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Culture | Identity
Culture
The Double Standards Between Women And Men In Hip-hop
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By Sydney Taylor
The Hip-Hop industry continues to see an insurgence of Black women in rap in recent years. Rappers such as Lil’ Kim, Salt-N-Pepa, Missy Elliott, Nicki Minaj and more paved the way for multiple aspiring women artists. Now, the music industry is starting to take notice.
“I remember [ten] years ago, there was always this discussion about where the female rappers went and because I was involved in so many communities, I’m like, ‘They’re right here,’” Shalayah Washington, a Boston Hip-Hop artist known professionally as Red Shaydez, said in a Zoom Interview with The Intersectionalist. “In the mainstream...there was only like one or two. Now there are so many because the masses do like it.”
What was once considered a maledominated industry is slowly turning into a space for women to express themselves as artists. Within the last few years, women rappers have showcased their different styles and produced music that topped the Billboard Hot 100. For example, in May 2020, the remixes of “Say So” and “Savage” claimed the top two spots on the Billboard charts. rappers is partly owed to TikTok, which has popularized many songs written by Black women rappers, according to XXL Magazine.
At its original release in March, Megan Thee Stallion’s song “Savage” debuted at No. 98 on Billboard Hot 100. However, after TikToker Keara Wilson’s dance of “Savage” became popularized, Megan Thee Stallion’s song jumped to No. 20.
“Social media has created a scenario where people can choose what becomes popular and what does not and what rises to the top and what does not,” Ademir Monteiro, a junior at Emerson College and president of the Hip-Hop Society, said in a Zoom interview with The Intersectionalist. “You see a whole lot of artists from underrepresented groups starting to rise to prominence, [which] is a huge sign that the people who need to listen to their music are listening.”
However, despite this resurgence of popularity, the double standards of women rappers remain the same. While the Hip-Hop industry has been scrutinized as a whole for its vulgar lyrics and language, women rappers receive harsher criticism and are more sexualized than their male counterparts due to gender discrimination. Julissa Pinckney, a woman rapper known as MALiA The Model from Boston, said it is important to understand society’s gender discrimination and double standards because they are also pervasive in the Hip-Hop industry as well. However, despite the ongoing gender discrimination and misogyny in the music industry, she urges other women artists to keep going.
“You just need to just adapt,” Pinckney said in a Zoom interview with The Intersectionalist. “When you are an artist, you just have to have tough skin. If you believe in yourself, that’s all that matters.”
An example of this double standard is the criticism of sexual music from Black women rappers. In August 2020, Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion released WAP and faced severe backlash because of the sexual lyrics, according to All Things Considered on WYPR. While women rappers are scrutinized for embracing their sexualities, men rappers who make music about the same topics are deemed more “socially acceptable.”
Emerson College and vice president of the Hip-Hop Society, said in a Zoom interview with The Intersectionalist. “I think that’s a really frustrating double standard that like the extremities of emotion are limited to gender, as opposed to, you know, just what you’ve experienced or how you feel.”
Rappers such as Lil’ Kim and Nicki Minaj have sexualized themselves to reclaim the objectification and sexualization imposed on them from other male rappers, according to Paper Magazine. However, Lil’ Kim and Nicki Minaj are even further scrutinized for showing confidence in their sexualities, even though men rappers and the media hypersexualize women regardless of the image they present.
“Men want women to be this specific thing, and when they are not that thing, they get rejected, or the women are told that they’re trash or their music is not good. But, in reality, they can, a lot of the time, rap better than a lot of men,” Monteiro said.
Monterio said this hypersexualization of Black women rappers has hindered many from exploring other subgenres of Hip-Hop. He said the HipHop industry wants women to be sexual but not talk about sex in a way that empowers them. Audiences cannot see past the fact that these women artists are branching out into avenues in which they are not used to seeing women explore.
To break away from these molds, artist Leikeli47 said she uses bandanas as face covers during her performance. Not only does it help her overcome her stage fright, but it also ensures the focus on her music instead of her appearance.
