by Malaika Jabali

In that brief moment of solace in the bathroom shower--where quiet moments are hard fought in a city that prides itself on never sleeping-- I was trying to make a decision. Would I buy the hard copy, or due to my impatience and desire to occupy my time that morning on the generally uncomfortable commute into Manhattan, would I seek instant gratification and purchase the e-book?

by Atima Omara

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be driving long distances by yourself,” said my husband.

by Priscilla Ward

I felt like everything was okay. The ability to separate myself from history was blissful. I had the mental and physical autonomy to brush it off and not be bothered. On a small scale I understood the pain and despair of African-Americans’ struggles in this country, but they were distant and far removed. I could study them one moment, shelve the pain, and focus on something else the next.

by Jenn M. Jackson

“You do realize that I am capable of complex human emotion, right?”

I have said this more times than I should ever have to. I have said it to men of all races and ethnicities. I have said it to White women. I have said it to multi-racial coworkers. Usually, it is in reaction to the idea that, as a Black woman, I need to focus my attention and energy on what is “really” important. And, that other people somehow determine exactly what “important” should mean to me.

by Rachel Cantave

I’ve been going to yoga classes since my sophomore year of college. I go about twice a week and I love it. It is a part of my mental health and self-care regimen; but don’t get it twisted… I may go, but I never drink the Kool-Aid.

Last week, Caitlyn Jenner broke the Internet when she debuted her new identity by sharing images of her Vanity Fair photoshoot online on Monday morning.

by Altheria Gaston
Most people who know me would say that I take a strong social justice stance. From my social media presence to my academic interests as a doctoral student, I express vehement concern for the wellbeing of the Black woman. I am concerned that my support of Black women and other women of color is interpreted as hatred of everyone else (i.e., Whites and men). That is simply not the case. These ten beliefs clarify where I stand as a Black feminist. Perhaps other Black women who are social justice activists and advocates share some of my convictions.

A few weeks ago, I attended Take Root 2015 in Norman, Oklahoma, a conference designed to address reproductive justice issues in Republican states. As part of the conference, attendees were able to attend a variety of workshops, some of which included “Reproductive Justice and Faith Communities,” “Native American Women Addressing Injustice,” “Pregnancy & Prison in Appalachia,” and “Trans* Health Matters.” A workshop that I found to be particularly interesting was one about storytelling and the importance of women sharing our stories. The women who organized and led the workshop had been working on a variety of projects that were all centered on transforming the culture of stigma around abortion and other stigmatized reproductive experiences through storytelling. They believed that if individuals shared their stories about their reproductive experiences, then this could not only help others who possess negative attitudes have a better sense of understanding, but also lead to societal change. This change would include an elimination of the extreme judgment surrounding a variety of reproductive experiences, especially abortion.

by Gina Loring

It’s been almost fifty years since Muhammad Ali single-handedly shifted the public conversation surrounding the Vietnam War by openly refusing to be drafted. A year later at a White House luncheon, Eartha Kitt also spoke out against the war and its systemic connection to poverty and racism, prompting backlash that kept her from working in this country for over a decade. Lena Horne, Harry Belafonte, Bob Dylan, Nina Simone, John Lennon and many other celebrities of the day were unapologetically vocal about their political views.

It was an era that changed the paradigm of American history and served as a catalyst for many artists to use their celebrity status as a platform for activism.

Artists marched, wrote, sang, performed and spoke out with a commitment that was more a way of life than a passing trend — something clearly illustrated three decades after the civil rights movement when Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis were arrested while protesting the 1999 police murder of Amadou Diallo.
We are indeed indebted to these pioneers whose sacrifices included career advancement, personal safety, and in some cases, their lives. It could be argued that it is their hard work upon which the present generation has been resting our laurels, more consumed with counting Facebook likes and following Twitter hashtag trends than fighting for tangible social causes. It’s not nearly as common today for artistry to be synonymous with activism — in fact many public figures take an alternate approach, per Charles Barkley’s controversial “I am not a role model” Nike commercial. People on the public stage don’t necessarily have to use their voices for the greater good. There is no obligation, but there is an opportunity.

In the wake of Ferguson and the overwhelming chain of tragic events that have flooded the news in recent months, there is no denying that many of the issues that past generations marched and fought for remain relevant today. We are light years away from racial or gender equality, yet many of pop culture’s most prominent figures steer clear of any cause alignment. This year’s Oscar win for the song “Glory” from the movie “Selma” is testimony that an appreciation for activism through art still exists. Further, John Legend's use of his acceptance speech airtime to state that there are more black men under correctional control today than there were under slavery in 1850, may be indicative of a changing tide in the mainstream artist community.

