Friday, September 22, 2006

NoPassport Conference Feb 2-3, 2007 at METSC


NoPe - NoPassport Conference

NoPassport presents a two-day conference with the support of The Immigrants’
Theatre Project, Theatre Without Borders, the Translation Think Tank,
and in collaboration with the Martin E. Segal Theatre Center.

Initiated by Caridad Svich

The conference will focus on a wide range of contemporary works for theatre
and performance, viewing the Americas from a variety of formal perspectives.
Topics that will be addressed in panels and works-in-progress presentations
include: translation as bridge/barrier; migration and exile as they affect content
and form; the different languages of the Americas; religion, spirituality
and theatrical ecology; readings and mis-readings of stories; the possibilities
of liveness; and the inscriptions of the invisible onto visible histories.

NoPassport was founded by Caridad Svich as a Pan-American theatre coalition/
collective devoted to action, advocacy, and change toward the fostering
of cross-cultural diversity and difference in the arts with an emphasis on the
embrace of the hemispheric spirit in US Latina/o and Latin-American theatremaking.

Special thanks are given to The Drama Book Shop for facilitating
book sales at this event.

Preliminary Schedule–Program is subject to radical change.
For detailed information and final schedule please check our website:

Friday, Feb. 2, 07 10:00 a.m. – 9:00 p.m. Reservation Code 7184
Saturday, Feb. 3, 07 10:00 a.m. – 9:00 p.m. Reservation Code 7185
Martin E. Segal Theatre + Conference Rooms on C-level: C201 + C202. Free.
Reservation required. Remaining seats: First come, first served.
Call 1.212.817.8215 or


2006 NoPe - NoPassport Conference

Border Stories
Ashley Lucas (session leader). Panelists: Greg Ramos, Chris Danowski, Teresa
Marrero, Amparo Garcia-Crow, Tamara Underiner, Jon Rossini, Octavio Solis

Convocation: American Theatre for all
Eduardo Machado (special presentation)

Life and Legacy: Maria Irene Fornes
A consideration and tribute to one of the U.S.' greatest contemporary
dramatists and teachers, with appreciations from Bonnie Marranca, Beatriz
Rizk, Cusi Cram, Migdalia Cruz, Elaine Romero, and others.

Identity politics and its Discontents
Jason Grote and Liesl Tommy (session leaders). Panelists: Tom Bradshaw,
Young Jean Lee, Eisa Davis, Francesca Sanders, Oliver Mayer, Jennifer Ortega,
Peter Gil-Sheridan, Tlaloc Rivas, Ken Urban

Intercultural Illuminations: Practice and Performance
Cynthia Croot (session leader). Panelists: Roberto Varea, Daniel Jaquez,
Olga Sanchez, Young Jean Lee, Brooke O'Harra, Heidi Schreck, Sarah Benson,
Chiori Miyagawa, Erik Ehn, Ruth Margraff, Chay Yew, Andrea Thome,
Catherine Coray, Ken Nielsen, John Jesurun, Ken Urban

The Invisible Visible Take 1 Lynn Nottage (presentation)

The Invisible Visible Take 2
Bianca Bagatourian and Leslie Ayvazian (session leaders). Panelists: Simon
Levy, Jose Rivera, Betty Shamieh, Mac Wellman, Stephen Adley Guirgis

Keynote Speech: The Future of Interculturalism
Jorge Huerta (special presentation)

Language at Play: Musicality and Imagination
Steven Sapp (session leader). Panelists: Dominic Taylor, Talvin Wilks,
Nilaja Sun, Octavio Solis, Kristoffer Diaz, Candido Tirado, Eisa Davis

Moving Beyond Youth (vs Adult) Theatre -
New Aesthetics and Approaches to Intergenerational Works
Corey Madden (session leader). Panelists: TBA

National Theater Now: Experimental Theater outside and in New York
Brooke Stowe (session leader). Panelists: TBA

