When playwright Beaufield Berry recently needed actors in New York City for a reading of her musical about Black cowgirls, the Omaha native did what most people would do: She put out a call online.
Among those who auditioned: two fellow Omahans. At the reading, Berry noticed even more faces from back home in the crowd.
It exemplified, Berry said, the “incredibly close knit” nature of Black Omaha theater.
“The people that came before you are protective and nurturing, and then as people start to migrate to bigger cities and brighter lights, they reach back and make sure they’re taking someone with them,” she said. “It’s really beautiful.”
Despite the state’s majority white population, Nebraska has produced a large cast of diverse theater artists. Many move to New York and other cities with more opportunities, often with help from those who made that journey before them.
“I always think Omaha could be a kind of Black Broadway or Black Hollywood because of all the creative people we have here and the drive and the hustle,” said Omaha playwright Allana Pommier. “It’s a small but very mighty community.”
That surprising talent pipeline is under new pressure, though, amid a backlash to diversity initiatives and federal funding cuts targeting the arts.
Some established artists feel anxiety about their own careers and fear for up-and-coming artists and those who have yet to start their journey. Others, like Berry, see the tumult as the latest hurdle in a career that has never offered security.
“We have ebbs and flows of feast and famine and always adjust to survive the political pendulum,” she said. “Outside of some golden days, America’s always had a tenuous co-dependent relationship with its artists. Nevertheless, we persist.”
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Brannon Evans amassed the pedigree to carry the Omaha native to New York.
As a teen, she won the chance to perform with the Broadway cast of “To Kill a Mockingbird” at the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., securing a $10,000 scholarship in the process, before earning a degree from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln’s Johnny Carson School of Theater and Film.
But the thought of leaving home felt daunting. Evans had never lived outside of Nebraska.
Fortunately, she already had encouragement in the Big Apple — specifically Q. Smith, a veteran New York transplant who originated the role of Hannah in “Come from Away” and co-starred in the national touring production of “Wicked.” Evans attended the same church as Smith growing up. Having an established community helped her make the leap.
“Knowing there are people from Omaha here doing it gave me confidence I can do the same thing. … And I know if it doesn’t work out I always have a place to come back to,” said Evans, who is working for the Educational Theatre Association and pursuing theater opportunities in New York.
Smith is among the Nebraska expats helping open the door to aspiring artists from the Cornhusker state. She and her husband, fellow Broadway veteran Lawrence Stallings, embraced the role years ago.
“We both try to pour into them to give them a safe place to land, a shoulder to cry on or some food to eat. Because, you know, it’s hard. It’s big and scary,” she said. “But it can also be the same place for your dreams to come true.”
She made a similar journey two decades ago, following in the footsteps of Black Nebraskans building careers in New York — people like Kevyn Morrow.
Morrow, an actor and singer from Omaha, came to New York in the ’80s and has held numerous roles on and off Broadway over the decades, including a prominent role in the original cast of “Dreamgirls.” Like Smith, Morrow remains connected to his home state, having returned to lead workshops and serve as a mentor to young actors.
Morrow said things have changed in the decades since he came to New York. Even just a few years ago, Black and brown Nebraskans showing out in NYC was “unthinkable,” he said.
Producer Sierra Lancaster is among the artists Morrow has inspired. She attended one of his Omaha workshops before going on to earn a Broadway producing credit on acclaimed playwright Antoinette Nwandu’s “Pass Over.” Lancaster is now associate producer with Prospect Musicals, a new musical development organization.
“It’s so nice to know there’s a community of peers and colleagues who will support me because of our shared roots and heritage. … I feel so honored to be in their company,” she said.
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In January, the Omaha Community Playhouse announced it was hiring VJ Orduña to serve as its new artistic director.
Orduña got his start in theater in Omaha but built a career in New York City and Seattle. It wasn’t until he was offered the Playhouse job that he felt there was a place for him in his hometown.
“The Playhouse sort of held this pinnacle in my brain,” he said, “but growing up here the idea that I or anybody who looks like me would be in this position wasn’t something I entertained. … On the national stage, I know how the industry has opened up. That wasn’t my memory of Omaha, which is why I think so many of us moved away.”
Even before 2020, when the police killing of George Floyd sparked diversity initiatives throughout society, the theater world had moved to improve opportunities for artists of color — with varying degrees of success.
In 2017, the labor union representing professional actors and stage managers released a study that found women and minorities landed fewer gigs and, when they did, often received less money than their white male counterparts. The study came amid a push to improve diversity.
Those efforts, broadly, were turbocharged in 2020, with many large theaters and organizations pledging to increase diversity. The push extended to Omaha, where leading nonprofits in the space released diversity, equity and inclusion plans.
But Kathy Tyree, an Omaha actor, singer and director, said it doesn’t feel like the momentum has carried through. All over the country, there was an influx of trainings, podcasts, residencies and festivals designed specifically for diverse artists. But outside the Nebraska High School Theater Academy and the Great Plains Theatre Commons, Tyree said, “these opportunities are few and far between in Omaha.”
Pommier, the playwright who also works as a teaching artist for Omaha Performing Arts Disney Musicals in Schools, said Black artists in general have lacked a stable theatrical place “where we can tell our stories without having backbite from overhead institutions telling us how we’re supposed to do it or kicking us out for doing it our way or for no reason at all.”
Diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives have come under fire since the reelection of President Donald Trump. An executive order on Day 1 of his second term directed the government to end all such initiatives, which it described as “illegal and immoral discrimination programs.”
The president’s push has extended to federal funding. The National Endowment for the Arts eliminated a grant program targeting “historically underserved communities that have limited access to the arts relative to geography, ethnicity, economics, and/or disability.”
In Omaha, the Great Plains Theatre Commons was among the organizations that lost funding — a $35,000 grant to support the New Play Festival, a weeklong event focused on developing new plays.
In a statement at the time, Great Plains artistic director Kevin Lawler called the move “another step in our deepening national crisis.”
“No matter what the current administration does to us, we will continue to support storytellers and share stories because that is the work that we love and it’s our way to be of service,” Lawler wrote.
Black artists, both in Nebraska and in places like New York City, say they are feeling broader pushback to DEI.
As a producer working in New York City, Lancaster has seen organizations backing away from DEI programs. It’s easier today to cast fully white companies or exclude people of color from an organization’s leadership, she said.
“There is a lack of accountability that quite frankly has always existed, but now the element of fear exists — what happens if we lose funding, if investors don’t align, if audiences don’t respond well? Everything is rooted in survival and sustainability now.”
Lancaster said she is less concerned for herself — she’ll continue finding ways to pay the bills and keep making art.
“But I am concerned for young people just learning how to be themselves and to navigate an often gate-kept industry.”
Artists have seen positive, pre-DEI-backlash changes endure. Orduña left Omaha due to lack of opportunity. But when he returned — first to direct for UNO’s Summer Musical Theatre Academy, and then for the Playhouse role — he said he discovered, in some ways, a transformed city. Theaters showcased more diverse casts. Some of the Playhouse’s most prestigious productions featured Black artists in director and choreographer roles.
“I was blown away by how Omaha’s grown and changed,” he said.
Evans, the upstart actor who moved to New York with encouragement from Smith and others, said she doesn’t regret her decision.
“People think of theater as very cutthroat, and it can be, but with all of the artists of color I’ve come in contact with from Nebraska, it’s been nothing but support,” she said. “It’s like we just want to help each other succeed.”
