Opinion

Who gets to participate in the conversation online? For a long time, the conversation has been primarily limited to rich, white families that had home computers. Even today, the racial disparity between who owns a computer with internet connection at home persists, with white families significantly more likely to own a computer and an internet connection than minority families.However, the advent of the smartphone is quickly closing that gap. These multifunctional internet-connected devices tend to be more accessible for families than an internet connection — for example, families that can’t afford both a cell phone bill and an internet bill can pick the former and essentially get the latter through their plan. Minorities are most likely to report being almost entirely dependent on their phones for internet connection.But even as minorities use their smartphones to bridge the gap between them and richer, white families, they are still hindered by websites and programs that aren’t well-suited to mobile browsing. Accessibility isn’t just a conversation about convenience, but also about who gets to use particular websites.Smartphones are accessible devicesDesktop computers are expensive devices. A desktop can cost well over $500, plus that doesn’t include the $50 or more monthly owners will have to pay for an internet connection to make the device useable. Cell phones, particularly smartphones, can be similarly expensive when brand new, but an older model, a refurbished model or a model handed down can cost anything from nothing to just a couple hundred dollars while still having more or less every feature of modern smartphones, even if the specs are slightly out of date.In addition, families that have to cut back on bills can easily cut back on the internet bill and keep their cellphone bill open without losing their connection to the internet. Since phones are multi-use devices, that keep you connected through the internet and through its cellular option, it makes more sense for the poorest families to rely on cell phones for their internet connection. More than 10 percent of black and hispanic Americans report relying almost entirely on their smartphone, while only four percent of white Americans report doing the same.Smart devices provide crucial informationWith internet-connected devices and signal boosters, minorities have access to greater information than they previously did. Unequal access to information has maintained decades of inequality, with lack of access to information serving as a source of disparate treatment and care. Whites with greater generational access to information and education can maintain higher standards of living through their education.Through smartphones, black and Hispanic minorities report educating themselves through online resources available through their smartphones. This can mean anything from accessing online classes through their smartphone to looking up information for their assignments to researching the symptoms that they are experiencing online. Websites like Wikipedia and WikiHow, resources like Google Scholar and other accessible online websites provide opportunities for minorities to do independent research and educate themselves on topics they may not have been able to learn about through formal education systems.Minorities even report researching and applying for jobs on smartphones, which indicates that smartphones can provide enough mobility to reduce the financial gap for minorities.Improved mobile sites bridge the gapAlthough using smartphones can help bridge the resource gap between whites and minorities in the United States, not all websites have been adapted to suit mobile browsing, and every website that continues to operate as a desktop-only website is a barrier between poor Americans and minorities and richer, white Americans. A 2016 study reported that only 30 percent of small businesses have mobile-friendly websites; that’s a significant statistical gap.Corporations, government agencies and websites should make a concerted effort to make all their content mobile browser-friendly in order to bridge the gap. Websites that don’t display correctly on mobile and operate on programs like Flash (a technology most phones don't recognize) are leaving a demographic behind. In order to open up the conversation and address persistent inequality, there should be a concerted effort to make all websites accessible to mobile devices....

Dear well-meaning white people who want me to tell them if they are racist,For hundreds of years, black people have been burdened with the task of educating white people. We have served as the gatekeepers for your ignorance, dangerous lack of racial awareness, and covert and overt acts of racism far too long. There have been numerous times in my life when I have called attention to prejudice and implicit bias only to hear "Wow, I didn't know that." or "That was not my intention." Following their come to Jesus revelation, the white person in question often agrees to change their actions and commits to being more “inclusive”...at least until the opportunity presents itself for them to once again say or do something they "didn't know was racist." In this millennial age, my patience for racial illiteracy and blind intentions is wearing thin.Well-meaning white people expect black people to know exactly how to deal with plaguing racial injustices and to "call them out" if they do something that perpetuates systems of white supremacy. They wait until they have been caught engaging in racist acts to admit wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness and mercy. While this is an easy and painless cycle for white individuals, it is tiring, traumatic, and hurtful for black people. Let me make this abundantly clear: black people do not go out of their way to educate white people on their microaggressions, microassaults, and other "unknown" sources of underlying racism for the benefit of white people. We do it for ourselves. We do it for our own protection because we know that white people are inevitably complacent with their power and with systems of white supremacy. We know that if we do not educate white people on their racism that they will continue to say and do things that hurt us, oppress us, and kill us. We educate white people for safety...not for service.Because it is a popular belief that conversations on race and social justice are difficult to have, allow me to make a fluffy analogy for your