Chad’s curiosity was boundless—he studied both the Judeo and Christian elements of the Bible, learned Hebrew, researched ancient Kemet and Yoruba—and all these cultures and languages appear in his writings. The layers of his writings are as intricately intertwined as the collective DNA of our humanity. In rehearsal, to his delight, he would uncover meanings that he did not consciously know he had put into his work—but his subconscious was operating on a whole other level. I do not exaggerate when I say that he was a prophet. In the numerous testimonials of the people he touched, these themes run through our relationships with Chad.

In one of his email addresses, he named himself YachadAharon—Ya’Chad Aharon (Aharon being Hebrew, perhaps derived from ancient Egyptian, for Aaron, his middle name). Ya’Chad—connecting himself to Ya/Jah, to the Almighty, to Spirit, to the All. But “yachad” also means “together” in Hebrew—the gift of collaboration, of sacred togetherness, was always present with Chad. And Aharon meaning “mountain of strength,” “high mountain,” “exalted.” Aharon in the Bible was the vessel through which God’s word was shared with the Israelites—due to Moses’s speech impediment—leading them from bondage to liberation. This kind of epic cosmology is what filled Chad’s plays, and he wrote of people’s journeys and struggles in discovering the sacred and holy, the God, within themselves. His writing documents the story of a generation and of a genre infused with Hip Hop culture and its connection to ancient wisdom and spirituality, to love, longing, loss, kinship, and family.

Humanity and the planet are worse without Chad among us. All I can muster is the knowledge of what brilliant light and energy has been released back into the universe. Chad, my brother in art, liberation, and justice, I will miss you dearly. I know that all who knew you will carry your generosity of spirit, of love, of connectedness into our work and the world. And we must make sure that future generations know of your brilliance, your sweet spirit, your faith, and the legacy of your timeless writing.

From Chad’s play Deep/Azure:

I’m holding/holding/holding on to the memories, to the possibilities/to the

memories, to the possibilities of our laughs in love.

laughs in love echo in my mind/ in my mind/ in my mind.

Oh how we would swing on our imaginations,

slide into sand with no boxes/no boundaries,

on the playground of our passions,

learning rules just to break them.

- Daniel Banks

1. Do you know what “anti-racism” means and the commitment it entails in order to use that word accurately and with integrity? According to the "Anti-Racism Digital Library" at Louisville Seminary, "Anti-racism can be defined as some form of focused and sustained action, which includes inter-cultural, inter-faith, multi-lingual and inter-abled (i.e. differently abled) communities with the intent to change a system or an institutional policy, practice, or procedure which has racist effects" (emphasis added).

2. Are you aware that anti-racism is not the same thing as thinking racism is wrong? Are you ready for “focused,” “sustained," and measurable action? Are your staff, guest artists, and board ready for that? If you do not have buy-in from your organization at every level or the willingness to let people go who do not buy-in, do not put out a statement saying your organization is anti-racist. Alternatively, put out a statement saying that you, as the organization's leader, are working to become anti-racist by making changes to your organization’s racist practices and culture within a given time-frame.

3. Keep it simple. More words do not mean more cookies (see Black Girl Dangerous).

We recommend at least these three, succinct components:

- Self-reflection and acknowledgment of failures (being careful of the pitfalls of hand-wringing, tears of shame, looking for sympathy—keep it clear, direct, and specific).

- Promises for concrete action within a given time period. What plans do you have to make sure there is ample representation of BIPOC folks at every level of your organization?

- A call to be held accountable with a specific protocol to do this. Have you considered to whom in or outside your organization people can safely go to when you slip up (which is inevitable in such a system-wide shift)? In what time period will your errors be addressed? What insurance is there that there will be no reprisals against folks pointing these out—and how will they be held close and assured of their value to the organization?

Do not include links of organization and initiatives that you have not personally vetted or explored. (Doing this vetting will help you with your statement.)

