Filmmakers Making A Social Impact: Why & How Filmmaker Satori Shakoor of The Secret Society of Twisted Storytellers Is Helping To Change Our World
Listen to your heart. Be your authentic self. Do the things you are most afraid to do. Don’t be afraid to fail. Failure is the platform to success. Fail a lot and become successful.
As a part of our series about “Filmmakers Making A Social Impact” I had the pleasure of interviewing Satori Shakoor.
Satori Shakoor is a dynamic storyteller, multi-disciplinary artist, and social entrepreneur known for her bold and transformative work in the arts. A 2017 Kresge Literary Arts Fellow, Satori began her career as a touring vocalist with George Clinton and Parliament/Funkadelic as a Bride of Funkenstein before expanding into acting, comedy, and television writing. She is the creator and Executive Producer of The Secret Society of Twisted Storytellers®, an award-winning storytelling platform that fosters healing and community connection. Satori’s storytelling prowess has been showcased on global stages, including The Moth, PBS, and NPR, while she also serves as host of “Detroit Performs Live” for Detroit PBS. With her one-woman show, “Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale,” Satori breaks outdated stigmas about aging and womanhood, bringing humor, truth, and empowerment to center stage. “Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale” will be available soon on Video on Demand (VOD). A sought-after facilitator and speaker, she has worked with major institutions like Duke University, the University of Michigan, and even the United Nations. Satori’s work continues to inspire and transform communities, using the power of storytelling to connect humanity and spark meaningful dialogue.
Thank you so much for doing this interview with us! Before we dive in, our readers would love to get to know you a bit. Can you share your “backstory” that brought you to this career?
Thank you for inviting me! I come from a long line of storytellers. Old, Black ladies from the Alabama, Mississippi, Jim Crow South who were deprived of a formal education. However, when it came to storytelling, they were masters. My stepmother, Sadie was a Ph.D. She could make going to the corner store sound like Lord of the Rings. I loved sitting next to her while she poured stories in my ear. On Sunday afternoons, after church, we would gather at my uncle’s home. He was the Baptist minister of a big church in Detroit. The men sat in the living room where they played checkers, smoked cigarettes, and listened to my uncle pontificate about religion, politics, the state of the colored race, and other things I was too young to have any interest in. The women would crowd their plump bodies into my aunt’s small kitchen to make Sunday dinner while I played with my toys and coloring books. There was constant chatter as the women went about the business of making the meal. It wouldn’t take long before the aroma of Southern delectables began to waft through the house. It made my nose wiggle, and my stomach growl with anticipation. Whenever there was a break in their chatter my ears perked up. They were listening to one another tell a story. All of a sudden, I’d hear the eruption of squeals and hoots and big bursts of laughter. I watched tears rolling down cheeks, heads thrown back, bodies rocking while they giggled and dabbed their eyes with the corner of their aprons. I had no idea what the story was about. I didn’t understand what she was saying, but their laughter was so contagious it made me laugh, too. I grew up with the language of storytelling, so I learned to speak it too. To my surprise, storytelling would become a career. I told stories as a singer/recording artist. I told stories as an actor on stage, on film, and on television. I told stories as a short story writer, stand-up comedian, and comedy writer for Canadian TV. In 2012, I created a platform in Detroit called The Secret Society Of Twisted Storytellers. In 2019, I wrote my own story, “Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale”, a stand-up storytelling concert that I performed and filmed live at Detroit Public Theatre in July 2023. It will be released on a global streaming platform this year. So, as I continue on this long and winding road of being an artist, I’ve discovered that storytelling is more than a career; it’s my calling, my purpose and I love it.
It has been said that our mistakes can be our greatest teachers. Can you share a story about the funniest mistake you made when you were first starting? Can you tell us what lesson you learned from that?
