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Black America Web
23-07-2025
- Politics
- Black America Web
Y'all Must Be Trippin': Why Black Unity Is Non-Negotiable In This Political Climate
Source: LeoPatrizi / Getty As a Black woman who walks around daily loving her Blackness, I'm tired. Tired of seeing the same recycled 'African vs. African American' debate clog my timelines and create division-centered conversations that should be rooted in solidarity. Tired of watching 'light skin vs. dark skin' tropes resurface every summer like it's tradition. Tired of watching us fight each other while living under a political administration that barely even acknowledges our humanity, let alone our pain. At a time when we are being bombarded by misinformation and disinformation, the infighting is not only divisive, but also dangerous, because while we're busy arguing about proximity to the motherland or the perceived perks of skin tone, we're missing the fact that we're all navigating a society that doesn't value our Blackness—period. Let's look at the facts. Anti-Blackness is global. It doesn't stop to ask whether your ancestors were enslaved in Virginia, or if your parents immigrated from Ghana or Nigeria. It doesn't differentiate between a Jamaican-American CEO and a fourth-generation Dominican-American teacher when police officers simply see you as a 'threat.' Systemic racism doesn't care about your background; it's trained to react to your Blackness. Whether via policing, housing, healthcare, or hiring practices, the unfair practices and systemic roadblocks affect us all. Meanwhile, the current administration has shown us who they are—repeatedly, and you still have Black folks championing his abrasive and archaic rhetoric as 'telling it like it is.' This is the same administration that gutted diversity and inclusion initiatives under the guise of 'anti-woke' policies. The same administration that orchestrated the erosion of voting rights protections and slashed federal aid programs and failed to address police brutality, maternal health disparities, or the racial wealth gap in any meaningful way– but sure, let's continue to make our fellow brothers and sisters from the motherland the problem. The 'African vs. African American' divide is rooted in centuries of trauma, colonization, and deliberate miseducation. Many African immigrants were taught that Black Americans are 'lazy', 'complaining,' or 'dangerous,' while African Americans were taught that Africans 'sold us into slavery' or 'looked down on us.' Both are oversimplifications born from colonial propaganda, and while unpacking that history is important, weaponizing it against each other is counterproductive. Just like the tired old 'light skin vs. dark skin' trope– equally corrosive. Colorism is real and stems from white supremacy and has been embedded in everything from media representation to sentencing disparities; but blaming each other for the roles we've been cast in by a racist society doesn't get us free—it keeps us shackled. It's important to remember what unity has truly given us. The Civil Rights Movement wasn't perfect, but it was powerful because it was collective . Leaders like Malcolm X and Stokely Carmichael—both with Caribbean lineage—stood side by side with descendants of enslaved Americans to fight Jim Crow and demand justice. Shirley Chisholm, the first Black woman elected to Congress, proudly claimed her Barbadian heritage while championing the rights of and for all Black people. Together, they mobilized communities, passed laws, and changed the course of history, without any regard to where the individuals in the communities they served were dropped off first during the slave trade. Fast-forward to today, we are losing ground with the rollback of affirmative action, the attacks on Black history, and the rise in voter suppression laws; it's all part of a strategy to weaken our political power and erase our progress, while we remain distracted and weirdly upset at the fact that Essence Fest featured a jollof rice competition. We are fighting for our future; this is not the time for division– it's time for strategy, solidarity, and collective movement forward. We need to educate ourselves about all facets of the diaspora in addition to the Black experience. That means embracing the stories of Africans, Afro-Caribbeans, Afro-Latinos, Black immigrants, and Black Americans. We have more in common than we've been taught to believe, and the beauty of our diversity is our strength and their threat. It's time to raise our children not to internalize these old tools for division, and instead teach them that Blackness is beautiful, expansive, global, and powerful. Future generations who understand that whether you're from Baltimore or Botswana, we're all a part of the same legacy of resilience and the same ongoing struggle for liberation. We need to call out internalized racism and colorism when we see it, even in our own homes. We need to uplift, protect, and invest in each other. Our votes matter. Our dollars matter. Our voices matter, but only if we use them together . Because the truth is, no one is coming to save us. We've seen that over and over again, and while America continues to debate our worth, strip our rights, and deny our realities, we cannot afford to continue to be distracted by stereotypes or shade–literally or figuratively. Black unity is not a hashtag or a moment; it is power and a political weapon. The stakes are too high for petty debates or performative divides. Our ancestors fought too hard and gave too much for us to squander the progress they made by turning on each other over something as miniscule as a boat stop that destroyed our families centuries ago. So to those still holding on to these tired arguments and spreading them online for clout, I say this with a smidgeon of love left and urgency: Playtime is over. Get your life and mind right before we leave you behind. Now, for the rest of us, it's time to get focused and strengthen our community — together. SEE ALSO: Alligator Alcatraz Is Racial Violence As Entertainment In America You Deserve: A Black Man's Guide To The Soft Life SEE ALSO Y'all Must Be Trippin': Why Black Unity Is Non-Negotiable In This Political Climate was originally published on
