Personal Perspectives on Community Ties

The Highland Park Planet introduces a new section of personal essays on contemporary topics relevant to the Central Jersey portion of the Lincoln Highway corridor, i.e., Route 27 from Edison to Princeton. The columns will be apolitical as far as electoral politics and will focus on community – people, places, businesses, institutions, and events in towns within this geographic area. We are soliciting entries; any editing will be approved by the author before publication. Please keep essays to no more than 800 words.


Execution of Justice

On Friday, May 22nd, McCarter Theatre ’s retiring Artistic Director Emily Mann, also renowned as a playwright, asked me – and dozens of others – “How does the story we just told resonate with your story?”  I had nothing to say.

I was one of many who had witnessed by Zoom an incredibly moving and profound community play reading of Emily Mann’s Execution of Justice.  The question was posed to all the viewers at the end of the play in the “Talking Circle,” a vehicle for post-performance conversation.

The docu-drama chronicles the murder trial of Dan White, who, in 1978, assassinated San Francisco Mayor George Moscone and openly gay City Supervisor Harvey Milk. Crafted entirely from trial transcripts, reportage, interviews, and words from “the street,” the play examines issues of civil/human rights, legal vs. judicial justice, the miscarriage of justice, and political violence in America. The community reading of the play on May 22nd corresponded to the 90th anniversary of the birth of Harvey Milk.

 In the shadow of the play’s powerful dialogue, I felt that my words would sound trite and cliché, particularly from someone with lightweight credentials, as far as oppression and discrimination injustices.  Sure, I have sustained some superficial wounds in a few of the  “ism” categories (ageism, sexism, anti-Semitism), but nothing compared to what my ancestors and tens of millions of residents living in this country today have endured.

Just a few days after the Execution of Justice virtual performance, America’s stage featured a real-time, caught-on-camera execution by suffocation and violent demands for justice. The murder of George Floyd in Minnesota, on the heels of the murder of jogger Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia, sparked the tsunami of the protests, tweeting, and paternalistic pontificating. Emily’s play, written in the 1980s, was brilliantly yet painfully prescient.

Six days after the play reading, I still was speechless, but from overwhelming depression, rather than literary inspiration. All I wanted to do was cry. It was a horrific déjà vu. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, I lived in several cities destroyed by violence (Asbury Park, Trenton, New Brunswick, Washington DC). I participated in civil rights protests and initiatives and was devastated by the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F Kennedy.  In spite of all the negativity of that era, I still was hopeful. Maybe it was my age – or rather lack of it. I thought I could make a difference and that our nation would learn and our leaders would lead.

This past week, despair replaced any hope I once had. The tears really welled up when I walked past several high school campuses and saw the props for staging an outdoor social-distanced graduation ceremony. I was teary eyed not because the students were enduring surreal COVID-cursed celebrations, but rather because of the futures that these graduates would have to face. Their 18 years in this world have been book ended by trauma – the 9/11 attacks of 2001 and the events of 2020.

Thankfully, a bit of good news crept into my psyche to lift my sagging spirits.  I learned about some individuals – specifically teachers/mentors, who were honored last week for building up, rather than tearing down, their respective communities.

The virtual Princeton YWCA Tribute Awards gala was great medicine for my angst-filled soul. The awards honored 11 women who embody the YWCA mission of “eliminating racism, empowering women,” have demonstrated sustained leadership and exceptional talent and who have made significant contributions to their professions.  (Read about them – it is a great anti-depressant:

I knew many of the nominees, but was most familiar with JoAnne Parker, my neighbor whom I have known for nearly 40 years. She has made it her life’s work to connect with the Princeton community, particularly its youth. She taught, mentored and inspired countless minority kids to work towards a productive life of personal success, while giving back to the community.

I also observed two Black Lives Matter/George Floyd protests – one in Princeton and one in Highland Park, both peaceful, inspiring, and motivating me to do what ever I can do to make justice for all a reality rather than just an empty a cliche. Highland Park’s protest organizer Ashton Burrell did a particularly spectacular job keeping the demonstration within the bounds of COVID social distancing mandates while conveying the message of fair justice for George Floyd and all people of color. The march also provided action steps to ensure that all citizens, regardless of race, sex, or religious orientation are “gifted with their dignity and humanity.”

I say bravo and thank you to all those who taught me to be hopeful again. As far as Emily Mann, the incredible teacher and docu-drama genius who said last week she still believes in hope and change, I can’t wait until she tackles the year 2020. The title I suggest is: “Masks.”



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