The Express Way with Dulé Hill

Dul Hill: Chicago... really is at the top of the rung in terms of passion, in terms of activism.

However, there is a big dichotomy of those who have and those who have not.

Artists here are engaged in making a difference.

Woman: I wanted a space where artists could fully be who they are.

Hill: Art in general is about holding up a mirror to society to shine a light on injustices.

Man: I don't have the choice to be helpless right now.

What I do have is a microphone.

Hill: You have to have the community, the determination to make the impossible possible.

Man: How many people have "we" lost?

Not "we," me!

Different man: Every man deserves a second chance.

You're not just defined by your mistakes.

Hill: I need to understand how art and social justice are so inextricably connected here in Chicago.

I'm Dul Hill.

As a lifelong dancer, actor, and singer, the arts are what drive me.

Art builds bridges.

Art creates change.

Art is powerful.

We are here in the Windy City--Chicago.

There are some pivotal milestones that bring me to Chicago.

When I was doing "The Tap Dance Kid," the national tour, Mayor Harold Washington gave me the key to the city when I came out here, and I still have the key.

I thought the key could get me into everything.

I was walking around saying, "I got the key to the city.

I'll pay for this dinner with the key."

What that tells me is that there's a deep connection to art here in Chicago.

There's a deep celebration of art in Chicago.

Right now, we're headed to the South Side.

This was definitely one of the landing points during the Great Migration.

A lot of African Americans came from the South looking for a better life for themselves and for their family and for generations to come, and I feel that here, the dream hasn't fully been realized, and sometimes it has actually gotten so far away from what seems to be attainable that you can't help but be involved.

And there's a new vanguard of artists and activists, or artivists, who are leading the charge.

That wave includes the Andre Theatre Collective, which is producing a play co-written by James Warren, an inmate in the Illinois Department of Corrections.

Man: And whenever you are ready, and action.

"We"?

Who is this "we" you talking about?

How many funerals have "we" paid for?

How many bills have "we" paid to stop evictions?

How many people have "we" lost?

Hi.

Get out of the rain.

You know what I'm saying?

A little water is all good.

Heh!

I'm Kemdah.

Kemdah, how you doing?

Dul.

Very nice to meet you.

Man: What you doing, man?

Hey, don't mind the wet hands and everything.

What's up, man?

Man: The Andre Theatre Collective is a collective of incarcerated playwrights.

It was created by James Warren.

It's named after his cousin that died.

They wrote this play.

It's called "The Story of Violence."

They've been putting the play on within the prison system for a few years now, and James had told Joey, "I have this radical idea.

I want to produce this play outside of prison."

Joey said, "Let's do it."

Now, have you all produced a play before, or is this-- First time.

None of us have.

Oh, wow.

We're finding the money to do this on our own.

How do you all know each other?

We went to high school together, and then we all hung out in the same social circle, so we've known each other since we were 15.

Muir: And, like, the arts community in Chicago is very, like, activist-oriented, so, like, if you're in the activist world, you're gonna know people in the artist world, and if you're in the artist world, you're gonna know activists.

There's a lot of crossover.

Lot of crossover, a lot of crossover.

Why do you feel that that is the case, where artists are activists and vice versa?

I think it's just become the culture.

Like, up-and-coming artists feel it's cool to stand for something, it's cool to show up.

If there's something that's happening in our community, we feel it's cool to speak up on it.

Hill: Right.

Now-- I remember James calling me and being like, "Yo, we made this play in here, and who's, like, a director?"

and I'm like, "I mean, Andre directs, "but he do, like, movies and videos.

It's not the same."

He was like, "A'ight.

You got Andre number?"

Kemdah: James just started calling people and adding us to this Instagram group chat and like-- It was like telephone almost, but, like, he's not in a place where he's questioning any possibilities because he's already doing it from the most impossible place.

Right.

He thinks we can, who am I to say we can't?

I think I can.

You know what I mean?

Like, let's do it.

Muir: All of us have a personal connection with this.

You know, I have a brother that was in and out of jail.

One of my older brothers has been incarcerated for 19 of a 45-year sentence.

My father was incarcerated in Dixon, so it's extremely personal.

It could have been us.

Like, we could be James.

We could.

It could have been opposite.

He could have been the one sitting in the seat right now talking to you.

Purp: Somebody can make a mistake at one point in their life, and the fact of the matter is, you don't have to be limited by your past.

Right.

Especially people in the prison system.

There's always people writing them off, and they're kind of, like, these forgotten people, and if anyone should be voicing why things are the way that they are, it should be them, you know, so they kind of wanted to take the narrative back into their hands and explain why they think things are the way that they are.

Then do you know how the piece was received at the prison?

