What to Consider Before Seeing Pass Over on Broadway
by Toussaint Jeanlouis
I haven’t written anything formally about this work for a number of reasons. I worried that as a Black man, artist, and actor, my perspective of work by Black artists will be twisted into suggesting that Black artists aren’t ready or brilliant enough to be produced which is not at all what I believe. I think it’s important to ask questions, challenge old narratives, and make space for conversation.
On May 4th, 2021 New York Times published ‘Pass Over,’ About Black Men Trapped by Dread, Heads to Broadway. This article was placed beside the announcement that The Great Gatsby Musical was also coming to Broadway. So…Broadway is producing Black dread and a celebration of white-passing people climbing into high class society through lies and pretension in 1920’s America adapted from the Great American Novel by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a Confederate sympathizer. Really?
“I wrote the other versions of the play out of anger, and out of a desire to shock white people into caring about the fact that Black lives matter,” Nwandu said. “Now I’m ready to step back from that role of needing to indict white America. White America has been indicted, and continues to be indicted, by the actual death of Black people, so nobody needs to see that theatrically rendered anymore.”
- Antoinette Nwandu, New York Times
Why has the ending of Pass Over been changed? It seemed to rest on the shoulders of Antoinette to change her play from that of an Angry Black woman to no longer indict “White America” because the actual death of Black men would continue to indict white America. Second, to represent “Black Joy” rather than ask audiences and creatives to dig deeper into the fresh flesh-wounds that Black people have endured — not just in America, but around the world, for centuries. You can’t put a bandaid on centuries of trauma and pretend it is okay to look away and trust not seeing it will erase it or stop it from happening. Wishful thinking, but that’s why we’re here.
As the playwright, Antoinette has carte blanche to change her work as many times as she likes, for as long as she wants. I believe diverse discussions of the work and structure as written, public and private, could have unearthed some of the brilliant nuances that exist. Maybe we would be that much closer to experiencing the power Black artists have to bring discourse into the laps of society through their own personal dissection and interrogation of our shared environment and experiences — from our perspective. Maybe, just maybe, Black people could finally be seen three-dimensionally.
Reading Pass Over (2018) I was struck by the breakdown of the main characters Moses and Kitch, both identified as “black.” I don’t remember when we collectively started using a capital “B”, but to me this represented that they could be any nationality, religion, generation — it was all inclusive of where “black” sits within the systematically biased hierarchy of human value.
Moses and Kitch are “young men from the ghetto.” What is the ghetto? What is the Jewish Ghetto? How are ghettos or townships maintained? A ghetto with little to no context could be an immediate limitation to viewers, especially Broadway regulars, separating audiences from the humanity of these two characters. If you’re not from the ghetto, your perspective is limited to the narratives that keep you “safe” and detached, often preventing empathy or learning. Their story, not mine. This language at the same time reiterates the fasle narrative that Niggas ain’t Black people. Do we not fit a general description? At a traffic stop or in the housing office does it really matter if you have a degree or which degree?
As a young Black man, I was often assured I was not like them. I was safe from racism, police brutality, welfare — I was guaranteed that I would be successful and never have to deal with their strife as long as I conformed to the white gaze and ear. If you were looking for the absurdity of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot in Pass Over, there it is. It’s a misleading message worthy of critique and conversation.
Moses is described as “also a slave driver, but also the prophesied leader of God’s chosen people,” while Kitch is “also a slave, but also one of God’s chosen.” There’s an initial outline of these two characters that roots into a deeper and more complex interpersonal relationship. How are these relationships unfurled through the entirety of the play? How does religion play a role in the messages of this play? Many critics have spoken about Exodus, but they do not relate those stories, like many historians, to the liberation of Black people.
Have you experienced deja vu? You start to speak and it’s almost as if the world moves in slow motion as you recognize that you’ve been here before, saying the very same thing, with the same color cup in your hand — but it was a dream, or was it…is it? Surrealism is possible on stage without gimmicks. To an outside observer, how and why we shiftshape through our daily lives (i.e. code switching, home and office attire) is surreal.
This Afro-Surrealist play traverses through time from now, right now, 1855, and 13th century B.C. on an unnamed ghetto street, a plantation, to Egypt — so why is America the only country in conversation? Myopia? Atrophy? What is going on in your subconscious?
Black Sufferance is not solely tied to America: South African Apartheid, Rwandan Genocide, Congo Mines, United Kingdom, Australian Aboriginals, Israel, South America, Latin America, India, Reparations — the list is long. The reasons people immigrate to America, the land of the free, would suggest the world knows about the “American Dream.” Why stop here? Where else could it begin and end? Did audiences in the U.K. think of Sartje Baartman (Venus the Hottentot) as an example of following a dream turned nightmare to reach the promised land?
Historically, Black Moseses, leaders of communities of oppressed people, marching toward liberation, equality, and justice have been killed throughout time. The death of this Black Moses in Pass Over, however unexpected, sad, and frustrating, is an accurate depiction of the lives of Black men who took a stand against the system or even their communities. Why Moses is killed as he is about to walk and get ribs around the block by Mister is a great question. Is this symbolism? Who is Mister at this moment? Who did George Zimmerman think he was?