Fact check if you’d like; it’s true. The prison industrial complex is a thriving and well-oiled machine. The social and monetary repercussions of the African slave trade and the Native American genocide that this country was founded on continue to be the blueprint from which our society operates. The “ninety-nine percent” are largely made up of those who inherited wealth initially attributed from slave labor. They’re not rich because they are brilliant businessmen, but rather because their great-great-grandparents heavily benefited from the longest running crime against humanity and the most shameful chapter of American history. Conversely, the great-great-grandchildren of those who were enslaved are now being funneled into prisons at an alarming rate — and many as teenagers. The NAACP reports that in this country, African Americans constitute nearly 1 million of the total 2.3 million incarcerated population, and 58% of the youth admitted to state prisons. (http://www.naacp.org/pages/criminal-justice-fact-sheet). Most, if not all, are serving time for gang activity, drugs, robbery, prostitution, and other crimes derivative of poverty and the racism that begets it.

Several prominent white artists are publicly aligned with social causes, from Angelina Jolie’s advocation for Cambodian and Sudanese refugees, to Bono’s Product Red initiative for HIV/AIDS in Africa, to Sean Penn’s relief organization in Haiti. While these issues, along with police brutality, sex trafficking and the prison industrial complex directly affect black and brown people at an indisputably disproportionate rate, there are far less black mainstream artists at the forefront of such movements. On the contrary — with songs like Lil' Wayne’s chart topping “Money, Drugs, Bitches, Liquor”, it could be argued that whether intentionally or not, some black artists — specifically in mainstream hip hop — directly inform the mentality of sex, crime and materialism pervading our youth like a pied piper trailing a clear and steady path to prison. Of course, this is not always the case. One hip hop artist who has taken a notably different route is J. Cole, whose emotional performance on the Tonight Show made headlines in the aftermath of the murders of Mike Brown and Eric Garner. The Roc Nation artist has been vocal about his political stance in both his lyrics and his actions: he traveled to Ferguson to be in solidarity and participate in the peaceful protests. Others like Talib Kweli, Bahamadia, and Pharoahe Monch have long been outspoken about political issues, but such “conscious” rappers don’t get nearly as much airtime as their mainstream counterparts.
The bottom line is this: as black Americans, we didn’t come to this country voluntarily, but we’re here now and we’re in this together. In the vein of the proverb “It Takes a Village,” every lost black life belongs to us, from Trayvon Martin, to Mike Brown, to the thousands of black teenagers sitting in prison cells as I write this. We can’t afford for our artists to be politically neutral. It is not their responsibility to use their careers as a platform for activism, but choosing not to do so is the loss of a great opportunity. If you have the world’s attention, use it for something of value that reaches beyond yourself. We might still be riding in the back of the bus had so many artists not contributed to the struggle for our civil rights. It is because of them that today black artists don’t have to enter through the back door at performance venues. It is because of them that we have songs like “Mississippi Goddam” and others like it that give voice to the frustration, sorrow and anger of so many. It is because of them that the only black people in the White House aren’t those in a domestic capacity. I challenge the artists of today to seize their opportunity as cultural documentarians and utilize their positions of influence wisely. If you have the mic, use it to say something that matters; something Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis can smile down upon knowing the baton they handed us didn’t end up on the ground.


Gina Loring holds a BA from Spelman College and an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles. She was featured on two seasons of HBO's Def Poetry, and has performed her music and poetry in over ten countries as guest artist of the American Embassy. Contact her at: www.ginaloring.com

It’s a well-documented fact that shared oppression does not always foster a supportive and united front. Black women are super aware of the ways in which Black men—despite our joint experiences under racism—are often all too quick to step on us; perpetuate and dismiss our experiences of misogynoir; and gloss over our specific problems under white supremacist, capitalist patriarchy. This can be viewed in a nutshell by the current swathes of classist misogynoir being directed at Amber Rose by her ex-boyfriend, Kanye West, who has previously been vocal on issues of white supremacy both through his work and his words. Whilst the hate thrown at us by Black men is straight up abominable and is rightly a source of much frustration for Black women, we must remember that those of us who are cisgender and/or straight are not exempt from the ability to step on, degrade and oppress those who are meant to be our kinfolk, just like Black men do to us. That is, queer Black women are routinely let down by our heterosexual and/or cis sisters who are meant to have our backs.

by Brittany Dawson


Atlanta, Georgia couple Kordale and Kaleb Lewis posted a photo of them doing their daughter’s hair on Instagram last year, sharing a glimpse into child rearing in the Black LGBTQ community.

