All photos courtesy of Matt Riggen.
It was the pandemic, and I was probably scrolling Facebook for the hundredth time that day, trying to find some meaning in the new world we had all been forced to live in. We had started the Chicago Freedom Ensemble, which gave me some direction. We were going to protests, playing music and fighting for Black lives. That work mattered, and it certainly gave us somewhere to put our energy when we had no gigs.
Still, there was a larger question sitting underneath it all: What do you do with something like the Chicago Freedom Ensemble when it feels like the world is burning?
Then, I saw an advertisement: You and your group can perform at World Expo 2020 Dubai.
Now, I thought it might be fake. But what did I have to lose by applying?
I filled out what felt like a basic Google form. I told them I wanted to bring the Chicago Freedom Ensemble and explained what we had been doing. We were very active at the time, so we had fresh arrangements of protest songs, spirituals and popular music. I even submitted a video of us playing at a protest. Then I pressed submit and went on with my life. A couple of months passed.
Then, out of nowhere, I received an email saying they had received my application for World Expo 2020 Dubai and wanted to schedule an interview (mind you, I had almost forgotten I applied). I started doing research to make sure the whole thing was legitimate. The artists and the trip were being organized through a third-party organization, Global Ties US, working with the United States government, specifically the State Department. That was when I realized: Oh, this is real.
I scheduled a video interview with representatives from the third-party organization and the State Department. They asked about me, the band, our history, what we had been doing and what I thought we could bring to the World Expo. They were encouraging about the fact that we played protest music, but they also kept making one thing very clear: There were certain things we could not say while we were there.
Their message was basically, “If they arrest you, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Fair enough.
A few weeks after the initial call, they called me again.
“Congratulations. You are going to be featured at the World Expo in Dubai.”
That was magical. What are the odds that a Facebook advertisement leads to a real international opportunity? I had not spent weeks preparing that application. I had not built some elaborate campaign around it. I filled it out in one sitting, pressed submit and moved on. Now we were going to Dubai.
The first challenge was deciding who would go. I ultimately selected the executive board of the organization at that time. It felt like the cleanest way to make the decision, but it still caused some tension within the ensemble. That became a learning experience for me and for the organization.
Once the group was set, we got to work. We rehearsed, tightened the arrangements and built the show. This was my first international tour, and we were scheduled to perform around eight times throughout the week on different stages at the Expo, including two appearances on one of the main stages. I was not only acting as music director. I was also the manager, booking agent, administrator, travel coordinator and whatever else needed to be done. I had to make sure our paperwork was right so we could perform overseas and get paid. I had to make sure everybody had passports.
Oh boy, those passports gave us trouble. At least two of us received our passports on the actual day of the flight through expedited requests. Crazy.
I was also working with the State Department and the production team overseas to make sure we had the correct backline, equipment and technical support. It was the first time I had ever executed a large-scale contract and technical rider. There was a learning curve, but I did it.
We had a farewell concert in Chicago and a couple of smaller send-offs. Because several members of the group were teachers, we had to travel during winter break. That meant Christmas and New Year's Day in Dubai. What an opportunity.
When the day came, everybody made it to the airport mostly on time. We made the flight with no major problems. We flew Emirates, and the flight was comfortable. They fed us well. We had time to relax, talk, laugh and bond.
Of course, this was still during the pandemic, so every part of the trip came with COVID anxiety. We had to get tested before the flight, and one person received their clearance only a few hours before we left. Thankfully, everyone passed. When we landed in Dubai, we collected our luggage and immediately had to take another COVID test. Everybody cleared. We were picked up in a comfortable coach bus and taken to our resort at Jumeirah Beach. The resort was beautiful. We were right on the water, and it was clear that they had taken care of us.
We had made it to Dubai.
One of the highlights of the entire trip happened on the first night. I was excited to go to Q’s Bar and Lounge, Quincy Jones’s jazz club inside Palazzo Versace Dubai. We were jazz musicians from Chicago in Dubai to play at the World Expo, so beginning the trip at Quincy Jones’s club felt essential. The room was small and intimate. The food was good, and we had a few drinks. I even smoked a cigar, and I do not smoke cigars. But we were in Dubai, about to perform at the World’s Fair. Why not?
