Anthony Hudson / Looking for Tiger Lily (excerpt) LIGHTS. CARLA, a monstrous drag-thing in white face paint and garish color, is wheeled in on a giant hot dog float, wearing a hot dog headdress, all set to a drum beat. It’s equal parts big band, showgirl, and “Native-inspired.” CARLA. Squaw collectum firewood! Squaw makeum Top 40 pop hit! She sings “White Clown,” set to Cher’s “Half-Breed.” My white clown knocked over your tee-ee-pee You got real angry and set fire to me What’s so wrong if I go and sell off all Your art and culture in a shopping mall White clown Don’t you try and come for me White clown She’s a First Amendmentee White clown How dare you get upset How can I tell right from wrong When I’m making profit How! And how now. I’m Portland’s premier drag clown Carla Rossi, the ghost of white privilege – and that’s hilarious because white privilege will never die. Now, before we spawn any more Jezebel thinkpieces tonight, I’ve been sent by the Department of Misappropriations to explain to you all that redface – yes, redface! – is as American as apple pie. In fact, I even wrote a lyrically complex ballad all about it. Hey mister DJ, put a record on! I want to dance in my teepee. She sings “Ten Little Indians.” Each “Indian” – or example of redface in American popular media – counted is seen on screen. CARLA. One little, two little, three little Indians, four little, five little, six little Indians. Seven little, eight little, nine little Indians, plus one Indian boys. In sets of ten, Carla counts up to fifty, each set increasing in speed. Until, after fifty: CARLA. I can’t count any higher! (She passes out, collapsing on the floor) LIGHTS OUT. After a moment, they slowly return and Anthony sits up – still in Carla makeup – and touches their face, their hair, looks down at their costume… and pulls off as much of it as possible. And then, looking to the audience:
ANTHONY. Hi. I’m Anthony Hudson. But most people know me better as Carla Rossi, who you unfortunately had the misfortune of just meeting. On my website, I say that Carla wears whiteface as a critical inversion of blackface. So – in leymen’s, and leywomen’s, and leythey’s terms – what that means is she is my way of making fun of straight white people. But enough about her. I grew up in Keizer, Oregon. You might know it better as the methy tumor attached to Salem, our state capital. My mom is German and Catholic, and my Dad’s a radical Native activist from the Confederated Tribes of Siletz and Grand Ronde. I couldn’t have been more different from the rest of my family – and I blame it all on Peter Pan. Not the Disney Peter Pan – no, the real Peter Pan, the 1960 production starring Mary Martin that aired live on NBC. My parents kind of let me do my own thing growing up, so I’d watch my tape of Peter Pan every day. And my favorite character – after Peter, of course – was the Indian Princess Tiger Lily, played by the very white Sondra Lee. But besides my grandma, Tiger Lily was kind of my only Native role model growing up. Except she looked more like the Swiss Miss girl than the Land o’ Lakes Butter Lady. Kind of like me. But unlike my good friend Tiger Lily, I can prove I’m Indian – all thanks to the magic of blood quantum requirements, overseen by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, formerly part of the Department of War. Tribes set their own requirements about how much “Indian blood” it takes to make you one of us. Think of it like your blood knowing a secret handshake. My blood quantum is 21/64ths, or three-eighths. I’m one half of a half away from being half – and I don’t know what to do with either. A light – accompanied by flittering piano keys – travels across the set, like Tinkerbell, and lands on Carla’s wig. The wig shakes and coughs. ANTHONY. Tink? CARLA. (In wig form) Try again. ANTHONY. Oh, like hell--The wig floats up and levitates at a certain height, as if sitting atop an invisible clown. Maybe lighting makes Anthony’s shadow cast out to it. CARLA. (mocking Anthony) O woe is me! I’m a fraction. I traded my wigwam for a wig, boo-hoo!
