Transitioning out of the role of trusted adult in applied theatre with youth: or how I found myself in need of a time machine

ABSTRACT

What little scholarship exists on the subject of applied theatre exit strategies focuses on artistic or socio-political matters, leaving the interpersonal largely overlooked. Yet interpersonal relationships play a vital role in applied theatre practice, particularly when working with youth. Drawing on the fields of applied theatre and social work, as well as contemporary practice, this article analyzes facilitator–participant relationships through the lens of trusted adult scholarship to propose best practices. Exit strategies that incorporate network development, clear endings, and defined limitations promote ethical transitions out of the role of trusted adult as well as that of facilitator.

A few days after a university-sponsored applied theatre performance with youth, my phone buzzed to life. Text after text rolled in from a frantic young participant who had received news of a friend’s violent passing. Their mother was busy taking care of younger siblings, and they did not want to burden other friends their age; they claimed they were in no physical danger nor likely to cause harm to themselves.¹ They just needed to talk to someone who they trusted, and after weeks of sharing in rehearsals and collaborating artistically, this teen trusted me.

I did my best in the moment, attempting to balance the limitations of necessarily convoluted university policy with my own sense of ethical responsibility. Explicitly, university policy applies to those working with young people “in the course of their university duties.” An after-hours text from a former participant upon the conclusion of a university program certainly felt outside my university duties. Likewise, the Office of Human Resources merely recommends programs implement a policy prohibiting private electronic communication between adults and youth; the applied theatre program in question had stated no such policy (“Activities and Programs” 2019). Yet the choice to ignore these university recommendations relied too much on technicalities for my comfort. Why should university recommendations and policy, presumably instituted for the benefit of both young people and their adult counterparts, disappear from one day to the next? Even had I been able to deduce the appropriate response, as implied by university policy, I may have struggled to adhere to it. I cared for this teen, had developed a relationship with them and their fellow participants over the course of the program; to refuse my support now, simply because it no longer benefited me to do so, seemed the height of callousness.

I wanted to help but had little knowledge of how to do so without creating future problems for the teen, the university, and admittedly myself. Offering support could create an expectation of similar aid in the future; expectations I was not sure I would be able to fulfill. I knew of my good intentions, but at a university where those working with youth learn to “side hug” to avoid even the appearance of impropriety, I doubted good intentions would aid in avoiding censure. The rules, I told myself, were in place for a reason: protecting participants from harm and adults, like myself, from unwarranted litigation.

Caught in the midst of this dilemma, I found myself wishing for a time machine – a magical device to transport me back to the early days of the program and help me avoid this confusion all together. Given a dearth of readily available time machines, I have resorted to reflecting on this experience through the lens of trusted adult studies in order to propose better practices for the future. Drawing on this experience as well as existing applied theatre and social work scholarship, I highlight how a facilitator may – purposefully or otherwise – assume the role of “trusted adult” or informal mentor. These facilitative relationships come with significant benefits, but, given the temporal limitations of much applied theatre practice, also warrant careful consideration.

Following Tim Prentki and Sheila Preston’s differentiation of applied theatre for, with, and by participants, I focus specifically on applied theatre practice that invites young people to devise or create stories pertaining to their own lived experience (2009). Such applied theatre with young people may or may not lead to a final performance, but given the sharing of personal stories, can often lead to close relationships. Participants may be left in vulnerable positions when programs end and relationships dissolve; alternatively, applied theatre facilitators may lack the resources and support needed to properly address the ensuant ethical dilemmas. As applied theatre scholars and practitioners endeavor toward more ethical exit strategies, I contend interpersonal relationships warrant consideration alongside the socio-political and artistic aims of practice. In keeping with existing studies of trusted adult relationships, I call for underscoring network development, clear endings, and defined limitations throughout applied theatre practice so as to promote ethical transitions out of the role of both facilitator and trusted adult.