One of the first things I noticed about the area around the resort was how many American restaurants were there. Burger King. McDonald’s. Pizza Hut. P.F. Chang’s. At one point, we went to McDonald’s simply to see whether the ice cream machine worked. The line was extremely long, and we did not want to wait all that time if the machine was broken, so we asked security to check. Security went to the employees, came back and told us the ice cream machine was broken.
That made me wonder whether broken McDonald’s ice cream machines were part of some international corporate policy.
Before we left Chicago, one of the band members told me to make sure I notified my bank that I would be traveling internationally. That same band member also opened a credit card specifically for the trip. Shout out to him, because that decision helped to save the trip.
I had already told Chase that I would be traveling and would need access to my money overseas. Everything was supposed to be fine. But when I went to an ATM to withdraw some cash, the ATM swallowed my bank card. It did not reject it. It did not spit it back out. It just took it. The hotel could not help me retrieve it. The company that owned the ATM had no office open because it was holiday.
My card was gone. Poof.
This was not only my personal money. I was financially responsible for the group. The State Department had paid me to distribute the band members’ performance fees, provide food per diems, cover group experiences and handle other expenses. All of that money was in my account, attached to the card that had disappeared into an ATM. This was still early in the widespread use of tap-to-pay. Some places required an actual card, and Zelle was still relatively new. The first day became stressful very quickly.
When I told the band what had happened, the member who had opened the credit card stepped in. For much of the rest of the trip, I would Zelle him money in advance, and he would use his card to cover what we needed.
Shout out to community. We had solved the first crisis.
Breakfast was included at the resort, there were multiple restaurants on the property, and entertainment was happening throughout the day and evening - dancers, music, fire shows, and different activities along the beach. The resort was large and inclusive enough that you could spend the entire day there without needing to leave, something that would become especially important later in the trip.
Dubai was the first place I ever saw a drone show. The first time it happened, I looked out of my hotel window and there was a massive face floating in the sky. I was frightened for a second. It looked biblical.
I realized it was a drone show as the images kept unfolding across the sky. It was surreal seeing something I had mainly watched in commercials or videos happening directly outside my window. Dubai felt very American in a lot of ways, but it was filled with people from all over the world.
The next day, we went to the World Expo to check in, receive our credentials, see the stages and learn how the performances would work, and, of course, take another COVID test. At that time, everyone had to get tested every day before entering the fairgrounds. Once everybody cleared, we went inside.
It was astonishing.
Each country had its own pavilion. The pavilions shared the histories of their countries and displayed important cultural artifacts, plants, animals, technology and traditions. Some countries had instruments that were unique to their culture. Some had interactive exhibits. Some had food connected to the pavilion, so you could learn about the country and then go eat. It felt like a Disney World of the world - but not Epcot. This felt more like a genuine taste of the world gathered together in one enormous place.
There were too many pavilions to see them all. Stages were everywhere. There were performers from around the world, robots you could interact with, activities for children and adults, and people moving in every direction. Most pavilions allowed you to walk through at your own pace. Of course, the American Pavilion had a moving walkway. It carried you through the exhibit in a very specific order. You saw what they wanted you to see when they wanted you to see it.
Very American.
Still, it was amazing. The Expo made me proud to be from my own country, but it also made me proud to be part of a global citizenship. The beauty of the cultures represented there was undeniable. For that moment, in that place, countries with complicated histories, tensions and conflicts were existing peacefully beside one another.
It felt like a microcosm of what the world could be.
The Expo itself employed people from all over the world. At the same time, I sometimes felt that the organizers missed an opportunity to employ and feature more Emiratis. For an event taking place in Dubai, local people could occasionally feel less visible than the international workers, tourists, and performers who filled the grounds.
On our first full day, before the major performances, I had planned some activities for the group. We went to the sand dunes, rode dune buggies, visited the Dubai Mall, went shopping in Old Dubai and explored different parts of the city. We also rode Dubai’s elevated train, which gave us another view of the city from above. Dubai even had its own version of Chicago’s Bean and what looked to us like its own version of the Twin Towers. It sometimes felt as though the city had collected recognizable ideas and landmarks from around the world and rebuilt them in its own image.
