of Ms. C. The assistant-facilitator-slash-high-school-liaison-

extraordinaire had her lips pinched together as if to keep her thoughts from involuntarily

escaping her mouth. Thinking this may have something to do with her colleagues at the

local high school being thrown under the proverbial bus by their dissatisfied students, I

was quick to reassure her that my attempts at confidentiality extend to her colleagues as

well. Ms. C shook her head with a grin; no, it had nothing to do with confidentiality.

Rather, she explained, “I was thinking this is not my time to offer life advice.”1

A few days later, I sat down with Ms. C and Michelle, another teen participant, to

hear their take on Stuart’s arts education programming and the lives of the participants.2

Recalling Ms. C’s earlier restraint in the group interview, I asked if she often found

herself wanting to share life advice with the participants. Her response and Michelle’s

subsequent interjections merit quoting at length:

Ms. C: All the time. And not just here. Everywhere. Michelle has had to bear the brunt of me wanting to say things to her when she’s trying to blow off steam, and I don’t know – she talks the most, so I fail at keeping my opinions to myself the most with Michelle. Michelle: I appreciate it. I really do. Neumann: I love that.

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Michelle: I’m like, “[Ms. C] you weren’t supposed to say that. You’re supposed to be supportive of my bad decisions. You’re supposed to let me –” Ms. C: It was a bad decision though. The specific moment I was thinking was – you were complaining about all the things you had to do after the last time you were here, and I was trying to tell you that it wasn’t going to be as long as you thought. Michelle: Yeah and I was like – Ms. C: “Shut up, Ms. C. I want to complain.” Michelle: I always walk into her class wanting to complain. And she always has a solution. Or she’s like, “It’s not that big of a deal.” And I’m like – Ms. C: “It’s the biggest deal ever.” Michelle: Ms. C, let me have my [inaudible], let me have mine, let me have it.3

The whole exchange was light-hearted with jovial laughter from Ms. C and smiles of

self-recognition from Michelle. All the while, I was counting my lucky stars, delighted to

be provided a window into this supportive relationship.

Examinizing youth-adult relationships marks a shift in the course of this study.

The first chapter utilized Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) methodology to establish

the hidden impacts of rural and intragroup stigma management on the rural youth

participants and their communities. The following two chapters explored the ways in

which applied theatre practice – through the promotion of self-efficacy and creation of

heterotopic moments – counteracts the negative impacts of stigma management by

fostering embodied cultural capital and prosocial bonding capital amongst rural youth.

Yet other forms of social capital exist, namely: bridging and linking capital. While the

next chapter looks to linking capital, here I detail the ways in which rural youth

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participants co-create bridging capital with their adult counterparts – be they

administrators, facilitators, or teachers.

ATAR provides ample evidence of these interactions. In Nelsonville, Ohio, where

Stuart’s is located, adults and youth alike regularly turn out en masse to celebrate local

communities and culture. Situated on the square, Stuart’s provides a great vantage point

for looking out over the festivities: the Parade of the Hills Festival in August, the Ohio

Smoked Meat and BBQ Festival in October, and Holiday Lighting & Carols on the

Square in December. A couple of Stuart’s participants sang in this last event and no doubt

appreciated the couple hundred adults who turned out to see them and other local singers.

Baraboo, Wisconsin, home of the Creative Alliance of Baraboo and formerly Teens ‘n’

Theatre (TNT), holds many similar events in their main square. In addition to spring and

fall Fair on the Square events, Baraboo also hosts a June art fair, summer concert series,

weekly farmers’ markets, and multiple parades.4

Despite these and many other instances of connections between the young rural

participants and adults within their communities, interviews with applied theatre

administrators and facilitators highlight the need for a different form of youth-adult

relationship. They call for relationships of open communication, support, encouragement,

role modeling, and practical assistance; in other words, they call for trusted adult

relationships. Though appearing in social work studies as early as 1961, trusted adult

relationships have only recently been codified in scholarly practice. Drawing on studies

of “significant adults” and “natural mentors” as well as trust, a 2015 study out of

Australia defined trusted adults as non-parental figures who serve as informal mentors to

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young people.5 In this case, the term informal mentor refers to those adults who young

people have chosen to trust rather than those who have simply been assigned to young

people in a formal capacity.

In this chapter, I explore how applied theatre can further bolster social capital by

fostering trusted adult relationships – an action to which applied theatre is ideally suited.

According to the young people involved in the 2015 study, trusted adults offered support

and encouragement alongside practical assistance.6 Applied theatre facilitators and their

assistants offer similar support and encouragement to inspire creative risk-taking all the

while teaching practical skills. The young people also appreciated the way trusted adults

talked with rather than at them. While facilitators don’t shy away from direction, the

collaborative nature and populist origins of much applied theatre practice often result in

talking with rather than at participants, much as Ms. C talked with Michelle.

Although Michelle attends the same school where Ms. C works, the two doubt

they would have met were it not for Stuart’s programming, as explained in Michelle’s

interview:

Michelle: I probably still wouldn’t know her. Ms. C: (Laughing) No probably not. Michelle: No, I wouldn’t pass her in the hallway and say, “Good morning Ms. C!” Wouldn’t know her at all. I’d be like, “Good morning, strange teacher I don’t have.” Ms. C: Yes, that’s me the strange teacher.7

Yet thanks to Stuart’s programming the two did meet and now regularly see each other

both at Stuart’s and in school, with Michelle stopping by Ms. C’s classroom to complain,

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receive advice, and see in what Ms. C is involved. Indeed, Michelle partially attributed

her participation in the program I observed to Ms. C: “And I love Ms. C. I really follow

her into whatever she gets into.”8

Ms. C in turn lives up to her role as trusted adult. In assuaging Michelle’s nerves

and offering solutions, Ms. C provides encouragement, support, and advice: “It wasn’t

going to take that long;” “It’s not that big of a deal;” “It was a bad decision though.”

Michelle ultimately appreciates this advice because Ms. C presents it as opinion to be

accepted or rejected rather than fact, which must be stomached without question. Perhaps

the casual manner of their conversations – full of interjections, shared storytelling, and

laughter – speaks more to the informality of this mentorship than words ever could. Both

Michelle and Ms. C are quick to note the affective benefits of their exchanges. However,

the more wide-ranging effects of the relationship remain somewhat obscured. How does

having a trusted adult impact Michelle’s experience and behavior even when Ms. C isn’t

around? What resources and new information can Ms. C provide to which Michelle might

otherwise not have access? Looking to other trusted adult relationships, how might these

connections serve to address and/or mediate decreased social capital and feelings of

isolation brought upon, at least in part, by rural and intragroup stigma? What are potential

negative implications that need to be accounted for and warded against, particularly given

the often-short term nature of applied theatre practice?

This chapter aims to answer these questions by establishing the positive impact of

trusted adult relationships on the bridging capital on young rural participants at both

Stuart’s and TNT. After reviewing political scientist Robert Putnam’s concept of bridging

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capital and explaining its meaning within the context of this dissertation, I establish the

need for more trusted adults among the rural youth participants. I then explore how

regular check-ins contributed to trusted adult relationships at Stuart’s and TNT; both

programs adopted check-ins organically in response to perceived participant need, and

both received positive responses from participants and adults alike. The chapter

concludes by discussing the potential impacts of trusted adult relationships within the

context of applied theatre with rural youth.

The benefits of incorporating notions of trusted adults and bridging capital in

discussions of applied theatre practice are two-fold. First these concepts help to prioritize

common aspects of applied theatre practice. As detailed in later sections, many scholar-

practitioners briefly recount beneficial relationships between facilitators and

participants.9 However, few single out such relationships as key benefits of applied

theatre practice, and even fewer address how best to foster connections with participants.

Likewise, many facilitators utilize check-ins to build relationships among participants

and ensure a more responsive practice, but the importance of check-ins in creating

connections between facilitators and participants often goes overlooked and

undercelebrated. In highlighting these elements and their impact on bridging capital, I

aim to underscore their value and provide greater justification for applied theatre practice

with rural youth. Second, the concepts of trusted adults and bridging capital further

emphasize the impact of intragroup stigma on the rural youth participants and the ways in

which applied theatre may provide an alternative to the self-silencing discussed in

Chapter One.

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BRIDGING CAPITAL AND TRUSTED ADULTS IN THE CONTEXT OF APPLIED

THEATRE WITH RURAL YOUTH

In contrast to bonding capital, Putnam defines bridging capital as resources which

stem from “outward looking” networks that encompass people across “diverse social

cleavages.”10 Homogenous groups of like individuals stimulate bonding capital;

heterogenous groups of dissimilar individuals promote bridging capital. Yet as discussed

in previous chapters, this straightforward distinction quickly falls apart in the face of

contemporary notions of identity, or rather identities. Rural youth may be similar in age

or locality but differ in many other dimensions of diversity. Indeed, a young person in a

rural area may have far more in common with an adult or someone living in an urban or

suburban area than they do with local peers.

Putnam is quick to acknowledge this false dichotomy. He elucidates, “[B]onding

and bridging are not ‘either-or’ categories into which social networks can be neatly

divided, but ‘more or less’ dimensions along which we can compare different forms of

social capital.”11 Though arguably still incomplete – neglecting as it does to account for

temporal or situational dimensions – Putnam’s explanation offers a path forward. Rather

than relying solely on the composition of networks to determine “bondingness” or

“bridgingness,” one can look to the quality of the social capital itself. Whereas bonding

capital leads to acts of solidarity and specific reciprocity, bridging capital is characterized

by connections to external assets and information dissemination. Putnam further contrasts

bonding and bridging capital by drawing a comparison to sociologist Xavier de Souza

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Brigg’s studies of social support and leveraging. Putnam asserts that bonding capital

helps with “getting by,” which de Souza Briggs argues is a key outcome of social

support. Meanwhile, bridging capital is necessary to “getting ahead,” a key outcome of

social leveraging.12

These distinctions – between specific reciprocity and external connections; social

support and social leveraging; and “getting by” and “getting ahead” – lead me to invoke

the concept of bridging capital in discussions of youth-adult relationships. For all that the

rural youth participants often appeared to have more in common with their adult

counterparts than their peers, the nature of youth-adult interactions was necessarily

different and consequently resulted in a different form of social capital. As evidenced in

the opening exchanges, Ms. C became a resource for Michelle, providing helpful advice

and encouraging participation in a variety of activities. I saw this throughout my time at

Stuart’s but perhaps most clearly when Michelle recounted her struggles finding a job.

Michelle to her credit had already done much of the work; she had identified places to

apply, handed in applications, and even followed up with companies to confirm they had

received them. Ms. C in turn provided useful recommendations and encouragement based

on her own experience.

A scene from Teens ‘n’ Theatre’s second original work, Hurt People (2018),

further reveals the nature of bridging capital between rural young people and their adult

counterparts. As noted in the Chapter Three, Hurt People follows Matt – the antagonist of

the TNT’s first original work Cutter (2016) – as he spirals increasingly out of control.

While Hurt People focuses on the Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) that might

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lead a bully to lash out as well as the conscious decisions teens can make to intervene, the

play also underscores the impact of constructive youth-adult interactions. After

convincing another high school student, Donny, to report Matt for bullying, the students’

teacher Mr. Stapleton speaks with one of Donny’s friends:

Mr. Stapleton: You heard him. You should all take a lesson from Donny. It will all turn out all right. Trust me. Jana: It was what we wanted anyway. For Donny to talk to someone. It’s just...I don’t know, scary I guess. You don’t know what Matt is capable of. Mr. Stapleton: Do you think this is a new thing? Do you think that we didn’t have bullies when I went to school? Or maybe you think that I was one of those super cool kids that never got bullied. I know exactly what Matt is capable of Jana! I am well aware of the possible ramifications of Donny’s actions! I am also aware of the fact that NOTHING can be done if EVERYONE is silent! I am painfully aware that silence can kill. You have to believe that I may know things that you do not, and that I am here to help NOT hurt, hinder, humiliate, harm, harass, or handicap in any way! (Looks at Donny) Now THAT’s alliteration!13

Although a work of fiction, this exchange underscores the resources at Mr. Stapleton’s

disposal: his prior experience and ability to intervene where students cannot. While Mr.

Stapleton’s contention, “I may know things that you do not,” appears somewhat

condescending, his request for trust highlights a key element of constructive youth-adult

relationships.

The concept of trusted adult relationships remains somewhat amorphous –

attributable, at least in part, to intuitive understandings as well as the concept’s relevance

across multiple disciplines. The previously mentioned 2015 study details the attempts of

social policy scholars Ariella Meltzer, Kristy Muir, and Lyn Craig to further outline the

role. In additional to defining trusted adults as non-parental, informal mentors, Meltzer,

Muir, and Craig emphasize: “Trusted adults are...adults who appear to young people as

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reliable, competent, honest and open; adults who young people are willing to be

vulnerable with or to risk relying on and whom they believe will protect their

wellbeing.”14 They also highlight three key characteristics of trusted adults, namely:

talking not telling; support, encouragement, and role modeling; and practical assistance

as needed. Talking not telling refers to trusted adults’ tendency to talk with their young

counterparts in a “low-key, direct, and equitable” manner rather than talking at them

from a position of superiority.15 Consequently, trusted adults provide young people

helpful guidance as they enter into adulthood without making them feel like children in

the process. Trusted adults also offer support and encouragement while simultaneously

modelling positive decision making and behavior. Practical assistance can be

augmentative, as exemplified by tutoring or individual coaching, or play a more central

role in addressing the underlying causes for educational disengagement and/or

employment difficulties.

By consciously or unconsciously embodying these key characteristics, trusted

adults guide young people’s social and economic engagement, in turn influencing youth

bridging capital. Citing previous studies of natural mentors and important non-parental

adults, Meltzer, Muir, and Craig list the many benefits of trusted adults: young people

receiving the support of a trusted adult are more likely to be educationally engaged,

educationally ambitious, successfully employed, physically active, and mentally healthy

as well as exhibit fewer risky behaviors, higher self-esteem, and a greater sense of

resilience.16 A United States-based study of “caring adults” noted similar benefits to both

formal and informal mentorships with non-parental adults. In other words, the concept of

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“caring adults” includes both trusted adults and more formal mentors, making the results

of the study pertinent to the discussion at hand. Drawing on data from the 2011-2012

National Survey of Children’s Health, analysts from the nonprofit, nonpartisan research

center Child Trends observe that children between the ages of six and seventeen who

have a caring adult are less likely to have externalizing behavior problems such as

bullying and internalizing behavior problems such as depression. What’s more, those

with caring adults are more likely to “complete tasks they start, remain calm in the face

of challenges, show interest in learning new things, volunteer in the community, engage

in physical activities, participate in out-of-school time activities, and be engaged in

school.”17 Although such assertions are correlational, and consequently cannot be used to

conclude the certain benefits of caring adult relations, the study’s authors contend that

“mentor-like adults outside the home can be a resource in promoting positive well-being

for children and adolescents.”18

The concept of a relationship serving as a “resource” to those involved harkens

back to the concept of social capital. More specifically, I argue that within applied theatre

practice, trusted adult relationships grow bridging capital and connect young participants

to external assets and new information. Contributions to bridging capital can often be

straightforward, as when the fictional Mr. Stapleton helped Donny reach out to the school

nurse. Other times, examples of bridging capital prove less direct. For instance, Ms. C

models thoughtful decision making and prosocial behavior, exposing Michelle to new

information about how she can behave in and respond to the world.

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A Call for Trusted Adults

While this chapter focuses predominantly on the development of trusted adult

relationships and subsequent co-creation of bridging capital within applied theatre

practice, I would be remiss not to acknowledge existing trusted adult relationships.

Teachers often acted as informal mentors to Stuart’s Opera House participants. Perhaps

most notably, Jo described feeling some doubt after attending the information session

about Stuart’s upcoming program. She had always been a bad kid, like a “really bad kid;”

was drama club really for her? Also, what would the other participants be like? Would

anyone talk to her? With these thoughts running through her mind, Jo reached out to a

trusted teacher for advice. “[T]he next day I went into my Social Studies class, and I was

like ‘Hey Ms. D, I’m thinking about doing this, but I don’t have many friends in there,

and I don’t know if that’s going to fit me.’ And she was like ‘Shoot your shot; go for it.’

So I did.”19 Ms. D’s advice inspired Jo to try something new; to expand her network

beyond the confines of home, work, and school; and to redefine herself as more than

merely a “bad kid.”

Other times trusted adults lived closer to home. Former Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT)

participants, Isaac, Samuel, and Brayden, all evinced strong parental support systems.

Isaac’s parents drove him forty-five minutes round trip so that he could participate in

TNT rehearsals and performances, and Samuel’s mother helped coordinate interviews

with me so that her son could share his experience with TNT. When asked who he could

talk to about difficult or challenging life experiences prior to TNT, Brayden too cited his

mother, though he also noted the important role his grandmother played.20 As a non-

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parental adult who both supported and listened to him, Brayden’s grandmother acted as a

kind of trusted adult.

Yet according to participants, informal mentors like Ms. D and Brayden’s

grandmother often proved the exception rather than the rule. Stuart’s participants

expressed great dissatisfaction with teachers who were too quick to scold or punish. Jo

often found herself in trouble for lashing out against bullies, both on her own behalf and

that of her friends; James similarly critiqued teachers for what he saw as unfair bias,

targeting some students while allowing others to do whatever they pleased; and Lu

attended the workshop in an uncharacteristic panic one Friday, after the school counselor

threatened to tell their parents they’d been lying about the risk of corporeal punishment at

home. Former TNT participant, Isaac spoke to the treatment of young people in

extracurricular programs. After noting that TNT had a fairly lenient attendance policy,

allowing participants to skip rehearsals for mental health reasons or to catchup with

schoolwork, Isaac observed, “It was just like, that trust that doesn't often get given to

teens. It's more like, ‘You need to be at basketball practice right now.’ And, ‘There's no

excuses, and you’re cut from the team.’ Instead of the understanding, ‘Hey, maybe there's

something going on in your life.’ TNT really extended that like, trust to us and treated us

like adults or, you know, mature people?”21 In highlighting what made TNT different,

Isaac outlined what he saw as the norm – adults treating young people not with the

relative equity of trusted adults but with the superiority of those who think they know

best.

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The participants’ criticism reflects an implicit desire for altered youth-adult

relationships, yet the young people do not directly call for trusted adults. From their

critiques, one might assume the participants would be satisfied if the adults in question

simply disengaged and ceased disciplinary attempts at guidance. Only Isaac’s observation

hints at the value of adults listening to and trusting teens. The adults I interviewed on the

other hand readily acknowledged the value of trusted adults to personal growth and

bridging capital, as young people gain the confidence to reach out to those outside their

immediate network.

Education Director Emily Prince spoke to the power of listening adults,

particularly within communities entrenched in rural stigma. “We just want them to be

heard and from that hopefully they can learn to feel valued, that their perspective is

important and hopefully that they will be open to learn and grow. And can communicate

freely without worrying about [whether] what they’re going to say is stupid. Longer

term.”22 Prince equates being heard with being valued, a particular concern within her

communities. Even though participants at Stuart’s may not fully grasp the nuance of rural

stigma, Prince contended: “They do know that they are perceived in the world like dumb

hillbillies; they know it; they know this is the perception.”23 Young people do not need to

leave their rural communities to sense that they lack value in an urban-centric nation.

Prince sees listening as a means of redressing this problem – helping participants to see

both their own value and that of their larger communities – but noted a shortage of open

ears. “[The participants] just want to be listened to. They just want to be valued. There’s

something so big about listening; like listening, just listen; you don’t have to do anything;

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just listen. And I don’t know if that’s special to our small town or rural…I know that the

opportunities are fewer.”24

While quantitatively assessing this claim lies outside the scope of this study,

participant stories shed light on how Prince might arrive at the conclusion that

opportunities are fewer. Prior to one of our first workshops, a participant’s mother rung,

prompting a discussion of the contact names participants had for various family

members. After chuckling over the tendency to refer to biological fathers as “Sperm

Donors,” Jo shrugged nonchalantly admitting, “I don’t even know my mother’s phone

number.” Foolishly, I asked if Jo had programmed the number into her phone rather than

memorizing it. No, Jo explained; her mother had left a rehabilitation center after a relapse

a few months back, and no one knew where she had gone. Though Jo’s mother did

ultimately reach out – both a great relief and cause for new worries – other participants

also dealt with absent, missing, or otherwise out-of-commission parents. Word of parents

who struggled to accept their children’s gender or sexual orientation also came up on

occasion. Though Jo was the only participant I interacted with to openly discuss her

attempts to “come out,” Prince recounted that previous participants had asked to be called

one name at Stuart’s (reflecting their gender identity) and go by their given name

elsewhere – a request those at Stuart’s did their best to respect.

