Why I'm still performing at the Kennedy Center
Washington Post
Washington D.C.
In the face of President Donald Trump’s hostile takeover of the Kennedy Center, there was a common visceral response: Boycott the institution.
A number of artists have chosen to pull previously planned acts from the Kennedy Center lineup. Two prominent examples are the tour of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s “Hamilton” and Washington National Opera’s production of Gregory Spears and Greg Pierce’s “Fellow Travelers,” an opera about a gay couple trying to find their way during the McCarthy era’s Lavender Scare (a performance supported by the WNO but withdrawn by members of the “Fellow Travelers” creative team). Likewise, some audience members have chosen to shun the venue, regardless of the nature of the performance.
The desire to make a strong statement is valid, and I sympathize with it, but such self-censorship is misguided. Despite my own displeasure with the White House’s approach to the arts, I am conducting Mason Bates and Mark Campbell’s “The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs” with Washington National Opera this week. I hope other artists will likewise choose to share their art in lieu of canceling.
Art is no mere commodity, like a rejected product sold by an exploitative corporation or an aggressor in a war. Art has the capacity to change minds, shift cultures, challenge assumptions. Choosing not to perform deprives artists and art of power, and it aids regimes that fear being culturally challenged. Choosing not to attend performances of content we support will only ensure that this content is not presented in the future.
There might be situations where cutting ties is the best course of action. For those with mainly ceremonial titles, dropping the affiliation can make a statement. In certain situations, an alternate venue might be the answer. And if clear censorship of content within performances begins, our choices might change. But even in these cases, the line is not obvious. If we want to fight censorship and ensure a diverse range of programming options, we must continue to support the art that we want to see on the Kennedy Center stage for as long as we can. That’s especially true given that the administration is seeking to cut off access to the arts more broadly, most recently by canceling National Endowment for the Arts grants around the country.
Oppressive regimes of the past aggressively stifled creative expression, which is one reason an increasingly authoritarian president injecting partisan politics into a national arts center draws such an emotional response today. Yet totalitarian dictators such as Joseph Stalin sponsored massive artistic endeavors to rouse the masses, even as they ruthlessly shut down any public displays of opposition. Interestingly, even art intended to be propagandistic sometimes became an opportunity for artists and audiences to express their anguish and lack of freedom through musical experiences. Dmitri Shostakovich’s symphonies are a prime example of art that was created under censorship but ultimately served as an essential outlet for audiences’ anxiety, fear and hope.
Art is one of humanity’s great empathic mediums, and we should not underestimate its ability to move people in unexpected ways. In the case of “The (R)evolution of Steve Jobs,” I find myself hoping that U.S. DOGE Service apparatchiks come to this production. Perhaps members of the team (or Elon Musk himself) would gain something from this story of a misguided and brilliant man who acquires power but temporarily loses all sense of humanity and even reason, hurting those around him and harming his own company. I think about what could be gleaned from seeing “Hamilton” or “Fellow Travelers” at the capital’s defining artistic venue — stories about our shared American cultural history, delivered in ways that resonate with contemporary audiences and replete with lessons we still need to learn.
Americans should remember the words of President John F. Kennedy: “In serving his vision of the truth, the artist best serves his nation.” In a divided world, we need connection — including the shared emotional journey as we hear a symphony with no direct link to the current situation. When artists self-censor, they unwittingly do the work of the oppressing body, becoming active participants in the very silencing they want to prevent. We need the arts to unite us, galvanize us into action, help us embrace new perspectives, question ourselves and our world — and, perhaps most of all, to practice empathy, something that of late has been in stunningly short supply.