Lives on in the exhibition curated by the late Michael Dinwiddie, who passed away on July 4. The exhibition, which opened on Sept. 17, comes at a time when nonprofit theaters nationwide — particularly those led by artists of color — are facing unprecedented challenges. The timing feels intentional: “Syncopated Stages” reminds us that Black theater has always emerged from struggle, transforming limitation into liberation.
These are the best of times, but they echo some of the hardest times we have known. During challenging times, the arts prevail. They always have. The Harlem Renaissance rose out of hardship, as did the Civil Rights Movement. Today, as our nation faces deep divisions and cultural erasure, we are again called to defend the power of our arts and protect the spaces where Black creativity thrives.
Our story of Black theatrical arts predates the 1960s, rooted in institutions like the African Grove Theater. It was the nation’s first Black theater company, a bold declaration of cultural independence that nurtured legends like Ira Aldridge, who went on to become one of the greatest Shakespearean actors in the world. Their stage was more than entertainment — it was resistance.
That lineage connects directly to my own journey. In 1964, my mentor Roger Furman founded New Heritage Theatre Group in Harlem. It was born in the same revolutionary energy that powered Karamu House in Cleveland — the oldest African American theater in the nation, founded in 1915 and still thriving today under the leadership of Tony Sias.
These institutions, like the African Grove before them, carried a radical idea: that theater could reflect the truth of Black life, inspire civic change and build community. Furman often reminded me that art was not about survival alone — it was about visibility, dignity and the power to shape the American narrative.
In the years following Furman’s founding of New Heritage, a wave of Black arts movements emerged across the nation: Woodie King Jr.’s New Federal Theatre, Barbara Ann Teer’s National Black Theatre, Ernie McClintock’s Afro-American Studio for Acting and Speech, The Negro Ensemble Company, Freedom Theatre in Philadelphia, ETA Creative Arts Foundation in Chicago and Penumbra Theatre in St. Paul. Alongside them, Hispanic theatres like Teatro Pregones (Pregones Theater), founded in 1979 in the Bronx, and the Puerto Rican Traveling Theater, founded in 1967 by Miriam Colón in Manhattan, expanded the landscape of storytelling and community, speaking to the diversity of people of color.
These spaces were not just venues; they were homes for artists who were told that Broadway wasn’t ready for them. Yet from those homes came the artists who reshaped Broadway itself. From “The Wiz” featuring the brilliance of André De Shields to George C. Wolfe’s visionary direction of “Jelly’s Last Jam,” these works are part of a long continuum of artists “disrupting” Broadway and defining American theater on our own terms.
The connection runs deep.
Eulalie Spence, a Harlem Renaissance playwright, taught and mentored a young Joseph Papp, who later founded the Public Theater. This nonprofit would become one of the most influential incubators of new work in America. Papp, in turn, supported New Heritage Theatre financially and spiritually. This is the cycle of mentorship and solidarity that has always sustained our movement: one generation passing on the torch to the next.
Today, the struggle continues.
Nonprofit theaters across the country — especially those led by people of color — face funding shortages, gentrification pres-sures and shrinking arts education pipelines. The challenges Furman faced in 1964 remain in 2025, but we now have greater access to information, technology and platforms to share our stories globally. The question is not whether we can survive — it’s whether we will unite to ensure that our stories are not erased.
The arts impact more than the artists. They shape how communities see themselves. They heal, they educate, they activate. When a young person sees a play that reflects their reality, something changes inside them — they see possibility. When a nation sees the truth of its people reflected on stage, it becomes more humane.
This transformative power of the arts is why our fight matters — not only in Harlem, Cleveland or St. Paul, but in every corner of this country. “Syncopated Stages” reminds us that Black artistry has always been about more than performance. It’s about perseverance. It’s about legacy. From the African Grove Theater to today’s stages, we are charged with crafting the organizations of tomorrow — ones that are stronger, more collaborative and more deeply rooted in community. We must learn from our past, embrace our present tools and imagine a future where our cultural institutions are not just surviving, but thriving.
This is not just a Harlem story.
It is an American story — a story of artists who refused to disappear, who transformed struggle into song and who have made the stage a sanctuary for our collective voice. As we celebrate this new exhibition and the journey that led us here, remember: every generation must defend the arts anew — not just with words, but also with attendance, funding and fierce advocacy. And as long as there are stories to tell, curtains will rise on our watch.
Voza Rivers, is an internationally renowned producer known for his work in theater, film, music and live events.
