# data[].attributes.headline
O-1 Visas: A Primer for International Artists (video)

# data[].attributes.subject
O-1 Visas: A Primer for International Artists (video)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
O-1 Visas: A Primer for International Artists

# data[].attributes.headline
Working with International Artists: A primer for non-profit organizations (video)

# data[].attributes.subject
Working with International Artists: A primer for non-profit organizations (video)

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Working with International Artists: A primer for non-profit organizations

# data[].attributes.headline
A FUNDRAISER FOR IMMIGRANT THEATER ARTISTS FINANCIALLY IMPACTED BY COVID-19

# data[].attributes.subject
A FUNDRAISER FOR IMMIGRANT THEATER ARTISTS FINANCIALLY IMPACTED BY COVID-19

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Confronted with the lack of resources for low-income immigrant theater artists,
this fundraiser was started to give immediate relief to those in need.
DONATE NOW.
We are a group of scenic, costume, lighting, sound, projection designers, stage managers, dramaturges, prop artisans, technical directors, directors, actors for theater.
Most of us work under an O-1B artist visa or are in the midst of their OPT which allows us to work legally in the US. Unfortunately, applying for unemployment benefits poses risks for us.
To learn more about this matter, please visit HERE
On top of that, O visa holders are issued their visas to allow them to do specific work. Meaning, we cannot legally seek work outside of the field (theater, design, lighting, etc) we have obtained our visa for.
Most of our theatrical performances this year have been postponed or simply cancelled with no concrete schedule of when theaters will reopen.
Click HERE to read about us on Lighting and Sound America.

With the incredible support of our dear theater community, friends and loved ones, our initial GoFundMe campaign has been a huge success. We have been able to distribute $500 funds to over 50 immigrant theater artists. Visit our Playbill feature. Our new Playbill feature (update 7/1/2020)

But with no plan for theaters to reopen, we are still in dire need of financial support.

Please consider a monthly donation to the See Lighting Foundation.
Your contribution will directly fund one of our 60 artists.
You can visit their work on our The Artists page

Our goal is to give $500 grants to all of our 60 artists on a monthly basis for the next 6 months.

We need your help.

With Love and Solidarity,
Immigrant Theater Artists

THANK YOU BROADWAY CARES FOR YOUR 30K DONATION!!!
(AUGUST,2020)

OUR FISCAL SPONSOR IS ARS NOVA
PLEASE GET IN TOUCH WITH US WHEN CONSIDERING A LARGE DONATION

-Important Announcement-
(Updated December 11th, 2020)

When we started our monthly donation campaign, the goal was to give $500 grants to 60 artists until the end of 2020. We have yet to hit our goal but we will be stopping all monthly donations at the end of this month to keep our word.

There is so much to be thankful for. Since June, we have received 1049 donations through our website totaling in $69,545.85 AND $30,000 from Broadway Cares. The support we have received is phenomenal and we cannot thank you enough. Your money has directly impacted the lives of immigrant theater artists and we have made our books public to prove that.

It is hard to ask for more help, but we still need it.

We still need over $80,000 to reach our initial goal of 180K . Please consider signing up for a monthly donation again through our website. We also can now receive donations through venmo! @cha-see (The SLF bank account is connected through Cha's personal venmo account so don't worry, it will go to SLF directly)

Please help us spread the word.

In solidarity

Immigrant Theater Artistis

Donate Monthly
Help an Immigrant Theater Artist
"All of us have invested so much into our careers here. None of us want to lose our progress and go home. Yes, theaters are closed for now, but we want to be here when they open"
British-Egyptian Costume Designer, Dina Abd-El-Aziz

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Confronted with the lack of resources for low-income immigrant theater artists, this fundraiser was started to give immediate relief to those in need. DONATE NOW. We are a group of scenic, costume, lighting, sound, projection designers, stage managers, dramaturges, prop artisans, technical directors, directors, actors for theater.

# data[].attributes.headline
Global Forms Theatre Festival: June 1st - June 9th 2021 

# data[].attributes.subject
Global Forms Theatre Festival: June 1st - June 9th 2021 

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Global Forms Theater Festival 2021 | NYTS

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Rattlestick Playwrights Theater & New York Theatre Salon present the 2021 Global Forms Theater Festival from June 1-9th.