Facilitative relationships: an overlooked aspect of ethical exits

I had met the teen in question through Be the Street: A Performance Studies Project on Human Mobility and Placemaking sponsored by The Ohio State University.² Centered in the Hilltop, a large, diverse neighborhood in Columbus, Ohio, the project was in its second year when I joined – the first to involve local participants in the creative process. As one of five graduate students selected as lead facilitators, I was responsible for creating a short, community-engaged performance with young people from the surrounding area. We met once a week for 16 weeks at nearby libraries and the neighborhood coffee shop, which donated their space for a final performance. While attendance varied, the seven young people who participated in the final performance ranged from ages 12 to 17 and represented a variety of genders, sexual orientations, races, and ethnicities.

Playing games that challenged them to listen and work together, sharing stories from their lives, and finding creative ways to bring their talents to the stage, the participants came together as an ensemble. As one of the teens reflected in between performances, “Well, see what I learned about this whole experience is that theatre isn’t just about on a stage and acting and this and that, but it’s more about being as like a family.” We later joked that the eldest of the teens was the grumpy uncle and the youngest the baby with the remaining participants claiming various other roles. As familial titles were quickly divvied up, the co-facilitators’ and my tenuous positions quickly became apparent. We had no desire to claim parenthood (even in this metaphorical sense), yet we were undeniably a part of the supportive ensemble that had developed. As the participants bonded with one another, they had also bonded with us.

Numerous applied theatre scholars and practitioners have highlighted the importance of facilitative relationships in work with youth. Community-based performance artist, Suzanne Lacy, has mused that much of a facilitator’s impact on young adults may stem not from the art itself from but the meaningful relationships formed during the process of creation (Cohen-Cruz 2005). Dani Snyder-Young observed similarly positive relationships when co-facilitating a Theatre of the Oppressed workshop at an urban high school. While the students resisted Snyder-Young’s attempts to challenge their deeply held – if problematic – beliefs, they embraced her more democratic facilitation style. The resulting relationships later proved advantageous when a student came to Snyder-Young for advice on dealing with a less respectful authority figure (2013).

Preston further supports these anecdotes in Applied Theatre: Facilitation – Pedagogies, Practices, and Resilience (2016). Citing social policy and educational theory, Preston emphasizes the importance of relationships in applied theatre practice:

[R]esearch with practitioners in urban settings indicates that particularly when working and forging relationships with participants where there is a high level of need, revealing one’s personable, ‘human’ qualities in the facilitative relationship has been crucial for forging effective relationships with young people as it gets to the heart of people’s need for recognition and respect. (65)

Preston places a high value on reciprocity – suggesting that facilitators must share more than merely their artistic expertise. Facilitators must also share some of themselves in the hopes of inspiring participants to do the same.

With Be the Street, I took Preston’s call to heart, participating in weekly check-ins, sharing stories from my own childhood, and laughing with the participants at my flaws – chief amongst them an inability to draw and an affinity for “bad” music. I gravitated toward updates on my own schoolwork and more lighthearted stories – hoping to serve as a role model and not wanting to create a culture of obligated confessionals. As Preston cautions, some versions of oneself may be more “appropriate” than others (2016, 65). Responding to this curated sharing of self as well as attempts at non-judgmental attention – from both myself and the other adults in the room – participants began turning to us more and more. One brought in their short stories for us to read before rehearsal began; another sent a prom picture for us to admire; a third celebrated making honor role during weekly check-in. We also learned of arrests at school, relationship troubles motivating acts of self-harm, and disappointments at home. We supported these students, trying to ensure they were connected to other resources, but failed to account for what might happen when the creative processes inevitably ended and the space of open communication disappeared.

In Applied Theatre: International Case Studies and Challenges for Practice (2009), Prendergast and Saxton underscore the importance of ethical exit strategies. The scholars contend, “One of the least-addressed, but not the least important, planning points are the exit strategies; in exiting from an applied theatre process, practitioners are ethically bound to create – preferably in collaboration with participants – an action plan that aims to continue the process following their departure” (196). Prendergast and Saxton specifically emphasize the need to transfer skills from the facilitators to the participants to enable the continuation of socio-political and artistic aims of their practice.