Purp: To standing ovations, to my understanding, yeah.

They had to, like, do a "bravo" performance and stuff like that or whatever, like an encore performance, I mean.

They just want their families to be able to see this play that they came up with while inside, and so that's kind of what we're bringing to life with all of this.

[Children shouting] [Dog barks] Man: This was at Big James and Deenie's wedding, right?

Woman: Yeah.

Mm-hmm.

[Chuckles] Was I even born yet?

I think you was only a couple years old.

This is my favorite picture of us.

If it was, like, "Pinky and the Brain," he was the Brain.

[Laughter] He was always the thinker of the group.

Woman: James got good grades, went to a selective-enrollment high school.

He was at school from sunup to sundown sometimes.

That's when he really got into the acting and the plays and stuff.

[Cell phone vibrates] He calling.

James: James Warren.

Voice: To accept this free call, press one.

To refuse this free-- Hello?

What's going on, James?

I'm good.

We're in the middle of this interview.

We were talking about, like, how you got into theater.

That's what I told them.

Once you got to high school, you started finding yourself and meeting new friends and stuff.

James started taking classes at Harold Washington, one of the City Colleges of Chicago, but not long after that, that's when some of this stuff started happening, so-- In Chicago, there's a lot of crime and violence, and James' cousin-- Andre Taylor, 16-- he got shot and killed, and then James had another cousin that he was really close to-- Michael, and they tried to rob him, killed him.

Man: After Michael passed, I did notice, like, a change in James.

Like, I noticed he started being more distant.

I feel like he couldn't see outside of the pain.

[Distant siren] Betty: One of my sisters came in the house and told me James had shot somebody and was in jail.

I couldn't believe it.

I couldn't believe it.

That wasn't his character.

Hill: We're looking at the court document that lays out what happened with James Warren back on the night of April 15, 2017.

From what I'm reading, it sounds like James went to this college party.

He was highly intoxicated and got into an altercation with several people there.

They eventually kicked him out of the party, but James wasn't having it.

He snuck back in and wound up shooting one of the people he got into a fight with in the leg twice.

The victim, Rafael Rosado, survived.

Betty: The minimum sentence for the charge is 6 years.

He never had a record, no encounters with the police.

For them to give him 15 years, I thought that was very excessive.

Hill: So instead of just sitting there, James Warren formed this collective and started to write.

Hill: In order to make a great change, you have to take great swings.

As an artist, that's what you look for, especially when it's connected to something that means something to you.

If we just tap into that, we can find our voice.

Hey.

Good morning.

How are you?

Good morning Women: Good morning.

And a-1, 2, 3, and 4 Woman: This is our first day of rehearsal for the season.

I am excited.

We have our amazing rehearsal director here, Miss Chaniece.

[Applause and hooting] Class is gonna be a mixture of some Igbo Afro Haitian movement.

This'll get us flowing together.

Hill: We're getting ready to meet Vershawn Sanders Ward, who is the founder and artistic director of the Red Clay Dance Company.

They're a nonprofit that really opens up their doors to expose the community to the wonderful world of African diaspora dance.

Hello.

How you doing?

Hi.

I'm good.

How are you?

Oh, glad to be here.

Welcome to our space here.

OK. Well, you know, you got me on some wood, so I got to-- So you're in the tap room.

You know what I'm saying?

I give you a little bit of this.

All right.

Here we go.

I can give you a little... Da da da da da That's about all I remember.

You see?

Ha ha!

Exactly.

Ward: Growing up, I didn't have any teachers that looked like me.

I didn't have any teachers that had my body type... even in the videos we would watch of, like, old dancers.

I didn't have the long, lean dancer ballet body, and so for a long time, I was like, "Is dance for me?"

I wanted a space where bodies like mine would be elevated.

Hill: Where are you from?

Ward: My family is from Mobile, Alabama.

I was born there.

I moved to Chicago when I was, like, 3 or 4.

Ward: The origin of Red Clay Dance is tied to the red earth that everyone knows Mobile to have.

I remember summers there back when kids played outside.

I was one of those kids that played in the dirt.

It was my first memory of, like, creativity, and so when I thought about a name for the company, I wanted something that was connected to me and my legacy and my lineage.

Hill: How did you get exposed to dance?

Ward: When I was about 4 or 5, it was a little, like, ballet/tap combo class.

You know, we all start with, like, ballet slippers, little tutu, take them off, put the tap shoes on for 30 minutes, but I loved it.

I loved the physicalness of it, and that's what, you know, really drove me to think about it more deeply, is, like, "Oh, I could actually do this as a career."

Where did you go to undergrad?

I went to Columbia College, downtown Chicago, and I got to meet Germaine Acogny and then go to Senegal.