# data[].attributes.headline
Article: "Big win for immigrant performers as Actors' Equity removes green card restrictions"

# data[].attributes.subject
Article: "Big win for immigrant performers as Actors' Equity removes green card restrictions"

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
The change will mean that immigrant performers will be able to join the union and no longer be turned away from union productions for not having a green card or not being a citizen. They will also be afforded the same benefits as performers with U.S. citizenship. In the past, even if a performer had valid work visas such as the O1, they would still be denied from being cast in Broadway productions.

Many performers saw this policy as discriminatory towards immigrant performers.

"This is huge for the immigrant artist community as we have dealt with AEA's discrimination for years," a source told me.

While the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), as directed by Congress, sets the visa requirements for immigrant performers who want to work in the United States, AEA's reasoning for their previous policy is unclear - especially given that SAG-AFTRA doesn't appear to have any restrictions. But the change will certainly make waves for performers who were turned away no matter how many EMC points they had or cast in a Broadway show.

After the announcement was made, many celebrated the change on social media.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Big win for immigrant performers as Actors' Equity removes green card restrictions - OnStage Blog

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
"Actors' Equity has removed a longstanding policy that prevented immigrant performers from working on union productions without a green ard of U.S. citizenship. Actress Jessica Wu spearheaded the change which is being described as 'momentous' by many in the community."

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Recognized in The New York Times as a " Super Lawyer" in the fields of Entertainment, Intellectual Property, and Artist Immigration, Brian is a partner in the performing arts and entertainment firm of Goldstein and Guilliams PLLC.

Brian has over 20 years' experience providing legal, arts management, consulting services and strategic support to artists and arts organizations throughout the field of arts and entertainment on issues such as visas and touring for foreign artists; rights and licensing; profit and non-profit organization and management; project management; negotiations and representation; career development; and the general practices and trends of the arts and entertainment industry.

Currently, Brian is a member of the Adjunct Faculty of The New School of the Performing Arts in New York City, where he teaches "Culture and Creative Industries." In addition to serving on the Adjunct Faculty in the Masters in Arts Management program at George Mason University, Brian has lectured and taught classes at New York University, the Julliard School, the Mannes School of Music, Brooklyn College, Marlboro College, and for the Kennedy Center Arts Management Fellowship Program, as well as served on panels and presented seminars at arts conferences throughout the world.

Brian received a B.A. (With Distinction and Recognition) in English and Theatre from George Mason University and his J.D. from American University. He also attended Oxford University (St. Peters College) where he studied medieval history and literature. Brian was also one of the founders and Artistic Director of Lord Foppington & Company, an award-winning theatrical production company dedicated to the performance of period and period-themed comedies.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Global Gab : The Ins and Outs of Immigrant Artist Visas - Rattlestick Playwrights Theater

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
January 2021 - it can only go uphill from here! Global Gab is excited to kickstart the new year by equipping everyone with the ins and outs of the different types of artist visas available in the United States. We understand the process of a visa application can be really intimidating and tedious.

# data[].attributes.headline
Article: "Stop asking immigrants to justify their presence"

# data[].attributes.subject
Article: "Stop asking immigrants to justify their presence"

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
A few weeks ago, while applying for a prestigious playwriting residency, I was asked to check a box that said "I'm a US Citizen or have been granted a permanent work authorization from USCIS." Well, I am not, and I have not. I am, however, a legal immigrant on a non-resident visa that does allow me to work unrestricted in my field in the US, not to mention an award-winning writer who just days earlier had been selected as a finalist for a different program run by the same institution. But that didn't matter. As far as this residency was concerned, if I didn't have an American passport or a green card, I wasn't allowed to apply. No further questions. Or rather, one further question: "what are you doing in this country?"I did apply. Maybe it was wrong to lie, but I did it because I hope to get to the final round and be interviewed and be able to tell someone face to face that I deserve to be considered as much as any other candidate. That my path to get to that interview has been arduous, and I while I'm not angry at them, I am tired. The other day, while undergoing compassion training for parent-artists at the theater I work for, the coach said "when my baby is crying in public, I am more uncomfortable than anyone else, because it's my child, it's my responsibility. In that moment, I need to take care of my child - don't make me take care of you as well." I am tired because, like a parent with a crying toddler, my visa situation demands an exhausting amount of energy, and yet I am constantly forced to take care of other people as well, to assuage their fears about immigrants, to correct their misconceptions about how visas work, to answer, again and again, the same question: what are you doing here? I don't quite know anymore. All I know is I am tired, and if I, a white man with enough privilege to still be in this country legally, am tired, can you imagine how tired every other immigrant is? The ones who don't have a college degree? The ones who didn't come by plane? The ones who didn't cross the border chasing some dream, but fleeing for their lives?

