by Patricia D. Raspberry, Ph.D.

Earlier this year, I gave up Facebook for Lent. My decision was based, in part, on my desire to make a sacrifice that would actually feel like a sacrifice and not a convenient way to save money, give my liver a break or lose 10 pounds. As an admitted Facebook addict, I knew this was going to hurt.

By Anna Gibson

I remember Hurricane Katrina. Much like everyone else, in 2005 I watched as Black and brown people from some of the most impoverished sections of New Orleans were stranded. Everyone was left in a state of disgust and wonder as FEMA dragged their feet. Black people were on roofs and crammed into stadiums. At the height of all this, Kanye West did a segment during a Hurricane Katrina Red Cross relief concert where he uttered the famous words: “George Bush doesn’t care about Black people.”

by Candace Simpson

A few weeks ago, I sat on the train after a long day of work. I was tired, frustrated, upset, drained. I was kicking myself for committing to more activities than I should. I was running in and out of a revolving door of guilt and shame. I was disgusted with myself. I was mentally adding up my hours for the week and drafting a thought-spreadsheet of expenses. I was overwhelmed. Magically, I started humming a song out of nowhere.

by Leah C.K. Lewis

A recent Twitter beef occurred when Deray McKesson received a response from presidential candidate Bernie Sanders to discuss racial policy. Activist dream hampton tweeted that this moment should have happened between Sanders and founders of Black Lives Matter. Her response is being cast as a growing divide between the official BLM organizers and other protesters and activists such as McKesson who mobilize locally.

By Danielle Small at Salon.com

It happened. I failed the “black” test. My hair stylist and I were chatting while she was taking a break from retightening my locs. I made a funny quip, and she extended her palm so that we could partake in the standard Black American handshake. In what was most likely the longest three seconds in the universe, I stared at her hand in befuddlement, trying to figure out what she was doing. By the time I realized that this was the handshake, it was too late. I tried to recover with some weird amalgamation of a fist bump and a high five, but the damage had been done. I had revealed myself to be the Carlton to her Fresh Prince.

By Malaika Jabali

As they have in the past, the conservative truth spinners behind the online media outlet Breitbart News Network have initiated an attack against yet another person of color fighting for civil and human rights. The target this time is activist Shaun King, who has been vocal about the police abuse that has permeated our consciousness for over a year. In likening Shaun King to Rachel Dolezal, the network accused King of lying about being half black in order to receive a “Sons of Oprah” scholarship to attend Morehouse College, a historically Black college and university.

August 26th commemorates Women’s Equality Day. The date celebrates the passage of the 19th Amendment that granted women the right to vote. Facebook even created a meme depicting a diverse group of women in poses reminiscent of the Rosie the Riveter poster in front of the familiar “I Voted” sticker but declaring “We Voted.”

By Jaimee Swift

As seen in historical manifestations, the proverbial white feminine hierarchical complex on the ideals of Black women and Black beauty has reared its ugly head once again. And of course, the target of such criticism is none other than one of the most powerful Black women in the world: Beyoncé.

by Altheria Gaston

They were not in church. They were not in court. They were not in class or in any other setting in which laughter might not have been inappropriate. On Saturday, August 22, 2015, they were on a wine train through the Napa Valley wine country. It was a social, perhaps even celebratory, occasion for Sistahs of the Reading Edge Book Club members who were taking their annual trip. According to the members and other passengers, the women were simply having fun and exhibiting behavior consistent with individuals on a wine tour. A few passengers allegedly complained of the Black women’s joviality, and the manager asked the women to quiet down. When they refused to stifle their cheerfulness, they were removed from the train — singled out and reprimanded for talking and laughing too loudly.

by Morgan Jerkins for The Guardian

The other day, I was walking back to my Harlem apartment when I stumbled upon a very shocking sign in front of a black church. It read:

While sifting through the latest updates on my Facebook feed earlier this week, I saw the first mention of a horrible “joke” from a show in which Amy Poehler is the executive producer. Poehler, whose rise to fame included a regular spot on the Saturday Night Live series and Parks and Recreation, has also created a feminist organization called Amy Poehler’s Smart Girls. However, in her latest role as a producer of Hulu’s show Difficult People, she made a painfully careless choice.