“We all know that I wear the mask to keep the focus strictly and directly on the art,” Leikeli47 said in an interview with Complex Magazine. For Leikeli47, she believes if anyone is still focusing on her mask instead of her art, they are missing the point.
Jalyse Ware, a woman rapper from Roxbury, known under her stage name Cakeswagg, said it’s important to support Black women in Hip Hop in their fight against gender discrimination. She said to stop comparing women rappers to one another and using the phrase “for a woman” when describing their accomplishments because it diminishes the value of the work. She also said supporting can mean attending their concerts, buying their merchandise and holding women rappers to the same standards as their male counterparts.
“We can all be great artists, be completely different, and it’s not a scale of who’s better or who’s worse,” Ware said in a Zoom Interview with The Intersectionalist. “We can be our different selves and still all be great.”
Pinckney said women rappers continue to uplift several women artists and showcase women empowerment to their fans. She said society wants women to be careful with their words in order to please others and fit within certain standards. But in 2021, women artists need to please no one but themselves. “We are coming together, joining forces, and that’s what’s really making a difference,” Pinckney said. “They want us to fight, but we don’t want to do Graphic by Christine Park that. We want to come together and make dope Despite the gender discriminations and double standards in the Hip-Hop industry, women artists continue to push the envelope and showcase their individuality with their music. music.”
The Intersectionalist The History, Culture and Tradition of Soul Food
By Jordan Owens
Juicy collard greens, baked macaroni and cheese, sweetened candy yams and crispy fried chicken are just a few dishes that make up soul food cuisine, a significant aspect of African American’s culture, history and tradition.
Soul food was created in the southern region of the United States during slavery when enslaved African Americans would have to use what little food they were given to make meals for themselves, according to First We Feast. They would combine the poor quality and non nutritional foods with the knowledge of traditional African recipes. It was through celebrations of Emancipation and Christianity that the cuisine became popular amongst African Americans. Though there is a limited history of soul food in other regions besides the American South — caused by the Great Migration — soul food spread to northern cities like Boston beginning in the 1930s. One of the first known soul food restaurants in Boston is Bob the Chef’s, which is now named Darryl’s Corner Bar and Kitchen. It wasn’t until the Civil Rights Movement when Black empowerment was at a peak that soul food was coined by activist and poet Amiri Baraka in 1962, according to The Spruce Eats. The term “soul food” came at a time when the word “soul” was pertaining to anything that described Black culture.
Within Boston, there are a few soul food restaurants that uphold this tradition: The Coast Cafe, located in Cambridge, and Slade’s Bar & Grill, located in the South End.
“I think a lot of folks that come in want just to get something good that you can depend on,” Britney Kyle Papile, owner of Slade’s Bar & Grill, said in a phone interview with The Intersectionalist. “You know [food] that reminds you of your grandmother, whether they're with you or not.”
Anthony Brooks, the co-owner of The Coast Cafe, said the definition of soul food is cooking from your soul. And, soul food restaurants are a reminder of home, family and the meals one grew up eating, he said.
Slade’s Bar & Grill was established in 1935 by Mr. Slade, and it has been a prime spot for the African American community in Boston for over 80 years.
Papile said Slade’s is a safe space for not only African Americans but also for the Black and Brown community in Boston. The restaurant hosts multicultural events such as comedy night, jazz night, Caribbean nights and step shows to embrace diversity within the Black community.
“I would like everyone that comes into Slade’s to step out feeling loved,” Papile said.
For people in Cambridge, The Coast Cafe is the go-to place for soul food. The Coast Cafe was established in 1999 by Brooks and his sister Julie because of their shared love for cooking and their realization that there are few soul food places in Cambridge.
Brooks said The Coast Cafe’s food connects the entire Black community in Boston. He explained that when Black people dine at the restaurant, they experience feelings of nostalgia and reminisce about home-cooked foods they grew up eating.