fragile comfort. When two consenting parents decide to bring a new child into the world, there are several preliminary actions they will take to ensure their ability to nurture and support the child. Some parents may choose to take "new baby" classes at a local community center. Others may read dozens of books and articles on infant and childhood development. Some may even play Beethoven to the unborn child, in hopes that they will develop into a musical prodigy.It is universally understood that because these parents chose to have this baby, they are responsible for providing the baby with all the resources needed to thrive. When the baby is crying, a parent will do everything in their power to ensure its safety and comfort. The parents know that the baby cannot effectively communicate the issue because the baby has not yet learned how to speak their language. The parents take on the burden to fix the problem. As the child grows older and wiser, eventually reaching adulthood, the parent-child dynamic must change. The child no longer needs to depend on the parents and can now see the world from their own perspective. Even after the child has learned to effectively speak the language and defend themself against their parents’ previous and current wrongdoings, many (mostly other parents) will still shame the child arguing that no matter how old the child gets the parents still have positional power. While the child is fully aware of their independence and legal adulthood, the parents are reluctant to recognize this or view them as anything other than their “baby”.In case you haven’t made the connection for yourself: this is how black people are treated in America. Although the master-slave dynamic legally no longer exists, many white people continue to engage in racist and derogatory acts. Acts that are as American as apple pie. Why is it that white people are responsible for our being here, but expect us to tell them how we should be treated? White people are the ones who consciously decided to take black people from Africa and force us into slavery for their own selfish benefit. They expect us to fight for our own justice inside of a system where we have no power, a system that was created to oppress our existence, and a system with no intended termination date. How is it that black people have been nominated for this job and are held responsible for dismantling racist systems when they were created by and for white people?The cost-benefit principle of economics states that rational people will not take any action unless the benefit is greater than the cost. White people have made it clear that the benefit of maintaining racist systems is greater than the cost of their eradication. Apparently, racial equity is too expensive to bargain so white people instead continue to purchase the off-brand substitute, racial “tolerance”.Before we move further, I need to address what some of you are bound to be thinking. Yes, maybe your direct ancestors did not own slaves, however, you don't have to be a parent to abuse children. White people, regardless of family heritage, benefit entirely from white privilege and are more than capable of being racist individuals, intentionally or not. Just like a baby will keep crying until they are fed, black people have been crying out. We have been crying for hundreds of years because we are still in pain. The fight for racial equity has not let up because we will not and can not let go. Black people will continue to cry out until we have been fed the feast of justice on a platter lined with reparations. If white people stopped asking "how soon will it be over?" and instead started asking "how soon can we help?", there would be no stop to our progress. Here’s the point: It’s not our job to educate you...it’s your own. We do it because we have to, not because we want to. I am fully aware that white individuals reading this letter are uncomfortable. It is possible that some were unable to get to this point. You are allowed to experience discomfort and if you want to join our fight you will run towards it. Sadly, the story of black people in America is a story of discomfort from the very beginning, be it chained to a ship, on a plantation, hanging from a tree, marching down a street, or burying our children. We are experts of discomfort. Despite this, many black people have reached levels of success and acclaim our ancestors couldn’t have dreamed or imagined on their best days. Although we continue to build this country and carry its burdens on our back, overall, we as a people have not benefited from the labor.So, as you begin to analyze and ponder what I’ve said in hopes of finding glaring faults, distracting you from the purpose of this piece, please hear me clearly. If you want me to tell you whether or not you are racist, either directly or indirectly, the answer is yes...yes you are. It is a fervid yes because you are requiring me to do the work for you when you are fully capable of doing it for yourself. This is the summit’s peak of white privilege where the comforting nest of white supremacy is cradled for safe-keeping. You are asking me to make your life easier pro bono while simultaneously occupying my time and requiring my emotional labor. Why then do I continue to entertain your wonder and inform you of your shortcomings? Because blackness and sacrifice are synonymous. I will take the pain, do the labor, and face the trauma if that means you won’t be able to cause the same to members of my community or my family. If white people, since the beginning of time, can take land, take people, and take resources, then they can take time to educate themselves and answer their own questions. Sincerely, A well-meaning black person who won’t tell you what you want but what you need.P.S. - I do not write this letter on behalf of all black people past, present, and/or future, but as an individual with his own singular experiences. Blackness is not monolithic and to assume that we all have the same beliefs, thoughts, and values is to support a racist ideology. Additionally, do not assume that because I only spoke of injustices directly impacting Black people that I am not concerned with or informed on those issues facing other racial minorities as well as women and members of the LGBTQIA community. I spoke my truth and my experience because that is the most authentic voice I have.                                                                                           Photo:...

