It was the final day of my 8^th grade trip to Washington DC. It had been a week full of card games, juicy gossip, one really inopportune shaving cream fight (we got busted), and pounds and pounds of deliciously greasy Chinese food. This field trip was the culmination and highlight of my middle school years. On that fateful last day, someone on the administrative team had decided that our final stop on the tour of the city, immediately before our ride home, would be to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.  We had already visited the insanely awesome and flashy Spy Museum, we had seen the world premiere of a new musical at the historic Ford Theatre, and most importantly, we had gone shopping for homecoming dresses at the local area mall, so needless to say that I, along with the rest of my 8^th grade class, were less than enthusiastic about going to the Holocaust museum. But somehow, we found ourselves, clad in our regulation jumpers and polo shirts, wandering around the grey clad halls of this museum.

Growing up in a religious private school, I felt very “well educated” in terms of the Holocaust (I mean, I played Anne Frank in a school project once). I walked into the museum that day feeling confident that I was going to gain nothing from the experience, and so I was mostly concerned with getting my current crush of the week to notice my new shrug (why in the early 2000s we as a society ever decided to call cardigans “shrugs,” I’ll never know). However, I never expected my trip to that museum to ultimately inform the way I view such a crucially brutal time in our world’s history, and go on to inform one of my favorite collaborative and creative experiences to date.  

I can still remember the smell of the shoes… The final exhibit in the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum is a room filled with thousands and thousands of unclaimed shoes - shoes people wore while getting married. Shoes that were scuffed from playing games of hopscotch or picking flowers. Shoes that were meant to be run in, danced in, and taken off when it was time to sleep. Shoes that remained unclaimed because their owners never made it out of concentration camps alive. It was in that moment, while my immature 8th grade self sat staring at the countless number of shoes, that I was able to mentally attach every statistic I had ever heard about the horrors committed during that era in time to a human life. It was the soles of those shoes that lead me to think of all those innocent lost souls. On the wall above the shoes is a famous quote by Martin Niemoller that reads, “ First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists and I did not speak out — Because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out — Because I was not a Jew. The they came for me — and there was no one left to speak for me.” It was in that room, while surrounded by my peers who did not understand the gravity of what they were looking at, that I decided that one day I would speak out and use my creative voice to tell these people’s story, to ensure that history never repeats itself.

Fast-forward to now…  I am a typical college junior and my 8^th grade self is something my memory constantly works to suppress. I am studying acting, I’m a wannabe female leader who dabbles in writing musicals, and I am fortunate to live a very safe and comfortable life. I had almost forgotten my desire to utilize creativity for social change until I was recently blessed to be a part of a spontaneous performing project that once again challenged me to use art as an instigator for exploring history and as a call to action for change. 

On Friday, February 21^st, due to a crazy unforeseen chain of events resulting in a preexisting production being cancelled, I was challenged and invited to collaborate on a piece of theatre exploring the 1930s and the beginning of Nazi Germany, in a little less than 48 hours. I suddenly found myself, an outsider, in the midst of this group of extremely tight-knit and talented people that had been thrown an almost unhittable curve ball. I was scared to get started, scared to say yes to creative problem solving, and scared that what I would write would not live up to all of the hard work they had previously put into this show. We found ourselves at square one, knowing full well that money had been invested in this production, programs had been printed, and that parents were flying in from all over the country and were expecting to see a fully realized show in just under two days… and we had no show to give them.

Don’t be afraid to speak out about what you're passionate about…make your work mean something.

It was in this hour of panic that I witnessed one of the most unlikely and undeniably beautiful efforts of collaborative and creative problem solving I have ever seen. New musical numbers were committed to memory, cast members traded in sleep for research, and I spent what precious hours we had comprising a patchwork show that came to be titled Welcome to Berlin. Exploring themes of homophobia, anti-Semitism, the sanctity of human life (both past and present), and what it means to love others despite race or religion, Welcome to Berlin quickly shaped into a show with more than just heart. It became an exclusive event, a true collaboration of passionate and inspired performers, working to not only tell a great story but also make audiences explore how these themes are impacting our society today. We crated a beautiful show, filled with beautiful people, that made audiences think and really meant something.

So… you reading this, somewhere out there, in the inter-web universe may be wondering, ‘Ok so that’s great. But why blog about it, Polly? Why should this mean something and matter to me?’… Because as I reflect on this once in a lifetime whirlwind experience, involving strangers that came to be like family in under 48 hours, I am inspired and empowered… and I want you to be too.  As mothers and sisters, as students and female leaders, as playwrights and entrepreneurs, or even as wannabe actresses, we have the power to ignite change. We can make sure that history never has to repeat itself by getting issues out in the open.  Say yes to creative problem solving and allow yourself to emote and feel when an event or experience has left you changed for the better. Little 8^th grade me would be thrilled to know that I, against impossible odds, was involved with a piece of theatre (even though it only was performed in the basement cabaret theatre of Emerson College) that gave voice to the realizations I experienced while staring at those shoes so very long ago. Don’t be afraid to speak out about what you are passionate about. We all have arenas in which to be heard; use yours to make your work mean something. 

Welcome to Berlin was just a blip on my life’s timeline, just one weekend full of sleepless nights and hard work, but I find myself left empowered and creatively fulfilled. If we all work a little harder to creatively solve problems, whether that’s at home, in the workforce, or through artistic expression, what a hopeful future we could have. If we work to bring issues to the forefront of conversation, rather than burying them down deep, what an open future we could have. And if we work, to make our work mean something more than just a paycheck at the end of the day, what a legacy we could leave, inspiring future generations.