"I first ask the kids, "What language do you think Columbus spoke?" Some agree on Spanish; some of the more astute ones even venture Italian. When I ask them what the Arawak spoke they respond, "English." Which, of course, to them is the "American" language. By way of illustration, I call two Cantonese-speaking kids to the center of the circle and ask them to speak their native tongue. They do so, at first shyly, then with pride that they have something special to contribute to this lesson. The rest of the kids-African American, Latino, and Pilipino-respond that the words sound like nonsense to them. In short, it is gibberish. We begin to improvise. Five kids volunteer to be Columbus and his crew and another five an Arawak chief and his tribe. The two groups confront each other, speaking "gibberish"-gibberish that ends up meaning "I came for gold and if you refuse to give me what I want, I will kill you," which is exactly where genocide and greed meet. Columbus and crew raise and shoot their rifles and the Arawak drop dead en masse. They had not been directed to do so. This was an improvisation, which ended our rehearsal for the day and began our first lesson in colonization. And we, the kids and I, have fallen in love with theater's power to teach. Truth. Or lies. You choose, as Augosto Boal reminds us."