NoPassport Sin Fronteras (a TWB - Theater Without Borders - session)
Catherine Filloux (session leader). Panelists: Migdalia Cruz, Roberta Levitow,
Erik Ehn, Michael John Garces, Michael Johnson-Chase, Duca Knezevic, Daniel

The Playwright’s Craft: 21st Century Take 1
Patricia Ybarra (session leader). Panelists: Migdalia Cruz, Alejandro Morales,
Anne Garcia-Romero, Carmen Rivera, Colin Denby Swanson, Oliver Mayer,
Quiara Alegria Hudes, Ricardo Bracho, Sylvia Bofill

The Playwrights Craft: Take 2
with Playwrights Jam Session: Extracts and Excerpts
Caridad Svich (session leader). With Alejandro Morales, Amparo-Garcia Crow,
Andrea Thome, Anne Garcia-Romero, Candido Tirado, Carmen Rivera, Catherine
Filloux, Christine Evans, Colin Denby Swanson, Daniel Alexander Jones,
Dominic Taylor, Elaine Romero, Jason Grote, J. Ed Araiza, Lisa D'Amour, Chiori
Miyagawa, Migdalia Cruz, Michael John Garces, Nilaja Sun, Quiara Alegria
Hudes, Randy Gener, Ricardo Bracho, Saviana Stanescu, Young Jean Lee

Re-reading the Islands: Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Caribbean
Leo Cabranes-Grant (session leader). Panelists: Aravind Adyanthaya,
Jose Quiroga, Ramon Rivera-Servera, Luis Santeiro

Reading the Audience: Cultural Influences on Theatre Appreciation
Marcy Arlin (session leader). Panelists: Duca Knezevic, Zeljko Dudich

The Secret History of American Theatre: Randy Gener (special presentation)

Site Dreaming: Reading Culture on Location
Lisa D'Amour (session leader). Panelists: Daniel Alexander Jones, Christine
Evans, Lear deBessonet

Viewpoints and Beyond: Working with Ensemble Creation (lecture/demo)
J. Ed Araiza (special presentation)

Spain in the U.S. consciousness, Latin America in Spain:
the Americas against Erasure
Lillian Manzor (session leader). Panelists: Anne Garcia-Romero, Elaine
Romero, Caridad Svich

The Other Latino: Theatre Paradigms in a changing Demographic World
Beatriz Rizk (special presentation)

Theater in New Democracies
Saviana Stanescu (session leader). Panelists: TBA

Translation: Task Force
Marie-Louise Miller, Sarah Cameron Sunde (session leaders). Panelists: Adam
Versenyi, Claudia Case, James Leverett, Debbie Saivetz, Jean Graham-Jones,
Shoshana Polanco, Joanne Pottlitzer

UnSavory Acts: Queer Theatre Now
Brian Bauman (session leader). Panelists: Enrique Urueta, Ricardo Bracho,
Alberto Sandoval, Christopher Shinn, David Grimm

Working in Translation: International Plays in Translation
Liz Engelman and Mark Bly (session leaders). Panelists: John Eisner, Ralph
Pena, Emilya Cachapero, Catherine Coray, Catherine Filloux, Roberta Levitow,
Caridad Svich, Daniel Brunet, John Biguenet, Blake Radcliffe, Marie Louise-
Miller, Sarah Cameron Sunde, Melanie Joseph, Michael Fields, Doug Rand,
Philip Himberg, Mame Hunt, Polly Carl

Women Theater Artists Reaching Across Borders
League of Professional Theatre Women Panel
Carol Martin, Catherine Filloux, and Joanne Pottlitzer (session leaders).
Panelists: Martha Coigney, Marion Simon, Carol Mack, Susan Yankowitz,
Linda Chapman, Saviana Stanescu, Ruth Margraff, Roberta Levitow

Works in Progress/Performances:
Aravind Adyanthaya: Prometheus Unbound
Chris Danowski and Theatre in my Basement: Cenizas
Greg Ramos: Border Stories
Carlos Chavarria
Caridad Svich/Michael Sexton: Verbatim
And contributions from Mapa Teatro, Colombia; Teatro Luna; Teresa Marrero
(TBA); Ruth Margraff; Steven Sapp; Greg Ramos; Ashley Lucas; Amparo Garcia-
Crow; and others.

