Dear Chris Gorham

There are 3 things that have driven me to finally write this (although I have been thinking versions of these thoughts for a long, long time). These 3 things have also led to me address this letter specifically to you (though the general points apply to many others) rather than writing a broad article discussing the topic. Other writers discuss it far more eloquently than I can, anyway.

They are:

1) The YOMYOMF Network production of Yellow Face, starring you. [Part 1] [Part 2]

2) This Characters Unite PSA presented by you. (You did this a while back, but it came back to haunt me when I watched Yellow Face)

3) This tweet by you:

These 3 things put together have disturbed me. My pragmatic self and my idealistic self, who have been known to have the occasional tussle but generally agree to co-exist relatively peaceably, have gone to war.

My pragmatic self loves (actually I think adores may be more accurate) you in the role of Auggie. (This may be a small understatement).

I love that Matt Corman and Chris Ord conceived the character in the first place. 

I love that you have taken the role so seriously – done your homework more thoroughly than many (maybe even most) actors in your position seem to do. 

I love your attention to detail. 

I love that you obviously think about what you do, that you have immersed yourself so thoroughly in the role that it comes as second nature to you. 

I love how you keep the research up and bring practical, authentic suggestions to the writers and directors.

I love that while researching this role you have learned and cared, and that you want to share that through your work and through your interactions with the media, general public and your fan-base.

I love how you’ve grown Auggie from the somewhat cringe-inducingly (proper word, non?) stereotypical blind guy in the Covert Affairs Season 1 pilot episode to probably the most authentic, plausible (and sexy-as-hell) blind male lead character we’ve (or certainly I’ve) seen on TV.

But

I also have an idealistic self:

This self wishes I didn’t like you so much in the role, because really, honestly, it feels you should never have landed the role in the first place. 

This self finds it hard to accept that the role of one of the very few disabled characters on TV (to see how underrepresented people with disabilities are you can look here) was given to a sexy-as-hell able-bodied man. 

This self can be very, very cynical about things like TV-Network anti-ableism PSAs.

This self found watching you in Yellow Face very, very difficult.

There are, for me, parallels between Christopher G. and Marcus G(ee). 

Both of you are charming, easy-to-love, decent men with your hearts solidly in the right place.

Both of you, through putting on “face”, developed greater awareness of the degree of discrimination faced by others. 

Both of you add(ed) your voices to those calling for change.

Both of you started out as part of the problem: Marcus in “yellowface”, you in “cripface” (not my own term).

And that’s why my idealistic side is yelling.

Because can you say “I Won’t Stand For Ableism” when you, a sighted man, are playing a role that could (make that should, actually) have gone to a blind actor?

Because can’t being an able-bodied guy who plays a blind guy reinforce the attitude that living with a disability means there are some jobs (like acting) that are “off-limits”, rather than changing it?

Because, while you speak publically about ableism in general, you have never spoken publicly about the ableism within the industry in which you work, and which you obviously love, and that makes you appear oblivious to it. Are you oblivious? 

A while back you were interviewed by Maureen Duffy of VisionAware. She posed this question to you:

"...And of course I have to ask this question: How do you respond to people who believe that the role of Auggie should be played by a blind actor?"

And this is how you answered:

"Honestly, I'm almost never asked that question. Certainly, a blind actor can be capable of playing a role like this. I think that goes without saying. I really can't speak for the producers, nor the network, as to why they chose as they did."

Does the fact that you aren't asked ever bother you? Is it politeness that stops people from asking, or is it conditioning? Are people so used to seeing able-bodied actors playing disabled characters (and seeing them lauded for their skill in those roles) that they don't even question the right- or wrongness of it?

I understand that you can't speak for the producers, nor the network. My pragmatic side acknowledges that there are multiple possible reasons why you were given the role of Auggie. Some of them are echoes of reasons given in Yellow Face to justify the hiring of white actors in Asian roles. Here's one, which I quote from Yellow Face [with a little adaptation]:

“If you know of any…[blind] actor who would be right for the part…please give me his name. We have searched literally around the world…”

It's one that may well have been true in your case. I wasn’t there. I don’t know.

But even if that was the case, is the justification enough? 

If that was the case, shouldn’t questions be asked as to why there wasn’t anyone “right for the part”?