Finally, you may be feeling urged to state “Black Lives Matter”; but how much do you know about the actual organization? Are you aware that #BlackLivesMatter (now the Black Lives Matter Global Network) is different from Movement for Black Lives (BLM is a member of M4BL, but a separate entity)? How will you respond when board and community members argue specifics about the “Black Lives Matter” organization vs. the “Black Lives Matter” movement (which we already know is happening from other posts on social media)? Are you prepared to talk about the BDS movement (which was officially supported by M4BL, not BLM, and is no longer in M4BL’s Policy Platform), Israel, Zionism, anti-Semitism, the trauma of colonialism (both Palestine and Israel), oppression vs. genocide, and whether an entire nation (besides the US) should be judged and condemned for the human rights abuses of its government leaders and armed forces?

Do not ask your Black staff to write this statement on your behalf (and then change it—yes, this is happening). Do try to do the best you can, while consulting the “21-Day Racial Equity and Social Justice Challenge,” Me and White Supremacy by Layla Saad, and reading articles on Medium.com, Boston Review and the other numerous blogs and resources available. Ask several staff members, trusted advisers, and community partners for suggestions. This increases your accountability and, if you hear things that make you uncomfortable, it will be harder for you to make some “innocuous” edits.

If you have not been thinking about all of these things, then you are not ready to make a full-on re-missioning statement.

But please still make a STATEMENT OF SOLIDARITY. It can look like this (in your own words):

“We have been asleep at the wheel. We have prospered in silence. We will be silent no more. It is my commitment as leader of ____ to make my organization an anti-racist organization. I am beginning today by educating myself about the Black Lives Matter Movement as a whole and other anti-racist organizations. I will have a list of concrete changes and initiatives by _____. You have my word on this.

Please hold us to account by contacting ____ with comments, questions, suggestions, and information about how we have failed you and our BIPOC community members, in and outside the building. I promise I will listen and respond immediately. This is now our #1 institutional priority.”

Then say something from your heart about your commitment to the liberation of Black people. Don’t hide behind a hashtag.

Respectfully, if you cannot say and do these things, you are not ready to claim anti-racism.

Theatre Communications Group Conference, June 4, 2020

I am humbled and deeply moved to receive the Alan Schneider Director award. Thank you also, Ty, to you and Kate Freer for nominating me.

I am here today because of the support of so many people: Emily Mann, the most generous of mentors, and Kathleen Culebro, Artistic Director of Amphibian Stage Productions in Fort Worth, TX, both of whom wrote letters of recommendation. Also the award panelists, the DNAWORKS Ensemble, and my other teachers and mentors: Monika Pagneux, Kwame Kwei-Armah, Rosemary Harris, Una Chaudhuri, Roberta Levitow, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, and Marvin Sims. To the other finalists--it is an honor to be in your company.

My profound appreciation goes to Theatre Communications Group, which has been one of the most significant relationships in my professional theatre life. I remember reading about Tadashi Suzuki in AMERICAN THEATER in 1986 and feeling a sense of relief and excitement because the magazine showed me that the theatre community I craved was really out there. Thank you especially to Emilya Cachapero and Teresa Eyring for your years of patience, guidance, and kindness.

And my family—my husband and creative partner, Adam McKinney; my sister, parents, and grand and great-grandparents. My mother grew up in the Washington, DC, area, and regaled me during my childhood with her stories of attending the Arena Theatre. It was my mother who introduced me to theatre; and her appreciation of the artform was shaped watching Alan Schneider’s productions. In these and many other ways, standing here today is coming full circle.

I am recording this statement on Monday, June 1. The past week has once again demonstrated the consequences of our country’s failure to eliminate racism and racial violence, and the world is responding in protest. It is quite possible that, by the time you hear these words, their meaning may have completely changed. But this exercise feels strangely familiar—speaking into the future—because it is almost everything we do as theatre people. So how do we speak into our current future, and finally change it?

I take as my personal and artistic mantra the title of poet Sonia Sanchez’s play: “Uh huh, but how do it free us?” I began directing to bring people closer together, on and off stage; to create welcome tables where everyone has a seat. Because of my own background and history, I wanted to tell stories about people and families that do not neatly fit into boxes, stories that foreground complex, complicated identities and debunk the notion that any of us is one thing. I wanted to create opportunities for artists who had been denied access to practicing their artform because of their appearance, ability, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, culture, and class.