Writing Workshops
During the Conference selected one-hour writing workshops will be held on a
first-come, first-serve basis only; led by playwrights Oliver Mayer, Octavio
Solis, and others. Check Conference schedule via the web late January 2007.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Kawaisoo (The Pity of Things) by Jason Grote

(Note: this is the first step in a larger experiment, to post the work of NoPassport members in a virtual library. The following play, Kawaisoo (The Pity of Things), is published in The Back Stage Book of New American Short Plays 2005 and Best Womens' Monologues of the Millennium, and has been presented at chashama, The Makor, HERE, and elsewhere.)

Ellie, 28-38, F.
Attractive professional woman, smart, unstable.

A twenty-four hour grocery store in an affluent suburb.

Time: Fall, 2001, approximately 2 am.

If we could just pause for a minute before we go in. I am… cogent enough to realize that my saying that this is a holy space would strike most people as odd. I realize this. But Michael, I want you to understand that this is a very difficult time. I know that sounds selfish, I mean, imagine what you must have gone through, and Courtney and Josh, and that little blond chippie of yours—

Joking, I’m joking. What I’m saying is that I have no intention of using my illness as a—

Michael, the banality of this place is exactly the quality that makes it holy. Can I—I know that this is not the appropriate time to dwell on such things, but when I first got the news—the first news, you and the slut, not this news—I came here—not for any therapeutic reason, you understand, but because we needed groceries—and found enormous comfort, enormous stability. I have grown fond of it. Sometimes I think that’s why it’s really open twenty-four hours, because it needs a time to be a cathedral. The housewives and the screaming kids leave and it gets to become what it truly is. Please be respectful, Michael. I know how laughable I am.

I’d like to start in aisle six. That’s my favorite place, right between the Surf With Active Oxygen and the abrasive Tweety Bird heads.

Before I start the tour, I’d like to point out some general characteristics. First, the gentle hum of the fluorescents. Notice how they’re not too bright, not blinding, don’t make you feel like a deer. The floors: earth tones, allowing one to avoid noticing the inevitable grime that accumulates on lighter shades of linoleum. The products: all faced. That’s an industry term, faced. It means they’re all even, symmetrical, soothing, not strewn chaotically all over our—all over the shelves. The music:

Hall and Oates. Can’t win them all, I suppose. Still, it beats orchestrated string versions of “American Woman,” or an endless loop of early Whitney Houston singles.

My point, Michael, is: I am well aware of the criticisms that you and others put forth, that my perfect little world here is in fact predictable and artificial, and inescapable, that it spreads its monocultural virus throughout the world, but I hold that these critics have not paid attention to the subtle, all-important differences that class and geography provide.

When I go into the poor supermarket—the one down Route Thirty-Three, with the limited produce selections and the gray meat and the dingy floors—I start to—I can’t breathe, it’s so—It’s horrible, I know, you would be—you must be so ashamed, I know that poor people need a place to shop too, but—well, I’m sure it’s not pleasant for them, either—the no-frills products? Have you seen these? Plain white boxes with the product names stamped on? BEANS. CORN CEREAL. It makes me so sad, so acutely aware of the fragility of human life. I look at these cans and boxes and I feel like I’m watching an old woman teetering at the top of a staircase.