In the early 90s, when I lived in Los Angeles, the stand-up comedy bug bit me. My first time was at an open mic at The Comedy Store on Sunset Blvd. When they called my name, it was after midnight. There were only five people left in the club. I have three minutes. The great Eddie Griffin introduces me. I’m no stranger to the stage being a singer and actor, but this was different. There were no safety nets; no music, no melody, no script or costumes or others to play off of. I’m nervous. I take the mike and begin to talk about my mother and Jesus. I’m shocked when I get a few laughs. They even applaud. It feels good and amazing, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. When I get back to my table a young lady approaches me. She tells me her sister wants to meet me. Turns out her sister is the percussionist and singer, Sheila E., and Sheila thinks I’m funny! I tell Sheila it’s my first time doing stand-up and she encourages me to keep going. I’m on cloud nine after that. I can’t wait to do it again. The next week I go to South Central L.A. to an open mic at Marla Gibbs’ club. I have three minutes. I talk about my mother and Jesus. About a minute in, the audience of mostly older women starts booing me. They’re shouting, “Get off the stage!” Their faces are balled up with outrage and anger. Why? I see the Emcee coming toward me to take the microphone. I back into the corner of the tiny stage holding onto the mike, thinking, “But my three minutes aren’t up.” Oh, but they were. I hand the mike to the Emcee and walk off the stage passing tables with women wearing judgmental faces. My knees are weak when I sit down to collect myself. I’ve never been booed before. It’s unsettling. As I sit there in humiliation, I begin to analyze what happened. I’m thinking, “Ok. When the comedian before me took the stage, the room was calm. When he finished his act, the room was the same way, calm. When I took the stage, the room was calm. But when I finished the room was in an uproar. It was like I had dropped a couple of Alka-Seltzer tablets into a glass of water. Then it dawns on me. Do I want to tear up the room? Yes, but in laughter. Before I leave the club, I’m clear I need to take classes to understand what I’m doing. Next day I buy a couple of books and sign up to take classes with Judy Carter. She tells me, “Your funny is in your honesty.” What I learned is that stand-up is a craft. It requires more than just standing on stage talking. It requires commitment, respect, stage time, and lots of it. I learn that every audience is different. The Comedy Store audience was very different than the Marla Gibbs Club’s audience. You do not talk about your mother and Jesus in a space full of Black women. I learn I have to read the room and pay attention to everything that happens before I take the stage and while I’m on it. I learn if I want to be good at stand-up comedy and tear up the room with laughter, I will have to dedicate myself to the craft and learn to write stories that any audience can relate to. I made a billion mistakes as a stand-up, and with each mistake, I learn more and more about myself, life, comedy and storytelling. I learn to listen to the giggles, the groans, the hecklers, the silence, and the laughter. They are the dialogue, the conversation I’m having with the audience. It’s where my timing comes from. The biggest lesson I learn is that being a little nervous before I take the stage is a good thing. It’s a reminder that respect is the most important thing I can ever give to an audience.
Who are some of the most interesting people you have interacted with? What was that like? Do you have any stories?
The first three people that come to mind are George Clinton, visionary, producer, and writer. George was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1997, and last year, he got his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The late Joan Rivers, comedian, TV host, and one of the funniest women I’ve ever met. The late, great Dick Gregory — comedian, social and political activist. They each, in ways big and small changed the direction of my artistic life.
George Clinton: Every interaction with George in some way was profound. There are a couple that stand out. It was the early 80’s. We were in the green room taking a break from a session at SuperDisc Recording Studios in Detroit. We’re smoking weed, talking, and laughing when a popular song by a band from England starts to play. I hated that song. It had a mechanical sound, with a one-note, boring melody that grated on my nerves. I remember saying in frustration, “I hate this song!” George happened to walk by and says, “If you hate it that much you might as well love it.” What is he saying? How can I love something I clearly hate? It took me years to unpack his cryptic message. Finally, it occurs to me that if I’m putting that much energy into hating something, I might as well shift the energy and love it. Love and hate are choices that I have the power to make. Suffice it to say, I never learned to love that song, but I never had that visceral reaction of hate anymore. It didn’t mess with my vibe or hold any power over me. I simply turned the song into white noise and gave it the space to exist. I learned a lot of lessons from George. I remember we were in Atlanta, Georgia, on the “One Nation Tour.” The concert was at the Fox Theatre, a 5,000-seat venue and very few tickets had been sold. At that time, people didn’t believe the biggest Black funk band in the world would come to their town to perform. They needed proof. We headed straight to the radio station to let everyone know we were there and ready to throw down. One hour before showtime only five hundred people showed up. You can imagine how empty the theatre looked. Everyone in the band was disappointed except George. George says, “We have to play even harder for them because they showed up.” We played hard and long. It was probably one of our best shows. I learned that no matter how big or small the audience, if they show up, I need to show up too and give them my all and my best. At the end of the day, it’s about them, not me.