Ward: I was able to study there for 2 1/2 months.

The feel, the vibe, the people reminded me of being in Mobile.

Even though there were dancers from varying cultures, it still was like, "This is a Black space.

"It's a diasporic space.

This is about centering our experience in this place."

Hill: And you're the center of the story.

Ward: We're the center of the story.

It just felt like, "This is how I'm supposed to be moving," you know?

Tapping more into that me.

More into the me and to see a Black woman in leadership.

Leader.

Yes.

I can build an institution like this, even thinking beyond just, like, what happens inside of the space, and, obviously, dancers are growing their craft, but outside of the space, she was supporting her village economically.

The impact was even more amplified.

The domino effect of it all.

Exactly, and we danced all day, every day except for Sunday.

Ha ha ha!

[Ekwe playing] Ward: OK, so we're gonna move a little bit into Igbo.

Everybody all right?

You warming up?

Yeah.

Ward: I call it Afro contemporary.

What that means to me is that it is rooted in diasporic movement.

That's what guides my work and, really, other choreographers that come to work with the company.

So it's this and the spiral.

Here we go.

Feel your whole foot on the floor, Alex.

Yes.

[Clapping rhythm] Huh!

Ward: You should know what the Igbo rhythm sounds like.

The music and the dance go together.

In opening up this new space a couple of years ago, I was very intentional about where.

I wanted to be in a place where there was not a lot of access.

It was also very important for me to be in a Black community where those community members could see Black dancers pursuing their passion at a professional level.

Woman: I was raised in Louisville, Kentucky, and a lot of times, I was the only Black person in the room, and then I found Red Clay, and I was like, "Oh, my gosh, a Black woman is running it," and I'm just surrounded by a lot of people who look like me for the first time.

I want to be on stage and performing.

That's the goal.

I'm running towards it.

Hill: I noticed here in Chicago, a lot of artists, they're engaged here.

It's about coming home and improving.

Ward: Yes, what's here, which is why I love the windows.

Like, I can walk down 63rd and see these dancers in the studio rehearsing.

"I see it, I see it, I see it.

I can be that," you know?

That's what's powerful.

That's actually genius.

I never even comprehended the subtlety of that, just having the windows open.

That is really powerful.

Yeah, and people are always--you know, or we have class going on, and kids are outside dancing.

You know, it's just like, "Oh, and this is in my neighborhood."

Mm-hmm.

The more that we allow people to see that, it's even more impactful because you've seen the work that goes into...

Creating the beauty.

this.

Exactly.

Hill: We often forget the power of art, the power of expression, and how we can use it to highlight awareness, to hopefully impact change, and that's especially important when the stakes for your community or your family's homeland are a matter of life or death.

[Car horn honks] All right.

Man: What's up, Chicago?

How's everybody doing?

[Applause] All right.

Thanks for being here.

Come on up a little bit.

Come on up.

Don't be shy.

God, it's so good to see you.

It's also genuinely hard to see further back, so-- Ha ha ha!

Yeah.

We're Bassel & The Supernaturals, Syrian heart and Midwest soul.

I'm first-generation Syrian American.

I'm a product of immigrants from a place called Aleppo, Syria.

People don't hear enough about that narrative, and that's part of what we're here to do today, is to help amplify the correct story.

Yeah.

That's the Syria we work to rebuild through this work every single day.

This song is called "Aleppo."

It's off our album "Smoke & Mirrors."

20% of everything we sell goes straight to humanitarian relief for Syria through the Karam Foundation, so check it out, but first, we're gonna get down, have some fun.

Man: My name is Bassel Almadani.

It really wasn't until I moved to Chicago after college that I became a singer.

Well, if there's one thing I know It's how to make you feel right at home... Almadani: I started tapping into the timelessness of soul music and the Marvin Gayes and Etta Jameses and Otis Reddings of the world.

Overwhelming Oh, the love inside my nana's eyes... I needed that music.

It tapped right into that pain and sorrow that I was feeling.

It made me realize I've been doing it all wrong.

This is what I have to do now.

I have to write from that place.

Yeah Hill: Bassel & The Supernaturals.

The music is cloaked in soul and funk, but underneath it, the story is about the plight of the Syrian people.

It's about the civil war that has gone on for the last 12 years in Syria.

It's about the resulting refugee crisis that has displaced so many families.

Almadani: Hey, how are you?

What's happening, man?

I'm doing well, doing well.

Welcome to Chicago.

Oh, thank you, thank you, brother.

Nice to meet you.

What was the inspiration to talk about the Syrian crisis through soul, through funk?

I think I do soulfully driven music.

