Interview with Emmanuel Akwafo
- Jack Stevens
- 1 day ago
- 9 min read
Ahead of Between the Heartbeats, I caught up with Emmanuel Akwafo to talk about the themes at the heart of the production, the creative journey behind it, and what audiences can look forward to when the lights go up.
Between the Heartbeats feels like more than just a concert what sparked the initial idea for this event?
I’ve seen so many LGBTQ+ concerts and spaces that, on the surface, celebrate queerness, but in reality don’t feel fully inclusive. There’s often a gap—where certain voices are centred, and others are quietly pushed to the margins. As a Black queer person, I’ve felt that absence. I’ve seen how easily Black queer artists can be overlooked, even within spaces that are meant to represent all of us. That’s really where this began. It started from a feeling that there wasn’t enough space for Black queer artists to exist fully and unapologetically on stage. Not filtered. Not diluted. Not asked to shrink or translate ourselves to be understood. I wanted to create something that wasn’t just about performance, but about presence where the moments between the noise, the vulnerability, the truth, could actually live and be held. This project grew out of conversations, out of shared frustrations, but also out of love. A deep desire to celebrate us on our own terms, to create a space where Black queer stories are centred without compromise. And while this work is rooted in the Black queer experience, my hope is that it doesn’t stop here. The vision is bigger. I want to continue building spaces that truly reflect the full spectrum of our community where people from all walks of life can come together, feel seen, and feel valued. But in order to get there, we have to start by intentionally creating space for those who have been historically excluded. This is that starting point.
Why was it important to centre Black queer voices specifically within a Pride event this year?
Because Pride, at its roots, began with Black and trans voices people like Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera, who stood on the frontlines and fought back at a time when it was dangerous just to exist. Pride was never meant to be comfortable or commercial; it was born out of resistance, out of survival, out of a demand to be seen and protected. And yet, despite that history, those same voices are still often marginalised within mainstream Pride celebrations today. The very people who helped spark the movement are too often pushed to the edges of it. This felt like an opportunity to realign with that truth to honour that legacy not just in words, but in action. To create space for the people who continue to shape the culture, who carry that same spirit of resistance and joy, but aren’t always given the platform they deserve. It’s about remembering where this all began, and making sure we’re not leaving those voices behind as we move forward.
You describe this as “Pride with purpose”. What does that mean to you in today’s climate?
“Pride with purpose” means moving beyond surface-level celebration. It’s about intention who we platform, who benefits, what conversations we’re starting. In a time where queer rights are still under threat globally, Pride has to be both joyful and politically conscious.
The piece speaks to both celebration and resistance how do you balance those two energies within one evening?
For me, they’re inseparable. Celebration is resistance when your existence has been historically denied. The balance comes from programming allowing moments of joy, music, and connection to sit alongside more challenging, introspective work. It’s about honouring the full spectrum of our experiences.
How did you go about curating such a strong and varied lineup of performers?
When curating the lineup, I was really intentional about the kind of artists I wanted to bring into the space. I was looking for queer artists, allied artists who have been part of queer work, and people who already use their platforms to say something meaningful. It wasn’t just about talent it was about purpose. It was important to me to bring together artists who are not only skilled, but deeply intentional in what they create. I was drawn to voices that feel distinct, urgent, and honest artists who aren’t afraid to speak truth, to be vulnerable, or to challenge an audience. I also wanted the lineup to reflect the fact that our stories aren’t one-dimensional. That’s why there’s a mix of discipline’s, because each form carries a different emotional texture. Some stories need to be sung, some need to be spoken, some need to be embodied. Bringing all of that together creates a fuller, more truthful experience of who we are.
You reference legacy and figures like Marsha P. Johnson how does history feed into the work being presented here?
History is the foundation and honestly, it’s fabulous. Figures like Marsha P. Johnson remind us that what we’re doing didn’t just appear out of nowhere. She wasn’t just part of the movement she shifted it. She threw the first brick (and if not the first, then definitely the one that echoed loud enough for the world to hear), and helped spark a revolution that we’re still living in today. There’s something powerful in knowing that our joy, our expression, our refusal to be silenced it all comes from that same fire.So there’s a responsibility there. Not to imitate, not to shrink ourselves into history books, but to carry that energy forward in our own way. To be just as bold, just as unapologetic, just as uncontainable. This work is in conversation with the past, yes but she’s also strutting firmly in the present.
How important is live performance in creating genuine community?
It’s everything. There’s something irreplaceable about sharing space, energy, breath. Live performance creates a collective experience people feeling, reacting, witnessing together. That kind of connection builds community in a way digital spaces can’t fully replicate.
What conversations do you hope audiences are having on their way home after the show?
I hope they’re reflecting on identity, on visibility, on whose stories they engage with and why. I hope there’s joy in those conversations, but also curiosity and maybe even discomfort. If people leave thinking differently, feeling seen, or wanting to take action, then we’ve done something meaningful.
As a performer yourself, how different is it stepping into the role of producer for a project like this?
It’s a shift from being the voice to holding space for many voices. As a performer, your focus is internal; as a producer, it’s expansive. It’s about vision, care, and responsibility making sure everyone involved feels supported and seen.
How has your work on projects like For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide… informed your approach to this event?
Working on Being Seen was a turning point for me, not just creatively, but personally. Under the direction of Tristan Fynn-Aiduenu a Black queer Ghanaian man who leads with such honesty and intention I was poured into in a way I hadn’t experienced before. Tristan spoke so much life into me. He helped me see that I could be more than just an actor that I could create, lead, and shape my own path in this industry. His belief in me came at a time when I really needed it. Without his guidance, his leadership, and his unwavering support, I honestly don’t know where I would be or what I’d be doing today. That experience taught me the power of specificity and honesty in storytelling. When you centre real, lived experiences—when you stop trying to generalise or dilute them audiences feel it. They connect in a deeper, more human way. It also reinforced something that now sits at the core of everything I do: the importance of creating safe, affirming spaces for Black people and Black queer people to express themselves fully, without filter, without apology.
