The Politics of Performance 🇫🇷

Happy Friday 👋🏼 I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the space between art and ideology.

About how theater isn’t just a form of storytelling—but a site of negotiation. Between what we believe and what we perform. Between who funds the work and who makes it.

And this week, that tension broke the fourth wall.

A group of Les Misérables cast members have chosen to sit out a performance at The Kennedy Center this June, scheduled during a high-profile fundraiser for President Trump. It’s a bold act—and one that’s sparked backlash, protest, and a much larger conversation about the politics of performance.

So this week, we’re looking at what this moment reveals. About the state of our institutions, the systems that shape what we see onstage, and the role of theater in our culture right now.

Let’s go.

The Cast’s Conundrum

On June 11, Les Misérables is scheduled to perform at the Kennedy Center. But at least a dozen cast members won’t be stepping onstage.

They’re not injured. They’re not sick.
They’re refusing to perform for President Donald Trump

That night’s performance is a centerpiece of Trump’s fundraising efforts for the Kennedy Center, which is seeking an unprecedented $257 million in federal funding for repairs and expenses (even as the administration proposes eliminating the NEA and other cultural agencies??)

But for the Les Mis cast, this isn’t just about one performance or one political figure. It’s about navigating impossible tensions between art, commerce, personal values, and professional obligation.

The boycotting performers were reportedly given the option to abstain, specifically due to Trump’s attendance and the broader political climate. Some of fhose who will perform plan to donate their June 11 salaries to charity, while a separate cabaret is being organized to support Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS—turning what could feel like complicity into something more generative.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these performers and the impossible position they’re in. Their choices are deeply personal. Deeply political. And totally impossible to untangle.

The Revolutionary Irony

Of course, the symbolism here isn’t subtle. If this were a musical, the metaphor would feel too on-the-nose. But that’s the thing about theater—it tends to mirror the world whether it means to or not.

Because Les Mis has never not been political. It’s a story about justice, inequality, and the human cost of systemic power. And now, the act of performing it has become just as charged as the story itself.

The whole thing reads like fan fiction: a show about standing up to corruption becomes the backdrop for standing up to corruption.

But the tension onstage is only part of the story.

Power Play

While the actors are facing tough choices in the wings, the Kennedy Center itself has undergone a transformation—and not just in tone. In structure. In leadership. In who gets to decide what the arts are for.

Since Trump’s takeover, the Kennedy Center board has been fully replaced. Its programming has shifted. LGBTQ+ events have been canceled. And at the helm is Richard Grenell, a Trump appointee who called the boycotting actors “vapid and intolerant” and suggested they be blacklisted.

“Any performer who isn’t professional enough to perform for patrons of all backgrounds, regardless of political affiliation, won’t be welcomed,” he said.

It’s not just a jab. It’s a threat.

Critics have likened the rhetoric to the Hollywood blacklist era—but now it’s playing out in real time, online, and out loud. And Les Mis isn’t alone: more than two dozen events have been canceled since Trump stepped in, including a planned engagement of Hamilton in 2026.

This isn’t just about who’s on stage. It’s about who’s pulling the strings.

The Invisible Scaffolding

In theater, we love to talk about values.

Land acknowledgements. Inclusive casting. Audience accessibility. There’s lots conversations about the kinds of stories we tell, and who gets to tell them.

But we rarely talk about the money.

We don’t always know who our investors are. Or what ideologies are attached to the corporations that employ our funders. We just know the show needs to be funded.

The truth is that our work doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
It’s held up by systems we don’t always see.
And sometimes the art is doing the work.
But sometimes it’s just dressing up the scaffolding.

So should we refuse money from people whose politics clash with our art? Should we stay offstage when we know the audience includes people actively working against our rights? Should we draw lines—or keep performing and hope the message lands anyway?

I don’t have answers to those questions. But I do think they matter. And I think we should talk about it more.

The Final Act

Theater has always been political.

The Greeks knew it—using amphitheaters as public forums for civic debate.
Shakespeare knew it—hiding critiques of monarchy in metaphor and soliloquy.
Brecht knew it—tearing down the fourth wall to demand action from his audience.

Even here in the U.S., we’ve seen the stage rise to the occasion. The Federal Theatre Project in the 1930s staged bold, progressive work until Congress shut it down for being “too political.” Angels in America dared to speak truth during a plague of silence. Hamilton reframed a founding myth in the voice of the excluded.

So no—what’s happening with Les Mis isn’t new. But it is revealing.

Because the conflict isn’t just in the story.
It’s in the institution. The contract. The audience. The paycheck.
It’s in the choice to perform—or not perform—when the space itself feels compromised.

So when the curtain rises on June 11, it won’t just be a show. It’ll be a cultural Rorschach test. Some will see a performance. Others will see a protest. Some will hear revolution in the music. Others will notice who’s not singing at all.

Theater, at it’s best, can confront, shapes, and disrupt culture.

It doesn’t just reflect who we are.
It reflects who we’re becoming.