Is it because disability and acting ability are mutually exclusive? (There’s the implication in there somewhere – and isn’t that ableism in its most blatant form: “You have a disability and therefore you can’t…[fill in the blank]”?) 

It's obvious from your interview that you don't believe that.

So why didn't they (assuming they tried) find a blind actor for the role of Auggie? Why is the pool of actors who have disabilities so (allegedly) small that the majority of disabled roles still go to non-disabled actors?

Is it because writers don’t create enough disabled characters? I’m not talking about major roles alone, although, of course, there aren’t enough of those either. Why do we so seldom see everyday minor characters who incidentally have a disability: the history teacher, the doctor’s receptionist, the dad taking his kids to school, the accountant, the swimming coach, the barista at the coffee shop? Why don’t we regularly see disabled actors in roles that could be played by either a disabled or non-disabled actor? Why, on the rare occasion when we do get given a character with a disability, is there such an emphasis on the disability? Scott Jordan Harris puts it perfectly, in his essay on Disability in Film for the BBC’s OUCH! blog: “I hope, too, that we soon see many more films that do not focus primarily on disability but in which disabled characters are simply sewn into the fabric of the story, just as we are sewn into the fabric of life”.  Without these roles, can actors gain the experience needed to grow? Without the prospect of future roles, how many potentially brilliant actors leave the profession (or never consider it in the first place) because, practically, no matter how good you are, the likelihood of ever actually being able to earn any kind of living as a disabled actor is slim (another understatement).

Is it because very few kids with disabilities out there are able to actively join school drama activities? How many talented kids are subtly sidelined? How many kids with disabilities have attended Roosevelt School of the Arts, or graduated from UCLA with a BA in Film and Theater Arts as you did, for example? Are the numbers near representative when compared to other types of school or degree? How accessible (in all respects) are schools and courses like these?

Is it because the structures, systems, procedures and environments within film, television and theatre are inaccessible? How much discussion is there around the concepts of “universal design” and “design for all” when it comes to the various aspects of film-making?

Is it because in an industry still largely obsessed with physical beauty/perfection (and that’s a topic for another diatribe on another day) there is an automatic assumption that disability is the antithesis of beauty, that a person can’t actually be disabled and sexy-as-hell, and so there is little “space” for disability?

Is it because too few people ask themselves difficult questions? Is it because too few people are asked to ask themselves difficult questions? 

You would have a much better idea of (and access to) the answers to these questions than I. This is your world, your industry, your home.

It is obvious that playing Auggie has given you an opportunity to see close-up the discrimination faced by people with disabilities in both blatant and subtle ways. It is also obvious that you want to do something to address that discrimination.

Could you do that where you find yourself right now ("charity begins at home" and all that)? Should you?

I know this can get complicated. Yellow Face explored some of those complexities in a way that resonated with me. I grew up in South Africa - a white child in the final years of apartheid. I benefited (and still benefit) from racism in its most blatant, systemic form. The T-shirt I wear says "I benefited from apartheid".

There's a story about that, too. A story that also reveals the complexities involved in addressing discrimination. It's the story of a T-shirt campaign that started a national conversation [you can read an interview with the two guys who started the campaign here - it's a very interesting read]: a campaign which, by acknowledging the elephant in the room, got people to start talking, arguing, asking the difficult questions, dealing with the difficult answers.

There are blurry areas. There's the spectre of "benefiter's guilt" (what right does a benefiter have to speak about discrimination at all?) set against the unique position a benefiter is in to be able to speak to other benefiters. There's the smudgy line that exists between "not standing for" discrimination - speaking up when you see it, in whatever form it shows itself - and speaking for someone else, negating their right to advocate for themselves.There's the fear that the problem is so overwhelming, so integral, so deeply woven into mindsets that one person's speaking up isn't going to have any significant effect on the whole (but may have negative effects on the person). There's the probability of getting it wrong sometimes. There's the ugliness that emerges (both within oneself and others) when engaging on this level and that has to be dealt with. It's a messy, messy business.

But, as Roger Young says in that interview (he's talking about racism, but I think it's valid for other forms of discrimination too):

"Our society is still divided on racial [discriminatory] lines. It’s how we see things. In order to dismantle that thinking, we have to make things equal economically, we can only do that by talking about race[discrimination]. That’s the complexity. It’s going to take generations to sort it out. But that’s no excuse to put your head in the sand."

Does one risk all that mess?