ANTHONY. Carla, you’re over time. This isn’t your show. CARLA. And just whose is it, then? ANTHONY. Mine. This one is mine. CARLA. (Scoffs) Nobody even knows who you are! ANTHONY. I’ll have you know I’m considered an emerging artist in many circles! CARLA. How about a sister act? ANTHONY. Can’t I have this to myself? CARLA. Ugh, I’m bored already! ANTHONY. You’re just a wig! CARLA. Someone was wearing my face. ANTHONY. Looking for Tiger Lily is a solo show. By me. A solo, Native artist. CARLA. And that means---? ANTHONY. Listen. You know I’m not good at being direct, but – I’m dropping you. CARLA. HA! ANTHONY. I want to make work as me. About who I am. I’m done being a clown.
CARLA. OH, RICH. OH, THAT’S RICH. ANTHONY. I’m trying to be a real artist. Does confessional PowerPoint not express that? CARLA. OH THAT’S FUCKING RICH. Carla’s wig storms over to the edge of the stage, “picks up” a levitating bottle of wine, and begins to drink it. It splashes all over the stage. ANTHONY. You’re making a mess. CARLA. Richie goddamn Rich over here, everyone. ANTHONY. (A beat) D’you wanna talk about it? CARLA. Do I wanna talk about it? Do I WANT to TALK ABOUT IT? What am I to you, just some--CARLA. Whiteface drag character?
ANTHONY. Whiteface drag character.
CARLA. (The wig gasps) Do I not have agency? Hopes? Dreams? Ambitions? Bed bugs? ANTHONY. Carla. CARLA. If you prick me, do I not ask for payment upfront? ANTHONY. Carla, it’s over. The wig appears to pack up its things. CARLA. As if you invented me! Me! I signed Nero up for fiddle lessons. I opened an artisanal salt shop with Lot’s wife. Shyeah! No one uses me for a sprig of fame and sucks me out the
airlock at the first flash of fry bread! You’ll rue the day buddy, YOU’LL RUE THE FUCKING DAY!!! The wig opens a door and slams it on its way out. Anthony stares for a moment and then remembers the audience. ANTHONY. Where was I, again? LIGHTS OUT. Then: A projected title card reads: “AMERICA. DECEMBER 2016.” We hear the wintry tidings of sleigh bells as snow falls over the title card, which begins to fade. We might even hear a “ho, ho, ho,” which mixes into Anthony’s first line… LIGHTS UP on stage to reveal Anthony marching in a circle on stage, chanting and carrying a sign. ANTHONY. Hey hey, ho ho, Donald Trump has got to go! Hey hey, ho ho, Donald Trump has got to go! TED, a white person also holding a sign, approaches. TED. Who are you marching with? ANTHONY. (pointing out words on sign) Racially and sexually confused against fascism. TED. Wow. That’s incredibly specific. ANTHONY. It’s not, actually. TED. (not listening) Hey, don’t I know you? ANTHONY. Um. I want to say…. Craig? TED. No no no, you look like – that’s it! You’re that drag queen, aren’t you? ANTHONY. (Instantly uncomfortable)
I was that drag queen. I’m pursuing different projects now. TED. Carla, right? ANTHONY. Anthony. TED. What was that show you did? The one about all the Indian Princess Peter Pan stuff? ANTHONY. Looking for--TED. Searching for Tiger Lily, that’s it! (He shouts offstage) Hey Tricia, come over here! (Back to Anthony) That was a --- (he thinks) cool show, man. My friends were like “What is this!” – especially after you had that fight with your wig – but I got it! Although I do wish it had more Carla – Carla De Rossi, right? ANTHONY. Carla Rossi. TED. Yeah, man, Carla Degrassi. She goes there. A white woman named TRICIA enters, dragging a sign behind her. TRICIA. Ted, a disenfranchised child just handed me some sage and a ribbon. You should have seen it. (Seeing Anthony) Oh my god! Ted, he – (looking at Anthony, concerned) or she--Anthony shrugs. TRICIA. It did that problematic Indian show we heard about on NPR--ANTHONY. It? TRICIA. ---Or at least what’s left until it becomes National Putin Radio! ANTHONY. I don’t think you can say it---
