There is a saying, “that those who do not learn from history are bound to repeat it.” The implications of this truism should not be taken lightly. The past is ever present, and history is merely a recycled trauma—preserved in private and memorialized in public—yet, the reoccurring theme of human civilizations is failing to apply the wisdom found in antecedent successes and calamities. Each generation is bound to revisit the triumphs and falters seen by predecessors. In an era where humans are quick to venerate the past, but paradoxically slow at accessing its wisdom, the necessity of looking to yesteryear for guidance and foresight has been quietly forgotten.

This is not to say that we fail to learn from our mistakes. Rather, those who are willing to swallow their pride and apply what they have learned from history are in short supply. Pretty clearly, applying the precepts of our forefathers is challenging. One obvious difficulty in abstracting epochal lessons and assuring others of their value lies in choosing the most effective means of portraying significance. How one goes about presenting the facts of the past in a way that will motivate others to positively affect the future of our society is certainly no easy task.

The award-winning playwright and modern screenwriter, Tony Kushner, maintains that theater has a pedagogic function, as evidenced by his innate ability to write plays that transcend theater genres in more ways than one. Kushner uses the magic of suspended illusion that characterizes theater to captivate his audience. At times he breaks the “fourth wall” by incorporating the audience in a seemingly casual conversation with a character, while at others he intentionally boxes viewers out as the stage is dominated by foreign languages. Either way, both techniques leave the audience with a heightened interest in the subject matter. By incorporating the audience into the production, whether by commanding its attention with direct incorporation or intentional alienation, the magic of the play begs viewers to meditate on what they are observing. This enrapture grows as the play examines more closely social and ethical dilemmas relevant to the 21st century. The implications of Kushner’s plays resonate deep within the audience and ideally lead them toward personal contemplations of recent historical events that have transpired on the international stage. As a result of the subject’s relevance and its personal involvement with the audience, viewers are often overcome by a sense of duty to act. Bearing down on them quite heavily is the need to determine an appropriate response to their newfound knowledge.

In Homebody/Kabul, Kushner first introduces viewers to the unnamed Homebody, a lonely Englishwoman with a vocabulary that is entirely too verbose for her own benefit. Though her character is a central one, she is only physically present in the opening scene, during which she monologues without rest on topics varying from “irritating synchitic epexegeses” and the effects of prescription antidepressants on her “picklebrine brain;” to her “pickpenny library of remaindered antilegomenoi” and her recent obsession with “abbreviated fezlike pillboxy attenuated yarmulkite millinarisms,” which are, in short, hats (14, 16, 15, 18). Breaking up the monologue are excerpts read aloud from an outdated guidebook of Kabul, Afghanistan, a manuscript the Homebody reads solely for pleasure. The loquacious Englishwoman is simultaneously endearing and irritating, a method Kushner uses to pique the audience’s genuine curiosity about the motivations of her character. Despite the “unregenerate chatterer” she claims to be, during her time on stage the Homebody is able to focus attention toward several meaningful topics and motifs that appear frequently throughout the play (23).

The most apparent of these concepts is the notion that “all touch corrupts” (11). With grandiose words, the woman speaks of how interactions in any form, regardless of intent or longevity, permanently alter the contacted person or event. Interestingly enough, it is implied that the result of corrupting touch is oftentimes negative. The guidebook from which the Homebody recites passages is a subtle indicator of this principle as well, as it highlights the numerous rulers who swept through and conquered Kabul. After innumerable changes of power, the people of Afghanistan are left without an identifiable culture; and thus, without identity.

Even so, the Homebody acknowledges that not all instances of contact are damaging. She sites in contrast a sexual encounter with a hat salesman who is missing parts of his fingers. Giving a vivid illustration and explanation of the dream, she recounts how he placed his hand inside her and it seemed to be “a whole hand” (26). From this one scene, onlookers discover that touch is the most effective method of identifying with another’s pain. But with understanding another better, comes a loss of one’s personal identity. And intriguingly, one realizes that Kuschner shows personages identifying with one another through touch—the same method that corrupts. Depending on the angle taken, touch bears both helpful and harmful results to those who extend and those who receive contact

In spite of her conviction that “all must be corrupted” in this “time of connection,” the Homebody desires that her daughter remain unchanged by her own touch (11). Kuschner’s character informs the audience that corruption by touch is inescapable; yet ironically, she avoids contact at all costs claiming that it is out of profound understanding of the nature of touch, in addition to her motherly love for Priscilla, that she ignores her daughter’s desire to draw close to her. 

The Homebody notices Priscilla’s “implacable scrabbling at [her] gate,” but disregards it because she perceives it to be in the best interest of her daughter (28). Even if a corruption of sorts takes place, she does not want to be held responsible. The Homebody says, “she is… starving. I…withhold my touch” (28).

As the audience soon becomes aware, the Homebody’s daughter yearns for attention and motherly touch for the majority of her life to the extent that she experiences serious bouts of depression. The lack of a maternal figure poses a serious psychological impediment to Priscilla, one that she is not able to overcome until she learns of the Homebody’s death (or disappearance) in Kabul. At one dark point, Priscilla attempts to overdose on sleeping pills, but her action claims the life of her daughter instead of her own. As the playwright seems to suggest, this behavior is the result of the Homebody’s emotional distance from Priscilla.

