Jean Bellorini’s L’Ordre du jour: A Masterful Drama of Hitler and Goering in Paris

The Parisian stage lights casting shadows over historical figures like Hitler and Göring in Jean Bellorini’s production of «L’Ordre du jour» might seem worlds away from the sun-baked streets of Phoenix, Arizona. Yet, the play’s unsettling exploration of how complacency enables authoritarianism resonates with a growing undercurrent of concern in desert communities grappling with rapid demographic shifts, political polarization, and the erosion of civic norms. When art holds up a mirror to the mechanics of complicity, it’s not just Parisians who lean in—it’s residents of Maryvale and Encanto wondering how close their own neighborhood associations, school board meetings, or even HOA disputes might be to that same perilous dance.

Bellorini’s adaptation of Éric Vuillard’s prize-winning novel doesn’t merely reenact history; it dissects the mundane bureaucratic acquiescence that paved the way for catastrophe. This thematic core finds eerie parallels in Phoenix’s own trajectory over the past decade—a city that has absorbed over 700,000 new residents since 2010, straining infrastructure, amplifying inequities, and testing the limits of collaborative governance. The Maricopa County Board of Supervisors, tasked with managing explosive growth in one of America’s fastest-warming metros, has faced increasing scrutiny over decisions regarding water allocation, development sprawl, and election integrity—issues where the line between pragmatic compromise and dangerous acquiescence can feel perilously thin. Scholars at Arizona State University’s School of Historical, Philosophical and Religious Studies have noted that Vuillard’s focus on “the banality of evil” in corporate boardrooms and diplomatic salons mirrors contemporary debates about institutional responsibility in the face of climate injustice and housing insecurity.

The play’s power lies in its refusal to offer easy villains. Instead, it shows how ordinary men—industrialists, diplomats, functionaries—chose silence or subtle encouragement over confrontation. This dynamic echoes in local Phoenix contexts where speaking up against exclusionary zoning practices in neighborhoods like Arcadia or advocating for equitable investment in South Phoenix can carry social or professional risk. The Phoenix City Council’s ongoing debates over the Camelback Corridor redevelopment, for instance, involve weighing developer interests against community demands for affordable housing and pedestrian safety—a microcosm of the larger tension Vuillard dramatizes: when does prudence become complicity? Local journalists at The Arizona Republic have documented how such deliberations often unfold not with overt malice, but through procedural delays, diluted amendments, and appeals to “studying the issue further”—patterns uncomfortably familiar to students of Vichy-era collaboration.

Beyond the immediate political theater, the production invites reflection on cultural memory itself. Phoenix, a city built on layers—Hohokam canals, Mexican agrarian communities, postwar suburban booms—constantly negotiates what past to honor and what to overwrite. The Heard Museum’s efforts to center Indigenous narratives in public discourse, or the revitalization efforts along Seventh Street rooted in Chicano activism, represent active resistance to the kind of historical erasure Vuillard warns against. When Bellorini stages Hitler and Göring not as caricatures but as beneficiaries of widespread indifference, he challenges audiences everywhere to ask: What are we normalizing today that future generations will condemn? In a city where summer temperatures regularly exceed 110°F and homelessness persists despite economic growth, that question isn’t theoretical—it’s urgent.

Given my background in analyzing how macro-level societal trends manifest in neighborhood-level realities, if this theme of complacency versus courage hits close to home for you in Phoenix, here are three types of local professionals you need to know about:

• Civic Engagement Facilitators: Look for practitioners affiliated with organizations like Valley Leadership or the Morrison Institute for Public Policy who specialize in designing inclusive dialogue processes—not just town halls, but structured forums that power-map interests, surface unspoken assumptions, and build consensus across divides. They should demonstrate experience navigating Maricopa County’s complex jurisdictional landscape and possess facilitation certifications from groups like the International Association of Facilitators.
• Urban Equity Planners: Seek professionals with credentials from ASU’s School of Geographical Sciences and Urban Planning or comparable programs, who explicitly center anti-displacement frameworks in their work. Their portfolios should include projects addressing heat mitigation in vulnerable neighborhoods (like those partnered with The Nature Conservancy’s Arizona chapter) or advocating for transit-oriented development along light rail extensions—proven by tangible outcomes, not just vision statements.
• Historical Consciousness Consultants: These are often historians, educators, or tribal cultural workers affiliated with institutions like the Pueblo Grande Museum or Arizona State Museum who help communities conduct “truth-telling” exercises around local history. Effective ones will guide groups through archival research (using resources like the Arizona Collection at Hayden Library), facilitate conversations about memorialization, and connect past patterns of exclusion to present-day policy impacts—all while adhering to ethical guidelines for community-based historical work.

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