We had to travel about an hour away from the hotel before we reached places that felt more connected to local and regional life, i.e. areas where Arabic appeared first on signs, where the food felt less designed for tourists, and where everyday people lived and worked. The contrast between the residential areas and the tourist districts was night and day. In that way, Dubai reminded me of Chicago and a lot of other major cities. The wealth was very clear. The lack of wealth was also very clear.
One of the things that struck me most was how international it felt. The tourist areas were packed with people from all over the world, but very few of the people we encountered appeared to be native Emiratis. The Dubai Mall was enormous (and I mean truly enormous), polished, luxurious and built around international tourism and consumption. Even many of the people working and living there were migrants who had come from somewhere else. In contrast, Old Dubai felt more connected to the daily life and history of the place, with markets, smaller businesses and a sense of ordinary movement. It felt like there were two different Dubais. There was Old Dubai was for the locals, and the polished version of Dubai was for tourists.
The beachfront and waterfront areas were dominated by luxury hotels, resorts, international companies and expensive developments. Outside of those spaces, we saw people trying to make ends meet through roadside stands, open-air markets and smaller businesses. The architecture was different. The culture was different. But the gentrification felt familiar.
It was kind of like being in America in the Middle East.
The rules around public displays of affection were also real. We did not personally see anybody being confronted or punished, but there were signs warning against certain types of affection in public. Cameras were positioned all along the beach, so there was always the sense that the rules were being watched, even if we never saw them enforced. Kissing on the beach was not treated as casually as it might be in the United States.
We heard very little music in the streets. For such an international city, Dubai did not feel especially musical in its public spaces. There was music inside clubs, lounges, hotels and designated entertainment venues, but we did not see musicians busking or hear people casually playing outside. Music seemed contained, something you entered a building to experience rather than something woven into the streets. It felt like music needed permission to exist.
Touring Dubai also gave me an interesting view of how America is represented around the world. American companies and restaurants were everywhere, and people seemed genuinely excited about them. For us as Americans, the environment was very comfortable, and I have a feeling it was designed to be. Even though we were in another country, there were familiar restaurants, English signage, familiar businesses and many of the same consumer experiences we would find at home.
Dubai was not America, but it was so America-coded that it often felt like mini-America. It was interesting to see which parts of American culture had traveled most successfully: the corporations, the restaurants, the brands and the consumer habits. But here we were, bringing jazz and protest music too.
Our first performance was at the United States Pavilion. It was a quartet set, and I wanted it to feel small and focused. We presented a tribute to John Coltrane with saxophone, piano, bass and drums. What an honor it was to bring Coltrane’s music to an international audience at the World Expo. The United States Pavilion had a proper green room for the artists. Naturally, the food was hamburgers and hot dogs. Good ole’ America.
For me, the weight of the moment was enormous. My first international tour was at the World Expo in Dubai. Who would have ever thought? Little Thaddeus would never have imagined that this would become his reality. I was about to play the jazz music I had fallen in love with around twelve years old. I was also representing my culture and my people, and advocating for rights that had mattered to me since I first became aware of our society and some of its challenges.
It felt like an honor. It also felt like a responsibility. Maybe somebody I would never meet would watch the show and feel inspired to do something in their own community. The Chicago Freedom Ensemble started because I called friends and asked them to come play music at protests. What began as phone calls to people who were willing to show up had brought us all the way to Dubai. Wow.
We kept the next morning light. We did a few fun activities, but mostly we rested and prepared. Of course, we still had to take another COVID test. Everybody was nervous. We did not want anyone testing positive on that day of all days. Thankfully, everybody cleared.
You could feel the nerves and excitement moving through the group. We did not know exactly what to expect, but we understood how big the moment was. Then my parents texted me.
“Do not forget to send us the livestream.”
I went to the Expo Dubai website to find the link. That was when I saw the description:
“Join us as the world’s best vibraphonist and his ensemble give an electric performance.”
The world’s best vibraphonist. That had a special ring to it.
I had played large stages before. Pritzker Pavilion in Chicago is massive. But this was probably the largest stage I had ever performed on. After all, it was an international stage. We had in-ear monitors. We had a talkback microphone. Those are things we do not usually get in jazz clubs, to say the least.