Mister is white-presenting, “earnest, wholesome, terrified, but also a plantation owner, but also pharaoh’s son.” There is subtlety in the shifts between time periods in which this character exists while present on stage where shifts can be seamless. How can an audience be prepared for a style of work they haven’t seen and creatives aren’t willing to take a risk to explore? Would anyone ever invite you to a Blink 182 concert and tell you they sound just like Jill Scott?
As Mister unpacks his picnic basket he assumes the role of Historic Colonizer. He pulls out cultural dishes of all of the countries that have been duped, persuaded, trapped by evangelicals offering those conditioned to believe they are lacking and in need of something the land or government could not and/or would not provide. Apple Pie and a plate of Pinto Beans and Collard Greens is what seduces Moses and Kitch, for a moment, to allow Mister to rest his flat feet. Mister plays a clever game you clock if you’ve seen how colonizers or gentrifiers make their descent. In this case, it is necessary to look a gift-horse in the mouth before sitting down at their trough. Citizens of the United States might miss this brilliance because we eat from the melting pot and don’t give second thought to where the dishes came from.
Mister also plays Ossifer who is “an enforcer of the law, pragmatic, intimidating, and terrified. Also a patroller, but also a soldier in the pharaoh’s army.” They are both identified as “white,” but it says nothing about nationally, ethnicity, religion, or class. Knowing the history of whiteness, how it was created, used to delineate chosen from not chosen, and maintained through today made me ask “what is he really?” If whiteness has been a claim to superiority, then from my experience and Louisiana Creole heritage, they could be of any race (ie. Nella Larsen, James Wheldon Johnson). It is his tactics to dissuade and trap them that we watch with closer inspection.
There is a wealth of resources and information to draw from prior to beginning this production. How that information is extracted and placed within the living picture we see on stage is critical to the viability of what could be an iconic mark in theatre history. What questions are readers and viewers being asked by the playwright? If a statement provokes you to ask a question which then leads to a discussion, that is success. If all the answers were accessible and Black Lives Mattered, there would be no play.
Previous critics have written a number of opinions that don’t even crack the surface of the potential discussion Antoinette Nwandu has initiated. Everyone’s intelligent. We know and read information differently from other people.
Why would you say Moses and Kitch are homeless? Looking at the history of Jews, Gypsies, Migrants, the Slave Trade, Auction Blocks, Indigenous Peoples, Colonization — what does it mean to be without a home? It’s possible that New Yorkers and big city dwellers are numb to seeing homeless people and don’t ask how or why.
We can absolutely talk about Black on Black crime and systemic oppression, scarcity mindset, and resource depletion. If all you have is “Black on Black crime exists too” after reading this play, then I beg you to ask why. What was the impact of the Belgians manipulating the Hutus and Tutsis for resources? Genocide. Reflect on the moment Kitch and Moses planned to help each other pass over by stoning themselves to death with a rock. Is that hate, love, or desperation?
Is it the fault of Black men with saggy pants and hoodies using the word nigga that gets them killed? By page forty, seventy-eight was how many times I counted the word nigga used by the two young Black men. There are two moments in which the word is in question, first by Mister, and then by Moses and Kitch. After Mister leaves, the characters test to see if their assimilated vernacular allows them to pass over. “Gee Golly Gosh!” When Ossifer arrives a second time, they almost make it out unscathed until Kitch says “nigga.” It could all be so simple. That’s absurd!
What is the relationship to Judaism, Exodus, Liberation and Black peoples? “Nasty ass crust!” Matza. “Why! Why! Why!” Lament. “Kitch.” Kitsch. “Moses.” Moses. Pass Over.” Passover. The chosen ones. What happened? Did this Moses get shot because he was Black? Did he get shot because he was a liberator? Both?
Young Black men are not limited to the dreams of children. There are countless, forgotten, erased numbers of Black men through centuries who have fought for liberation and been killed for doing so. This has occurred since 13th Century B.C., 1855, to now, in Egypt, on plantations, under a street lamp and we still, as a global society, don’t know their names. This is about more than just telling white-presenting people to stop killing us. It means more than a symbol of hope to ending police brutality against Black bodies.
You can never bet on the lived experience of your audience to see past stereotypes when you deliver two-dimensional representations and market solely on “first back and it’s Black!” Especially if you don’t inform or create space for critical dialogue amongst the artists and audiences.
As I read this play, there were many references that would appear two dimensional but upon further inspection, they support an ever-arching message about Black Liberation. This is a great reason to want to see this production tight now. The slingshot that this play flies from today is the loud cacophony of voices demanding that Black Lives Matter. Will the production — will Broadway meet or retreat?
The innumerable ways Artists of the Global Majority have been forced to create underground channels and codes to pass information on the plantation just to communicate to each other that we are still here is a heavy consideration. The message is on the other side of the melodies, dances, and bright lights. I hope that the 2021 production of this piece will break the facade, contextualize Black experiences, dig deeper than previous iterations, and spark thoughtful conversation rather than pretend that my life matters because there is finally representation.
I anticipate the success of Pass Over and Antoinette, beyond the Broadway stage for generations to come. Here’s to sparking informed critique of art, society, and Black lives.
What do you know now that you didn’t assume before?
Extra credit:
A few Niggas like Us
