A landmark comic becomes a show that spins the popular notion of black-white accepted realities around
In the days following Sept. 11, 2001, when the nation’s shock and despair at witnessing the massive loss of life and destruction of physical and psychological identity turned to resolve in some and furor in others, our leaders planned. The terror attacks on American landmarks were an act of war, they said. America would respond in kind. One week later, with the heap of concrete, rebar, and glass to which the World Trade Center had been reduced still smoldering — and many Americans’ rage along with it — the president authorized the use of force against those responsible. We would…
Why ‘Black Lightning’ is a welcome change of pace
Again and again, Black America has witnessed the finality that comes with the unfortunate pairing of time and place with black skin and a police officer’s fear.
A little black boy, for example, was shot to death for fear that the toy he played with in a city park could spray real bullets. A young black father was shot to death for fear that the cell phone he carried in his grandmother’s backyard, perhaps to make a private call, could shoot and kill. …
It was with the utmost reluctance that I relinquished my copy of Mobb Deep’s The Infamous, my audio ticket from good girl to bad seed, to a man I knew I would never again let press himself on top of me.
I met him the summer I turned sixteen, in 1995, both of us working on a team of groundskeepers at Long Island’s Jones Beach. He, infamous for his noncompliance; me, moving my way up to a supervisory role. The fact that he slacked off most of the day intrigued me. His disdain for direct orders was both amusing…
I knew what was supposed to happen that day. I woke up with it on my mind. My way of preparing was to take my umbrella to school — though the weatherman hadn’t said anything about rain. I brought it just in case I had to use it to knock somebody in the head. I’m not a violent person but it seemed as if the entire school were anxious for a fight. It was supposed to be between my friends and another group of girls who hung as tight as we did but who hated us more than we did…
A Daughter Reflects on Film and Her Father to #RememberMalcolm
By Sufiya Abdur-Rahman
It was the middle of my school-day — maybe third or fourth period — and I had just gotten settled in class when a messenger appeared in the doorway. She called my name, said I’d better get my things; I was wanted in the main office.
Haphazardly, I stuffed books into my bookbag while trying to match my guide’s purposeful pace through the halls. I’d never been called out of class before. What could the principal want with me? I wondered, knowing I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Your father’s here,” the lady offered, reading my mind. …
