Hannah Drake

The views and opinions expressed by speakers and presenters in connection with Art Restart are their own, and not an endorsement by the Thomas S. Kenan Institute for the Arts and the UNC School of the Arts. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

On Super Bowl Sunday of 2019, Hannah Drake, who had long written about politics, feminism and race, reached a new level of fame when film director and producer Ava DuVernay, to protest the NFL’s treatment of quarterback-turned-activist Colin Kaepernick, tweeted out a video of Hannah’s poem “All You Had to Do Was Play the Game, Boy.” Kaepernick in turn shared the poem with his followers, and in short order Hannah’s words reached 2.4 million viewers.

Hannah has only continued turning up the volume on her art and activism since, especially in the last year when after the murder of Breonna Taylor she stood and spoke on the frontlines of protests against police brutality in her hometown of Louisville, KY. She has collaborated with the Louisville Ballet and the Actors Theatre of Louisville on new projects and continues to offer up provocative commentary on her widely read blog, “Write Some S#it.”

Hannah is also the chief creative officer of IDEAS xLab, an artist-run nonprofit based in Louisville, KY that champions inclusion and belonging through creativity, art, and action. Inspired by a trip she made with her daughter three years ago to the National Memorial for Peace and Justice and the Legacy Museum in Montgomery, AL, Hannah — along with IDEAS xLab’s co-founder and CEO, Josh Miller — devised The (Un)known Project. The (Un)known Project is a multi-year series of public art installations and educational experiences designed to bring to civic and national consciousness the Black men, women and children in Louisville’s past who have been overlooked in history.

In this interview with Rob Kramer and Pier Carlo Talenti, conducted just a few days before the first portion of the (Un)Known Project was to be unveiled on the banks of the Ohio River, Hannah celebrates the power of art to instigate powerful social change and explains why she pushes through discomfort and fear to stand up for her art and her community.

Choose a question below to begin exploring the interview:

Rob Kramer: How do you find the time to do your social-justice advocacy and your work as a chief creative officer and also have time to nurture your own artistry? Are the two inextricably linked, your activism and your leadership work? Or do you need to carve out space for your artistry?

Hannah Drake: Yeah, I think they’re both intertwined. I think art is always at the start of a movement. Even when people think about Black Lives Matter and its being this huge movement, those are three words. The words formed around this movement, right? I believe Black Lives Matter started after the deaths of Trayvon and Mike Brown, and you have people come together and say, “Well, let’s use these three words.” Well, that’s art! That’s writing, right? So how can I use my artform to speak to what’s happening in the world?

I’ve partnered with the Louisville Ballet. I’ve partnered with an orchestra. How do we use these tools of art that we have to tell this story? I remember — this was before Breonna Taylor — the Louisville Ballet invited me to read poetry with them. I thought, “OK, this will be interesting,” because the Louisville Ballet is predominantly white and the audience is predominantly white. And I thought, “Hmm, you want me to come? OK.” I said, “Well, what is it that you want me to write about? What is this?” I thought it would be about roses and daisies and fun times. [She laughs.] And they said, “We would like for you to write about social justice in any way that you want to write about it.” And I thought, “Oh, that’s interesting!”

In the Ballet — this was about three years ago, and I’ve partnered with them a lot more since — to this day there’s only one Black ballet dancer in the Louisville company. His name is Brandon Ragland. He was the choreographer for this piece, so he couldn’t be in the dance. I wrote a poem about my son being killed. I never said who killed him, just that he was murdered and how do I go on as a mother? How do we start telling these stories?

In the piece they had a young man who was white, a beautiful ballet dancer, playing my son. I’m telling this story, and you see him dancing, a phenomenal, phenomenal dancer. Me telling the story about my son who’s been killed, coupled with this white male dancer, it transcended so much in that space. We performed it five nights in a row. They said in the history of the company and them doing this choreographers’ showcase, we were the only people to get a standing ovation every single night.

