Actor Bear Bellinger: 'Here's How Inequality Works When You're Not Famous'

"I walk into the theater; the director, his assistant, and an intern are seated behind a table. The music director is set up on my left to accompany me on piano. I say a pleasant hello, gather myself, check to make sure the music director knows my tempo, and began to sing: 'I'm a colored spade, a Negro, a black nigger...'"

The song that Chicago-based actor Bear Bellinger performs is, of course, Galt MacDermot, James Rado and Gerome Ragni's "Colored Spade" from their groundbreaking musical HAIR. Sung by the musical's most prominent black character, Hud, the lyric is essentially a list of racial slurs directed at black people.

When he's done, the white director seems pleased and asks Bellinger to sing it again, adding, "This time I want you to imagine if you were a black man and someone was saying all of these things to you."

As Bellinger explains in his essay for Vox, it's just "another day in the life of a blacktor."

Recently, New York's theatre community followed the story of how Tony-winner Tonya Pinkins chose to leave Classic Theatre Company's production of MOTHER COURAGE AND HER CHILDREN before opening night, citing instances where she felt the adaptation, set in Africa, was being seen through a "white gaze."

Bellinger's essay describes three situations where he expresses the same frustration.

"I have been a working actor in the Chicagoland area for seven years now. That includes time auditioning for, and performing in, anything from musicals to plays to variety shows to TV to movies. The one common denominator, in all this time, is that I am a black man constantly having to conform my blackness to what white people, mainly men, on the other side of the table believe to be true. These men have no ill intent in their ideas about or depictions of blackness; they also have no lived experience. And mine, as the only actual black person in the room, is almost never valued or understood."

While increasing the level of diversity in casting is certainly desired, the actor points out that there will always be inequities without diverse pool of directors and writers controlling how the characters are portrayed.

"We need people of color in the driver's seats who can influence how minorities are depicted."

His second story involves being in the ensemble of a production of MISS SAIGON.

It's tech rehearsal and in the opening scene he's part of a group of American GIs in Vietnam, getting rowdy at a bar and mingling with a group of women playing Vietnamese prostitutes. As part of the scene, they ad-lib remarks like "Hey, how 'bout you come home with me tonight?" and "How much?"

"In the midst of this controlled chaos," Bellinger explains, "from an actor two men over I hear, 'Hey nigger!'"

At first he thought he might have misheard, but when another actor says he heard the same thing, the question of how to deal with the situation isn't an easy one to answer.

"I go to our stage manager, the first contact in all stage interactions, explain what happened in as calm a manner as I can muster, and head home as I'm told they will talk to him about it and make sure it doesn't happen again."

When he gets home, Bellinger sends the actor an email explaining why his ad-lib was unacceptable. He receives a reply apologizing, while noting that we live in a "too-PC world."

After the artistic director became aware of Bellinger's Facebook comments on the subject, he called for a private meeting.

"I thought we had fixed this," Bellinger quotes the artistic director as saying. "He sincerely apologized! What do you want me to do?"

But with no one in a position of power who would immediately understand what hearing that word meant to him, especially in what was supposed to be the safe environment of his workplace, Bellinger did not feel he would be supported if he honestly answered that question. The threat of being considered difficult to work with kept him quiet as he worked with the actor for the rest of the run.

The final story tells of when Bellinger played a police office for one of his first on-camera jobs. He's given one line and a fake gun.

He's also given five minutes alone with a "police consultant," whose job it is to make sure the actor looks authentic. The consultant is white.

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

"Well ... yes. Not incredibly well. I've been out with a friend..."

"Answer the question."

"Uh ... yes."

"Draw your weapon."

Bellinger pulls out the pistol and points it at the consultant, who slaps it away.

"Draw it like a man!"

He does and the consultant half-pushes him away.

"Did he just hit me?," the actor wonders.

The session continues with the consultant becoming more physically and verbally abusive.

"While you're in here with me, you'll f-ing stand like a man," he warns. "You're not gonna pull any of that pussy shit in here. I don't care what happens out there, but for the five minutes you're with me, you're mine. When you step foot on that screen wearing that uniform, you are representing each and every one of us who put our lives on the line every day."

"This is the summer of 2015," the actor explains. "Black Lives Matter is in full effect, and the terror of minorities in the presence of the police is palpable. I was left alone in a small room, with a police officer yelling at me like a drill sergeant as he aggressively hit me in the chest. This is my blacktor's nightmare."

In the end, Bellinger delivered what the consultant wanted, all the while knowing that he'd risk being seen as difficult to work with if he complained.

"I couldn't teach that white director that his concept of how black people respond to slurs ran counter to the truth of my life experience for fear of losing out on a job. When a white actor then used a slur with me onstage, I couldn't walk away or demand his job for fear of losing a necessary paycheck and future income. And when a cop physically assaulted me to teach me how to play a part, I couldn't exclaim my displeasure, as this was my big break."

"I was voiceless."

But Bellinger says he's strengthening his voice through writing, and is less concerned with the opinions of casting directors and theatre companies.

"I've realized that I can make a difference by speaking up for other actors who are still too scared to make waves."

"In a more diverse environment, I believe we could be better. I believe this is something we can achieve. I believe this is something that would be advantageous to all of us, not just minorities. More support. More variety. More truth. And in the end, that's all we want to see reflected from our actors, right - truth?"

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