It's a question I've grown used to answering. It's asked every time I come back from the holidays, by an immigration agent that betrays no emotion as they evaluate whether to let me back in. It's been asked every time I've applied for a visa, by an interviewer that won't look at me but does type everything I say into a computer that will decide my fate. It's been asked, in some shape or form, by every single person I've met here- friends, colleagues, mentors- when they hear my accent and try to wrap their heads around a reality that, as citizens of a country that arguably rules the modern world, they've never had to consider. It's a question I've grown used to answering, and it makes me more nervous every time I answer it. What am I doing here?

I grew up in Argentina, and while a lot of my childhood was spent taking in the local culture, the presence of the United States in my life was overpowering and impossible to ignore. American music whose lyrics I couldn't understand and yet still hummed along to, American movies I had to watch with subtitles because the Spanish dubbing sounded silly, American toys in American settings and special American culture tie-ins (a beautiful Lego X-Wing was one of my most prized possessions). American fashion sold by American celebrities that turned us into typical American boys and girls. American Christmas ornaments in a country where the holidays happen during the summer and fake snow is required to recreate a scenario completely alien to us. American hopes and dreams being fed to me before I was old enough to understand that a lot of the time, they didn't make any sense to our Argentinian lives. Before I was old enough to understand that, like the characters in Jordan Peele's Us, the same hopes and dreams that made these faraway American people so real to us didn't make us in any way real to them.

Decades later, I finally decided to take a trip to Utopia. I discovered that, unlike other countries I'd visited, I couldn't go in without a visa. I went to the embassy. I had to pay to get in. Not unexpected - the movies had already indoctrinated me in the importance of money in American culture. My cell phone wasn't allowed in, I had to leave it outside with someone. This was unexpected - Americans were the ones who popularized cell phone obsession, and now they were telling me I couldn't have one if I wanted to visit their country? I checked it, and proceeded to get in a line I ended up waiting in for three hours, one with many checkpoints, at which I would be addressed with increasing severity ("Over there, Sir! I said THERE! Do not approach before you're called. Do NOT step over the line. Do NOT lean over the counter! SIR, STAND BACK!). I talked to an agent who asked seemingly innocuous questions but made it very clear that there were wrong answers, and my visa depended on avoiding them. I wanted to visit America, spend money there, wasn't that a good thing? Why was this all so aggressive? The answer is that the whole process is meant to discourage people from migrating to the country, and visas will be denied to anyone who shows signs of intending to do so. This struck me as VERY odd: I had spent my entire life being told America was the BEST country in the world. I always considered it an invitation - why else would a country advertise itself so fervently, if it didn't want people to buy into the message?

Landing in New York, it became very clear why: the US is like an actor on a stage, unable to see the audience beyond the lights. It has come to believe that only itself exists. Walking around Times Square, I felt a certain dread: I knew these brands. I had seen those celebrities. I had heard those songs. But unlike back home, they weren't mixed in with local ones. They weren't part of the culture, they were the culture. Americans consume themselves. The movies don't show other countries unless American characters are visiting them. The radio doesn't play music in other languages unless American singers are featured singing English verses. As far as the average American is concerned, nothing exists outside the confines of America. So, yes, the notion that someone would come in from the outside world and take up space is unthinkable. Unfair. Unacceptable. It's not weighed against the space that America takes up in the rest of the world, because as far as the average American is concerned, there is no rest of the world. There is just America.

So what am I doing here? What most immigrants are - studying, working, pursuing happiness. Even though tuition at most US universities is more expensive for international students (about twice as high), while the education they receive is the same as their American classmates. Even though most international students are not eligible for financial aid or loans. Even though, after a year of begging, I finally got an MFA program to fund me, and realized that I still couldn't come, because I wasn't able to obtain a visa without proving that I could pay for all my living expenses during the full duration of the program without working in the US. Even though, after using my parents savings to prove it (and hoping to God I found work before depriving them of a retirement), I arrived and found that, while my student visa allowed me to work on campus, most places wouldn't hire me, because me being an international student, they would not receive any federal aid for employing me - I cost "twice as much" as an American student. Even though, after finally getting a job and working through the two years of my program while most of my classmates focused solely on their studies, I graduated and hoped to use my student visa's Optical Practical Training, only to be turned away by most employers, who wanted a candidate who "can stay at the company for more than a year" - never mind the fact that by hiring me, they might be giving me a better chance of being able to stay longer than a year. Even though, after I did find a job, and pursued my writing, and made a home for myself, I was told I needed to pay an exorbitant amount of money to get my artist's visa (which is not a green card, but would allow me to stay and pursue my projects on a temporary, renewable basis). Even though, after paying it and going through an excruciating process to prove I deserve to be here, I still come across opportunities that tell me that, unless "I'm a US Citizen or have been granted a permanent work authorization from USCIS," I cannot apply.

