The Great Delusion invites you into a thought-provoking exploration of societal ignorance and arrogance. Set against a backdrop of tension, the play reveals how a community’s disdain for Black contributions leads to chaos and despair. As the characters grapple with their misconceptions, expect sharp humor, poignant moments, and a powerful message about the importance of recognizing and valuing all voices. This captivating drama challenges the audience to reconsider the hidden legacies of innovation and the foolishness of prejudice. Happy Reading!
Scene 1: Confrontation and Departure
The scene opens in a grand yet crumbling Town Hall. Light filters through dusty windows, casting long shadows across the divided room. The whites stand on one side, rigid and self-assured, dressed in crisp clothes that radiate privilege. On the other side, the blacks stand calm, but their postures convey an inner strength. Tension grips the air, almost tangible, as if the very walls are holding their breath.
A mocking tune begins to hum through the space, played on old brass instruments by white musicians. It’s upbeat but laced with condescension, depicting the whites’ arrogance as they laugh and whisper amongst themselves. The blacks stand in dignified silence, exchanging quiet glances that suggest a deep, unshakable resolve.
The floorboards creak under the weight of history, a symbol of the fractured foundation beneath this confrontation. Banners celebrating the so-called achievements of the town hang above the whites, who shift and preen with smug satisfaction. The blacks stand unadorned, surrounded only by their dignity.
As the white leader steps forward, the mocking tune swells, signaling the impending clash of egos, values, and lives.
White Leader (singing with exaggerated arrogance):
“You offer nothing, no value, no skill,
Your hands are empty, and so is your will.
Why should we keep you? What good are you?
Pack your bags, the time is due!”
Chorus of Whites (chanting and miming labor):
“Go away, take your bags and go,
We built this land; it’s ours to show!”
The whites mock the contributions of the blacks, exaggerating motions of daily tasks—driving cars, using street sweepers, mailing letters.
Margaret (stepping forward, pleading):
“Wait! You’re making a grave mistake. You think their work isn’t essential? Have you forgotten Sarah Boone, Elijah McCoy, or Granville T. Woods? Their inventions keep this country running!”
Racist White 1 (yelling):
“Enough! What have they ever done for us? You’re talking about a few names.”
Racist White 2 (laughing dismissively):
“Oh please, we’ll be fine without them. Out they go!”
Margaret (shaking her head in frustration):
“You’ll regret this. Their work is everywhere—in the lights, the railways, the streets. You’ll see.”
Black Leader (calmly, resolute):
“Our hands have built, our minds have shaped,
The very ground on which you gape.
You mock our worth, but time will tell,
What you will lose when we bid farewell.”
The blacks gather their belongings in dignified silence. As they exit, they sing a solemn farewell.
Black Leader (singing softly):
“We built this land, from grain to rail,
And now you push us past the veil.
When our work leaves, so does your might,
You’ll know the darkness when gone is light.”
The whites scoff and laugh, too arrogant to grasp the weight of the moment. The blacks disappear into the distance, leaving behind an eerie silence as the stage darkens. The spotlight shifts to Margaret, her face clouded with foreboding.
Margaret (to herself, solemnly):
“They don’t know what’s coming.”
Chorus of Whites (celebrating):
“They’re gone! Gone for good!”
Scene 2: The Rise and Departure of the White House & Capitol Builders
Midnight. The stage is dimly lit, with an ominous focus on two towering structures at the background corners of the stage—the U.S. Capitol on one side and the White House on the other. Both buildings appear solid and monumental, representing the power and permanence they symbolize. However, cracks and fissures are faintly visible on their surfaces, subtly suggesting instability.
As the scene opens, a low, rumbling sound fills the space, as if something deep within the earth is stirring. Shadows shift, and ghostly, ethereal figures begin to emerge from the ground at the base of the White House and the Capitol. They are dressed in period clothing, symbolizing enslaved Africans and laborers from different eras, who were integral to the construction of these structures.
The figures rise slowly, their movements deliberate and filled with an unspoken dignity. Each spirit carries ghostly, spectral tools—a hammer, a chisel, a trowel—as they mime the motions of building. Some touch the walls of the White House and the Capitol with reverence, while others lift invisible stones as if laying the very foundations. Their faces are solemn, eyes fixed on the edifices they helped build.