I need packaging. It’s the faces, mostly. Happily smiling at me. Paul Newman, our savior, avatar of tolerant, pluralist American liberalism and salad dressing, so like you, except for the salad dressing. And the looks. Take heart. I hear he’s had cosmetic surgery. Elmo, the Rugrats, the Keebler Elves. All the animals in the pet aisle, the ones we don’t eat, staring lovingly at us, asking us why we have failed them. They don’t put pictures of the animals on the meat. Imagine that? A happy little cartoon bunny glued to a gamy, plastic-wrapped carcass.

You may be pleased to know that I no longer eat animals.

I suppose we should begin the tour. You may have noticed a slight burning sensation in your mucous membranes from all of the detergent. That’s why I like to start here. Awakens the senses.

On your left you’ll notice a wide and colorful variety of anti-bacterial dishwashing liquids—a triumphant but ultimately futile gesture. Remember these: you’ll notice a striking parallel once we get to the Gatorade.

To your right you will see what is probably my favorite feature: the scented candles. Many an hour have I stood here smelling these air-freshening sacraments. In fact, I have the section memorized: indulge me for a moment, won’t you, Michael?

Peach Sensation, Crisp Breeze, Sunsplash, Vanilla Essence, Country Berries, Gardenia, White Bouquet, Mystical Serenity—smells like a grandmother, Honeysuckle and Pear, Lilac Spring, Waterfall, Sweet Nothings, Botanical Sachet, Hawaiian Breeze, Sensual Spice—smells like someone stuck pumpkin pie spice up his or her ass, Mountain Berry, Strawberries and Cream, French Vanilla, Mango Splash, Sensual Rose, Summer Blossoms, Tropical Melon, Relax and Refresh, Hazelnut Vanilla, Heather Mist, Soothing Sandalwood, Invigorating Lemongrass—smells like some dimly remembered infant anxiety, Romantic Jasmine.

Lately I’ve been working on memorizing the actual scents, so that I could identify them without looking.

Perhaps the most impressive thing is that every last one of those candles was made in the United States of America. I pay attention to that. I do. I am well aware of the concept of commodity fetishism and of Marx’ labor theory of value—surprised? All this time I’ve had on my hands since the dust from the custody wars settled, I’ve been reading your old books—Das Kapital was a fucking doozy—

But I hold these products, Michael, and I imagine each and every hand that has labored over them, the Chinese mother of five stamping plastic knife handles out of a mechanical press, the Wisconsin woman with the hairnet and the obsolete name, like Ethel or Bertha unrolling long sheaves of aluminum foil—the twenty-year-old Mexican patriarch lugging box after box from a splintery wooden palette—all so I can have this wondrous gift of order and abundance. My relationship with them, with this place, these things—the
Japanese have a word for it, kawaisoo, the pity of things. It’s moved beyond fetishism for me. It’s commodity love.

Sometimes it’s not enough to touch the things, to smell them, buy them, or eat them. Sometimes I want to submerge myself in the clear plastic tubs of non-pareils and macadamia nuts. Sometimes I could cover myself in the cool, foam-packed meat.

But that would be crazy!

I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get out of aisle six before my eyeballs start to fizz and sizzle from the fumes. Aisle seven: seems like a logical progression.

Aisle seven! A cavalcade of American obesity! On our left: row upon row of beautiful soft drinks, flirting with us from behind their veils of plastic and tin. On our right: salty snack foods engineered for maximum crunch potential. I feel the most affection for the also-ran soft drinks. It’s like going to see a garage band that specializes in Foghat covers.

(Introducing Michael to “Doctor Skipper”)

Michael, “Doctor Skipper.” “Doctor Skipper,” Michael. “Mountain Breeze.” “Punch.” Punch! Deliberately vague, that one. “Strawberry.” One wonders.

Gatorade. What is it? Where does it come from? Is it antibacterial? What, exactly, makes pink juice? We shall never know.