As the dramatist allows the play to unfold, the mother-daughter psychological barrier created by the Homebody prevents Priscilla from obtaining a clear and confident grasp of her identity. Consequently, she remains in a semi-conscious state of being until she experiences a brilliant awakening described as “a physical and emotional odyssey” that takes her down the road of self discovery (Stevenson, 767).

The disappearance and supposed death of her mother mark the beginning of Priscilla’s transformation such that she experiences a turning point when she awakens from her “psychopannychy…the all night sleep of the soul” (65). After a visit to an Afghani hospital, the sights of which Priscilla describes as “horrible,” the young lady experiences a moment of self-realization (65). She discovers that it was not the suffering women who were the subject of her intense observation, but rather the sight of herself watching the women. Priscilla “marveled” at the spectacle, saying, “but it was me there, seeing it, me… conceited, yeah? But I watched” (65). From this third person perspective, Priscilla marvels at the situation in an admittedly conceited manner and declares the importance of what she has introspectively learned. All at once she becomes cognizant of her role in relation to the other women. “I can’t believe this day,” she says. “It’s as if there’s more room suddenly, and air to breathe. Something snapped, or sprung loose” (60). Later her transformation is underscored when she says, “Kabul has changed me” (112).

As an onlooker, I found myself identifying with Priscilla. I experienced a similar awakening while volunteering on a recent faith-based mission trip in the Dominican Republic that was organized through Young Life, a Christian outreach program that seeks to love, serve, and build relationships with high school-aged students. Though I was not involved with Young Life in high school, I slowly became interested with the group during my first semester at the university. It was through this connection that I became aware of the opportunity to spend Spring Break working in Jarabacoa, Dominican Republic at Pico Escondido, a camp in the Latin American branch of Young Life known as Vida Joven. I was surprised at my own eagerness to join the trip (I was not involved with Young Life at the time, my record of international travel was rather undistinguished, I had never been on a mission trip before, I did not speak any Spanish, I barely knew the people who were signed up, and I the journey cost $1,300). Somehow, despite all of this, I felt reassuringly calm. I had no idea what to expect, but I was particularly excited to spend the break somewhere exotic where I could observe a culture radically different from my own.

The Dominicans with whom I had the privilege to work, inspired me beyond my most ambitious expectations. We were fortunate enough to participate in a homestay, where our group split and two sojourners paired and spent the night with a family of Vida Joven leaders. The families had nothing; and yet, they still offered our group the very best of what they owned. Endlessly warm and welcoming, they went out of their way to anticipate and accommodate our needs. Their fiercely strong sense of community and their devotion to the communal good was astounding. In America, our culture dictates an obsession with personal achievement attained by selfish means and at breakneck speeds. In Latin America, the pace of life is calm, relaxed, and community oriented. There is no rush—whatever is unfinished at the end of the day can be resumed at the start of the next. People come first and relationships are their top priority. The difference was palpable. Deeply envious of their ability to put people before other aspects of life, I found myself irrevocably drawn to the natives and wanting to know more of their selfless ways. Every person I interacted with was humble and beautiful, and for the first time I felt I was in the presence of people who truly exuded Christ-like behavior.

The moment of awakening that Priscilla experiences reminds me less of a particular instance from my stay in the Dominican Republic, and more of a summary of all the week’s events. I marveled at their suffering, but also at their community’s joyous existence—and I recognized both of these as external to me. I marveled at myself while watching the Dominicans, and in doing so came to many realizations about my pitiful self.

Listening to Jeorge, the camp chief, as he told me in broken English about the five times his family’s farm had been invaded and looted by gunmen, I realized that that would never happen to me in my bubble of safety in the posh suburbs of Washington, D.C. Seeing local kids around town wearing clothes that were clearly secondhand; frail, elderly people sleeping in homes without doors or roofs; and toddlers picking through trash to find toys, I suddenly was overly aware of my privileged life. Seeing neighbors unite to repair the storm damage on a friend’s house—no questions asked—and seeing the selflessness with which people offered up their lives to serve the Vida Joven ministries in order to restore hope to the upcoming generations, I wondered if I could ever do the same. Could I ever be that selfless? Would I offer up the best and only bed in my house to comfort an arrogant stranger, subjecting myself the cement floor instead? Would I offer up my life to serve a greater good? I have never felt so greedy and deeply selfish as I did when I observed myself watching the Dominican people. This notion flipped a switch within me and begged the question of why I had been born so lucky.

I never could resume my former ways in America after the mission trip to Pico Escondido. Growing up in middle-class America has afforded me the luxury of such unapprised bliss, but I knew that I had to do something, anything, with my newfound insights and fresh perspective to address the inequalities that go unnoticed in the world. After witnessing this, I was left with a seemingly simple question that offered a far more complicated answer. One problem still remained: what should I do in response to this recent gain of knowledge regarding the way the rest of the world lives? What exactly does one do after such a moving spiritual revelation?

