TIMES OF DREAD
Andrea Ambam in conversation with Toni Morrison’s “No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear” published in The Nation - 2018
I’m meant to write an essay on cultural grantmaking but Sonya Massey
and over 300 days of genocide in Palestine
and humanitarian crises across the globe
and Kamala Harris steps in to “save democracy”
and don't look away, they are building cop cities
And / But / Also
Sonya Massey.
And it feels like
there’s only so much world a Black women can hold at once
And here I am again, wondering which one of us will break first
When the state of the world has me by the throat, I turn to my artistic foremothers who seem to always have a quote for that. That feeling of dread when you awake another day amidst unprecedented times. That feeling of numbness when your timeline offers you another tragedy, another fire to be put out, another child under rock and rumble to mourn, another funeral to attend, another fascist attempt, another evil to spite. That feeling of your spirit succumbing to the weight of the world.
In her 2018 essay, “No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear”, Toni Morrison called that feeling “times of dread.” Times of dread are never new or unique. Yet, for each generation, our unaddressed history of colonialism and white supremacy spawns a new head, and we must sharpen our weapons and fortify our hearts to face the times.
Toni Morrison proclaims, “This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge—even wisdom. Like art.”
Nina Simone croons, “You can't help it. An artist's duty, as far as I'm concerned, is to reflect the times.”
Toni Cade Bambara testifies, “As a culture worker who belongs to an oppressed people my job is to make revolution irresistible.”
And there’s Nikki Giovanni.
And there’s adrienne maree brown.
And there’s Alexis Pauline Gumbs.
And there’s an essay with more names of Black women fortifying us in text that beckons our return.
As a politically-engaged solo performer and writer who embraces form-bending and theatrics as a way to rehearse liberation, I create alongside my deep awareness and ancestral responsibility to uphold the artist’s assignment as articulated by my predecessors. My assignment is to tell the truth. My assignment is to bear witness. My assignment is to imagine a way through. Rightfully so, we have been quick to unpack the artist’s duty in times of dread. Yet as I sit here, wondering how to write an essay about cultural grantmaking with Sonya Massey’s whimpers in my head, I can’t help but wonder: In times of dread, the seemingly never-ending unprecedented times, what is the institution's assignment?
What does it mean to support a Black woman making art at the end of the world?
A Black woman creating
A Black woman saving democracy
A Black woman boiling her pot of water
Collage artwork created by Andrea Ambam
In 2020, or as I like to call it, “the new age of racial enlightenment”, it took a pandemic and several public lynchings for institutions to craft statements and tout flowery language acknowledging “more work to be done” and “anti-racism.” As annoying and gutting as this new age of enlightenment was - because what was the limit? How many Black people had to die for an institution to simply state “Black Lives Matter”? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to relive how difficult it was to see the world finally react to George Floyd’s “I can’t breathe” like America has not been kneeling on our necks for centuries. We have too much capacity for Black death.
Breathe, Andrea. Write the essay.
As annoying and gutting as this new age of enlightenment was – we did witness glimmers of change. Some institutions became malleable, adaptable, and able to embrace rapid response. We saw the radical possibilities of unrestricted funds, mutual aid, mental health/wellness checks, abolished deadlines, extended fellowship periods, and more. We saw a glimmer of what could happen if institutions prioritized necessity over bureaucratic decision-making. Unfortunately, society was more interested in reverting to “normal” than maintaining the emergency response skills we gained in 2020. Four years later, authoritarian attacks on the arts are taking place across the country. There is an active attempt to bury the words and work of Toni Morrison, Zora Neale Hurston, Kimberlé Crenshaw, and more. Artists reflecting the times are being steadfastly censored, silenced, and erased. Cultural grantmaking institutions professing to support Black artists must understand that the future is upon us and if we don’t actively fight for liberation with every weapon we have (hello imagination!), there are powerful and oppressive forces maniacally feeding our dreadful times. In 2024 (Octavia E. Butler’s “parable year”), it is not enough for an institution to be anti-racist, institutions must be co-conspirators; protecting, nurturing, and preparing the artist as we fill the mighty shoes of our assignment.
So I pose a series of reflections for grantmakers to mull over: What does it look like for the institutions supporting Black artists “to go to work” in times of dread as Toni Morrison commands? What does it look like for institutions supporting Black artists to “reflect the times” as Nina Simone wails? What can institutions do to fuel artists' efforts to make revolution irresistible amidst a rapidly dire landscape?
To meet the needs of the artists, institutions must recognize that we are not impenetrable to the social, political, and economic metamorphosis happening across the globe. We must all adjust accordingly. It’s time for institutions to carry this assignment alongside us. Get to work.
But somehow Sonya - this reflection must come back to you. To us.
To the Black women always making.
Making… resistance. Making… democracy.
To all the Black women and femmes who willingly and unwillingly foster a spirit of justice in our very existence.
My auntie got a nose like Breonna Taylor.
My sister got a smile like Sandra Bland.
My mother got the cheeks of Atatiana Jefferson.
My grandma got the skin of Deborah Danner.
Best friend, you remind me of Oluwatoyin Salau.
Pamela Turner, I think I got lips like you.
my family tree
how it grows above ground
and below
how are branches intertwine in this
Black
womanhood
what a dangerous way to live
to have lived
to be living
If I could
I would
find a safe space for us to grow
far from any being trying to
disrupt our soil
HEAR THE STORY
/
HEAR THE STORY /
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andrea Ambam is a performance artist and writer whose roots sprout from Cameroon. As a politically engaged artist who believes in the art’s potential for movement-building and transformative justice, Andrea puts narrative to use – creating theatrical experiences that world bend and record truth.
Andrea is the Director of Programming at Level Forward, where she curates and produces story-driven/impact-minded events, and hosts the Anthem Award-winning third space and podcast More To Talk About. She has developed her multi-hyphenated artistic practice as a New York Theatre Workshop 2050 Artistic Fellow, Playwrights Realm Writing Fellow, a Brooklyn Arts Exchange (BAX) Artist-In-Residence, an Artistic Fellow with Signature Theatre, a Writing As Activism Fellow with PEN America, an Artivism Fellow with Broadway Advocacy Coalition (BAC), an Artist-in-Residence for Anna Deavere Smith, an EmergeNYC Fellow, and as a competitive public speaker/performer where she was been awarded 10 national championships including "Top Speaker in the Nation'' three times, and gone on to debate conservative pundits on live TV.
As a performer, writer, and facilitator, she’s worked with Broadway Advocacy Coalition, Level Forward, Harlem9, Classical Theatre of Harlem, gal-dem, Abrons Arts Center, NYU Prison Education Program, NYU Verbatim Performance Lab, and others. Her plays include Twelve Angry Black Women, Fragile State (Eugene O’Neill National Playwrights Conference Semifinalist, Rattlestick Van Lier Fellowship Semifinalist), R(estoration) I(n) P(rogress) (NYU Educational Theatre/Provincetown Playhouse 2023, ANPF Semifinalist 2021), Rehearsing Justice: A One-Woman Show (Presentations with BAX 2022 & BAC 2021), and Angelina Weld Grimke (Classical Theatre of Harlem/Playbill, Broadway Podcast Network).
Andrea lives in Brooklyn, where the rent is too damn high, and holds a Master’s degree in Art & Public Policy from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts.
photo credit: Lexi Webster Photography
