On a hot and dusty day in the summer of 1993. 23-year-old Jay Ball stepped out of the taxi that took him and four classmates from East Jerusalem to the Gaza Strip. The two-hour car ride brought them to the middle of a long, rubble-filled street.

On one end of the road, security towers manned by Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) soldiers loomed over the people milling in the street. At the other end of the street, where Ball and his friends stood, young children ran around, yelling at the soldiers and, in Ball’s words, “confronting the IDF.”

Suddenly, Ball heard something he will never forget. It was a distinctive “thwap, thwap,” noise—the sound rubber bullets make when they slam into human flesh. In the street in front of him, Ball saw one of the projectiles collide with the head of a ten-year-old Palestinian boy, who seconds earlier had been running around with his friends. Ball said crying and screaming people ran in every direction, trying to avoid the armed soldiers that poured into the street.

“It didn’t kill him immediately,” Ball says. “Rather, he was pulled back towards our end of the street, where there was a great deal of commotion around him. Very quickly, a Red Crescent (the Islamic version of the Red Cross) ambulance appeared . . . the boy was unconscious, and was taken into the ambulance and away.”

Later that day, Ball’s handler informed the group the boy had died.

“It all happened very quickly, I remember just how bright it was,” he says as he takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t realize in that moment, that a lot changed for me forever after I realized what I had witnessed.”

The Start

On this day, far from the deadly streets of East Jerusalem, Ball sits at a table in his office at Central Washington University. A slight breeze comes through a window behind him. His fingers slowly run through his gray and silver hair before they move to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Finally, they rest in the front of his chest, forming a tent. He looks up at the ceiling while he leans back in his chair, thinking about his journey.

“You know, I wanted to be in the Air Force,” Ball says softly, with a slight Southern-influenced accent. As he speaks, a hint of a smile curves up the left side of his mouth.

Ball spent his formative years in Little Rock, Arkansas, which explains the twang. Like many little Southern boys, he dreamed of growing up to join the military, and even spent eight years in what he described as the “Air Force Boy Scouts.”

However, rather than join the military at 18, he decided to earn a political science degree from Hendrix College in Conway, Arkansas.  He got his first taste of traveling during his junior year when he studied in Oxford, England in 1989 to 1990.

During that time, he decided to visit Prague in the Czech Republic during the Velvet Revolution, when the Czech people gained their freedom from the former Soviet Union. While there, he was impressed by Vaclav Havel, the movement’s leader and a playwright, who showed him that theatre and politics often go hand-in-hand.

“It was really with Havel and the Czech Revolution where I began to think more deeply of the relationship of theatre and politics,” he said.

Since then, Ball has incorporated that philosophy in his life, including his political activism at Central. He teaches literature and history, with an emphasis on theatre with political undertones. Last year, he collaborated with CWU’s Department of Communications during the annual First Amendment Festival to showcase, “My Name is Rachel Corrie.”

Corrie was a 23-year-old activist who was killed by Israeli Defense Forces in the Gaza Strip. She was killed by a bulldozer while defending the home of a Palestinian family in a combat zone.

“The only interdepartmental and collegiate projects that I’ve seen [since I’ve been a student at Central] have come from Jay Ball,” noted Joshua Kelly, a close friend and Central graduate student who is studying under Ball. “His activism [is obvious in such efforts as] in supporting the First Amendment Festival.”

Ball said he does it because it’s important to him that people understand the close relationship between social justice and the quality of life.

“Much of the work I do is creating performances that allow people to morally and emotionally connect with the suffering of others,” he said.

During the past few years, Ball has taught a course devoted to Pussy Riot, the feminist Russian punk rock protest group based in Moscow. The band, formed in 2011, has publicly opposed Russian leader Vladimir Putin, as well as supported LGBTQA rights and feminism.

Russian authorities imprisoned two of the band members for 21 months following their involvement in a political protest in 2012. The two were only released following an international outcry.

“Pussy Riot is, I would say, doubly brave, they are brave to engage in free speech in the face of imprisonment,” he said. “They are doubly brave because they are women confronting patriarchy and without the protection of international exposure, who knows what would have happened to the women of Pussy Riot.

“I think all of us, around the world, who called attention to Pussy Riot were helping to provide these women with some protection. World opinion is important,” he said.

Teaching the Future

In addition to teaching at Central for the past four years, Ball previously taught theatre history, literature and dramaturgy at the Carnegie Mellon University School of Drama and the College of Charleston.

Kelly described Ball as a mentor who is “endlessly supportive” to his students.

“Jay Ball has an unfailing dedication to helping his students achieve their own artistic and political ends,” Kelly added. “In departments where sometimes it’s difficult to foster and support and create work for undergraduates, or to help them and facilitate them on their own creative projects, Jay Ball drops everything to make sure their own work is supported.”

Grace Helmcke, sophomore theatre major said Ball really understands what it’s like to be a theatre student and makes sure his assignments work easily into their schedules.

“I think my favorite thing about Jay Ball is that he really intentional about getting students to dialogue (with him) in class,” she said. “He’ll deliberately start with simple questions and then get into more contemplative questions as the class goes on.”

But while Ball said he has enjoyed his time in Ellensburg, he plans to leave after this year to move on to different things other than teaching. He hopes to return to Little Rock to teach in an at-risk high school or become involved with the University of Arkansas.

Class Favorite

Before every class period, Ball said he listens to ‘70s disco music.

“Before giving a lecture on apartheid in South Africa, there’s an excellent chance I have been dancing to Donna Summer in my office before I put my game face on,” he said with a chuckle.

In fact, music is how he unwinds and takes his mind off of the heavier subjects that he often tackles in his classes and as a result of his activism. He said one of his favorite ways to relax is to play the guitar, often making up humorous songs about his friends for their amusement.

On a recent day, he walked into the classroom holding a yellow steno pad with notes scribbled on it. The students all chimed in with, “hellos.” He swapped jokes with one student in the middle of the classroom and asked another how her day was going.

Then he started a short lesson about the Tennessee Williams’ play, “The Gnadiges Fraulein.” He began by writing down quiz questions on the board and inviting the students to talk about what they had learned.

One student worried she had the wrong answer and asked him what to do.

“Make something up and I’ll meet you halfway,” he said as he turned around from the board and laughed.

He told the class to draw the bird described in the play and if they drew something really good he promised to get it tattooed on his body.

Later, he shuffled through the quiz papers and muttered, “I definitely haven’t seen my tattoo yet.”

As he taught, he drew parallels to his students’ everyday lives, often asking them questions like, “As artists, do you ever feel like you’re exploited?” or “Going into the arts, what are you going to have to sacrifice to be successful?”

His students responded that most people don’t value art—or the artists.

Ball nodded his head in agreement, resting his chin in a cupped hand. His other arm was wrapped around the front of his body. He was clearly in his element—feeling it.

The class ended early that day and Jay Ball concluded it on a high note.

“I will miss this class, I will miss you guys,” he said. “Y’all take care.”

They knew he meant it.