Sonja Kuftinec’s Staging America: Cornerstone and Community-Based Theatre (2003) remains one of the few studies to document the results of such an exit strategy. In their early years, Cornerstone’s socio-political and artistic aims centered around creating accessible and engaging theatrical adaptations in rural and small-town communities. Over the course of these productions, participants gained the skills and passion necessary to continue the work, with the company even providing a small start-up fund upon their departure. While some embraced the funds, other communities resented the money, which seemed a poor substitute for prolonged interpersonal commitments. Perhaps more significantly, individuals who benefitted from Cornerstone’s presence within the community often fell back into their old ways after the company left. Rod Prichard, for example, quit drinking while performing in The Marmath Hamlet but started up again after Cornerstone’s departure. While Cornerstone is by no means responsible for Prichard’s lapsed sobriety, one wonders how future theatre programs might capitalize on the positive aspects of theatre even after the professionals depart. Cornerstone’s varied results underscore the complexity of applied theatre exit strategies. Not only must facilitators account for the socio-political and artistic aims of applied theatre practice, but they must also consider the relationships that arise from collaborating closely with others.

As with Cornerstone, the research team responsible for Be the Street endeavored to create an ethical exit strategy. The team paid participants for their time, encouraged participants to reach out for future letters of recommendation, and celebrated participants’ accomplishments with a closing ceremony. While applied theatre scholars and practitioners alike continue to debate what constitutes best practice with regard to participant compensation, these tactics were part of a broader effort to avoid the “colonization-like stance” that Jan Cohen-Cruz warns against in Engaging Performance: The Call and Response (2010, 183).³ She observes that higher education-instigated community work, like Be the Street, risks exploiting communities in the name of education and research. Compensating participants, financially and otherwise, as well as prolonging interactions helps to address these socio-political concerns and ensure artistic opportunities in the future, but fails to account for more immediate, relational needs, which may result from individual facilitators leaving the program. Much of this oversight may result from difficulties defining facilitative relationships as explored in the next section.

The facilitator as trusted adult

In most instances, facilitators are neither schoolteachers nor therapists, family nor friends. This last is perhaps the most troublesome as participants may easily confuse a facilitator’s amiable demeanor and collaborative artistic practices as signs of friendship. However, as education scholar Howard Sercombe cautions, this interpretation is “… misleading sometimes to the point of being dangerous” (2010, 79). Sercombe seems to consider youth work as a specialty occupation. However, consideration of the field more generally reveals immense similarities between youth work specialists and applied theatre facilitators, creating space for shared discovery. Sercombe’s further warnings reveal a few such commonalities:

The youth work relationship can feel like a friendship, with lots of the elements of friendship such as good-natured ribbing and play. Language codes are often those that the young people use, so it can feel to them and to the youth worker as if that worker is one of the gang.

In such a context, youth workers need to be clear about the nature of their relationship, and especially the limits of that relationship. Lack of clarity can easily lead to conflicts of interest, real ethical dilemmas and a sense of betrayal from young people when expectations are disappointed. (77–8)

Though the degree of code-switching and “good-natured” ribbing varies from facilitator to facilitator, Sercombe’s cautions warrant further analysis.

In specialized youth work, feelings of friendship constitute inaccurate approximations. Standards of practice discourage dual relationships, such as that of youth worker and friend, to limit actual and/or perceived conflicts of interest (Sercombe 2010, 80). On the other hand, more generalized youth work often prioritizes friendship between adult volunteers and young participants. Big Brothers Big Sisters of America, for instance, have long utilized analogies of friendship as a means of differentiating between the role of adult volunteers and that of a parent or teacher (Tierney, Grossman, and Resch 1995).⁴ Yet for the sake of all parties involved, the organization heavily regulates these “friendships.” Documentation varies from site to site, but the 2017 sixteen-page Big Brothers Big Sisters Lonestar Code of Conduct specifies everything from the number of interactions per month to prohibited behaviors to the supervisory responsibilities of the adult (“Code of Conduct” 2017). Which begs the question, is a highly regulated relationship in which one party is contractually obligated to supervise the other truly a friendship?

Because answers vary depending on one’s definition of friendship, and given the socio-cultural nature of friendship, I do not hazard to pose a definitive definition here. Rather, I aim to emphasize the importance of defining the term when used in youth work. Big Brothers Big Sisters places great emphasis on communication, frequently discussing with young participants the elements of this “friendship.” Such communication decreases the likelihood that participants will be hurt by unfulfilled expectations and adult volunteers overburdened by the demands of the relationship. Within the context of applied theatre practice, particularly faster practice where time is short and agendas full, it may be better to avoid such discussions entirely by offering an alternative to the potentially confusing analogy of friendship.

