"The Brothers Size" Humanizes the "Criminal"

“Man you know [the sheriff] treat everybody. Like we guilty ‘til proven innocent.” 

In this moment in The Brothers Size, I remembered the video my Mother sent me that morning. The current president, Donald Trump, speaking on crime in Baltimore referring to the citizens of the predominantly Black city as “born to be criminals,” beyond help. The idea that a person can be “born to be a criminal” defies the fact that “criminal” is a transitory identity that one can become. Stating that criminality is an inherent trait is more than a white supremacist dog whistle. It’s the entire alarm.  

The press conference wouldn’t leave my mind throughout the performance filling me with an immense sadness and anger because the president essentially stripped these people of their identities.  

The Sherriff in the The Brothers Size is essentially doing the same thing. The Brothers Size by Tarrel Alvin McCraney is a modern-day fable about the bonds of brotherhood and life after incarceration. The Brothers Size, Ogun and his baby brother Oshoosi, are reunited after the younger Size leaves prison after serving his time. The two struggle to reconcile their relationship as they disagree on how Oshoosi should behave after incarceration, but, despite the tribulations, the two are united in a deep love for each other. Because Oshoosi Size is a felon, you can argue that the police surveillance is justified. However, the above sentiment was expressed by the hardworking and innocent Ogun Size, a man who’s done nothing to warrant suspicion. Aside from the worst crime of all-living while Black. This is the truth behind statements like the president’s. He can hide by qualifiers like “criminal” and justify his words in the name of law and order, but in this scene, McCraney shows that a person’s criminal history is only incidental to the real crime of being Black.  

This production of The Brothers Size at The Shed celebrates the piece’s 20^th anniversary, and unfortunately it rings as true today as it did when it first premiered in 2007. Viewing The Brothers Size almost served as a companion piece to the president’s press conference, disproving his point. The Brothers Size humanizes the “criminal.”  One of McCraney’s strongest choices in crafting this piece is refusing to disclose the crime that led to Oshoosi Size's incarceration. The reasoning for his imprisonment is almost irrelevant because all that matters is that he was imprisoned, further proving that the classification of “felon” carries no real value. It means nothing. Classifying someone as a “felon” implies that they’re dangerous with no evidence.  Like the Mark of Cain, Oshoosi is stripped of his humanity, relinquished to the status of “felon.” Throughout the play, we watch him fight. Fight his brother. Fight the police. Fight the confines of the play to retain even the slightest remnant of his identity.  

Because McCraney’s production breaks the fourth wall, Oshoosi tells us, the audience, his hopes and dreams. His longing and yearning. Forcing us to hold the humanity that the play will not allow him. That the country won’t allow him. 

So, no, Mr. President. There is no such thing as a born criminal. Every person that commits a crime of any nature is someone’s child. Someone who had a vision for their life that probably didn’t involve criminal activity. Dreams. Hopes. Someone who wants to be loved. Someone who wants to be held. That’s not even accounting for the countless people who have been wrongfully imprisoned. If there’s anything that McCraney’s The Brother Size teaches us is that we’re all people. We’re all struggling. And we all just want to be held. To be loved.