I think what made it so powerful, especially for this audience, is that many of them are so far removed from Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery or George Floyd. They exist in a world where that just doesn’t happen. They cannot be concerned about Breonna Taylor. Louisville is very divided, and there’s this veil between us. Using this art in this space at the Louisville Ballet and to have this white male dancer coupled with me broke down that veil, and immediately they just saw a mother and a son. Because he was white, they could see him as their son. And then they got it. That’s the power of art.

I’m not separated from my art. It’s simply who I am and what I do. I tell people all the time, 'I’m not writing to entertain you. I’m trying to change you. I’m trying to change the very way that you think.'

I think it all just intertwines. I’m not separated from my art. It’s simply who I am and what I do. I tell people all the time, “I’m not writing to entertain you. I’m trying to change you. I’m trying to change the very way that you think. And if I have to use art and poetry and art coupled with dance or art coupled with the orchestra, then that’s what I will do, whatever it will take for you to change the way that you think. That’s what I’m willing to do.”

Pier Carlo Talenti: What does it mean for you to make art specifically today as opposed to, say, five years ago? Has your relationship to your art or the mission of your art changed over the years?

Hannah: I think my mission hasn’t changed. I’ve always written about social-justice issues. I used to wonder, “Why, God, is this my assignment? Why didn’t you just let me write about love all the time or something?” [She laughs.] “Why am I the one that has to write about these things?” But I believe I’m here for such a time as this. I feel, like Dr. King said, “There’s urgency of now.” My work hasn’t necessarily changed outside of the fact that now I have nothing to lose. And now after we have witnessed George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor, at what point as artists will we just stand up and speak the truth?

I tell people all the time, “I know as an artist I might lose funding, I might not get invited back to the thing with the ballet if I say this, they’re never going to invite me back to speak again or I might not get the grant if I’m saying this. But at what point will we stand up and just not be afraid?” And on the flip side of that, at what point will people that fund artists and people that provide the grants know that it’s OK to fund someone that is going to speak the truth, that artists shouldn’t live in this constant state of fear that they might lose out because they’re speaking the truth?

That is what will change the world. And art is always at the forefront of a movement.

Pier Carlo: Are we at that point then when funders will not be afraid and artists will not be afraid? Are we there yet?

Hannah: No. No, no, no. We’re not at that point, but I’ve drawn a line in the sand. I tell people, “You know at this point who I am and what I speak about. If this is going to cause you a problem or an issue, then don’t invite me. And I’m OK with that.” That’s where I’m at with my art.

We are slowly getting there, as we saw what happened last year, and funders are understanding that you need artists that are going to speak truth to power. You need artists that are going to put this out in the world so that the world can change. It’s often music, it’s dance, it’s poetry, it’s paintings, it’s all the things in art that tell people what to think and feel and what to do and how to move throughout the world. Art is doing that.

Pier Carlo: In a recent tweet you wrote, “The city has caused me immense trauma. The city tear-gassed me, the city pulled guns on my partner, and still I work to do something historical to impact Louisville.” Could you talk about how you negotiate those feelings, the deep hurt and the injury along with your loyalty to bettering the city?

Hannah: It’s very difficult. It’s like you’re in a rock and a hard place. You want to do something great and amazing that you know is needed for this city. This is a city that certainly needs arts and culture in it and culture and art that is relevant. It needs that. And yet and still the city has harmed me and tear-gassed me and has never once said and probably never will say it’s sorry for what it has done. And I still struggle with that.

My partner said, “Hannah, you have to remember that the art that you are creating isn’t for leadership in the city to get it. You’re doing this for everybody else in the city to get it. And if the leadership doesn’t get it, that’s fine. But think about what you have done for everybody else in the city.” Some of the names [for The (Un)Known Project] came from people who weren’t in Louisville. They’re in Kentucky. I think it’s for them. I have to remember that. It’s like in my poem “Spaces” when I say, “I stand in these spaces even when it makes me uncomfortable because I’m standing in this space for the people that are going to come behind me.”

There are times that you are going to have to stand in spaces and it’s not going to feel good. And there is no getting around it. But you have to stand in those spaces because of the people that will come behind you.