Stop asking immigrants to justify their presence. We're here because you called us here. You took up space on our movie screens and our malls and bodies and you told us there was nothing more we could hope for than to be a part of America. We're here because you interfered in our governments and destabilized our economies to protect your interests, and now our countries are hurting. We're here for the same reason you are. American citizenship is a myth, an arbitrary line created over a stolen land to defend the interests of a few at the expense of the many. Anyone who has crossed that line is bound to be conflicted, scared, TIRED. So don't make them take care of you. Don't alienate them. Don't make them feel like their visa status is a nuisance to everyone around them.

I am so terribly grateful to every person who made me feel welcome, who took care of me - the teacher who fought for my scholarship, the administrator who hired me at extra cost to work in their school, the producing director who decided to bring me on their team even though I might not be able to stay "for more than a year," the Off-Broadway theater that reached out when they found out about my visa status and asked how they could help me stay, every single person who signed a visa letter for my application. They make me feel less tired. They make me feel like happiness is not dependent on being in this land, but on finding people who'll receive you. That Utopia is not a place, but a feeling - the feeling of home.

LarkTheatre

Subscribe!

Never miss a story from The Lark's blog by signing up for The Lark's mailing list and getting content straight to your inbox!

Support The Lark!

We can't produce our high-quality content or support our playwrights without your help.
Donate Now

Stop asking immigrants to justify their presence. We're here because you called us here. You took up space on our movie screens and our malls and bodies and you told us there was nothing more we could hope for than to be a part of America.

About the Author

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Stop asking immigrants to justify their presence | The Lark

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
A few weeks ago, while applying for a prestigious playwriting residency, I was asked to check a box that said "I'm a US Citizen or have been granted a permanent work authorization from USCIS." Well, I am not, and I ...

# data[].attributes.headline
Article: "Dear American Theatre: Don’t Forget About Immigrant Artists"

# data[].attributes.subject
Article: "Dear American Theatre: Don’t Forget About Immigrant Artists"

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Rio De Janeiro, Dec. 28, 2018. I'm standing in line at the U.S. consulate, several knots in my stomach, as I watch the person in front of me answer the agent's questions through the glass that separates them. I hold in my hands a transparent folder containing my passport, a printed receipt for the fee I paid for the privilege to be here, and a printed copy of my case, containing evidence of my success as a writer in America. It is all I was allowed to bring; my cellphone is in a locker down the street, in the care of a vendor who I hope doesn't decide the 20 Brazilian reais I paid him are not enough to convince him not to pawn my phone. Phones are not allowed in the consulate. Nothing to pass the time except a book, which I tried and failed to read earlier because I was too nervous to focus.

I don't know why I'm here. Other times I have asked for a U.S. visa - first as a tourist, then as a student - I understood the necessity, if not the strictness, of the process. I stood in line, sometimes for hours, praying for a sympathetic agent who wouldn't think I was trying to immigrate illegally, who would appreciate all the effort and money it takes to even find yourself on the other side of that glass, answering invasive questions about your finances, your ties to your home country, your hopes and dreams quantified in dollar signs and calendar dates. But that's what it took, and I got it. Following the beckoning light that had shone through Hollywood movies and pop songs since my early childhood in Argentina and my teenage and early adult years in Brazil, I too was chasing the American dream. The sternness of the process took me by surprise, but it still seemed like a fair price to pay.

Setting foot in New York for the first time was a transformative experience, it being a city full of transplants just like me. As someone who became a migrant so early in life (I was 12 when my family moved to Brazil), I have always struggled to relate to those who have strong ties to their birthplaces. I am an immigrant descendent of immigrants, a wanderer from a family of wanderers, people who chased ambitions and brighter futures undeterred by borders. Enduring officials at the consulate who yelled at me for standing in the wrong place or getting too close to the glass seemed worth it if it meant living in the city that I now call my home.