This can be achieved with both care and tact. Speaking of false approximations of friendship, Sercombe declares, “A youth worker’s answer to a young person saying ‘But I thought you were my friend!’ should always be clear and unequivocal: ‘I was never your friend: I am your youth worker’” (Sercombe 2010, 79). Perhaps such bluntness is necessary for youth work specialists, but it appears harsh and counterproductive within the context of applied theatre. If a lack of clarity leads to expectations of friendship, the facilitator needs to mitigate the participant’s resulting sense of hurt and betrayal: after all, a betrayed participant is far less likely to engage in the creative risk-taking that forms the basis of applied theatre practice. To avoid unfulfilled expectations of friendship on the one hand, and counter-productive bluntness on the other, I argue that facilitators need a third path: they may not be a participant’s friend, but they can be their trusted adult.

Though appearing in social work studies as early as 1961, the role of a trusted adult has only recently been codified in scholarly practice. Drawing on studies of significant adults and natural mentors as well as trust, a 2015 study by Ariella Meltzer, Kristy Muir, and Lyn Craig defined trusted adults as non-parental figures who serve as informal mentors to young people and noted that trusted adult relationships tend to result in more educationally engaged, educationally ambitious, successfully employed, physically active, and mentally healthy young people, who also exhibit fewer risky behaviors, higher self-esteem, and a greater sense of resilience (Meltzer, Muir, and Craig 2016, 2018).

Although limited by sample size, the study’s results reveal how applied theatre facilitators might easily find themselves in the position of trusted adult. According to the young people, trusted adults offered support and encouragement alongside practical assistance (Meltzer, Muir, and Craig 2016). Applied theatre facilitators offer similar support and encouragement to inspire creative risk-taking all the while teaching practical skills. The young people also appreciated the way trusted adults talked with rather than at them. While facilitators do not shy away from the direction, the collaborative nature and populist origins of much applied theatre practice often result in talking with rather than at participants.

Though well suited to the role of trusted adult, some applied theatre facilitators may wish to avoid this relationship. A few contend that interpersonal connections will inhibit the art- making process. They instruct participants to leave their troubles at the door so that the artistic work can take center stage (Swados 2006).⁵ Others adopt this art-first mentality to avoid ethical dilemmas like the one in which I found myself. If the art comes first, then facilitative relationships matter less. As long as the art succeeds (by some measure), the facilitator can exit the program without a lasting sense of ethical obligation.

While it can be tempting to use art as a shield – to deflect interpersonal connections by focusing on the art – this tactic often inhibits artistic creation. Michael Balfour noted the interdependence of social relationships and esthetic practice in the work of Somebody’s Daughter Theatre. “The social and esthetic seem symbiotic with each other. It seemed that the health of the group was determined sometimes by the facilitators emphasizing the drama and creative process, and at other times it was about having a cup of tea, chatting and listening” (2016, 162). Although Balfour only speaks of this one workshop, which took place not with youth but in a women’s prison, his observations carry over to other areas of applied theatre practice.

Others may see trusted adult terminology as poorly veiled savior rhetoric. Applied theatre has often been deployed to “save the children;” an approach critiqued to varying degrees by Tim Prentki (2003)and Jamil Ahmed (2004). While warranted scrutiny, trusted adults differ from so-called saviors in meaningful ways. Whereas saviors often dictate the nature of their help, trusted adults help by listening to and assisting young people with issues they identify together. Meltzer, Muir, and Craig conclude that this nonhierarchical approach “… is a way of encouraging young people to take more responsibility in their own lives, begin to lead in their relationships and make complex decisions” (2016, 62). Saviors save young people – or try to. Trusted adults support young people as they navigate the increasingly complicated issues of adulthood.

