My Why! The need PhillyFestivals.org
I’ve been soaking in the energy of Philadelphia’s streets for a while now, and I can tell you, this city’s festival scene is a living, breathing testament to the global majority’s resilience and creativity. It’s personal for me—seeing how these gatherings reflect our stories and spark connection—and I’d love to hear your take as we go.
Philadelphia’s festivals are like a map of diaspora journeys, tracing the paths of communities who’ve carried their cultures across oceans and borders to plant roots here. Take the Odunde Festival, one of the largest African American street festivals in the country—it’s a heartbeat of the African diaspora, pulsing with Yoruba traditions, hip-hop rhythms, and food that tastes like home for so many. Then there’s the ACANA African Festival at Penn’s Landing, where Soca and reggae fill the air, or the Philly Carnival, bursting with Caribbean flair. These aren’t just parties; they’re spaces where the global majority—Black, Latino, Asian, Indigenous—see themselves reflected, reclaiming public spaces to say, “This is us, unfiltered.”
What patterns do you see in your own community’s celebrations in the cities and suburbs where you are?
But here’s the magic: it’s not just about one group shining solo. Philly’s festivals are a hotbed of cross-pollination, where cultures don’t just coexist—they collide and create something new. Picture a Festival in a global majority neighborhood, anywhere across the country, you may here Afrobeats, Salsa or Bachata, you may witness the pure joy of strangers line dancing, pop locking and putting their lighters in the air, you might taste fried fish, or coconut water or any number of confections and sweet treat, you can walk a block or two and here the pulsing beats of a drum circle, or the clinking sounds of jewelry vendors, or the ancient wisdom of indigenous storytellers, the call and response of poets and griots, and the hype whistles of a drill team, the bouncy energy of babies, teenagers and those who want to feel young again. Taking it all in, the sights, smells and senses are stimulated when we are intentionally inhabiting public spaces together.
How does it feel when you intentionally fellowship for communal healing and collective enjoyment?
There’s nothing like a parade, or a block party, or an outdoor concert, or a food truck line, or the feels you get when hundreds of people with rhythm dance to a song you all love, one nation under a groove, on the same type of time. It’s messy, and memorable and real, like the city itself. I’ve watched countless festivals, reel in the curious with flavorful aromas of ethnic food, or precise dance performances that spark curiosity among neighbors from totally different backgrounds. This blending isn’t accidental—it’s the diaspora doing what it does best: adapting, sharing, and growing.
Ever seen a moment where two cultures sparked something unexpected at a festival you’ve been to?
Here’s the thing: too many festival producers, especially those from diaspora communities, are out there grinding alone, solving the same problems—logistics, funding, outreach—without a playbook. I’ve felt that hustle myself, and it’s why I’m so fired up about building bridges between us. That’s where the need for collaboration kicks in hard. The festival scene’s shifting—grassroots crews and neighborhood collectives are stepping up, transforming Philly into a patchwork of community-led celebrations. But there’s no tight-knit network yet, no Think Tank where producers of color can swap ideas or tackle big goals—like making sure these events don’t just entertain but heal and empower. I’m picturing a space where we pool resources, maybe even tie our festivals into the 2026 narrative, showing how the diaspora’s shaped this nation from the jump.
Imagine if the folks behind your favorite local and citywide festivals linked up to share tricks of the trade. What could we pull off together? Could a collab like that change the game?
In Solidarity,
Monica O. Montgomery
Chief Creative Officer, Philly Festivals