That lesson lives in Between the Heartbeats.
You said that you wanted to create space for artists who refuse to be “softened or sidelined”. Can you expand on that?
Let’s be real there’s always this pressure, especially for marginalised artists, to tidy things up a bit… make it more “digestible,” a little less loud, a little less too much. But honestly? That’s boring. This space said no to all of that. We’re not here to dilute, shrink, or sand down the edges. We’re here for the bold, the messy, the layered, the extra. If it’s complex, if it’s confrontational, if it makes people shift in their seats a little good. That means it’s real. This is about letting artists show up fully, unapologetically, and maybe even a little bit dramatically… because the truth doesn’t whisper, it performs.
What role does music play in telling stories that theatre sometimes can’t?
Music doesn’t ask for permission it just hits. Straight to the heart, no warning, no explanation needed. It bypasses all the overthinking and goes directly to feeling. One second, you’re fine, the next you’re having a full emotional moment in your seat makeup ruined, life changed. Music can hold everything at once the contradictions, the drama, the softness, the chaos. It says things words sometimes can’t quite land. It lets stories be felt, not just understood. Because sometimes the truth isn’t something you explain… it’s something you sing, scream, and vibe to.
How have the performers shaped the event, is it evolving through collaboration?
Oh, completely this is not some stiff, top-down situation where I’m standing there like, “Do this, say that.” Absolutely not. This is a shared energy. The performers came in with their own voices, their own flavour, their own magic and the piece has been growing and shifting because of that. Everyone’s brought something different to the table, and that’s what makes it feel so alive. It’s not fixed, it’s not rigid it’s evolving, it’s breathing, it’s got a pulse. One minute it’s this, the next minute it’s something even better. Honestly, it feels less like I built it… and more like we’re all becoming it together.
Why is it important to include a charitable element supporting Black LGBTQ+ communities?
Visibility is cute, but it doesn’t pay the bills. You can’t just clap, cheer, and take a cute Instagram story home. If we’re really celebrating a community, we need to invest in it. Put your coins where your Pride is. That’s why the charitable element matters. It takes the love beyond the stage and turns it into something real, something lasting, something that actually supports the people we’re uplifting. Because as the wise and fabulous RuPaul says:
“Don’t get bitter, just get better… and maybe open your wallet while you’re at it.”
What challenges have you faced in bringing this project to life?
Funding? Whew. Let’s just say… the struggle is very real. Trying to bring something like this to life while navigating an industry that still puts up barriers for Black and queer creatives—it’s not always glamorous. It’s emails, rejections, chasing coins, and holding onto the vision when people don’t quite “get it” yet. But honestly? That’s exactly why this work matters. Because if it were easy, everyone would be doing it and they’re not. These challenges don’t stop the work, they prove the work is necessary. So yes, it’s been a journey… but we’re still here, still creating, still pushing and looking fabulous while doing it.
Do you think the industry is improving when it comes to representation, or is there still a long way to go?
Representation isn’t just about being seen, it’s about who’s actually holding the power. Who’s getting the funding? Who’s in the room making decisions? Who gets to tell their stories without being filtered, softened, or rewritten? Because visibility without power is just… decoration. So while things are shifting and that’s great we’re not at the finish line. Not even close. There’s still a lot of work to do, a lot of doors to kick open, and a lot of space to reclaim.
If this concert is a success, could you see it growing into something bigger or recurring?
Definitely. The vision has always been bigger than just one night this is about building something that lasts. Our very first project literally made it all the way to New York, and we had some incredible Broadway talent involved, which just showed me that there is an audience for this, there is space for this, and we’re not dreaming small. So for me, this is just the beginning. The goal is to grow this into an ongoing platform something that evolves, expands, and continues to create space for new voices, new stories, and new energy. Something that travels, that reaches different communities and keeps opening doors. Because once you realise the work can go from here to NYC… oh, we’re not stopping anytime soon.
On a personal level, what does Between the Heartbeats mean to you right now?
It feels like a necessary offering a moment of honesty, of community, of care. Something that holds people, even if just for an evening. And on a personal level, it really does take me back to that Billy Elliot feeling you know, that young dream of wanting to dance, to express, to feel something bigger than yourself. I’ve always carried that same energy with me, that same instinct to bring music to life, to tell stories through sound, through movement, through emotion. This feels like an extension of that dream just grown, louder, and a little more fabulous. It’s deeply personal because it comes from that place of longing and imagination… but it’s also bigger than me. It’s about community, about shared experience, about creating something that other people can see themselves in. In a way, it’s that same kid saying, “I want to create something beautiful” just now with a stage, a vision, and a whole lot more intention.
How important is the GoFundMe campaign to the future of Between the Heartbeats and No Names Creatives?
Oh, it’s vital, darling. Like lights on, mic working, show happening vital. Independent work like this runs on passion, yes… but also on coins. Community support is what takes this from a cute idea to a full-blown, glittering reality. The GoFundMe isn’t just about making this event happen (although trust, we will make it happen) it’s about building something sustainable. Something that keeps opening doors for underrepresented artists long after the curtain falls. Every contribution is a little act of rebellion, really. It’s saying: these stories matter, these voices deserve space, and we’re putting our money where our mouth is. So yes, bring the love, bring the energy… and respectfully, bring the coins too.
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