“I think it touches everyone,” Brooks said in a phone interview with The Intersectionalist. “It’s not the same exact [taste] cause everyone has a little different flavor, but it's close enough where people love it and enjoy it. They definitely can feel that it's cooked from the heart.” Collard greens and fried chicken are two iconic soul food dishes featured on The Coast Cafe’s menu. Instead of the traditional fried chicken and collard greens recipe, the cooks at The Coast Cafe put their own twist into it. For example, Brooks said The Coast Cafe cooks all of their fried food in corn oil, whic h makes the food cholesterol and trans fat-free. They also include smoked turkey instead of pork for the collard greens, a healthier alternative.
These techniques are part of a nowpopular version of soul food called “vegan soul food,” according to an article in Epicurious. While still keeping aspects of traditional soul food, today restaurants like The Coast Cafe are trying to highlight the healthier side of the cuisine. “Even though we're soul food, we try to be as healthy as possible,” Brooks said. “So, I think it does represent healthy, good homecooked comfort food.”
Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, small businesses such as The Coast Cafe are trying to survive. Since March, this soul food restaurant has changed from full-time to parttime by cutting back on the number of days and hours that they are open. Additionally, Brooks said the pandemic required the cafe to take out a small loan.
Though this pandemic has changed how many people live their daily lives, soul food restaurants are able to maintain one sense of the past by serving quality food.
“We're trying to give people the great food that we're serving here,” Brooks said. “Hopefully that, you know, brings a little bit of comfort during these [wild] times.”
Soul food has provided the Black community an essential part of their culture, and it has united African Americans across the country since before the Civil Rights Movement. Soul food restaurants like The Coast Cafe and Slade’s Bar & Grill continue to hold a safe space for all Black people and embrace the tradition and culture of African Americans in the United States.
“We are really, really grateful for the community and the support of all our customers because without them, we wouldn't have made it through this,” Brooks said.
Afro-Latine Students Speak Up About The AntiBlackness Within The Latine Culture At Emerson
By Emily Cardona
Now more than ever, the concept of the Latine identity is being deconstructed and rejected within the Latine community due to its racist, colorist and exclusionary history of Black and Indigenous cultures.
Afro-Latine people are demanding acknowledgment through the social media hashtag #Latindadiscanceled due to the anti-Black and anti-Indigenous erasure they experienced from the Latinidad identity. This pushback has created spaces for Afro-Latine students at Emerson to speak out against the antiBlackness in white Latine groups.
“I used to view Latindad as a moniker for shared histories and cultures, however, it’s important to recognize that it is also deeply embedded with antiBlackness, sexism and denial,” Brittany Adames, a self-identified Dominican-American and 2020 graduate from Emerson College, said in an interview with The Intersectionalist.
The blunt anti-Blackness that circulates within the culture creates a white-centric representation of what it means to be Latin American, ultimately making it challenging for Afro-Latine people to embrace their races that coexist within their ethnic identity.
Sophomore Amuary Basora, a first-generation DominicanAmerican Afro-Latino who grew up in a Dominican enclave in New York City, said he struggled with accepting his Blackness. “I can be both Black and Latino because I always feel like I can't be both. They don't coexist. People don't talk about being Black and proud. In Dominican culture, if anything, we shut down our Blackness,” Basora said in a Zoom interview with The Intersectionalist. “If I say that in race I'm Black, I feel like I'm denying the Latino, or if I'm saying I'm Latino, I feel like I'm denying the Black. I can't be both.”
Freshman Beyoncé Martinez, who also identifies as Black and Dominican, came to Emerson from high Black and Latine populated areas. Immediately once they arrived on campus, they noticed the cultural differences.
“I live in South Boston, where there are people who look like me,
Graphic by Ricki Kalayci
Afro-Latine people have been erased from the imagination of what it means to be Latine but now more than ever the Latine identity is being challenged due to its racist history.
and then I come to a university where the majority of students are white. It's a very big culture shock,” Martinez said during a Zoom interview with The Intersectionalist. “There would just be a lot of microaggressions in conversations about race and the Black Lives Matter movement. I felt uncomfortable, and I didn't feel as if I would be able to fit in at Emerson.” Martinez, Adames and Basora all had similar understandings of the anti-Blackness embedded in the Latine community. Internal racism continuously makes it difficult for individuals to come to terms with their Afro and Black identities.
