The single major tool in today’s world that has come to determine how we (adolescents and adults) understand others as well as ourselves is social media. In this space, like and follow seem to matter at least as much as, if not more than, confide and support; such is the power of these online platforms! In fact, so magnetic is its allure that we have stubbornly refused time after time to register what innumerable studies have been trying to tell us, i.e., that social media has an acutely detrimental effect on the emotional well-being of its users. Social media, they say, hijacks our agency to build our own sense of self-esteem and self-worth and places it in the hands of our ‘friends’ and ‘followers’ to do that for us.
The pitfalls of inhabiting such an environment over a sustained period of time appear to be undesirable to say the least—be it for ourselves, our children, or indeed our students. It is with this conviction that we have rightly, on more than one occasion, invited behavioural psychologists and counsellors to our school to speak with both children and their parents on the dangers of these online ‘communities’.
But could it be that there is also something woven into the fabric of school culture that might have similar implications as the above? Isn’t it true that any kind of performance has elements of what’s been described above? Be it a sporting competition watched on by enthusiastic students donning different colours, a freshers’ programme that brings together the staff and students of the school, or a ‘cultural’ event that welcomes, in addition to the above, the parents of the children. Could it be that the forces that govern social media and those that guide any event planned with the expectation of an audience have more in common than we might first assume?
Interestingly, the Cambridge Dictionary defines ‘performance’ as ‘the action of entertaining other people’. It may well be that the intent behind the programmes we plan in school goes beyond the goal of entertaining others, but is it not important to pause and consider the impact they might have on the performers’ psyche? Do we, as teachers planning such events, ask ourselves what messages we may be communicating overtly and covertly?
Shifting the focus
In the lead up to any school function, our rehearsals and practice sessions are attended to with an unflinching eye on the evening of the performance. When the children’s attention wavers, for example, we find ourselves reminding them of the fact that there is not much time to prepare, or warning them that inadequacies will likely show themselves up before the audience. While these are messages we communicate with the best of intentions, they lend a disproportionate weight to the final day.
We end up implying, without meaning to do so, that the many days of sweat and practice are mere stepping stones to the ultimate destination of the stage. But is it not true that there is enormous learning to be gained in the ‘process’? Don’t the children learn to play as a team, sort out differences by themselves, empathise with characters of a play, or discover the joys of dancing in tandem? And when these are experienced day after day for a sustained period, surely the process (or journey) must be recognised and celebrated for its own merit!
To this end we could, as teachers supervising a group of participants, perhaps draw the finish line at a point beyond performance day. We might perhaps dedicate a few classes to contemplative reflection: How did you feel in the hours leading up to the start of the performance? What were the challenges you had to contend with during rehearsal? What did you look forward to most in your daily practice sessions? Why did you want to participate in the first place? What has this experience helped you learn about yourself?
Such questions could be pondered over at open forum discussions, reflective writing, or through artistic expression. These exercises, when attended to with seriousness and sincerity, might help move the spotlight away from the act of performing for another and ironically back to oneself. And just as crucially, they hold the power to lend the perspective that the performance is just one step in the process, not the end goal.
Normalizing performances
More often than not performances in school tend to be organized at select periods in the year—be it a yearly high school play, annual sports day, or classical dance programme. Part of their allure lies in their relative infrequency. This then, understandably, attracts significant attention from multiple stakeholders: parents, former students of the school, and sometimes the families of teachers too. With the knowledge of the number of expectant eyes that will be on them come ‘D-Day’, it’s easy for the participants to—in sporting parlance—play the occasion and not the match.
One way to bring the attention back to oneself and what one is working on could be to dilute the perceived grandeur of these occasions. This could be achieved by reducing scale and increasing frequency. For example, having shorter plays or smaller tournaments happen a handful of times a year (instead of just once) could still meet learning objectives with the added benefit of fostering an environment in which students can retain focus on the concerned art form or sport. Furthermore, in such an arrangement, parents and other well-wishers could come to watch across a number of days, allowing them to remain more closely involved in school affairs.
Alternatives to clapping and hooting
We have grown accustomed to expressing our approval in the form of applause at the end of any kind of performance. It would be disingenuous to suggest that performers work on untangling themselves from external validation. Any genuine shift in perspective (or movement as Krishnamurti would call it) requires the investment of all parties. It is imperative then for the audience to acknowledge the crucial role it plays in this transformation, and to then play it.
So, can silence take the place of applause? While it might be uncomfortably odd to begin with, it might be worth attempting. In addition to helping move the focus away from the audience, it could help smoothen some of the rough edges one witnesses during assemblies and programmes. Appreciation, should one feel the need to convey it, could instead be expressed face to face by ‘going backstage’ once the curtains come down.
Enabling osmosis between art and sport
Performing art and sport have much to borrow from each other. Sport could do with loosening its impossibly tight grip on winning and losing and lending a little more weight to the joy of simply playing. Could sports audiences for their part come to watch as they would do a dance performance? Could the practice of cheering one team over another be challenged by a quiet wonder of what either team does on the court?
Performing art on the other hand could explore the possibility of garnering a sense of purpose without the attention of admiring eyes. Can a play be put up on stage with lights, dress, and props without a single person present to watch it unfold? Would it be possible for schools to make time for students to sing, dance, or play an instrument without it being ‘practice’ for a performance?
If organized sport and performing art exist in school to enrich and nourish the student, it is crucial to seriously investigate how they are being held. What is decidedly critical though is to find a sense of purpose and meaning in the attempt.