Keith Porter, Renée Good, Alex Pretti: Why Our Art Is Resistance

I've been processing what's happening across this country: the killing of Keith Porter in Los Angeles on New Year's Eve, the killing of Renée Good, the killing of Alex Pretti in Minneapolis, the terror being unleashed on communities that look like ours. I'm sickened. I'm angry. And like many of you, I've been asking myself: what do we do when our own government abandons us?

I've come to understand something that's both painful and clarifying: as a Black person in America, we've always been living under an authoritarian regime. The violence we're seeing right now isn't new, it's just more visible. And that visibility is precisely why our voices as artists matter more than ever.

This is our lane. This is what we were born to do.

When the state wants to control the narrative, we tell the truth. When they want us silent and afraid, we create. When they try to erase us, we document, we imagine, we build. Every script we write, every story we tell, every artist we empower to make a living from their work is an act of resistance.

Dr. King said, "Be an artist at whatever you do." He understood that excellence in our callings, especially creative callings, is a form of service, a transfer of power. When we help each other monetize our art, when we create pathways for marginalized voices to be heard and paid, we're not stepping away from the fight. We're building the infrastructure that allows our communities to survive and thrive outside systems designed to destroy us.

So I'm committing: I'm writing my pages every day. I'm helping other artists tell their stories. I'm refusing to let this regime own the narrative of our lives. That's my contribution. That's my resistance.

I'm asking you to find yours. Whatever lane you're in, commit to it with everything you have. Send the emails. Make the calls. Show up where you can. But most importantly: keep creating. Keep telling the truth. Keep building power for our people.

They want us too traumatized, too exhausted, too broke to make art. Don't give them that.

Our voices have always been the thing they fear most. Let's remind them why.

In solidarity and love,

Nicki Micheaux