Tonight, I joined some friends at the Gloucester Stage Company to see "Master Harold and the Boys." It is a 3-person play about the horrors of the harshly oppressive apartheid system in South Africa in 1950. It projects the idea that if a person can change his or her view of events in life, he or she can also change one's own behaviors. This play is a struggle of conscience. The attitudes by which he respond to emotionally significant experiences will determine the terrain for the rest of our choices. Turning points create opportunities for us to become more than what we have become. A person can move from a lower plane to a higher one.
This was a sacred play. When it was finished and the actors came out for acknowledgement at the end of the show, I wanted to punch the character named Hally. I did not like what his character did to the other two. He had truly become Master Harold. The actors who played Sam and Willy I wanted to embrace because their stories moved me a great deal. When they received applause, these actors were still in their characters. It was not a time to cheer for great acting; it was a time to acknowledge the grave social sins we commit against each other - historically and currently. The two black actors were still in tears and it pulled at my heartstrings. The white South African actor could not wear a smile because of the severity of the ending. It was no time for rejoicing in their abilities. They knew they were credible. We just sat aghast with our wet handkerchiefs.
It was a sacred moment and the play deserves grand silence to honor those who struggle each day.
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