It's a question each person can only ask of themselves. I ask it in my context, again and again. And I'll admit I don't always answer "yes". I suppose, really, in this letter, I'm asking if you ask it of yourself in your context. And if you don't, I'm asking you to consider asking it.

It might mean that while you continue to do your best to give us competent, confident, authentic (and sexy-as-hell) Auggie, you acknowledge that the very fact that you are the actor playing that role is a sign that “something is rotten in the state of Denmark”.
It might mean acknowledging that the way things are is far from where they should be; that although there has been progress (and you have contributed to that progress) it is not yet sufficient to justify any form of self-congratulation.

It might mean owning the discrimination that does exist, calling it what it is, supporting those advocating for change and those inspiring implementation of change at all levels - from the grass roots upwards.
It might mean being uncomfortable.

It might mean wearing both T-shirts (figuratively) in your own back yard.

Or it might not.

Ideally I would have liked to converse about these things with you, preferably over a cup of coffee. Writing a letter seems cowardly in a way. (As, by the way, does publishing it on a blog, albeit highly obscure, where other people can read it without you having had an opportunity to respond if you so wished. Unfortunately I couldn't think of any way to avoid that).
I must admit I thought long and hard about whether to even write it at all.
And maybe if you hadn't been cast in Yellow Face I wouldn't have.
But that play is all about exploring the complexities surrounding discriminatio: it's about examining the blurry edges, it's about figuring out when and how to respond in the places in which one finds oneself.
It's about asking questions (of yourself and others) and asking others to ask questions.
And that's why I stuck my neck out and wrote it: because I haven't seen anyone else ask you these questions, or ask you to ask these questions (of yourself and others), or ask you to ask others to ask these questions.

Yours,

with admiration, affection and hope that this is read in the spirit in which it was written

Ash T.

Poem Written on Mother's Day

David

They told me on a Friday
You were dead
And Daddy was away
And didn't know to come right away
And my friend gave me lilies
Because what was there to say?

For a week I carried you
Still, heavy, silent
A breathing tomb

I birthed you on Good Friday morning
Held you in the hollow of my hand
Tiny, formed, delicate, alabaster

They told me we could bury you
So Tuesday we did
Paper shroud, cardboard coffin
Mommy's letter in a bottle

My baby
Who lived in my hope
But died in my body
Who lived in my heart
But never in my arms

I planted a lilac to remember you by
I had to leave you and the letter and the lilac behind

On Fragility and Anonymity

Last night, watching my husband stand up to put a DVD into the player, I had one of those odd moments where I feel somehow detached from the immediate present and float out into some sort of external view of things. So at the same time as seeing the vitality of him, his beautiful physique, his obvious strength, I was struck by his terrible fragility - at how easily even a strong, healthy body like his can so easily be broken or break down. How very precarious life is.

And I was once again aware of how tiny, in the greater scheme of things, a single human life is. Here is this person, precious beyond belief to me, and significant in his way to us, his family and friends, to those he works with and to those who seek his advice. But we too, are small unknowns, and once he's gone, his memory is unlikely to last much beyond a name and maybe a few small anecdotes after a few generations.

It seems more than a little sad.

I understand the almost frenzied efforts of many for just a little fame. It does seem hard to live with the idea of a life hard-lived, with so much effort and care and struggle and achievement, vanishing from consciousness so quickly.

But as I think back to the tiny percentage of humans whose names are attached to achievements great enough to keep them in human consciousness for some time I see how the their significance is built on the unseen lives and actions of so many, many others. Shakespeare would not be known today if there were no-one then who loved his work enough to perform it and watch it, and if there were no-one in our age to love his work enough to continue to read it, publish it and perform it, or even just to talk about him. Even underneath that one has to see the role of his parents, even if just biologically, friends who supported him, the builders who built the homes where he lived and the theatres where his plays were performed. The list is endless. Some of those were significant enough in his life that without their contribution Shakespeare would have drifted into anonymity, as most of us do.

And so the whole of humanity takes on the form of a live organism with all the cells and organs working together. Occasionally their combined actions, historical and contemporary, reach some kind of critical mass that produces someone who benefits enough to produce something that launches them into either fame or notoriety.

There is potentially no insignificance in the lives of any of us. Insignificance is not the same as anonymity. And there is a enough of a difference between the two to make it worth the struggle to live a life well.