Val Gray Ward was a force of nature – a groundbreaking actress and fearless matriarch of the Black Arts Movement. Founder of the Kuumba Theatre Company in Chicago, IL, her work was crucial in spotlighting Black writers, artists and griots for the world to see.
Known as “the voice of the Black writer” by poet Gwendolyn Brooks and other writers in her community, Ward didn’t just uplift literature — she lived and breathed it, bringing Black artists to Japan, countries in Africa and the lives of Black writers to stages around the world. (Through one-act plays, music, quilting, and the truth-telling that happens when the community comes together.)
Although we aren’t related by blood, Val was my aunt in poetry. I called her Aunt Val and mailed her poems. She would recite them back to me, capturing my essence. She passed away at 91 on March 7, 2024.
I’m grateful for our moments together. She taught me to harness my poetic voice, understand great literary citizenship, and explore my identity through poetry.
Who was Val Gray Ward?
Val Gray Ward—born Queenola Valeria Ward in Mound Bayou, Mississippi—was a cultural warrior, visionary theatre producer, and commanding voice of the Black Arts Movement. Raised in one of the oldest all-Black towns in America, she carried a legacy of resilience, pride and purpose.
“Val came from a community that championed and deeply cared for our people,” said Dr. Liseli Fitzpatrick, professor of Africana studies at Wellesley College and one of Aunt Val’s closest companions and collaborators. “She was born to lift the words from the page and put Black life in its true perspective.”
Though she was awarded a college scholarship, an incident cut that path short, prompting her to move north to Chicago. “She did not come as part of the Great Migration for economic survival,” said her son, Babatu Gray, who is a stagehand for ABC TV 7 in Chicago. “She carved her own path—and brought her folks with her.”
Once in Chicago, Aunt Val became a cornerstone of the city’s Black cultural renaissance, founding Kuumba Theatre in 1968, a company that would become one of the nation’s first Black Equity theatre houses and a critical space for Black artistic expression.
“Kuumba was never just about art for art’s sake,” Gray explained. “It was about art that represented something positive for the community.”
Ward and the Black Arts Movement
At the height of the Black Arts Movement, Aunt Val established Kuumba Theatre in 1968, sowing a revolutionary seed in Chicago’s South Side. Kuumba, which comes from the Swahili term for “creativity,” grew into a haven for Black expression and freedom.
“The nature of Kuumba was always to get the community involved as a part of its tradition to help strengthen our community,” Gray said.
It wasn’t about entertainment alone—it was about transformation. Through Kuumba, Aunt Val turned the stage into a space of truth-telling, healing and action.
Aunt Val’s vision birthed Chicago’s first Black Equity theater company, elevating generations of actors, poets and thinkers—including some of the most iconic names in Black literature.
She brought James Baldwin to Chicago for Kuumba’s 10th anniversary, invited Maya Angelou to the stage, and held space for Gwendolyn Brooks long before mainstream institutions did. “She didn’t just open doors,” Fitzpatrick said, “she built the house and gave people the keys.”
At Kuumba’s core was community. From staging original plays and television productions like Precious Memories: Strolling 47th Street to building bridges between grassroots organizers and international artists, Val made Kuumba a center of cultural resistance.
Voice of the Black writer
Val Gray Ward was a master of honoring Black literary genius through performance. She received an Emmy Award for her television special Precious Memories: Strolling 47th Street, a tribute to the history and spirit of Chicago’s South Side.
Her spoken word album Rhapsody in Hughes 101, which animated the poetry of Langston Hughes through rich musical accompaniment, earned her a Grammy nomination.
Writers in her community called Aunt Val “the voice of the Black writer.” Among other things, Gwendolyn Brooks called her “A Little Black Stampede.” She and Brooks were very close.
“I would even go as far to say the voice of Black folk — because she interpreted the literary works of known and lesser-known Black writers in a cadence that represented and resonated with the people,” Fitzpatrick said.
Aunt Val’s one-woman show, My Soul is a Witness, was a powerful homage to the writers who shaped her, weaving together the works of African American luminaries in her commanding style.
“She didn’t perform the words—she embodied them,” Fitzpatrick said. “Language and poetry lived in her just as love did–when she spoke, generations spoke.”
Val Gray Ward’s impact beyond the stage
Dr. Joanne Gabbin, founder and director of the Wintergreen Women Writers’ Collective and Furious Flower Poetry Center, emphasizes Aunt Val’s foundational role in creating gathering spaces for Black writers and artists.
“Before there was Furious Flower, or Cave Canem, there was Kuumba Theatre,” she said. “Val was one of the first people to bring Black artists and writers together in a space for creation.”
When I first met Aunt Val, she stood regal in the halls of an art museum in Harrisonburg, Virginia, presenting her ancestral quilt called “Peace” the Way Home. The quilt is an intricate family tree of cultural memory that starts with her closest relatives and branches out into the people she held dearly like Nikki Giovanni and James Baldwin.
I was fresh out of my first year of graduate school when Aunt Val and I met. I wrestled with my poetic voice, unsure of my place in the tradition. But what I received from Val was more than knowledge—it was permission. Permission to be myself. To work towards being a brilliant Black poet. To be fierce and full of feeling.
We stayed in touch long after the seminar ended. I would send her poems through the mail, and when she received them, she would recite them to me to help me hear my poetic voice. In her, I found an elder, a teacher, and a torchbearer of Black arts and truth-telling. And in me, she saw a poet in bloom. Aunt Val helped me understand that our work is never just about craft—it’s about carrying memory, kindling resistance, and speaking life into our people.
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