The Block was honored to welcome photographer Bev Grant to campus in October 2024 to celebrate the exhibition Dissident Sisters: Bev Grant and Feminist Activism, 1968–72. Two members of the Block Museum Student Associates, Tori Montinola and Ann Gaither, share their reflections on their time with the artist-activist.
Tori Montinola (English and History ’27) on Bev Grant’s message and resonance
When harking back to America during the 60s and 70s, it’s easy to be lost among the pivotal social changes that marked the decades: What changed, who fought, and what for.
This is work that social justice activist Bev Grant intended to make a reality. Grant is a powerful and aspirational woman who participated in social justice movements throughout the 60s and into the early 70s. Her passion is shown through protests and demonstrations, but also through her artistry in music, photography, and filmmaking. Capturing history behind her camera, Grant was able to encapsulate the live intensity and sensation of the radical political movements that defined this era of American history.
The Block Museum and the Northwestern community were fortunate to have the artist herself come speak on her work and the experiences that shaped her as part of this newly featured Block exhibit, Dissident Sisters.
During her keynote speech, Grant reminded audiences that feminism is intersectional. In the 1960s, she found herself fighting not just for abortion rights and bodily autonomy but also for the Civil Rights Movement and an end to the war in Vietnam. This intersectionality helps us understand how different communities face interconnected issues and how multiple systems of oppression can be deeply intertwined.
Grant’s passions as an activist extended beyond her initial feminist roots into many societal struggles. Her camera and photographer’s eye enabled her to capture the humanity of others. She used photography as a tool to demonstrate the power of those around her. Grant’s photographs moved from an observer’s distance to an intimate and personal experience.
“I took these photos, but they belong to the people,” she told the assembled crowd at her keynote talk.
Through her lens, Grant strove to connect with the essence of her subjects, documenting first-hand to their emotions, stories, and experiences. By embracing her own humanity, she empathizes with and understands the complexities of those she photographs, bringing their unique perspectives to light. Grant strives to bridge the gap between the viewer and the subject, fostering a deeper appreciation for our collective humanity.
During her lunch at the Northwestern Women’s Center, Grant shared several songs of hers that she either performed by herself or within larger groups of participants, the jingles and choruses becoming a staple of her activism.
Grant’s personal relationship with music spurred her onward later in life, as she utilized the medium to send messages of protest and solidarity. After moving to New York from Oregon, Grant found herself immersed in the cultural melting pot that was NYC. She recounted the first time she had read the work of feminist philosopher, Simone De Beauvoir. Her partner at the time came upon her reading the work, took it from her hands, and promptly threw it in the trash. It became apparent to Grant the role that she could play as an artist and musician in bringing a feminist vision to life.
The songs she shared with us felt deeply personal, rooted in not just her history, but in historical feminist struggles. “We Were There” speaks to the roles that women played silently, changing the world in ways that would never be written down in books. Grant encouraged us in the room to sing along with her, repeating the chorus. There was an overwhelming sense of unity as Grant led us through each rhyme and verse.
Grant’s visit allowed us to reflect upon the impact that art can have on history; her work still echoes decades after these movements have passed. The relevance of her art in our current political climate remains clear. It also calls to attention the hopefulness that those of Grant’s generation held, how we in this century must yet remain steadfast because now… we are here.
Ann Gaither (Philosophy and Political Science, 2025) on Bev Grant’s model of connection and activism
“It’s protest theatre, but it’s also breakfast.”
Dr. Sarah Brown’s quip in her introduction to The Block Museum’s Keynote event celebrating Bev Grant expresses the ethos of the movements Grant captured during the late sixties and early seventies. In offering their community Youth Breakfast Program, The Black Panthers grounded themselves in the material realities of those they advocated for.
Grant’s art, like the activism she photographed, is not an abstraction.
Dissident Sisters, an exhibition curated around Grant’s photographs, features her work alongside artifacts from the various movements she captured. Northwestern was treated to a visit from Grant herself in early October to celebrate the exhibit. Grant was busy during her time on campus. She was interviewed in The Block auditorium by Graduate fellow and co-curator of Dissident Sisters, Ruslana Lichtzier; she played some of her original music inspired by the women’s movement at the Women’s center; and she shared the deeply personal experiences that led her to activism with assembled students. I was fortunate enough to share these experiences with other Block Museum Student Associates (BMSAs) and members of the Northwestern community at large.
The label “artist” does not sit easily with Grant, though she is a prolific one. She thinks of her camera primarily as a tool for protest. Sitting in front of a crowd of students and community members at The Block, she recounted that “[she] could be holding a banner and hand it off and start taking pictures.” This experience resonated with me as I have witnessed firsthand the role of photography in contemporary student activism (and activism at large) as a tool of documentation—and also intimidation. She describes herself as a “participant photographer” who wasn’t motivated by journalistic voyeurism, but by the relationships and goals that she shared with the people she filmed and photographed. While this kind of personal investment may be more common in activism photography now, we still draw a distinction between “casual” participatory photography and art: a line which Grant’s work blurs.
Another aspect of Grant’s artistic practice that struck me was how openly it grounded itself in the personal relationships that she developed as an artist. She did not “gain access” to certain communities, she was motivated by friends’ experiences and the people that she met going about her life. These people and their lives feature directly in another favored medium of Grant’s: songwriting. Though she began her musical career in jazz, she turned to folk music—a genre that has its roots in the movements of oppressed people. “Tired of Fuckers Fuckin’ Over Me” and “Where Women Rule” were two of Grant’s songs that we learned and sang together, huddled inside The Women’s Center lounge. These songs were inspired by her own experiences of street harassment and a meeting between her and Rebecca Lolosoli, who founded a women’s only village in Kenya called Umoja.
Grant’s music does not wax poetic. Her lyrics either focus on personal stories, or are a clear call to action—and bear the marks of being motivated by real-world people. “Where Women Rule” names Lolosoli and frames its rendition of the founding of Umoja in anecdote:
“Rebecca Lolosoli took the hand of a frightened teenage girl
Who was being forced to wed a man three times her age.
“You are a small girl. Come sit here next to me.
I will tell you ‘bout Umoja, underneath the shade.”
Her songs remain connected to the reality of women and girls around the world, and her disposition towards finding unity is, I think, an admirable one. Grant shared stories about how her songs created relationships between herself and other activists, and the energy that those relationships provided her. Art, especially activist art, is sometimes criticized for being removed from those who it seeks to depict and help. It is her connection to the community that motivates her continued work—and that motivation, and its undeniable presence in her art, is what makes it so effective.
Learning more about the activist movements of that era, not just from Grant but from community members who brought their own viewpoints to the table, was eye-opening as someone who is growing up in an age where youth activism has a different undertone: one more cynical.
To this point, perhaps the most powerful takeaway for me regarding activism is Grant’s admission to reconsidering how she conceptualized one of her most notable activist “stunts—” disrupting the Miss America Pageant in 1968. While at first she and other activists cast blame on the women who participated in the pageant (they were complicit in their patriarchal oppression, after all), she concluded that this view was unfair and divisive. Though we may see the hopefulness of her era of activists as a kind of naivety, we stand to learn that a continuous evaluation of our actions and thoughts as activists (and people) is an essential part of activism (and life)—and that even if we are not perfect, we ought to keep fighting the good fight.
Bev Grant tours the exhibition “Dissident Sisters” with co-curators Corinne Granof and Ruslana Lichtzier.
