I was curious to hear what was so interesting about prisoners putting together a Hamlet play. Of course it requires certain skills, but there had to be more to it than mere applauses to a blossoming group of criminal actors. It was interesting to hear about the paradigms within prison and the social pressures the actors went through while auditioning, it even made me proud to hear that some prisoners had to work hard and make sacrifices in order to accomplish the best performance they could; at least they were not wandering around.
However, what really grasped my attention was the question asked by the narrator nearly half-way through the podcast, which said something like "How would a Hamlet play, one about a character's indecisive behavior about committing a crime because of the consequences he might face, be perceived and performed by a group of convicts who are currently suffering from those consequences?". This, to me, was the most basic yet fascinating question about the scenario.
I started listening very gingerly to the outcome of this question and, to my surprise, I started feeling slightly sorry for the prisoners. I mean, here they were, putting together a beautiful play while attempting to comprehend what Shakespeare tried to deliver through his lines, all within four enclosed walls. Once they dissolved the dialogues, not only did they understand the message but also they were the message; these men were the men who Hamlet would have turned into had it not been for Shakespeare's tragic ending. The character's lines touched these men on a whole different level, one we can not even hope to comprehend. The inmate playing the ghost even felt it was the man he had killed who talked to him through this ghost. That, though disturbing, is incredibly touching. On the prisoners' side, it shows that the men are aware of what they did and felt attached to it. On the play's side, it demonstrates how timeless Shakespeare is. Just like the narrator said, even though the scenario is not literally relatable to, the theme and the struggle of the different characters is fit for all in an ageless way.
As I continued to listen, I started liking the prisoners. I would have even forgotten they were criminals had the narrator not constantly reminded us of it. I felt the same way the narrator did once he found out about the prisoner's records; betrayed, almost to a point of denial. How could they seem so human, how could I have laughed at their comments? They had killed a man, maybe two. And now I was feeling sorry for them. Sorry that they had to perform in jail, sorry that they could not get decent props, even sorry about them not being able to perform for a bigger audience or about them not having a longer after-party. All this simply because I had heard them talk about their intimate connection to a character which I had also read about and had felt no relation to.
All this reminded me of an inner struggle I have suffered from in the last decade. My sister and I were victims of a terrorist attack from which we fortunately survived without a scratch but in which we could have just as well died. In recent months, the Colombian government has been carrying out peace dialogues with the FARC, the authors of the attack my sister and I, along with hundreds of other civilians, suffered from years ago. The dialogues have not yet reached a conclusion but it appears to be that, regardless of the verdict, the FARC will leave with amnesty and be allowed to freely re-integrate into society. That, to me, is unbearable. I know it is the only possible solution at the moment and I know it will end a war in which thousands of innocent people have died, but the thought of me shopping for groceries beside one of the men responsible for the explosion I survived from is simply unacceptable. This is because I have not been able to forgive them. Meanwhile, after listening to an hour-long podcast about criminals who act, I was able to feel pity for them and, in a way, accept them. I am incapable of feeling the same way towards FARC members. I am incapable of realizing that they are human and that they perhaps regret many of the things they have done, just like the actors in the podcast.
Listening to the way in which the prisoners attempt to make something new out of their lives by acting and how they seem more human than what the news may portray them to be, I feel encouraged to find it in my heart to forgive and forget. Not that I approve of what any of these men did, or that I would like to sit down and have lunch with them. But I have reached a point where I at least acknowledge that they are human too and that they feel regret. Maybe some day I will be able to forgive, or at least restore humanity back to, the FARC too.
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