I was really angry, frustrated and tired when I started Black Arts Matter.
I didn’t feel like there was a place for me in the arts scene. The opportunities, role models and platforms that existed were very white and masculine. I found myself in systems, including educational systems, that were historically rooted in colonialism and capitalism and shared history of anti-Black, anti-Indigenous racism. Places where marginalized people don’t have the same access to opportunity. It was very lonely and isolating.
My theatre arts peers at MacEwan could see themselves in their professors, their fellow cast members, their roles and their audiences. They could spend the first few years after graduation being their authentic selves – furthering their careers and using their training to be actors, dancers and singers. I didn’t see myself in those same stories and those spaces. I couldn’t use my gifts without sacrificing a part of who I was.
As an African Indigenous person – an Oromo Somali East African – the poetics of how we communicate, the way we solve problems and the way we gather insight are all inherently creative. They are connected to the body, the spirit and the earth. They are not just skills to make me money. They feed my life and allow me to move through the world. That’s why I invest so much and need and love the creativity of Black artists. It’s not what I do; it’s who I am.
I didn’t want my story to be about explaining myself, justifying my experience and teaching people about Blackness. So I had to spend the first years of my career carving out a space and creating a platform for myself and other Black artists – a responsibility that too often falls on the shoulders of people of colour.
I started a house showcase called Sister 2 Sister to channel my frustrations. Being around feminine energy and other storytellers of colour fed me and fuelled me to shut down narratives that erase people — that say that Black artists aren’t in Alberta, that they leave, or aren’t professional or of a high enough calibre. Those narratives blame Black artists instead of calling on art makers in the city to be accountable and provide a reason for Black folks to want to share their stories – and to feel safe sharing those stories.
Black Arts Matter (BAM) created that kind of space. The festival and workshops were places of togetherness for the many iterations of Black genius – the professional, skilled, dedicated and passionate people who exist here. In the years since, I’ve seen the landscape of art in the city change. We’re seeing people get hired and build an identity for themselves as dancers, producers, spoken-word poets. There are places where you can find Black arts and artists and collectives doing incredible work. It feels like the right time for BAM to evolve again – moving away from a festival model rooted in having to prove ourselves and toward something more sustainable. The next BAM will embody a spirit of collaboration and togetherness where we can utilize our collective skills to produce each other’s work in a way that doesn’t feel so lonely and individualistic. Our success can be communal.
I don’t want to be a shining star on my own. I want to be part of a constellation.
–NASRA (Theatre Arts ’15) is the Director/Founder of Black Arts Matter. They are currently working on DNA Play, a multidisciplinary theatre piece.
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