How “Oslo” turned diplomatic negotiation into compelling theatre

By J.J.

WITH all its conflict, backstabbing and deception, politics has a natural drama to it. The ancient Greeks knew this, as did Shakespeare. Prominent figures rise and fall like tragic heroes; sometimes the nefarious candidate prevails. In recent years there have been several acclaimed political plays, including “Hamilton”, “Handbagged” and “This House”. They can take the viewer beyond the history books and the manifestos to understand the characters involved, with all their hidden motivations and desires.

Political negotiation, however, does not necessarily sound like an ingredient for gripping theatre. Often involving anodyne press statements, vacuous declarations of progress and orchestrated handshakes, official talks feel deeply undramatic (think of the Israel-Palestine negotiations from 2013-14, convened by John Kerry, or the stalemate of the current Brexit talks). “Oslo” (2016), a Tony-award-winning play by J.T. Rogers, undermines that assumption. A three-hour staging of the secret channels that led to the signing of the Oslo accords in 1993, it is witty and fast-paced. Following a sell-out run on Broadway and at the National Theatre in London, the play has recently commenced a new run at the Harold Pinter Theatre. A film adaptation is in the works.

“Oslo” is told from the perspective of Mona Juul, a Norwegian diplomat, and Terje Rod-Larsen, her husband, who runs a research foundation. These mid-level officials became the unlikely convenors of the talks between Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organisation (PLO). They organise for the illegal meeting of representatives in a castle outside of Norway’s capital, with rented cars, decoy flights and risible cover stories. Both sides had previously rejected the other’s existence, yet ended up agreeing on a roadmap for peace and shaking hands, finally, on the White House lawn.

The play largely avoids regurgitating talking points and technical briefing notes (except to parody them) and instead looks at the Oslo accords’ more universal themes. Is reconciliation always possible? What does it take to overcome deep-seated enmity? Is compassion between warring countries and ethnic groups achievable? Like in his previous plays, “Blood and Gifts” (2010), about American intervention in Afghanistan, and “The Overwhelming” (2004), about the Rwandan genocide, Mr Rogers uses political events as a springboard for wider discussions.

It succeeds because it is a story of individuals, rather than of politicians. Larsen and Juul compel participants in the talks to discuss their own lives, in a bid to move beyond their respective political ideologies. “[Out] here we will share our meals, talk of our families, and light the fire,” Larsen announces to the delegates. “For it is only through the sharing of the personal that we can see each other for who we truly are.” There are uncontrolled outbursts, and authentic displays of fear and uncertainty.

As a result, there are glimpses of a shared humanity as the characters warm to each other, sprint around the stage plastered on whisky and joke together about their region of the world. Of course the Norwegian vision of unity does not always prevail. Characters also scream, accuse each other of murder and of stealing land, and even come to blows. “In my country, we see you as terrorists and murderers who wish to drive us into the sea!” yells one of the Israeli negotiators to his Palestinian counterpart. “In my country, we see you as a savage nation whose army shoots our children for sport!” the man responds in kind.

A play’s power can be enhanced or dampened by the context in which it is performed; luckily for “Oslo”, it could not have arrived at a more opportune moment. In a polarised America, and now in an increasingly divided Europe, the play’s portrayal of unlikely reconciliation has been perceived by audiences as a message about the possibilities of finding commonalities and of connecting with people of different political stripes.

But in another reading, with more concerning implications for today’s politics, it can also be seen as the story of how the pursuit of peace only generated more bloodshed. In the final lines, with the accords signed, the characters describe how it eventually collapsed. They list the major events that have happened since September 1993: attacks on buses, religious sites and city centres; the deaths of all the leaders involved; the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, the Israeli prime minister, in November 1995.

Juul turns to her optimistic husband and says: “I am trying. But, even now, I am struggling. To know if what we did—how we did—was right.” Larsen insists that it was. “If we have come this far, through blood, through fear—hatred—how much further can we yet go?” Their contrasting interpretations of the events of 1993 cater both to cynics and to dreamers. In politics, as in drama, there is always more than one reading of events.

Correction (October 25th 2017): An earlier version of this piece misattributed the dialogue of the Israeli and the Palestinian characters. This has been corrected. Sorry.