I feel that heavy, low-pressure dread hanging in the air — you know how it feels just before a storm breaks.

This casual slide into American Fascism isn’t just headlines—it’s in the eyes of the neighbor who suddenly won’t talk to you, the quiet threat in every government form, the constant whir of surveillance overhead, the breathing on the other end of the phone.

They want us all to live like undocumented people — guilty, until proven lucky.

You can be a third-generation U.S. citizen like myself, and still be subject to masked black-shirt storm troopers grabbing you off the street, and throwing you into the nearest unmarked car and without pressing charges, shipping you off to a banana republic where you will remain until you die, and no one will ever know what became of you.

It’s getting hard to spark a joyful fire, when the air smells like fear and betrayal. But this is exactly the zone where art becomes defiance. Protest songs, bitter satire, surrealist theater—this is where they get their teeth and their strength. Grrrrrr!!!

If they want to shut us up, and they do nasty things to prevent us from having our say, well, golly — that’s the very cue we need to turn up the volume to “11”, and dance the wrong way down the street.

I include a rough layout for “Your Papers, Please” — a satirical Broadway-style protest song with echoes, stomp rhythms, and maybe an accordion if you’re feeling Klezmer defiance. I would expect any director to exercise creative control with the actual performance.

So here’s my latest musical showtune revue for your enjoyment. Best results happen when you get a group to read the lines LIVE on zoom, and play the songs as they come up.

“Your Papers, Please”

A RADIO PLAY by ej gold. Instructions on how to make this work will be given in today’s zoom meeting, but basically you divide up the parts and read them in.

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[No music yet. Quiet for one beat, then:]

NARRATOR: This play is about what happens when silence becomes safer than speech.

It’s about laws that shift like shadows…
Names that vanish from the registry…
And people who were there—until they weren’t.

It’s not set in the past.
It’s not set in the future.

It’s set right after the moment you stopped paying attention.

You will meet no heroes here.
Only citizens. Clerks. Ghosts.

They sang, they spoke, they prayed—
Some loudly. Some softly. Some not at all.
And for that, they were… processed.

This is their story. And if you listen closely… You might hear your own footsteps echoing in the hall.”

[MUSIC UP]

Your Papers, Please

[Scene: A quiet city street. A small, guarded entrance to a house of worship. A sign above: “Community Center – Restricted Access.” Two characters. One is a tired gatekeeper. The other, just trying to get in.]

GATEKEEPER
I can’t let you in the synagogue if you’re not a member.

VISITOR
I’m not here for the service. I just need to give my friend Charlie a message.

GATEKEEPER (shrugs, glances around)
Alright…
But don’t let me catch you praying.

[Beat. GATEKEEPER turns and walks off. VISITOR slowly steps through the door. Lights dim. Accordion hum begins. The song starts.]

You Can Go In, But Don’t Let Me Catch You Praying

[Scene: A school or public square. A half-hearted “Remembrance Day” or “Unity Ceremony.” A few citizens stand, awkwardly holding flags. A child fumbles with a folded one. Someone reads from a script.]

OFFICIAL (reading mechanically)
We gather today to honor the sacred emblem of our nation.
A symbol of truth, unity, and unwavering loyalty.
Let us now recite the words that bind us all.

[They try to begin the pledge, but someone falters. A pause. A voice interrupts quietly.]

CITIZEN (softly)
It used to mean something, didn’t it?

STUDENT (holding the flag)
It still means something. I just… don’t know what.

CITIZEN (looking at the cloth)
Feels like an echo. Not a flag. Just… an echo.

[Music begins: accordion swells, minor chords. “Echo of a Flag” starts.]

Echo of a Flag

[Scene: A hallway. Fluorescent lights buzz. One person — tired, anxious — sits on a bench outside an office door. Another person, a coworker or friend, enters, glancing around nervously.]

FRIEND
Hey… you still here?

CITIZEN
They said wait. So I’m waiting.

FRIEND
Did they say why?

CITIZEN
No. Just that I should “stay available.”

[Pause]

FRIEND (quietly)
You think it’s because of that thing you posted?

CITIZEN (shrugs)
Could be the thing I posted.
Or the thing I didn’t post.
Or someone I used to know.
Or how I looked at someone.
Or… nothing at all.

[Long pause. Friend doesn’t know what to say.]

CITIZEN (softer)
I just keep wondering…
Am I next?

[Lights shift. The song “Am I Next?” begins, quiet as a held breath.]

Am I Next?

[Scene: A dim prison cell. Three prisoners sit on benches, in silence. A long pause. Then the first one speaks, just trying to break the quiet.]

PRISONER 1
So… why are you in this horrible prison?

PRISONER 2
I was for Dubchek.