It's all groovy-based, but what keeps it soulful is that authentic energy and truth and honesty behind it, and it just naturally adapted as I started experiencing the war in Syria through the lens of what my family was experiencing.

Almadani: 2011, and the Arab Spring is breaking out.

You start to see revolutions happening in Egypt and Tunisia and Libya to start, and we were excited to see these dictators being challenged.

Syria really didn't get caught up in the Arab Spring until early 2012, and it started as some simple protests, people who were sick of the status quo and the shrinking middle class and the constant droughts and lack of access.

You had a younger generation.

They weren't aware of what had happened in prior generations and the aggression of these dictators in this particular regime, and that's exactly how it started.

You had some kids that put graffiti on a wall, and they were attacked violently and thrown into prison and their families were targeted, so it was a very violent pushback that was immediate.

Man: The Syrian city of Hama turned into a war zone.

Almadani: When you had a government attacking civilians-- and I think that's what people never really seem to understand and what we're constantly addressing in our shows-- it's not like there was a rebel group coming to throw the government over.

It was people like you and me, civilians, that were dragged into this mess.

[People singing] Almadani: I don't think anybody could have foreseen it becoming so violent so fast.

[Speaks Arabic] Woman: [Shouting in Arabic] Nic Robertson: A sister uncontrollable with grief.

Woman: Oh, my God, help me!

Almadani: Extremist groups who went into Syria to take advantage of that chaos, and suddenly, my family is living under this war zone.

My aunt's house was annihilated with bombs, and then my young cousin-- who had nothing to do with the fighting or anything, just a young girl on her way to get her Ph.D. in microbiology-- she was on a bus, and somebody shot at that bus.

She was shot and killed, right next to her own family member who was sitting in the seat with her.

That's where things really turned for me.

I felt a need to spread the truth through my platform.

The fact that I'm a Syrian person and I have family that's impacted by this, like, I don't have the choice to be helpless right now.

What I do have is a microphone.

[Playing "Black Water"] Almadani: I have a stage.

Hill: How's everybody doing, man?

Dul.

Hill: How did you come up with the name Supernaturals?

Almadani: Supernatural's really about defying all the odds, doing whatever we got to do to be able to make music and get this message out there and help to rebuild a better future for Syrians.

Almadani: It's become a collective of musicians that are all tied to the cause of the message.

They appreciate the music and the sense of community around it.

They taught her Sail away... Hill: This refugee crisis with Syria, is that something that you tap into?

Almadani: Sail away Almadani: Sail away Hill: You really approach it through the collateral damage, the ripple effect of things.

You're not in the middle of it, but you are in the current of it.

That's exactly it.

Almadani: That was one of the most challenging creative experiences that I've ever had, was to figure out how to stay honest and authentic with the music when I'm not there myself.

Every single show I play, at least one person comes up to me and asks, "Is the war still going on in Syria?"

We're cultivating safe spaces to ask that question and say, "Yes."

We connect them to charity organizations because otherwise, nothing changes.

Hey Sail away, sail away Sail away in my sleep Sail away, sail away Sail away in my sleep The hills are green The river's full It is crazy being back in this joint, though.

Muir: Yeah.

I remember the first time I seen you was just in the hallway.

You had on that Nike hoodie from Urban Outfitters, and I remember I wanted to steal it so bad.

We stole that Nike hoodie.

[Laughter] Muir: So I met Joey his freshman year, and then Kemdah I met through social work.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Way I met James was through y'all... Purp: Mm-hmm.

so all of us knew each other in high school.

Muir: What was really beautiful about it is, we all kicked it with each other.

We all knew each other.

I went to this community school called Whitney Young.

James went to King.

Joey went to Whitney.

We all partied with each other.

We all, like, loved each other.

At the same time, we all had to go home, and we all had to go back to the 'hood.

Purp: Downstairs in the arts building, it was a full recording studio, fully furnished with a board, mixer, everything.

The first time I ever been in a studio and watched somebody record music Was down there.

was in there.

I didn't start rapping for real till after high school, but Vic, for the most part, was the one rapping, and Chance was rapping, too, but he went to Jones, so he was over there doing the same thing.

I always respected how creative they were.

Vic Mensa, he started this band called Kids These Days, and I produced this music video for them.

Mensa: Oh, I remember when we first met In sixth grade when you hadn't been hurt yet... Muir: That was my first foray into visual arts, and they kind of all formed this collective called Savemoney.

Mensa: Don't be a young perp Mission since birth to fiscally thirst In good times, we wait for the worst [Gunshot] Muir: For James to have been in this collective, it means that he made a decision to try and separate himself from the things that were going on in his neighborhood, and so, for him to be sitting in jail right now, it's circumstance.

Especially as a Black man, you're one bad mood, decision, miscommunication away from sitting in jail.