Although work and extracurricular activities provided ample opportunities for

high-school-aged participants to interact with potential trusted adults – who I hereafter

refer to as trustworthy adults – middle school participants fared less well. James

bemoaned the lack of activity, “And it’s just like boring here. There’s nothing to do. I

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can’t walk into town. I can’t…you know? Where I’m raised it’s just 54-acres and

woodland. You can try to fish – it’s winter though. You can try to hunt – you’re not going

to find anything. I mostly use the internet to escape. I’ll play video games for hours on

end.”25 August echoed this sentiment, recounting a typical if not particularly eventful

journey to the local dollar store. “[W]e have a Dollar Store that’s like a forty-minute walk

away cause it’s like down there and like not across the highway but down the highway. I

went there with my friend because we were bored. So, we went there. Bought some

ramen. Didn’t eat. Still have it.”26 James and August were more than aware of the

pointlessness of these past times, empty fishing lines and uneaten packages of ramen

serving as tangible reminders, but the corresponding solitude goes easily overlooked.

Neither video games nor aimless walks provide many chances to meet, let alone form a

relationship with, trusted adults.

Despite serving vastly different rural communities, co-facilitators Erica Cochrane

and Scott Rawson also noted a dearth of listening adults, specifically in regard to

intragroup stigma that adults might prefer to ignore. As Cochrane elucidated, “[TNT]

became a really important safe space where they could really be themselves, and they

could talk about all the stuff that's going on in their day to day lives that that no other

adults and most teens – like there weren’t safe spaces to talk about it. Other adults didn't

want to hear about it. They didn't want to address it, or even know that it was

happening.”27 With the help of Jocelyn Miller, a local psychologist, as well as the youth

participants, Cochrane and Rawson created a space where participants could discuss

stigmatizing matters surrounding mental health, sexuality, and gender.

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Cochrane’s claim that no other adults wanted to hear about or address these

stigmatizing matters recalls the “thin disguise” of silence from Chapter One. Young

people keep quiet about otherwise stigmatizing attributes, and non-stigmatized adults

accept this “thin disguise.” While this approach successfully avoids discussion of stigma,

the necessity of silence inhibits the formation of trusted adult relationships and any

ensuing benefits. After all, the distinction between talking at and talking with bears little

importance when no one is talking at all.

Of course, the assertion that “no adults” wanted to hear about these stigmatizing

matters may read to some as hyperbole. Indeed, Cochrane’s statement comes after years

of campaigning on behalf of TNT and is informed by the frustrations entailed therein.

Some, like aforementioned psychologist Miller or Baraboo School District Administrator,

Lori Mueller, were quick to see the value of the program. In a 2016 interview with the

local newspaper, Miller described theatre as a constructive avenue for teenagers to

express themselves and explore matters pertaining to their everyday experience.28 When a

viral photo of students participating in a Nazi salute caused questions of inclusivity to rise

forefront in 2018, Mueller too saw the value of TNT and strongly encouraged Baraboo

High School to partner with the program.29 The following year, as a result of Mueller’s

advocacy, TNT performed Hurt People (2018) and facilitated talkbacks with every

student in the sophomore class.30

However, similar efforts to collaborate with the local middle school proved far

less fruitful. Cochrane and Rawson ruefully recalled attempts to adapt their first original

work Cutter (2016) for a middle school setting. As detailed in the Introduction, Cutter

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follows nine teenagers, one concerned parent, and Mr. Stapleton as they deal with

abusive relationships, suicidal ideation, and bullying. For the middle school adaptation,

TNT removed course language and replaced the attempted rape scene with a portrayal of

non-physical sexual pressure. While Cochrane and Rawson considered cutting the scene

entirely, the co-facilitators ultimately opted to keep the scene due to ensemble accounts

of sexual pressure in middle school. Unfortunately, the suggestion of sexual pressure

alongside other mature content proved too much for decision makers at the middle

school, resulting in a scrapped collaboration.

Thwarted collaborations like that at the middle school led Cochrane and Rawson

to draw their own conclusions:

Cochrane: So, there's real fear that by talking about it, it would happen more. Even though there's plenty of evidence out there, at least with suicidal ideation, that that's not the case. Rawson: Right. And what we really think – is that by talking about it means it's bringing it out in the open, and then they have to deal with it. I don't believe that anybody thinks that if you talk about it, they're going to do it more. I don't think that that's true anymore. I think that's a good excuse for, "I don't want to deal with it myself. And I don't want my teacher to have to deal with it."31

Psychologists Michelle R. Hebl, Jennifer Tickle, and Todd F. Heatherton’s analysis of

“awkward moments” between stigmatized and non-stigmatized individuals supports this

conclusion.32 As the psychologists expound, non-stigmatized individuals may experience

anxiety when interacting with stigmatized others due to a general lack of experience and

knowledge as well as an increased need for self-monitoring. When read in conversation

with Goffman’s discussion of forbidden places, Hebl, Tickle, and Heatherton’s analysis

indicates that non-stigmatized individuals may opt to ignore or overlook stigma rather

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than deal with the anxiety of interacting with more openly stigmatized individuals. Even

though some in Baraboo, like Miller and Mueller, see the value in discussing stigmatizing

matters with teens, the aborted middle school collaboration indicates that others avoid

such discussions, whether due to an unfounded fear of perpetuating dangerous behaviors

or out of a desire to avoid anxiety-inducing interactions with the unequivocally

stigmatized.

Where does the rest of the adult public fall along this spectrum? One of the

former TNT participants offered a more balanced response. When asked what he thought

of Cochrane and Scott’s assertion that “no adults” wanted to hear about the more

stigmatizing aspects of the teens lived experience, Brayden responded moderately: “I do

agree that the general public is maybe not wanting to talk about it. But I feel like in

Baraboo – seeing some of the people react to [TNT], it was a really good experience with

them. So, I would argue that the Baraboo community was ready for something like

this.”33 Some were simply more ready than others. Ready or not, conversations with adult

facilitators and administrators as well as young participants reveal a need for more trusted

adults in the communities studied. With the focus on listening and collaborating, applied

theatre is ideally suited to foster trusted adult relationships.

FACILITATING TRUSTED ADULT RELATIONSHIPS

Although trusted adult terminology remains scarce in the applied theatre lexicon,

a number of scholars and practitioners have noted significant interactions between adult

facilitators and young participants. Community-based performance artist, Suzanne Lacy,

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has mused that much of a facilitator’s impact on young adults may stem not from the art

itself but from the meaningful relationships formed during the process of creation.34

Applied theatre scholar-practitioner, Megan Alrutz, speaks to the related concept of

“youth-allied adults.”35 Embracing a more equitable power dynamic, Alrutz argues, helps

to create relationships of mutual benefit between participants and facilitators.

Kathleen Gallagher also emphasizes the importance of listening when describing

the pedagogy of her own Ms. S – a high school drama teacher based in Toronto. “She

helped by listening carefully to her students and never assuming she knew better than

they did. Our fieldnotes are replete with examples of her listening with care and learning

alongside her students.”36 Gallagher connects this listening to what Helen Nicholson

deems “performative pedagogy,” a responsive style of teaching that takes into account

the students’ worlds and sees students’ life experiences as a source of knowledge.

However, Ms. S’s actions also exemplify trusted adult behavior. Indeed, students turned

to her for guidance; when an 11th grade student expressed boredom at school for instance,

Ms. S charged her with writing a full-length play that they ultimately shared with the

class.37 Listening to the student’s problem, Ms. S offered support and encouragement by

brainstorming an additional avenue for academic engagement.

Discussions of mentorship, “adult-allies,” and “performative pedagogy,” all

highlight the benefits of youth-adult relationships within applied theatre practice. Yet

facilitative relationships remain an underexplored aspect of applied theatre. Relationships

between youth participants and their adult counterparts are often described as beneficial,

but specific benefits go undiscussed. Though often detailing attempts to foster stronger

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relationships among youth participants – as evidenced by the discussion of check-ins and

community development in the following section – scholar-practitioners rarely describe

conscious attempts to foster connections between themselves and young participants. I

incorporate the term “trusted adult” to correct these oversights, better establishing the

value of facilitative relationships and highlighting best practices for fostering such

relationships in the unpredictable world of applied theatre practice.

Trust develops gradually over time and as a result cannot be forced or even at

times predicted. Elsewhere I have argued that facilitators and participants alike can

benefit from advanced consideration of this possibility and proposed best practices for

transitioning out of the role of trusted adult at the end of applied theatre programs.38 Here

I offer best practices for fostering trusted adult relationships and highlight ensuing

benefits. In particular, I note the ways in which check-ins led to trusted adult

relationships at both Stuart’s Opera House and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT). Check-ins are

common practice in applied theatre where scholars and practitioners alike underscore the

contributions to community development and facilitator responsivity. Based on

observations and interviews, I contend that check-ins also promoted trusted adult

relationships by creating space for the young people talk about their lives with

trustworthy adults and helping those same adults better understand the young people with

whom they work. At Stuart’s and TNT, these trusted adult relationships translated into

bridging capital both within and beyond the workshop space, as participants gained

increased access to representational narratives, practical advice, and mental health

resources.

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Checking in at Stuart’s Opera House

Around 4:30pm every Friday, participants would begin trickling into the smaller

of Stuart’s Opera House’s two dedicated arts education spaces. The room would fill with

the sounds of release – middle and high school students who had made it through the

week and had catching up to do. Those in different grade levels chatted with one another;

others touched base with the adults in the room, some combination of Skye Robinson

Hillis – who facilitated the program – Ms. C, Prince, and me.

Anarchy reigned until roughly 5:00 pm, when Robinson Hillis would call the

group into a circle for check-in. Sitting in chairs or on the floor, participants would take

turns sharing frustrations from the week: family, teachers, grades, friendships,

relationships, health, money. In more lighthearted moments, participants boasted of

recent sports victories or celebrated reaffirming their faith during a youth group retreat.

Nothing was off limits; nothing was required. Robinson Hillis promised confidentiality

within the circle, with the exception of stories of abuse which would need to be

mandatorily reported by the adults in the room. At times, Ms. C also reminded

participants that she worked at the local high school and would prefer not to hear her

colleagues attacked. Everything else was fair game.39

Though Prince herself first introduced me to the idea of trusted adult

relationships, the concept had yet to make its way to Robinson Hillis.40 Consequently,

Robinson Hillis’ began the check-ins not from a direct desire to foster trusted adult

relationships but out of sheer necessity. After everyone introduced themselves the first

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day of the program, Robinson Hillis instructed participants to write a monologue

including a number of key elements. Students sprawled across the room – one at a table,

another curled up on one of two small couches, others claiming parts of the floor. I got to

work on my own monologue, attempting to embrace the participatory aspect of

participant observation, and as a result missed the events leading up to Robinson Hillis

suggesting August join her in the neighboring room. The other participants more or less

took this interruption in stride, pulling out phones or quietly joking with one another after

they had finished their monologues. Eventually the two returned, and while August

showed signs of having cried, they appeared better for having left the room and

participated enthusiastically for the rest of the workshop.

The following week Robinson Hillis introduced check-ins and brief, unguided

meditation into the workshops structure. I couldn’t help but feel there was a connection

between the previous week’s interruption and introduction of check-ins, so I asked

Robinson Hillis about it in a later interview. Her descriptive response warrants quoting in

full:

Well, I just kept looking up, and I just kept see them just like shaking and staring and not doing anything. And I was like, “Okay, we’ll give it a minute or two.” And when I realized that that was still happening, I was like, “Okay, I need to get them out of here.” And my experience of talking with them for however long we were out there was sort of eye opening? And scary. A lot of things happen. Because I think I’m pretty good with kids, and I know how to get them to open up, and I know how to get them to move on, move past what they’re feeling, and they weren’t having anything. Absolutely nothing. I told them they could draw, I told them – anything. Wouldn’t do anything. They were completely shut off. They were in a literal fetal position. And one of the things that I asked them – this will probably never leave me – one of the things I said was, “Do you feel like you need to go home?” And they went, “No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!” And

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they just lost it. And I was like, “Okay, okay, no one is going to make you go home; you can stay here and do nothing for all I care; you can lie on the floor for two hours.” But that was intense. It was intense.41

From a policy perspective, this incident was fairly clear. If Robinson Hillis suspected

child abuse or neglect she was to report it immediately to Child Protective Services or the

City of Nelsonville Police; if not, she had no obligations. From an artistic and

pedagogical perspective however, the next steps were far murkier. Robinson Hillis was

left questioning how to best support the participants through the creative process and how

to avoid, or at the very least limit, such incidents in the future.

As a graduate student at Ohio University pursuing an MFA in playwriting,

Robinson Hillis had a modicum of experience teaching and working with youth. She had

taught playwriting at the university level, nannied for a living in Chicago, and most

notably worked with Lu, Michelle, and That as well as a few other participants to devise

a production for a previous Stuart’s program. In lieu of more specific training as an

applied theatre facilitator, Robinson Hillis drew on her expertise as a playwright.

I started to think about who they were and also what it takes to be a writer, and I thought about what we do in my cohort as an MFA, and I realized a lot of what we do together is rant. We have to talk through things. And it’s totally different from what we did in class, but that’s actually a part of being a writer. You have to get stuff out. And when you’re young, you can get some stuff out on paper, but you have to get stuff out in a different way first.42

Seeing that narrowly defined playwriting process – characterized by a prompt and writing

time – was proving insufficient for the participants, Robinson Hillis adopted a more

expansive notion of the process which included “talking through things.” In an

impressive pedagogical leap, Robinson Hillis created space for participants to voice

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thoughts and emotions as well as share personal stories that they were not yet capable of

or interested in putting to paper. Expanding her notion of the playwriting process to

include this weekly check-in allowed Robinson Hillis to better support participants both

as artists and as teens in need of trustworthy adults

Despite some early reticence, check-ins and meditation quickly became a

workshop staple with many participants citing check-ins as the most memorable aspect of

the residency. That second day of the workshop, Robinson Hillis presented check-ins to

the group much as she did in the excerpt above, explaining that she and her fellow

playwrights often talk with one another as a means of acknowledging, and perhaps

temporarily setting aside, frustrations so as to make space for greater creativity. “So,

we’re going to check in too,” Robinson Hillis concluded, prompting a hesitant pause

from the group. On that first day only August, James, and Jo shared. Lu and another

participant laughed that they had plenty of things to say but had no interest in sharing

them with the group; a choice Robinson Hillis respected.

Checking in at Teens ‘n’ Theatre

Similar necessity led Cochrane and Rawson to embrace check-ins at Teens ‘n’

Theatre (TNT). As Cochrane recollected:

The purpose of our initial work was to get ready for the read. However, as soon as we read the draft together, there was lots of tears...People were triggered in different ways. And we realized that we needed to pay a lot more attention to the space, to creating a safe space, to allowing people to share what was going on with them, so that they could actually perform this piece and work through this piece and have a place to digest all of that as a group.”43

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Cochrane and Rawson’s realization that they needed to better understand the lives of the

young participants in order to better support their creative practice calls to mind Gavin

Bolton’s notion of “protect[ion] into emotion.”44 As the acclaimed theatre educator

underscores, teachers and facilitators must have an eye to participants’ state of well-being

in order to ensure ethical and efficacious theatre practice.

Youth psychologist Miller helped Cochrane and Rawson find ways of protecting

participants into emotion. Cochrane credits Miller with helping to set up some of TNT’s

ground rules – others were added by the participants themselves – and to think of ways to

“pay attention to what the kids were going through.”45 What began as a group of young

actors brought together for the purpose of reading a new play, quickly morphed into an

ensemble dedicated to creating a “safe space” where young participants could discuss

stigmatizing subjects. Practically, this shift resulted in bringing in experts, viewing TED

Talks and documentaries, visiting Proud Theater, and implementing regular check-ins.46

Check-ins became an important and memorable aspect of TNT practice. Nearly a

year after TNT disbanded due to lack of funding and diminishing attenuation, Isaac

observed:

The thing I remember the most that we did. I really like that we did this. It was either after discussion or in general, we'd just sit and talk in a circle, and we each had a turn to say something. We'd call it like a check-in. At the beginning of every rehearsal though, we would sit and talk about, like, "Hey, this is where I'm at this week, because this happened in my week." And sometimes you'd be like, "Yeah, I don't really feel great today, but I'm here, whatever." And it just gave us kind of a moment to open up and have it matter a little bit.47

Like Stuart’s, the facilitators placed no time restrictions on check-ins; though from

Isaac’s description, TNT check-ins were often briefer. Whereas Stuart’s check-ins could

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last a full half hour, even if only a handful of participants were present, TNT check-ins

lasted for ten to twenty minutes with each participant speaking for a minute or two – a

relatively short amount of time given the significant benefits.

Check-ins as a Path to Trusted Adult Relationships

Isaac hypothesized that check-ins remained memorable due to the connections

created with others in the room. “It was just always good to figure out what plane of

existence everyone's at on that day. And it just felt nice. Like, we all care about each

other. And, it was just cool.”48 Although some of the early reticence at Stuart’s Opera

House did carry over to later workshops, by and large participants expressed a similar

appreciation for check-ins. Continued reluctance was mostly reflected in a hesitancy to

go first. Participants would regularly pass on checking in if asked early in the process,

only to later speak at length on a wide variety of topics, from academic pressures to

friendships gone wrong to tensions at home. Other participants readily embraced check-

ins, as was particularly evident in the penultimate workshop where James arrived having

already claimed stories from the week to share. Participants also voiced this excitement in

later interviews. When asked to describe a moment from the residency that would stay

with them, three of the five participants interviewed highlighted check-ins, with Jo and

Michelle describing the check-ins as follows:

Jo: Probably whenever we started doing rants, and we all got into the circle, and everyone just felt so happy. It felt like positive energy was like a plus, plus, plus, plus from the day it was happening. But it was like you could just look around and see everybody smile and hear everyone just calming down. It was like wow. Once again made my heart happy. 49

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Michelle: I think one that’ll really stay with me is, not a specific one time, but when we were in the circle, and we talked about our day. Seeing the kids really open up like that and to see how adult those feelings were and how I felt what they were saying, and I understood that. And the fact that I connected on such a deep level with someone so much younger than me or someone I don’t know at all, that’s what really sticks with me.50

Though the cathartic undertones of Jo’s statement leave some cause for concern,

Michelle’s response in conjunction with Isaac’s reflection highlights one of the main

functions of check-ins.51

Michelle’s assertion, “…I felt what they were saying, and I understood that,”

indicates that she developed a greater respect for and recognition of her fellow

participants as a result of the regular check-ins. Michelle later added “support” to this list,

noting that regardless of what was shared, “Nobody feels worse for you or towards you.

So, it’s really supportive in that way.”52 By developing recognition, respect, and a greater

sense of support amongst the participants, the check-ins helped to build a community of

practice – something applied theatre scholar-practitioner Julianna Saxton declares

“central to our effective practice.”53

Saxton starts each day with her own check-in, asking students questions as she

goes through roll call – a check-in she has deemed “Rialto” in an homage to The

Merchant of Venice and Salanio’s query, “What news on the Rialto?” Saxton details the

practice and describes the unforeseen benefits as follows:

Sometimes these questions arose simply out of interest; at other times they might be more focused around a world event (“9/11” comes to mind), some local happening (a bus strike) or I might introduce a particular focus (talking about a visiting celebrity before starting O’Neill’s “Famous People” structure). I started “Rialto” as a way of forcing myself to see each student but, of course, something

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else happened. Through Rialto, we were all able to keep tabs on each other non-invasively as whatever was said was volunteered and became part of the class conversation.54

Check-ins encourage participants to develop social as well as artistic connections;

connections that as explored in previous chapters lead to increased levels of bonding

capital.

Other applied theatre scholars-practitioners have observed similarly communal

results. Yasmine Kandil participated in an applied theatre program centering on the

personal stories of Canadian immigrants. In addition to debriefing exercises, Kandil

credits regular check-ins with teaching participants to listen, respect, and support one

another, allowing for a more inclusive and ethically aware practice.55 Daniel Banks

proffers check-ins as an important way to establish communities of practice in an

introduction to hip hop pedagogy, which he relates to applied theatre.56 And the all-girl

youth ensemble viBeStages has participants name one positive thing about themselves

and one challenge they have experienced over the course of the week, in a variation of

the common check-in exercise “Rose and Thorn.” Consequently, Heather Ikemire

elucidates in her analysis of viBeStages practice, “What the girls often think are personal,

isolated, experiences come to be understood as social, and socially constructed, ones.”57

As for the sense of connection Michelle referred to in her interview, it certainly

became more apparent over the course of check-ins. When Michelle wistfully bemoaned

having to spend her own Christmas money on presents for others, Lu offered to bring in

crafting supplies so Michelle could make something for free; James’ relationship troubles

were met with Jo’s sage advice, “Pick the one who is the nicest and most charming;” and

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the whole group sprang into action to fix Lu’s broken Happy Meal toy. While this last

may at first appear insignificant, the group demonstrated impressive focus and creativity

as they scoured the room for tape and glue, eventually using a spare sticker to repair the

small plastic vehicle.