I tell people when I teach poetry writing workshops or anything, “There are times — and it could be because you’re Black, it could be LGBTQ, it could be Latinx, it could be because you’re a woman, it could be many things — that you are going to have to stand in spaces and it’s not going to feel good. And there is no getting around it. But you have to stand in those spaces because of the people that will come behind you.” There were people who stood in spaces so that I could stand in space, so that I could even do this project. It was difficult to do a bus boycott; they had to walk for years without taking the bus. It was difficult to sit down at counters and have milkshakes poured over their head or be spit on or try to go into a school and you know you’re the only Black person or you’re one of nine. But they did that. They stood in spaces that made them extremely uncomfortable so that I could be in that space today.

So now my job is to just keep carving out space, and at times it’s at the expense of feeling comfortable. You just go into it knowing this isn’t going to feel good, but it’s for a bigger cause. It’s greater than you.

Rob: How’s your resilience, Hannah? Do you ever lose hope? Do you get discouraged?

Hannah: Oh, I get discouraged often. I truly do. And you know what? It’s two things. One, I get discouraged with older people. When I say older, I mean my age — I’m in my forties — so around that age and up, maybe a little bit younger than me. But the young people, I see so much hope and so much promise!

Just today I taught a workshop about Juneteenth for young people, about a group of 20 young people. I asked them — they’re middle school, high school — “Did the Emancipation Proclamation free all the slaves?” And they all said “No.” And I thought, “Well, you guys just made my job a lot easier because you already get it.” You have a generation that has grown up with a Black president, Barack Obama; they’re growing up with the vice president, Kamala Harris; they’ve grown up with gay marriage; they are growing up with these things that are just part of the world. And they don’t understand why older generations just won’t let it be and let people be. So the young people give me hope.

I will say this. People ask me all the time, “Hannah, will there ever be a day when there will be no racism?” And I say, “No, that will never happen.” It could, but it’s not going to happen because parents and grandparents keep planting the seeds. It could go away if we weren’t instilling it in young people. Young people know nothing. They’re not born in the world hating anyone; they are taught that. As long as parents and grandparents and institutions and the atmosphere keep teaching that, then we will continue to have racism. It’s not until something different is taught, which is why you have all this pushback across the nation about … everyone wants to say critical race theory, I call it just teaching history. [She laughs.] We’re just going to teach you some facts!

There’s this pushback because as long as we can continue to teach young people all the lies that we’ve been taught, then we can continue to perpetuate the same thing over and over and over again. But once young people know the truth, even older people, they will do something different.

I had a woman email me. She’s 64 years old, and she read about The (Un)Known Project. Sixty-four, and she had never heard about the Ohio River and enslaved people being sold down the river and that there was this dividing line, that the Ohio River was this dividing line and if you get across it, you can enter into states that were Free states. She never knew that. And now she’s learning it. She’s 64 years old and having this awakening now of, “What I’ve been taught wasn’t really the truth.” When you know the truth, then typically if you really embrace the truth you do something different. And that’s why there’s such fear about the teaching of history.

Pier Carlo: I want to look specifically at your artistry as a writer and performer. You described your work as speaking truth to power. What needs to change to ensure that artists such as you can speak truth to power, that the work of poets like you can reach its intended audience?

Hannah: I think if I could change anything, it would be how poets are valued and funded. I think there are many poets that have amazing things to say and they simply don’t have access to say them. Or if they do say something, then they risk, like I said, not getting funding for something. I wish that that would change.

Here I wrote this letter to the CEO of Churchill Downs last year, and I was very afraid. This is when we were in the middle of COVID. I was following all the guidelines: You’ve got to wear your mask; don’t gather in groups bigger than 10. I was serious. I’m following all the guidelines. And the Kentucky Derby was still going on at that time in May. The first Saturday in May, they’re having the Kentucky Derby.