By Barbara Gonzalez

The internet recently broke with love and adoration for Disney Channel sweetheart Rowan Blanchard. On August 22nd, Rowan took to Instagram and posted three screenshots of a Tumblr post in which she responded to a question asking how she feels about the term “white feminism” and how common feminism might exclude women of color and non cis/queer women. She responded with a very well thought out answer, addressing the fact that the ways in which women of color and trans women experience feminism are completely excluded from white feminism. She talked about wage inequality, police brutality, Sandra Bland, India Clarke, and Amandla Stenberg. White feminists and mainstream media outlets alike poured sugary-sweet adoration into their coverage of the starlet, using strong adjectives like “powerful” and “engaging.”

by Bee Quammie

“Do you think you can, you know, stay out of the sun this summer? Then we might be able to do something with you.”

Growing up, influenced by mainstream media and the church, I believed that virginity was important. It was like a medal those of us who had chosen to not have sex, especially in a time where it feels like EVERYBODY is having sex. In movies, there is always a big fuss about a girls first time; it needs to be perfect, it needs to be done with the “right guy” (the church says preferably someone you’re married to) AND it must be a member of the opposite sex.

By Najya Williams

At the time of Trayvon Martin’s death, I was an eighth grader on my way to high school. I first heard the news of this horrific racial injustice on the radio, and to say I was shocked is an understatement. It was my first experience with racial injustice not only in my generation, but in this era. Four years and dozens of stolen lives later, I was as emotionally drained as I had ever been. The constant fear of becoming another hashtag or developing one for someone in my inner circle paralyzed my thoughts daily. Am I next? Will I become another hashtag? How am I supposed to want to bring children into this type of environment?

We all know the story. At first glance the famous comedy sketch “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong,” by Dave Chappelle appears to be a spoof. The sketch implies that there is a maximum amount of blackness Black people can portray without their white co-workers taking offense. Vernon’s white co-worker commends him on his job by saying, “good job buddy, you the man, give me some skin.” Vernon, the main character, responds accordingly. The scene pauses with the narrator giving two options, “though he could have ignored the simple comment, Vernon decided to keep it real.” Vernon responds, “Get your mother-f*** hand out of my face.” Vernon was fired.

This happened to me. I was not fired, but I was warned. It took my experience to take a critical look at the sketch I laughed so hard at when I was younger to realize there was an underlying truth. How could this excellent employee be fired for being fed up with his white co-workers insensitive micro-aggressive antics? The same way my white co-worker, who like most people fixate and appropriate Black culture, can imply that I, a young Black woman, am too aggressive and thus offensive. The imagery of such plays on negative tropes that cultural appropriators have the privilege to avoid, especially when fully invested in the perks of Black culture; think: Rachel Dolezal.

On my social media account, I reposted a meme of the movie Friday, which read, “For all the white people who say ‘bye Felicia’ point to Felicia.” The post was a culturally relevant version of “Where’s Waldo.” However, the meme itself speaks to White America’s habit of not knowing the origins of cultural references within the Black American community (if you want to be deep about it). Former co-workers of mine, whom have never double tapped or commented on a picture, decided to share their misguided beliefs about race. But of course, being knowledgeable about the subject matter on both a personal level and an academic one, I welcomed the conversation.

Another co-worker who uses the phrase and visibly appropriates Black culture was tagged in the post. A screenshot was taken of the conversation and sent to my manager (a Black male) and my bosses. I was threatened with being terminated if my behavior was perceived to be unprofessional, again. I was told that I was perceived to be offensive by being direct. This is something Black communities are plagued with in White spaces, policing our cultural idiosyncrasies for the comfort of those around us, even for those who appropriate the culture they know so little about.




I am Vernon, but in a different context. On my personal page, white co-workers engaged in a conversation where they were informed about the realities of the Black experience that made them uncomfortable to acknowledge. When friends, peers, and myself questioned and challenged their insight I was reported. In an attempt to punish and silence my voice, on my page, in a conversation they provoked, I was reported. My Black male manager co-signed by assuring my boss that I am aggressive in race themed conversations. We know the type, think: Clarence Thomas.

Essentially, I was punished for an off work-site interaction that offended a white coworker. Keeping it real went wrong when I called out the micro-aggressive and cultural appropriating actions of my coworkers. I, like Vernon, should have “ignored the simple comment.” For the first time in a long time, I was painfully aware of double consciousness. My boss told me that it is not about my intent but how I am perceived that is the issue. That is the essence of double consciousness, “always looking at one’s self through the eye of others,” as W.E.B Dubois said.