Joan Rivers: I had been performing as a stand-up for about three years when I got the opportunity to open for Joan River’s for two shows at Humphreys by the Bay in San Diego, California. Humphreys by the Bay is a 10,000-seat venue. Ten thousand people did not intimidate me. I had played to 80,000 screaming fans at the Pontiac Silver Dome and other huge venues across the country when I was touring with George Clinton. It was when I came off stage that I felt intimidated. Joan walks up to me, grabs my hand, eyes full of fear, and asks, “How are they?” I’m shocked, thinking, “How can the funniest woman in the world be terrified to go out there and kill?” I say, “They came to see you. They’re cheering you!” Needless to say, she rocked it. On the other hand, I’m dejected. I thought by the time a comedian reached the stage in their career that Joan Rivers had they would no longer be nervous. I had hoped that by then walking out on stage would be like walking into your living room to talk to people you’ve known all your life. When I saw the fear in Joan River’s eyes, I knew on the ride back home to Los Angeles that I was no longer going to pursue being a traditional stand-up. That experience changed my artistic direction. I decided to be a performance artist. Performance art gave me the freedom to explore questions of race and gender and explore and push self-imposed boundaries in a way that stand-up couldn’t for me. I didn’t have to concern myself with whether the audience liked me, worry about getting a laugh, or be distracted by any consequences if I didn’t deliver. And, for some odd reason, I was funnier.
Dick Gregory: In 2012, having been a mainstage storyteller and host with The Moth, I was inspired to create a platform in Detroit called The Secret Society Of Twisted Storytellers®. Storytelling in this form was new, and I wanted to attract and grow a bigger audience. In 2014, I heard that Dick Gregory was going to appear at Mark Ridley’s Comedy Castle in Royal Oak, Michigan, and decided to go. If I could get Dick Gregory to tell a story, I believed I could get other high-profile people. I went to the show, took a photo with Mr. Gregory and gave him a gift bag with an invitation to be on my show. I posted the photo on Facebook, got a lot of “likes,” and stopped there. A few days later, a friend of mine gave me Mr. Gregory’s contact info. I did nothing with it for two weeks. I was terrified to call. I mean Dick Gregory was a historic, prolific figure. He would never be on my little show in Detroit. He probably cost a fortune and where would I get the money to pay him? Luckily, I was in a seminar, and the homework assignment was to push past where you normally stop. No question, I was stopped. I remember standing outside my favorite vegetarian Pita place. My heart is beating fast when I take out my phone and call the number. Long story short, Mr. Gregory’s manager thought he would love to be on the show. I couldn’t believe it. I was thrilled. That gave me the courage to borrow the money for him to appear. Turns out Mr. Gregory was very supportive and reduced his fee. Ticket sales covered all the costs. The show sold out. There was standing room only at The Wright Museum in Detroit. His presence was thrilling and his message profound. It elevated my platform. On the way back to the airport, I asked Mr. Gregory to record a testimonial. He gave a wonderful review. He loved it. He’d never been on a storytelling show before. Mr. Gregory died three years later. May he rest in peace. His story is one of the most viewed videos on our YouTube Channel, especially during Black History Month. Being in Mr. Gregory’s presence was like being at the feet of a master. He will forever live in my memory as one of the most important game-changers in American history. His appearance at The Secret Society Of Twisted Storytellers gave us credibility. It was just the beginning of a long list of star-studded storytellers who have shared stories on our platform, that include George Clinton, Dr. George Faison, Naomi Long Madgett, and Michael Colyar. There are so many interesting people I’ve met and interacted with. These are just three. It’s a gift to do what I do. I meet four new people every month, and I get to admire and know them through their stories. They all contribute in some way to the quality of my life. I’m told I also contribute to theirs, and for that, I am truly blessed.