“A lot of Dominicans say they don't have any African heritage or ancestry and that they're not Black,” Martinez said. “I think that the reason why a lot of Dominicans specifically struggle with acknowledging their race is because Black was painted as ugly and being Black was a bad thing.” Prior to arriving at Emerson in fall 2018, junior Melanie Shepard, who now self-identifies as Latina and African American, struggled with coming to terms with her AfroLatina identity.
“I wasn't ever dismissive of my [Hispanic] side, I guess it was because of my emotional aspect of losing my mother when I was 18 months old,” she said during a Zoom interview with The Intersectionalist. “But the [Latine community] thinks that there’s only one certain look to being Latina, which is not my skin color and not my features, and with the fact that I
don’t know Spanish makes it harder.”
On top of systemic racial oppression, predominantly white institutions like Emerson College bring many social barriers for Black, Indigenous and students of color to be able to create friendships and have healthy social lives. Afro-Latine students at the college have expressed their frustrations with the lack of acceptance in Latine spaces, which contributes to the overall struggle in navigating through a PWI.
“I don’t feel welcomed in my Latinx community nor the Emerson [Latinx] community,” senior Naomi Jones said in an interview with The Internationalist.
For Jones, the Latine organizations on campus have very exclusionary behavior toward Afro-Latine people and non-Spanish speaking Latine people.
“Within the community, I have had a mix of experiences because I could speak Spanish. I always knew when people were talking bad about me and when they didn’t feel I belonged there,” she said. “I met a close friend who was higher up in the Latinx organization on campus, and when she discovered I could speak and communicate back to her in Spanish or Spanglish, she welcomed me into the organization.”
Adames said she also noticed the white centrism and experienced anti-Blackness within the Latine organizations on campus.
“When I tried to join Amigos and Raíz at Emerson, it felt exclusive largely in part due to many Latinx students’ statuses as upper-class and white,” she said. “The more proximity you had to whiteness, the more attention they would pay to you. I had never been exposed to the multitudes of this, so it came as a sudden shock.”
The Afro-Latine students at Emerson gravitated toward Black cultural organizations on campus rather than the Latine organizations because they were more accepted in the Black communities. On Emerson’s campus, the antiBlackness that is embedded within the Latine organizations is being called out, and white Latine students are being continuously challenged for their contributions to the oppression of other Afro-Latine people.
Even though there is anti-Blackness, colorism and racism in the Latine culture, Basora said Afro-Latine people should find pride in their roots and culture. He said AfroLatine people need to unlearn that being Black is not a negative thing.
“It took those low points of not really knowing my identity to immerse myself more with the Hispanic community,” he said.
“I feel like I'm not judged by the Black community. I feel in terms of Emerson, I'm more accepted by [the Black community],” Shepard said. “Whereas my personal experience with certain Latinx groups was just really a slap in the face.” “I’m really just proud of [my Hispanic heritage]. I delved in deeper, and I found that all of my traits that other people in the community can relate to are amazing.”
Identity
Am I Black Enough?
By Jordan Owens
In the fall of 2019, I was applying for colleges. And, anyone who has applied for college knows how stressful applications can be with the constant worrying about SAT scores, scholarship applications and acceptance or rejection letters. But for some Black students — myself included — most of this stress came from trying to decide whether to attend a historically Black university or a predominantly white institution. Growing up, I always took pride in that both of my parents were the first in their families to attend college. I saw firsthand how hard they worked to live their version of the American dream and become successful business owners. And, since part of their success came from going to historically Black colleges, I felt that it was one of the only options for me as well.
Additionally, I wanted to go to an HBCU because I felt that I had lost my identity as a Black woman after moving from a predominantly Black city in Georgia, Rex, to a majority white city, Peachtree City, in 2013.