On the other hand, my white co-worker does not have to be sensitive about her continuous cultural appropriation that is offensive to me. Yet, somehow, I must maintain my cultural integrity in a climate that values the emotions of white co-workers more than my comfort and their personal responsibility. This incident was a painful reminder of how white women’s emotions are more valuable than the Black woman’s voice and experience.

Never mind my personal space that was invaded with culturally ignorant statements. Never mind a manager who himself holds negative stereotypes about Black women being the deciding voice if their perception of the incident was accurate. Never mind not having access to someone in management that could objectively speak to if the situation was being exaggerated because of inherited social biases. Never mind my rights to freedom of speech on my personal social platform. Never mind my feelings, my intent, and me.

I kept it real and said never mind to that job. Now, for all those reading, point to Felicia.

Photo: Shutterstock

Raven Cras is a recent graduate from Spelman College and now permanent resident of Brooklyn, NY. She is a poet, author and supporter of all things empowering of oppressed groups. Her greatest strength in writing is the ability to connect broad concepts and theories to current social and cultural events. Overall, she be chillin’.

A little more than halfway through the 2008 documentary Trouble the Water, we find ourselves with the film’s subject, Kimberly Rivers Roberts, as she explains that she lost the master tapes of her music in the storm. A temporary relocation has taken her to relatives in Memphis, Tennessee, where she was greeted with a copy of her music she had sent them before. Not only does she take this as a sign, but she makes the CD her new master tape and performs along to a track called “Amazing.”

by Liz Alexander

See Her.

As we continue to grieve the lives of Black women and girls who are murdered by state and systemic violence as well as confront the invisibility and marginalization of those lives in larger discourse, black and brown girls are being silently swallowed up by the juvenile justice system.

A little over a week ago, we published the article "What it Means to be Mixed Race During the Fight for Black Lives" by Shannon Luders-Manuel, which sparked a lot of discussion and was shared nearly 2,000 times.

by Uche Wogwugwu on Medium

Last month, I was suddenly and suspiciously let go from my job at a local media production company in Houston. Prior to being let go, I’d been in New York City for a couple of days hoping to retrieve the last of my things left there over a year ago.

by Blue Telusma for theGrio.com

This week, Dr. Dre told The New York Times he apologized to all the women he’d “hurt”, and I’m here to tell you – that’s not enough.

by Patti Swayne

In a 2011 interview, Halle Berry confessed, “I’m not the marrying kind,” and it set headlines ablaze. Four years later, I would hear the same words come from my grandmother, in reference to me, and experience no offense.

by Altheria Gaston

In a more equitable world, 19 year-old Christian Taylor of Arlington, Texas would be preparing for his fall semester at Angelo State University. After spending the night in jail for [allegedly] breaking and entering and destruction of property/vandalism at a car dealership on August 7, 2015, his parents might have bailed him out and perhaps scolded him for his seemingly erratic actions. In a few years, after graduating from college, Christian might have looked back on this incident as a stupid episode performed by an immature, reckless teen. But this world is far from equitable, and instead of this hypothetical situation, Christian’s family gathered with hundreds of loved ones a couple days ago for his funeral.

by Nicolette Oladipo

In 2012, I moved to Taiwan as a bright-eyed, childish, unassertive, somewhat immature 22-year-old with residual high school insecurities finally striking out on my own. Earlier this year, I left Taiwan matured, confident, and with many good, bad, and ugly experiences under my belt. I wouldn't trade my experiences for anything; however, I know several of my positive experiences would have been impossible for me to recognize or enjoy had I not changed my mindset and attitude toward certain situations while abroad. Therefore, I'd like to share some tips I believe will assist Black women love every minute of their time abroad, namely in Asia, whether they've moved or are on vacation.

by Jasmine Alvarez

About two months ago my boo and I decided to go see the movie Dope. As Black queer women, we were excited to see a movie with an all Black cast, an authentically Black storyline, and of course A QUEER BLACK GIRL CHARACTER. How could this movie not be freaking amazing?????? Welp, unfortunately there was something that really ruined the entire film for me, and yes it has everything to do with the queer character, Diggy. (Warning: major spoiler alert ahead.)