I found myself sobbing (not crying, sobbing) with a half empty bottle of wine by my side and mounds of snotty tissue by my feet. “What type of show does ... sniffle ... this to people?” After the first episode, I was hooked.This Is Us is a heart wrenching drama, that continues to jab at the emotions of all who watch. For those who aren’t familiar with the tear jerker, here’s a quick synopsis.This is Us is about a blended family of unique triplets (the Pearsons) and the passionate parents that raised them. Through love, joy, triumph and heartbreak, parents Jack and Rebecca relive memories from their past, while triplets Randall, Kate and Kevin discover new ways of navigating through their present-day lives. Successful businessman and father, Randall, searches for his biological parents while fighting with his anxious tendencies. Kate, on the other hand, battles with the idea of self-love and overcoming obesity; while Kevin pursues a more meaningful acting career outside of his sitcom, The Manny. Battles with addiction slowly surface from all triplets as a result of their late Father's alcoholism.As the season progressed, I gradually started loving one character in particular, and her name is Beth. Beth is played by actress Susan Kelechi Watson. She encompasses the realness America needs in a show by showing off her unapologetically blackness. I saw my mother, my grandmother and, hell, even my great great grandmother in her. She is the quintessential motherly figure who also has a thriving career of her own. Beth is the backbone of her family, continuously keeping it on track and thriving. She never holds back her tongue, but she never uses her words to pierce or inflict harm on those she loves. Her words are critical, but essential to Randall’s (her husband) and their two daughters' growth.There would be times when Randall would get lost in his own universe and Beth, being the astronomical woman that she is, would gladly go out in space and anchor him back down to Earth to face his problems head on.Beth is the friend and partner we need in our corner. She is the woman that not only will assist in your evolution and personal growth, but she will keep you away from mediocrity. Whenever I see Beth on the screen, my face and mood brightens up. She is the breath of fresh air that prime-time television needs. She is certainly a breakout star in her own right.Beth is the friend that always keeps it real. That one friend who has no problem holding back constructive criticism and getting your life together, one read at a time. She says it how it is without sugar coating the truth — and we all know that the truth can hurt sometimes. But it is the tone in which she tells it that makes the truth sting a little less.We all need a Beth by our side, and I, for one, live for her interactions with Randall and the rest of the Pearson family. She is poetry in motion and a wonderfully constructed character of our times. I anticipate her greatness every Tuesday night, with my wine in hand and a box of tissue by my...

Blackness is an umbrella term created by white elites to justify the enslavement and inferiority of darker people. It’s an effective term to delegitimize the heritage of a continent with thousands of complex cultures, languages and traditions. Combine this with the erasure of a millennia of African knowledge through the burning of libraries, and the imposition of a European name and foreign tongue on new slaves — you create a new generation with a lost identity. Centuries later, we still feel the impact today. It’s a brilliant and intentional tactic.How many of you reading this article have the privilege of knowing your real last name? We all know that if you’re not indigenous to the Americas, your ancestors are from somewhere else. How many of you can trace that back? If you’re black and don’t have family that chose to come here from an African country, chances are it might have been a little tough to answer those questions.In 2018 we are fortunate enough to know what it feels like to have a black President. There are thousands of books about black American heroes. This is the result of years of hard work by organizations that relentlessly pushed the status quo.In 1926, historian Carter G. Woodson, and the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, introduced Negro History Week. It was a necessary step because America in the 1920s had virtually zero representation of black history in its textbooks. This daring endeavor was adopted by three states and two cities. In 1969, the idea of Black History Month was proposed at Kent State University. It took six years for Black History Month to be nationally recognized among educational institutions and centers for black culture.Despite the setbacks, it’s amazing how our ancestors established a culture of black excellence. Thanks to the success of generations of black educational initiatives, there is an ever-expanding list of black intellectual achievements. Impressive for a group that the US Government once considered three fifths of a human.Look at how spare ribs evolved from "scraps" only fit for slaves, to a staple of American BBQ. Or how hip-hop evolved from a trend started at a Bronx birthday party in 1973, to the number one most popular genre of American music by 2017. You cannot tell me that we are not creative and resourceful as a people. It’s this same combination of genius and resilience that we need in order to take black excellence to the next level.Prominent black voices (and movies like Black Panther) will continue doing the work to emphasize contemporary black achievements. But we need to up the ante. Every aspect of black history, from pain and trauma, to triumph and excellence, needs to be mandated in our textbooks, showcased in our museums and celebrated through public monuments. Black history needs to be ingrained in mainstream America's collective consciousness. It is our responsibility to ensure the progress of a movement that started with slaves sharing oral histories from Africa. If we are successful, it will be manifested in print, stone and of course the cloud. If we do this right, the next generation will find it absurd that something that is everywhere was only restricted to a...

