As the socioeconomic gap continues to grow in the Bay Area, the percentage of people struggling to survive rises. Food, shelter, safety… those on the margins become a statistic: A pity, a charity case, a series of photographs, a nuisance — their humanity stripped. We’re often told there’s one way to live, and that one way provides us with the material possessions needed to bring stability into our lives. Our identities are closely tied to societal milestones and to our relationships: mother, father, sister, brother, wife, husband. Look under any social media bio and you’ll often see these monikers proudly displayed along with one’s location and chosen profession. So what happens when just the struggle to sleep or eat becomes a privilege, let alone the factors that bring stability to someone’s life? And, at the core of it all, what truly differentiates those who have, and those who have not? If we don’t meet certain milestones, are we no longer deemed acceptable to have basic human rights? Furthermore, what happens to the child whose mother can not afford daycare? Or the artist who cannot make art because they can no longer afford the space? How many of our rights will be stripped until the majority of us live on the margins?
Featuring a cast of twenty directed skillfully by Michael French, Down Here Below is a powerful play that takes a look at the people left behind in our journey through life. It feels raw, perhaps intentionally, and brings to light with sensitivity and without exploitation the struggles of existing on the margins. The absolute beauty of it is in the relationship between the artists and the subjects. The play is about artists who themselves often struggle to survive, helping to speak on what it means to be a community, and helping each other grow and flourish.
Based on Maxim Gorky’s 1901 drama The Lower Depths, playwright and associate artist Lisa Ramirez re-locates this slice of life from 20th-century Russia to an encampment in modern-day Oakland. Set inside the FLAX building, we enter the space and are confronted by the people who we choose to ignore, both within this space and outside on the streets: people without homes. Imagine a world where no is told they are lesser down. A world where basic necessities are a given, and identities aren’t based on obtaining objects, but rather on creating connections. A world where one isn’t identified by who they belong to, but rather by who they are, or strive to be. The doors close shut, and one by one the stories unfold, exposing the wants and needs of each and every one of us. Sometimes bright, sometimes dark: anger, laughter, humor, and tears, music, and art and the sharing of meals. As Indigo Jackson writes on the Ubuntu Theater Project website, “Daily choice: to treat our city’s unhoused citizens with dignity and respect. Include homeless folks in your vision of ‘neighborhood’ and ‘community.’”
Extended through May 5. For more information and pay-what-you-can subscriptions, visit www.ubuntutheaterproject.com.