Purp: When's the last time you talked to him?

Muir: I just talked to James yesterday.

I just gave him a few updates on, like, what's going on with the play, and it's tough.

You have 15 minutes, and it's like you try to pack in as much information as you possibly can.

That's what we're doing.

We're, like, we're sitting here waiting.

[Cell phone rings] OK. All right.

Yo.

I'm good.

I'm good.

I'm good.

The casting is happening on Saturday.

As we're going through the auditions, is there any, like, thing about any character that stands out that you really want to kind of come through?

Mm-hmm.

Muir: This is the first time, like, we're gonna sit and watch people bring this to life.

James, when we talk about it, that's the thing that he gets the most excited about because he was like, "This is real."

Muir: What's your name?

I'm sorry.

Steven Long.

Steven Long, thank you so much for coming out.

Dude, I know this cat.

How you doing, man?

I'm your reader, man.

I'm your reader.

We about to do a scene together.

Yeah.

Muir: You'll be Lenny.

You're Amiri.

OK. You just met a young man named Dante.

You saw him, and it's like there's nothing there in his eyes OK.

Anytime?

Anytime, whenever you're ready.

Zach, are we recording?

We're recording.

Perfect.

Hey, hey, you got your feet on it.

Hill: Oh, my fault.

"The Story of Violence"?

Yeah--fear, flight, fate.

That's what I saw in his eyes, Lenny, you know, but it's not just him.

It's--it's their entire generation.

Come on, man.

Now you're being dramatic.

You can't paint an entire generation with the same brush.

No, but the youth is the future, and death and destruction has, uhh-- it's become their norm.

It's diminished their resolve.

It's--it's intertwined with their being.

Don't say that.

Don't say that, Amir.

The youth are resilient and adaptive, and in due time, they'll realize their potential.

Just trust the process.

Muir: So I lived as far north in Chicago as you possibly can.

They call it, like, the North Pole.

In Chicago, the North Side is, like, the well-to-do people, and then the South Side is, like, kind of lower-income... but I live in this one little pocket in Rogers Park where things are actually pretty dangerous.

When I was young, I saw a young woman get shot, and it actually is, like, what kind of was the impetus for my short film "4 Corners."

[Two gunshots] [People shouting] Muir: As I left the corner store, I heard, like, this pop-pop-pop... Man: Call 911!

Muir: but I didn't know what that was...

I got you.

Someone call for help.

Muir: and so then I, like, kept walking, and then when I got over here, it was, like, this lady that got shot.

I just remember her gripping her leg, and it, like, stood out to me as, like, a young boy.

Man: Stay focused.

You're gonna be all right.

[Siren] Muir: I was like, "Damn, why did she get shot right here?"

"Oh, because we just shot somebody, like, a week ago"... and then I was like, "Oh, well, why we shoot this person a week ago?"

[4 gunshots] Muir: "Because they shot our homie two weeks ago."

That's how it works in Chicago.

It's this tit for tat.

"You killed my homie, I'm gonna kill you," and it's gonna keep going back and forth forever because no one knows why it started.

I have empathy for James.

His homies are dying.

His cousin had just got killed.

That was a lot for him.

Either you cut your emotions off when you get through that or you dive into them, and it messes you up.

James, he's--like, remind me a lot of my brother.

My brother was very sensitive and very kind.

Life is hard for people that are kind.

I grew up in this home, like, through my high-school years, especially the years that I, like, met Joey and met Kemdah and met James, but this is my first time in this house in 3 years.

Yeah.

I mean, it definitely brings up memories, being back.

We grew up on this street, Greenleaf, and we were really close with the young men from Howard Street.

Those were our best friends; we played football together, basketball together, on the same teams, all of that.

But one day, a war broke out.

All of a sudden, your best friend from when you were 9, 10, 11 is now your enemy.

People started dying.

Now there's no room for forgiveness.

Yeah, and then my brother, they wanted to kill him, and I think that got to him, and so, you know, he'd stay home and he would drink.

My brother, he died upstairs.

He drank himself to death.

He died when he was 27, I was 26.

You always think you have more time, but you don't.

That's another reason why I like the story, that James and I agreed to do it.

It's just, like, it's 5 men trying to figure out why it is the way that it is, and they don't come to a conclusion because I don't think there's a simple one.

[Indistinct conversation] Muir: I'm, like-- I'm way more into subtlety than I normally am.

Zach: What's your name?

Kelvin Dixon.

I'm playing Young Driller.

Andre.

Nice to meet you.

Thank you so much for coming out, man.

Blessings, cat.

Yeah, what's up?

Stroud: Kemdah.

Nice to meet you.