I wish I could tell you exactly when I realized that there was a huge part of my life I wasn't standing up for, but I simply cannot. Despite the fact I was raised by women, it never occurred to me that I would have more to do for them than physical and financial security. Typically a man looks to protect his mother and sisters from the ways of the world as we do for children, but I’m discovering that’s the wrong approach. Coddling destroys communication which then keeps both sides segregated and only one side tends to enjoy such a circumstance, and in this case, that would be the male privilege. There was a time in my life when I took great pride in being a "man" because that was the source of my power and purpose. Honestly. Think about that for a second. As a male, do you truly believe that above anything else plaguing this world your "manhood" is enough to nullify it all? I say that taking a deep sigh and shaking my head, not because it’s a pitiful mindset, but at how long it took me to understand the error in such a superficial conjecture. After coming to this conclusion I then started to understand how much of a threat men like me are to the feminist movement. The word movement actually bothers me because it gives those like myself a choice to join or not when there is no decision to be made here. As I write this, I can't help but think about all the times my arrogance shined through whenever I encountered an outspoken woman trying to educate me on the struggles she encounters. Instead of opening my ears, I only listened for the slightest disagreement to focus on in an attempt to prove the basis of her stance was flawed. Some call it playing semantics, some call it playing games; I call it moral apathy. Moral apathy in the sense that I and those like me are able to completely withdraw interest from such an important topic however we may choose, simply because we can. You see, as a man, I sit secured on a comfortable cushion in this "free" world that allows me to say whose problems are worthy enough of my attention to not threaten my ego. Visualize hazardous signs being placed on a group of women by men from all walks of life and occupations. Soon after, 'proceed with caution' signs are distributed for those who would like to engage for the same reasons a politician visits a struggling inner city school -- it looks good. Well, I’ve grown tired of just looking good, it’s an empty feeling quite frankly. Change and growth never arose out of comfort. In order to be the person you want to be, you must do the things that seem foreign to your mental make-up. This is just the beginning of what I know will be one of the most challenging experiences in my...

We hear it often on drug treatment infomercials, we see it on pamphlets, and we hear it on a daily basis from politicians when they are speaking on the issue, “This disease does not discriminate based on gender, income level, location, or age — it can happen to anyone.” What they are talking about is the current opioid epidemic, the epidemic where prescription drugs, heroin, and fentanyl are claiming the lives of Americans at an unprecedented rate.According to the Centers for Disease Control, opioid addiction is driving this epidemic, with 20,101 overdose deaths related to prescription pain relievers, and 12,990 overdose deaths related to heroin in 2015 alone. Just in case you need a reference point, these alarm-worthy statistics dwarf annual fatal car accidents and gun deaths.Now that the alarm has sounded, President Trump has declared a public health crisis. States and localities have allocated emergency funds to increase their capacities for treatment and recovery services. An increasing amount of police officers are carrying naloxone, a lifesaving drug that reverses the symptoms of an opioid-induced overdose on the spot. And there have been bipartisan calls for the public health and law enforcement communities to work in tandem to drive the persons with opioid use disorders into treatment centers, instead of jail.Though it was an epidemic of similar magnitude, this balanced response was lacking during the 1980’s “War on Drugs,” a period that employed a heavy-handed approach when dealing with communities of color, marked by an emphasis on increasing means of law enforcement and lengthy sentences to deter drug use - which it completely failed to do. Our nation's current high recidivism rates, high rates of overdose upon release, and lack of economic opportunities for previously incarcerated nonviolent drug offenders illustrate that. And as a result of the laws enacted during the War on Drugs, the prison population ballooned, incarcerating an increasing amount of African Americans at disproportionate levels. In fact, and still today, black men are sent to prison on drug charges at 13 times the rate of white men because of the same laws.The numbers are there - the War on Drugs was disastrous. Many critics of the War on Drugs have already delved into the human rights angle of the issue, and for important reasons, but where I believe opportunity is missed is talking and advocating for a path forward so a War on Drugs never happens again. With the momentum we have in the current movement to better grapple with the current opioid epidemic, the opening is there to self-correct ourselves.To echo the words of my former boss, Michael Botticelli, the former US Drug Czar, in response to the current opioid epidemic, “we aren't going to incarcerate ourselves out of this epidemic.” So now that we realize we aren't going to get rid of drug use by filling up prisons, we must retroactively look back on our flaws and enact legislation and reforms for the nonviolent population who were handed the heaviest of sentences during the War on Drugs.Though there has been some progress through federal reforms like the Fair Sentencing Act of 2010, it’s not enough. This law simply reduced the disparity between the sentencing guidelines for crack and powder cocaine but did little to help the incarcerated population who were adversely affected by the War on Drugs. This is why we desperately need to employ the same compassionate approach we are using to address the heroin epidemic to heal the ills of our nation’s past War on Drugs. The bipartisan Sentencing Reform and Corrections Act of 2017 would be a great start.Congress can call this legislation up for a vote at this very moment. Every day that this is not passed is an injustice and contradiction to the “values” we are invoking to address the heroin epidemic. Here are just a few of the highlights the Bill would do for the current incarcerated population:Reduce penalties for nonviolent drug offendersIncrease judicial discretion while sentencing for nonviolent drug offenses and repeat offendersEliminate the 3 strikes mandatory life provisionAllow nonviolent offenders to petition the courts for individualized review of their casesAllocate funds for evidence-based reentry programs that have been shown to reduce recidivismFund a report and inventory of all federal criminal offensesCreate a National Criminal Justice Commission to review of the criminal justice system, which has not been done in more than 50 yearsWe’ve already come to a consensus that long prison sentences do not deter drug use or crime, so what we can do for this population is pass this Bill. We owe it to them, and every day we respond to the opioid epidemic through this approach, we rebut ourselves as a "free and fair" country. Families have been split up, trajectories have been completely derailed, and we are still left with a massive prison state. I ask you to call on Congress today and tell them we desperately need this Bill passed.David Adeleye is a former political appointee in the Obama Administration, serving at both the White House and US Department of Homeland Security.  He now spends his time helping clients develop novel strategies and messaging to foster the everlasting change they seek in...