On the ride to the stage, I listened to John Coltrane’s “Equinox.” His playing was contemplative and spiritual. There was a searching quality in the music, as though he was always reaching for something beyond what had already been presented to him. That feeling centered me.
We went into the green room, put down our things, tuned and warmed up. I made sure we took a picture with an instant camera to commemorate the moment. Everybody was in good spirits. We encouraged each other, talked through parts, shook off our nerves and got ready.
I was not only performing. I was leading the band and cueing the music. No matter how much you rehearse, there is always a little fear that something might go wrong. But this group had already been through some thick and thin together. I knew we were ready.
I had designed the opening so the musicians entered one at a time. The saxophone entered first, followed by the drums, the rest of the horns, the sousaphone and then me on vibraphone. While we waited backstage, we could hear the audience. The excitement was bubbling. It was nighttime. The place was packed. Then we heard:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for Thaddeus Tukes and the Chicago Freedom Ensemble.”
Our opening song was “Freedom” by Beyoncé. I had arranged it using the open fourth voicings associated with McCoy Tyner, inspired by the John Coltrane Quartet. The whole set featured our own arrangements of popular songs, spirituals and protest music. The audience was with us. People were dancing, cheering and screaming after every song.
At one point, I looked around and thought, this is what my life could be like. I was playing multiple instruments. I was directing the band. I was cueing. I was vocalizing. I was connecting with an international audience. This was amazing.
By the final song, we had entered a flow state. We knew we had made it through. I remember the breeze moving across the stage while we played. I remember watching people sway to the music.
Then came our surprise encore. We performed our version of “Black Lives Matter.” I had taken the chant, written music around it and added verses to create a full song. We all came to the front of the stage. We jammed, danced and celebrated. The audience danced and chanted “Black Lives Matter” with us. Music that had begun at protests in Chicago was now being sung back to us by an international audience in Dubai. It was beautiful.
Unfortunately, I am not sure the local authorities felt the same way.
We left the stage on the highest of highs. We celebrated, replayed our favorite moments, ate, had drinks and loved on one another. We knew we had a full week of performances ahead of us. On the way home, people throughout the Expo were stopping us.
“Great job.”
“Can we take a picture?”
They followed us on Instagram and told us how much they enjoyed the performance. Our faces were all over the grounds on digital posters advertising the main-stage show.
For that moment, we were celebrities there.
The next performance was scheduled for earlier in the day, again on the main stage. I was also supposed to appear on Dubai television that morning to talk about the ensemble and promote the rest of our performances. We went to sleep believing we were only getting started.
The next day, everybody got dressed, arrived early and was ready to go. We reached the fairgrounds and went through the COVID checkpoint. By then, we thought it was routine. We had passed for several days in a row. But this time, there was a delay.
They told us they needed to verify something. Then they tested the whole group again. We waited. Forty-five minutes passed. Maybe an hour. Finally, they told us that somebody in the group had tested positive for COVID. We were being sent back to the hotel.
All of the remaining performances were canceled.
I do not know whether heartbreak fully captures what we felt. Some of us kept asking to be retested. We hoped there had been some mistake in the system. But that was it. The television interview was canceled. The rest of the performances were canceled. An opportunity that could have placed us in an even larger international spotlight disappeared in a matter of hours. We made it to Dubai, and just like that, the run was over.
Only one person had tested positive, but because we had all been in close contact, the entire group had to quarantine. Back then, quarantine was fourteen days. We had planned to be in Dubai for one week. Now we would be there for another week. Normally, an extra week in Dubai sounds wonderful. But we could not leave our rooms, and even in Dubai, sitting in a hotel room all day will drive you crazy.
After about two days, the hotel agreed that those of us who continued testing negative could move around the property. We could go to the beach, swim, play volleyball, attend the resort entertainment, eat at the restaurants and spend time outside. But, we still could not leave the hotel.
I have to be honest: We slipped out twice for basic supplies, snacks and hygiene items. But for the most part, we stayed on the property until we were cleared near the end of the trip.
Once we were able to move around the hotel, the experience began to soften. We were still heartbroken, but we were healing that heartbreak on the beach in Dubai, surrounded by incredible views, good food, entertainment and a continued per diem.