I hated being one of few African Americans, let alone students of color, at my middle and high school. I was always questioned on my Blackness by others and grew insecure about my identity — I was seen as either too Black or not Black enough. Whenever I was ridiculed for speaking because I sounded “white,” I just didn’t want to speak at all. I hated having to deal with the racist remarks and microaggressions that were targeted toward me. There were too many times in classes where I had to stay quiet or not say what I wanted for the fear of being labeled as “the angry Black woman.” These experiences made me believe that going to a Black university would erase all my insecurities about my identity.
While my friends were a safety net, shielding me from the onslaught of racism, sometimes it felt like I did not have a place where I could safely express my feelings. These moments strengthened my desire to attend a historically Black college because I would no longer have to search for the community I longed for.
I wanted to go to a school where I did not feel instantly judged on the fact that I am Black, an environment where Black excellence in classes is not surprising but celebrated. This, along with my parents’ positive experiences at HBCUs, shaped my perspective. I believed attending an HBCU school was the ideal college experience. I saw something I could not miss out on, something I had waited too long for.
Initially, during the college application process, my mind was made up. I never planned on including PWIs in my college search until my parents decided that applying only to HBCUs was limiting my options for schools and where I could be in the future. So, I decided I would apply to one predominantly white institution for every historically Black college. I searched for top journalism schools and best overall universities, and after applying to my long list of 14 choices, Emerson College and Howard University were my two dream schools. started to get over being rejected.
I decided that my next choice was North Carolina A&T University. And, while I had gotten accepted to Emerson, it would still be second on my list because it is a PWI. For two months, I contemplated which school to attend, and at first, I
The email from Howard arrived on Dec. 14, 2019. And, once the notification popped up in my inbox, I immediately sensed I was rejected. Still, it was a surprise reading the rejection email. Reading the words, “We regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you admission to Howard University,” felt like a huge blow to my confidence because it reaffirmed my insecurity, this deep-seated fear that I was not Black enough. It took me some time to come to terms with not going to Howard, and it wasn’t until I started looking more into North Carolina A&T University and Emerson that I believed North Carolina A&T was the final decision until I visited Emerson last February.
Emerson College’s tour sold my decision — it was now my home for the next four years. And, the reasons for attending this predominantly white institution
were solely based on academics. For example, their journalism program was unlike other schools; it had more opportunities for working in the field and diverse class options. I saw what I could gain from Emerson and knew I had to choose it.
Emerson’s small Black community means the environment is challenging for Black and other students of color. Luckily, I found friends of color who understand the challenges of being a minority at a PWI. I also found white friends who, despite never knowing my struggles, support and help me through them. In addition to my friends of color, I discovered safe spaces for Black students with Emerson’s Black Organization With Natural Interest and Flawless Brown. There, I can express my emotions and not feel like I am an outsider or judged in any way.
I do not regret my decision to attend Emerson College. I am able to delve into my passion for journalism without stressing over prerequisite classes in topics that do not interest me. I’ve also grown as a person by expanding my knowledge on the inequities of other communities outside of my own.
I did not need to go to an HBCU like my parents to have a wellrounded college experience.
Only I can do that.
Deciding who is Black enough and who is not is absurd, a person’s self-worth is not determined by how they choose to live their life.
Graphic by Christine Park As Black women, we must take care of ourselves for if we don’t, the suffocating feeling we all know so well can engulf us.
By Eryn McCallum
When I first started therapy in late 2018, my therapist asked me how I took care of myself or what I did to make myself feel better. But, I didn’t have answers for her questions because I didn’t know myself outside of who I was told to be.
I always took care of other people, so I had never been concerned about myself.
It took a mental and emotional journey to understand that this way of thinking was unhealthy and, unfortunately, common. Black women constantly carry not only ourselves but other people as well, and we need to know that taking care of ourselves is essential to our health.
