The Art of Activism: When History Meets Theater in 'A New Era'
There’s something profoundly moving about watching history come alive on stage, especially when it’s a story that’s been buried, ignored, or erased. Miranda Austen ADEkoje’s A New Era does more than just resurrect Boston’s Black suffragist past—it forces us to confront the messy, often uncomfortable realities of activism. Personally, I think this is where the play shines brightest: it doesn’t sanitize history. It doesn’t give us neat, feel-good narratives. Instead, it plunges us into the complexities of coalition-building, compromise, and the tension between ideals and reality.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how ADEkoje uses the personal to illuminate the political. The play centers on Josephine St. Pierre Ruffin, a real-life figure whose name deserves to be as widely recognized as Susan B. Anthony or Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Played with remarkable depth by Patrice Jean-Baptiste, Josephine is a woman navigating not just the fight for suffrage but the intersecting battles against racism, classism, and internal divisions within her own community. One thing that immediately stands out is how the play avoids the trap of making her a flawless hero. She’s passionate, yes, but she’s also flawed, stubborn, and at times, out of touch. This humanization is crucial because it reminds us that progress isn’t made by saints—it’s made by people, with all their contradictions.
The Battle of Ideals: When Allies Become Adversaries
The heart of A New Era lies in the clashes between Josephine and her ideological counterparts: Gertrude Sampson and Margaret Murray Washington. These aren’t just debates; they’re battles over the very soul of activism. Gertrude, with her sharp tongue and elitist attitudes, represents the tension between class and race. Margaret, meanwhile, embodies the accommodationist approach, a strategy that often feels like survival but can also resemble surrender.
From my perspective, these confrontations are where the play’s commentary becomes most potent. Gertrude’s use of the N-word to describe recent Southern migrants isn’t just a shocking moment—it’s a stark reminder of how internalized racism can fracture communities. Margaret’s pragmatism, on the other hand, raises a deeper question: How much should we compromise to achieve incremental change? Josephine’s challenge to Margaret—‘If uplift is all we need, why are we still hanging from trees?’—is a line that lingers long after the curtain falls. It’s a question that resonates today, in a world where systemic racism and inequality persist despite decades of activism.
The Power of Anachronism: Bridging Past and Present
One of the most intriguing aspects of A New Era is its use of anachronism. The needle drops of Chaka Khan and Lauryn Hill aren’t just musical choices—they’re statements. They remind us that the struggles of the 1890s aren’t relics of history; they’re echoes of the present. The haunting video montage of lynching headlines, some shockingly recent, drives this point home. What this really suggests is that the fight for justice is cyclical, not linear. We’ve made progress, yes, but the same battles are fought in different guises.
What many people don’t realize is how bold this choice is. By blending historical accuracy with modern touches, ADEkoje invites us to see ourselves in the story. It’s not just about remembering the past—it’s about recognizing our role in shaping the future.
Theater as a Tool for Remembrance
If you take a step back and think about it, A New Era is more than a play; it’s an act of resistance. In an era where Black history is systematically erased from curricula and public discourse, this production is a defiant assertion of memory. The fact that it’s happening in Boston, a city with a complicated relationship with its racial past, adds another layer of significance.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the play’s emphasis on coalition-building. Josephine’s Women’s Era Club wasn’t just about suffrage—it was about education, temperance, and anti-lynching laws. This intersectional approach is a lesson for today’s activists. Too often, we silo our causes, fighting for one issue at the expense of others. A New Era reminds us that justice is indivisible.
The Theater Experience: A Few Notes
While the play’s content is undeniably powerful, the production itself isn’t without flaws. Director Summer R. Williams does an excellent job of keeping the dialogue-heavy script engaging, and the scenic design by Janie E. Howland beautifully captures the elegance of Josephine’s Beacon Hill home. However, the decision to keep the house lights partially up throughout much of the play is, in my opinion, a misstep. It breaks the fourth wall in a way that feels more distracting than intentional. Theater is about immersion, and this choice pulls us out of the world ADEkoje has so carefully crafted.
Final Thoughts: Why This Play Matters
A New Era isn’t just a history lesson—it’s a call to action. It challenges us to think critically about the compromises we’re willing to make, the coalitions we’re willing to build, and the battles we’re willing to fight. What makes it particularly relevant today is its insistence on remembering the forgotten. Josephine St. Pierre Ruffin and her contemporaries didn’t just fight for their own rights; they laid the groundwork for future generations.
Personally, I left the theater with a mix of inspiration and unease. Inspiration because the play reminds us of the power of collective action. Unease because it forces us to ask: Are we doing enough? Are we building the right coalitions? Are we willing to confront the uncomfortable truths within our own movements?
If theater’s job is to hold a mirror up to society, then A New Era does its job brilliantly. It’s not just a play—it’s a conversation starter, a history lesson, and a rallying cry all in one. And in a world that still needs reminders of the past to navigate the present, that’s exactly what we need.