Check-ins also highlighted the sense of community formed at Teens ‘n’ Theatre

(TNT), as Rawson remarked fondly in his interview:

But the real success is every Sunday when we met – was hearing the stories about how was your week, right? “Well, I went through this, and then out of nowhere, you know, kid A came along, and they helped me out. And they saw that I was struggling.” And that was amazing that we were able to build this community, and that they were able to go out into the school and build their own community.58

Isaac and Samuel concurred with Rawson’s assessment. Whereas Isaac highlighted

check-ins and pre-show energy as some of the most memorable aspects of TNT, Samuel

recalled the support of his fellow ensemble members after a rough couple of days and

difficult rehearsal left him emotionally spent. Isaac quickly added that this was not a one-

time occurrence – the group regularly supported one another, frequently in response to

those regular check-ins. “And we would do that so often, like after shows if we were

feeling bad or something or if someone just walks in and they're like ‘My life's falling

apart.’ It really showed a lot in comparison – like other people just go on with their lives,

but we worked really hard to be there for each other.”59

As Rawson’s quote demonstrates, check-ins also allow facilitators greater insight

into participants’ lived experience, leading to more responsive practice. In addition to

building a community of practice, viBeStages’ facilitators use Rose and Thorn to better

understand their young participants. According to Ikemere, greater knowledge of

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participants’ lived experience “allows the facilitators to better meet the girls where they

are at during the play development process. They can draw on that knowledge to push the

girls to go deeper with their exploration of an issue or to express concern if they feel the

story she wants to tell might be dangerous or harmful to herself or others.”60 Again

recalling Bolton’s concept of protection into emotion, check-ins allow facilitators to

garner a sense of participants’ state of being and adjust their lesson plans to better protect

participants into and – as Balfour and co-authors Marvin Westwood and Marla J.

Bucanan expounded – out of emotion.61 The Unusual Suspects, an applied theatre

organization focused on gang-reduction and -prevention amongst young people, also

emphasizes the precautionary nature of check-ins, which alert facilitators to any large

problems that may need to be addressed before proceeding with activities. Such

responsive practice not only creates a better experience for participants, but also

promotes trusted adult relationships.

Trusted Adults and the Co-Creation of Bridging Capital

Through check-ins as well as subsequent exercises, participants at both Stuart’s

Opera House and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) came to see the facilitators and their assistants

as trusted adults, an outcome exemplified by Jo’s choice to speak openly about her sexual

orientation. Other Stuart’s participants – some older, some with more support at home –

were already fairly candid about their LGBTQ+ identities. In check-ins, James laughed at

the absurdity of not being allowed to attend an “all-girls” sleep over party – gender-based

divisions not having quite caught up with the diversity of sexual orientations – and

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August grieved breaking up with their same-sex partner. Yet Jo remained silent on the

subject until a thoughtful play selection by Robinson Hillis brought the topic to the

forefront.

Arriving at the fifth workshop, participants were greeted with a stack of a dozen

or so scripts, copies of fml: how Carson McCullers saved my life (2012) by Sarah

Gubbins.62 The play, written for the Steppenwolf for Young Adults program, follows a

high school junior who is attacked on account of her sexuality. Although the play

perpetuates a narrative of LGBTQ+ victimization, fml does see the main character

becoming an advocate for both herself and others.63 Robinson Hillis explained her

selection of the play as follows:

Because I was nervous about it. I was like this is a little intense and it has heightened language, but I was also like almost every single one of them has some kind of LGBT connection, is exploring their identity in that way. And I was like they’re gonna get this, they’re gonna feel this. And so I was nervous about it, and it was truly a full-length play. I mean it did take us three classes to get through it. But I’m really glad that I did it because I do feel like they understood it, and they felt it, and they, I think, felt seen. Which I don’t think is something they get to experience a lot…because their entertainment scope is limited in general, the chance of them seeing themselves is also small. But also we’re not seeing rural LGBT kids represented anyway, for the most part. I mean, more and more, but still. So yes, that’s why I chose that play.64

Though fml takes place in LaGrange, Illinois, which is more suburban than rural, the

participants nevertheless related to the play from the start. Jo volunteered to play the

main character; when Robinson Hillis then informed her that the main character was a

lesbian, Jo responded, “Sweet,” smiling as she lifted her index finger and pinky to create

the “rock on” hand gesture. The post-reading talkback also revealed the participants’

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connection to the characters – mainly the main character and her supportive, if somewhat

underachieving brother.

During the group interview, which occurred two workshops into reading fml, Jo

casually referenced her own bi-sexuality as she differentiated between her experience at

Stuart’s and her home- and school-life. Though partially attributable to the candidness of

her fellow students, Jo’s coming out notably occurred only after seeing herself

represented in the play. Jo even modelled her pseudonym for the purposes of this

research on that same main character, “Jo.” I contend that over the course of many check-

ins, Robinson Hillis not only demonstrated her own trustworthiness but also learned more

about what sort of stories the participants needed to hear. This in turn encouraged Jo to

see Robinson Hillis as a trusted adult and contributed to Jo breaking her silence and

sharing her previous attempts to come out.

James also formed strong bonds with Robinson Hillis and Ms. C. Although he

was new to Stuart’s and due to occasional absences, had only spent six, two-and-a-half

hour sessions getting to know the adults, James readily pointed to Robinson Hillis and

Ms. C, “Like these two, I would be able to, like in school, to go to them and rant to them

and just be like ‘I’m having the worst day. I think I need to see the psychiatrist.’”65

Robinson Hillis and Ms. C have arguably become trusted adults; people James cannot

only rant to but also work with to brainstorm solutions, like seeing the psychiatrist – a

notable step given continued stigma surrounding mental health. These relationships are

not solely attributable to check-ins – both Robinson Hillis and Ms. C offered regular

support and encouragement throughout the residency with Robinson Hillis also providing

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practical writing assistance. Yet James’ reflection, “I’m having the worst day,” reads very

much like a check-in, underscoring the significance of those opening activities in

garnering participants’ trust. Meanwhile the reference to the psychiatrist alludes to

increased bridging capital. James has adults he can turn to if he is struggling; adults he

trusts to connect him to the proper external resources, in this case a psychiatrist, resulting

in greater bridging capital.

Interviews indicate the TNT participants also came to see Cochrane and Rawson

as trusted adults. In addition to listening during check-ins, Rawson edited – and

occasionally didn’t edit – TNT scripts to better amplify the voice of young participants.

According to Rawson, the first script Cutter received poor reviews from those in the local

theatre community, with the adults claiming that the script was overburdened with issues

and failed to accurately portray the teen experience. Rawson recounted sharing this

feedback with the TNT participants, “So I went to the teens, I said, ‘Hey, guys, here's

what I was told. And they want me to alter the script. What do you think?’ And the teens

overwhelmingly went, ‘This is our life every day. We deal with all of this crap every

single day. So, putting it in a script makes sense to us.’”66 Samuel joined the program

later in the process but echoed this perspective, “Yeah, you need to deal with all of this at

one time, because that's what life is. It's everything at one time. It's not – things don't

order themselves.”67 On the other hand, Rawson frequently edited the script to reflect the

desires and opinions of the participants. The second script, Hurt People, began with

questions for the participants: “Now what needs to be said? What do you want your

fellow teens and other concerned adults to be able to hear? Like, what are the issues that

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need to come forward?"68 After drafting the scripts, Rawson would return to the

participants for advice on vernacular and other aspects of the participants’ lived

experience.

Through this dialogic process, Rawson and the young participants created a

structure for conveying the participants’ lived experience to other young people and

adults in the area. In his interview, Brayden recollected a strong desire to share oft-

stigmatized aspects of his life with the adults around him, whether they be school

administrators or his own parents. When asked what about TNT made that

communication easier, Brayden highlighted both the medium of theatre and the structure

provided by the adult facilitators. “[T]here were a lot of structured things that allowed us

to speak our perspective, like the script, we had a stage, we had Erica and Scott there to

back us up. So I feel that that's what assisted in us telling our stories more and easier as

opposed to confronting someone about it.”69 Not only did Cochrane and Rawson grow

participants’ bridging capital through connections to outside resources – such as the

aforementioned experts and educational materials – but they also provided the structure

and support necessary for the young people to break their “thin disguise” of silence and

work towards openness, which Hebl, Tickle, and Heatherton contend may be one of the

best ways to overcome the anxiety of the non-stigmatized and subsequently lessen the

harmful impacts of stigma.70

Above I have argued that facilitators are ideally suited to the role of trusted adult

and that check-ins can further encourage trusted adult relationships. Applied theatre

experts have emphasized the benefits of check-ins in regard to developing communities

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of practice and enabling greater facilitator responsivity. A closer look at Stuart’s arts

education programming and the Creative Alliance of Baraboo’s now disbanded TNT

reveals how the previously identified benefits of check-ins foster trusted adult

relationships and in turn grow the bridging capital of the rural youth participants.

As young participants come to trust facilitators, facilitators in turn are better able

to connect participants with external resources – an act that gains significance when

working with rural youth subject to intragroup stigma. At Stuart’s and TNT, facilitator-

resourced scripts provided an alternative to absent or misconstrued narratives about

stigmatized rural youth. Seeing themselves in these scripts inspired many young

participants to speak out about stigma. In some cases, this speech was necessarily limited

to the workshop space; given her past attempts to come out and the very real likelihood of

negative consequences, Jo was inclined to maintain her “thin disguise” of silence in

public. With the support and connections of facilitators, other young participants were

able to speak more candidly about their stigma, deepening their relationships with other

adults. After a mere six workshops, James claimed he would feel comfortable going to

Robinson Hillis and Ms. C for help accessing a psychiatrist. Cochrane and Rawson also

connected young participants with a psychologist, as well as numerous other experts; the

participants in turn used their newly found expertise to reach out to other members of

their communities, even aiding with inclusivity trainings for teachers. In other words, the

trusted adult relationships formed between young participants and adult facilitators

created a snowball effect of sorts, with facilitators first providing practical assistance –

growing participants’ bridging capital through connections to outside resources – and

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then providing support – which participants leveraged to seek out additional connections

and greater bridging capital.

BRIDGING CAPITAL AND TRUSTED ADULTS: FINAL THOUGHTS AND

CAVEATS

Towards the end of my interview with Robinson Hillis, I asked about her hopes

and worries for the young participants. Her response was filled with commendations for

their potential and resilience but also a significant dose of fear, mostly due to factors she

could do nothing about: problems at home, educational concerns, troubles associated with

poverty and economic insecurity. Yet she could control her own presence, the importance

of which she argued, should not be underestimated:

I’m terrified for them, and that’s one of the reasons I want to keep teaching, is because I want to stay with them. And I have no control over whether or not they come back or any of that. But I’m going to be here, at this time, on this day every week. You can be here or not, but I will be here…Even if I’m too tired or I didn’t have time to prepare or whatever. If I can physically be present every week. I feel like that actually goes a long way with these kids.71

True to her word, when the program I observed came to an end, Robinson Hillis was

already in talks with Prince to see how she could contribute during the following

programming cycle.

Robinson Hillis’s testimony echoes Ms. S’s final call – shared in addendum to an

interview. We had already wrapped the recording at Midwest High School and were

saying our goodbyes, when Ms. S realized she had a few more thoughts to add:

So here are my final thoughts. Final thoughts are what people can give to rural teenagers. They can give them longevity and support and that means sticking with them when they’re dumb asses and they’re putting fire-crackers up their butts and

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lighting them up. You can be the person to stick with them cause ultimately these teenagers and rural teenagers need to know that there are adults that are going to love and trust them no matter what decision they make, and I think that’s what the theatre workshop did. They could be silly. They could be naughty. They could toe right up to the line. They could tell me to my face that they loved you more than me. That’s okay because they know I’m sticking with them, and it’s okay to have opinions. And sometimes I think that’s missed here. Like they don’t know if it’s safe to vote Democratic. Just longevity and making sure that these particular students know that they have support, and they have someone.72

The impact of applied theatre on Ms. S’s relationship with her students will be explored

further in the next chapter, where I also analyze my own relationship to the participants.

For now, it suffices to note that Ms. S already served as a trusted adult to many of her

students, and consequently her call for greater “longevity,” in conjunction with Robinson

Hillis’ desire to “stay with” the Stuart’s Opera House participants, warrants consideration

alongside trusted adult scholarship.

Reviewing their findings on trusted adult relationships, Meltzer, Muir, and Craig

conclude, “The worth of the relationship thus may not end when the relationship ends, as

young people may continue to benefit from what has been learnt.”73 Though Meltzer,

Muir, and Craig are not speaking directly to matters of social capital, Brayden’s

involvement in Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) suggests young people may continue to

experience increased bridging capital upon the conclusion of trusted adult relationships.

Brayden left TNT after two years, citing the growing demands of his high school

schedule. Upon his departure, Brayden describes feeling complete, happy that he did

what he did and in no need of additional support. His relationship with Cochrane and

Rawson was at an end, but he still credits them with teaching him some of the skills

necessary to connect with both like- and unlike-minded individuals. In particular,

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Brayden underscored how his experience in TNT talkbacks, supported by Cochrane and

Rawson, have left him with strong communication skills – a resource which leads to

further bridging capital.

The continued value of such relationships may not be realized, however, if the

facilitator’s departure causes resentment or leaves participants in a vulnerable position

without other trusted adults. Meltzer, Muir, and Craig contend that young people maybe

left in a “vulnerable” position, if a trusted adult relationship changes or ends and they

have no one else to whom they can turn.74 The scholars’ warning points to the source of

Robinson Hillis and Ms. S’s concerns. Participants and students who lack a stable

network of trusted adults need those they do trust to stay with them, at least until such a

network can be developed. Consequently, if facilitators-turned-trusted-adults depart

prematurely, participants may lose any bridging capital developed over the course of the

applied theatre practice.

Fortunately, trusted adults at both Stuart’s and TNT have intuitively endeavored

to create stable networks of trusted adults. Not only has Robinson Hillis committed to

staying involved in Stuart’s arts education programming for the duration of her degree

program, Ms. C and Prince also serve as trusted adults and are importantly based in

Nelsonville with few plans to leave in the near future. As for TNT, the program may have

disbanded but Cochrane and Rawson still offer their support in varying degrees:

Cochrane: If we see them – most of them we still are really closely – we’ll hug them and learn about what they're doing. All these kids are now applying for – many of them are applying for college, and they're moving on with their life. One works for Scott, well in in a business that Scott is part of. Scott got him a job. Another one is in our improv troupe. And other ones, if they're in plays or other things, we go and see them.

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Rawson: We go and support them. And they come support me. They all came to the last play I was in.75

Where needed Cochrane and Rawson continue to act as trusted adults, co-creating

bridging capital by connecting young people to external resources such as jobs. In other

cases, Cochrane and Rawson’s small shows of support merely complement the

relationships and bridging capital former participants have accrued while working on new

plays and “other things.” With planning and care, trusted adult relationships formed over

the course of applied theatre practice – thanks to exercises like check-ins – can increase

young participants’ bridging capital, not only during the applied theatre program, but for

some time to come.

1 August, James, Jo, and Lu (Stuart’s participants) in discussion with the author, December 13, 2019. The interview was supervised by Skye Robinson Hillis (Stuart’s facilitator) and Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator).

2 Michelle (Stuart’s participant) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019. Michelle had a conflict and was unable to attend the last day of the program. She readily agreed to a separate interview, which was supervised by Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator); and Ms. C in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019 with Michelle in attendance. After completing her interview, Michelle asked if remain in the room as I interviewed Ms. C. Unsure of how this would impact the interview, I opted to let Ms. C decide. Ms. C agreed, and Michelle stayed in the room - arguable a happy coincidence as it allowed for the featured exchange.

3 Ms. C in discussion.

4 “2020 Brochure,” Downtown Baraboo, last accessed February 12, 2020, http://www.downtownbaraboo.com/content/2020/dbi_brochure_2020.pdf.

5 Ariella Meltzer, Kristy Muir, and Lyn Craig, “Being Trusted: The Perspectives of Trusted Adults About Engaging with Young People,” Children and Youth Services Review 63 (2015): 58-66; and Ariella Meltzer, Kristy Muir, and Lyn Craig, “The Role of Trusted Adults in Young People’s Social and Economic Lives,” Youth & Society 50, no. 5 (2018): 575-92.

6 Meltzer, Muir, and Craig, “Being Trusted,” 60.

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7 Michelle in discussion.

8 Michelle in discussion.

9 Megan Alrutz, Digital Storytelling, Applied Theatre, and Youth: Performing Possibility (New York: Routledge, 2015), 24; Jan Cohen-Cruz, Local Acts: Community-Based Performance in the United States (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005), 76; Kathleen Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters: Urban Youth, Engagement, and a Pedagogy of the Real (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), 214; and Kathleen Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban: Youth and Schooling in Dangerous Times (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007), 98.

10 Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2000), 22.

11 Putnam, 23.

12 Putnam, 22: “Bonding social capital is, as Xavier de Souza Briggs put it, good for ‘getting by,’ but bridging social capital is crucial for ‘getting ahead.’” In the corresponding footnote, Putnam cites: Xavier de Souza Briggs, “Doing Democracy Up Close: Culture, Power, and Communication in Community Building,” Journal of Planning and Education and Research 18, no. 1 (1998): 1-13. However, this article makes no reference to either “getting by” or “getting ahead.” De Souza Brigg’s does make this distinction in some of his other writings, including his discussion of social support and social leverage found in “Moving Up Versus Moving Out: Neighborhood Effects in Housing Mobility Programs,” Housing and Policy Debate 8, no. 1 (1997): 195-234.

13 Scott Rawson, Hurt People, (unpublished script, shared with the author, March 18th, 2018), 19.

14 Meltzer, Muir, and Craig, “Being Trusted,” 58.

15 Meltzer, Muir, and Craig, “The Role of Trusted Adults,” 582-3.

16 Meltzer, Muir, and Craig, “The Role of Trusted Adults,” 577.

17 David Murphey et al., Caring Adults: Important for Positive Child Well-Being (Bethesda, MD: Child Trends, 2013), 1.

18 Murphey et al., 1.

19 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

20 Brayden Turner (former TNT participant) in discussion with the author, May 6, 2020.

21 Isaac and Samuel (former TNT participants) in discussion with the author, April 4, 2020. The interview was supervised by Samuel’s mother.

22 Emily Prince (Stuart’s Education Director) in discussion with the author, December 13, 2019.

23 Prince in discussion.

24 Prince in discussion.

25 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

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26 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

27 Erica Cochrane and Scott Rawson (former TNT facilitators) in discussion with the author, April 6, 2020.

28 Ben Bromely, “Baraboo Teen Play Tackles Issues,” Baraboo News Republic, last modified November 7, 2016, https://www.wiscnews.com/baraboonewsrepublic/news/local/baraboo-teen-play-tackles-issues/article_e61b39e9-3fd3-579a-91a2-68f828024d41.html.

29 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion. The photograph, taken prior to the 2018 Baraboo High School junior prom, depicts roughly sixty current and former students, many of whom appear to have their hands raised in a Nazi salute. While the photograph and later fall out certainly speaks to intragroup stigma among young people in the area, the incident has already received widespread media attention and further scrutiny here risks adhering to the very trends that perpetuate rural stigma – an overemphasis of the antagonistic and understatement of the sympathetic. For media coverage of the photograph and subsequent fall out, see Chris McGreal, “The Nazi Salute Picture that Divided an American Town,” The Guardian, last modified January 10, 2019, https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/jan/10/nazi-salute-picture-baraboo-wisconsin-divided-american-town; Josheph Bernstein, “The Baraboo Nazi Prom Photo Shocked The World. The City’s Response Shocked Its Residents,” BuzzFeedNews, last modified April 2, 2019, https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/josephbernstein/baraboo-nazi-prom-photo; and Erik Gunn, “Not Just a Picture: Baraboo One Year Later,” Wisconsin Examiner, last modified January 6, 2020, https://wisconsinexaminer.com/2020/01/06/not-just-a-picture/.