Solemn Hymn (sung softly, in a mournful, dirge-like tone)
Our hands were bound, our voices stilled,
Yet we built these walls, their dreams fulfilled.
From blood and tears, these stones we laid,
In shadowed night, in silent trade.
Turning to the U.S. Capitol
These halls of power, we shaped, we raised,
And here they stand, on lives erased.
But now we rise, our chains undone,
Our work is finished, our souls move on.
As they sing, the spirits begin to step back from the buildings. With each spirit’s movement away from the White House and the Capitol, the structures visibly weaken. Chunks of the walls crumble and fall; windows crack; columns begin to lean and warp, as if deprived of the energy that once held them steady.
A gust of cold wind sweeps across the stage, causing the banners and flags on the buildings to fall, lying limp on the ground, symbolizing a loss of pride and stability. The White House and the Capitol continue to degrade, piece by piece, as each spirit departs, leaving nothing but cracked and hollow shells.
The spirits then gather in the center of the stage, gazing back at the ruins of the White House and the Capitol, watching as the buildings collapse further, visibly succumbing to the absence of those who built them.
One of the spirits steps forward, gesturing to the crumbling buildings with a look of quiet triumph, then raises a hand in a gesture of farewell. As they turn to leave, the structures continue to decay, ultimately collapsing in on themselves with a thunderous crash, symbolizing the end of an era that relied on the sacrifice of Black labor, which is now withdrawn and departed.
Final Hymn (sung softly as the spirits depart, their voices fading into the distance)
We gave you walls, we gave you might,
But no more strength to hold them tight.
Our spirits rise, our debt is paid,
No longer bound by stones we laid.
The spirits exit, leaving behind the ruins of the White House and Capitol. The stage is left in darkness, a visual and symbolic representation of the void left by the departing spirits.
Scene 3: The Aftermath
Setting: The Town Hall, Weeks Later
The Town Hall stands in stark contrast to its former grandeur; its walls echo with the disarray of a community unraveling. Confusion reigns as the whites, disoriented and frantic, scramble to navigate life without the vital contributions of black inventors. The air is thick with panic, punctuated by frustrated cries and chaotic movements.
Fallen banners that once celebrated their misguided superiority now lie forgotten, mirroring the whites’ growing desperation. A sense of urgency grips the scene as the once confident whites grapple with broken machinery and failed systems—elevators refuse to move, street sweepers gather dust, and phones sit silent.
The stage becomes a frenzy of activity: one white man repeatedly slams the elevator button, oblivious to its lack of response, while another wrestles with heavy luggage, panting in frustration. As they mime their struggles, their movements become exaggerated and comical, amplifying their sense of loss.
The chaos is interspersed with a growing realization of their dependence on black inventors. Characters stumble over failures, struggling to replicate everyday tasks as they face the absurdity of their situation. The laughter fades, replaced by a poignant understanding that the very innovations they dismissed as inconsequential are now their lifeline.
As tension mounts, Margaret watches from the side, an ironic smile on her face. Her presence intensifies the irony of the situation, as the whites finally come to terms with the depth of their mistake. With each failed invention, the realization dawns—without the brilliance and ingenuity of the black community, their world is collapsing around them.
White Leader (shouting, panicking):
“The elevators! The elevators won’t open!”
A white man presses the elevator button repeatedly with no success. Two white women with their kids and heavy luggages stay stranded.
Margaret walks into the stage, the stranded whites try to ignore her, but she interjected anyways:
“These elevators’ doors? C’omon…They can’t work! Don’t you know why? Alexander Miles! Yes, the black man who invented the elevator doors—he’s gone with his invention.
The white women try to look for an alternative to get their luggages through the stairs.
White Woman (struggling with luggage) turns to Margaret:
“No luggage carrier?”
Margaret:
“None. J.W. Butts invented that. He’s gone!”
The white women struggle with their heavy loads, dragging their kids, pantomiming an endless climb up stairs. Before they could get to the middle of the stairs, the luggages fall off, rolling downwards. The women roll down with their luggages. They then sit at the base of the stairs with uncontrollable frustration.
White Leader (nervously):
“Send a message! Where’s the telegraph? The phones?”
A white man tries to send a telegram, but the system fails. Another struggles to make a call using a rotary phone, only to have the call drop repeatedly.
