Lydia Gil
Two weeks ago I visited Su Teatro with a group of first-year college students. They welcomed us with open arms, esta es su casa, adelante, come right in...
José Guerrero, actor and lead teacher of Su Teatro’s Cultural Arts Education Initiative, gave us the grand tour of this incredible space in Denver's Santa Fe arts district.
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“This is a community space”, he said of the gathering area outside the main stage. As if to highlight his point, someone had left a bag of fresh tomatoes and chiles on the concessions counter. Above us was the theater's Chicano Music Hall of Fame alongside posters of past film and poetry festivals crisscrossed by banners of papel picado.
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“Wow, it’s super Mexican here,” one of the students said. I wish he had said more...
José led us to the main stage, the catwalk, the impressive lighting gallery… It was evident that he was showing us his home.
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We walked through dressing rooms and backstage areas and saw their mindblowing hat collection. Women have the bigger dressing room, but men have A/C. A Solomonic arrangement.
We then gathered in the black box theater, where José and Mari Burgos led improv exercises. What students weren’t expecting was to experience firsthand the passionate interconnectedness between theater and social justice.
In a circle, José gathered the group in the spirit of enlakesh, yo soy tú y tú eres yo. Students repeated after him. It marked a safe space. Something magical was happening...
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He told us how teatro had saved him. Su Teatro became a second home.
“I almost missed my college orientation,” he said. “My parents didn’t speak English, so they didn’t understand the letter from the university…”
When José didn’t show up for orientation, the university called Su Teatro and it was Mica, the manager, who gave him the message and sent him on his way.
José wove his personal story with that of Chicano theater and Teatro Campesino. Their mission, shared by Su Teatro, comes from a long history of activism.
“Our mission is to use our art and theater to make social change,” he said.
I scanned the circle and saw a few proud faces, faces that showed they understood and were grateful that such a place existed here, just a few light rail stops from their very different college environment.
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I won’t recount all the fun and meaningful exercises we did, except the last one.
José asked students to walk for a few minutes as if they were Power, Sadness, Greed, Excitement... The last one was Poverty. And instead of walking, he froze.
“Can you move around when you’re poor?" he asked afterwards. "Can you just leave your neighborhood, the state?”
At this point, everyone got it.
Two weeks ago I visited Su Teatro with a group of first-year college students. They welcomed us with open arms, esta es su casa, adelante, come right in...
José Guerrero, actor and lead teacher of Su Teatro’s Cultural Arts Education Initiative, gave us the grand tour of this incredible space in Denver's Santa Fe arts district.
“This is a community space”, he said of the gathering area outside the main stage. As if to highlight his point, someone had left a bag of fresh tomatoes and chiles on the concessions counter. Above us was the theater's Chicano Music Hall of Fame alongside posters of past film and poetry festivals crisscrossed by banners of papel picado.
“Wow, it’s super Mexican here,” one of the students said. I wish he had said more...
José led us to the main stage, the catwalk, the impressive lighting gallery… It was evident that he was showing us his home.
We walked through dressing rooms and backstage areas and saw their mindblowing hat collection. Women have the bigger dressing room, but men have A/C. A Solomonic arrangement.
We then gathered in the black box theater, where José and Mari Burgos led improv exercises. What students weren’t expecting was to experience firsthand the passionate interconnectedness between theater and social justice.
In a circle, José gathered the group in the spirit of enlakesh, yo soy tú y tú eres yo. Students repeated after him. It marked a safe space. Something magical was happening...
He told us how teatro had saved him. Su Teatro became a second home.
“I almost missed my college orientation,” he said. “My parents didn’t speak English, so they didn’t understand the letter from the university…”
When José didn’t show up for orientation, the university called Su Teatro and it was Mica, the manager, who gave him the message and sent him on his way.
José wove his personal story with that of Chicano theater and Teatro Campesino. Their mission, shared by Su Teatro, comes from a long history of activism.
“Our mission is to use our art and theater to make social change,” he said.
I scanned the circle and saw a few proud faces, faces that showed they understood and were grateful that such a place existed here, just a few light rail stops from their very different college environment.
I won’t recount all the fun and meaningful exercises we did, except the last one.
José asked students to walk for a few minutes as if they were Power, Sadness, Greed, Excitement... The last one was Poverty. And instead of walking, he froze.
“Can you move around when you’re poor?" he asked afterwards. "Can you just leave your neighborhood, the state?”
At this point, everyone got it.