By Arielle Newton for PBS NewsHour

On paper, I’m a progressive candidate’s ideal. I’m a 23-year-old, black, queer, college-educated woman who is drowning in more than $160,000 of undergraduate student loan debt. I fervently believe in unlimited access to reproductive healthcare, despise corporate welfare, and consider climate change to be the most severe public health issue of our time.

by Anna Gibson

Nearly two weeks ago, 19-year-old Christian Taylor was shot during an altercation with police after allegedly crashing his car through the front window of a dealership in Texas. Since this tragic incident, numerous developments have occurred. The officer who shot Taylor has been fired, and edited video footage of the incident was released. The footage shows Taylor just moments before his death. While we can’t make assumptions about this case or his actions, various sources have noted a number of discrepancies in police accounts of his case.

by Marilyn Rhames

It’s 8 a.m. I reach for my cell phone to turn off the alarm, and I notice an email from an unfamiliar name. Turns out, it’s a middle-aged white science teacher and self-described motivational speaker from New York City.

by Veronica Agard

The Black experience in the United States has always been paradoxical in nature, as our historical memory knows that it has been one of constant struggle. However, in the face of the violence, poverty, trauma, systemic oppression and death, we have continued to thrive.

But after rolling to protests, having emotionally charged conversations with White “allies,” and witnessing how many folks on my newsfeed were more concerned about Cecil the Lion than Sandra Bland, I’ve been reminded that be Black in America is to be tired. As it’s been said time and time again, being Black in America is exhausting – we’re supposed to just play sports, make White America laugh or sing along to (apolitical) music, and stay silent while the heteropatriarchal White supremacist system kills us. All to diminish our spirit and potential.



Society currently presents the intersection of thriving and surviving as a challenge; an impossible aspiration that seems less and less obtainable when bombarded by the mainstream news cycle. Systematic hurdles and barriers exist at every turn and dictate how we should be living our lives and imply that we should not aspire for more. As the medical data confirms that Black folks and other people of color suffer from generational trauma in the forms of high blood pressure, heart disease, strokes, diabetes, and other preventable illnesses, we are forced to buy back into a medical system that has historically harmed us. The capitalist structure is not truly designed for wellness, in fact, it invested in perpetuating illness as a means of profit.

While there is hope in holistic medicine and campaigns encouraging us to get physically healthy, such as Black Girls Run! and FLOTUS Michelle Obama’s Let’s Move!, we cannot afford to solely focus on the body. We have to place an emphasis on the spirit and what (collective) joy looks like for us as individuals and as a people. In this (new) movement for Black liberation, there has to be an emphasis on celebrating and cultivation Black joy as well. Black liberation has a long history – from the liberation theology born in the Civil Rights Movement, to the radical teachings of Assata Shakur and the Black Liberation Army – and proves to be more relevant than ever in our movements. Whether you seek liberation in the church or through direct action, can we truly liberate ourselves as a people if we do not acknowledge and emphasize the role of sustaining ourselves in mind, body and spirit?

If we are going to have Black liberation, we must continue to strive for wholeness and wellness in the face of all the ills of the world. For me, Black joy is both the collective experiences and the personal triumphs of our people. Black joy looks different for everyone and can be found in a variety of forms; in simple acts of self-care, spending time with loved ones, or indulging yourself by working on those projects you’ve been putting off. Starting a journal, getting to know your creative side through a form of art, developing a circle of sisters, or taking yourself out on the town. Even if it’s just five minutes, making the time to sit down to (re)discover what brings you happiness is a liberatory act.

Interview by Michelle Denise Jackson

When we discuss the issues that Black women and girls face today, it’s hard to know where to begin. In the past year, there has been national discourse around police brutality and state-sanctioned violence executed against Black men, women, and children. We’re familiar with names like Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Tanesha Anderson, and Rekia Boyd. There have also been ongoing conversations around gender-based and sexual violence, with high profile cases like Janay Rice’s on-camera beating at the hands of her then fiancé, Ray Rice. Or the ongoing investigation of Oklahoma City police officer Daniel Holtzclaw, who raped and sexually assaulted dozens of women while on duty.

by Anna Gibson

In a recent spat of jackassery, rapper Nipsey Hussle took to Twitter to affirm his views on black women by responding to the following tweet from another user: “BLACC [sic] FEMALES ARE A DISGRACE TO BLACK CULTURE.” After Black Twitter dragged him by his snapback all over the Internet, he attempted to backpedal, saying, “Shout out to all my Queens out there though.”

by Ngozi Cole

Sweaty palms and a beating heart that almost bursts out of fear, anxiety, and repulsion…

Being in the same space as the rapist can be one of the most disempowering and soul-crushing experiences anyone can face. Emotional torture regurgitates lasting moments of physical trauma as we struggle, clutching at every strand of hope, just so that we may heal.