But this time, it doesn't make sense. I already spent thousands of dollars, begged so many people for recommendation letters and job offers, and pored through every personal accomplishment I could think of to prove to the U.S. government that I am an "Alien of Extraordinary Ability" (the name of the O-1 visa I am here under). Those extraordinary abilities, by the way, do not include me convincing the department of the MFA program I came here for to give me a full scholarship (in spite of the fact that tuition can often be twice as a high for international students, and most are not eligible for financial aid or loans ). Also not considered an extraordinary ability was me somehow managing to pay for food and rent with an on-campus job, the only kind that my student visa would allow. Nor was the fact that I graduated with a departmental award in excellence while working throughout the entire program, when most of my classmates had the luxury of focusing solely on their writing. None of that was extraordinary in the eyes of the law; what I needed to prove was that, after graduation, in the sole extra year that my student visa allowed me to stay, I achieved sustained national or international recognition in my field.

If you're laughing, I get it . A recently graduated writer achieving sustained national recognition in just one year, in a crowded industry that so often relies on connections instead of talent to promote and elevate? I, however, did not have time to laugh. All I did was write and submit and apply and hope that at the end of that year, I could prove that, yes, I was extraordinary; that regardless of the uneven playing field, I had surpassed my classmates and demonstrated the extraordinary-ness that was expected of an immigrant in order for me to stay. And I did. I got a green form in the mail that informed me that I had been approved for the maximum stay (three years) to develop my craft.

My lawyer informed me that while my situation in the U.S. was normal, should I choose to travel outside of the country (for example, to see my family in Brazil for the holidays, as I do every year), I would not be allowed back in unless the visa made it out of that green form and onto my passport. This didn't worry me initially, until she explained that I couldn't do it here; I needed to leave the U.S. and be subjected to a new interview in an American consulate abroad, where the agent would have the power of denying me a visa, and therefore entry into the U.S. This didn't make sense to me. I had already proven myself. Why the double take?

So here I am, standing in line, trembling as I hold my folder, looking at the American consular official and hoping she won't go too hard on me. When it's finally my turn, I step up to the booth, and address her in English even though she gave me the option to speak Portuguese (which would still not be my mother tongue), in a pathetic effort to show her I belong. I am prepared to answer all her questions; the lawyer put me through a sort of cross-examination where she poked holes in my case and I explained as best as I can that I am, indeed, extraordinary. But the agent's first question is whether I can show her my visa approval, which I do, slipping the green paper under the glass. She looks at it and then back at me: "This is expired." What? It can't be, I just got it! She passes it back to me and I dissociate, almost sure I'm in a nightmare: I brought the wrong approval. They look alike, and somehow I grabbed the one that allowed me to stay a year past graduation. The new one is still in my apartment back in Brooklyn.

I can't believe it. I pull at my hair, a cartoon character conveying his desperation. The agent softens a bit and tells me it's not a problem; once I grab the right one, pay a new fee, and schedule a new appointment, I can try again. She slips me a letter of denial and I'm out, dumbfounded. I can't go back to the U.S. without a visa. But the piece of paper that will allow me to get a visa is in the U.S.

As I walk back to retrieve my phone, which is thankfully still there, I struggle to believe it. I did everything right, I put in all the work, I begged teachers and agents and artistic directors and producers, and it's all undone by a stupid mistake. If I had paid more attention, this wouldn't have happened. It's over, and there's no one to blame but me.

Then I remember I have a scan of the approval on my phone, because it seemed too important a letter-it had too much power over my life to exist solely on paper. I find it and email it to the consulate. I go back to the line even though I no longer have an appointment and beg (I'm used to it by now) the guard to let me in, telling him I have the document that I didn't have before. By now the place is empty, everyone's gone to lunch (eating at one's desk is considered a travesty in Brazil, a distaste with which I agree). But I beg the receptionist to find someone still on duty and ask them to check their email. An agent tells me they got my message, but it needs analysis. I beg again, and she tells me that if I pay another fee and leave my passport with them, they'll consider it. They'll mail me back my passport, with or without a visa, in a couple of days. They'll keep the fee regardless of the outcome.