Perhaps most significantly, while young people choose trusted adults, saviors elect themselves. They identify individuals or populations in need and set about to redress that need, often without input from those they intend to help. Trust develops gradually over time and as a result cannot be forced or even at times predicted. Some adults may purposefully foster trust through companionable, direct, and equitable conversation; other adults may inadvertently stumble into the role of trusted adult by simply fulfilling their professional obligations. Given the unexpected manner in which many assume the role of trusted adult, Meltzer, Muir, and Craig have called for training to “alert professionals to the possibility of young people forming close attachments, even if their professional role was not designed for this, and of the possibility that ending the relationship may have more of an impact on the young person than anticipated” (2016, 64–5).

I did not set out to become a trusted adult for any of the young participants in Be the Street; at the time I was wholly unaware of the concept.⁶ Yet through my efforts to be a more effective facilitator – listening to participant stories, supporting participants in their artistry, and modeling healthy risk-taking by sharing “appropriate” versions of myself – I telegraphed my trustworthiness and inspired at least some of the young participants to see me as a trusted adult. Below I draw on trusted adult studies to reflect on what I might have done differently and offer better practices for the future.

Proactive exit strategies

Given a functioning time machine, what could I have done differently to avoid the ethical dilemma I found myself in following Be the Street? How might applied theatre scholarship draw on existing trusted adult studies to develop more ethical exit strategies? What preventative measures might facilitators adopt to aid their transition out of the role of trusted adult? Applied theatre programs and organizational policies vary, but the recommendations below can promote ethical exits in almost any circumstance.

Network development

With Be the Street, many participants seemingly did come to see the co-facilitators and myself as trusted adults. Unfortunately, this network was intermittent at best. After the closing ceremony, one co-facilitator continued to work at the local library, but the rest of us left for our ivory towers. Some returned the following year, and others … did not. If I could travel back in time, I would prioritize identifying or creating stable networks of trusted adults. As Meltzer, Muir, and Craig conclude, “The importance of young people knowing a network of people, rather than relying on one trusted adult … should not be underestimated” (2016, 65). Absent or unstable networks can challenge facilitators and participants alike, particularly toward the end of an applied theatre program. Facilitators may feel undue responsibility for the continued well-being of participants. Meanwhile, participants may be left without a trusted adult – a position Meltzer, Muir, and Craig deem “vulnerable.”

Highlighting existing relationships and helping participants connect with other trustworthy adults throughout the applied theatre process can help to develop stable networks and avoid placing facilitators and participants in intractable positions upon the conclusion of the program. Well-supported participants may already belong to stable networks of trusted adults. A brief brainstorming session or interview assignment might be all that’s needed to help reveal these networks. Less-supported participants may need greater assistance. In more sustained contexts, facilitators can connect participants with other members of their organization. Facilitators in more temporary or intermittent contexts may do likewise by inviting trustworthy adults from local communities to join the creation process.

Given the already overextended nature of many facilitators’ schedules, the additional work of identifying and creating stable networks of trusted adults may appear unfeasible at first glance. Yet such development is vital to ethical practice, and therefore deserves prioritization alongside the art-making process. Far from diminishing the artistic and socio-political aims of applied theatre practice, prioritizing stable networks merely shifts these aims to incorporate what James Thompson deems an “aesthetics of care” (2015). Thompson expands on the work of feminist care ethics, which value interpersonal relationships and responsibilities, to highlight the affective and sensory outcomes of co-creation. He notes that care ethics, and by extension an esthetics of care, “should also be understood as a critique of a society where the habit of caring for others is devalued, placed at the whim of the market and radically under resourced” (2015, 435). Consequently, time taken to identify and vet trustworthy adults does not detract from the applied theatre process but rather contributes to a more holistic and ethical practice.

Clear endings

When participants belong to sufficiently stable networks, proactive planning and clear communication can help facilitators transition out of the role of trusted adult at the conclusion of an applied theatre project. As detailed above, the research team responsible for Be the Street endeavored to create a clear ending by organizing a closing ceremony. After the final performance, participants from all five groups gathered together to celebrate. Facilitators congratulated participants for their beautiful work and handed out certificates of achievement. Participants thanked facilitators in impromptu speeches filled with joy and gratitude, and a post-ceremony reception provided opportunities for hugs and goodbyes. Yet an air of uncertainty hung over the event. When asked by participants whether we would be working with them again next year, the other facilitators and myself resorted to ambiguous maybes. The program was being downsized due to financial and personnel limitations. The research team was still in the processes of determining which groups would continue and which would not. Even without this downsizing, I was unsure whether I would facilitate again due to the uncertainty of a graduate student schedule.

