Burning Man starting to feel more welcoming to people of color

Trevor Hughes
Reno Gazette Journal

BLACK ROCK CITY, Nevada — Zulu Heru first came to Burning Man while he was still in the U.S. Army, preparing to deploy as a tank commander.

As a Black man, he said, he was astounded by just how utterly different life at Burning Man was — the art, the music, the new friends. Flame-throwing cars cruised past. Dancing all night to international DJs. The Man structure's cathartic burn.

“It was my first place of completely sheer bliss and freedom," he said. "I felt basically unconditional love for the first time from strangers.”

Artist Zulu Hero of California speaks at Burning Man to discuss the inspiration behind his "Farmer the Rigger" artwork installation.

Burning Man has long had a reputation, borne out by its own census, that the annual weeklong event in the Nevada desert is largely attended by wealthy white people, often from California's tech industry. Attending often requires a great deal of personal resources, from the ability to take a week off from work to the money necessary to buy, store and prepare everything you need to eat and drink in the middle of an otherwise barren desert.

Last year, about 80% of Burning Man participants identified as white non-Hispanic, compared to 2.2% who identified as Black, 8% as Asian, and 9.6% as Hispanic/Latino. As a nation, the U.S. is about 75% white, with Black Americans making up about 13.6% of the population, Asians at 6% and Hispanic/Latino at about 19%, according to the U.S. Census. Last year, about 16% of Burning Man attendees came from outside the United States.

After leaving the military, Heru became a California-based artist and this year is displaying a massive steel sculpture called "Farmer the Rigger" in the Black Rock Desert. The piece pays homage to his own work and history, and has hosted drumming sessions showcasing African beats.

People stand atop the art installation "Farmer the Rigger" at Burning Man.

It's that kind of thing that’s helped Resego Bokete feel increasingly welcome at Burning Man — seeing art and hearing music that reflects her own roots in Botswana.

"Slowly, slowly they are reaching the Black community," said Bokete, who is attending her fourth Burning Man this year. “It’s always been such a far out, untouchable event."

Acknowledging that their event has failed to reflect the true diversity of the United States, Burning Man officials have been systematically trying to expand their reach, including offering discounted tickets to certain groups and creating a Radical Inclusion, Diversity and Equity team to oversee efforts and hold itself accountable.

One of Burning Man's guiding 10 Principles is Radical Inclusion: "Anyone may be a part of Burning Man. We welcome and respect the stranger. No prerequisites exist for participation in our community."

From left, Vanessa Williams, Laone Oagile and Resego Bokete, all of California, pause for a photo at Burning Man 2023.

In a pledge to diversity, Burning Man officials committed to working harder to reach communities that have traditionally not attended, including people with physical disabilities.

"At our collective best, Burning Man is a multicultural, open, inviting and inclusive community. By bringing an anti-racist and anti-discriminatory lens into our strategies and work, we are strengthening these values, and helping to build the future we want to live in," they wrote in their pledge.

Bokete, who works in pharmaceutical drug development, said she's raved about Burning Man for years, and this year persuaded her California-based friends Laone Oagile and Vanessa Williams to attend with her. Both said they were nervous about attending in part because of the unknowns for Black women like them.

“For years I didn’t think it was for me," said Oagile, who works at a tech startup. "I always said it was too Caucasian for me, that it wasn’t for Black people."

Williams said Bokete's reassurances helped, but just getting to Reno concerned her: “Just getting on the plane from L.A, you see the people with the braids, girls head to toe in Lululemon with Black girl braids.”

But now they're here, Williams and Oagile said they finally understood why Burning Man draws such a crowd — and that everyone can feel welcome.

“I just feel super free. It’s been great. I’ve felt very welcomed," Oagile said. “A lot of Burning Man feels just not real. It's silly ideas that people bring to life. And it’s nice to be silly. We don’t get to do that very often in the default world, in a safe space.”

Across the city, Tracie Williams walked with her son, 5, though a dust cloud, gold hat and sunglasses tight to the bandanna protecting her nose and mouth from the storm. She said she had always heard Burning Man was largely white, and worried that as a Black woman, she might be targeted for violence in the large crowds. Two days earlier, a racist gunman attacked a Dollar General store in Florida, killing three Black people he deliberately targeted, according to authorities.

Tracie Williams of Portland carries her son, known at Burning Man as "Pool Boi 01" during a dust storm at the event. Williams, a volunteer with a group that helps participants having a bad emotional reaction to their Burning Man experience, said she has been surprised at how easy it's been to have her son with her.

Williams, a counselor in her normal life, agreed relatively at the last minute to volunteer at a camp that helps people struggling with bad drug trips at the event. She said she hoped that anyone with racist sentiments who she helped would see that people of every color can care about each other.

“There was some apprehension because it wasn’t planned (far in advance) and we didn’t know anybody here," she said. “It’s been really easy."

Heru, the artist, said he's excited to encourage more people of color to attend Burning Man because it really does offer something for everyone.

“This place unlocks beautiful things in you," he said.