Aisle eight: the ethnic aisle. This part reminds me of the City and therefore of you. As far as I’m concerned, the presence of this aisle renders the City irrelevant. But still. I remember our stupid little culinary adventures in places like Weehawken or Jackson Heights, squeezing like the self-congratulating, masochistic liberals we were through dusty holes-in-the wall piled high with Vitarroz crackers or tamarind paste. This aisle’s—it’s like that place in Barbados we went to. Grinning natives happily refilling your drink, their hostility tucked away in a tin shack somewhere, with their poverty, far away from the tourists.

Nine, baby aisle, let’s skip this one. Obvious reasons. But give me a second here—

(She disappears and returns instantly, holding a
package of disposable diapers)

A sensible precaution.

Ah! Here we go: ten. The cosmetics! An island of big promises in an ocean of little promises. In this aisle reside the secrets of eternal beauty and unconditional love. Sometimes I get in trouble for abusing the free sample privileges. What can I say? There’s a cute college boy who works the checkouts before midnight.


The odd little hair devices—bangles, brushes, clips. I don’t imagine she uses these. Or does she? Does she still have that lesbian haircut? I suppose I’ll find out at the funeral.

Sometimes I look at all the people on the exotic black person hair products and imagine I’m in Harlem in the 1920s, dancing with Langston Hughes, Josephine Baker singing, I’m feeling Langston’s smooth brown skin, smells of sweat, rum, and pomade.

The white people hair dye. This part’s fun. A gradual rainbow of hair potential. From a distance it looks like a seamless transformation from vampire black to nutty redhead to platinum Marilyn. I love them all. When I look at them my jealousy dissipates. I want nothing more than to touch their laughing, waxy lips.

Sometimes I like to engage in a little 1-800 action.

(She takes a cell phone from her pocket and dials
the phone number on the back of a dye box.)

Have you noticed this? Every single product here comes with eleven digits of untapped potential. Every product here comes packaged—at no extra cost—with the promise of actual human contact. Such as it is.


Excuse me.

Yes, hello. I had a—a question.

If your hair dye—the, uh—the model on the package—

(She doesn’t really have a question. To Michael:)

Small talk can be difficult.

(Into phone:)

The model on the package, is she actually—has she actually used the dye?

Right. Is she—uh-hum. Uh-huh. Right. So she is actually—yes.

Is she there?

Is she there. May I speak with her?

May I speak with you?


Yes, I am—well, I—nothing, really.


Where are you?

Did you know anyone?

Good. Good.

(She starts to get choked up.)


My ex-husband. Yes. New York.

Thank you.

You too.

(She hangs up. Beat. She smiles. She pulls an
item from the shelf.)

My favorite item. The Breath Remedy Tongue Scraper! Made in the USA by U.S. DenTek Corporation, located at 307 Excellence Way, Maryville, Tennessee. Can you picture it? Born-again Christians strolling through the manicured grounds and air-conditioned skyways of hushed corporate parks. When I hold the tongue scraper, a feeling that I can only describe as patriotism wells up in me. I am so inspired by the notion that something this absurd would be profitable enough to get itself planted in every grocery store in the United States. And it is. I always check.

Patriotism, that seems to be the thing these days, doesn’t it? The flag protector spray: probably my favorite bit of nationalist hucksterism. You must just LOVE that. That must be the most FITTING fucking tribute—

I’m sorry. That was hostile.

I do my best.

Ooh. This is good up here. Close your eyes. Just trust me. Close them!

Ta-dah! The produce section! The picture of American dominance, opening like the Emerald City, like the gates of heaven itself. You can drown yourself in pomegranates, in gala apples, in Asian pears. And all that work you did, all that bitching and moaning about the United Fruit Company funding nun-rapists, or whatever—isn’t this all worth it? This plenty, this comfort.

Death squads have never been so delicious!

You were so proud, working there. CISPES. Pardon me if I can’t share your enthusiasm. I found the counterrevolutionaries as gruesome as you did, but…

Well. I guess not enough for you. Or as much as she did. Or maybe it was just her tits.

(Picks up a bunch of grapes, starts
plucking them and throwing them at him)

I hope the two of you managed to stop plenty of baby-massacres together. You fucker.