In hindsight, a definitive no may have been the more ethical option. As Meltzer, Muir, and Craig explain, “Well-planned and clear endings lead to the most closure and least damage or distress for young people” (2016, 64). Karen Zilberstein and Renée Spencer consider endings through the dual lenses of social work and attachment theory, echoing Meltzer, Muir, and Craig, “Clear endings allow participants to appreciate what they had and to move on to build new connections, rather than clinging to what all too often may become broken promises and feelings of disappointment, hurt and rejection” (2017, 73). Zilberstein and Spencer further specify the characteristics of a well-planned ending, namely that endings be scheduled in advance, growth-oriented, and in-person (2017; Spencer et al. 2017). Though speaking of formal mentorship, like Big Brothers Big Sisters, Zilberstein and Spencer’s conclusions appear equally relevant in the case of informal mentorship and trusted adults. The organizers of Be the Street successfully organized a final celebration, which focused on group accomplishments and brought people together to reflect. However, uncertainty over the future of the program allowed relationships to drag on creating the possibility of subsequent disappointment.

Treating this iteration of Be the Street as a distinct event would have better prepared well-supported participants for the program’s end and my departure. Had we told participants from the start that we – the facilitators and research team – could only offer our support for 14 weeks, the participants could weigh this information in their decision to trust us and prepare themselves for our inevitable departure. We in turn could have placed greater emphasis on developing support networks and connecting participants to communal resources, rather than assuming our intermittent support would prove sufficient.

Defined limitations

However, I doubt a definitive no would have saved me from the ethical dilemma I found myself in a few days later. The frantic youth had few trusted adults outside Be the Street – no stable network to support them through this difficult time. I found myself left with a difficult choice: continue as a trusted adult until appropriate replacements could be found or exit as planned and hope for the best. Continuing as a trusted adult requires time and entails additional ethical dilemmas. However, clear limitations and organizational support can mitigate these drawbacks and ease the transition for both (former) facilitators and participants.

As Sercombe proclaims in his discussion of youth work, “It is the limits of the relationship that define it, that create its quality, and that channel its energy” (2010, 84). Limitations should be clear from the early stages of the applied theatre process but may need to be revised or restated as the program comes to an end. What are the preferred methods of communication? How regularly can a participant expect a response? Will the two still meet in-person? If so, what are the restrictions on this interaction? What degree of confidentiality can the participant expect? Who will the facilitator reach out to if they are concerned for the participant? In answering these questions, I recommend that facilitators consider sustainability and organizational policies. As discussed above, broken promises may be more harmful than a clear ending. Facilitators should be careful not to promise more than they can sustainably accomplish. Zilberstein and Spencer further warn against vague platitudes. The ambiguity of phrases like, “We’ll keep in touch,” can create false expectations, leading to participant disappointment and distress when the expectations go unfulfilled (2017, 73).

Though some organizations account for post-program interactions, a great many do not. Best practice may be to continue as if the policies are still in place, particularly if participants may re-enroll in future iterations of the program. Consider policies regarding electronic communication and one-on-one interactions. Many organizations require at least two adults to be looped in on all electronic communication with youth. Explaining this policy to young participants early on and reiterating it toward the end of the program has the potential to avoid ethical dilemmas like the one I found myself in while still making space for continued interactions. What’s more, this policy promotes a stable network of trusted adults. Participants can either loop in an adult they already trust or leave facilitators to loop in an adult they may trust in the future.

Whatever the answers arrived at by the facilitator, these limitations must be communicated and justified to young participants with clarity and care. In keeping with the collaborative nature of trusted adult relationships, young participants can then choose whether to adhere to the limitations set forth by the facilitator and continue the relationship or reject the limitations and bring the relationship to a clear conclusion.

Conclusion: returning to the present and looking to the future

Reviewing their findings on trusted adult relationships, Meltzer, Muir, and Craig conclude, “The worth of the relationship thus may not end when the relationship ends, as young people may continue to benefit from what has been learnt” (2016, 63). The scholars’ conclusion holds promise for those facilitators who find themselves forced by economic or temporal necessity to exit their practice and leave young participants behind. Relationships formed with young people over the course of an applied theatre program may continue to benefit those participants for some time to come.