30 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion; for other school district efforts to respond to the photograph, see “Baraboo Acts Community Action Plan,” Baraboo School District, accessed May 20, 2020, https://www.baraboo.k12.wi.us/cms_files/resources/Baraboo%20Acts%20Community%20Action%20Plan.pdf.

31 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

32 Michelle R. Hebl, Jennifer Tickle, and Todd F. Heatherton, “Awkward Moments in Interactions between Nonstigmatized and Stigmatized Individuals,” in The Social Psychology of Stigma, eds. Todd F. Heatherton et al. (New York: The Guilford Press, 2000), 273-306.

33 Brayden in discussion.

34 Jan Cohen-Cruz, 76.

35 Alrutz, 24; Alrutz attributes the concept of “youth-allied adults” to digital media scholarship, namely: Shelly Goldman, Angela Booker, and Meghan McDermott, “Mixing the Digital, Social, and Cultural: Learning, Identity, and Agency in Youth Participation,” in Youth, Identity, and Digital Media, ed. David Buckingham (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008), 185-206.

36 Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters, 214.

37 Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban, 98.

38 Aubrey Helene Neumann, “Transitioning out of the Role of Trusted Adult in Applied Theatre with Youth: Or How I Found Myself in Need of a Time Machine,” Youth Theatre Journal (2021): n.pag. 39 Due to this early promise of confidentiality, I assumed that participants would ask that I gloss over check-ins in my writing. Much to my surprise, when I followed up with participants at the end of the program to see which of their check-ins I could include in my research, very little was off-limits. Michelle

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provided some insight into this tendency, as she talked through what topics to include and what to leave out. In particular, I noted Michelle’s response to the topic of missing her brother, who had recently been moved out of the home to a care facility which could better accommodate his disabilities. Michelle hovered over the topic for a moment, before stating, “Ummmmm, yeah. Touchy but important.” These check-ins were by and large important to the participants, and they wanted to share the information with others.

40 Prince attributes her own knowledge of the term to Kim Jackson of Integrated Service for Behavioral Health. In 2017, Jackson was in the process of establishing The Hive, a local youth drop-in center located catty-corner from Stuart’s in Nelsonville’s central square. Hoping to create a supportive environment both within and outside of The Hive, Jackson reached out to local businesses like Stuart’s and explained the role of a trusted adult.

41 Skye Robinson Hillis (Stuart’s facilitator) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019.

42 Robinson Hillis in discussion.

43 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

44 Gavin Bolton, Drama as Education: An Argument for Placing Drama at the Centre of the Curriculum (Harlow, England: Longman, 1984), 169.

45 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

46 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion. In addition to Miller, the facilitators specifically referenced bringing in Nola Pastor who was the Prevention Project Coordinator at Hope House of South-Central Wisconsin. Proud Theater is a Madison-based program open to LGBTQ+ youth and their allies.

47 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

48 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

49 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

50 Michelle in discussion.

51 Check-ins at Stuarts did veer towards catharsis and even therapy at times. Though outside the scope of this study, the potential pitfalls of check-ins warrant further consideration elsewhere.

52 Michelle in discussion.

53 Juliana Saxton, “Failing Better,” in A Reflective Practitioners Guide to (Mis)Adventures in Drama or What Was I Thinking?, ed. Peter Duffy (Chicago: Intellect, 2015), 260.

54 Saxton, 260.

55 Yasmine Kandil, “Personal Stories in Applied Theatre Contexts: Redefining the Blurred Lines,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 21, no. 2 (2016): 203.

56 Daniel Banks, “Hip Hop as Pedagogy: Something from Something,” Theatre Topics 25, no. 3 (2015): 251-52.

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57 Heather Ikemire, “Putting Culture to Work: Building Community with Youth through Community-Based Theater Practice” (doctoral dissertation, Arizona State University, 2010), 207.

58 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

59 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

60 Ikemere, 208-9.

61 Michael Balfour, Marvin Westwood, and Marla J. Buchanan, “Protecting into Emotion: Therapeutic Enactments with Military Veterans Transitioning Back into Civilian Life,” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 19, no. 2 (2014): 176.

62 Sarah Gubbins, fml: how Carson McCullers saved my life (Woodstock, IL: Dramatic Publishing, 2012).

63 Nicolas Shannon Savard, “Queer(er) Approaches to the Laramie Project” Theatre Topics (forthcoming).

64 Robinson Hillis in discussion.

65 August, James, Jo, and Lu in discussion.

66 Rawson and Cochrane in discussion.

67 Samuel and Isaac in discussion.

68 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

69 Brayden in discussion.

70 Hebl, Tickle, and Heatherton, 292-7.

71 Robinson Hillis in discussion.

72 Ms. S (Midwest teacher) in discussion with the author, October 31, 2019.

73 Meltzer, Muir, and Craig, “Being Trusted,” 63.

74 Meltzer, Muir, and Craig, “Being Trusted,” 65.

75 Cochrane and Rawson in discussion.

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Chapter Five. Applied Theatre as Research: Linking Participants, Researchers, and Readers

Nowhere does my positionality as a suburban-turned-urban researcher stand out

more clearly than in my field notes from the first day of Stuart’s Opera House program.

“People never notice the old lady in the corner…”

I’m attempting participatory research, writing a monologue alongside the handful of young people who have shown up for the program. I sit on the floor between the bookshelf and a small navy loveseat. From my tucked away corner, I sneak glances at the other participants. Across the room at one of two circular tables, Michelle sits upright, scribbling away. Had she really thought I was a participant? Wanting to blend in, I’m dressed casually in an heathered sweater and fitted blue jeans; my hair’s braided up on the top of my head, and last minute, I switched out flashy boots with a faux rose gold clasp for a more subdued leather pair. I don’t necessarily look like your suited academic, but at twenty-nine, I don’t exactly look like a high school student either. Perhaps Michelle was being polite? Seeing me alone in the corner and not wanting to make me feel out of place? Another participant, That, hunches over on the floor next to Michelle. They surprised me as well. After their declaration last week that they didn’t want to be a “guinea pig,” I assumed they might participate in the program, but not consent to the research component. I just hoped too many others wouldn’t follow suit. Despite the Education Director’s reassurances that the participants had lots to say, I worried they might not want to say it to me. Yet at the beginning of today’s workshop, who was there with signed consent forms in hand? That handed over the forms without fuss, and I sighed a breath of relief, perhaps a few of the participants might talk to me after all. I hope so; otherwise, this is going to make for a loooong case study.1

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Indeed, I had little to worry about. Over the course of eight Fridays, the Stuart’s

participants chatted with me as they settled in, shared with me in weekly check-ins, and

included me in their skits and staged readings. When I later asked whether my presence

as a researcher impacted their experience of the program, their response was an adamant

“no.” As James declared, “You’re part of the group now. You’re not allowed to leave.”2

What does it mean for me, a suburban-turned-urban academic, to become “part of

the group,” particularly in light of the immense rural stigma discussed in previous

chapters? How might it impact the social capital of the rural youth participants and their

communities? And in light of James’ decree, what does it mean when I do leave? Do the

benefits end there, or might the research foster social capital long after I am gone? This

chapter explores how my presence impacted rural youth participants and their adult

counterparts in all three case studies. Though the archival and virtual nature of my work

with Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) limited my personal impact, interviews at both Midwest

High School and Stuart’s indicate small but arguably significant impacts, from

demonstrations of unexpected hospitality to acknowledgment of much appreciated

support. I contend that these experiences served as a practice in linking capital, a form of

social capital that derives from outside connections – often to formal institutions. 3

Though not particularly well-situated within academic institutions, as a graduate student

who also teaches the occasional university course, I represent a link to those institutions.

Something similar could be said of my status as an urbanite, providing a personal

connection to a group of people with whom the participants may otherwise have minimal

contact. While this interaction may have served as practice for later interactions with

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outsiders, the short timeframe of the Midwest residency led much of our co-created

linking capital to dissolved upon my departure.

The impact of Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) on the linking capital of the

rural youth participants, however, has the potential to extend far beyond that created

during the programs. By not only observing and facilitating applied theatre programs but

also utilizing ATAR to uncover and ultimately disseminate information regarding the

impacts of rural and intragroup stigma on rural youth, this dissertation contributes to

linking capital of those I worked with as well as the many rural young people in similar

situations.

Earlier chapters have explored how a focus on social and cultural capital avoids

pathologizing applied theatre participants by emphasizing the broader sociocultural

contexts at play. Internalized rural stigma may negatively impact embodied cultural

capital by diminishing self-efficacy. The close-knit nature of many rural and small-town

communities may lead to social stratification, potentially perpetuating intragroup stigma

and limiting prosocial bonding capital amongst rural young people. Intragroup stigma

may also lead to silence and isolation, inhibiting rural young people’s ability to form

beneficial relationships with adults outside their family and develop subsequent bridging

capital. However, the onus for change remains with the young rural participants and their

oft-overworked adult counterparts.

In shifting the focus to ATAR, I aim to redistribute this burden, inviting readers to

think about how we too might work towards limiting the impacts of rural and intragroup

stigma on rural youth. This invitation walks the fine ethical line between savior and

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collaborator, yet such a balancing act becomes necessary with non-performance based (or

no longer performance based) applied theatre practice. When performance-based applied

theatre practice is not possible or desirable – whether due to time constraints, budgetary

reasons, or different foci – ATAR can open a dialogue with a broader audience, linking

participants to resources that would otherwise be inaccessible. When Peter O’Connor and

Michael Anderson first codified ATAR methodology, they aimed to position research as

a “catalyst for change.”4 While my own approach to ATAR is somewhat more emergent

than O’Connor and Anderson’s – allowing research topics and subsequent data to arise

more informally – I share their commitment to research as a change agent both within the

field of applied theatre and with regard to the concerns of rural youth.

With this latter aim in mind, I first detail the role of linking capital as it relates to

rural stigma, before considering my impact on the participants at Midwest and Stuart’s. I

then describe how ATAR methodology contributed to the linking capital of the

participants in all three case studies. While the time constraints of each case study limited

the scope of this research, ATAR methodology remains a promising avenue for

expanding the impact of and dialogue around future applied theatre practice with rural

youth.

“NO ONE’S TARGET DEMOGRAPHIC”: LINKING CAPITAL AND RURAL

STIGMA

When asked what I should communicate about the perspectives of young people

in his area, former Teens ’n’ Theatre (TNT) member Isaac responded: “I think

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perspectives of rural teens are really important because we get overlooked a lot. Like

we're no one's like target demographic, because we're all small towns. We're easily

missed and stuff.”5 While Isaac’s assertion recalls the deficit-based narratives discussed

earlier in this dissertation, it differs from those narratives in its focus not on the inherent

qualities of the young people or their communities but on the lack of connections

between young people and those beyond their communities – in particular those beyond

their communities with the ability to support or enact change.

Such connections promote linking capital, a form of social capital first identified

by social scientist Michael Woolcock, presumably while working with the World Bank’s

Development Research Group.6 The World Development Report 2000/2001: Attacking

Poverty presents linking capital as a complement to Robert Putnam’s earlier notions of

bonding and bridging capital. The report defines linking capital as, “[T]he vertical ties

between poor people and people in positions of influence in formal organizations (banks,

agricultural extension offices, the police).” 7 Indirectly criticizing Putnam’s binary, the

report further contends, “A theory of social capital that focuses only on relations within

and between communities, however, opens itself to the criticism that it ignores power.”8

Some of this critique stems from a limited definition of bridging capital; the report

defines bridging capital as social capital stemming from “horizontal” connections to

those of different ethnic and occupational backgrounds but of similar economic status and

political power. Though perhaps implied through Putnam’s examples – with members of

the titular bowling leagues in Bowling Alone (2000) often sharing similar economic and

political status – no such horizontal requirement exists in Putnam’s definition.9 This

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broader definition features in the previous chapter, in which I addressed bridging capital

developed through necessarily inequitable relations between young rural participants and

their adult counterparts.

Consideration of linking capital, however, does prove useful when evaluating

limited opportunity structures and perceived disenfranchisement in rural areas. Political

scientist Katherine J. Cramer details the latter in her book, The Politics of Resentment:

Rural Consciousness in Wisconsin and Rise of Scott Walker (2016). As touched upon in

previous chapters, Cramer outlines a politics of resentment, in which many rural

individuals vote against candidates much lauded by urbanites rather than for candidates

who appear to have rural communities’ best interests in mind. Cramer attributes this

resentment to a common mentality, which she deems rural consciousness: “Simply put,

many folks I met in small places identified as rural people and equated membership in

that category with being a person who is systematically ignored and left out of the

exercise of power.”10

Read in terms of social capital, the rural consciousness Cramer observes would

indicate low levels of perceived linking capital in rural and small-town areas. Addressing

both urban and rural poor, the World Bank report asserts: “[Linking capital] captures a

vitally important additional feature of life in poor communities: that their members are

usually excluded – by overt discrimination or lack of resources – from the places where

major decisions relating to their welfare are made.”11 Such exclusion can also be seen in

the treatment of rural youth, who maybe doubly or even triply disenfranchised by their

youth, locality, and, at times, poverty.

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Perceptions of disenfranchisement may further limit linking capital, even when

such perceptions cannot be clearly justified. Much as Cramer teases out the complex

underpinnings of rural consciousness, the perceptions of rural youth require a close

reading. Isaac’s contention that rural young people constitute “no one’s target

demographic” rightfully underscores the need for greater attention to the plight of rural

youth, but simultaneously overlooks the rural education scholarship that forms the basis

of much of this dissertation.12 While limited connections to those in positions of power

restrict rural youth access to linking capital, so too do the perceptions among some rural

youth that even were they to find a way to reach those in positions of influence such

individuals would not listen.

Rural stigma exacerbates both these limited connections and perceptions of

indifference. As rural scholars Paul Theobald and Kathy Wood elucidate, “Rural equals

backward is an old cultural message, but it hasn’t diminished its utility. The message

legitimates policy measures that are demonstrably unfair to rural locales.” Key among

these measures are consolidation policies that lead to fewer schools, government

agencies, rural hospitals, and newspapers, in turn limiting rural youth access to formal

institutions. Fears of consolidation were particularly prevalent at Midwest. Although

students were most vocal about the proposed football cooperative – arguing against

partnering with their rival team – Tonny and Harold also grumbled about insufficient

access to quality health care and an overemphasis on negative local happenings by larger

news outlets.

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Rural stigma likewise leads to urban-centric training programs, which in turn

contribute to provider shortages in fields such as mental health care. Isaac, who grew up

in a smaller community outside of Baraboo, spoke of limited access to mental health

specialists, “If there are hard hitting topics, there aren’t a lot of people who are trained on

how to deal with these things. Therapists in town usually don’t know how to specialize in

something.”13 A 2018 article in Academic Psychiatry supports Isaac’s claim, contending

“The shortage of mental health resources in the USA, as in other countries, is far worse in

rural communities, where there may be a complete lack of specialty providers and

significant delays between onset of psychiatric illness and formal diagnosis.”14 While

numerous causes contribute to this shortage, Dennis F. Mohatt, Director of the Western

Interstate Commission for Higher Education (WICHE) Mental Health Program,

underscores problems of “acceptability.” 15 Much as urban-centric teacher training and

education systems fail to support rural teachers or their students, Mohatt claims that the

majority of existing training programs falsely assume that urban models of mental health

care will work in rural environments and consequently fail to prepare providers to work

in rural areas. Consolidations and urban-centric training programs perpetuate a harmful

cycle with regard to the linking capital of rural youth. Rural young people have limited

access to individuals in positions of power, and those the young people do have access to

are often trained to overlook the ways in which rural lived experiences deviate from

urban norms. Consequently, rural young people lack the resources necessary to secure

increased linking capital.

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Rural youth may further exacerbate this problem through exhibitions of hostile

bravado, which as detailed in Chapter One, occur when stigmatized individuals

exaggerate stigmatizing attributes during mixed contacts with non-stigmatized

individuals. In the case of rural youth, this involves heightened displays of ignorance or

backwardness towards urban outsiders, who may respond with their own hostility. This

chapter recounts some of my own experiences with what I deem hostile bravado, as well

as how researchers and participants may collaborate to disrupt these cycles and co-create

linking capital through the applied theatre process.

In focusing not only on the potential of applied theatre practice but also the

information shared (oral, written, and embodied) over the course of applied theatre

practice, I hope to facilitate change by affording readers in positions of power a better

understanding of the lived experiences of rural young people. Admittedly this

understanding remains second-hand, filtered through my own outsider perspectives and

shaped by the nature of doctoral research. Hoping to limit – though inevitably not erase

this influence – I asked every research participant the following: “Think about your

experiences in the area. What do you think is important for me to communicate to my

readers about the perspective of young people in rural/small-town areas?” Most of the

answers are woven throughout this dissertation in the attempt to hold up my end of the

bargain, co-creating linking capital with rural young people by framing their responses in

a way that “my readers” would find engaging. Here are a few more for good measure:

Brayden: [I wanted to] be able to perform and be like, "This is what's going on. What can we do about it?" I think that's the important part about theatre in rural communities, because I feel like kids don't have that outlet. They don't have that kind of emotional, artistic outlet. And in smaller communities it's more often that

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they're more closed minded, so it's a way for more diverse perspectives to be brought about.16 Michelle: Yeah, this is a great idea, and I’ve never read anything like it. I think it’s interesting, and I don’t know if it’s out there, but I think it’s good that this is the one I read first. Because I wouldn’t want to compare those to this. So, I think it’s a good idea. And I think it being out there is something special. And even if there are other ones, you have a unique voice, and these are unique kids, and it’s a unique place and a unique story.17 Midwest Student Survey: I don’t really know honestly…you done good, so just keep doing it.

“PART OF THE GROUP”: LINKING CAPITAL BETWEEN THE RESEARCHER

AND RESEARCH PARTICIPANTS

Much as the facilitators and administrators in the last chapter developed trusted

adult relationships with some of the participants, contributing to the bridging capital of

their young counterparts, I too developed connections with some of the participants,

creating something more akin to linking capital. These connections were particularly

apparent at Midwest High School and Stuart’s Opera House where I played an active role

in the applied theatre practice. At Midwest I facilitated daily workshops, modifying

exercises to better accommodate the needs and interests of the participants. At Stuart’s, I

observed another facilitator do the same in weekly workshops.

On the last day of both case studies, I invited questions: about the research,

academia, theatre, anything participants wanted to know (within the confines of school

propriety and my own professionalism). The participants challenged me with some tricky

ones, some about my research and others about life in general. At Stuart’s, Michelle

wanted to know how I wound up in Nelsonville, and how Stuart’s participants compared

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to those I had met elsewhere. At Midwest, BM was also curious about the other case

studies, asking how many other schools I had worked with. Other participants focused

more broadly, with one playfully demanding the meaning of life and another questioning,

“Is college really worth it?”

In response, I shared my perspective as an outsider who loves theatre and wanted

to use it to better understand the viewpoints of the rural teenagers I knew so little about.

Stuart’s boasted one of the few programs that devised performances with rural youth and

was the only organization willing to let me observe the process. Stuart’s participants were

younger than Midwest participants (the only other group I had worked with at the time),

but were also there by choice, resulting in a more focused, less rowdy group – though I

enjoyed working with both. Riffing off The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (1979) by

Douglas Adams, the meaning of life is 42.18 And college was very much worth it for me

as it provided me an opportunity to contemplate new ideas and meet people with

perspectives very different from my own. However, there are certainly other less

expensive ways of achieving those same goals, depending on what career path a person is

interested in and where they want to end up.

I then shared my email with participants and encouraged them to reach out if they

had any questions about arts or academia moving forward. No one took me up on this

offer – an outcome I attribute both to the tenuous nature of the connection we had forged

and the seeming formality of email communications. From past experience facilitating

applied theatre workshops with young people, I have found that email provides a good

degree of accountability, in the sense that I can request participants ‘cc a trustworthy

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adult or quickly add my supervisor to the email chain. While I would happily share my

phone number or social media handles with participants – and indeed participants might

be more inclined to text or message me than to draft a formal email – these other modes

of communication increase the likelihood of private messages, deemed inappropriate by

the university’s recommended policy for electronic communication with minors.19

Perhaps had I actually been able to revisit Midwest six months later or returned to

Stuart’s to see their spring production of Romeo and Juliet – as I’d intended to prior to

the coronavirus pandemic – more participants would have taken me up on my offer of

continued support, but even so, interviews at Midwest as well as Stuart’s indicate that the

impact of my presence may have lasted beyond my connection with the participants.