Silence in the face of oppression is about power dynamics. When people are silent about their pain, their power is sucked out of them, rendering them weak, defeated and psychologically captive under the ones who inflict their cancerous wounds. Despite the gravity of whatever incident might have occurred, it boils down to a simple power equation where one’s self-worth is subtracted and added to another’s coffer of conquest and control.

The power dynamics surrounding rape and sexual assault are no different. Unfortunately, rapists thrive on the shame and stigma inflicted on rape victims that guarantees that this private crime, even though rape is indeed a public crime, will be kept a secret. Rapists gain power on the silence of their victims, and of course there are countless incidents wherein they dare their victims to ever report the incident.

In many societies, rape victims shroud their experience in secrecy, too ashamed to out their assailants. However, rape is not an easy experience to talk about, primarily because of the physical and emotional damage involved. Many survivors prefer to bury these experiences in the hope that if they bury it long enough it might go away. Except more often than not, it doesn’t go away. Instead, it bears self-damaging fruits.

The culture of silence that surrounds rape and sexual assault, especially with regards to women and children, gives more and more power to their assailants. It cultivates the growth of victim blaming and shaming, when this should rightfully be transferred to the perpetrators instead.

It is extremely difficult to talk about rape, extremely painful to dig up a traumatic experience, but it is fundamentally self-empowering to break the silence. It can start in little steps such as changing the language surrounding your experience. Refer to yourself as a “survivor” instead of a “victim.” Even though it is essential to use the word “victim” to establish the gravity of rape as a crime, referring to yourself as a “survivor” is one step to psychological and emotional empowerment.

If it seems useless to report the crime or the time has elapsed for the assailant to be prosecuted, or if you are afraid to report it, then telling a close and trusted friend or family member is helpful too. It makes a huge difference to just talk about it—cry about it, pray about it and cuss out about it—with a trusted person. Don’t feel obligated to share all the details; share as much as you can and are ready to.

And then of course, when you feel ready and if you can, please report the crime. Many people who have been raped cite a weak or bureaucratic justice system that might not help them when these cases are reported. That might be true, but there is a lot of power that you take back from the assailant when you report them, name them, and subsequently shame them. Sometimes, just breaking the silence alone and not letting your voice be drowned by another’s oppression grants you a powerful first step to personal healing and helping others defeat their shame and silence too.

It took me five years after I had been raped as child to tell someone and then another twelve years to feel comfortable sharing it with some of my close friends and a counselor. During those years of silence, I had felt ashamed of myself that somehow it was all that little girl’s fault and that I would be an object of ridicule and repulsion if I reported it. However, the driving force behind my silence was fear…fear that the assailant would show up again and threaten me…fear that nobody would believe me, and even if they did, I would receive pity instead of support.

But sharing what had happened to me became incredibly liberating. Even though it was impossible to find the rapist again to get him arrested, I felt a pure sense of freedom and something that felt really close to healing and lasting peace. He couldn’t hurt me anymore because I had regained my power and sense of self-worth back-and you can too. Being silent about your experience does nothing for your healing and stunts the empowerment of other survivors of rape and sexual abuse to tell their stories, and gain their power back from their assailants. Please, break the silence, and conquer your oppressor.

Ngozi Cole is a recipient of the National Youth Excellence Award for Leadership in Sierra Leone, an exhibition of her deep commitment to her country. She writes for several online media platforms such as African Youth Journals and Voice of Women Initiative, and runs her own blog at sepiadahlia.com. Her work focuses on feminism and social justice.

by Leah C.K. Lewis

There has been a great deal of commentary about the #BlackLivesMatter disruption in Seattle during the first weekend in July. Two young activists connected to Seattle’s BLM chapter stormed the stage and demanded a 4.5-minute moment of silence to honor the anniversary of Michael Brown’s killing at an event where Democratic candidate Bernie Sanders, an Independent self-proclaimed socialist senator from Vermont, planned to discuss social security and Medicare.

by Kimberly Foster @KimberlyNFoster

Wrestling with the past is painful. If we were to try to write every figure who committed despicable acts out of our histories, there would be no one left to revere. So it seems easier not to reckon with the violence that shapes our world—that shapes our thought.

