“I’m walking into the same house, just through a different door”: Blackshop talks to comedian, writer, actor, activist Kerry Coddett

I met Kerry in 2019 while attending “Inside the Mind…”, her interview series in which Kerry brought in speakers to discuss the craft and business of comedy. While facilitating conversations, Kerry also generously shared resources with us after and seemed in general to have a true “we are all in this together” spirit. Kerry closed one event saying, “Take risks, put yourself out there, don’t be afraid to network, have a mentor whether they know it or not, have people who will give you guidance and collaboration partners, invest in your tribe and network.” I wrote this down, that detail of “have a mentor whether they know it or not” made me laugh and gave me an odd feeling of hope. Networking can feel equal parts sacred and profane but Kerry made it more human, made it about collaboration and mutual inspiration than simply getting ahead.

As a Brooklyn-born, Caribbean American multi-hyphenate artist who began in fashion and styling before shifting to writing, acting and stand-up; and as an activist whose annual Kwanzaa Crawl — co-founded with Krystal Stark — brought in over $500K in one day for local NYC Black-owned businesses in 2019, it makes sense that Kerry would encourage connection, encourage putting ourselves out there and finding our tribe. Her work, no matter its shape, seems born of and driven by her tribe, and Kerry seems to be making a world in the shape of it.

Catching her on Showtime’s Flatbush Misdemeanors, where she is a writer and recurring character, it has been a thrill to see someone who, whether she knew it or not, opened the door to comedy a bit wider for me, on a show that seems like a love letter to collaboration and community.

In this interview, Blackshop discusses with Kerry, among many things, what it means to find protection in knowing oneself and co-creating a vision with others. — Nina Sharma

Blackshop: There is a line in a sketch on The Coddett Project, “Three Girls, One Couch,” that continues to stick with me: “I’m running out of white things to say.” It sticks with me as a way of thinking about what it takes to make it in a mainstream white world and how much we have a file of “white things to say” in our brains ready to go when we need it. As multi-hyphenate artist, the Kerry Coddett universe seems the exact opposite of that limited world. Between your stand-up , your sketch comedy, your print journalism, your TV writing, your TV performance, and your activism you have a plethora of things to say, ways to say them, and none of them white. In fact you once referred to yourself as “unapologetically Black.” Is this a point of view you always had, if so, how did you protect it? If not, when did the shift to centering Blackness, honoring your identity in your art, come up for you? Either way, how do you guard yourself against comedy whitewash that can happen in overwhelmingly white spaces?

Kerry Coddett: I’ve always been this way, for as long as I can remember. From pre- K through 8th grade, I attended a small Afro-Caribbean private school where we wore Kente cloth uniforms and pride in our Blackness was instilled in us. I’ve been writing, performing, and creating my entire life and the one common thread throughout my life has been the need to express my truth. I’ve always aimed to be my authentic self, no matter what spaces I find myself in — so I find protection in knowing that I have knowledge of self. As I grow older, I find myself less concerned about how white the space around me is and more concerned on how I can continue to be the best version of myself — learning, growing, and thriving no matter the environment.

Blackshop: Early into your November 2020 “Inside the Mind of a TV Writer” interview with Wyatt Cenac, he emphasized “people will write what’s funny to them but may not make sense for the show” which grew into a really interesting conversation over a writer’s individual voice versus the “voice of the show.” Your work in print journalism and comedy, in particular your writing for Wyatt Cenac’s Problem Areas, feels very connected in the way both critique and comedy can take an op-ed-like shape — both require a distinct voice. How did you determine which ideas were for the show and which were best suited for your own voice — be it articles or, for that matter, your stand-up and other solo performances? Relatedly, how did you manage the shift from developing an article on your own to working collaboratively in a writers’ room? Was it a shift for you at all or a logical progression?

Kerry Coddett: Whenever I write for a show, my chief concern is “What is being asked of me and how can I make the showrunner’s job easier?” It’s not about whether or not my ideas are being used, or even if my ideas are the best idea — my ideas simply serve as a jumping off point for the showrunner to mold and create into their own vision, so when you’re a part of a team — there’s really no room for “self.” When it comes to deciding which ideas to pitch in the room versus which ideas to keep and develop for my own personal endeavors, I don’t really think about that. I believe in abundance. If I had one great idea, there are a dozen more great ideas right behind it — so I don’t mind giving all my “best” jokes to the room. It’s the job I was hired to do. I’m never going to run out of funny things to say.