Priscilla is faced with a similar dilemma after her revelation: the call is too great and the burden is too heavy to disregard. Naturally, she takes her situational restraints into account before proceeding with further action, but Mahala’s need is so obvious and so immediate that Priscilla has trouble thinking rationally (or thinking about anything else for that matter). Limits, such as her inferior status as a woman and the unreliability of the Afghan men who are working with her, pose a definite threat to the execution of her plan. After taking these into consideration, Priscilla decides to bring Mahala back to England where she can carry out her life in freedom. In a desperate measure to save Mahala, Priscilla ultimately allows herself to become an object of exchange for the sake of a woman and a culture to which she originally had difficulty relating. Governed by newfound clarity, she becomes a servant to the mission of getting Mahala back to England, both figuratively and physically. She sacrifices herself for the sake of another, a solid exchange. One for one.

While discussing Homebody/Kabul in class, I learned that Kushner is known for offering his audience specific directives for the practical application of themes and dilemmas presented in his works. Unfortunately, while reading his play, I did not find his instructions to be quite so readily discernable. I had some lofty, preconceived notion that Homebody/Kabul would unlock the answers to all the lingering questions from the Dominican Republic that still loomed over my head. In fact, that was not the case.

After meditating on the subject, I came to realize that Kushner’s goal had been accomplished. I finally understood how his theater moves onlookers. It does not give the answers in any manageable way; but rather, it gives the tools necessary to work through one’s own puzzle. This play forced me to think, and that is how I obtained my answers.

As is the case with Priscilla, I too am faced with certain limits. For one, I am still in college, and were I to embark on some kind of project, I would have trouble committing to it fulltime. Secondly, I do not have a disposable income at my fingertips. And while I do not have to overcome any gender inequalities to make a difference in America, I am burdened by numerous apprehensions (the fear of burning out of passion for a particular issue, for example). With so many problems in the world, it is hard to genuinely care about them all and remain fervent. Adding to an unfortunately vicious cycle, the more issues to which we are made aware, the less responsive we become. Speaking from personal experience, the ultimate result of being bombarded with so many concerns leaves me feeling somewhat numbed to them all.

In an attempt to break this cycle, however, there are still fears to be overcome. It is easy to recognize when something needs to be done, but extremely difficult to be sure of where to start or how to act. I fear risking involvement in a situation where there is no clear solution because there is a possibility that I could worsen the outcome—echoing the Homebody’s earlier sentiment that all touch corrupts. The task is daunting, but I want my efforts to have maximum impact, with nothing wasted or for naught.

So what can I do? Surely, I am caught up in the loop of “might do” that the Homebody cautions against (24). Whether one chooses to act or merely considers the possibility of future action, the result is condemnation. “What has this century taught the civilized if not contempt for those who merely contemplate; the lockup and lethal injection for those who do.” (24).

Priscilla gives herself up, but only on behalf of a single woman. Surely her sacrifice was noble, but I wonder if it would even do any good to try to replicate this sacrifice. Should I offer myself up in place of another? Would it do any good or would it get lost in the shuffle? I am not seeking fame or recognition, but if I were to sacrifice myself in some way, I would not want my contributions to end as white noise; I want maximum results for my efforts. Priscilla’s rate of exchange is one-to-one. My hope is that I can affect dozens, at least.

I have obtained clarity and a sense of overwhelming peace in my decision. I know what must be done. There is something I can do that does not require substantial amounts of money, genius, or a knack for solving global problems, just love and a desire to make a difference. I have decided to start by addressing the most fundamental human need, our inherent wish to relate to others and to feel loved. I want what the Dominicans have, but the expectation of having that quality of relationships is unrealistic—Americans are too different. Certainly, we share many fundamental similarities, but we are culturally worlds apart. In addition to admiring the Dominicans, part of my awakening is realizing that I cannot fully relate to them. However, the people to whom I can relate are the people from my own culture. Thus, I have decided to become a Young Life leader in Forsyth County, N.C.

After months of deliberation, I have finally made up my mind to enter into this commitment that will require a minimum of three years service. By signing on with Young Life, I am contractually bound to maintain certain standards of moral decency for the remainder of college, such as abstaining from sex, cursing, and drug/alcohol use. This commitment will be immensely time consuming, requiring me to spend ten to 14 hours a week aiding high school students. But I know that giving my entire self and all my energy to this organization will be more rewarding than anything I have ever done. I cannot imagine anything more gratifying that sharing the Gospel with high school students who look up to me as their role model. This deeply personal decision will undoubtedly be a watershed moment in my life and my spiritual faith.

If the Dominican Republic and Homebody/Kabul have taught me anything, it is that singularity is no way to exist in the world. All that I have witnessed and read has emphasized that we must be in the world through relationships with others. Contact with otherness is more than inevitable, it is necessary. To a certain extent we can relate in spite of our differences, and at some point, the need within will eventually awaken the craving to reach out to others who are not unlike ourselves. In the end of Angels in America, another famous piece by Kushner, one of the characters says, “You need an idea of the world to go out into the world. But it’s the going into that makes the idea. You can’t wait for a theory, but you have to have a theory” (Kushner, 147). After going out into the world, I have returned home with my theory. §