I wonder when my deceased father first observed the singularity of my gender performance. Perhaps he saw it when he took me to my first concert (Janet Jackson’s 1993 janet. World Tour) and noticed how I knew every word she sang on the stage. He might have saw it when he observed how much I cried when my childhood best friend moved to another state. He could have also seen how I always selected Chun-Li, Sonya Blade, Kitana, Princess Peach and other female characters when I played video games. I imagine his observations deeply concerned him because he saw that I was not aligning with his aspirations for me. I am certain that he wanted a son that embodied and deified patriarchal masculinity as he was taught to do, but my identity could not embrace his idealizations. Stories like mine are all too common in the queer community, which Giovanni Melton was a part of.On November 2, Giovanni was fatally shot by his father, Wendell Melton. According to reports, Giovanni's sexuality was strongly disapproved by Melton, who inflicted spiritual, mental and physical abuse upon his son. Evidently, Giovanni was not the son that Melton wanted. In fact, Giovanni’s former foster mother, Sonia Jones, said the following about the extent of Melton’s hatred, “I’m sure that inside of his mind, he would rather have a dead son than a gay son.”Black queer folks have been suffering due to patriarchal masculinity for ages. Essex Hemphill’s 1991 collection of essays and poems, Brother to Brother, featured writings by black gay men who endured far-reaching damage inflicted by their families and communities. The patriarchal society in which we live has never valued those that deviate from social norms, such as heteronormativity and the gender binary. Such deviations, in the case of Giovanni Melton, can tragically result in stigma, abuse of all forms and violence. In homes that idolize patriarchal masculinity, having an unconventional identity can be deadly. This death permeates itself in several forms: eradicating families and childhoods, along with compassion, respect and love. Jones articulated a harsh reality that some black queer folks already know too well. We understand the power of patriarchal masculinity and the risk it places on our lives. We recognize it in microaggressions such as “Man up.” We hear it in the disgust with which folks talk about the queer community. We read it on dating profiles when men write "Masculine dudes only." We see it in the faces of our parents and family members. Consider this excerpt from Clay Cane’s book, Live Through This: Surviving the Intersections of Sexuality, God, and Race. He writes, “‘I want to be a girl’ is the first sentence I remember saying to my father. His eyes widened, his face contorted and his jaw tightened. With those six words, he instantly abandoned his son.” I wonder if my relationship with my father would have suffered the same fate. Would he have gave into his beliefs that called for the death of his own son as Wendell Melton did?The murder of Giovanni Melton speaks to the power that we continue to feed to patriarchy. What did society teach his father that led him to value patriarchal masculinity over his flesh and blood? What exactly are we accomplishing by being infatuated with patriarchal masculinity? What did Wendell Melton believe he was accomplishing by abusing his son? Why do we uphold these systems that rob folks of their humanity and can ultimately result in death? Hari Ziyad writes, “[Patriarchy] chops people up into little groups where they can easily be sorted and placed into their position, and ultimately supports this masculine, patriarchal society, which benefits people who can perform archetypes of masculinity and whiteness, which no black person can really do.” I would argue that Giovanni refused to be chopped as such and to perform these archetypes, costing him his life which society never cared for in the first place. He died fighting a battle that he never should have had to adopt. Let me be clear: Each of us added to Giovanni’s burdens.You may not murder your child as Melton did, but we have all contributed to the death of black queer youth. Any time we reject a person’s identity, we do so. The queer community itself is also guilty of these contributions because of our obsession with masculinity, which activists, organizers and writers have been crying out about. Yet, the cries go ignored. Those who dare to reject the confines of masculinity continue to be met with discrimination, hostility and ignorance. In the book The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love, bell hooks writes, “Since [patriarchy] is a system that denies men full access to their freedom of will, it is difficult for any man of any class to rebel against patriarchy, to be disloyal to the patriarchal parent, be that parent female or male...in patriarchal culture males are not allowed simply to be who they are and to glory in their unique identity.” Giovanni was not permitted to be himself and bask in his individuality. He died because he rebelled against patriarchy in the form of his father. We need to talk about how black men understand masculinity because our understanding is only benefiting whiteness and killing us, including our children.Giovanni’s murder also calls into question how we are failing black children. Not only is the world we live in a patriarchal one, it is an anti-black one, making oppression unavoidable for black people. The trauma that we carry because of the oppression we experience requires intense work to heal from. We can inflict Black children with this same trauma if we are not endeavoring to do this work. Giovanni