Which people in history inspire you the most? Why?
This is a hard question. There are so many… bell hooks (intentionally written lowercase as that is the way she chose to write her pen name) stands out. She wrote about gender and race that pushed feminism beyond its white, middle-class world view. Her writings included the voices of Black and working-class women and these are the women I come from. Her writing and lectures gave me a sense of place, of power, of pride, and a growing appreciation of what Black women and all women can stand for and be and do, together. Spike Lee. I was temping in Los Angeles. The pool of secretaries and everyone around us talked about “Do The Right Thing” for eight hours. The next day we came back and talked about the movie for another eight hours. I was challenged intellectually and the discussion brought us together. It was unexpected and exciting. Stephen King. I was a voracious reader of all things Stephen King. His stories held me in its clutches. They scared me to death and kept me turning the pages until I reached the end. Anne-Marie MacDonald. Her book, “Fall On Your Knees,” was all-consuming. I read the book on the bus, at my desk at work; I even took it to an audition with me. I talked about the book for at least ten minutes before I even auditioned for the director. All three of these storytellers engaged my mind and inspired me to explore the ideas they offered. They all demonstrated a standard of excellence for me to aspire to.
Let’s now shift to the main focus of our interview, how are you using your success to bring goodness to the world? Can you share with us the meaningful or exciting social impact causes you are working on right now?
In 2011, six years after the death of my mother, then nine months later, the passing of my son, I felt the stirring of a return to life. I wanted to live again. A friend introduced me to The Moth, a storytelling platform out of New York. I threw my name in the hat at a story slam and won! Then they asked me to tell a story at The Fillmore Theatre in Detroit. There were nearly 2,000 people in the audience, and it was the first time I had ever told the story of my mother and son. I was nervous and unsure as to whether I could get through it. I noticed at some point in the story I could hear a pin drop. The audience was leaning forward, waiting for my next word, and that’s when I realized this is my calling. I’m a storyteller! After telling my story I felt that some of the grief had lifted. I didn’t feel as burdened. My story aired on The Moth podcast. People from all over the world emailed me thanking me for telling it. They shared their lives and losses and told me how telling my story had helped them. Could storytelling be a service? I began to wonder that if storytelling could put me on the path to healing could it do the same for the City of Detroit. In 2012, after Wall Street crashed and “Too Big to Fail” had failed, Detroit, like me, was broke and just coming back from devastating loss; emergency management, water shutoffs, a disappearing tax base, you name it. At the time, I was living in a friend’s basement in Ferndale, Michigan. One day, while sitting in her garden, I had a vision. What if there was a place where people could gather to listen and tell stories that were healing and that could make a difference? What would that be like? That’s when the idea for The Secret Society Of Twisted Storytellers came to me. I didn’t have any money. But the idea was so delicious that in July 2012, I booked a little space, sold tickets in advance to pay for it, and we sold out 45 seats. Every month, for nine months we had to move to a larger venue because more and more people came. Eventually, we were invited to The Charles Wright Museum of African American History to produce our event. That was 13 years ago. Since that time, we’ve received phenomenal support from members of the community through grants, foundations, and donations. We moved online for two years during Covid. People needed storytelling then more than ever. That little idea I had in my friend’s garden changed me and the landscape of the City of Detroit, where over 600+ people have told their stories on our stage. The Secret Society Of Twisted Storytellers has a global mission to connect humanity, heal and transform community, and to provide an uplifting, thought-provoking, soul-cleansing experience through the art and