By Katana Sol, Community Outreach & Communications Manager
The wind picked up as I entered a space of belonging, my mind filled with memories — not just my own, but the land’s too. Overhead, starlings sliced the sky.
This was an all-Black watch party organized by the Georgetown Steam Plant for the movie Sinners, starring Michael B. Jordan and a talented cast. Sinners is a vampiric horror-action film about two brothers who purchase a juke joint during the sharecropping era. Along with their soul family (kinfolk), they must survive one night in the American South by alchemizing their pain through the familiar twang of the Blues played by their cousin Sammy, The Preacher Boy.
We were welcomed into the space by Khalil, the Space Activations Manager, carrying Palo Santo in his right hand and waving us in with a hello in his left. As you enter this historical space, you’re met with towering concrete walls and machinery reaching two stories high.
We toured the steam plant and learned about its spatial histories — the intersections between the peoples of the past and our bodies in the present. Our group walked through the upper floors. I shared a few operatic notes into the vastness of the main chamber, then we continued to the room with the outdoor screening setup, where starling murmurations take flight and a sculpture of one can be engaged with.
The Georgetown Steam Plant was built beside the Duwamish River and stands where a village once lived. The river once curved naturally, full of life — until settler-colonial agendas straightened its path, dumped coal into its waters, and paved over stories with silence. Seattle ran the energy system for only two years before switching to more modern techniques. Now, airport runways cover what used to be home.
As Khalil shared these truths, a shiver ran up my spine — that deep, familiar emotion that comes with being a person of color re-learning a people’s massacre. I say “re-learning” because there are truths the mind may forget, but the body remembers and the spirit reclaims when we encounter them again. It’s a feeling of helplessness, betrayal, remembrance, and loss. A pain we all know. It came to me through my eyes — and sometimes through my tears (I’m a big feelings person).
Inside, the plant’s machinery stands silent. We learned that when the plant was running, it was so loud that workers communicated through lights, buttons, and whistles instead of speaking. We entered the boiler room and imagined workers shoveling coal into fiery bellows. The space felt sparse, rugged, and very real — a window into the working class of early Washington.
But later, I was met with joy. Because we, as Black people, know how to hold space and how to laugh. Humor becomes a balm. And let the record show: there was no humor at the expense of others. Instead, it was the feeling of “we got each other.” Inside jokes, knowing glances, and a softness that reminded me I wasn’t alone.
Familiar faces helped too — gardeners, scientists, chefs, dreamers, artists — all contributing to conversations about the Earth and how to heal with her.
The movie was so fun. I especially loved that Khalil ran the screening through a PS4 hooked up to an audio interface — DIY brilliance.
It was cozy — folks with blankets, delicious plates, and the comfort of an intergenerational gathering. No need for censorship. No code-switching. Just us, watching a movie about our heritage. Sometimes I wondered if the ancestors were watching with us, knowing we were bodies of comfort and resilience.
Sinners takes place in a time when sharecropping was at an all-time high. The historical parallels mirror what Rhapsody works to teach — that music carries messages from the spirit, and community is built through storytelling, emotion, and intention. Even in isolation and pain, your story still shapes you through infinite cycles.
There’s a moment when Sammy picks up his resonator guitar and sings about his father, a church leader:
“Somebody take me in your arms tonight!”
As bodies begin to morph and move, time disappears. All that’s left is song, frequency, and a message for the higher universe.
We are from the stars. It is a known fact. And this film reminds us to activate that star power in our music and our cultures.
Our group discussions stretched into the night, full of critical thought and reflection. We asked:z
- Is music a chariot that the musician can steer towards good or evil?
- What is the church’s legacy within the Black community?
- How do we feel represented in the sonic altars of songs like Brittany Howard’s “Pale Pale Moon”?
Everyone listened. Some perspectives shifted. Some stories surfaced. But all of it happened within the sacred container of Black space and belonging.
It goes to show — events for Black people, by Black people, matter. We need spaces to heal, to be seen, to speak about what can’t be translated or explained. In Washington, these spaces are rarely respected. Pioneer Square used to be all Black jazz clubs. Now they’re parking lots.
This Art of Belonging is something I want everyone to understand:
It’s not that Black Americans want to exclude others from every space. We just know you don’t need to be at every one of ours — and that’s perfectly reasonable.
Everyone’s been in our business — even our sovereignty over our own bodies. Our hair, our names, our presence are constantly critiqued. All we’re asking for is a moment of softness. A chance to return to the knowledge only we can give ourselves: identity, clarity, and reformation of the soul.
This is why we make these spaces.
To remember who we are.
To decolonize our minds.
To return to ourselves.
That night, I remembered why I fell in love with music and storytelling — and why I belong in Black spaces. I cherish our sacredness, our humor, our rhythm, our presence, our brilliance. To watch a vampiric epic about the foundation of American music — made by the people who built this country — with a room full of kinfolk was unforgettable.
We are frequency. We are flame. We are the memory, and the music, and the murmurations. And we will always find each other.
Community is at the core of what we do. Looking for spaces to connect and be welcomed? Summer Camp, Sunday Sessions, and Guitar Hangs are great places to start.