Boston Globe
02-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Boston Arts Academy steps in to help craft the next Ufot Cycle play: ‘Kufre n' Quay'
Before a recent rehearsal, Mngomezulu says that coming to America has been a 'culture shock' for his character. Seated next to him, castmate Kamanampata explains that 'confusion and hurt and conflict can come when someone expects something of a culture that they've only seen caricatures and stereotypes of.' Kufre comes from a country, Udofia points out, where everyone is largely of the same race. 'We're seeing the story through the eyes of a child who does not know he is Black until he gets to this country,' she says. 'He's meeting America for the first time at this age without any vocabulary for Blackness. … So what does that mean to suddenly hold that word?' Advertisement The show marks the first professional theater production ever for (who lives in Newton).'The youth, they're like lights,' Udofia says. 'They bring me so much joy.' The Huntington aimed for this to be a citywide festival celebrating Udofia, who grew up in Southbridge near Worcester, with multiple theaters and cultural organizations taking part. So when Charles Haugland, the Huntington's director of new work, called Boston Arts Academy artistic director Maura Tighe more than a year ago and suggested that there could be roles for students in one of the plays, Tighe leapt at the chance to boost their involvement. 'I said, 'Why not let us do it?'' Tighe recalls, standing in the BAA theater's mezzanine. The Huntington loved the idea, and BAA partnered with the Wheelock Family Theatre to produce this installment. 'Our mission is to connect the students to the community and help them see the way to what's next for them in their artistic domain, to see themselves as professionals,' Tighe says. 'I've been looking for the right theater connection, and this just blossomed.' Advertisement The first play in the Ufot Cycle, Udofia, a Wellesley College graduate, was inspired to set the play at a youth center, because she worked for years as an educator and teaching artist. 'It's really in my bones,' she says. 'And I thought there's no better way to have Kufre feel out America than to land him in one of these summer programs that I am so familiar with in New York City.' She was able to draw from her own experiences and insights from spending time around young people. 'There's just a way they talk when they think you're not listening that I find fascinating. It is colorful, it is fast and sharp. It can be so sweet, one second. Cruel, the next. Language making is happening all the time.' Advertisement Director John Oluwole ADEkoje watches cast members rehearse a scene of "Kufre n' Quay." Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff At the youth center, there are two main cliques — one a group of kids who live in the Little Senegal enclave (most of whom speak French); and then a clique of Black American kids largely from Harlem and the Bronx. 'There's conflict because these people are all defining their identities very differently,' says director John Oluwole ADEkoje, who's Nigerian-American. 'And it's being read like each group feels like they're better than the other.' At first, Kufre is rejected by both cliques. So he goes off on his own and daydreams, and it's quickly apparent that he has formidable powers of imagination. 'He closes his eyes, stretches his arms, and imagines a place he wants to go and what he wants to happen, and then he just goes there,' Mngomezulu says. Levi Mngomezulu rehearses a scene of "Kufre n' Quay" at Boston Arts Academy. Craig F. Walker/Globe Staff Iniabasi (Ramona Lisa Alexander) arrives with her own set of prejudices, and when she finds out the other kids are bullying Kufre, she explodes. The dedicated Harlem Zone educator Ms. Jada, a.k.a. 'Ms. Ey Yo Miss' (Jalyse Ware), tries to help Kufre integrate into this new world while keeping the peace between the different cliques and teaching improv theater games. But it's Abasiama (Jackie Davis) who's best equipped to help her grandson navigate the tensions and strife. Having raised three children in Massachusetts, Abasiama has 'learned a little bit about the cultural biases that maybe she had initially,' Davis says. 'She understands both sides of the fence culturally, so she sees the mistakes that Kufre is making fresh from the continent. She's trying to be the person to ease him into this new society and not create harm as he's being harmed, but also getting him to understand how his interaction could have led to this misunderstanding.' Advertisement A BAA faculty member, playwright, and filmmaker, ADEkoje says that rehearsing with young people is 'a dance between being a professional director and being a teacher. You're guiding them through the process.' He did 'table work' — reading and discussing the play and breaking it down as a group — for longer than usual, before starting to block out scenes. 'I didn't want anybody getting up on their feet without understanding exactly who their characters are and what they want,' he says. Ultimately, Tighe says, 'This is a story about a boy who dreams, and he dreams so vividly, that things come to life on stage, and he's going to take all the other kids with him. He believes in this world where everybody's the same, and that's how they come to understand each other — through his dreams.' As they work to bring to life this unprecedented endeavor, Udofia is savoring every moment. 'This is a rehearsal process where I walk in happy, I walk out happy,' she says. 'These kids are bringing everything that they can and soaking it all up like a sponge. Watching them is my favorite thing.' KUFRE N' QUAY By Mfoniso Udofia, presented by the Boston Arts Academy and Wheelock Family Theatre. At Boston Arts Academy Main Stage Theatre, July 10-26. Tickets from $22. 617-635-6470;
