In 1895 Oscar Wilde wrote a character in The Importance of Being Earnest named Cecily, who uttered these words: “When I see a spade I call it a spade.” To which another character responded: “I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade.” At that time the phrase was a term referring to speaking truths, calling things out as they ought to be called.
But by the end of the Twenties a spade had become a derogatory slur against African Americans. Just a decade later “stay woke” was a lyric in a song inspired by the wrongly-accused Scottsboro Boys. It was a term advising African Americans to be alert towards pending trouble, particularly any sort of racial or social injustice.
Now woke has a whole new and other meaning and mostly serves to polarise the Left and Right. In the school yard where I grew up in Wales this little ditty was thrown around like an old rugby ball: “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me”. Such bravado appealed to the child terrified of being in a punch-up. Could words, with their often devilish ferocity, really protect? Or do we use words to conceal fear?
“Words word words” wrote William Shakespeare, spoken by his Hamlet, who suspected everyone at court of using words to lie and manipulate. In our age of enlightenment is there really an “awakening” taking place, or are we all using words as political weaponry to censor one another?
By the mid-Seventies, inspired by a group of dazzling older friends, I was marching in my first gay pride. I felt a mixture of excitement and humiliation as we chanted through the streets like wild animals released from the jungle, gawped at, though often cheered.
By the mid-Eighties I was frequently fundraising in the battle to halt the monumental march of Aids. Soon after that I was on television advocating testing for HIV. By the end of that decade I was involved with the fight against Section 28, an invidious act that incited bigotry and hatred as it sought to prohibit the promotion of anything homosexual.
Meaning libraries could no longer stock Oscar Wilde or the many others who were the geniuses, radicals and progressives of our times, and the times before. Our literature. Our heritage. And it caused many LGBT organisations to close, limit their activities or self-censor.
After the joyful liberation of the Seventies, the Eighties became a decade of blame and hatred. The awakened were being told to tranquillize.
By the end of the Nineties the Google search engine had been invented and myriads of words were disseminated globally like pollen in a sand storm. And the party started where every individual gained new significance, whether geek or troll, Jack or Jill and all the others in between. Suddenly there was a platform where truth was not absolute and individuals were encouraged to raise grievances, whether real or imagined. The battle was on and troops were being gathered from both the light and dark corners of the world.
Having lived through legislation that brought equality to many, and lived through the fight to stop censorship and encourage freedom of speech, I naively thought we inhabited a world where artists, thinkers and intellectuals could share thoughts and ideas that while individual were recognisable or possibly even inspiring.
Then came the pandemic and the whole world tilted. Recently a theatre director was called into the management’s office at a subsidised London theatre and hauled over the coals because she had upset a member of the acting company. “Who did I upset?” she enquired. “We cannot say,” they responded. “What is it that I said or did to upset the person whose identity you cannot disclose?”, she once again asked. “We cannot say,” they responded again. Was this Kafka or Orwell?
Another director received anonymous hate mail from within the acting company he was working with, targeting his abusive and bullying behaviour. Unable to respond to the masked accuser he was left powerless to address even a single issue. The union Equity was sympathetic, saying: “Some coward has thrown a hand grenade and then run away. We cannot do a thing.”
Lies, lies, lies. Posing as truth? The freedom to speak one’s mind has encouraged the fantasist to invent truths. Fake news. Trolling. Accusation without foundation. Traditionally theatre has been based on trust and the camaraderie of the players. An environment of liberal ideas and experimentation. But it is difficult to work in a world where you must be watchful about criticising or using irony as a way to negotiate a creative path forward.
A world of language and literature where you must constantly mind your Ps and Qs. If theatre is to be policed then freedom of expression will be chipped away until practitioners work only from a text book. The same might apply to any institution. The vigilante becomes the vigilant. The woke the unwoke.
1895 is a long time ago and words and their usage are constantly changing. Along with our ideas and perceptions and legislation. Offence is a key word in our troubled quest for a contemporary idiom. We are surrounded by the threat of the unseen fire all too ready to rage. Should one self-censor? Will censoriousness lead to censorship? Remove Oscar Wilde from the classroom. Extract the bits of Roald Dahl that are no longer suitable. Cut loose the noose from Lucky’s neck in Beckett’s Godot.
When the bogeyman does come to get us we will have to be strong and sturdy, but above all truthful. Because the bogeyman hates the truth.