by Agunda Okeyo 

I am a huge admirer of Robert F. Kennedy. In learning American history as a youth, I was struck my RFK’s profound humanist transformation from a righteously conservative politician (dare I say, racist) to a truly revolutionary equal-rights activist. Undoubtedly the death of his brother and the racial complexity of the time motivated this change--and likely cost him his life. In an unprecedented visit to apartheid South Africa in 1966 he said the following to a rapt audience at the University of Cape Town, South Africa:

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 Krislyn Domingue

by Stacia L. Brown for Buzzfeed

All we need now is a name. Nobody waits for a mugshot or allows media outlets to choose a photo of the slain anymore. The name of the victim — so often black, so often unarmed — is all we need to begin our search.

by Lisa Branscomb

by Christina M. Tapper, Levo League for Fast Company

She calls herself a mixologist, but you won’t find Melissa Butler crafting signature cocktails behind the bar. Instead, Butler serves up bright and bold colors for the perfect pout as the creator and owner of the Lip Bar, a paraben-free, vegan lipstick company. From Amaretto Sour (cool camel) to Kamikaze (a Tiffany & Co. teal), the brand, which started in 2012 and has a celebrity fan in Jordin Sparks, will make any pucker pop.

by Shannon Luders-Manuel

When I talk about my family culture, I’m mixed. When I talk about racism, I’m black. When Trayvon Martin was shot for wearing a hoodie, I was black. When Eric Garner was choked to death for selling cigarettes on the street, I was black. When Sandra Bland was arrested for failing to turn on her blinker, I was black. When churchgoers were shot for being black, I was black.

by Veronica Maria Brown-Comegys

About thirty years ago, I was walking down posh Avenida Nossa Senhora de Copacabana, where I lived with my white Brazilian “family.” The crown that Mother Africa had given me was evident. In other words, all traces of my perm had vanished. Suddenly an Afro-Brazilian man stopped me. He pointed at my head, and said in English, “Black Power,” then he cackled for so long that I thought he would become breathless.

by Aydrea Walden

When was the last time you found yourself saying something like this:
“Ugh. I should just go out.”
“I feel really bad for not being there.”
“I know he doesn’t understand why I need to be alone right now.”

by Stacia L. Brown for The New Republic

When I cut my hair last summer, I sheared 12 inches of chemically straightened hair from the coarser curls closest to my scalp. I had only an inch of hair in its natural state; at the time, I felt free.

In mid-July, A Black woman in America lost her life under suspicious circumstances whilst in police custody. Her name is Sandra Bland. We know this thanks to the power that social media wields in its capacity to bring to light issues that would otherwise go unnoticed, particularly with regard to issues that affect Black people.

by Marena Bridges

One of my favorite moments in The Simpsons comes when Lisa is forced to join a cult by her dad and attend school at their headquarters. She becomes so fed up with the propaganda she endures that she stands up and declares, “The whole damn system is wrong!” as she kicks over her desk with a scream. Why am I talking about The Simpsons in an article about anti-Black police brutality? Because, lately, I’ve often felt like Lisa Simpson must have in that moment; fed up knowing that every day it’s different actors following the same script. A police officer brutalizes and/or murders one of us. That specific officer faces backlash. And we either feel we’ve been denied justice if they get off scot-free or served justice if they’re indicted.

by Crystal Irby

Within the past year, more attention has been paid to Black men who abuse and victimize women. Bill Cosby, Ray Rice, and Floyd Mayweather have all been taken to task if not by the law, then by the public for their violence. However, there is one man who has, for decades, evaded being held accountable for his violence against Black women: hip-hop mogul and producer, Dr. Dre. As we near the release of Straight Out of Compton—one the most anticipated movies to document hip-hop culture—we must question, why are we still largely overlooking that Dr. Dre is also a known abuser of Black women?

by Anitra Winder

There are a few constants about living in Los Angeles. For example, trying to find a parking space at Trader Joe’s will be akin to doing battle in the Thunder Dome, or attempting a group breakfast at any restaurant after 10 a.m. on the weekend is pure folly, and, of course, everyone works out. It’s common to see joggers zipping through city terrain filled with latte-sipping pedestrians clutching little dogs or packs of cyclists dominating the roadways or participants of CrossFit with routines so extreme that they may end up on the hood of your car doing burpees during a traffic stop. Yes, bodies are in motion in the city, a cultivated stock of stellar bodies, and then there’s me, a coffee-colored, unapologetic female occupier of ample physical space that’s usually reserved for males.