If something I pitch isn’t used, and I feel really strongly about it, I find the truth in the idea and try to drill down what it was that really resonated with me about it. If I can’t stop thinking about it or it’s still gnawing at me, soon enough it will manifest itself in my work — sometimes it’s a stand up bit, sometimes it’s a sketch, sometimes it’s a rap song, sometimes it’s an article for the Washington Post. When I’m affected by something, I never know what it will manifest into and when it will happen. It just does. I’ll get in the flow and start writing, and when I look up — I see what shape it’s starting to take and decide the best medium for it. Since I wear so many different hats, I try not to limit myself creatively. I just let it do what it do. I’m a natural storyteller, so transitioning from writing stand up to writing an article to being in the writer’s room doesn’t feel like a shift to me. It just feels like I’m walking into the same house, just through a different door.

Blackshop: Quincy and I just finished the first season of Flatbush Misdemeanors. The show has a deceptive simplicity: it seems like a guy buddy show but in reality it is a portrait of a neighborhood and the people who comprise it; it seems like a 30-minute sitcom but there are moments of intertext, parentheticals appearing on screen, that we don’t get in a traditional sitcom; and through it all there are very real moments of drama and social commentary. So much can happen in one scene. For instance, there is a scene where Dan leaves his classroom and Zayna and Dami (who he puts in charge), engage in girl talk during which they casually start doing legit science experiments with Dan’s beakers and burners. I thought that was extraordinary in the way, in this very brief moment, Zayna and Dami are more than any “single story” that could be placed on Black girlhood. As a Brooklyn born-and-raised girl, what was it like to contribute to this show as a writer and performer? Did you have things in mind that you wanted to prioritize and did they ever conflict with the needs of the plot? As you grew into the role of Jasmine, as the show itself grew, did anything surprise you, as in did you discover new parts of your own story and identity as one of Brooklyn’s own?

Kerry Coddett: It’s truly been a dream come true. I can’t stress enough how blessed I feel to be working on this show. When the room started in Season 1, I really didn’t come in with things I wanted to prioritize. My first order of business was getting to understand from the creators what kinds of stories they wanted to tell and the path they envisioned for the characters. Once the framework was established, myself and other writers just helped fill it all in. If there was any agenda that I came in with, it was simply just making sure we tell the truth: about the neighborhood, the characters, the kinds of things they would do and the way they would actually say it. I wanted to be sure that the storytelling was nuanced and the characters were multi-dimensional, and the creators wanted the same thing, so we were all completely aligned in that regard.

What I love about Jasmine is how much depth she revealed in the short time we spent with her. When we started writing her character, she was just kind of this girl that Kevin was casually hooking up with. She didn’t take Kevin seriously and Kevin didn’t take her seriously either. What surprised me is how much she evolved into the truth — teller, the one who would always relay the reality of a circumstance or situation to the men around her who seemed to be having a hard time grasping exactly what was going on. Whether she did it jokingly like when she made fun of Kevin for living on a couch or matter of factly, like when she called out Dan and Kevin for being gentrifiers, you could always count on her to let you know what time of day it is. I’m much like Jasmine in that way. Getting to craft her character allowed me to really notice the ways in which I also fulfill that role in my social and professional settings.

Blackshop: In your PIX11 Morning News interview last month, while discussing Kwanzaa Crawl and the revenue it has generated over the years for Black-owned businesses, you emphasized its impact as creating “tangible success.” Kwanzaa Crawl is one of the many ways activism and advocacy work seems not to be an adjunct to your craft but an integral part of what you give to the public — your public endorsement of Black-owned banks, your social media health challenges like “30 Days Water” and even your character in Flatbush Misdemeanors. There is a scene in the show where Jasmine has organized a protest against predatory landlords. I read that while you filmed that scene, people honked and cheered not realizing it was a scene. I see this not as a mistake but a beautiful moment where activism and performance converge.

Comedy offers a space slip into truth while people think they are just being entertained, but what happens next? In your opinion can comedy create tangible success and change the way activism and advocacy work can? How do you experience this connection or disjuncture between art and activism?

Kerry Coddett: What happens next is up to you: the person receiving the information. We love to talk about how we’re in the information age and that knowledge is power, but knowledge is only power if you use it. Use it to inform your decisions and the way you interact with the world around you. Knowing something just for the sake of knowing it is useless. You should share, teach, and grow from it. Comedy is just that. It can be just entertainment and it really doesn’t need to be any more than that. If a comedian is doing a good job, you’re going to laugh. It’s up to you to separate the fact from the fiction, and to find the kernels of truth that resonate with you so much that it propels you into some sort of action. Making jokes and commentary is my business; what the audience member does with it is entirely theirs.

So yes, comedy can do anything you want it to do. It can create tangible success if you want it to; it most certainly has created tangible success in my life and the lives of so many others. I think art is an expression of (your) truth and activism is how that truth moves you. Good comedy can be both.

Blackshop: In 25 words or less, how we gonna come up?

Kerry Coddett: By using the seven principles of Kwanzaa —unity, collective work, cooperative economics, creativity, self-determination, faith, and purpose — to create solutions and build a stronger community.

“I’m walking into the same house, just through a different door” was originally published in ANMLY on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.