Black America Web
01-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Black America Web
Black And Proud: 12 LGBTQIA+ Influencers Redefining The Culture
The Black LGBTQIA+ community has always been at the center of innovation. Despite being a marginalized group, their contributions to the culture run deep AF. Through fashion, beauty, lifestyle content, or music, the LGBTQIA+ creatives have transformed industries, challenged norms, and created space for authenticity to thrive. Today's gender-fluid fashion trends can be traced back to the ballroom scenes of Harlem, where Black and Latinx queer communities birthed and nurtured the art of the runway. Black LGBTQIA+ influencers like Jari Jones, Dexrated, and Aariana Rose Philip are now reshaping what representation looks like in high fashion. With campaigns for brands like Calvin Klein, Moschino, and Savage X Fenty, they're proving that queerness, Blackness, and style are not mutually exclusive—they are inseparable forces of brilliance. 12 Black LGBTQIA+ Influencers Source: Kristina Bumphrey / Getty In the world of beauty, Black LGBTQIA+ influencers are redefining standards and rejecting Eurocentric ideals. Creatives like Pradaolic (Myla), Ellesse Char, and Ericka Hart use their platforms to blend bold aesthetics with powerful messaging about body autonomy, race, gender, and healing. Their approach to beauty is not about perfection—it's about power, freedom, and radical self-love. From graphic liners to bald heads, glitter beards to no makeup at all, their choices are a reclamation of identity in a world that often tells them to shrink. Whether through home design, wellness practices, or entrepreneurship, Black queer and trans individuals are curating lifestyles that center authenticity, pleasure, and joy. They are living life loud and free. Figures like Jessamyn Stanley are creating space for fat, Black, queer bodies in the wellness industry, while voices like Jade Fox are reclaiming queer Black femininity in entrepreneurship. Their influence extends beyond aesthetics—it's about creating lives that reflect who they are, unfiltered, unafraid, and unapologetic. Music has ALWAYS been connected to Black liberation, Black resistance, and Black resilience. Within the LGBTQIA+ community, music holds that same power. From the soulful truth-telling of Kehlani, to the bass-heavy confidence of Saucy Santana, to the genre-blending poetry of Shea Diamond, Black LGBTQIA+ musicians are amplifying voices that have long existed in the margins. Their music challenges the binary, celebrates the erotic, and invites listeners into a space where identity is fluid and expression is infinite. Whether behind the mic or producing behind the scenes, their fingerprints are on every beat of modern sound. In a society that often tries to box in both Blackness and queerness, these individuals break the mold. They remind us that Black queer expression is sacred, it is necessary, and it is revolutionary. By living fully and publicly, they make it possible for others to do the same. Their work is not just style, sound, or vibe—it's survival, it's healing, and it's legacy. Black LGBTQIA+ creators are not a trend. They are architects of culture. It's time we do more than include them during Pride Month or Black History Month. Their contributions deserve permanent platforms, ongoing investment, and genuine respect. Let this not be a moment. Let it be a movement. Black And Proud: 12 LGBTQIA+ Influencers Redefining The Culture was originally published on A Black, disabled, trans model making waves in high fashion. She's been featured in campaigns for Moschino, Sephora, and more—redefining beauty norms. Black trans femme model, actress, and creative director. She made history as the first Black trans woman to produce a film at Cannes. Her style is bold, glamorous, and intentional. Writer, activist, and former editor of Out Magazine. Her fashion moments serve sharp suits, elegant gowns, and powerful presence—both on and off the page. Queer, non-binary Black femme. A breast cancer survivor, educator, and style activist. Their fashion is political, body-positive, and bold as hell. UK-based Black queer makeup artist known for her graphic liners and Afro-futurist aesthetics. Her style is avant-garde and emotionally resonant. A queer beauty influencer fusing mental health, makeup, and queer culture. Expect intricate eyeliner looks, bold color palettes, and vulnerable storytelling. Plus-size queer model who's been featured in Savage X Fenty. His style challenges fatphobia in fashion, blending streetwear, runway glam, and soft sensuality. Actor, comedian, and fashion girlie. Rickey's high-energy videos paired with gender-fluid fashion make his IG a must-follow. Fashion content creator and entrepreneur. Known for his fashion commentary, fierce fits, and designs from his own brand. Queer fat femme yoga instructor, writer, and advocate. Her athleisure fits, affirming captions, and vulnerability are a breath of fresh air in both wellness and fashion. Fashion journalist and stylish storyteller who documents queer Black fashion, past and present, with clarity and cultural reverence. Lesbian creative who uses her voice and platform to reimagine fashion and content through a queer, Black lens. Founder of Hillfox Club.