However, this continued value may not be realized if young participants grow resentful upon the facilitator’s departure or find themselves in a vulnerable position, without other trusted adults to whom they can turn. To address these concerns, applied theatre facilitators must pay greater heed to the interpersonal when crafting ethical exit strategies. Above I have called for the development of stable networks of trusted adults, clear endings to relationships whenever possible, and well-defined limitations in cases where an immediate exit would leave young participants vulnerable.

In reflecting on my own experience, I have focused predominantly on the facilitator: what can facilitators do to promote more ethical exits? Organizations can also help facilitators by adopting extended policies and offering ongoing support when necessary. In addition to crafting policies that can be easily applied to post-program interactions, organizations can and should provide continued support to facilitators acting as trusted adults. Be the Street’s closing ceremony occurred in the days after spring finals, just before the academics among us scattered across the country for the summer. While I eventually connected with my advisor, who also served as lead researcher for the Be the Street, I felt quite isolated in the days and weeks immediately following the final performance and subsequent barrage of texts. Faced with the most challenging ethical dilemma of the entire project, I had no supervisors to instruct me on how to proceed, and no co-facilitators with whom to compare my circumstances. Weekly check-ins with the research team and my co-facilitators all ceased after the final performance. Past programs suggest that, barring the occasional postmortem, my experience with Be the Street was not unusual; organizations often leave facilitators to their own devices at the conclusion of an applied theatre program. However, discussing ethical dilemmas with others can be an immensely beneficial process, both to decrease facilitator distress and ensure participant care.

This call for continued support builds on that of Balfour in his discussion of reflective practices. He asserts, “It was also fundamental that practitioners were paid for this part of the process, an important political imperative, and often one that gets forgotten. If we are to take Applied Theatre facilitation seriously, then putting in place appropriate economic and professional strategies of support and development is key” (2016, 159). If we are to take the interpersonal dimension of applied theatre practice seriously, then facilitators need similar economic and professional strategies of support to account for inevitable post-program interactions. Though I have little hope for increased economic support in the near future, the oft-unpaid labor of facilitators upon the conclusion of programs warrants continued attention in our field. Professional strategies of support may be more immediately achievable. In the case of applied theatre with youth, facilitators need support as they continue to navigate the role of trusted adult – a role they may not have volunteered for or consented to in the first place. The question of how best to navigate this role also deserves further consideration, particularly from the perspective of young participants.

As for the young participant whose texts inspired this research, they now have a stable network of trusted adults in which I play only a minor role. When they do reach out, we adhere to the recommended guidelines above, copying a second trusted adult on all our correspondence. We’ve developed limits. They know I can’t promise confidentiality and therefore don’t tell me anything they wouldn’t want shared. We mostly focus on achievements; I celebrate their artistic accomplishments, and they ask for updates on my dissertation. We haven’t quite found the clear ending I call for above, nor do I expect to in the near future. The lack of a clear ending in the early stages of Be the Street makes one difficult to impose now. However, I have fared far better in recent projects: identifying other trusted adults, setting clear expectations for my departure, and establishing limits to my relationships early in the project. Although I may not have a time machine to rewrite the past, with the shared wisdom of social work and applied theatre practice, facilitators have the potential to avoid similar dilemmas in the future.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes

¹ They, them, and their are used as a singular, non-gendered pronouns at the request of the participant.

² The project began in 2016 as one of eleven pilot projects of the Humanities and Arts Discovery Themes.

³ As detailed by Molly Mullen in Applied Theatre: Economies (2019), some contend that passion alone should motivate participation, while others argue that such rhetoric promotes exploitative free labor practices.

⁴ Informally, I have observed a decrease in the use of the term “friend” by Big Brothers Big Sisters of America in recent years. Further research would be needed to determine whether the change resulted from some of the same concerns posed in this article.

⁵ Swados to her credit tries to make time for personal connections before and after workshops.

⁶ I am thankful to Emily Prince, the Education Director at Stuart’s Opera House, for introducing me to the concept of trusted adults. She in turn credits Kim Jackson of Integrated Services for Behavioral Health.