craft of storytelling. There is a Hopi Native American proverb, “Those who tell the story rule the world.” I have a personal mission that everyone learns to tell their own story. Everyone has at least one good story to tell that will make a difference in someone else’s life. But everyone doesn’t know how to tell a story. In 2012, I began to teach the craft. We have expanded to provide storytelling workshops and organizations have reached out to book our storytellers for special events. It just keeps getting better. In 2019, I began to write my own story, “Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale,” a stand-up storytelling concert. I performed and filmed it live at Detroit Public Theatre in July 2023. My goal is to make it available to stream on global platforms this year. When I began to experience the symptoms of perimenopause, I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t recognize myself. Every woman I asked about it either couldn’t remember, didn’t want to expose her age, or just flat-out refused to talk about it. It left me in the dark to suffer through the change of life. Had I known more about menopause I could’ve been more responsible. I could have enjoyed it. I didn’t want other women to be in the dark like me. I wanted to take menopause, the hot flashes, mood swings, and night sweats out of the closet of shame, of taboo, of stigma, and give it a new framing. Give it a story independent and beyond the lens of patriarchy, where a woman’s value is measured through her youth, perky breasts, and a willingness to give up her power and submit to patriarchal needs and desires. I wanted to tell the truth of my life, heal my shame, and expose my vulnerabilities and failures as a woman, a mother, and a wife. I wanted to tell the story of what menopause has shown me. How I have gained wisdom and power. The immeasurable value that I’ve earned from living this thing called life. I wanted to accept and love my imperfect self in front of the world and invite other women and men to do the same. “Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale” has become my new social impact and passion project.
Many of us have ideas, dreams, and passions, but never manifest it. But you did. Was there an “Aha Moment” that made you decide that you were actually going to step up and take action for this cause? What was that final trigger?
As an artist, particularly being a Black female artist, I understood early on that opportunities were few and far between. I’m very impatient. I don’t like waiting around to see “if” my inspired ideas will happen through others. If I wanted an opportunity I would have to create it. I became a social entrepreneur before I even knew what it was. When I lived in Hawaii, I produced my own television show called, Satori’s Tea Room. I would present artists and other folks around the island of Oahu to share about what they were doing. When I moved to Los Angeles, I’d meet poets, visual artists, actors, and others and ask myself, why don’t I know them? We started a collective called the Black Avante Garde to know and support each other, and to create projects in collaboration. When the Rodney King riots happened, we were together and organized. We collected our work and made a CD that gave voice to our experience of that time. When I lived in Toronto, I had a passion to get a play I read and loved produced. But all of the theatre companies in Toronto had mandates that didn’t provide for the production of the play. It seemed easier to start a theatre company than to get one play produced. So, we brought twelve of the top actors in Toronto together and founded Obsidian Theatre Company in 1999. It is now the largest and most diverse theatre company in Canada. When I moved back to Detroit in 2001, there were only two professional theatre companies. Detroit is an automotive town, and incentives to produce films here was short-lived. I didn’t want to sit around twiddling my thumbs. I was trained to create projects that impact the community at the level of transformation. Over the years, I have used that training to cause “Aha” moments rather than let them come to me randomly. I love this thing called life, and I intend to make use of every single second, until my meat suit tells me, “You did good, sister. Let’s go to the next level!”
Can you tell us a story about a particular individual who was impacted or helped by your cause?