Our governor was really strict. Every day he was on the news with these reports, and I appreciated him for his news reports. “Don’t gather in groups of more than 10, and then you’ve got to be with your family and people that you live with.” And we were following this. But then he never said anything about the Kentucky Derby still running. And they were having 20,000 guests! That could be guests from all over the world. And I knew instantly, OK, then Churchill Downs has the power in the State of Kentucky because the Governor — who has told us, his constituents, that we can’t gather in groups of 10 — he’s allowing them to gather and have 20,000 people. So I said, “I need to talk about this, and I’m going to address this letter to the CEO of Churchill Downs.”

They moved the Derby to September, and they decided to run it without the 20,000 people, but they were still going to have guests and things because these are highfalutin people, blah, blah, they’re still going to have guests. So I wrote this letter, and I was afraid. I was so afraid because it was obvious that this institution and this man have all the power in Kentucky. But I had to write the letter afraid. Well, little did I know NPR picked up the letter and it went viral on Kentucky Derby, on the day of the Derby. It went around the world, and everybody started calling me about this letter.

Lo and behold, as time went on people started approaching me, telling me, “Thank you for writing that letter, because I’ve been trying to talk about Black jockeys, the history of the Kentucky Derby and Black jockeys, the history of Kentucky Derby and slavery, and they always ignored me. Since you wrote that letter, they have reached out to me and contacted me.” People started contacting me all over about Churchill Downs now reaching out to them. And I believe now at the Kentucky Derby Museum, there’s this display — someone told me it’s as soon as you walk in — of the Black jockeys who were essentially — here we go back to The (Un)Known Project — unknown, erased and hidden. People kind of talked about it, we knew, but Churchill Downs didn’t put it to the forefront. It was kind of hidden. It was this dirty little secret that Black people really were winning the Kentucky Derby. In fact, the first person to win the Kentucky Derby was a Black jockey. This history was just hidden.

I had to write that afraid, and I had to write that at the expense of losing out, because clearly I’m sure this man is connected to a lot of people in this state. But I had to do it afraid, and I had to do it at the expense of losing.

I would hope what would change is that poets that come after me, writers that come after me, can speak the truth and it’s not at the expense of losing anything but understanding that that is simply our job.

I would hope what would change is that poets that come after me, writers that come after me, can speak the truth and it’s not at the expense of losing anything but understanding that that is simply our job. Our job is to hold people, organizations, institutions accountable, and that should be OK. It should not be, “Well, if you talk about this particular institution, then we are going to remove your funding, or we will blackball you where you won’t be invited to speak at this or that or the other thing.” That should not be the case.

At some point funders need to stand with artists and have the courage to say, “We are going to support this artist because this artist is doing something to try to change the world.” That’s what I’m trying to do. And I hope that people understand that, that I’m trying to write to change the world, period. And I shouldn’t have to worry about doing that. “Can I speak the truth or put food on the table?” That shouldn’t be the argument. I should be able to do both.

Pier Carlo: On one of your bio pages, after the list of your many titles, you write, “Still growing.” How do you think you’re growing this year, and how do you think you want to grow over the next few years?

Hannah: I think every day I’m still learning something. Every day I’m still challenging myself to learn. It’s the same things that I challenge everybody else to do. Every day should be a day that you learn something new about yourself, about others, about your community, about history. Everyday I’m trying to do that. I’m a firm believer that the day you stop learning is the day you die. The problem in this world is many people think, “I know all the information. You can’t tell me anything else. I read it in a tweet, so I have all the knowledge,” instead of listening. It’s OK to stop and listen to others who may have a different perspective and say, “I never thought about that.”

Even now, doing The (Un)Known Project … . We have all these footprints leading up to The (Un)Known Project and on the path. I started getting emails and photos from Jewish people, and they said, “My goodness, this project reminds me of this.” And they started showing me these — I can’t remember where it was — these bronze shoes of different sizes of people that died in the Holocaust. I didn’t know about this. And this connection now with how they see enslaved people’s footprints and they’re connecting them to the shoes of people that died in the Holocaust, this is something now I can learn. And how, instead of us thinking we are so different, how do we bridge ourselves together? Because we’ve both been through the struggle, two of the greatest crimes against humanity. How do we both start learning about that together? I don’t have to hate you and you don’t have to hate me, but together we both have a story to tell.

July 26, 2021