Constructive Mixed Contacts: Hospitality and Hostile Bravado at Midwest

On my last day at Midwest High School, the eighth- and ninth-hour class

presented me with a store bought thank you card (Figure 5.1). The pastel flowers and

delicate butterflies adorning the front of the card provided a fun contrast to the snow that

had fallen outside the day before, but I was more touched by the twenty odd signatures

decorating the inside. Ms. S surprised me, however, when she later recalled the card

itself:

I’m gonna get emotional and cry because when eighth- and ninth-hour gave you that card, that was not something I was expecting. Those kids are so poor and come from poverty, but they decided they couldn’t make you a card because you were too special, and they had to buy you one. I also had two kids that were like, “Did you get her something, Ms. S? You have to get her something.” And I was like, “Yeah I got her a drama club t-shirt and soap.” And they were like, “Good cause if you forgot that would be really bad and

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really rude.” So, they were really worried about the hospitality of you being here.20

Although I hated to think of the participants scrimping on my account, the card was a

lovely example of the hospitality many participants had exhibited throughout my time at

Midwest. From questions about where I was staying on the first day to concerns about my

car when I was driving back to Ohio over the weekend, participants expressed an

unexpected interest in my well-being. As Ms. S further observed, “I wasn’t prepared for

them to care about – I was prepared for them to see you as a stranger, to be completely

goofy and silly and be like, ‘Why the hell is Ms. S making me do this?’ But instead, we

got the opposite. They cared about your hospitality.”21

A self-proclaimed “mama hen,” Ms. S tended to see the best in her “baby chicks.”

While a number of the participants exhibited a great degree of hospitality, there was also

plenty of goofiness and silliness – which I welcomed – as well as the occasional hostility.

The latter in many ways seemed related to the hostile bravado discussed in Chapter One,

tied as it was to stereotypes of rural ignorance and backwardness. As detailed below,

Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) methodology provided the perfect framework for

working through these antagonistic interactions, allowing for constructive mixed contacts

between the young rural participants and myself. Such constructive mixed contacts have

the potential to ease future mixed contacts between the participants and outsiders like

myself, promoting linking capital not only through my own resources but also through

the resources of urbanites the participants had yet to encounter.

At Midwest, the hostility most often manifested in the form of counterproductive

antics and anti-liberal sentiment. One participant, in filling out the wrap-up survey

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responded, “Camaraderie,” to every question. Describe a moment from the residency:

“Camaraderie.” What would you change about the residency? “Camaraderie.” What did

you learn from the residency? “Camaraderie.” (This last admittedly would have been an

encouraging response were it not for the identical answers before and after). The repeated

use of the five-syllable word – spelled “Comradery” on the survey – indicated to me a

certain rebellious disdain for academics and their jargon. With each repetition, the word

lost its meaning, and the participant claimed the right to keep their experience and

expertise to themselves.

As for anti-liberal sentiment, I had endeavored to keep my political beliefs to

myself over the course of the residency, but an offhand remark from Ms. S in her final

interview suggests my efforts were in vain. When asked what moments from the

residency would stay with her, Ms. S responded, “Seeing the kids be vulnerable with a

stranger, seeing kids accept someone who might be more liberal than them, which was

great…”22 Ms. S and I had skirted the question of politics earlier in the week, so by this

time, she knew that I considered myself a moderate Democrat. Rather than a statement on

my politics, I see the “might” in her statement as an indicator of the students’ perspective:

not knowing my beliefs for certain but guessing that, as a suburban-turned-urban

academic in the arts, I was likely more liberal.

Some of the students sought to test this liberal bent – often associated with

“political correctness” and a preference for inclusive language and behavior – by openly

expressing anti-Amish sentiment and challenging indigenous identities. In preparation for

the participants’ final performance (devised skits on a subject of their choosing), I invited

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each participant to share something they really enjoyed or loved and something they

really despised or hated – reasoning that more affective topics would better highlight

participant values and beliefs. While I originally received tepid responses from Ms. S’s

first hour class, Nemo later offered a loud addition. What really annoyed him, he

contended, were the Amish: taking forever to write a check at the gas station even when

they were only getting a lottery scratch-off. Although Ms. S and some of his fellow

students were quick to correct him, noting that the Amish didn’t gamble for religious

reasons, Nemo defended his claim: scratch-off or no, the Amish were annoying.

Indigenous populations also formed the target of critique, perhaps due to the

nearby casino, frequented by some of the seniors. A few participants questioned the

significance of indigenous identities, asserting that everyone is “native” to somewhere

and declaring that self-identification was a matter of choice. As the participants spoke, I

got the sense that they were needling me, challenging me to impose my own, inclusive

liberal viewpoints upon them so that they might catch me in a lie – claiming to want the

perspectives of rural young people only to denounce their perspectives when they didn’t

align with my own – or at the very least mock my “political correctness.” Ms. S

confirmed this suspicion in her interview.

Though not speaking directly to this incident, Ms. S clearly addressed students’

desire to goad and provoke until they ultimately inspire outrage.

Ms. S: Because there’s nothing to do here, so our kids do drive a lot. And they mess with people.

Neumann: And then mess with people, because they’re the few people on the road who aren’t actually trying to get somewhere.

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Ms. S: Exactly, exactly; they’re not trying to go anywhere. I don’t know if you’ve seen Smoke Signals, the Sherman Alexie movie about Native Americans. There’s this great scene in there where they have the Native Americans driving backwards – they’re driving in reverse, which says a lot more…but when I compare that to my students that’s what they do. They don’t care about their car or their whatever. They’re just gonna drive down the street backwards because that’s what they have to do.

Neumann: Do you think that there are people who they like to annoy more than others?

Ms. S: Oh, for sure. Oh yes, absolutely. You know, old people. Anybody who’s going to give them what they want. They ultimately want a scene. They want you to cause a scene.23

And while a relative insider like Ms. S often found herself the target of this teasing – with

students who ran used fly swatters across her desk and purposefully misinterpreted her

tone – the needling in my case seemed tied to my outsider status. What would this

academic liberal do when faced with “political incorrectness”?

Despite desperately wanting to dive into a lecture on indigenous politics, I limited

myself to a passing remark, acknowledging that while I supposed someone could self-

identify however one chose, I wasn’t sure why one would. The response wasn’t

particularly satisfying, for myself or the students. Not getting the rise they desired, the

participants shifted gears to discuss something else, but the following day the issue of

indigenous identity resurfaced. I asked those participating in the research component to

select pseudonyms, share their pronouns, and any additional information they wanted the

readers to know, providing examples ranging from ethnicity to Dungeons and Dragons

class. Paging through the responses after the participants had left, I observed that one of

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the more outspoken, notably white, participants from the day before had written one word

under additional information: “Native.”

The experience recalls a similar conundrum Dani Snyder-Young faced while co-

facilitating a Theatre of the Oppressed residency at an urban high school. When a

participant insists on perpetuating hegemonic discourse – declaring “Real men do not just

walk away” – Snyder-Young outlines her dilemma as follows:

At this moment, I have two choices. I can continue to push, asserting my authority to break down this assumption I find problematic. Or I can back off, giving Monáy the authority to manipulate the image as she likes. Inherent in this decision is that tension between balancing my mandate to challenge hegemonic thinking with my need to give Monáy agency in the classroom.24

Though operating under the umbrella term of applied theatre rather than the more

explicitly progressive Theatre of the Oppressed, I too felt pulled by my responsibilities as

a facilitator to educate and my responsibilities as a researcher to listen.

I ultimately followed Snyder-Young by embracing the less hierarchal nature of

applied theatre practice and holding space for participant viewpoints – however

problematic I found them. While I worry my measured response indicated a tacit

approval that allowed for the later microaggression, I also recognize the unforeseen

benefits to this approach. Though by no means the “watershed” moment that Snyder-

Young experienced – with Monáy coming to welcome Snyder-Young’s presence and the

rest of the class following suit – my response did allow the larger conversation to

continue, with participants speaking of job prospects, rural representation in the news,

and the Midwest community.

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Perhaps more importantly, I demonstrated my ability as an outsider – as a

suburban-turned-urban, presumed liberal, academic, adult stranger – to listen to the

participants, without imposing my own my own viewpoints. While interactions with

strangers mean very little in an urban context, where strangers abound, in rural

communities such interactions mean more simply due to their rarity. Ms. S spoke to this

rarity when explaining how the residency itself compared to her expectations.

I completely did not expect what I saw. I expected them to be quiet and shut down. I think you’ll agree the opposite happened…I saw them open up. I saw them become vulnerable with a stranger, which they don’t get a lot of here. You know, it’s a community, and man you were only here for two weeks, but they really opened up to you. I was impressed with that.25

As Ms. S further elucidated, her students do not have much practice with strangers,

because in the rural area where Midwest is located, “We know everyone.”26 My presence

provided participants an opportunity to interact with a stranger in a familiar school

setting. This familiar setting served an important role in equalizing the status of the

participants and myself.

Though still in a position of power, leading class with the support of their

classroom teacher, I was also subject to the will of the participants. I instructed, cajoled,

and wheedled – occasionally I even became stern and spoke of my disappointment – but

if the students did not want to participate, I could do little to make them. As much as I

endeavored to make the residency enjoyable, some participants would still have seen

being sent to the principal’s office as a reward (not to mention I had no desire to explain

to the principal how refusing to catch a Koosh ball could bring the entire Senior English

class to a halt). And while I could facilitate an exercise with one or even a few

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disengaged students, when everyone refused to participate, I was the one who had to

change my lesson plan. Although frustrating as facilitator, as a researcher I found these

moments fascinating. When was I asking the participants to risk too much? When was I

boring them? What did this tell me about their values? As a researcher committed to

better understanding the experience of rural young people, I tolerated – indeed on

occasion welcomed – acts of rebellion and hostile bravado that many other strangers

would not have, helping to promote more positive social interactions.

Though Erving Goffman cautions that familiarity “need not reduce” contempt

between stigmatized and non-stigmatized individuals, numerous psychologists have since

demonstrated that under certain conditions increased contact promotes ease in future

interactions.27 Social psychologist Gordon W. Allport first outlined these conditions in

1954, as part of an effort to identify means of reducing racial prejudice. According to

Allport, "[Prejudice] may be reduced by equal status contact between majority and

minority groups in the pursuit of common goals."28 In addition to coming together as

equals and sharing similar goals, Allport underscored the benefits of supportive

authorities, laws, or customs and informal, personal interactions. Scholars have since

expanded Allport’s original thesis to assess mixed contacts among various majority and

minority groups, with psychologists Michelle R. Hebl, Jennifer Tickle, and Todd F.

Heatherton addressing interactions between stigmatized and non-stigmatized individuals

more generally in 2000.29 Instances of ATAR are ideally suited to promoting this sort of

constructive mixed contact, particularly when an outside researcher works with an oft-

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stigmatized group. Furthermore, promoting ease in subsequent mixed contacts increases

the likelihood of developing future linking capital.

Though admittedly not of equal status, the participants had a good deal of control

over the course of the residency. I could give instructions, clap my hands to get students’

attention, and drink soda in class (though I hid it in my thermos so as not to flaunt my

privilege). The participants on the other hand could drown me out with their chatter,

participate so half-heartedly as to make exercises pointless, or disengage completely. At

the best of times, we endeavored towards common goals: devising performances, sharing

stories, and shaping the residency. While I had final say in the exercises, I took student

input, most notably incorporating one their favorite middle school games into our

opening activities.30 I also revised the lesson plan each night based on the activities the

participants had tolerated, enjoyed, and/or learned from the previous day. For example, I

had originally intended to focus solely on quick, generative exercises that could be

completed within a class period, feeling that longer projects placed too much pressure on

inexperienced actors to perform skillfully. However, after learning that one of the classes

would be writing a final reflection paper at the end of the quarter and noting a lack of

specificity in their peer feedback, I devised a longer exercise which involved not only

generation, rehearsal, and performance phases, but also a “preview” where participants

reflected on what they wished to address moving forward and received feedback from

myself and their classmates

The other authority figure in the room, Ms. S, shared the participants’ and my

goals and, as seen in the quote above, valued the opportunity for her students to interact

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with a stranger and likewise for me to learn from them. What’s more, less formal

interactions during passing time and while waiting for other groups to finish provided

opportunities for more personal interactions. From relative equity to less formal

interactions, the residency – grounded as it was in ATAR methodology – created the

conditions most likely to facilitate eased interactions between the young rural participants

and outsiders like myself.

Although these mixed interactions took place over a short span of time, Hebl,

Tickle, and Heatherington follow psychologist Robert E. Kleck in noting that “the quality

and not the quantity of contact is the important determinant in ascertaining the impact of

increased contact on acceptance.”31 This assertion as to the importance of quality over

quantity is encouraging for many applied theatre facilitators like myself, forced to work

within the confines of limited budgets and schedules. Ms. S’s declaration certainly speaks

to this phenomenon: “Man you were only here for two weeks, but they really opened up

to you.”32 Hebl, Tickle, and Heatherington’s conclusion indicates that the impact of this

connection, in terms of acceptance across stigma, will last well beyond those two weeks.

I write now a year on, and, although aided by field notes, the affective impact of

the experience remains strong. And as the country experienced yet another divisive

political election, with sharp distinctions between urban and rural voters, I could not help

but think of these participants: of their silliness and creativity, their kindness and

hospitality, and of their hostile bravado. While the participants undoubtably had a greater

impact on me than I did on them, I take comfort in the knowledge that interacting with

me in the ideal conditions we co-created under the auspices of applied theatre, more

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specifically Applied Theatre as Research, may (ever so slightly) ease future interactions

with urban individuals. By lessening hostile bravado and increasing the chances of

respect and understanding, constructive mixed contacts with outside facilitators promote

the likelihood of similar mixed interactions in the future.

Figure 5.1: Midwest Thank You Card

Listening at Stuart’s

James wasn’t the only participant at Stuart’s Opera House to assert that I had

become part of the group. A few days later Michelle echoed this sentiment, while also

sharing her perspective of my research aims:

Neumann: Did my presence as someone who was doing research affect the workshop for you?

Michelle: For me personally, absolutely not. I thought you were a fun contribution to the group. I liked your insights and your jokes, and I liked your presence

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altogether. I never once felt uncomfortable. Even when you’re scribbling in your notepad, I’m like “Did I say something funny or interesting? Which angle is she playing at right now?” Because neither one of them made me uncomfortable.

This is an interesting place, and there are a lot of interesting things happening here, and if someone wants to dive into that good for them. Go for it. Like I never once felt like, “Oh maybe I shouldn’t have said that in front of her” or “Oh maybe I shouldn’t get into that because someone’s present and they’re listening to that.” I never once felt uncomfortable. And I never got a vibe from the other kids that they were [uncomfortable]…

Neumann: Good! (Referencing the interview with August, James, Jo and Lu) They were good. Except some of them were like, “I forgot you were doing this.”

Michelle: I did. I did! I never once felt like, “Oh, that’s a writer. Oooh, that’s a writer hearing everything I’m saying right now.” Most of the times it was just like you were a part of the group.33

Intriguingly, Michelle contends that my presence as a researcher simultaneously did not

impact her and also led to self-conscious questioning. One explanation for this seeming

contradiction lies in Michelle’s repeated assertion that she never felt “uncomfortable.”

My presence as a researcher did impact her experience, but not in a way that Michelle

deemed troubling or unjustified; I was simply “part of the group.”

However, group membership comes with its own ethical pitfalls. While glad that

my presence hadn’t negatively impacted the participant experience – at least as they saw

it – I feared that by insinuating myself into the group I may have unintentionally

concealed my role as a researcher. As indicated in the interview with Michelle, other

participants seemed to be even less aware of my continued ethnographic observation.

Despite my having outlined the research and secured the necessary consent and assent

forms at the beginning of the program, participants had clearly come to see me as more of

an assistant facilitator than outside researcher. Concerned that participants might share

information with a member of the group that they would not want shared more broadly, I

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reminded participants that they could still redact anything that they had said or done over

the course of the program, but no one took advantage of the offer.

With check-ins, which facilitator Skye Robinson Hillis had positioned as

confidential, I took further steps to ensure participant assent. As detailed in Chapter Four,

I created a list of topics each student had discussed during check-ins, explaining that I

assumed most of what we had discussed was confidential and therefore not to be included

in the research. I invited participants to highlight any topics that they were willing to have

included in the research, thinking that perhaps participants might allow me to discuss our

rush to fix Lu’s broken Happy Meal toy or Michelle’s excitement over a recent youth

retreat. Other topics – problems at home, relationship struggles, panic attacks – I

imagined participants would choose to keep within the confines of the room, yet to my

great surprise, the participants highlighted all but two topics on the list of more than two

dozen.

The participants’ openness recalled Emily Prince and Ms. C’s early enthusiasm

for the research. The Education Director and assistant facilitator laughed that the

participants had lots to say and would be excited to share. As trusted adults, Prince, Ms.

C, and Robinson Hillis regularly held space for participants to speak and be heard. In

becoming part of the group, my relationship to the participants was similar to that of a

trusted adult, with a few notable exceptions. My time with the group was limited, as

discussed further in the following section. Additionally, I acted not as bridge to other

adults in nearby communities, but as a link to contacts and resources outside the

participants’ usual communities. As explored in Chapter Two, rural youth may

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internalize stigma leading to feelings of misrecognition and a preponderance of deficit-

based narratives. In sharing their stories with me, a member of the stigmatizing group,

participants intentionally or otherwise challenge rural stigma by providing more complex,

less stereotyped understandings of their lived experience. While I was careful not to

overstate the potential audience for my dissertation, participants knew (even if they

sometimes forgot) that their stories would reach a broader audience, serving to further

rectify the feelings of misrecognition.

Even those stories that might seem to reinforce negative rural stereotypes

included elements of specificity that pushed beyond narratives of rural ignorance or

backwardness. In particular, I remember our first day of skits. While August, Lu, and I

had “yes and”-ed our way into a ludicrous script about Mama Cheese’s heroic defense of

Baby Cheese, Jo, James and That had been devising an intergalactic critique of resource

depletion in the main space. Their delivery was tentative – with one script and minimal

time to rehearse the logistics were challenging – and yet there were clear correlations

between the mineral-rich planet of Urasia and the local history of coal mining. When

Ethan (That), a native of Urasia, accused Cesear (James) of destroying the planet, Cesear

killed Ethan rather than give up the lucrative planet. Although I remain uncertain as to

whether this was a critique of urban industries exploiting rural environments or dated

farther back to conflicts between settlers and indigenous people, the skit clearly depicted

resource depletion as a negative outcome of complex factors – key among them outside

greed. I was not alone in drawing correlations; Lu derived similar meaning from the skit,

declaring as we applauded, “Sounds like America.”

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While I encountered far less hostile bravado at Stuart’s, participants did show

initial reticence in speaking to me; reticence that had we not been able to overcome

would have severely limited both the quality of the research and the resultant link capital.

Michelle was outgoing and quick to engage, both when I visited to introduce the research

and on that first day of the program. The other participants, however, gave me a wide

berth. Given Prince’s early assertions that participants had lots to say, I asked her what

she made of this seeming paradox, namely: that participants desperately wanted to be

listened to and also didn’t want to talk. Prince saw no such paradox responding simply,

“Yes. Yes. Yes. And it’s just about patience really.”34

Patience, however, is difficult to demonstrate in a short period of time. Prince has

made a long-term commitment to the participants and local communities; consequently,

she has had plenty of time to demonstrate patience. I, on the other hand, was only there

for eight workshops and a handful of miscellaneous events (for example, recruiting trips,

introductory meetings, and closing interviews). Fortunately, despite these temporal

limitations, many aspects of applied theatre practice expedited relationship building,

allowing the young rural participants to feel comfortable sharing their perspectives with

an outsider like myself and, by extension, my readers – which as I will argue in later

sections, contributes to further linking capital. In particular, I contend that off-stage

interactions and participant observation greatly amplified the potential of Applied Theatre

as Research (ATAR) to redress matters of rural and intragroup stigma.

Though numerous applied theatre scholars-practitioners have addressed the

importance of off-stage interactions, such interactions remain overlooked in existing

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ATAR scholarship. One of the first to utilize the term in this manner, applied theatre

scholar-practitioner Paul Dwyer called for greater attention to “off-stage” interactions in

2016, observing that great creativity often arises “around the edges of whatever activities

might be planned as the main performance event.”35 Shulamith Lev-Aladgem certainly

found this to be the case when facilitating theatre in a geriatric day-care center. In

addition to her “formal” work as a facilitator, Lev-Aladgem also assumed an informal

role, helping to serve food and drinks during tea breaks and mealtime:

In contrast [to the employee in charge of cooking and cleaning], I was willing to take up the role of the ‘servant’ or ‘waitress’, as I considered that this situation could prove a natural way to get closer to the elderly. By eagerly responding to them, and trying to fulfill their demands, I gained their trust. Later, I could expand the dialogues with them, asking more questions, and receiving new information that might help in planning the next theatrical event.36

According to Lev-Aladgem, her hypothesis proved correct, with these off-stage

interactions engaging even the most reluctant members of the day-care center.