(Her heart isn’t in it. She stops.)

This was supposed to have been the our big confrontation. I’ve fantasized about this hundreds of times, smashing a watermelon over your head, force-feeding you grapes—are grapes okay to eat again?—over and over I tortured you with fruit, I buried you in cantaloupes, one time I even put garlic in your eyes— But you—having been reduced, I suppose, to crispy pork skins covered in melted office supplies, and, oh, thousands of tons of dust—

(She starts throwing grapes again)

What the fuck kind of place was that for a fucking poverty NGO anyway? You fucking asshole, you smug, do-gooder shit—poking your blond, world-saving fucking graduate student—though I guess she’s out of school now—


(She takes a breath. As she speaks, she starts
removing the diapers from the package and taping
them to herself, making a kind of diaper armor.)

I should get ready. They were just buildings. They got to us, sure, but if—if they really want to destroy us they will come here, attack us here, where we’re safe, where we store our flags and our cigarettes and our nineteen different kinds of water—our greeting cards—That would be real terror, a million planes falling into our supermarkets, paper sale signs tearing as glass windows shatter, the cheap toy machines exploding in a hail of molded plastic crap, for a split second every child’s fantasy until the child realizes what just happened, what is happening. Our landscape seared forever. Imagine how that would look to God, if you believed in God? How beautiful would that be. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! All over America. The most accurate map of us there has ever been.

(Pause. She is now covered in diapers. She looks
at the empty package.)

I guess I have to go pay for these now.

I fear the checkout. I hate to go through alone. It’s so cold and ugly, closing the deal, walking through that gauntlet of impulse purchases. There’s no cute college boy, either. Just a grumpy old Filipino woman who thinks I’m crazy. Pfft.

And those tabloids. Did you know, Michael, that it’s always you staring out at me, through the eyes of every sordid celebrity, UFO alien, smoky satanic visage. It’s you. Especially lately.

It all seems so trivial now. The jealousy, the meds, those fucking meds. Courtney and Joshua.

Since January I’ve looked at the collapsible child-seat basket on the grocery cart and been hit by an acute sense of how empty it is. That isn’t even the best part. I’m used to that. It’s that you’re dead and I’m nuts and somewhere your grad student is pushing them around a store, Courtney banging her feet against the walls of the cart, Josh standing up behind her, sticking dried cranberries in her ear. Does she yell at them? Do they even do that anymore?

I know you didn’t believe in God or heaven or any of that. Wherever you are I hope it’s banal and stupid and means absolutely nothing to you. It’s the banality of things that makes them holy.

(She exits.)


Sunday, September 10, 2006

Global Foreigners: An Anthology of Plays

Global Foreigners: An Anthology of Plays edited by Carol Martin and Saviana Stanescu, published by Seagull Press, forthcoming fall 2006. Foreigners and foreignness, immigration, exile, dislocation and home are themes that unite this anthology of plays written by award winning playwrights. The table of contents includes an Introduction by Carol Martin, Waxing West by Saviana Stanescu, Eyes of the Heart by Catherine Filloux, My Political Israeli Play by Zohar Tzur, The Black Eyed by Betty Shamieh, and America Dreaming by Chiori Miyagawa.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Job Opening for a Bilingual (Theatre) Artist

  • Position: Artistic Director
  • Organization: Big Thought
  • Contact: Laura Muniz
  • Job Location: Dallas, TX
  • Website:
  • Posting Date: 09/05/2006

Big Thought, one of the largest non-profit learning partnerships in the nation uniting children and communities through education, arts and culture, is currently seeking a skilled, energetic and inspiring Artistic Director with proven ability to provide artistic leadership. The Artistic Director will be responsible for the quality and artistic content of Big Thought programs - Young Audiences and other innovative programs targeting early childhood, high-risk teens, and families. Other job responsibilities include:

  • Recruitment and selection of residency artists
  • Development, implementation, coordination and assessment of artist programs
  • Design and implementation of professional learning programs for artists
  • Artistic administration such as coordination of artists contracts, etc.
  • Coordinate annual event showcasing artists and programs offered by Big Thought
  • Participate in organizational planning, marketing/PR, fundraising, and boardactivities as required

Qualifications include:

  • Extensive directing and artist management experience
  • Knowledge of best practices in arts education and the ability to define and implement quality art standards in programming
  • Excellent leadership, communication, and organizational skills; and anability to thrive in a collaborative creative environment
  • Strong business skills such as contract negotiation, budget management, and marketing of programs
  • Minimum of a bachelor’s degree in Fine Arts, Arts Management, Arts
  • Bilingual preferred.

To apply, send resume and salary requirements to Laura Muniz at

For more information about Big Thought, please visit our website at

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Philly Fringe & Other Labor Day Adventures

I'm 'off-the-grid' for the next several days as I head down the turnpike to catch up with friends & colleagues at the Philadelphia Live Arts Festival & Philly Fringe. This is (by far) the best fringe festival in the country in terms of style, experimentation and diversity of genres. On my list are Eye-95 re-tarred, Still Unknown, Suburban Love Songs, Roach and Every Day Above Ground. There's much more, including new productions from Headlong Dance, Pig Iron Theater Company, a new piece by Geoff Sobelle & Trey Lyford (...all wear bowlers), and the always amazing Rha Goddess. Check it out - its worth the trek and you know the cheesesteaks are amazin' ...

-Tlaloc Rivas

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Los Angeles Redcat Meeting - August 26

Photos by Duca K. Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Welcome to the NoPassport blog

The NoPassport Blog

This is the open-source blog for No Passport announcements, or any public statement that a No Passport participant would like to make outside of the No Passport list.

NoPassport was originally founded in 2002 by Caridad Svich as a virtual and real-live word-song band. Its initial mission was dedicated to discovering new ways of listening to and writing language for performance, crossing artistic disciplines and making music. It performed in various discreet configurations (with initial members Sheila Callaghan, Jorge Corti~nas, Erik Ehn, Christine Evans, Hayley Finn, Michael Gladis, Lisa D'Amour, Sarah Ruhl and Gary Winter) at venues in New York, Providence and Minneapolis, and some of the texts created by the first configuration are archived at

NoPassport is still a collective devoted to investigating news ways of making text and performance. However, it has now expanded its vision to devote itself to the fostering of the hemispheric spirit in US theatre with an emphasis on US Latina/o & Latin American writing.

NoPassport is a virtual and live forum for the exchange of ideas and dreams, a 'place' to strategize opportunities for our work, a group of artists and artist advocates, a jam session, a live network between theatres and the academy, and a mobile band of playwrights, directors, actors, producers and musicians. We are a pan-american theatre coalition devoted to change in the way we do things, the way things have been done, and dreaming big solid active dreams about where we can go.

NOPE are:


Adyanthaya, Aravind Enrique

Alfaro, Luis

Alvarado, Mando

Alvarez, Lizzet

Araiza, J. Ed

Arlin, Marcy

Avila, Elaine


Bagatourian, Bianca

Banks, Daniel

Barrera, Marisela

Bauman, Brian

Bilodeau, Chantal

Bofill, Sylvia

Borja, Paulina

Bracho, Ricardo

Brevoort, Deb


Cabranes-Grant, Leo

Cacheiro, Jorge

Callaghan, Sheila

Carrillo, Juliette

Carlson, Marvin

Castaneda, Jaime

Ceniceroz, Jonathan

Chaiken, Stacie

Chen, Michelle

Chibas, Marissa

Cirino, Peter

Cram, Cusi

Croot, Cynthia

Cruz, Evelyn

Cruz, Migdalia


D'Amour, Lisa

Davis, Clinton Turner

Davis, Eisa

Davis, Sheila Kay

deAcha, Rafael

de Benavidez, Mica Garcia

deBessonet, Lear

Delgado, Maria

Diaz, Dolores

Diaz, Kristoffer

Dymond, Andrea


Ehn, Erik

Escamilla, Michael Ray

Evans, Christine


Farias, Joann

Fernandez, Evelina

Filloux, Catherine

Finn, Hayley

Frace, Jeffrey


Garcia-Romero, Anne

Gladis, Michael

Gandrow, Kristen

Garces, Michael John

Garcia, Tony

Garcia-Crow, Amparo

Gener, Randy

Gilbert, Vanessa

Gil-Sheridan, Peter

Godinez, Henry

Goodwin, Idris

Gomez, Magdalena

Gonzalez, Jose Cruz

Gonzalez, Jose

Grote, Jason


Ham, Christina

Hentschker, Frank

Hsieh, Kathy

Hudes, Quiara Alegria

Huerta, Jorge


Iizuka, Naomi


Jaquez, Daniel

Jesurun, John

Johnson-Chase, Michael

Joffrey, Lanna

Jones, Daniel Alexander


Kent, Madelyn

Knezevic, Duca

Koning-Martinez, Tessa

Kuebler, John

Krich, Gretchen


Lathem, Laurie

Lee, Young Jean

Levitow, Roberta

Loomer, Lisa

Lopez, Josefina

Louise-Miller, Marie

Lucas, Ashley

Lynn, Kirk


Machado, Eduardo

Mankin, Nina

Mans, Lorenzo

Manzor, Lillian

Marrero, Teresa

Margraff, Ruth

Martinez, Ricky J.

Martinez, Rogelio

Mayer, Oliver

Meehan, Charlotte

Mischler, Adriene

Miyagawa, Chiori

Moore, Christi

Moreno, Rene

Moreno-Penson, Desi

Morales, Alejandro

Mueller, Amy

Murillo, Carlos

Morton, Carlos


Nerricio, Bill

Nielsen, Ken

Novick, Rebecca

Nutt, Carrie Louise


Orlandersmith, Dael

Orlando, Dominic

Orta, Marisela Treviño

Ortega, Jennifer


Page, Priscilla

Palmer, Tanya

Parshall, Stacey

Paz, Coya

Pearl, Katie

Philippou, Nick

Pippa, Cristina

Polgar, Michelle

Portes, Lisa

Pottlitzer, Joanne

Power, Jade


Reyes, Jesus

Reyes, Joann

Rivas, Tlaloc

Rivera, Carmen

Rivera, Jon Lawrence

Rivera, Jose

Rodriguez, Diane

Romero, Elaine

Rossini, Jon

Reuler, Jack


Sanchez, Eddie

Sanchez, Olga

Sanchez, KJ

Sanchez, Monica

Sandoval, Alberto

Sanes, Camillia

Santiero, Luis

Saivetz, Debbie


Saracho, Tanya

Sawyer, Jocelyn

Schira, Roger

Schlesinger, Lisa

Schwartz, Jenny

Slee, Paul

Smith, Gretchen

Smith, John P.

Solano, Bernardo

Somara, Eugenia

Solis, Octavio

Somara, Eugenia

Sun, Nilaja

Stanescu, Saviana

Sternad, Jennifer

Stowe, Brook

Sunde, Sarah Cameron

Swanson, Colin Denby


Taylor, Dominic

Teyolia, Marla

Thome, Andrea

Tirado, Candido

Torres, Eddie

Tuan, Alice


Urueta, Enrique

Underiner, Tamara


Valencia, Rita

Varea, Roberto

Versenyi, Adam

Vodihn, Tara


Weisman, Wendy

West, Campbell

Winter, Gary


Yannacañedo, Natasha


Zacarias, Karen

Zayas. Jose

Back Online

The No Passport blog was temporarily deleted but is now back. The lost posts will be replaced soon.