This often means making casting decisions based on histories that not everyone knows or remembers. Or telling stories to contradict a cultural imaginary that does not include these hidden histories. It also means devising work so we can create our own worlds, give shape and contour to our own roles and identities. I hold community storycircles as part of performances to balance artist and audience voices and create spaces for community members to learn more about one another. A project that grew out of such storycircles is DNAWORKS organizing a coalition of community organizations to prevent the demolition of the former Ku Klux Klan meeting hall, built here in Fort Worth in 1924. We are working to transform it into an international center and museum for art and community healing. This will provide a peaceful gathering place for a divided city, transforming a monument to hate and violence into a symbol of healing and restorative justice. The project’s leadership comes from the groups that were terrorized by the KKK here in the 1920s and the project returns resources to their communities.

So on this day, during these times when everyone’s life in the theatre has shifted radically and the future is uncertain for so many people, I am considering the intersection of our theatre work moving forward and our ability to create lasting change in society.

I often hear in community storycircles that people avoid the topic of racism because it feels too big, as if nothing can be done. What we, as a field, need is a concrete model for change, an implementable action plan. Imagine what would be possible if together every US theatre institution of every size and affiliation committed to anti-racism on and off their stages. It is not so far-fetched. Many organizations and artists are already doing anti-racism work with some, in the past week, releasing powerful statements and sharing resources. And look at the wide impact that Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS has had, challenging stigmas, generating public support for people with HIV and AIDS, and raising over $300 million dollars in the past 31 years with the participation of theatres around the country.

Let us use this time while waiting for our doors and stages to re-open to engage every artist, staff, board, and audience member in anti-racism work by providing information, trainings, community dialogues, policy advocacy opportunities, and other programming. If this commitment to end racism and racial violence were at the top of the agenda for US theatre for the next five years, think of what we could accomplish as a field. How many people could we reach? And how many more would they reach? How many lives could be saved? Theatre has done this throughout history, impacting human rights movements and legislation in the US and abroad. This is do-able!

Politicians across the country are making pledges to “root out racism.” The mayor of Fort Worth recently revealed, striking a new tone, that she is also “committed to continuing the work” within herself, “examining her own heart.” Like these politicians, I believe we can no longer avoid the reality that if we are not each of us taking this on as our own personal responsibility, we will not fulfill the potential and necessity for our artform in this time. I urge us, as a field, to commit to creating art and spreading knowledge to eliminate racism.

Alan Schneider is best known for projects that asked existential questions as well as plays that questioned US values and morés. Thank you for this opportunity to follow in his footsteps and ask such questions of the field and community that I love.

Related Content:

Read Christina Anderson's interview with Daniel Banks HERE.

In his 2017 TED Talk, “Can Art Amend History,” award-winning visual artist Titus Kaphar states, “We cannot erase history. It’s real. We have to know it.” He describes a process of amending history, similar to the process of amending the Constitution—we can see the traces of the past, but with the innovations of the future alongside these reminders. As he explains, “This is where we were; but this is where we are going.” It is this process of transformation that we propose for 1012 N. Main Street—we must know our history, and consciously amend it, in order to have a productive, more peaceful future. As you may be aware, film titan Tyler Perry has done something similar in Atlanta by purchasing a former Confederate army base and transforming it into his film production studios.

We envision that the building at 1012 N. Main Street would become a center for art, culture, entrepreneurship, and history that would serve all of Fort Worth. We propose a community-generated process so that the space would represent the needs and full cultural richness of the city, as it stands at the crossroads of many neighborhoods and groups. DNAWORKS has a fourteen-year history of facilitating precisely these processes in communities in the US and abroad, encompassing thirty-seven states and seventeen countries.

