Cultural Citizenship
From the Executive Director
By Ben Cameron
At many conferences I attend, there are the inevitable sessions on political advocacy. Here, generally, the advice is earnest and frankly solid. Yes, writing to legislators is important—indeed, no legislator understands an issue unless a voting constituent explains it to him or her—and yes, let’s all troop up to the county seat/state capital/Washington, D.C., once a year for Arts Advocacy Day or its equivalent (although “all” tends to mean mostly a single management representative from each theatre). Let’s be ready to crank up the letter writing if there is a controversy (God forbid) or if there is a major attack on the arts, but otherwise, let’s delegate this work to the management leader, settle back to watch the budgets inch in one direction or another, check advocacy off our collective list, and get back to more important things.
Especially in 2004—an election year of historic importance, regardless of one’s political point of view—we must rethink how advocacy could work and what it could mean for us all. And we must begin by thinking of advocacy not as something to be delegated, but as something to be universally embraced, involving the fullest range of partners and deploying the fullest range of our assets.
How many of us make use of our boards (other than during times of controversy) in cultivating relationships with government officials, for example? Let’s face it—especially in times of controversy, our voices are perceived as too self-interested to be heard. (That’s partly why we often hear our opponents make the distinction between artists and “the American people.”) When it comes to advocacy efforts, it’s the corporate executive, the lawyer, the banker, the housewife whose voices are heard when ours cannot be. It is our boards and the allies they can muster—their professional colleagues, friends and neighbors.
How many of us make use of our artists? God knows, everyone wants to meet the actors. How much more effective we could be if we insured that our actors—not to mention our designers, our playwrights, our own staffs—understood the issues surrounding government policy and the funding issues for the particular theatre where they work.
How many of us help audiences understand the impact of government funding? Arts organizations are the only 501(c)3s that sell tickets—they don’t resemble traditional charities in revenue streams—and especially in a context where Broadway shows like The Producers announce major profits and feature $480 tickets, why should the average citizen perceive us in the same light as the local schools? Should we mimic the United Way thermometers for our walls to show the impact of funding in moving us towards solvency? Should we begin our curtain speeches in 60 percent light, wearing 60 percent of a costume as visible manifestations of what their ticket purchase buys—reminding them of the pivotal role of funding (government included) in bringing the lights to full or the costume to completion?
How many of us think of our facilities not merely as theatres but as potential civic centers? (Indeed, how many of us even display a flag?) We often have large lobbies used to accommodating sizeable crowds, rehearsal rooms and more. Can we become polling places—sites that additionally allow us to remind citizens of our existence and showcase through lobby displays the many fantastic things we do beyond performance? Can we offer voter registration in the lobby before performances or during intermission? Can we have free performance events on voting day to entertain those who have voted?
If we are serious about government funding, every board must create an advocacy structure. A separate committee? A subcommittee of development? The solutions will vary as appropriate—to place advocacy on the agenda for every meeting, to undertake (not delegate) ongoing legislative communication and to insure a sizeable delegation of board members who march up to the Hill and lobby at the county seat/state capital/Washington, D.C.
If we are serious about government funding, we must be willing to dedicate an hour or two out of every rehearsal period to explain organizational realities to our artists, a staff meeting to explain them to our staffs, curtain speeches or fliers to explain them to our audiences, to give all the context and vocabulary to make our case.
If we are serious about government funding, we must dedicate our buildings to being civic centers, polling places and voter registration sites.
Government funding is the payback for this work, but the motive of our efforts must always be that of vibrant cultural citizenship. Citizenship means working hard for the causes we believe in; citizenship implies working diligently to promote maximum participation by all citizens in civic life. Failure to vote is agreeing to be a victim: By encouraging others to maximize their roles in the process—whether as individual voters, articulate advocates or active lobbyists—we are promoting a more vibrant civic culture.
And perhaps, just perhaps, we’ll begin to build a consciousness of our own role in civic life—a role we claim, but too rarely present convincingly. We’ll see less dismissal on the faces of legislative staffs who perceive us only as entertainers or supplicants fighting for a place at the public feeding trough. We will see genuine warmth and recognition of arts organizations as true partners in working towards a healthier civic society—a force to be reckoned with and not a party to be dismissed.
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