needed resources that recognized the trauma in his life and malicious environment that he lived in. Preston Mitchum writes, “These issues are interconnected: Where were [Giovanni’s] resources? Access to help? Mentors? Young people must have all of that particularly in hostile environments. They need more than coming out because for many it doesn’t get better.” Giovanni needed advocates to defend him and his childhood from this anti-black world. He needed meaningful action towards providing help and safety to queer youth, particularly those of color. He needed the space to be a child.That same space was taken from some of us who recognized our queerness in our childhood. It was also taken from those whose queerness was recognized by someone else. We thought we could protect ourselves by keeping our identities secret, but the fact is we were afraid to acknowledge the truth that we knew as children: patriarchal masculinity will always prevail in our culture. There is much to learn from black children like Giovanni who bravely stood up to these systems that tried to restrict him.One of the greatest tragedies of Giovanni’s life is what he never had the chance to explore because of his queerness and never knowing what he could have became. How are we going to serve black queer youth like Giovanni who are still among us? How else are we going to recognize the ways that we contributed to the death of Giovanni and those before him? How are we going to work to dismantle the gender binary and patriarchal masculinity as he died doing? How are we going to keep black children lifted and heal ourselves from the trauma that should not be passed onto future generations? When will we stop worshipping patriarchal masculinity? We can start by learning from Giovanni and honoring what he fought for. Let’s not make his valiant fight in...

I’ve always been kind of a klutz. Whether it be falling flat on my face and chipping half of my tooth off in the sixth grade, or falling down the stairs in front of my high school history teacher while on crutches, I’ve always been that girl. The girl that is cute and funny. The one every guy wants to be friends with, and no girl is threatened by. I’ve been that girl my whole life and quite frankly, it really pissed me off.I always wanted to be the type of girl that could walk into a room and command attention; be the girl that every guy wanted to talk to. College was the place I thought I could become that girl. I was ready to leave that shy, un-confident girl in the past, embrace my Sasha fierceness and be on my grown woman type shit (shoutout to Queen B). I was determined to define myself and become the girl I thought I should be.I went out more than I ever had in high school, I had a solid group of friends and some guys actually started paying attention to me. I was moving on up. That is until one Wednesday morning during my freshman year. I had pysch 101 in a huge lecture hall with at least 200 people in it. My friend and I were in the same class and since we lived in the same building, we always walked together. We walked into the classroom and sat down, but then I had to use the bathroom; it was about 10:20 a.m. at this point. You may be questioning why I mentioned the time, but trust me, it will become important.By the time I had used the restroom and gotten back to the lecture hall, it was around 10:27 a.m., which meant that the class was almost full, considering the class started at 10:30 a.m. I proceed to walk down the stairs to my seat. Now, if you recall my less than graceful tumble mentioned in the beginning, then you know that stairs have never wanted me to prosper. So I continued to walk down the stairs and just as I was about four stairs away from my seat, the inevitable happened. My ass went a-tumbling down those last four stairs and the only thing I could think was “Why me Lawd?” The laughter came as I sat on the last stair, trying desperately to get my life together. It was in that moment that everything I had done to define myself meant absolutely nothing, and I realized that the embarrassingly awkward and un-confident girl I had worked so hard to leave in my past was never really left in the past but rather well-hidden in the present.Over the years, many attempts have been made to make that awkward girl disappear because I believed getting rid of her would make me better. Homegirl didn’t seem to get the hint because here I am now in graduate school and still awkward as ever. In a way, I’m grateful that that awkward girl couldn’t catch a hint because she’s actually pretty dope. She’s the life of the party; the girl everyone wants to be around. She makes things interesting and can make any and everybody laugh. She’s a great friend, hard worker and, if you ask me, pretty hilarious. Her awkwardness may irritate me at times, but I have grown an appreciation of her that can only be explained as love. Yes, you are right, this is another one of those cliché “love yourself and don’t change for anyone” stories, but I think the more stories there are about people accepting who they are and loving themselves, the better likelihood people will learn to do just that. If my freshman self knew what my graduate school self knows now, I would’ve saved myself a lot of tearful calls home and nights crying myself to sleep, wishing I was someone sexier or prettier.So, to all the young girls out there at home, school or wherever, wishing they were less of one thing and more of another, don’t be so quick to try to change yourself. It may just be one of the best things about you. Just don’t wait until you tumble down some stairs to figure it out. Trust me, it...