White Man 2 (frustrated):
“Why is the system down? Why can’t I make this call?”
Margaret (smirking, stepping forward):
“Oh, that would be because Lewis Latimer, who helped perfect the carbon filament and worked on Bell’s telephone patent, isn’t around to make things run smoothly anymore.”
Margaret watches as another white man fumbles with communication equipment that was once improved by Granville T. Woods, whose contributions to communication technology—including telegraphy—helped modernize the system.
Margaret (sarcastically):
“Guess Granville T. Woods took his improvements with him too! It’s almost like you needed them more than you thought.”
White Woman (mocking, throwing her hands up):
“And we don’t need gas burners either, right? Who’s going to cook or keep warm now? Alice Parker’s invention? Gone!”
Margaret (mocking, with a smirk):
“You ran them out, remember? Meanwhile that was B.F. Jackson. You know so much that you know so little. Good luck staying warm! Good luck staying cooked!”
Two White Men (walk in from the left side of the stage, groaning, dirty, dusty, wiping sweat):
White Leader:
“What’s going on? Why are you covered in dirty and dust?”
Two White Men couldn’t talk, just point at the direction they come from. The White Leader alongside his accompanies and Margaret head to the direction and see the streets littered with debris and dust.
Margaret:
“The streets are burning up without sprinklers! M.W. Binga made those—gone too!”
The whites mime sweeping dirty streets by hand, trash piling up around them. The frantic attempts to clean are comical as they fail miserably. They manage to gather some trashes into some trash cans, and while it seems as though they are about to finish a well-done job, an unexpected wind blows from no where and emptied all the trashes from the cans back to the streets. They all stand in unison, stare for awhile at themselves in frustration before collectively screaming out their angers.
Then, they agree to go to the popular white-owned restaurant to get some drinks to cool off their frustrations and restrategize.
The scene shifts to the middle of a bustling kitchen, chefs in a white-owned restaurant scramble as food starts spoiling rapidly.
White Chef (frantically opening a warm refrigerator):
“Why is all the food rotting?! The meat! The vegetables! Everything’s going bad! I’m ruined!”
Margaret (watching calmly, arms crossed):
“Frederick McKinley Jones invented the refrigerated truck, you know. He took that with him when he left.”
White Chef (panicking):
“We can’t run a restaurant like this! We’ll lose everything!”
Margaret (smiling):
“Guess you’ll have to enjoy lukewarm food from now on.”
By the time the White Leader arrives for his relaxation, the restaurant has already fallen into chaos as spoiled food piles up, and employed chefs scramble to salvage what they can. But the White Chef (owner of the restaurant) throws himself to the ground three times, as he wails, screaming his financial losses.
The scene transition to a hospital, where a doctor desperately tries to save a dying boy, but without a functional blood bank, chaos ensues.
White Doctor (shouting to the nurses):
“We need a blood transfusion, now!”
Nurse (checking empty shelves):
“There’s no stored blood! None at all!”
White Doctor (in disbelief):
“What happened to the blood bank?”
Nurse:
“I think Dr. Charles Drew who invented the modern blood bank system took that idea with him too when we forced him out.”
White Doctor (shocked):
“We’re losing patients without it! We can’t save anyone!”
The scene turns frantic as the medical staff realize they are helpless without this life-saving system. Nurses rush around, frantically looking for supplies, their expressions a mix of panic and despair.
White Nurse (crying out):
“What do we do now? We need the oxygen masks!”
Suddenly, an urgent alarm blares in the background, heightening the chaos in the hospital as the medical staff scramble.
White Leader (entering the scene, breathless):
“What’s going on? We need to send for help!”
The doctor and nurses rush the boy back into the ambulance to drive away for safety. But in their frenzy, they miss the incoming reports of another disaster brewing outside.
The stage shifts abruptly, with lights flashing and a loud horn blaring as the scene transitions to the chaotic streets.
White Man 3 (frustrated, rushing in from stage left):
“The traffic’s a mess! Garrett A. Morgan’s gone with the traffic light!”
The whites mime cars crashing and honking as traffic builds up in chaos.
Comedic moments pile up as whites try to fix broken machinery, horseshoes, and household items. They fumble and curse, realizing their dependence on black inventors.