We received a letter of support from the International Coalition of Sites of Conscience. The Coalition was founded in 1999 precisely for the reason of preserving and bringing such sites to public attention. They “build the capacity of these vital institutions through grants, networking, training, transitional justice mechanisms and advocacy” in sixty-five countries, including the Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza in Dallas. Elizabeth Silkes, the Coalition’s Executive Director, writes:

“Were the city to pause on the demolition decision and consider preserving and re-envisioning the space, we believe that Fort Worth could become a leader in intentionally and positively activating sites such as this one. Not only could the re-envisioned site encourage local community members and visitors to view Fort Worth as a hub of community healing, but it could inspire communities around the world to consider their own contested historic sites as places to be used for activities related to social justice and healing.

The building at 1012 N. Main Street has the potential to be impactful for generations to come. Were it to be envisioned and activated as a site of conscience, this building would stand in the company of other profound member sites around the world, such as the Little Rock Central High School National Historic Site, Kigali Genocide Memorial in Rwanda, Constitution Hill in South Africa, and the Shingwauk Residential Schools Centre in Canada…This site has the potential to contribute to a more just and humane future.”

Again, on behalf of numerous supporters from around the world from whom we received letters and with whom we have been in communication, please grant the 180-day delay so that residents of the Metroplex have the time to find a way to preserve this building in order for its history of harm and trauma can be transformed into a future of health. I ask you, if we demolish our sites of conscience, what does this mean for our own individual and community consciences?

Good afternoon. My name is Adam McKinney and I am an Assistant Professor of dance at Texas Christian University. I am here as the Co-Director of DNAWORKS, a Fort Worth-based arts and service organization committed to healing through the arts and dialogue.

First, I would like to respectfully acknowledge all Native American peoples who have lived on this land since time immemorial.

I look to the ways in which our city is both committed to and challenged by racial equity. We are at a wonderful and particular time in history when we, as a city, get to “get it right” when it comes to racism in our country. I am inspired by the work of our city’s Mayor’s Task Force on Race & Culture and the myriad ways in which Fort Worth communities have publicly voiced our dedication to these issues. I share my thoughts today as a collaborative offering to accelerate and scale up our joint goals – within our city, our region, our nation, and our world.

I would like to offer an alternative to demolition of the building at 1012 N. Main Street

DNAWORKS, which has a 14-year track record of successful national and international leadership in social justice and the arts, has a clear vision and plan for transforming the building into an international center for performing arts and community healing, thereby also transforming a history of hate and injustice into a present and future of healing, peace and community.

The center will offer programming that reflects our city’s commitment to equity, access and opportunity. It will also house an educational wing, which be used to train people of all ages in theories and practices of peace, reconciliation, and restorative justice. DNAWORKS has already received communications from national and international organizations who are interested in presenting their work in the transformed building. Additionally, a generous individual has offered to donate an artifact from the Holocaust to be placed in the building’s proposed educational wing once completed.

Never in the history of Texas, nor in our country, has a former Ku Klux Klan building been transformed in such a way. Thus, Fort Worth has an exceptional opportunity to lead and model our commitment to equity through arts innovation.

There will be many incentives, not the least of which will be:

- positive national and global attention;

- our heightened profile in the area of racial and economic equity;

- increased tourism, economy and business investments; and

- an increased number of jobs available to artists and other workers in our city.

As a city, we need to harness this particular moment in time to turn this building into a jewel of Fort Worth, as opposed to demolishing a building with a very troubled past. And it will be because of the transformation of the building and the transformation of us as a city that people will be interested in and will want to come to Fort Worth. I believe that it behooves us a city to be the national and global frontrunner of civic transformation and mobilization in this way.

Given the application for the certificate of appropriateness, I suggest that the demolition of the building at 1012 N. Main Street is inappropriate because it means that a history of violence will be forgotten. And when we forget to remember, it allows for the possibility of violence to be reconstructed and repeated. Thus, I advocate for the full 180-day delay of demolition.

And we must never forget to remember Mr. Fred Rouse who was lynched two miles from here by members of the Ku Klux Klan on December 11, 1921. This means that it is our responsibility as a city to look back together to remember, so that we cease to be complicit.

At this time, I would like introduce the great nephew of Mr. Fred Rouse – Mr. Robert Rouse, who would like to share a few words.