Black America Web
20-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Black America Web
104: What An Angel Number Between Freedom And Fire Reveals About Black And Queer Survival
Source: David Espejo / Getty If you spend enough time around me, you'll hear me proudly say I was born and raised in North Omaha, Nebraska. To be Black in a place like Omaha is to wrestle for your identity. To craft your Blackness with care. You build it from scratch, from what's handed down and what's taken back. For me, that journey wasn't limited to my Blackness. It was the same when it came to queerness and to my identity as a Black trans woman. But here's the trick: society made queerness seem more accessible. Nobody told me the fine print came stamped in whiteness. That so much of queerness—as it's marketed and magnified—was filtered through white supremacy. That embracing that version of queerness could, in fact, dull the brilliance of my Black joy. I'll never forget the year when the Juneteenth Parade and the Pride Parade fell on the same day in my city. It was a crossroads. For many Black queer folks, there wasn't a question; they chose Juneteenth. I was there too, but that wasn't because I didn't love Pride. I had done my time. I'd been president of Pride, and built Youth Pride from the ground up. I had fought for Pride when it didn't fight for me. I had done the work of making space for my queerness. That day, I was finally making space for my Blackness. What I witnessed, though, was deeper. I saw younger queer folks—especially those partnered with non-Black people—being pulled between two identities that, in a just world, would never require a choice. That day didn't just symbolize a scheduling conflict. It symbolized the dailytightrope walk so many Black queer people perform in this country: to choose between being seen and being whole. Let's be honest; in many Black-centered institutions, queerness is welcome only when it plays small. To be embraced as queer, you often have to downplay what makes you different and keep your queerness at the bottom of your identity list. Because at the end of the day, you're Black first, right? Source: Olga Tsikarishvili / Getty But flip it. In most mainstream queer spaces, you're expected to check your Blackness at the door—unless that Blackness fits a stereotype or serves as a costume. Unless it entertains. Unless it's for consumption. So I need you to hear me when I say, it is not an accident that Juneteenth and Pride exist in the same month. It is not a coincidence that our most powerful Black changemakers were also queer. It is not by chance that the intersection of Blackness and queerness continues to be a birthplace for brilliance, resistance, and transformation. This is divine alignment. Now, I know I'm preaching to folks who feel me. But let me be clear: I write this not just for affirmation; I write this for the Black folks who don't see the world like I do. Not because your perception will limit my freedom, but because none of us are free if we believe we can get to the other side and leave our people behind. Especially the people who make us uncomfortable. Liberation isn't real if it's only for the versions of us that are palatable. White communities have spent the last 50 years mobilizing an agenda that has taken root in every corner of this country, and they didn't do it because they were all the same, or because they were all straight, or because they were all moral. They didn't do it because they agreed. They did it because they were all white. That was the only prerequisite. I'm not saying we should build coalitions based on scarcity and fear. Source: Michele Ursi / Getty I know that game. And I know the exhaustion it's bred in our communities. But we'd be foolish not to notice the power in what happens when people align, even amid difference. So let's look at what alignment has given us. On June 19, 1865, enslaved Black people in Texas were finally emancipated, triggering the birth of a freedom dream that gave us Michelle Obama on a float, Oprah commanding empires, Megan Thee Stallion reminding us we ain't got knees like we used to, and Brandy and Monica arguing over 'The Boy Is Mine.' It gave us Whitney. Mariah. Aretha. Patti. Jazmine. And 104 years later, on June 29, 1969, a Black Trans woman—Marsha P. Johnson—sparked a revolution at Stonewall that gave us TS Madison, the queen of media; Queen Latifah, a mogul and a mother; Laverne Cox, making Emmy history; Bayard Rustin, strategist to Dr. King; Nikki Giovanni, living her radical brilliance in real time; Miss Major, building a legacy of elder care for our community; Toni Bryce and Monroe Alise, reshaping