Self-care was once just a buzzword to me, something I would maybe get around to learning about one day. I had never really taken time to care for myself and figure out my own needs, but therapy taught me I wouldn’t live a fulfilling life unless I began caring for my mental health. So, I turned to reading articles, browsing Pinterest for ideas and buying cheap self-care books. Unfortunately, during this initial self-care journey, I realized there was no substance to the content I read. The articles repeatedly told me I had to buy so-and-so products or that everything would be okay if I just took a bath and paid for a Netflix subscription.
Self-care has been commodified in America. Companies are profiting off of selling self-care guides that do not acknowledge the complexities of Black mental health. Of course, Black women can indulge in selfcare by taking baths and binge watching TV.
We are expected to be everyone’s “mother,” a stereotype derived from slavery and the Jim Crow era that was meant to serve as proof that Black women were content being enslaved and taken advantage of, according to Ferris State University’s Jim Crow Museum. We have been in the front lines at hospitals during the pandemic and working ourselves to death to serve a country that does not serve us. Self-care is important, because the world can easily suffocate us through discrimination and disrespect.
But, for Black women, self-care is often viewed as an option, a check off of a mental to-do list, instead of a necessity for our mental and emotional well-being.
It doesn’t help that the Black community has historically repressed mental health, making it harder for us to understand the importance of taking care of ourselves. According to the McLean Hospital, the mental health stigma in the Black community can be traced back to slavery. White
people believed enslaved people weren’t sophisticated enough to develop mental health disorders, so they were taught to ignore mental health issues and refer to them with euphemisms, such as just being stressed or tired.
I did not fully understand the repression of Black mental health until I interned for the African American Policy Forum’s Young Scholars Program in the summer of 2020. Every day, we began with check-ins, where we had the opportunity to talk about our emotional states and what we were doing to take care of ourselves physically, mentally or spiritually. This was something I had never done before, and it led me to discover the importance of taking care of myself every single day. And by doing so, I could also be there for the Black women in my life, pouring from my cup into theirs.
In September 2020, I started Black Girl Mentality, a blog dedicated to exploring self care resources aimed at Black women and what I learned from studying those resources and their creators. Blogging helped me understand there’s a whole community out there specifically catering to Black women’s holistic well-being.
Black Girl Mentality reinforced that I am allowed to take time out of my day for myself, and to do so is a way of teaching myself that I am worthy of the love I give to others.
So for me, self care looks like a few things: it includes drawing and coloring mythical beings as Black women, listening to music (mainly R&B) from my childhood to connect with my inner child, reading memoirs by Black women, meditating and journaling.
As I explore these activities and practices, I learn more about myself and continue to add to the list of things that bring me pleasure. However, just because self-care looks a specific way for me doesn’t mean that it will look the same for all Black women.
To feel safe within my own skin has not been easy for me. This feeling of safety is still difficult to achieve, but I recognize that moments where I truly feel happy are when I’ve prioritized myself. I’ve learned I cannot be there for other people or be present in my work when I’m not there for myself.
As Black women, people will try to take advantage of us or treat us as less than, but it’s time to tap into our power and direct our love and positive energy into ourselves. Many of us are so much more than we give ourselves credit for, and we deserve to look in the mirror every morning and feel genuine love and adoration for the beautiful being we see.
My value is not equal to the amount of work I do or how much I sacrifice myself for others. My value is already undebatable. I exist, therefore, I am of value.
What Black History Month Means to The Intersectionalist Staff
Mel:
To me, there is ‘no’ Black History Month. Every day, every moment, every second is Black history. I am always Black, and that identity — culture and history — doesn’t disappear March 1. So, every February, I do what I always do: uplight, highlight and share Black stories. Our voices are important every month, so I urge every non-Black person to keep this Black History Month energy and apply it at every waking moment. That, to me, is what Black History Month means: always supporting, advocating, learning, listening,and loving Black people.