In Applied Theatre: Research – Radical Departures (2015), O’Connor and

Anderson include a brief itinerary of their work with Young Mob, a leadership program

for indigenous young people in Australia. While intended to elucidate the “flow of the

research-generation sequence and the embedding of the fictional frame throughout the 2-

day research generation process,” the itinerary reveals missed opportunities with regard

to off-stage interactions.37 Perhaps due to the focus on fictional frames (similar to

Dorothy Heathcote’s Mantle of the Expert) or the size of the research team, the

researchers utilized all of the breaks to touch base with one another regarding the efficacy

of the research. While I followed similar protocol at Midwest High School, at Stuart’s

snack time was built into the first half-hour of every workshop, which together with

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check-ins, provided ample opportunity to establish a healthy rapport with the participants

and subsequently foster linking capital.

In addition to paying heed to off-stage interactions, I embraced the participatory

nature of applied theatre practice, taking part in exercises facilitated by Robinson Hillis.

When asked how my presence as an outside researcher impacted the program, Robinson

Hillis repeatedly underscored the importance of this participation in maintaining a sense

of normalcy for both the facilitator and participants alike.

But ultimately it was not a big deal, because also I know that I’m going to be back in January. And we’re going to continue to work together, and you know it’s fine. It was not a problem at all. Because you never really felt like you were observing from a far, you joined us in whatever we were doing so it didn’t feel weird actually. It didn’t feel like we were being watched…truly, I don’t think I would have done anything differently throughout the semester because of your presence or not. But I really think that’s because you joined in with them. If you had just sat in the corner the whole time, it might have been weird.38

My presence was less disruptive because I actively participated in the workshops –

joining check-ins (albeit as a silent adult), reading small parts, attempting writing

exercises, playing theatre games, and, as explored in the next section, occasionally

helping to balance the facilitating load. And although the group interview I conducted

during the final workshop took some time away from the artistic aims of the program,

Robinson Hillis wasn’t concerned because she would be back.

While many scholar-practitioners involve themselves in such participant

observation by necessity – modeling exercises and supporting participants – in the few

instances where researchers do not double as facilitators, the significant potential of

participant observation often goes overlooked. In their aforementioned work with Young

Mob, O’Connor and Anderson largely eschew description of their own interaction with

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and/or impact upon participants. Kathleen Gallagher and her team provide slightly more

detail in their published field notes. Describing their first day observing a theatre

classroom in downtown Toronto, Gallagher’s research assistant Dominque writes, “Some

of them look bored with Kathleen’s speech,” and Gallagher herself underscores the

students’ focus, “They recap a play they’ve read and are aware of us.”39 However, despite

some research assistants joining small groups and others opting to observe from a far, the

reader receives no additional indication of how the research team’s presence impacted

participants and contributed to the quality of the research.40

Yet if my experiences at Stuart’s are in anyway generalizable, there is much to be

gained from combining participant observation with existing ATAR methodologies.

Particularly in temporally limited case studies, participating in applied theatre exercises

and paying heed to off-stage interactions encourages the swift co-creation of linking

capital. Much as with trusted adults, young people ultimately chose who they trust, and

only once that trust has been established can bridging capital develop. Outside

researchers may not have the time to develop the deep and abiding ties characteristic of

trusted adult relationships but can demonstrate their desire to listen through participating

in applied theatre exercises and remaining attentive even when theatrical practice falls by

the wayside.

This desire to listen does not guarantee that all participants will want to share.

Indeed, That was relatively quiet throughout the whole program. I suggested to Robinson

Hillis that perhaps my presences was to blame, but she quickly refuted this possibility,

“Maybe, but I would wager they didn’t always have an awareness of that. I don’t think

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that’s the kind of thing that would be weighing on their brain.”41 Seeing as she had

worked with That previously, and since I in no way wanted to coerce That into talking by

asking them outright, I’ve opted to trust Robinson Hillis’s conclusions.

For all of That’s reluctance, the other participants who had agreed to the research

grew increasingly candid over the course of the program. Of course, with their candor

comes greater responsibility on my part: reminders at the start of group interviews that no

one had to say anything (in Stuart’s case I wrote it up on the board as my “#1 Rule”) and

the list of topics discussed during check-ins. Given the many ethical pitfalls associated

with applied theatre more generally, and applied theatre with youth more specifically, I

can only hope to have adequately avoided the largest. And that, in doing so, I encouraged

participants to feel heard not only by myself, but by those of you now reading this

dissertation, for as discussed in later sections – that is where the lasting linking capital

lies.

In Good Hands: Ethical Exit Strategies

In Applied Theatre: International Case Studies and Challenges for Practice

(2009), Monica Prendergast and Juliana Saxton underscore the importance of ethical exit

strategies. The scholars contend, “One of the least-addressed, but not the least important,

planning points are the exit strategies; in exiting from an applied theatre process,

practitioners are ethically bound to create – preferably in collaboration with participants –

an action plan that aims to continue the process following their departure.”42 In particular,

Prendergast and Saxton emphasize the need to effectively transfer skills from the

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facilitators to the participants to enable the continuation of socio-political and artistic

aspects of their practice.

Missing in this analysis – or perhaps hidden within the socio-political and artistic

– is an acknowledgement of the interpersonal. When I left Midwest High School and

Stuart’s Opera House, the participants voiced few concerns about the socio-political and

artistic aspects of the practice. Participants did express an interest in reading the final

dissertation, which I will share with them, but otherwise showed little interest in

continuing the socio-political aims of the work on their own. As elucidated in the

Introduction, the Midwest residency and Stuart’s program focused far more on participant

experience than artistic outcomes. When artistic outcomes aligned with participant

experience, we celebrated them: commending Harold’s transformation into a gas pedal in

a tableaux exercise or applauding a fully invested performance from August. Otherwise,

the artistic aspects merely provided a framework for the overall experience.

Participants at both Midwest and Stuart’s did however express an interest in the

interpersonal, questioning when I would be back and forbidding my departure. Ms. S

summarized this sentiment at Midwest, noting “When they said, ‘We have to keep in

touch and you have to come back,’ that was very sincere. That wasn’t just the ‘Oh

whatever we’ll just say this to be nicey-nicey.’”43 At Stuart’s, I interpreted James’ decree

– “You’re not allowed to leave” – similarly.44 The participants knew I commuted roughly

an hour each way from Columbus so “leaving” was a given, but they wanted me to keep

in touch.

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And so, my ethical exit strategy became grounded in staying in touch and finding,

admittedly small, ways to support those who would be sticking around. The former has

been complicated by the previously mentioned guidelines surrounding electronic

communication as well as travel limitations brought on by the coronavirus pandemic,

though I have hopes of returning to both Midwest and Stuart’s before all of the

participants have graduated. I found more success with the latter goal, though the

unsustainability of many education and arts positions in rural and small-town areas makes

what I’m deeming the “in good hands” approach similarly untenable.

When asked about the challenges she faces as a teacher in a small rural

community, Ms. S’s response ranged from ever present fiscal concerns to emotional

burnout to extensive time demands:

Ugghhhhh...just as a person the challenges I face teaching at a rural school is like real paying my bills. I’m also a farmer, and I moved off the farm because I couldn’t teach and be a farmer, so there’s that. Other challenges just teaching at a rural school is getting like too close to kids? And taking their burdens home with me. The other real challenge is when I think about my job thinking about: how long are we going to exist? There’s always that fear. How much funding are we gonna get? Can they give me a standard of living increase? Is the referendum gonna go through? Does the community want us here? So those are some challenges.

I literally have kids that will give me their locker decorations at the end of the year and say, “Hey, can you hold this for me?” And what they’re not saying is, “You’re important to me. Can you hold this for me because I want to see you next year.” I have a drawer full of locker decorations. They never collect them. But I have them, because I’ll be here. And that feels good, but when I think about the challenges – salary, benefits, I’m working four extracurriculars to make a living – it’s hard.45

As detailed in Chapter One, Midwest, like many rural schools in the country, has

experienced high levels of teacher turnover – particularly in high school English, where

Ms. S was the thirteenth teacher in seven years. For participants the threat of a valued

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teacher – potentially a trusted adult – not returning is all too real, hence the covert

messaging and Ms. S’s drawer full of locker decorations.

Prince expressed similar concerns regarding her position at Stuart’s, though

quickly transformed them through her characteristic optimism:

So challenges with that are: I don’t make a lot of money. [Whispers] Which I technically don’t care about.

But it’s hard…I could move somewhere, I could work somewhere else, and I could do the same thing for a lot more money, which is sometimes a challenge. But I mean, we’re fine. It’s just that I don’t have a disposable income, so I can’t buy crap I don’t need. It’s not a big deal really. Other challenges are…the other side of that, of being small, if there’s one kid you can’t get to, it matters.46

Prince’s lack of disposable income differs from Ms. S’s working four extracurriculars to

make a living, but otherwise their stories bear much in common. Both have family

nearby, a common draw in rural areas. Prince also mentioned a beautiful farm, which she

doesn’t have much time to work on herself. And both express concern over emotional

burnout, the toll of taking students’ problems home with them, or equally wearing, of not

being able to reach a kid in need.

While I could do little to address larger fiscal challenges or long term demands on

time – both Ms. S and Robinson Hillis highlighted the benefit of having another

facilitator in the space. As I facilitated applied theatre exercises, Ms. S planned lessons

for future classes, applied for a grant, and worked through the many miscellaneous items

on her to do list. Her generous thanks during our interview hint at the value of this added

time: “You’re just such a blessing. I feel so blessed to have met you and have had you

here for two weeks. Selfishly, I got a lot done. So, thank you so much.”47 I question the

selfishness of this admission. After having taught four classes a day for eight days, to say

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nothing of extracurriculars or Ms. S’s other classes, I was beat, regularly falling asleep

around eight o’clock and running on double my usual caffeine intake. A little extra time

to craft a lesson plan or ponder a grant question could only benefit Ms. S’s students in the

long run.

Robinson Hillis similarly noted the benefit of having another facilitator in the

space. At 4:00pm on Friday, she was in the middle of a long day that promised to extend

well into the next morning. A graduate student in nearby Ohio University’s MFA

Playwriting Program, Robinson Hillis had class during the day, bussed to Stuart’s,

facilitated the program, then bussed back only to prepare for a late night performance of

new work. As Robinson Hillis stated, she had to pace herself. While she also had Ms. C

to lean on, Robinson Hillis expressed appreciation for having another facilitator in the

space, “Sometimes it was nice to know that you had some energy to talk with them, if I

was like ‘Hold on, I’m not there yet.’”48 By assisting the facilitator, I was also supporting

the participants, reaffirming one of Prince’s central messages, “If you’re communicating,

I’m listening.”49 By assisting teachers and facilitators, spread thin by the demands of their

positions, I endeavored to create what O’Connor and Anderson deem a “symbiotic

experience.”50

RESEARCH AS A “RADICAL DEPARTURE”: APPLIED THEATRE AS RESEARCH

AND CREATION OF LINKING CAPITAL

In their introduction to Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR), O’Connor and

Anderson label traditional research paradigms “parasitic,” critiquing the common practice

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of “entering a community and mining data from ‘subjects’ and then leaving the

community without offering anything in return.”51 Certain applied theatre practices have

similarly been censured for colonization-like stances, objectifying community knowledge

and labor for the benefit of outside visitors rather than the participants themselves.52 Such

exploitation becomes exacerbated when facilitators leave participants with little to show

for their experience. Consequently, I sought to develop a more symbiotic relationship

with participants; in other words, I aimed to ensure the mutual benefit of both myself, as

researcher, and the research participants – with the latter taking priority.

O’Connor and Anderson define ATAR methodology as necessarily symbiotic. In

an early summary of the approach, the first bullet point asserts, “[ATAR] develops

symbiotic, not parasitic engagement.”53 The scholars later contend that there are two

main ways for such symbiosis to occur, namely through capacity building and the

dissemination of research back to participants.54 Co-facilitators, Erica Cochrane and

Scott Rawson, certainly adhered to this call in their work with Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT).

Rawson and Cochrane incorporated capacity training into their weekly rehearsals,

focusing on both topical knowledge and practical skills. What’s more, Rawson’s script

writing process revolved cyclical stages of research that took into account the input of the

ensemble, audience members, and subject experts alike. By then directing and producing

the shows within and beyond those same communities, Rawson disseminated the research

back to the participants.

Consequently, Brayden, Isaac and Samuel all expressed a strong sense of both

pride in the work TNT accomplished as well as gratitude for the personal opportunities

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TNT provided. This mix of pride and gratitude was particularly apparent in Brayden’s

recollections:

I've never had a theatrical experience where I felt like I was contributing to something so personal to me and something so personal to so many people, and it was like – I remember watching all the teen dramas and watching all this stuff on television. I was just like, “These people are like 20,” or so much older than that playing these teenagers and I was like, “This doesn't make any sense.” I was like, “Teenagers should be portraying teenagers.” So, the fact that me and several other teens were given this opportunity to tell our stories and to tell them honestly and genuinely and with our vernacular was a really cathartic experience.55

Brayden has since gone on to pursue an undergraduate degree in theatre, building on the

theatrical and communication skills he developed at TNT, and although he can’t

remember exact audience feedback, the feeling of making an impact remains with him:

moments of discovery from parents and recognition from teens. As Brayden’s testimony

exemplifies, involving participants in capacity building and every stage of the research

process can indeed result in mutually beneficial outcomes for both adult facilitators and

young participants.

However, in my own ATAR practice, neither capacity building nor dissemination

back to the participants sufficiently established a symbiotic research practice. The

temporal limitations of my time at Midwest High School severely limited opportunities

for capacity building. Robinson Hillis encountered similar challenges at Stuart’s Opera

House explaining, “Playwriting is a tall order for kids that age. And so, I realized after

the first class, that it wasn’t really going to be a playwriting class…that no matter what I

did they would mostly end up writing narrative and prose. And I eventually realized that

that’s fine, because they’re writing.”56 Applied theatre is a correspondingly tall order for

high school students, in particular high school students with limited theatrical experience.

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Having led similar residencies elsewhere, I opted to forgo theatrical capacity building

almost entirely, focusing instead on generating excitement about the creative process and

holding space for little changes, small achievements, and brief positive moments, many

of which form the basis of previous chapters.

As for the dissemination of research, I will be sharing this research with

participants, yet to write this dissertation with the participants as my target audience

would again be to place the onus for change on an already marginalized population. Such

an approach risks either reinforcing deficit-based narratives, by asserting that participants

and their communities need to change, or unfairly placing the burden for change on those

with the least access to the resources need to bring about said change. Applied theatre

scholar and practitioner Jamil Ahmed speaks to this first risk in his denunciation of much

Theatre for Development (TfD) – a form of applied theatre practiced predominantly in

“developing” countries. In a response to “Save the Children? – Change the World,” a

2003 article in which Tim Prentki outlines a model for participatory practice in TfD,

Ahmed criticizes TfD discourses, which, inadvertently or otherwise, often operate under

colonial assumptions of superiority. As Ahmed elucidates, “Prentki accepts the

fundamental premise of most of the development agencies that the inhabitants of the

Third World are not 'differently developed peoples'; they are 'under-developed'…Once

you accept that, the neoliberal monoculture has already set in because you are judging the

'Other' according to the standard of development set by the 'Developed.’”57

Though unlikely to approve of my pragmatic invocation of social and cultural

capital – given his staunch critique of “neoliberal monoculture” – Ahmed’s scrutiny of

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the “developed/underdeveloped” dichotomy bears marked similarities to the urban-rural

“divide.” As explained in the Introduction, “rural,” like “underdeveloped,” is often

defined by what it is not, whether that be urban, suburban, metropolitan, or micropolitan.

Meanwhile, the urbanization of rural areas is often seen a sign of progress, due to cultural

ideology deemed “urbanormativity” by rural studies scholars. According to Gregory M.

Fulkerson and Alexander R. Thomas, this cultural ideology “justifies a rural

invasion/exploitation as signs of progress, modernization, or perhaps even the extension

of manifest destiny itself.”58 Within the context of urbanormativity, rural areas and

communities become simply less developed versions of their urban neighbors. Given

these clear parallels, I have endeavored to heed Ahmed’s warning, not assuming that the

need for change stems from any sort of rural deficiency.

As for the latter concern – namely that writing this dissertation with participants

as my target audience risks placing the onus for change on those with the least resources

to enact it – this is exactly the sort of dilemma that led Woolcock and his fellow

researchers at the World Bank to originally delineate linking capital. Grassroots

initiatives founded solely on existing bonding and bridging capital can lack the resources

and connections needed to create broader change. Applied theatre scholar-practitioner

Jane Plastow speaks to this power imbalance when outlining an ideology for TfD in

Africa. She cautions, “We should also be very careful of programs which put the onus for

change on poor individuals, while resisting analysis of wider societal and political

forces.”59 Simply disseminating my research back to participants would fail to hold these

broader societal and political forces accountable. Consequently, neither capacity building

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nor dissemination proved sufficient strategies for ensuring the degree of symbiosis called

for by O’Connor and Anderson.

In lieu of capacity building and dissemination, I contend that a focus on linking

capital, co-created between the participants, researcher, and readers, encourages a

symbiotic experience for all involved in the ATAR methodology. Participants share those

stories they wish to have known more broadly with the researcher, who in turn presents

the stories to readers alongside her own insights. As a result, readers are called into a

dialogue, if not with the participants themselves, at least with rural young people in

similar circumstances. By opening, or at the very least furthering, this dialogue, ATAR

methodology contributes to the development of linking capital between rural young

people and the readers. Perhaps this linking capital arises in the form of more

constructive mixed contacts down the line. Particularly as rural young people grow up

and potentially seek education or work in urban and suburban communities; urban

readers may find themselves better able to respond to hostile bravado or other

consequences of rural and intragroup stigma. The research may also help to justify

additional applied theatre residencies and programs with rural youth, growing linking

capital through increased connections. Or, just perhaps, someone reading of these lived

experiences will be inspired to contribute their valued resources to those rural

communities already working to address limited opportunity structures in their area.

LINKING CAPITAL: CHALLENGES AND OPPORTUNITIES

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By considering the connections between the young participants, their adult

counterparts, the readers of this dissertation, and myself, this chapter has endeavored to

reveal the sizable potential of Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) when practiced with

rural youth. More specifically, a suburban-turned-urban, adult researcher – operating

according to the collaborative and symbiotic aims of ATAR practice and applied theatre

more broadly – is well-placed to co-create linking capital with rural youth participants.

Although some of the linking capital dissolved upon my departure – with participants no

longer comfortable or interested in asking questions about the resources I have access to

– the participants and my time together has the potential to ease interactions with other

resourced outsiders and increase future linking capital.

As seen at Midwest High School, my presence allowed participants the rare

opportunity to interact with a stranger over two weeks. By and large, participants far

exceeded their teacher’s expectations, showing great openness and hospitality. A few

participants displayed what I deemed hostile bravado, leaning into rural stereotypes as a

way of testing my stated aims of listening and prioritizing their perspectives. Yet even

these interactions proved productive, with participants experiencing constructive mixed

contacts that may in turn ease future mixed contacts and promote further linking capital.

While I experienced less hostile bravado at Stuart’s Opera House, participants did

exhibit an early reticence to speak with me. My experience there reveals the importance

of off-stage interactions and the value of participant observation in temporarily limited

ATAR. At Midwest and Stuart’s alike, my presence and resources (in the form of time,

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energy, and facilitative skill) indirectly supported participants by easing the burden of

their oft-overworked adult counterparts.

This sort of symbiotic relationship, in which all parties benefit, is characteristic of

much ATAR practice. Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) adhered to O’Connor and Anderson’s

original model for ATAR, in which symbiosis derives from capacity building and the

dissemination of research back to participants. Given the temporally limited nature of the

Midwest residency and Stuart’s program, these tactics proved insufficient in creating a

symbiotic research practice, and consequently I have opted to place a higher emphasis on

the co-creation of linking capital and call readers into a dialogue with the participants and

those of similar positionalities. While the limitations of ATAR with rural youth will be

further detailed in the conclusion, a focus on linking capital reveals the immense potential

of ATAR methodology, particularly in relation to representational matters of rural

stigma.