I am Robert Newman III, also go by Woody the Poet.

I'm gonna be reading for Young Driller.

Muir: You don't have to answer this question, but were you formerly incarcerated, by any chance, or-- Yes.

I was 18 years old when the incident occurred, served 24 years, and I been out maybe, like, two years and a few months now.

Muir: OK, so this play was written by, you know, incarcerated playwright, so we have a strong preference for formerly incarcerated actors because we want to let people know that your life doesn't just end...

Right after that.

Muir: after that, so-- Woody: Whenever?

Muir: Yeah, whenever you're ready, action.

I'm doing an expose on the story of violence in Chicago.

I feel that the only way I can truly catch the essence of the streets is to hear from its voice, which is you.

Here we go again.

Y'all out-of-towners a trip, man.

Always on a self-serving mission to save Chicago.

What are you expecting to hear from me, anyway?

Look, I'm just trying to understand how we got here.

What's there to understand?

How we got here, for starters.

"We"?

How did we get to a place where we don't care about our children dying in the streets at an alarming rate?

Who's this "we" you talking about?

How many funerals have "we" paid for?

How many bills have "we" paid to stop evictions?

How many people have "we" lost?

Right!

I'm the one that's doing all that, not "we," me!

Dixon: That self-righteousness that you got, it ain't good for nothing but pointing fingers and shifting blame.

Hill: Young Driller, I--I didn't mean to offend.

I seen people like y'all a thousand times over, trying to solve the problems in the street from a penthouse suite.

People like who?

People like you, you goofy, with your need to be the hero, cappin' like you want to save the world, but all you really want is a photo op.

I'm from Chicago, from the same streets you're from.

Oh, so we the same, huh?

How about when your people be chasing my people from 26th and Cali?

I can't even ride to Little Villa without getting a round, man.

Get out of here with that bull crap.

But what about your community or those that admire you, my brother?

Yo...I ain't your brother.

Muir: Yeah, love that.

Ha ha ha!

Yep.

I was gonna tell him-- You know what I'm saying?

When he walked up the first time, I was like--ha ha ha!

I'm just reading this, man.

Zach: I'm not him.

I'm not him.

Purp: Truly.

What's up, boy?

Respect.

Heh.

You got some talented cats coming through here.

Yeah, so now it's just, like, where do we want to do the actual play at?

I look forward to seeing the final result.

Heh!

Yeah, man.

Yeah.

We're building it.

We're building it.

Ward: Our work as artivist started with where we decided to root ourselves.

Red Clay has always been based on the South Side of Chicago, and that, to me, is the beginning, coming in and listening to what the community is saying that they need.

Hey!

OK!

Hill: That mission led Vershawn to Urban Growers Collective on the South Side of Chicago... Hill: All right.

How are y'all doing?

How's everything?

Man: I was just Googling you when I opened up the stall.

You see?

That's where it's going.

Soon as you Google... Ta-da!

[Laughter] How are you today?

Hill: ...where she's helping to raise awareness about the food inequalities in her community through the art of dance.

Ward: The Urban Growers Collective was co-founded by Erika Allen during the pandemic.

They reached out for us to create something as a celebration or to honor Urban Growers Collective's work... bringing access to fresh fruits and vegetables specifically to communities in Chicago that are in food deserts or food apartheid.

Ward: If you live in a certain block or a certain radius, those resources just don't flow, so to see this Black woman with her own farm, teaching other people of color how to grow this food, how do we bring that knowledge back to the broader community so that they understand, you know, what it means to grow your own food for yourself, for your community?

Hill: It's kind of like reclaiming, really.

It's all about reclaiming.

Again, this idea of artivism, we want to bring people to a knowing about something that's not all that exciting to talk about through the art and using dance as a way to ignite change.

Ward: A part of my research for my work is always embodied.

I want to feel it, I want to do it, and I'm like, "OK, so we got to come out here "and plant and do all the things "that the growers are doing "so when we go back into the studio, we have a real experience that we're pulling from."

That was the springboard for "Rest.Rise."

Woman: Hey, yes A farm could be a presenter of art.

Mm-hmm.

Let's activate our communities around things that are healthy for us but through a shared experience of music and dance, all the things that keep us motivated.

Hill: The dance is being used as an entry point.

Ward: An entry point, and now you're thinking about it like, "OK, let me go visit Urban Growers Collective.

Let me plant a garden myself."

So when is the next "Rest.Rise"?

Ward: I want to see "Rest.Rise" continue to evolve.

Like, we want to take this work to other urban and rural farms because, like, "We don't have a theater, but we got a community center and a garden."

"All right.

We can bring this here."

Hill: "We know how to do it."

Ward: We know how to do it, and then take it wherever it goes next.