Non-white female bodies have long been the focus of a historical oppression that has misrepresented and complicated the social narrative of women of color. The nature of oppression in the dichotomous form of racism and misogyny are acted out through the subjugation of Black female bodies by whites. Frequently this subjugation is played out in public spaces through stereotyping and food and body policing, which are often positioned casually. A case in point would be when a white male coworker can’t be convinced that you enjoy hiking because according to his sources, Black women have a “sweat and hair thing that keeps them from exercising” or being told by a server in a vegetarian restaurant that the menu has small portions and no meat before moving on to another customer. Or when a thin, blonde overenthusiastic fellow shopper can’t stop congratulating you for “trying to get healthy and lose weight for bikini season” because your cart is filled with produce.

Because white supremacy is the foundation of our social fabric, it’s presupposed that all Black women share the same relationship to food and their bodies as white women; that we measure our bodies by the same standards set forth within the dominant culture, which by design are racist and damaging to women. Serena Williams, although a winner of multiple Wimbledon titles and is ranked number 1 by the Women’s Tennis Association, has been dogged her entire career by white assessments of her body and femininity. Williams has been criticized for being unattractive, fat, and unfit even though she’s snagged 21 Grand Slam titles and has repeatedly proven herself a consistent champion.

What we can take away from the social commentary surrounding not only Williams, but specifically any non-white female body that doesn’t fit the prescribed Eurocentric beauty model, is that you will not be afforded the agency to decide if your body is healthy or attractive. You will not be granted the right to personal corporal discretion because your body doesn’t belong to you. Your achievements, regardless of scale, are inconsequential because you will be denied the privilege of determining your successes.

Therefore, socially, my size 16 body is not only purportedly symbolic of my ill health but also representative of the indolence Black women have mastered. Yet, I’m a cognizant eater who has lost 160 pounds over the course of three years and hasn’t regained weight because I’m regularly physically active. However, this triumph is obscured because even after such a massive weight loss I’m still not thin. And more importantly I have the audacity to be at peace with it and refuse to act contrite. In a world where female beauty is predicated on whiteness and thinness, racist and sexist forms of female objectification have become a celebrated norm, while self-determination is vilified. Women often feel obligated to apologize for the supposed counterintuitive act of gaining weight, when often the act of gaining weight can sometimes be much more emotionally complicated than simply not being able to put down the fork.


For some weight loss is only qualified as a success if the end result is a body that’s a gangly assemblage of muscle fit to run a 10K. However, I’m choosing to honor my journey and view my body as a success because it is a testament to the many abuses it has survived at the hands of sexual abusers, racists, and misogynists. This body soldiered on. Despite years of severe hypertension, high cholesterol, edema, diabetes, and pain, this body withstood and maintained to bring me to my current state of health, which no longer requires medication or occasional canes. I can walk long distances, climb stairs, plank, and squat.

For the first time in my life, I’m metabolically healthy and I have a healthy relationship with food. The world couldn’t imagine that while still in a large body, this Black woman hiked her way through the desert for five hours – at night! This fat body can now do things it hasn't been able to do since adolescence, and my body feels good. So today, I’ll climb over a few hills and then down into crowded streets to pick up a coconut water at the end of my hike. I’ll probably catch a few puzzled stares along the way as I speed through, sweat drenched, in neon running shoes and my favorite crimson hoodie. And why shouldn't they stare…? They’ve never seen liberation in motion before.

Photo: Shutterstock

Anitra Winder is a queer, crafty, Afrofuturistic, writer, and social justice advocate. She has a degree from the University of Massachusetts Amherst in Health Care Administration/Public Health. When she’s not focused on social justice issues, she’s battling her comic book addiction…she’s not winning. Find her on Twitter @Donitocarmenito.

by Cynthia R. Greenlee for EBONY

he most recent anti-Planned Parenthood video took aim at Black women, communities and history. Just days after what would have been Emmett Till’s 74th birthday, Students for Life unveiled a video in which clinic staff allegedly scrutinized an aborted fetus. “Call him Emmett,” suggested the video, and make him this century’s civil rights symbol — just like the 14-year-old Emmett Till's murder by White Mississippi racists galvanized the modern civil rights movement.

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.