The image paints a morning routine I’m sure most parents or caregivers recognize. From the hazy glare of a child uneager to start the day to full-fledged irritation as you realize coaxing them to pick up the pace isn’t working, the Lewis’ image dispelled myths, misperceptions, and negative stigmas shrouding the community as a whole.

Over a period of three months, Piper Anderson and Marlon Peterson, two friends, wrote to each other about love. Piper is a writer, educator, juvenile justice advocate, and cultural worker who grew up in a family that struggled with drug addiction and domestic violence. Marlon is a writer, social justice advocate, and community justice strategist who spent the past 15 years of his life in prison and parole. 

by Malaika Jabali


The number of black men and women who have been victimized by the hands of injustice has grown uncomfortably long in the past two years. While we have yet to see the consistent mass movement of previous generations, many of our people have been reawakened. Black celebrities have been among those joining the fight for racial justice and human rights. It’s easy to focus on those celebrities who have disappointed us with their silence, but many actors, musicians, and athletes have used their platform to raise awareness and they deserve recognition. In no particular order, this list acknowledges some of those celebrities who have been most engaged and vocal when it comes to raising consciousness—whether through social media, direct community action, or discussing these issues on mainstream broadcast media.

by Morgan Parker

by Brittany Dawson

On Friday December 5th, enlivened and outraged protesters flooded highway I-95 in Miami, Florida. In the wake of Eric Garner’s death—equipped with posters that read “I Can’t Breathe”, megaphones, and a mission to denounce police brutality—community members, students, and those rooted in the cause shut down I-95, signaling one of the most earth-shattering demonstrations of public resistance to date. Thanks to Internet activists and social media, I did not have to physically be in Florida to watch and appreciate the unraveling of a historical protest. Twitter served as a meeting ground for activists (and those unable to make the pilgrimage to the protest site) as well as an opportunity to absorb images and marvel in soul-stirring protests worldwide.

by Diana Veiga

“We who believe in freedom cannot rest.”

Two weeks ago, I was at my parents’ house as County Prosecutor Robert McCulloch spent more than enough time than was necessary to announce that the grand jury had decided not to indict Darren Wilson, the police officer who killed Michael Brown in Ferguson. I was in one room, my mother in another, my grandmother in another and we were all watching. We were all mad. We were all sad beyond words. It was a pain that had nowhere to go, one that seemed to just settle in our bones, in our spirit, in our very beings. The pain has not left, and yet it seems that our pain is invisible, because we seem to be invisible. But still not invisible to be protected from being viewed as immediate threats. Still not invisible enough to prevent us from being killed.

by Krislyn Domingue


"Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare." —Audre Lorde

Social justice work and organizing comes with many responsibilities. And after the news of the non-indictment of both Darren Wilson and Daniel Pantaleo, countless Black women across the United States have taken up it upon themselves to lead, engage in, and support various consciousness-raising activities. However, we must be conscious that even in the midst of our organizing, we also have a responsibility to engage in restorative self-care. We cannot offer anything to the movement, if we are drained and burnt out.

by Brittany Dawson

“Some problems we share as women, some we do not. You [white women] fear your children will grow up to join the patriarchy and testify against you, we fear our children will be dragged from a car and shot down in the street, and you will turn your backs on the reasons they are dying.” —Audre Lorde

On December 3rd, a grand jury found “no reasonable cause” to indict NYPD officer Daniel Pantaleo for the July killing of Eric Garner. Adding more coal to my perpetual and internal blaze, I sat in my apartment, benumbed and embittered, warmed by the fire that swelled beneath my skin. I channeled my irrepressible revulsion for yet another unjust and disturbing incident by writing, a coping strategy I’m sure naysayers of “rioting” and “protesting” would be pleased to see (please note, I am being very facetious!). Tears remained tucked away in their respective ducts and my voice failed to quiver. Silence. Pain. Grief.

I have always been good at making people feel uncomfortable by being extremely vocal about my views on political and social issues. This has also led to quite a few misunderstandings, especially with people not familiar with social justice praxis.

by Aja Trotter

People are angry. And rightfully so. There is much to be angry about: the murder of Mike Brown; the funding and backing of genocide of innocent people; the murder of Eric Garner; the withholding of water from residents in Detroit, gentrification in Oakland, CA and Brooklyn, NY, the murder of Ezell Ford, the sentencing of Marissa Alexander; the murders of John Crawford, Zoraida Reyes, and Tiffany Edwards, just to name a few.