PRISONER 1
Hmph. Really? I was against Dubchek.

PRISONER 3 (softly, after a beat)
You think you have troubles? I am Dubchek.

[They all sit in silence again. A snare rolls in. Accordion sighs. The song “The Prisoners” begins — same melody creeping in quietly like a rat in the wall.]

The Prisoners

[Scene: A metal door swings open with a loud clang. PRISONER 1 is yanked to their feet. PRISONER 2 watches silently. A GUARD appears.]

GUARD
You. Interview room. Let’s go.

PRISONER 1
What for?

GUARD
You’ll find out. If you behave, it’s just questions.
If you don’t… it’s still just questions.

[They walk. Lights shift. The interrogation room is revealed: metal table, bare bulb. The INTERROGATOR is already seated, calm, casual.]

INTERROGATOR (smiling)
Sit.
We’re just here to chat.

[Music creeps in under the line. First piano notes of “The Interrogation Room” begin. Lights fade everywhere but the table.]

The Interrogation Room

[Scene: A subway platform. Dim lighting, a low rumble. A few COMMUTERS stand waiting, expressionless, each one isolated — no eye contact. PA system drones softly overhead.]

PA SYSTEM (distorted)
Red line service is delayed due to unscheduled absence.
Thank you for your compliance.

[SOUND OF A TRAIN arriving. SOUND OF Doors opening]

Two commuters wander semi-aimlessly onstage from stage left, to center spot:

COMMUTER 1
Wait… wasn’t that Anna’s stop?

COMMUTER 2
Who?

COMMUTER 1
Anna. She rides this train every morning.

COMMUTER 2 (blinks, shrugs)
Doesn’t ring a bell.

[A moment of silence. Then:]

PA SYSTEM (cheerful tone)
Blue line inbound. Please stand clear of the truth.
Next stop… nothing to worry about.

[The lights dim. The doors hiss closed.
“Red Line, Blue Line” begins — pulsing with rhythm, echo, and dread.]

Red Line, Blue Line

[Scene: A school classroom. Bright lights. A large whiteboard — but no writing.
A TEACHER stands in front of a small group of students, holding a blank textbook. The students look tired. Confused. A LIBRARIAN enters, quietly removing a stack of old books.]

STUDENT 1
Wait — didn’t we read about this last year?

TEACHER (without looking up)
Read what?

STUDENT 1
The — the war? The protests? The—
I thought there was a chapter on—

TEACHER
There’s no need to dwell on outdated material.
Focus on what we know now.

LIBRARIAN (gently)
And what we know… is what we’re given.

[A beat. Someone flips a book open — all the pages are blank.]

STUDENT 2
This was full of names last week.

TEACHER (smiling too tightly)
Then it’s a very efficient week, isn’t it?

[Accordion hum begins. Lights lower slightly. The class, teacher, and librarian begin singing “The Day We Erased History.”]

The Day We Erased History

[Scene: A break room. A desk with a coffee cup. A coat still on the back of a chair. Two coworkers enter, mid-conversation. They pause.]

COWORKER 1
Hey… where’s Lena?

COWORKER 2 (frowning)
Lena? Wasn’t she on schedule today?

COWORKER 1
She hasn’t missed a day in years.

[They glance around. Everything is in place — except Lena.]

COWORKER 2
Cup’s still warm.

COWORKER 1 (softly)
No message. No notice.

COWORKER 2
No… nothing.

[A beat. Silence.]

COWORKER 1 (looking down)
I don’t think anyone saw her go.

[Lights dim. One chair remains lit.
The melody of “No One Saw Me Go” begins — slow, solitary.]

No One Saw Me Go

[Scene: Empty stage. No lights at first. Just darkness. Then — one light comes up slowly, center stage. An object rests there: a small, folded flag. A chair. A pair of shoes. A book with no title. No people. Just remnants.]

[Then — one voice, offstage. Quiet. Uneven.]

VOICE (offstage)
They said we’d be forgotten.

[Another voice joins, different direction.]

VOICE 2
They said the files were closed. The songs unsung.

[Another.]

VOICE 3
But we were here.

[Soft light begins to rise behind the objects. More voices. Not loud — just enough to be undeniable.]

VOICE 4
We prayed when it was forbidden.

VOICE 5
We laughed when it was dangerous.

VOICE 6
We told stories they tried to erase.

VOICE 1 (now onstage, stepping forward)
We were here.

[LIGHTS DOWN — CURTAIN]

We Were Here

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Well, that’s the bare-bones of it. The rest is all about stage blocking, timing, projection, etc., the things that a director adds to the production. Meanwhile, enjoy it as a radio play, which is all it may ever be.

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See You At The Top!!!

gorby