The very first show I saw on Broadway in New York back in 1998 was Ragtime. I was blown away by the original cast, including powerhouses Brian Stokes Mitchell, Audra McDonald, and Marin Mazzie. We got last minute tickets from the TKTS booth in Times Square, and ended up in the front row, stage right. If that was the only show I ever saw on Broadway, it would have been enough. I was transported directly into the story, goosebumps covering my skin, tears streaking my face for the duration.
In Ragtime we’re introduced to three groups of Americans in 1902: African Americans in Harlem where Ragtime music is emerging, Eastern European Jewish immigrants fleeing their homes for life in America, and the upperclass white suburbanites sheltered by their wealth in New Rochelle, New York. Each group warily recognizes the neat and tidy delineation of their places in society, even as they sing about distant music, and something beginning. But despite the upbeat music at the start of the show, we see everything is going to fall apart in a very non-neat and non-tidy way. Destruction is already on its way, and we are helpless to do anything about it. Still, I was hopeful that rising from the wreckage we would still bear witness to the “something beginning” part of the story… and that whatever emerged would be greater than the sum of it’s charred and broken pieces.
There is one song which resonated so deeply with me I still ugly-cry when I hear it twenty years later. In it we see affluent, white, Younger Brother whose wealthy family owns a fireworks business, timidly going before horrifically-wronged, African American, Coalhouse Walker, Jr. to offer his services in setting things right. The scene doesn’t start off well, as the rightfully suspicious Coalhouse pulls a gun on Younger Brother and asks what he’s doing there. Younger Brother stutters under the pressure, unable to get the words out. A narrator in the form of actual historical figure Emma Goldman, immigrant, political activist, and writer, steps into the spotlight and helps the story move along.
Emma sings, “He wanted to say…” and then Younger Brother eloquently sings from his heart what is impossible for his mouth to say.
Emma: He wanted to say
Younger Brother: I am here because I have to be
Emma: He wanted to say
Younger Brother: I am here for what is right
Every day I wake up knowing
What you’ve lost and what is owing
I would shed this skin if I could
To stand with you and fight
The song continues, with Emma also narrating Coalhouse’s response to Younger Brother. It’s a very emotional song as these two men who only seem to have America in common meet for a moment with a common passion to seek justice when no justice has been received in a tragic situation.
In the end, Emma draws the song to a close, “But all he said was…”
And Younger Brother, the previously apathetic, privileged, firework factory heir, boldly states: I know how to blow things up.
Part of the reason it has always resonated so deeply with me is the way Younger Brother finally finds himself filled to the brim with passion for something other than himself and his place in wealthy society, but just can’t seem to get the words out. I often feel this way. I will never say no if you summon me to a stage and hand me a mic, but I will tell you until the day I die I am a far better writer than speaker. My brain works too fast, my heart is filled with too many feelings, and often what comes out is difficult for even my husband of 25 years to figure out!
But what I want to say is important. I have a voice, a brain, an education, tons of life experience, and thanks to technology, a place to collect and publish the important things filling my heart with passion which need sharing. It’s just taken most of my life to get up the guts to walk into this space and actually say it.
What can you expect from She Wanted to Say? A lot of words, not as many pictures. Authenticity, transparency, humility, and a sense of wonder. Information to make you think, give you something to talk about, and hopefully stir you to action. We’re going deep into places where faith and culture meet, or more accurately where they collide violently. Nothing will be off limits because I’m tired of giving power to the things which culture and/or faith tells us are shameful or shouldn’t be discussed above a whisper… in the hopes they just go away on their own.
I hope you’ll stick around. I hope you’ll listen and think and contribute. There will probably be fireworks. Things we’re prone to hold onto such as rigid ideas and the status quo are likely to get blown up. But just like the characters in Ragtime who heard distant music and sought a new beginning, and like my younger self who sat mesmerized watching the show through tears, I’m filled with hope that what emerges will be greater and more glorious than anything before.
Be strong and courageous,