There was a young lady, a sixteen-year-old, high school student, who told a story on our platform. Her story was about her sister’s boyfriend who had violated her trust and body. I remember when she left the stage and marched out of the doors of the theatre, and about seven of her classmates who came with her followed. During intermission, I noticed them all huddled together and talking. I was terrified. What had I done? Would she be alright? Three days later she called to thank me. Turns out all seven of her classmates had been violated by someone in their lives, and they had no idea until she told her story that it happened to all of them. Months later, I visited her school for career day. She told her story without nervousness or fear or any trace of victimhood. She told us she had been accepted into university and was going to become a social justice lawyer. There was an ex-Marine who cried through every story-crafting session with me as he told his story of being in the Vietnam War. He went on to become a spokesperson for PTSD. Darrel Siggers spent 36 years in prison for a crime he did not commit. He speaks all over the country now, educating others to know their civil rights. Darrel’s forgiving spirit still amazes me. Shaka Senghor told his story on our stage soon after he was released from prison. He wrote a book called “Writing My Wrongs: Life, Death and Redemption”. He was championed by Oprah Winfrey for the book. Oprah said his was “the best interview she had ever done.” In fact, The Oprah Winfrey Show contacted me to get footage of Mr. Senghor telling his story on our stage. I could go on and on. Suffice it to say I am proud of my work. It is so satisfying to see others win. I encourage everyone to “Aha” moment themselves into existence. Don’t wait. Do it now. You will not regret it and if you do, at least you have a good story to tell.
Are there three things that individuals, society or the government can do to support you in this effort?
Yes. Subscribe to and share The Secret Society Of Twisted Storytellers YouTube Channel with others. When my film, “Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale,” is released on VOD, please share it with everyone you know and ask them to tell a friend — to tell a friend. Go to our website, www.twistedtellers.org, and donate. Your support gives us life and expands our mission and reach. Go to my website and get to know me: www.satorishakoor.com. Book me to design a workshop, tell a story, or recommend a storyteller to you. Thank you.
What are your “5 things I wish someone told me when I first started” and why? Please share a story or example for each.
- I wish someone had told me to move to New York sooner to start my career. I wanted to go when I was 20 years old, but my mother discouraged me. She was afraid for me to move to a big, scary city. Three years later, I found the courage to finally go, and I loved it. Had I gone earlier, I believe I would’ve become a professional sooner. New York is a diamond factory.
- I wish someone had told me when I enrolled in university to take only the classes that developed me in the arts. Instead, I was pressured to take “required courses” to get a well-rounded education. It wouldn’t have taken as long or financially burdened me to pay off my student loans.
- I wish someone had told me that I didn’t have to get married in my 20’s. There were so many other more interesting things I could’ve done besides cooking, cleaning, and catering to selfish needs.
- I wish someone would’ve told me not to “fall back” on a 9–5 job. I wasted time. I hated it. I became dependent, less confident, and wanted to cut the umbilical cord.
- I wish someone had told me to do what I love to do for the rest of my life, no matter what. Had I done that, I would’ve arrived here sooner.
Having said that, I wouldn’t change a thing about my life, the fears, the delays, the mistakes, or the path I took. I’m here now, and here is heaven on earth.
If you could tell other young people one thing about why they should consider making a positive impact on our environment or society, like you, what would you tell them?
Listen to your heart. Be your authentic self. Do the things you are most afraid to do. Don’t be afraid to fail. Failure is the platform to success. Fail a lot and become successful.
We are very blessed that many other Social Impact Heroes read this column. Is there a person in the world, or in the US, whom you would like to collaborate with, and why? He or she might see this. 🙂
Oprah Winfrey, Michelle Obama, Nichelle Norris, Halle Berry, Ericka Badu, and Angela Davis.
Can you please give us your favorite “Life Lesson Quote”? Can you share how that was relevant to you in your life?
It’s expected that being stopped in life will happen. Being stopped can quell your passion, depress you, and sometimes cause you to give up. The life lesson quote that gives me life is, “Push past the place you would normally stop.” It’s like having an inner cheer leader applauding and encouraging me to keep going.
How can our readers follow you online?
Thank you for asking. Readers may visit my website. www.satorishakoor.com, www.twistedtellers.org, @thetwistedstorytellers on Instagram, @satori_10 on X and Satori Shakoor on LinkedIn
This was great, thank you so much for sharing your story and doing this with us. We wish you continued success!
It was my honor and pleasure. Thank you!
Filmmakers Making A Social Impact: Why & How Filmmaker Satori Shakoor of The Secret Society of… was originally published in Authority Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.