Eryn:
Black History Month is every month for me. I constantly am exploring Blackness, whether that be through conducting interviews for stories, expressing gratitude for my ancestors and all their friends and loved ones, or learning about my people through books and videos. Black History Month in February is when I see a lot more non-Black people reminding one another of the pure beauty and creativity that is the Black community. This month serves a reminder to me to keep doing what I’m doing year-round, because it’s what is right. Uplifting Black people all the time is the right thing to do. Advocating for Black people does not stop on Feb. 28.
Jilly:
To me, Black history, Black art, Black culture, Black love, and Black beauty is everything. So Black History Month holds a special place in my heart. I show love for Black people year-round, because that’s what I love to do, and so when it comes to Black History Month, it means finding new and innovative ways to uplift my community.
Ziqi:
As an international student coming from a monoethnic country, I only started to see myself as a part of the POC community after three years of studying in the U.S. To me, the Black community made me feel welcomed, and I can finally connect with people through some of our shared experiences. Black History Month for me is a time to learn from Black people and to educate myself so I can be an ally. Through their journey, I hope someday I can find my own path through the world.
Emily: History Month means a time to reflect and further educate yourself about the history and culture of all Black people around the globe. White folx should always be amplifying Black voices in all months of the year, but during Black History Month, we as white people need to step back, listen, and learn from the voices of the Black community.
Eliana:
Black History Month is a chance to honor the Black community but also educate other communities about the struggles and joy the Black community has faced over the years. It is, as well, pivotal to point out that Black history is something that should constantly be taught in American education. This month should be about learning how to be a proper ally to the Black community.
Shruti:
To me, Black History Month means reflecting on and appreciating the wonderful and resilient Black women, Black disabled women and Black transgender women who have paved the way and fought for my own rights as well as the rights of communites that I am not a part of. Although the Black community should be celebrated,
respected, and appreciated yearround, Black History Month — especially as a non-Black ally — means finding ways to amplify intersectional voices within the Black community, and reflecting, listening and learning from the work and art that they create.
Tivara:
As an international student and woman of color who only recently arrived in the U.S. to study, understanding and seeing the many impacts that the Black community has had in the country is simply eye-opening. Black History Month, and any other month for that matter, is a time to truly acknowledge these voices and identities that have paved the way for many milestones throughout history. It’s a time to celebrate the Black community.
Charlotte:
As a non-Black woman of color, Black History Month means for me to step back and allow for Black people of color the opportunity to share their stories. What I can do is to amplify those voices and use the platforms that I am a part of to make those stories heard on their terms. It’s a way of bringing light to intersectional issues involving Black history, and how they’re applicable today more than ever. It’s also a time to remind non-Black folks that these stories should garner attention all year-round and to not let them slip away unheard or unappreciated.
Sonali:
To me, Black History Month means to celebrate the Black community and all of the things that they have contributed to our society. It is also about bringing attention to the severe injustices that the community still faces in this country and standing up to a racist police force and a prison system that profits off of their bodies. It is about calling those around us to action and holding our country accountable for its past. Black History Month is about lifting up and protecting Black voices and making it apparent that they are loved and valued. As an ally, this month is also a time to reflect on the ways I can do better — not just this one month, but every month and day, 365 days a year.
Liza:
The very existence of Black history month to me, and no matter where I physically reside, will always be a time to remind me of who I am, what my position is in the society and how I should move forward in this ongoing fight for racial justice. It will always be a time for me to learn more about the culture, the history of African Americans. And perhaps, a time to educate those around me (since I’ve been home for almost a year now and have only been around raciallyinsensitive Asians) and listen to their opinions. Debate with them when I should and also evaluate how valid their opinions are coming from their different cultural backgrounds.
Ricki:
Black History Month is important to me because as a white person I must understand and learn Black history. Acknowledging the progress and seeing the pain. To remember, advocate and celebrate Black people and showcase their artwork, voices and businesses.
Christine:
Black History Month is an opportunity for us to continue educating ourselves on Black history, and how we can be better allies for our Black companions. It’s an opportunity for us to grow, to listen and to continue raising our voices.