1 Field notes from the author, October 18, 2019.

2 August, James, Jo, and Lu (Stuart’s participants) in discussion with the author, December 13, 2019. The interview was held at Stuart’s Opera House and supervised by Skye Robinson Hillis (Stuart’s facilitator) and Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator).

3 Michael Woolcock, “The Place of Social Capital in Understanding Social and Economic Outcomes,” Canadian Journal of Policy Research 2 (2001): 72.

4 Peter O’Connor, and Michael Anderson, eds., Applied Theatre: Research – Radical Departures (New York: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2015), 4.

5 Isaac and Samuel (former TNT participants in discussion with the author, April 4, 2020. The interview was supervised by Samuel’s mother.

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6 The first confirmable reference to linking capital occurs in the World Development Report 2000/2001: Attacking Poverty (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). The report credits the term to Michael Woolcock, “Managing Risk, Shocks, and Opportunities in Developing Economies: The Role of Social Capital,” in Dimensions of Development, ed. Gustav Ranis (New Haven, CT: Yale Center Press, 2000), yet the existence of this earlier source has proved difficult to establish with certainty.

7 World Development Report, 128.

8 World Development Report, 128.

9 Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2000). 10 Katherine J. Cramer, The Politics of Resentment: Rural Consciousness in Wisconsin and the Rise of Scott Walker (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 66.

11 World Development Report, 128.

12 For example, see Patricia J. Kannapel and Alan J. DeYoung, “The Rural School Problem in 1999: A Review and Critique of the Literature,” Journal of Research in Rural Education 15, no. 2 (1999): 67-79; Kai A. Schafft, Kieran M. Killeen, and John Morrissey, “The Challenges of Student Transiency for Rural Schools and Communities in the Era of No Child Left Behind,” in Rural Education in the Twenty-First Century: Identity, Place, and Community in a Globalizing World, eds. Kai A. Schafft and Alecia Youngblood Jackson (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 95-114; and Daniel Showalter, et al. Why Rural Matters 2018-2019: The Time is Now (Washington, D.C: Rural School and Community Trust, 2019).

13 Isaac and Samuel in discussion.

14 Anthony P.S. Guerrero, et al. “Rural Mental Health Training: An Emerging Imperative to Address Health Disparities,” Academic Psychiatry 43, no. 1 (2019): 1.

15 Dennis Mohatt, webinar hosted by Roberto Delgado, “Mental Health and Rural America: Challenges and Opportunities,” National Institute of Mental Health, last modified May 30, 2018, https://www.nimh.nih.gov/news/media/2018/mental-health-and-rural-america-challenges-and-opportunities.shtml#:~:text=The%20cold%20hard%20facts%20about,work%20exclusively%20in%20metropolitan%20areas.

16 Brayden Turner (former TNT participant) in discussion with the author, May 6, 2020.

17 Michelle (Stuart’s participant) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019. Michelle had a conflict and was unable to attend the last day of the program. She readily agreed to a separate interview, which was supervised by Ms. C (Stuart’s club advisor).

18 Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (New York: Del Rey, 1979). In the novel, a computer calculates the “Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything” and concludes the answer is 42; unfortunately, being no one knows the question.

19 “Activities and Programs with Minor Participants: Office of Human Resources – Policy 1.50, Sample Electronic Communications Policy,” The Ohio State University, last modified March 16, 2019, https://hr.osu.edu/wp-content/uploads/policy150-sample-ecommunications-policy.pdf.

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20 Ms. S (Midwest teacher) in discussion with the author, October 31, 2019.

21 Ms. S in discussion.

22 Ms. S in discussion.

23 Ms. S in discussion.

24 Dani Snyder-Young, Theatre of Good Intentions: Challenges and Hopes for Theatre and Social Change (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 57.

25 Ms. S in discussion.

26 Ms. S in discussion.

27 For a list of stigma specific studies, see Michelle R. Hebl, Jennifer Tickle, and Todd F. Heatherton, “Awkward Moments in Interactions between Nonstigmatized and Stigmatized Individuals,” in The Social Psychology of Stigma, eds. Todd F. Heatherton, et al. (New York: The Guilford Press, 2000), 296-97.

28 Gordon W. Allport, The Nature of Prejudice (New York: Perseus, 1954), 281.

29 Hebl, Tickle, and Heatherton, 297.

30 The game, “Silent Ball,” required all the focus and communication of a more traditional theatre game, as well as slightly more hand eye coordination. Students would throw the Koosh ball from one to another with bad throws or missed catches resulting in students stepping out. As an added caveat, students could not talk or make sound while playing, resulting in rare moments of absolute silence. Towards the end of the game, students who had already stepped out would state additional rules: “One hand,” “Wrong hand,” “One foot,” “One eye.” While I occasionally chipped in to help the game move along, students by and large managed the arc of the game themselves, taking full control of the experience.

31 Hebl, Tickle, and Heatherton, 299

32 Ms. S in discussion.

33 Michelle in discussion.

34 Prince in discussion.

35 Paul Dwyer, “Peacebuilding Performances in the Aftermath of War: Lessons from Bougainville,” in Critical Perspectives on Applied Theatre, eds. Jenny Hughes and Helen Nicholson (Cambridge: Cambridge University, 2016), 147.

36 Shulamith Lev-Aladgem, Theatre in Co-Communities: Articulating Power (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 50.

37 O’Connor and Anderson, Applied Theatre: Research, 72.

38 Skye Robinson Hillis (Stuart’s facilitator) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019.

39 Kathleen Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban: Youth and Schooling in Dangerous Time (Toronto: University of Toronto, 2007), 61-71.

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40 The Toronto case study was however far longer than the Stuart’s cases study, allowing researchers to build a report overtime, through Prince’s demonstrations of patience, if not active participation in classroom exercises.

41 Robinson Hillis in discussion.

42 Monica Prendergast and Juliana Saxton, eds., Applied Theatre: International Case Studies and Challenges for Practice (Chicago: Intellect, 2009), 196. 43 Ms. S in discussion.

44 August, James, Jo and Lu in discussion.

45 Ms. S in discussion.

46 Prince in discussion.

47 Ms. S in discussion.

48 Robinson Hillis in discussion.

49 Prince in discussion.

50 O’Connor and Anderson, Applied Theatre: Research, 60.

51 O’Connor and Anderson, Applied Theatre: Research, 60-61.

52 See for example Jan Cohen-Cruz, Engaging Performance: Theatre as Call and Response (New York: Routledge, 2010), 183; and Sonja Kuftinec, Staging America: Cornerstone and Community-Based Theater (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 2003), 52.

53 Peter O’Connor and Michael Anderson, “Applied Theatre as Research: Provoking the Possibilities,” Applied Theatre Research 1, no. 2 (2013): 199.

54 O’Connor and Anderson, Applied Theatre: Research, 60-61.

55 Brayden in discussion with the author.

56 Robinson Hillis in discussion.

57 Jamil Ahmed, “When Theatre Practitioners Attempt Changing an Ever-Changing World: A Response to Time Prentki’s ‘Save the Children? – Change the World,’” Research in Drama Education: The Journal of Applied Theatre and Performance 9, no. 1 (2004): 98.

58 Gregory M. Fulkerson and Alexander R. Thomas, Urbanization, Urbanormativy, and Place-Structuration: Rural Community in Urban Society (Lanham, MA: Lexington Books, 2014), 7.

59 Jane Plastow, “Domestication or Transformation? The Ideology of Theatre for Development in Africa,” Applied Theatre Research 2, no. 2 (2014): 116.

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Conclusion. Counteracting Stigma: Applied Theatre in the Pursuit of Context and Specificity

“You expect me to care about those far-off places, especially given the way

people there vote?”1 Legal scholars Ann Eisenberg, Jessica A. Shoemaker, and Lisa R.

Pruitt posed this hypothetical immediately following the inauguration of President Joe

Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris. Writing for The Conversation, an independent

news site with ties to academia, Eisenberg, Shoemaker, and Pruitt contend they often

receive this question when advocating for greater assistance in rural areas. Something

similar could be asked of applied theatre with rural youth, “You expect me to care about

rural young people, especially given the way their parents vote?”

Much has changed since I pulled into the Midwest parking lot in autumn of 2019.

The coronavirus pandemic has resulted in millions of deaths worldwide as well as

immense social and economic upheaval; the murder of George Floyd at the hands of

police resulted in months-long Black Lives Matter protests and a renewed civil rights

movement in the United States; and one of the most contentious presidential elections in

United States history culminated in rioters storming the White House in an attempt to

disrupt the Electoral College vote count. All of these events perpetuated imagined urban-

rural divides. Political scientist Katherine J. Cramer, whose notion of “rural

consciousness” proved useful in conceptualizing previous chapters, claims that the

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pandemic has perpetuated existing resentment: “The idea that the government is not

attentive enough to rural communities is not new…the pandemic seems to have deepened

some of the resentment that’s been there for a long time.”2 In “Trump Second

Impeachment Trial Kicks Off in Two Different Americas,” journalist Phillip Elliot

observes a similarly “deep rural-urban divide” and goes so far as to declare that “urban

and rural audiences are watching entirely different realities unfold here in Washington.”3

Yet despite these many changes – or perhaps because of them – my response remains the

same. “You expect me to care about rural young people?” My answer is, in a word,

“yes.”

To begin with, political leanings are far less clear-cut than red and blue political

maps suggest, as evidenced by the three counties in which this dissertation’s case studies

took place. Results from the 2020 presidential election reveal that Athens County, where

Stuart’s Opera House is located, voted for Biden by a landslide. Residents voted 14,772

to 10,862 for Biden, making Athens the only rural county in Ohio to “go blue.”4 On the

other hand, close to a dozen rural counties in Wisconsin voted for Biden though by much

smaller margins. Biden won Sauk County, former home to Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT), by

just over 600 votes: 18,108 to 17,492.5 Meanwhile, the county where Midwest High

School is located went to Trump, but there again only by a relatively small margin.

Clearly, the “way people there vote” varies far more than popular representations of the

rural indicate.

The growing interdependency of urban and rural communities provides yet

another reason to care about those “far-off” rural places. As Eisenberg, Shoemaker, and

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Pruitt underscore, “Rural communities provide much of the food and energy that fuel our

lives.”6 Their point speaks to the “enormous scale of rural-urban interdependence and

boundary crossing” detailed by rural studies scholars Daniel T. Lichter and David L.

Brown.7 Urban communities depend on rural communities not only for sustenance, but

also a sense of nostalgia and escape, with urbanites often vacationing to rural areas to

“get away.” What’s more, the very definition of urban depends upon the existence of a

rural other. Rural communities in turn need urban resources. According to Eisenberg,

Shoemaker, and Pruitt, “A lack of investment in broadband, schools, jobs, sustainable

farms, hospitals, roads, and even the US Postal Service has increasingly driven rural

voters to seek change from national politics.”8

The coronavirus pandemic has exacerbated this need while making rural inequity

all the more evident. In addition to placing strain on already overextended postal, health

care, and education systems, the pandemic has created a greater reliance on broadband

access, which remains disproportionately lacking in rural areas. While the former TNT

facilitators and participants had sufficient internet access to complete virtual interviews,

others in Sauk County fair less well. As of 2017, 83.6% of Sauk County residents had

access to broadband, leaving almost one in five inhabitants to rely on dialup or other

undependable methods of online communication.9 The numbers prove still more

troubling in Athens County. While Stuart’s managed to move a portion of its arts

education programming online, only 61.6% of the population had broadband access as of

2017.10 Of those I worked with, one participant, Lu had no access to home internet and

had to walk to a family member’s place to connect. In follow up emails, Stuart’s

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Education Director Emily Prince expressed concern about “our” kids – concern I

certainly share. Looking to Midwest, the numbers continue to decline, but an exchange

with another Wisconsin high school teacher in the wake of Wisconsin’s Safer at Home

order proved most telling. I had been scheduled to visit the teacher’s classroom in April

2020. While we briefly entertained the idea of a virtual residency, we quickly discarded

that possibility when, after a week, the teacher was still struggling to get in touch with

some of her students; let alone teach them. One imagines her efforts were thwarted in part

by broadband access levels, which as of 2017 fell below 50%.11 Although efforts to

vaccinate suggest an end to the pandemic in sight, broadband access will remain a

necessity as underscored in a 2020 report on rural Wisconsin: “Broadband is a baseline

requirement for a prosperous rural Wisconsin.”12

Of course, rural desires for change, while driven by a clear need for better

infrastructure and increased opportunities, have also been tied to white supremacy – a

complex relationship analyzed by Cramer. After noting that some rural residents believe

that urban, white academics and politicians disproportionately favor minorities, Cramer

asserts, “In that way, antiurban resentment is not simply resentment against people of

color. At the same time, given the way arguments against government redistribution in

the United States have historically been made by equating deservingness with whiteness,

these conversations are about race even when race is not mentioned.”13

A call for greater attention to rural youth risks perpetuating this false equation,

especially given the relative whiteness of participants in all three case studies. All three

case studies were markedly less racially and ethnically diverse than the national average.

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According to a USDA report, racial and ethnic minorities made up 21.8% of the rural

population in 2018. Although the percentage remains far higher in urban and suburban

areas (hovering around 42.7%), this statistic still reveals a sizable minority population

living in rural areas. Popular associations of rurality with whiteness have long led this

population to go overlooked, an oversight which warrants further attention.

The lack of racial and ethnic diversity in the three featured cased studies appears,

in part, due to my Midwestern focus. While data as to the racial and ethnic makeup of

rural Midwestern counties is not readily available, census data indicates that the Midwest

region as a whole remans notably more white that the general United States population.

In 2019, one-year estimates predicted that non-Hispanic, white individuals constituted

75% of the Midwest population as opposed to only 60% of the United States

population.14 Yet even with this regional difference taken into account, the racial makeup

of all three case studies remains disproportionately white. There may also be a degree of

self-selection involved, with some rural youth having more time to participate in

extracurriculars and/or interest in applied theatre practices. Those few participants of

color involved in the programs at Midwest and Stuart’s seemed as inclined as white

participants to assent to the research, though most opted not to include race or ethnicity in

their self-descriptions (Appendix A). While one participant of color volunteered that they

had deliberately left out such details in the interest of confidentiality, I cannot speak to

the reasoning of others.

In calling for greater attention to rural youth, I do not propose that applied theatre

scholar-practitioners pay less attention to urban youth or to people of color. Rather, I

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contend that rural youth collectively warrant greater attention. To respond to this call

effectively without diminishing existing programs in urban and suburban areas, applied

theatre facilitators and programs need additional resources – resources which I have

endeavored to justify through existing notions of capital.

OVERCOMING STIGMA AND CO-CREATING CAPITAL

While quick warmups and story-based exercises may at first appear a poor

antidote to the troubles facing rural youth, the featured case studies reveal small but

meaningful ways applied theatre can help to overcome stigma and foster much needed

social and cultural capital. In Chapter One, I detailed the hidden impacts of stigma

management at Midwest High School, Stuart’s Opera House, and Teens ‘n’ Theatre

(TNT). I observed that performances of pride in rural stigma risked veering towards

hostile bravado while the internalization of rural stigma often perpetuated deficit-based

narratives. At the same time, intragroup stigma – on account of not only rurality but also

family makeup, mental health, gender, and sexuality – led certain youth to self-silence

around some or avoid others all together.

Later chapters analyzed how applied theatre served to mitigate these impacts and

promote the social and cultural capital of the young participants. Chapter Two drew on

the social cognitive theory of Albert Bandura to elucidate how quick warm-ups and story-

based applied theatre exercises at Midwest and Stuart’s contributed to participants’

embodied cultural capital in the form of increased self-efficacy. In Chapter Three, I

explored how the heterotopic nature of applied theatre practice inspired participants to

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seek alternative social roles. Disrupting existing social roles, often stratified by the close-

knit nature of rural communities, allowed for the formation of bonding capital at both

Midwest and TNT. Chapter Four then looked to Stuart’s and TNT, exploring the

relationships that developed between the young participants and their adult counterparts.

In both programs, check-ins led to the formation of trusted adult relationships, furthering

the bridging capital of the rural youth participants.

In the final chapter, I evaluated my own relationship to the participants in all three

cases studies. Although the linking capital we co-created over the course of the case

studies proved short lived, the collaborative nature of our time together as well as the

research component of our work may result in more lasting outcomes. Together these

chapters illustrated the benefits of utilizing applied theatre to research and address the

impacts of rural and intragroup stigma on the young participants. Applied theatre

provides opportunities for altered relationships to self and other. Many participants

embraced these opportunities leading to the co-creation of social and cultural capital.

Nevertheless, applied theatre practice with rural young people carries certain

limitations. While they exhibited far greater self-efficacy at the conclusion of the case

studies, participants continued to emphasize communal deficits over assets in their wrap-

up surveys and interviews. The heterotopic space of applied theatre practice allowed for

not only prosocial relationship building but also antisocial behavior. In spite of the many

benefits of trusted adult relationships, a trusted adult’s premature departure may leave

participants more vulnerable than before the relationship began. And though Applied

Theatre as Research (ATAR) ensures participant voices reach a broader audience, my

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efforts to craft a coherent narrative require an inevitable dilution of the participants’ lived

experience.

Yet I argue these limitations do not outweigh the benefits; rather they underscore

Michael Corbett’s “boundless complexity” of the rural and indicate the complementary

nature of applied theatre. Often temporally limited, applied theatre practice with rural

youth has the potential to greatly bolster – though not replace – existing, long term efforts

to counter stigma and address limited opportunity structures. As Megan Alrutz asserts in

her discussion of applied theatre with urban youth, “Getting to know each other’s

experiences and investing in each other’s differences is one way to start making the world

I want to live in.”15 Rural youth deserve a place in this conversation.

CONTRIBUTION TO THE FIELD AND FUTURE PRACTICE

This work bears implications for both applied theatre practice and Applied

Theatre as Research (ATAR). Throughout this dissertation, I detail the significant

impacts of common, yet under-analyzed, elements of applied theatre practice. For

instance, quick warmups not only prepare participants for later exercises but may also

foster embodied cultural capital by increasing participant self-efficacy. By moving chairs

and desks to the edges of the classroom, facilitators both create space and visually signal

the heterotopic nature of applied theatre. The altered space invites participants to break

with stratified social roles and change the ways in which they interact with one another.

Far from being a secondary aspect of applied theatre, facilitative relationships play a

pivotal role in the participant experience, particularly when participants come to see

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facilitators as trusted adults. In highlighting their considerable impact, I encourage

facilitators to pay greater to heed to these common element of applied theatre –

establishing best practices and advocating for their value.

I similarly underscore the underexplored nature of applied theatre with rural

young people in “developed” countries like the United States. As the practice of applied

theatre with young people continues to gain traction in the United States, looking to rural

areas expands the scope, and consequently demand, for such work. Meanwhile, the

representative and relational nature of applied theatre practice may well complement

existing efforts to address stigma and challenge limited opportunities structures, as

illustrated at Midwest High School, Stuart’s Opera House and Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT).

Given the interdependency of rural, suburban, and urban populations, such work benefits

not only rural young people and their communities but the nation more broadly.

Couching the relational benefits of applied theatre in terms of social and cultural capital –

as opposed to simply economic capital – further promotes investment in young people

regardless of geographic location. Future studies might scrutinize the capital impact of

applied theatre with youth on matters unrelated to stigma or expand the focus to consider

applied theatre more broadly.

ATAR extends the reach of applied theatre with young people. While brief

applied theatre programs rarely allow sufficient time for public performances, ATAR

connects participants to academic audiences, potentially increasing the linking capital of,

in this case, rural young people. Readers in turn receive insight into the lived experience

of the participants – though admittedly filtered through the perspectives of adult

281

researchers such as myself. My experiences, however, also reveal a need for greater

consideration of youth humor, participant feedback, and recruitment challenges.

Humor, Feedback, and Recruitment: Rethinking Applied Theatre as Research with Rural

Youth

Kathleen Gallagher touches on humor, feedback, and recruitment in her work

with theatre and urban youth. Based on an ethnographic study of drama classrooms,

Gallagher concludes that youth humor can be both “playful and distracting,” further

asserting:

[T]he students used humour, often in its derogatory forms, to make connections, to create affective encounters, [and] to practice solidarity. The students often felt that teachers misunderstood their humour, and that putting each other down was one of the important ways that they communicated, perhaps even creating solidarity against the adult world. There was a constant refrain that the adults did not understand their humour, that they took it too seriously.16

Gallagher’s invocation of “connections” and “solidarity” certainly bears much in

common with the relational focus of this dissertation. Yet these assertions also pose a

difficult question for those wishing to conduct Applied Theatre as Research (ATAR) with

young people: how to speak to the impact of humor without contributing to youth

feelings of misunderstanding?

