As a Black person, talking about racism to white people is like giving directions to someone from out of town. It's exhausting, but I do it so they can move in the right direction.
A collage of tweets from President Donald Trump, research, and personal reflections on Blackness and independence during the pandemic
Black lives must matter before Black education can matter. My degrees won’t shield me from bullets if a cop feels threatened by my existence. They won’t have my back when a creep follows me around the block because my clothes were “asking for it.” My degrees are neither freedom papers nor get-out-of-jail-free cards. They are an acknowledgement of my survival from an institution that was not built for me.
I don’t want you to feel at ease. I want you to know that you are the byproduct of a successful racist regime that has capitalized off of Black oppression and suppression for centuries. I want you to shed light on the corners of your subconscious you’ve glossed over for years. I want you to realize that being racist is more American than apple pie.
It’s hard to talk about systems of oppression that we benefit from. Light skinned tears don’t belong in the conversation of colorism because you can’t benefit from and be a victim of the same form of oppression.
Being a Black student attending a predominantly white university, I’m used to being among a small handful of students of color within a student organization or the only Black person enrolled in a class. Within my academic specializations (Creative Writing and Opera Performance), there are even fewer Black students. Of course, I’ve been able to … Continue reading Melanin in Milan: Finding My People Abroad
A few weeks ago, my roommate and I went to a roller disco in downtown Boston (which I think is a hilarious oxymoron). The following is a list of things I associate with Boston: white people getting angry about taxes A “Massacre” where only five people died, but a Black guy was the first one … Continue reading [Donna] Summertime, and the Livin’ is [Not] Easy
The other day I was writing in a coffee shop, and a man in a red flannel commented on a sticker on my laptop. “‘Careful or you will end up in my novel?’” I was mid-sentence and caught off-guard. “Ah, yeah.. I’m a writer” And then the normal conversation follows: Where do you go to … Continue reading On Humans