Estelle Bailey-Babenzien

Your work feels incredibly urgent right now. It’s artistic, but it’s also activism in a very real way. At Noah, we try to use our platform and voice to draw attention to things that matter to us, and partnering on this project felt deeply aligned.We really wanted our community to hear directly from you. Your voice, your thinking right now. It feels especially relevant to what’s happening at this moment.

Carrie Mae Weems

We are in a very deep moment. And a volatile one.

I remember clearly the day Barack Obama was elected president, the first Black president of the United States. There was jubilation. People danced in the streets, rushed out of their homes, shouted from rooftops. It felt like something extraordinary had happened, something I didn’t imagine I would see in my lifetime.

And then, of course, his presidency was followed by the election of Donald Trump.

EBB

It felt like whiplash.

CMW

Exactly. And that whiplash tells us something essential about the American imagination. About fear. About fury. About what the presence of Blackness triggers in this country.

At the same time, the United States has been undergoing a profound demographic shift, moving from a majority white country to a majority minority country. From white to Black and varying shades of brown. A large part of Trump’s rise and his legacy is about resisting that shift. Insisting that white people must retain power as this change takes place.

The closing of borders. The anti abortion movement. These things are deeply connected to the browning of America. And this is something I’ve been talking about for more than 30 years.

I first heard about this demographic shift in the mid 1980s. I was so intrigued that I went straight to the library to see if it was real. And interestingly, it came from the president of Bank of America at the time, giving a speech about America’s changing demographics. He ended by asking the room a simple question. What are you going to do about it? That was the eighties. And here we are.

EBB

Your work feels like it’s been building toward this moment for decades. Like everything we’re seeing now has been simmering beneath the surface.

CMW

Yes. Projects like Contested Sites of Memory, Monumental Concerns, and 250 and Change are all deeply connected to this. They respond to the rise of reactionary movements and the re-emergence of the alt right, and they ask how artists respond to a moment like this. How do we speak? How do we resist? What does resistance even look like?

Artists are often at the forefront because we work emotionally. Whether through music, dance, photography, sculpture, or even a tee shirt, we use our bodies, our skin, what we wear, as sites of resistance. Sometimes simply existing is resistance, because many of us are not fully welcomed here.

EBB

That urgency can feel overwhelming. How do we push back against something that feels so deeply entrenched? Especially when what’s happening in places like Minneapolis is terrifying, but also strangely inspiring.

CMW

One of my collaborators, Esther Aman, said something that stays with me. Sites of resistance are everywhere.

Resistance begins with a commitment to yourself. To not be afraid. To not be silent when silence is being demanded of you. Because silence is often insisted upon by the very forces pressing down on us.

When institutions are afraid to speak truth to power, when they fear political consequences, something has shifted. Fear produces silence. Silence produces complicity.

That’s part of the brutality of unbound capital and authoritarianism. But resistance doesn’t look the same for everyone. Not all of us can be in the streets. We all occupy different stations. The question is how we occupy them.

EBB

That feels especially complicated for businesses and institutions. As you grow, there’s more at stake. Employees, livelihoods, community. Fear becomes layered.

CMW

Of course. And yet people have always found ways around obstacles. For centuries, resistance has lived in quilts, in songs, in drums, in coded language, in ritual. People find their way.

If you’re interested in evolving, morally and personally, you have to find your own path for doing the work you know needs to be done.

EBB

You speak often about illumination rather than outrage. About healing. Where does that come from?

CMW

I start most mornings with music. The same playlist for years. Donny Hathaway. Stevie Wonder. Bob Marley. Lou Rawls. It grounds me. One thing I’ve learned is that I cannot hold onto envy, hate, regret, or recrimination and still be whole.

Even in the face of people who wish me harm, I have to extend the breadth of their humanity. Because my humanity is not diminished by their refusal to see it, but theirs might be. Love, for me, is illumination. It’s standing in a bright light that allows you to see yourself clearly. And artists, at our best, illuminate dark corners. Dark histories. Dark truths that we would rather not confront.

James Baldwin wrote about this beautifully, about the responsibility of the artist to examine what we avoid.

EBB

Do you see your Lincoln Center show as part of that healing?

CMW

I hope so. I see it as a set of questions. A set of prompts.

Where are we? Who are we now? What are we asking of ourselves, and of one another?
It’s about offering ideas that might allow us to move past the impasse.

EBB

It feels like divine timing. Families are being torn apart. People are reckoning with who they are.

CMW

We are at a precipice. The country is changing, whether people want it to or not. And traditionalists are terrified. A lot of that fear is rooted in guilt. An unspoken understanding of historical harm. What happens if the power shifts? Will we be treated the way we treated others? That fear drives repression. Book bans. Protest bans. Violence. The shift is happening regardless. The real question is who we choose to be on the other side of it.

EBB

Despite everything, you don’t sound discouraged.

CMW

I’m not. And I’m not surprised either. The 1960s were filled with assassinations, upheaval, terror. We’ve been here before. The surface changes, but the underbelly often remains the same. And incredible work is coming out of this moment. A big part of my practice is convening other artists and asking how they are responding. Lynn Nottage. Claudia Rankine. Vijay Iyer. Toshi Reagon. Each voice deepens the community. This is an unprecedented moment that calls for unprecedented work. It’s painful, but it’s also an opportunity. As long as equality, justice, and deep humanism are at stake, we will keep working.

EBB

Thank you. This conversation left me feeling energized. Grounded. Hopeful, even.

CMW

Thank you. These are the conversations that sustain us.