Unfortunately, I have to preface by saying I am a truly happy person, but by the time you reach the end of this, you might not think the same. Ali Spagnola, this is a read.Growing up both black and a woman, I have heard a lot of ish. I’ve been the recipient of some pretty foul treatment, and all of this was well before The Trump Administration, or the New Massa Movement, as I tend to call it. Even still, when I watched Ali Spagnola’s newest video on Facebook, my jaw high-fived Satan. The video, “Bodak Yellow - Cardi B (LITERAL LYRICS)” is Spagnola’s translation of the black, Bronx born rapper’s number one single, “Bodak Yellow.” Topping Billboard’s Hot 100 chart in September of this year, and being only the second sole female rapper to do so, one could argue “Bodak Yellow” is one of the most listened to records out at the moment. Good, sensible and American people, surely you would not listen to something for so long, and for so many times, if you couldn't get a gist of what the damned thing was about. According to Spagnola, you’re darned tootin’ you would.Sarcasm aside, there are several issues with Miss Spagnola’s video. And rest assured, I will be going through them all. However well-intentioned you were, Ali, you unfortunately played into a trope categorizing blacks as illiterate and inadequate communicators. This stereotype is as old as American culture; simply put, likening black folks to ignorance makes it that much easier to reclassify us as less than humane. The issue of denoting "broken English” as a moniker for blackness is still VERY relevant. We might not be teaching ebonics as a high-school elective anymore, but it is very clear that “black English” is and will always be a deviation from Standard American English.  Whether you intended or not, translating Cardi B., a self-professed black woman, into whatever you were doing, is erasure. Point blank. Just because it ain’t the English you heard when you were growing up, don’t mean it ain’t English, Ali. Even Walt Disney whitewashed the fairytales you based your American Dreams on so they would sound more like his version of English. Please don’t take it personally, but Ali girl, you walked right into this one.1. Your captionAli. Your first lesson comes in marketing. You seem to have a head for business. Your account is verified, so good for you. This is why I cannot forgive you for your caption, “SHARE to be a hero and let people know,” implying you are not alone in assuming “Bodak Yellow” was written in some ancient form of ATLien. I googled the lyrics — ya, it’s a thing — and found they were the same alphabets I was taught in kindergarten. Sharing this video isn’t going to make me a hero. It’s just going to make me look foolish for assuming I need to translate English from English. Do better.2. Your translationsThe translations were textbook whitewashing. It was like you watched The Help and The Blindside because you’d never spoken to a black person in real life. Girl. Stop trying to correct grammar when dialect is itself a literary device. The skill, to authentically capture the way people sound, is often heralded as one of the most difficult to learn as a writer. Yet, here we are — Cardi B. and me. And, when Yung Scholar Cardi said “These expensive. These is red bottoms,” she did not mean “I’m wearing Christian Louboutin shoes.” When you stripped down her words, you eliminated elements of the metaphor Cardi created. Her shoes are bloody because like most black women, she has had to claw her way from the bottomless pit where her life begins and your privilege ends. She said what she said, when she said it.3. Your MOUnfortunately, this ain’t your first time coming for black folks under the guise of not understanding our ish. Scrolling down your timeline for research — ya, we can read — I found an earlier video claiming “To be honest, I don’t know what ‘get the bag’ means.” Well, that must mean it ain't for you. You not understanding the premise of the song does not give you ground to "translate" it. That’s cultural appropriation, chile. I can’t be out in these streets remixing “Bohemian Rhapsody” just because I don’t understand “white people.” Maybe I should. We out here being reckless, anyway.4. Your realityGirl. It is 2017. Every single day is a battle of trigger warnings, clapbacks and dodging microaggressions. Don’t say you didn’t feel that little tingle at the back of your throat when you hit post. You felt that sense of danger and uneasiness, the same you probably felt when you were four years old and tried to touch the stove to feel the fire. You probably feel that fire right now, as I’m sure you have realized the video was wrong. Some people on the internet might be making your life hell now, and you might even imagine me to be one of them. Ali, what do you think it feels like to have people doubt your intelligence and ability to communicate just because when you opened your eyes to this reality, you opened them black and woman? Just this week, I was complimented on how eloquently I spoke, then asked to explain my education. Black folks are capable of learning. We are capable of intellect. We are capable of eloquence. We are capable of magnificence, and it does not have to come out sounding like you. We can be brilliant and black at the same time. That should not threaten you.5. Your heartI know you are a good person. I just know you are, just like I know I am full of inextinguishable joy. Ali, please take this as an opportunity to learn and grow. There is a long, painful and, unfortunately, prevailing desire to strip black folks of the one thing we have to convince ourselves we’re beyond the point of fighting for — our humanity. We are not some subspecies. We speak English, and we do not need to be translated. My heart broke when I saw that video because I know Cardi B. is me. I have a thick southern accent, and I am very proud of my blackness. My vernacular pirouettes between inside jokes, shared cultural experiences, influence and authenticity. I have been translated against my will, and it feels humiliating. It feels degrading. It strips the color I purposefully painted into each of my carefully chosen words. In actuality, the song is really about how Cardi B. worked so damn hard; she went from a stripper to being leagues above her peers by sheer determination. Don’t strip that away from her because you don't understand that life.Sis, and I use that term affectionately, please take this as a lesson learned. Gone on and go home; the library is...