Take it wherever.

Let's see where it grows next.

Yeah, see where it grows next.

Ha ha ha!

[Goats bleat] Almadani: If there's one thing I know It's how to make you feel right at home Well, just take the bed and eat up... Almadani: All right.

You guys ready to learn some music?

Child: Yes.

So go ahead and play, like, a little bit of the bassline of "Aleppo."

Yeah.

Yeah.

You can play with him, too.

Later in the song, there's a chorus that happens in Arabic.

We put the letters in English just so they're a little easier to read for now, but the idea-- "Albi breedik ya Halab"-- does anybody know what that means?

"My heart yearns for Halab."

That's Aleppo in Arabic.

It's where my family is from, but if you have a different city you want to put in there, "Albi breedik ya Sham" or "Hama" or "ya Homs," whatever it might be.

Feel free.

Albi breedik ya Halab... Almadani: There's always this, like, sense of nerves when you meet children who are refugees... Halab Yeah, you Almadani: ...but once you give kids an instrument, once you give kids a drum or a shaker or a tambourine, you see their character just shine.

I just wanted to expose them to art as a form of healing, as a vehicle, as a mechanism to process that trauma.

Almadani: All right.

Guys, great job.

[Applause] Hey, what's up, man?

How you doing, man?

Hey, what's up, man?

How you doing?

Yeah.

You're my friend now.

Oh, yeah.

What's up, man?

You're my friend.

Are you my friend?

I am your friend.

Yes, I am.

Almadani: Dul is here to learn about the Syrian Community Network and the amazing work that's happening right here in Chicago to help empower the future of not just Syrians, but of our entire region and beyond.

Woman: We are a nonprofit based here in Chicago, and our role is to help Arabic-speaking immigrants and refugees transition to life here in the United States.

So we work with kids all the way through adults, seniors, and these are some kids who learned different Arabic words, so they all speak and understand Arabic, but they're learning to read and write because they moved here when they were so young that they didn't get formal Arabic schooling.

Hill: What are some of the Arabic words that they've learned?

West: Perfect.

What's this one?

Boy: Uh, it's a bee.

Nahli.

Nahla.

Almadani: Ah!

Where?

[Laughter] Almadani: A lot of people have no idea what refugees actually experience when they first come to the country and how little resources they're actually being provided.

So we really work with families for the long term, helping them establish themselves here, so I think every single one of our students could tell you that they have family abroad still, but we really wanted to celebrate the culture that they're from.

Just because they're here, they don't need to lose out on their identity, so they actually prepared a special song for you two today-- they've been working on it all summer--in Arabic.

Hill: Wow.

I'm very excited, very excited.

Thank you so much for this.

Almadani: Such a beautiful thing how art can bring the youth to life, and seeing that in real time with these kids, it's such a beautiful experience.

Hill: Hey, hey, hey!

Ha ha ha!

[Applause] That was magnificent.

Yeah, wonderful.

I want you all to know that you all are magnificent angels, and I loved hearing your beautiful voices sing.

No matter where you go in the world, your home always goes with you.

As long as your heart is thinking about home, home is where you are.

Keep on singing your song and keep making this world a better place because you all are the ones that are going to let the light shine in this world.

[Indistinct conversation] Woman: Little bass on the track.

Different woman: Bruh, it's not that serious.

Purp: Yo Uh I know that things change, people change My mind changes all the time... Purp: Hey, what up, man?

What's good, bruh?

Hey, cool and cooler, man.

How you living?

You working on stuff for "Story of Violence"?

Yeah, yeah, we're kind of just going through music and trying to see what stuff we've already made or what type of direction we would want to go if we were to incorporate music.

I can dig it, man.

Purp: At the mic, on the mic Sights from the Sixth ring Codeine in my Sprite Spent the night slicing the 15th Wake up, send a kite to bro like ... Dawg, it's life, you know?

Singers: That's life, you know So this was one of the joints that kind of just full scope touching on how-- you know, how we coming, what we go through, where we coming from.

I know there's gonna be different moments and different emotions throughout the play, but just keep stuff like that in mind where it's, "OK, what else tells our story?"

I feel like that's the best thing to draw from, is reality.

I think that's the powerful thing about the play, is that it's a story about violence and how much incarceration affects Black people in general.

Hill: What are your thoughts on how we got here, and how do we get out of here?

It was a systemic process.

You know, we got here over time.

Purp: Starts with slavery, then continues through Jim Crow, then it continues through COINTELPRO and it continues through the crack epidemic, and we're just seeing the generational effects of all of these things.

How we get out of it, I think it's the same systemic, long-standing process to get out of it.

Hill: The next step for the Andre Theatre Collective is settling on a venue for the play.