It's now 2020. That visa did find its way to my passport, but it's a year away from expiring. In a couple of months, I'll start the whole thing again -s pending thousands of dollars on lawyers and fees, begging for letters of recommendations and job offers, taking another trip to the consulate if I want to visit my family (that is, if and when the that currently prevents me from reentering the country if I go to Brazil is lifted). That this is happening during a pandemic that has canceled or delayed most of my accomplishments this year-planned residencies, readings, even potential productions- makes me very nervous. Can I still be considered extraordinary? I certainly don't have the option to be ordinary; should I lose my current job, my visa does not allow me to work outside my field, and applying for unemployment benefits could jeopardize my status and my chances of renewing it.

As I write this, theatre is undergoing all sorts of changes. Changes in programming, changes in leadership, changes in work culture. Good changes, adapting to new realities and correcting long-standing inequities. But I still see development opportunities declaring that eligibility is restricted to U.S. citizens and permanent residents (green card holders), regardless of the fact that, though I am neither, I'm allowed to receive them under the terms of my visa. I still see major awards shutting out those not born in the U.S., without considering their contribution to the field. I still see commissions and fellowships, the kind that could help me prove I'm extraordinary, going to the same chosen few. I don't resent the artists; God knows the labor they had to put in to even get to a place where their work would be considered. But I cannot help but feel bitter about an industry that trades so heavily in known quantities and fears outsiders. The same industry that has no qualms about exporting its stories to those same outsiders if they stay in their home countries, selling them an irresistible vision of this place.

Yearn, but don't come. Come, but don't stay. Stay, but don't take up space.

It had long been a dream of mine to correct this paradox, to create a radically welcoming space for immigrants at the company that currently employs me, the Playwrights Realm, in the vein of what we did for parents and caretakers . Earlier this year, my boss, Roberta Pereira, an immigrant herself, called me excitedly: "I think I figured out how to make it work." She was talking about the International Theatermakers Award, a new Realm program that will cover legal fees (again, thousands of dollars) for three artists applying for an O-1 "Extraordinary Ability" visa. I am, due to conflict of interest, not eligible, but I'm incredibly proud to work at a place that's running this kind of initiative. It gives me hope. Like when I found out the See Lighting Foundation is fundraising for out-of-work international artists . Or the Movement Theater Company is handing out commissions for international designers and directors, who, even more than writers, find themselves with no outlet for their work right now. My bitterness subsides, and I remember why I came, and I dare to dream of something new.

We might no longer be in the news like we were in the last election. We might have seen several avenues of entering and remaining in the U.S. be curtailed or eliminated altogether . But immigrants are still here. And we need your help.

Please, don't forget about us. We don't have the option of forgetting about you.
Francisco Mendoza (he/him) is an Argentinian writer currently living in Brooklyn after spending several years in Brazil. His work has been developed and presented at the Lark, the New Group, Northern Stage, and San Diego Rep, among others. He's a MacDowell Fellow and his play Patriarch is slated for next year's Great Plains Theatre Conference. He has taught at the New School, ART/New York, the New Group, and the 24 Hour Plays. notrealmendoza.com

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
Dear American Theatre: Don't Forget About Immigrant Artists

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Rio De Janeiro, Dec. 28, 2018. I'm standing in line at the U.S. consulate, several knots in my stomach, as I watch the person in front of me answer the agent's questions through the glass that separates them.

# data[].attributes.headline
Initiative: The Playwrights Realm's International Theatermakers Award

# data[].attributes.subject
Initiative: The Playwrights Realm's International Theatermakers Award

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.readable_text
Recognizing the critical contribution of theatermakers from around the world to American theater and the barriers they face to work in our country, we're launching the International Theatermakers Award. Through this program, as part of our commitment to centering and lifting up underrepresented voices, we will share information on the legal challenges faced by international artists and provide assistance in tackling them.

Applications for the current award cycle are now closed. Check out the winners below and sign up for our mailing list for updates when the next round opens!

Banner Photo: Asiimwe Deborah Kawe's Appointment With gOD at the Beyond The Realm Festival, 2019, which dealt with the hardship of securing an American visa (Photo credit: Daniel J. Vasquez Productions).

We expanded our inaugural International Theatermakers Award to five international artists, selected from our open application process by a panel of international theatermakers spanning multiple disciplines! Learn more about the panelists here.

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
International Theatermakers Award (ITA) - The Playwrights Realm

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Applications for the current award cycle are now closed. Check out the winners below and sign up for our mailing list for updates when the next round opens! Banner Photo: Asiimwe Deborah Kawe's Appointment With gOD at the Beyond The Realm Festival, 2019, which dealt with the hardship of securing an American visa (Photo credit: Daniel J.