television; A'Ziah 'Zola' King, whose Black girlhood became cinematic canon; and me—Dominique Morgan—who went from a prisonyard to walking down the street named after her in the same state. It was 104 years between June 19, 1865, the emancipation of the last enslaved Black people in Texas, and June 29, 1969, the night a Black Trans woman helped ignite a revolution at Stonewall. That gap isn't just historical. It's spiritual. In numerology, 104 is often seen as an Angel Number—a divine reminder to embrace change and align your actions with a higher purpose. It signals that transformation is not only possible; it's coming. It asks us to lean into discomfort with faith, to shift our mindset toward growth, and to recognize love as the connective tissue in our evolution. That's what alignment has always been — a form of divine choreography. We were always meant to be moving together—even when the rhythm was hard to hear. Source: Jackson State University / Getty You really wanna tell me we aren't aligned? Alignment doesn't mean we're the same. Alignment doesn't mean we never argue. Alignment doesn't mean it's easy. For me, alignment means that we are fighting harder to stay in tandem than we are eager to fall apart. That's the definition I want you to take from this piece. That's the call to action. That's the invitation. Because the world will give us 100 reasons to separate. They will whisper that your queerness disqualifies you. That your Blackness is too loud. That your transness is a liability. That your softness makes you weak. And all the while, they'll lie, steal, kill, and destroy, just to keep themselves aligned. As my Grandma Woodie used to say, 'Don't let the devil use you.' This Juneteenth, this Pride, I'm asking us to make a different choice. To honor our collective brilliance. To hold the line. To stay in tandem. To choose alignment—again and again and again. SEE ALSO: Pride Is Still Protest: World Pride in the Era of Trump 2.0 Kendrick Sampson's BLD PWR Teams Up With SisterSong And GBEF For Houston Juneteenth Event SEE ALSO 104: What An Angel Number Between Freedom And Fire Reveals About Black And Queer Survival was originally published on Black America Web Featured Video CLOSE
Axios
06-06-2025
- Business
- Axios
Scoop: Four employees out in shakeup at WURD Radio
At least four employees, including one of WURD Radio's top hosts, are being let go as part of what's described internally as a cost-cutting measure, Axios has learned. Why it matters: WURD is the only Black-owned radio station in Pennsylvania, and among only a handful nationwide. The station, founded by the late Walter P. Lomax Jr., broadcast live during last year's presidential campaign from the White House complex — a major get. Driving the news: The layoffs include "Reality Check" host Tonya Pendleton and her lead producer, Troy Wilmore. He had been with the station for 18 years. Pendleton, one of Philly's well-known radio personalities, has led "Reality Check" for the last two years. Content writer Kiara Santos and one other employee were also among those let go. The show won't continue to air, the station's general manager, Ashanti Martin tells Axios. She wouldn't say whether WURD would ever bring back the program. WURD CEO and president Sara Lomax-Reese, the late founder's daughter, wrote in a memo obtained by Axios that the layoffs were meant to "ensure the station's long-term survival." She praised the laid-off staffers' "meaningful contributions to our station, our community and our city." "This decision was not made lightly. As an independent media radio station, it is imperative that we maintain our ability to give Black Philadelphia a voice and a place to make their voices heard," she wrote. What they're saying: The WURD employees affected by the cuts either declined to comment or didn't immediately respond to Axios' request for comment. State of play: The media landscape is shifting, and competition for dwindling advertising revenue is fierce. WURD faced a setback earlier this year, when a conservative health care nonprofit filed a lawsuit alleging the station and one of its partners engaged in reverse racism when it launched a Black doctors directory to help connect people seeking care with physicians of color in the region. Martin tells Axios the cuts were unrelated to the lawsuit. The bottom line: Martin says the radio station is trying to find its footing while dealing with the "erasure of Blackness" from society. "I'm very confident we will survive and thrive," she says. "It's time like this that outlets like WURD are needed more than ever. We want to be around for another 22 years and another 22 after that."