Andre.

Good to see you, man.

Hill: What is this place?

This is an office.

It's called Smuggler.

They, like, rep me for, like, commercial, music videos.

Hill: Andre has arranged a video visit with James through the prison to get his take on where they should stage the play, and I finally get to meet James.

[Beep beep] [Phone line rings] [Ring] [Beep] Well, here we go.

Yo.

[Laughter] What--ha ha!

What's happening, brother?

What's happening?

So how y'all feeling?

Feeling good now.

It's good to finally be able to connect with you, see your face, man.

It's been challenging, but I'm glad we've been able to finally get here.

Warren: You know, we roll with the punches, man, and I just appreciate all the work that y'all have been putting in to tell this story.

Where we right now, in terms of the production?

We have this idea of, you know, like, the big-budget theater, or do we stick to our date, which is in February, which is Black History Month, and we just get it done however we need to?

Warren: We want to reach as many people as possible, but sometimes you got to start small to get there, and so I feel like the most important thing is actually starting, like, actually getting this first production off the ground.

Well, I think this theater that we should really work with is Y Theatre.

They're super, super involved in the community.

With your blessing, man, I'm down to just hit full throttle and produce the play grassroots-style.

Warren: Yeah, let's do it.

Muir: Dope.

Warren: Let's do it.

Muir: There are so many playwrights that have never actually had their play produced, and he's gonna walk out of that jail and say, "I already had it done," and I want to give him that.

Hill: Now here's the thing.

I love the piece so much.

The monologue, "Dear violence," is really powerful, and if it's cool with you, I'd love to be able to read it now.

Warren: Yeah, go ahead.

Hill: All right.

Ready to go.

Here we go.

Ahem.

Dear violence, you are a friend to no one.

No matter which side of the pendulum your actions resides, be it victim or perpetrator, you send shockwaves through person, families, and communities.

We have cowered in the face of the fear you instilled, token flight from the mere notion from your arrival, allowing you to dictate culture and turn our communities into apathetic environments.

You've stripped us of our greatest power, which is our humanity, for humanity is proof that there is something greater than ourselves, but no more.

We will rise above your narrative, we will build bonds that will seek out resolution when conflicts arise.

Our fate will be determined by our love for one another.

Our light will not swelter under the darkness you cast.

You...will...not...win.

I will not give you a eulogy because you deserve no tribute.

But this is the end of your story.

Warren: Man, I wish I could clap.

Ha ha ha!

My man.

I wish I could clap for the words, brother.

Warren: Man, that was beautiful.

That was beautiful.

You know, what's powerful to me about this, too, is, like, the line that says, "You stripped us of our greatest power, which is our humanity."

Warren: The things that we go through, we kind of become desensitized to a lot of that stuff, and that's something I struggle with.

Heh!

You know, I'm still healing.

Piggybacking on that, the producers of this docuseries that we're doing were able to connect with the victim, Rafael Rosado, and if it's cool with you, I'd love to be able to play you this message that he sent to you.

Warren: What?

Yeah.

Here we go.

Rosado: Yo, James, it's Rafael.

I'm not sure if you remember what I looked like, but, you know, here's a face to the name.

It's a difficult time, I'm sure, for you to be incarcerated after, you know, an unfortunate night, a mistake.

I'm just letting you know, I don't hold no ill will or hatred towards you, tough time for anyone at that age to go through that.

If you want to meet me in person, I'm always down for that.

If you need something to talk about, you know, just let me know, man, and I got you.

Sorry.

I'm speechless right now.

Heh!

It's a relief to hear that.

That's something you always wonder about when you got a case like mine, is, like, "Do I have to go home and worry about retaliation?"

And so, just hearing him say those words, uh-- [Chuckles] I can't believe y'all did that.

I can't believe y'all pulled that off, man.

Thank y'all.

Hill: When I first came to Chicago, I thought of artivism in a macro sense... Purp: Up-and-coming artists feel it's cool to stand for something.

It's cool to show up.

Hill: but what I've learned is that sometimes the biggest changes are uniquely personal... Rosado: I don't hold no ill will or hatred towards you.

Warren: Man, what?

Heh!

Hill: and yet, the effects are just as profound.

Artists here, they're trying to dig deeper and get into the humanity of people, to reflect on what they see and make space for those who are still unseen, to give voice to the voiceless, and make the world a better place than it was, because all art needs is an audience.

Whether that's one person or a packed theater, change is possible.

[Cheering and applause] Almadani: The incredible Mr. Dul Hill, y'all.

[Cheering and applause fade] Almadani: [Singing in Arabic] [Cheering and applause] Hill: Hey!

Almadani: Hey!

Hill: Ha ha ha!