At the beginning of the trip, I had pushed for us to spend a lot of time together, sometimes to certain people’s dismay. But it was important to me that we bonded. We were in another country, and ultimately, we had to look out for each other. Those first few days of bonding mattered once everything changed.
We were all busy people - musicians, teachers, administrators and professionals. We rarely had opportunities to stop moving without somewhere to be, something to finish or somebody waiting on us. For the first time in a long time, we could simply sit down. We could rest. We could read. We could work on projects we had postponed. We could sit with our feelings and learn more about ourselves.
What began as quarantine slowly turned into a retreat.
During that time, we had meaningful conversations about our values, our histories and our lives. The Chicago Freedom Ensemble had grown organically. People came to protests, and continued showing up. We kept making music. Then it blossomed into something larger than any of us had imagined.
But we did not all come from the same backgrounds or places. Some members knew each other before the ensemble, but many of us did not. Everybody was participating for different reasons. Some people were inspired by a particular moment. Some had been working within movements for years. People were at different places in their understanding of justice, equity, access, community and what it means to truly be pro-people. Finding common ground could be challenging.
It can be hard for us to examine the smaller things, like the comments, assumptions, habits and behaviors we may think are harmless, unimportant or simply part of who we are. Any one of those things may seem minor by itself. But taken together, they can reveal patterns. Discomfort and anxiety can arise when we recognize those patterns within ourselves or allow somebody else to point them out, especially when we already see ourselves as socially conscious or active in movement work.
Many people involved in the Chicago Freedom Ensemble and actively advocating for Black lives were not Black. That required balance. We needed allies. Oppressed people should not be expected to fight oppression alone. At the same time, we needed a space where people could be educated, supported and challenged without allowing solidarity to turn into a savior complex.
Dubai gave us time to talk about what had been understood, what had been misunderstood, what people had learned through the ensemble and what remained unresolved. Those were conversations we might have avoided at home because we were so busy “doing the work.” The trip shifted my understanding of the ensemble. A lot of my energy had been focused outward, on advocating for the community, fighting for our people and showing up in public. But I started to understand that the musicians also needed a community. They faced some of the same pressures and challenges we were trying to address, and they did not always have a place to talk about those experiences. That realization brought me back to a question someone had asked during the early protest days:
“Can the Chicago Freedom Ensemble be my movement home?”
A movement home is an organization through which a person connects to a larger social movement. At that time, the movement was Black Lives Matter. I said yes. But it took another year or two, and especially the Dubai trip, for me to understand what that answer really meant. A movement home could not only be a group that showed up publicly for Black lives. It also had to be a place where musicians could connect, speak honestly, examine themselves, feel supported and understand where they fit within the movement.
The trip tested our identities in ways that helped us decide who we were, what we wanted for ourselves and how we wanted to move forward. Before Dubai, we had been barreling ahead since the protests started. Dubai was the first time we stopped and took a deep breath. We finally had the time to ask: What is this organization? What do we want it to become? How do we want it to exist? What seemed like the tragedy of losing the rest of our performances became the triumph of truly creating an organization, and becoming clear that this thing existed and that we wanted it to exist in a certain way.
Whenever I travel, I pay close attention to the sights and sounds that feel unique to that place. Every part of the world seems to have its own birds, its own calls and its own little rhythms moving in the background. Dubai had these pitch-black crows with a sharp, almost screeching sound. You would hear them cutting through the air around the resort.
There were also cats everywhere around the resort. Every night, the same cat would come sit beside me or climb into my lap. On the second-to-last night, a woman saw the cat with me. She gasped, looked at me and said,
“You must have a really good spirit.”
She explained, “If a cat likes you, it means you have a good heart.”
After everything the trip had become - the anticipation, pressure, performance, cancellation, heartbreak and reflection - that small moment felt validating. Despite our challenges, I had been determined to remain positive, and to continue building a bonding experience for the band. It may have worked.
By the end of the trip, I think we all left with more clarity. We understood more about how we wanted to engage with the organization, but also how we wanted to move forward personally. I suppose the State Department felt bad that we were not able to complete our performances, because I received VIP treatment on the flight home. I had a personal concierge on the plane. That was very cool.
Would I go back to Dubai? Sure, if somebody pays for it.
But I could also just go to Miami.