I certainly encountered this dilemma while writing this dissertation. Although I

address the impact of humor directly in Chapter Two and weave comic quotes and

performances throughout, at times I lacked the understanding to appropriately

contextualize the young participants humor for my, presumably adult, readers. At

Midwest for instance, high school policy prohibited swearing, but rather than eliminating

282

derogatory humor, the policy simply encouraged greater creativity. As noted in Chapter

One – regarding the edited version of “A Recipe for Midwest” – a handful of participants

wrote down words and phrases that to this day I do not know the meaning of, but, judging

by the laughter of those same participants (as well as the profanity I could identify), I

assume many of the unknown entries speak to obscure sexual acts or illicit drug use.

Although I am hesitant to include unknown terms, I could provide a list of those I can

define, and yet I question the intended audience for this humor.

The profanity could indeed have been an act of “solidarity against the adult

world” or even a protest against my presence and the exercise more specifically.

However, the participants’ wrap-up surveys a few days later show no signs of protest, nor

did their behavior feel directed towards me at the time. Alternatively, if the students were

endeavoring to challenge school policy, they were acting for a rather limited audience.

When Johnny Sinns checked in with Ms. S the following day to see if she had seen his

entries, she merely pointed out his position as a role model, squashing any hopes of

securing a rise out of the tenured teacher. The humor appeared most effective in

connecting to (and occasionally isolating) the other students – as many participants

giggled at their shared understanding.

In any case, the humor had little to do with the academic audience who might

eventually read “A Recipe for Midwest.” Concerned that including the original poem

would lead to the same misunderstanding outlined by the students in Gallagher’s study, I

opted to exercise my authorial powers and edit the poem. Further exploration of ATAR,

particularly as it relates to research with young participants, might pose alternative

283

solutions and would certainly complement the themes of performance, power, and

relationships addressed throughout this dissertation.

Future ATAR would also benefit from providing greater opportunities for

participant feedback in the latter stages of the research process, more specifically

synthesizing data and writing out findings. Gallagher touches on the importance of

closing the feedback loop in her observation of a participant exercise turned researcher

interview.17 After a semester of observing, interviewing, and occasionally participating

alongside drama students at a Toronto high school, Gallagher and her assistants devised

an exercise in which the students would interview one another. A few of the students,

however, had other plans and turned their gaze on the adult researchers, asking questions

about the research. Gallagher’s anecdote suggests a desire on the part of the students to

know that the early stages had proved fruitful and hear where the research was going

next.

While I invited participants to ask similar questions at the end of all three case

studies, the brief nature of the programs meant that I often had little to offer in terms of

synthesis or findings. I was intrigued by the concept of trusted adults, introduced to me

by Prince, so when August, Jo, James, and Lu brought up positive (and not so positive)

adult figures in our interview, I expressed an interested in facilitator-participant

relationships. Likewise, when Michelle asked about my research at the end of her

interview, I shared my nascent theories surrounding the heterotopic nature of applied

theatre practice. In both cases, participants were quick to reaffirm these theories – at least

284

as I explained them – and encouraged me to continue exploring these concepts. Much of

the remaining synthesis, however, I conducted on my own.

I had originally planned to conduct “participant check[s],” following applied

theatre scholar-practitioner Dani Snyder-Young’s practice of sending chapter drafts to

participants for feedback.18 Yet the decision to interweave case studies, so as to better

establish reoccurring themes, complicated this plan. While I had originally intended to

share a single chapter draft with participants a few months after each case study, a year

on I found myself with five partially completed chapters but little I deemed worthy of

sharing. When reaching out to Samuel and Isaac about consent forms, I did attach a rough

draft of Chapter Four and received predominantly positive feedback from Isaac (he

mentioned that some of the chapter had gone over his head, which I took to be indicative

of too much academic jargon). Having now completed the dissertation, I will be sharing it

with both the adult participants and those young participants I can get in touch with, but

at over 300 pages, I wonder how many will read it.

In hindsight, I should have been more proactive about incorporating participants

throughout the synthesis and writing stages, especially when unforeseen circumstances

made visiting difficult and the writing processes went on far longer than I had originally

anticipated. Michael Anderson and Peter O’Connor urge similar forward thinking in their

discussion of an ATAR project with indigenous youth in Sydney, Australia. After

lamenting their inability to share their findings with the participants, Anderson and

O’Conner acknowledge: “We have sought funding to go back and continue working, but

perhaps we should have made any work with Young Mob conditional on this approach

285

before we began our work. Despite our genuine desire to create work that was truly in

partnership with the community, we doubt whether we truly achieved this.”19 While

ATAR may supplement brief applied theatre programs – by providing a written platform

in lieu of a public performance – the methodology is no substitute for long term

communication and dialogue.

In future applied theatre with rural youth, I plan to work with participants to

establish a schedule for draft dissemination and process updates. Do participants want to

be updated quarterly, bi-annually, or only upon conclusion of the project? How should I

contact participants, and how might that change over time? Do participants wish to

receive half-completed drafts or is it best to wait until I have something more polished?

This approach invites participants to take part in the latter stages of the research process

on their own terms, while also creating a degree of accountability for the researcher. As I

look back now, I see that my decision not to share the partial chapter drafts stemmed not

only from a fear of overwhelming my collaborators with half thought out scribbles but

also a desire to hide the “mess” of synthesizing and writing.

Applied theatre scholar-practitioners Jenny Hughes, Jenny Kidd, and Catherine

McNamara underscore the “usefulness of mess” in their contribution to Research

Methods in Theatre and Performance (2011). Though not speaking directly to ATAR,

Hughes, Kidd, and McNamara call for a conceptual intertwining of theory- and practice-

based methodologies, in keeping with notions of praxis:

The notion of praxis resists a compartmentalising of theoretical and methodological endeavour as outside of, imposed upon or superior to practice. Situations of practice are inherently unstable, messy, interconnected, conflictual, uncertain, complex, and there is a need for usable knowledge practices, including

286

Schön’s ‘artistry’ and tacit knowledge, which have the capacity to respond to the unpredictable situations of practice: the world is no longer a readily controllable, predictable, mappable place, if it ever was.20

The authors then chronicle how this mixing of theory and practice played out in three

performative research projects. Their analyses conclude with the final performances,

however, not taking into account subsequent writing on their part (though admittedly

their co-authored chapter indicates a continued interest in collaborative praxis). I

similarly embraced notions of praxis in my facilitation style – mixing theories and

methodologies with the requirements of the moment – but failed to transfer that mindset

to the more traditional synthesis and writing stages of the research process. Yet whereas

Hughes, Kidd, and McNamara focus predominantly on methodology, and subsequently

can afford to overlook the role of praxis in the later stages of their work, ATAR aims to

create space for participant stories in academic discourse. Consequently, ATAR

necessitates embracing praxis and participant involvement throughout the research

process – mess or no mess.

Continued ATAR, at least as reflected in this dissertation, might also reckon with

the nigh impossibility of representative recruitment practices. To conduct applied theatre

residencies in classrooms as well as observe existing programs with youth, scholar-

practitioners require flexible recruitment practices not often detailed in applied theatre

scholarship. At both Midwest and Stuart’s, flexible recruitment entailed working with

and observing all program participants, but only including the words and work of

consenting participants in this dissertation. With the more archival nature of the Teens ‘n’

287

Theatre (TNT) research, only those participants willing to be included in the research

responded to my request for an interview.

Moving away from exchanged-based research methodologies, which trade data

for experience, this more flexible approach enabled a number rural youth to participate in

and, I argue, benefit from the applied theatre programs without engaging in the research.

On the other hand, the results were far from representative. Not only do the findings fail

to reflect the lived experiences of all rural youth, but they also purposefully overlook the

experiences of non-consenting participants – of which there were many. While I received

predominantly positive feedback from all participants, less than half of the students at

Midwest agreed to take part in the research component of the work; or rather, less than

half submitted the necessary parental consent forms. A number of participants signed the

student assent form but did not turn in the parental consent form, leaving me to wonder

whether their parents opted to withhold consent or the form merely got lost along the

way. I encountered similar challenges at Stuart’s, often handing out multiple forms to

participants who had, understandably, misplaced the forms in the week between Friday

workshops. Even at TNT, it took weeks to obtain the required forms, though admittedly

the virtual nature of our communication further complicated matters.

For all that I plan to continue this work and hope to see a burgeoning of ATAR

with rural young people across the United States, such developments are unlikely to yield

broadly generalizable results. Instead, I follow Gallagher in asserting that such research

will contribute to increasingly “robust examinations of context and specificity.”21 Such

context and specificity may prove the perfect remedy to the oversimplified nature of

288

stigma – where, by definition, a single attribute discredits an entire group of complex,

multifaceted individuals. This approach likewise upholds a common refrain, heard in all

three case studies but best summarize by Stuart’s participant Michelle: “These are

amazing unique kids and that needs to be a part of the story. And it’s the most important

part.”22

1 Ann Eisenberg, Jessica A. Shoemaker, and Lisa R. Pruitt, “5 Ways Biden Can Help Rural America Thrive and Bridge the Rural-Urban Divide,” The Conversation, last modified January 21, 2021, https://theconversation.com/5-ways-biden-can-help-rural-america-thrive-and-bridge-the-rural-urban-divide-150610.

2 Kirk Siegler, “Why Parts of Rural America are Pushing Back on Coronavirus Restrictions,” Morning Edition, NPR, last modified May 27, 2020, https://www.npr.org/2020/05/27/862831144/why-parts-of-rural-america-are-pushing-back-on-coronavirus-restrictions. 3 For example, see Siegler, “Why Parts of Rural America”; Dan Horn, “Small Ohio Town’s Confrontation Between Black Lives Matter, Counter Protesters Goes Viral,” The Columbus Dispatch, last modified June 17, 2020, https://www.dispatch.com/story/news/politics/2020/06/17/small-ohio-townrsquos-confrontation-between-black-lives-matter-counterprotesters-goes-viral/112770612/; and Phillip Elliott, “Trump Second Impeachment Trial Kicks Off in Two Different Americas,” TIME, last modified February 19, 2021, https://time.com/5937779/trump-impeachment-trial-america/. 4 Allan James Vestal, et al., “Donald Trump Won Ohio,” Politico, last modified January 6, 2021, https://www.politico.com/2020-election/results/ohio/. [Allan James Vestal, Andrew Briz, Annette Choi, Beatrice Jin, Andrew McGill and Lily Mihalik].

5 Allan James Vestal, et al., “Joe Biden Won in Wisconsin, Flipping a State Donald Trump Won in 2016,” Politico last modified January 6, 2021, https://www.politico.com/2020-election/results/wisconsin/. [Allan James Vestal, Andrew Briz, Annette Choi, Beatrice Jin, Andrew McGill and Lily Mihalik].

6 Eisenberg, Shoemaker, and Pruitt, “5 Ways.”

7 Daniel T. Lichter and David L. Brown, “Rural America in an Urban Society: Changing Spatial and Social Boundaries,”Annual Review of Sociology 37 (2011): 565. [565-92]

8 Eisenberg, Shoemaker, and Pruitt, “5 Ways.”

9 “Mapping Broadband Health in America,” Federal Communications Commission, last accessed February 6, 2021, https://www.fcc.gov/health/maps.

10 “Mapping Broadband Health in America.”

289

11 “Mapping Broadband Health in America.”

12 “Rural Voices for Prosperity: A Report of the Governor’s Blue Ribbon Commission on Rural Prosperity,” Wisconsin Economic Development Corporation, last modified December 2020, https://wedc.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/Web_Governors-Blue-Ribbon-Commission-Report.pdf. 13 Katherine J. Cramer, The Politics of Resentment: Rural Consciousness in Wisconsin and the Rise of Scott Walker (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), 86.

14 Here, the Midwest Region refers to North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois, Michigan, and Ohio. “Midwest Region,” Census Reporter, last accessed February 6, 2021, https://censusreporter.org/profiles/02000US2-midwest-region/.

15 Megan Alrutz, Digital Storytelling, Applied Theatre, and Youth: Performing Possibility (New York: Routledge, 2015), 114.

16 Kathleen Gallagher, Why Theatre Matters: Urban Youth, Engagement, and a Pedagogy of the Real (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014), 123-4. 17 Kathleen Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban: Youth and Schooling in Dangerous Times (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007), 175-82. 18 Dani Snyder-Young, Theatre of Good Intentions: Challenges and Hopes for theatre and Social Change (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 13. 19 Peter O’Connor, and Michael Anderson, eds., Applied Theatre: Research – Radical Departures (New York: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2015), 62. 20 Jenny Hughes, Jenny Kidd, and Catherin McNamara, “The Usefulness of Mess: Artistry, Improvisation and Decomposition in the Practice of Research in Applied Theatre,” in Research Methods in Theatre and Performance, eds. by Baz Kershaw and Helen Nicholson (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2011), 193. [186-209] 21 Kathleen Gallagher, The Theatre of Urban, 4. 22 Michelle (Stuart’s participant) in discussion with the author, December 17, 2019. Michelle had a conflict and was unable to attend the last day of the program. She readily agreed to a separate interview, which was held at Stuart’s Opera House and supervised by Ms. C (Stuart’s assistant facilitator).

290

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Appendix A. Pseudonyms, Pronouns, and Descriptions

After completing the paperwork necessary to take part in the research, participants at

Midwest High School and Stuart’s Opera House received the following form (Figure

A.1). Their de-identified responses are recorded below. Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT)

participants received the same prompts via email.

Figure A.1: Participant Self-Identification Form

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MIDWEST HIGH SCHOOL PARTICIPANTS

Pseudonym: Anabell Pronouns: she/her Descriptors: Female, 15, white, class president, Spanish club, FBIA [Food and Beverage Issue Alliance], forensics Pseudonym: BM (Big Mexican) Pronouns: he Descriptors: Pseudonym: Cas Pronouns: he/him Descriptors: Whatever you’d like to put:) Lover of theatre, etc. Pseudonym: Charlie Pronouns: they/them Descriptors: Pseudonym: Harrold Pronouns: he Descriptors: Pseudonym: Janessa Black Pronouns: she/her Descriptors: Female, 15, white Pseudonym: Johnny Sinns Pronouns: they/them Descriptors: shut up [name of a classmate] Pseudonym: Josephina Pronouns: she Descriptors: Female, 16, white Pseudonym: Nemo Pronouns: him Descriptors: 17 Pseudonym: Nikki Pronouns: she Descriptors:

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Pseudonym: Onion Pronouns: she Descriptors: Pseudonym: Reyna Pronouns: she/her Descriptors: Pseudonym: Shaq Pronoun: he Descriptors: 6’5”, 250 pounds, 3 percent body fat Pseudonym: Rose Pronouns: her Descriptors: Female, 16 yrs, white, a mutt/French Pseudonym: The German Pronouns: he Descriptors: Male, 15, Germany/Ludwigsburg Pseudonym: Uraka Pronouns: she Descriptors: Pseudonym: Tonny Pronouns: male Descriptors:

STUART’S OPERA HOUSE PARTICIPANTS Pseudonym: August Pronouns: she/they Descriptors: Very white, female, tall (5’6”?) Pseudonym: James Pronouns: he/him

Descriptors: white, 14, Druid/rogue, favorite books - Harry Potter/Percy Jackson Pseudonym: Jo Pronouns: she/her Descriptors:

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Pseudonym: Michelle Pronouns: she/her Descriptors: 16, white, student, drama kid, mentor/peer, sister Pseudonym: Lu Pronouns: they/them, she/her Descriptors: Female, 15, white Pseudonym: That Pronouns: they-them Descriptors:

TEENS ‘N’ THEATRE (TNT) PARTICIPANTS Name: Brayden Turner Pronouns: he/him Descriptors:

* Brayden was over the age of 18 when interviewed and opted to use his given name in the research. Pseudonym: Isaac Pronouns: he/him/his Descriptors: Trans male Pseudonym: Samuel Pronouns: he/him/his Descriptors: Longtime theater kid and aspiring playwright

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Appendix B. Midwest High School Artifacts

WRAP-UP SURVEY QUESTIONS FOR PARTICIPANTS

1. Describe a moment from the applied theatre residency that will stay with you.

Why does this moment stand out?

2. What, if anything, did you learn from participating in the applied theatre

residency?

3. What, if anything, would you change about the applied theatre residency? Why?

4. Think about your experiences in the place where you grew up. What do you think

is important for me to communicate to my readers about the perspective of young

people in rural/small-town areas?

SAMPLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS FOR ADULT COUNTERPART

1. How did you come to teach in the area? What keeps you here? What challenges

do you face?

2. Describe your experience with the students involved in this study. I’m particularly

curious as to your hopes and worries for the students.

3. Describe a moment from the applied theatre workshop series that will stay with

you. Why does this moment stand out?

313

4. Think about your experiences in the place where you teach. What do you think is

important for me to communicate to my readers about the perspective of young

people in rural/small0town areas?

314

Appendix C: Stuart’s Opera House Artifacts

SAMPLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS FOR PARTICIPANTS

1. Describe your experience with Stuart’s Opera House to date. What drew you to the

program? What led you to keep coming back?

2. Describe a moment from the program that will stay with you. Why does this moment

stand out?

3. In what ways, if any, did my presence impact your experience of the program?

4. Think about your experiences in Nelsonville. What do you think is important for me to

communicate to my readers about the perspective of young people in rural/small-town

areas?

SAMPLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS FOR ADULT COUNTERPARTS

1. How did you come to work in the area? What keeps you here? What challenges do you

face?

2. Describe your experience with the participants involved in this Stuart’s arts education

programs. What are your hopes and worries for the participants?

3. It was exciting to see the workshops develop over the course of the program, in particular

the inclusion of the rants/meditation and the plays you introduced. What led you to make

these adjustments?

315

4. Think about your experiences in Nelsonville. What do you think is important for me to

communicate to my readers about the perspective of young people in rural/small-town

areas?

Figure C.1: Full Monomoka Monologue by August

Transcript: I am Monomoka. Everyone thinks I’m insane, but I can assure you! I am the most sane person I know! Everyone else are the crazy ones.. but that’s beyond the point. I am <15 [45] but I am wanted for 18 counts of murder…and that’s only for the ones they found. It all started when I was 15…my best friend was unfortunately the second to go. She saw the first murder.. She knew too much…and now, you’re the next to go. But maybe I should tell you more…a nice story before death. It all started as a day like every other, and that’s how we all expected it to end. I was sat outside with my best friend Yicosi and her boyfriend Naki. We walked to the park together when I had suggested…I suggested…I suggested for them to come to my house. I lived alone and you may think…well that can’t be right and…

316

Figure C.1 continued

Transcript (cont): You would be correct. All the legal documents stated that I lived with my foster mother who works from home. Months I spent studying her handwriting, taking over all public errands and filing her taxes fro her, without anyone else knowing. One day when I had felt it was time, I, well, I had someone else kill her. I wouldn’t know how to do it myself untill much later on. [With] I invited over Yicosi and Naki. Once they were both home, I went to make some tea to calm myself from my past actions. Sometime after I left, I heard a door close and what seemed to be yicosi crying. I walked out with the hot kettle and thre tea cups. I asked Yicosi where Naki was. She had said he broke up with her and gone outside to breather. Seeing her in so much pain…I …I…well to put it simply…I snapped.

317

Appendix D: Teens ‘n’ Theatre (TNT) Artifacts

SAMPLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS FOR PARTICIPANTS

1. Describe your experience with TNT. What drew you to the program? What led you to

keep coming back?

2. What were the dynamics of the creation process? Did you feel as if you had a say in the

process? Did TNT stories reflect your own experience in anyway?

3. Describe a moment from TNT that has stayed with you. Why does this moment stand

out?

4. Think about your experiences in the area. What do you think is important for me to

communicate to my readers about the perspective of young people in rural/small town

areas?

SAMPLE INTERVIEW QUESTIONS FOR ADULT COUNTERPARTS

1. Describe your experience with TNT. How did you come to be involved with TNT? What

led you to keep coming back?

2. How did the structure of TNT change overtime?

3. Describe your experience with the participants involved in TNT. What are your hopes

and worries for the participants?

318

4. Think about your experiences in the area. What do you think is important for me to

communicate to my readers about the perspective of young people in rural/small town

areas?

Figure D.1: Teens 'n' Theatre (TNT) Ground Rules – August 21, 2016

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Figure D.1 continued