Queer technicians are the foundation of the theatre industry

by Anya Kopischke, Guest Editorial

The tech theatre community encompasses a vast range of people, but queer technicians working in off-Broadway dance and theatre institutions have formed a tight and caring community.

“That’s a function of the institutions themselves and the kind of artists those institutions attract,” claims Kenny Olguin (he/him), an electrician who wears multiple hats. Within that huge range of the tech theatre community, there is a core group of people that I deeply love and care about.”

The theatre community has long been heralded as a safe haven for the LGBTQIA community. For Olguin, who started working in tech theatre in college, this also rings true for certain sub-secs of the tech theatre industry: “In college, a quarter of the crew identified as LGBTQIA. Being around people like that exposed me to parts of the greater queer community that I haven’t seen before.”

Similarly, Quinland Thompson (he/they,) a carpenter and scenic designer, says they have “appreciated meeting a lot of other queer people working in tech through working in tech, and thus far, I haven’t had any bad experiences. I’ve been working in spaces that have all felt really positive.”

The discrimination of theatrical institutions, and specifically the tech theatre community, is intersectional. “You have to consistently be educating yourself because if you stop educating yourself you’re kind of stuck. And that applies to everyone. But there are some people of an older generation that don’t want to learn anymore,” says Ash Zeitler, (they/them) a designer for both sound and lighting who has taken overhire work as an audio technician and electrician. “When I used to do gigs, like day calls, and I knew I wouldn’t see anyone again, I wouldn’t volunteer information about my pronouns or myself unless they were visibly queer too.” 

“I tend to think the smaller, or off-off-Broadway, houses tend to be either really good or really bad about gender and sexuality.” Zeitler shared that they have been used as the token spokesperson for the trans community during creative processes where they were the only person on the creative team that fell under the trans umbrella, even though that wasn’t their job and wasn’t what they were doing there. This experience is, unfortunately, not unique. “Sometimes I’m exhausted from teaching, which I’m sure a lot of people are.”

Unions, specifically New York’s Local 1, are historically straight-white-male dominated, and the spaces that hire union workers are generally not as welcoming to non-straight-white-men. At the same time, it’s incredibly hard to make a living in tech theatre without being in part of a union, especially when the entire industry shuts down.

“I had not considered joining a union until this pandemic. The gig economy has no safety net in the U.S. The closest thing the U.S. has to the safety net that other countries provide freelance and gig workers is a union,” expressed Olguin.

He admits his concerns about joining a union stemmed from his impressions that “most of the union houses in the city don’t present the kind of work that I like working on. Some of it has to do with my own preconceived notions about how accepting or not accepting the community is. There’s always talk about how it’s a ‘Boys Club,’ or it’s only for people part of a particular family (especially in NYC.) I think the unions in New York have a huge history and because of that have a lot of entrenched beliefs and community standards.”

Ebony Burton, (she/her) who was briefly in a Local 1 apprenticeship, said, “It’s just such a different environment. The focus is on the job as a job and not on the art of the job, which is very difficult for me and is why I ended up leaving.” Burton, who is now studying lighting design at NYU, went on to say that “working in a straight white male-dominated field, every aspect of one’s identity as someone who doesn’t belong to those groups is constantly under scrutiny. I feel like I pick and choose which aspects of my identity to reveal. Partially for my own protection and sanity, but I think also I try to make a point of defying certain stereotypes.”

For myself (they/them) and many others, tech theatre has served as a place to explore gender and expression through physical labor and artistry and an opportunity to make a living while working in the arts. “If you can do anything else, and it would make you happy, go do it, and if you can’t do anything else, then you’re in the right place,” shared Zeitler, quoting the words of their freshman design technology professor, “and that’s kind of how I feel." This holds true for many of us in the arts, despite recent pressure to find another career. 

The technicians I spoke with for this article are currently enrolled (or planning on being enrolled) in higher-level education, specifically for technical theatre. This is an industry many have devoted years of their life and hard-earned finances to that is rapidly disappearing without any kind of safety net.

In the Facebook group called “Women+ in Theatre,” members have been posting, asking for suggestions on work alternatives to pursue, seeing as the return of the entertainment industry is still far beyond the current end of Pandemic Unemployment Assistance (PUA.) While some customers have started selling homemade masks and stage managers are looking into becoming project managers or air traffic controllers, there are many who resent the idea of putting their copiously seasoned skills toward something that is not their trade and, furthermore, not within the arts. 

According to its website, Red Alert #WeMakeEvents was “a coalition of trade bodies, businesses, unions, and live events workers, who [lit] up their venues, homes, and cities red in over 1,500 locations across North America to raise public and media awareness in support of the live events sector” on September 1st, 2020.

Many of these workers are advocating for extended PUA. “I have a lot of concerns about how something like this catastrophic world event can permanently damage a community. I think that scares me the most,” expressed Olguin. “I wonder how many people are going to stay after this. How many people are going to move away to find work elsewhere? How much work is there going to be for us moving forward? Are we going to become hyper-competitive because the job market is so tight?”

Nevertheless, this moment could be the best opportunity to reform our industry and its community in the vision of its workers. Many theaters are already beginning this work. But as we’ve seen revealed by #OpenYourLobby and “We See You White American Theatre,” dance and theatre are far from exempt from the ramifications of capitalism.

As the working class of the theatre industry, queer theatre technicians are essential to its reconstruction.