Why Wicked Matters
A Reflection on Prejudice, Power, and Resilience
Broadway has always been a source of inspiration for me. There’s something about stepping into a theater and being swept away by a narrative that reflects the world in profound and unexpected ways.
Wicked on Broadway is one of those rare works that has stayed with me long after the curtain falls. I’ve seen it four times.
Each time, it offers a new perspective on society, power, and belonging. Beneath its music and spectacle, it speaks to something deeper — something that resonates profoundly with marginalized communities, especially Black people.
At its core, Wicked explores the dynamics of prejudice and exclusion. It tells the story of someone who is judged and ostracized not because of what they’ve done, but simply because they are different. For me, as a Black woman, this narrative is deeply personal. For centuries, Black people in America have been unfairly labeled, scapegoated, and dehumanized because of our skin color and our refusal to conform to systems of oppression. The parallels to this reality within Wicked are striking and unavoidable.
One of the most compelling aspects of Wicked is how it interrogates the power of storytelling and narrative control. It forces audiences to ask, “Who gets to tell the story?”
This question is not just central to the plot — it’s a central theme in the history of marginalized people. For generations, those in power have controlled the narratives about Black people, using those stories to justify systems of oppression, from slavery and segregation to mass incarceration. These narratives have often painted Black people as villains or threats. Those narratives aren’t accidental — they’re tools of oppression designed to keep systems of inequality intact.
Movements like Black Lives Matter challenge those falsehoods by reclaiming our stories. They remind the world that Black lives matter — not just in moments of struggle, but in our joy, our art, and our humanity. For me, that’s the most important parallel between Wicked and the Black experience: the need to push back against the lies and demand to be seen for who we truly are.
When I saw Cynthia Erivo on stage in The Color Purple, it was one of the most powerful performances I’ve ever witnessed. She didn’t just play Celie — she transformed into her, bringing a raw, emotional truth to the role that stayed with me long after the final bow, earning her a well-deserved Tony Award. Cynthia has this ability to take a story and make it deeply human, deeply personal, and deeply moving. Witnessing how she brings that same extraordinary talent to Wicked fills me with excitement and pride.
Erivo’s role in the Wicked movie amplifies this story’s resonance even more. Cynthia doesn’t just perform — she embodies. Watching her bring her vocal brilliance to this world is transformational. She infuses every note, every line, with an emotional truth that makes Wicked feel more relevant than ever. Her presence is a reminder of why representation matters, both on stage and on screen. Seeing a Black woman redefine such an iconic role is powerful — it demonstrates that we belong everywhere — on the biggest stages, screens and in the highest positions.
Cynthia’s impact on Wicked is about more than just her incredible voice or acting skills — it’s about the way she reclaims space in a story about otherness and resilience. She makes the message of Wicked clearer than ever: being different is not a flaw, but a strength. Her work challenges audiences to see beyond labels and confront their own biases, something Wicked has always aimed to do, but now with even more urgency and relevance.
Wicked also demonstrates the resilience required to resist societal labels and expectations. The story challenges the idea that being different is a flaw, instead presenting it as a source of strength. This theme echoes the work of historical leaders like Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, and Malcolm X, who exemplified the courage to defy unjust systems and stand in the truth of their convictions. It also reflects the ongoing struggles of activists and everyday people who continue to fight for equity and justice.
Another critical message in Wicked is its exploration of allyship. The narrative asks those in positions of privilege to reflect on their complicity in systems of oppression and challenges them to do more than simply observe injustice. Effective allyship requires deep reflection, intentional learning, and meaningful action — a lesson that is as relevant offstage as it is within the world of Wicked.
For me, Wicked is not just a compelling piece of theater. It’s a lens through which we can examine the structures that govern our world and the narratives that perpetuate inequality. It reminds us that resilience, truth, and representation are not abstract ideals but necessary tools for dismantling oppression and reimagining society. These lessons resonate far beyond the stage, speaking directly to the work we do every day to build a future rooted in justice, equity, and humanity.
