I had the good luck to arrive at teatro la fragua in the midst of the final weeks of rehearsal for the opening of their new work, Réquiem por el padre Las Casas, and at the moment when the company is also preparing material for their upcoming tour to the United States. So I've been witness and participant, in a small way, in many different aspects of the teatro.

Réquiem por el padre las Casas, an excellent script by the Columbian Enrique Buenaventura, tells the story of the life of Bartolomé de Las Casas, of his long battle for the freedom of the Indians, of the controversies aroused by his concessions (such as having accepted slavery of African Blacks), the victories and defeats and wounds of a man who dedicated his priestly life to the cause of justice. The work encompasses many events that left their mark on human history: the bloody Spanish conquest of the Americas, the invention of the printing press with movable type and its use as a weapon in his fight, the death of King Ferdinand, the beginning of the violent deportation of African Blacks to serve as slaves in the American colonies.

la fragua's staging of the work is simple and full of life. The bright colors of the costumes transport the spectator immediately to the tropical universe of Central America. The simplicity of the set (the Spanish court, for example, is no more than a raised platform) consciously rejects spectacle, and allows the physical and artistic dexterity of the actors to take center stage. The influence of North American musical comedy on which Jack Warner was raised is obvious in the songs and dances that punctuate the piece, but that influence takes on new life from the salsa and reggae rhythms native to the Caribbean region. The actors dance, sing, act, fight, juggle, tumble, presenting us with a fast-moving and entertaining spectacle that is at once profound and immediately comprehensible: all in a style with deep roots in Central American tradition. What's more, the very faces of the actors (without their being aware of it) are the living testimony of the history of these countries. Their expressions and their mestizo characteristics are an open book that recounts the history of 500 years of fight and resistance to cultural, economic and political oppression, as well as against the ferocity of natural forces like hurricanes, earthquakes and droughts, and a burning sun that tans and cracks those faces.

During one of the last rehearsals, Jack Warner quotes to the actors the old saw that "The person who doesn't know his own history is condemned to repeat it." I think that's one of the most important aspects of the work of la fragua: helping the people of Honduras to learn their own history, who they are and where they come from, whose children they are, where and when that process started which has made Central America what it is today. But Réquiem por el padre Las Casas is not just a work about past history; it's impressive to see how the conditions in the country after 500 years have changed only in name: slaves are now called workers, the conquistadores come from the North and instead of brandishing swords they offer stylish designer-brand names. This comes through strongly as I sit in on rehearsals of Romero de Las Américas, another key work in the repertory of teatro la fragua, which is in rehearsal together with Réquiem. The character of Archbishop Óscar Romero, assassinated by a death squad in 1980 for his defense of the rights of the poor and the campesinos over against the amibition of one of the most intolerant oligarchies of the region, can be superimposed on the personality of Las Casas: their histories are distinct in form and circumstance but not in substance -- except that the Renaissance fear of excommunication prevented Las Casas' being assassinated as Romero was.

Peter Brook, Europe's most important director, says in his book The Empty Space that great theatre cannot be created unless it takes into account the social and historical situation of the country in which it exists; it is not possible to think of a theatrical culture in Central America that makes no reference to Christianity and to revolutionary history. la fragua is probably the most important representative of that thought. What's more, in Romero and in Las Casas Christianity and revolution are almost synonymous: both men used the Gospel as a weapon; both became defenders of the oppressed and the losers, defying civil power and at times the very Church itself of which they were representatives. Both teach us that body and soul are inseparable, that the Kingdom of God begins on earth, that there can be no peace without justice. Both have sown seeds in the heart of the people which are still in process of growing into mature and hopeful plants.

The program that la fragua is rehearsing for a tour to several cities in the United States includes as its main dish the Romero piece. There is also a repertory of short works dealing with Honduran folklore and cultural identity which carries the collective name of Honduran Stories. The program includes The Origen of Corn and Br'er Fox and Br'er Rabbit. These two stories speak of the origins of traditional foods, of succulent fruits, of animals who act all too human, of campesinos and Indian ancients, of bishops and mythological divinities, of the ancestral and magical indigenous tradition, all accompanied by songs and dances and music in which wind and percussion instruments are the protagonists.

Another piece that forms part of the program for the trip is called A New Dream. It is the result of a "collective creation" of the whole group of actors, a sort of calling card and presentation of the muchachos of la fragua, in which the life-dreams of each of the actors are summed up in one great desire: to fly. Dancing and singing, la fragua speaks to us of the love of one's country, of the joy of living and working together, of frustrated dreams, of the importance of everyday work, of the weariness brought on by living in a country filled with violence and misery, of the urge to fly away and see the world.

"People come into my country whenever they please. / I don't want to have to ask permission to be able to leave." The actors sing this as a rap refrain, and joking during the rehearsal they look my way as if the phrase was written for me. I respond to the joke with a hearty laugh, but inside me the injustice of this truth screams out. These muchachos, professional actors whose art could and should be known by the world, collide against an immense wall of problems and difficulties every time an invitation to travel to foreign countries arrives. Whenever the subject of the planned tour to the United States in September is mentioned in teatro la fragua as if it were a sure thing, the muchachos bring the hope down to earth by adding with their fingers crossed: "if the visas come through." They underline the enormous bureaucratic difficulties that have to be sorted through, with agility and shrewdness, to obtain the frequently unattainable permission to travel to the United States. The First World fears the inhabitants of the poorer countries who knock on their door; they are afraid of those who might take the crumbs from their table of wealth, even when it's a question of artists from whom the inhabitants of those frightened rich nations could learn many things -- first of all, solidarity. I want to add my own New Dream to the work of teatro la fragua: I would like to see the day in which the word "frontier" has no meaning and all people consider themselves citizens of the world; and the word "globalization" means living together in peace and is not just a new synonym for imperialism and colonialism.

Epilogue: A Suitcase Full of....

My two months of residence in teatro la fragua are drawing to a close; these are the days of evaluations and final visits, but not of "goodbyes". I leave with the certainty that the force of this group and of this country are such that the thought of not returning is unbearable. They have been two intense and precious months. From the first morning of work the group has treated me with affection, kindness and great hospitality. I return to Europe with a fuller suitcase than I had expected. In this time I have seen not only that theatre can be necessary, but also that it can attain a force and a purity that is explosive: words like struggle, justice, hope, love, which fill the theatrical texts of the ages, recover here their original force.

The home of la fragua is a wooden building with large glassless windows that look out on a tropical garden; ceiling fans hang above in place of the stronger air conditioning. During the presentations you can hear the birds singing, the wind whistling through the trees, the rhythmic murmur of the ceiling fans; the humid heat is the same as outside. All this is the materialization of a conscious conviction: la fragua doesn't want to "distract" the audience from daily life; it wants to be in the midst of that same society, work for those same people, raise questions and doubts about that reality in which we live. When you see one of the shows of la fragua you have the feeling that you are present at something that interests everyone, a story that is told for everyone, a pure theatre that speaks to everyone. My time in Honduras is truly coming to an end, the lights are dimming after the last phrases of the actors, within a few seconds there will only be darkness and it will all be over.... But just as in all the great shows of la fragua, I know the lights will return, the actors will face the audience, raise their fists and cry: "Earth, air, fire, water, we are teatro la fragua. Friends here present: until next time." For my part, I say the same: Until next time, my friends.