Growing up black in the midwest, I found freedom at concerts in the way white kids on TV “find themselves” while backpacking through Europe.I did not find my truth in the church, though I spent years discovering truths of varying degrees and shades of reason. I did not find my purpose in school, though it became a space that made clear to me how I could one day weaponize language to free other girls like me. I am not unique in that it was music which gave me my way out — performing it, embodying it, celebrating it with people who felt the same need, the same desire as I did-or-do to be enveloped by it. To stand in a crowd, or on a stage, and be consumed from the inside out.I could be angsty, just me and my MP3 player, in a way that I couldn’t be anywhere else. I could cry or be angry or excited while listening to a Death Cab for Cutie or a Paramore album without fear or judgement. And when I went to my first concert, I realized that I could exist in a space without the constant awareness of my body, without the weight of performing blackness in a way that made me more palatable to the people around me (though race eventually did become something I couldn’t ignore the longer I immersed myself in these environments). From then on, live music became an integral part of the way I came to know myself. And to know liberation.A decade later, and this year was the first time I was going to a music festival. And not just any festival, but Lollapalooza. Maybe it was money or access or convenience or some combination of all three, but my best friend and I had dreamed of making it to Lolla since we were teenagers and had never been able to. It had taken years for the two of us to make the short drive up I-65 to Grant Park for what had, to us, always seemed unobtainable.We couldn’t name it, but there was a security we felt promised, not just in our bodies, but our sensibilities, in being part of an organism like that. In thousands of people descending on a city to be absorbed in this thing that had saved us before we even knew we needed saving.I had never experienced a freedom like the one I felt that last night at Lolla.My childhood best friend and I — two black girls with locs and waist length braids, respectively — held hands and danced in the dirt to the sounds of Arcade Fire and Milky Chance. I jumped and twirled and wore through the soles of my Vans as I sang in a way that I had never sang before: unbridled, unapologetic, free. I cried in Chicago that night, not in happiness, not exactly, but in something akin to relief. I finally felt like that thing that we’d been chasing, the thing that had always been just beyond our hands, was finally within our reach.Even that sensation, though, is fleeting. In the months following, we’d watch America descend into a sort of chaos that seemed without reason. We’d watch our collective humanity debated in the form of restricted health care access and military bans for trans service members. We’d kneel during national anthems to protest police brutality and watch American citizens be denied access to clean water following natural disasters. And eventually, we’d watch 58 plus people gunned down at a concert in Las Vegas.When the news broke, I felt, like many Americans, a resigned sense of hopelessness. I was wading between the sensation of just being grateful to still be alive, and the anxiety of being next. It was the largest mass shooting in modern U.S. history, they said. But so was the one before it, and the one before that. We were no more than bodies, it seemed — fragile, temporary, awaiting the moment that another man would enter another space and extinguish us.And a few weeks ago, we came to understand that the Vegas shooter had considered two other music festival targets for his attack. It was reported that one was Life is Beautiful, a festival held in Las Vegas towards the end of September, and the other, Lollapalooza.We are living through, what many might consider the most trying times in recent American history, and it seems the thing that had for so long sustained us might now also kill us.We had already seen children and their teachers murdered in schools, with no lasting or impactful gun policy enacted. We had already watched, just two summers before, black folks shot to death while they worshipped and had seen no real paradigm shift. And we were still reeling from the loss of 49 queer people of color, slaughtered while they danced, and the only thing we had to show for it were funerals and think pieces.We are a nation constantly being asked to grapple with severe emotional trauma — terror that we refuse to name — but unwilling to reconcile our supposed love of freedom with our lust for blood. The spaces that I was taught to cherish and the one space that I found solace in, have been torn from our hands. The freedom that was born out of finding a home in live music has been replaced with an acute sense of dread. We are left to watch the remaining vestiges of peace in a nation that is rarely peaceful, denigrated before our eyes, and told that it is the price we must pay for good old fashioned American gun rights.I cried that day, when the story emerged about Lollapalooza. Not in sadness, not really, but in a mourning that I had never felt before. I’m mourning still, for something I have yet to put a name to, but know may never be close enough to touch...