Scene 4: The Cost of Absence
The stage reopens with the traffic jam chaos. Flashing lights from vehicles and broken signals add to the tension. The audience sees a crisscross of tangled cars, pedestrians shouting, and the sound of distant sirens fading into the noise.
Margaret (offstage, screaming desperately):
“Jack! Jack! Where are you, my boy? Jack!”
Margaret stumbles onto the stage, pushing her way through the crowd. Her face is filled with panic and despair. She runs, searching frantically amidst the chaos.
Margaret (pleading to a bystander):
“Please! Have you seen my son? A boy, about this tall, curly hair. His name is Jack!”
The bystander shrugs helplessly, pointing toward the ambulance stuck in the gridlock. Margaret sprints toward it, weaving through stalled cars and dodging people. She finally reaches the ambulance, where a doctor and two nurses are inside, visibly frustrated, unable to move.
Margaret (banging on the ambulance door, sobbing):
“Let me in! That’s my son in there! Jack, it’s Mama! I’m here!”
The back door of the ambulance opens. A pale, frail boy, Jack, lies on a stretcher, struggling to breathe. His eyes flutter weakly as Margaret climbs in, cradling him close.
Margaret (wailing):
“Hold on, baby! Just hold on! Mama’s here. We’ll get you help. Don’t give up on me!”
The doctor steps forward, hesitant.
Doctor (softly, shaking his head):
“There’s no blood bank… no transfusion available. We can’t… not in this mess. I’m sorry.”
The words hit Margaret like a thunderbolt. Her body trembles, but she refuses to let go. She pulls Jack off the stretcher, carrying him in her arms.
Margaret (determined, pushing through the traffic):
“Out of my way! Somebody help us! My boy needs help!”
She struggles to navigate the chaos, her cries growing louder. The crowd parts slightly, but the traffic remains impenetrable. Margaret’s steps falter as Jack’s breathing becomes shallow.
Jack (weakly, gasping):
“Mama…”
Margaret (through tears):
“Stay with me, Jack! Please, baby, stay with me! I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you!”
Jack’s body goes limp in her arms. Margaret freezes, staring at him in disbelief. The noise of the traffic fades as silence falls over the stage. She collapses to her knees, clutching Jack tightly, her cries piercing the silence.
Margaret (screaming to the heavens):
“Why? Why him? Why now?!”
The stage lights dim, focusing on Margaret’s grief-stricken face, while the traffic chaos continues in the background. The audience is left to confront the cost of innovation lost, the weight of what could have been, and the harrowing pain of a mother’s loss.
White Leader (ran to the stage, shouting at the sky):
“What have we done?! How did we not know?”
Narrator (with a dry smile):
“They thought they didn’t need them, didn’t they? Every day, every hour, they rely on what they built. And now… it’s gone.”
White Leader (desperate, breaking down):
“We can’t live without them! We need them back!”
The whites collapse in exhaustion, unable to function. Narrator walks among them, offering sarcastic quips as they grapple with their foolishness.
Narrator (walking through the stage, addressing the broken whites, smiling at the audience):
“They were too blind to see. And now they’re paying the price.
They thought they could do without black hands,
Without black minds across these lands.
But with every invention they tried to use,
It seems they’ve learned—there’s no excuse.”
Narrator (addressing Margaret as she collapses, while CPR is being administered):
“Margaret, your truth was too heavy to bear,
A burden so vast, it brought you to despair.
You stood tall against hatred, blind as can be,
Fighting to set those oppressed and free.
They refused to hear, cast you out in disdain,
A lone voice crying, but none felt the pain.
You warned them, Margaret, of what they would ignore,
The price of erasing the minds that keep their soars.
You spoke of invention, of brilliance untold,
Of futures that bloomed from the stories of old.
Yet here you lie, crushed by their foolery might,
A victim of ignorance, swallowed by night.
And now, sweet Margaret, our dear child has fallen,
For their blindness and hate he has answered the call.
The cure that could have saved him, the hope we knew,
Lost to the winds that their ignorance blew.
But remember, Margaret, as you close your eyes,
In speaking of truth, we pay heavy ties.
To fight evil’s shadow is to stand and be bold,
Though its cost is dear, and its toll unforetold.
You gave all for what was right, with your soul in the fray,
And even though they took it, your truth will still stay.”
The stage darkens as the whites sit in their broken world, their hubris shattered by the devastating loss of the black inventors.
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