TRICIA. Just speaking truth to power. (Screaming to the crowd) RISE UP, COMRADES! ANTHONY. It was nice meeting you both. See you at tomorrow’s protest. TRICIA. Is tomorrow the immigration ban or Standing Rock? TED. You’ll be at Standing Rock, right? You’ve got to be. ANTHONY. I wish I could but--TED. Whoa whoa whoa! You did a whole show about being Indian and you aren’t even showing up to Standing Rock? TRICIA. You know, he didn’t even talk about Standing Rock in that show. (She spins her sign around to another side which reads “#NoDAPL”) No DAPL. (Like the word triggers her, at the top of her lungs, her face flushing red, phonetically – pronouncing it “dapple” – she screams:) NO DAPL!!! TED. That’s not very responsible, is it? What show about the plight of Indigenous peoples doesn’t mention Standing Rock? ANTHONY. Oh, the plight of Indigenous peoples is definitely folded into my overall narrative, but this show was more autobiographical and--TRICIA. And more Carla, too. I wanted more Carla in it. She’s so funny. TED. Tricia’s right. I would have liked more of the drag queen thing and more, like, entertainment --- and you forgot to mention Standing Rock, but I mean you were so focused on being brave. TRICIA. (Nodding) Oh, so brave. INGA, a black woman, walks up and drags a seemingly-endless banner behind her.
TRICIA. Oh my god, Inga! Inga come over here! INGA. Wow, good seeing you guys. Solidarity. (She raises a fist) TED. Inga, look! It’s --INGA. Waiting for Tiger Lily! Wow, so brave. (She hears herself) Of course I mean brave like brave, not like--TED. We were just discussing the lack of Standing Rock representation in his show. TRICIA. (back to screaming) NO BLOOD FOR OIL!!!!! INGA. That’s an important point, that and more Carla. You know, I just got back from my intentional decoupage coven – we make collages out of newspapers in response to white supremacy and nonviolently adhere them to community bulletin boards – and wouldn’t you know I have the review that addressed his ignorance of Standing Rock right here. Inga fumbles through a recycled tote looking for it. TED. (Getting out his phone while pulling Tricia closer to him) Let’s get a shot of us together. I’ll post it on the Resistance Facebook page. Ted and Tricia smile big, while Anthony – who is vaguely near them – looks more surprised than anything. INGA. Here it is! (She reads:) “For those of us following the news, Standing Rock makes a cameo in any Native-related discourse. While Tiger Lily was conceived well before the DAPL protests, it begs to somehow acknowledge the historic standoff.” TRICIA. Can’t argue with the truth. (Screaming) THIS PUSSY GRABS BACK!!! INGA. And then it goes onto say that Mike Daisey did the same thing but better. TED.
Who’s Mike Daisey again? INGA. He’s the fat guy that talks for 24 hours. TED. Oh yeah, I loved that piece. INGA. So honest. TRICIA. So brave. TED. (To Anthony) Are you ever going to do that? ANTHONY. Talk for 24 hours? INGA. That’s all it was to you? TED. Wow, man, wow. Are you even a water protector? TRICIA. You don’t look like a water protector. ANTHONY. And just what do I look like? TED. What do you think you look like? INGA. Cultural appropriation is a sin. TRICIA. WATER IS LIFE!!! ANTHONY. I’m sorry, but I feel very attacked. TED.
Why, because we won’t stand for hate speech? We respect all Native traditions here. (They all make to leave) Salam Alaikum! ANTHONY. That’s Arabic. TED. Who are you to profile?! INGA. Who are you to speak for all Native identities? TRICIA. Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?! Everyone but Anthony bursts into song. TRICIA, TED, INGA. Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grins? Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? Can you paint with all the colors of the wind? ANTHONY. (Clicking heels) Home, home, home! Time stops and we are transported somewhere else. LIGHTS OUT.