Black women didn’t save this democracy for you and we don’t need your “Thank Yous.” We need you to follow the example that Black women have set for more than the last 200 years: Roll up your sleeves and get to work. Here’s a few concrete places where you can start.
From actual hexes to binding spells, witchcraft has a long tradition in the fight to dismantle white supremacy. A new generation of Black witches are taking part in the resistance using ancestral practices, ideologies, and modern technology.
To be Black in this world is to be intimate with a kind of living death. It’s an intimacy no one craves, and yet Black people know better than most that Audre Lorde speaks truth to power when she says “we were never meant to survive.”
When it comes to Buddhism and cultural appropriation, I still sometimes worry that I’m making a big deal out of nothing, that I’m angry for no good reason.
The first time I encountered a book with queer characters must have been James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room. At the time I remember feeling afraid of its intensity. Now it’s one of my most returned-to books along with Lydia Davis’ The End of the Story.
Made me want to / and I did tap / that ass / many times / made it mine.
The “Ma Rainey” Trailer Drop is THEE most important Black queer pop culture news this week, and I’ve broken down 5 reasons why… then I shall be proceeding directly to my fainting couch.
Growing up, I felt I wasn’t enough. Not white enough. Not Latina enough. I’ve tried to look to my mother’s story as my own missing piece. I’ve made her story into a key that will unlock a feeling of place and belonging. As a writer, I look to stories to guide me.
At my Catholic all-girls middle school, I liked to tell people I was Buddhist. It was my feeble attempt at preteen rebellion. I enjoyed interjecting, “Oh yeah? Well, I don’t believe Jesus was real because I’m Buddhist!”
I grew up in a conservative family so I never really knew the words to describe who I was but when I saw Walter Mercado in his finery and elegance, I knew I was like him.
In Ifa, a Yoruba-based religion, we believe that when we die, we are reincarnated into our same family lineage. I’ve imagined all the ways in which it would be possible that my grandmother was once my sister, or my aunt, a friend in a past life or even a version of me. We depended on each other in so many ways.
We’re always coming out. As an: anime fanatic, manga-collecting Pokémon plushie hoarder; as a giddy, youthful ray of sunshine and not just the dense, American Dream-deprived immigrant, prompted over-thinker — I realize I am more than any of these individual rooms at all times.
Every time I crossed paths with Monica Roberts, I was always surprised by how tight she held me as we hugged — Now, so many young Black trans people can look to her as an ancestor. Every trans journalist is indebted to the space Monica has carved out for us. Every trans person owes her a great deal for forcing the world to see us in our unmistakable worth.
First I became a cloud-woman. Min had always liked watching them as a child, one of her only good memories from that period. I lifted up my skirts, let her lap up my water. Her mouth was covered in dew when I kissed her.
In the U.S., mass graves have been uncovered as developers unearth land for future projects. People claim we are experiencing the pandemic collectively — but economically, politically, and geographically, we are not. Look where we get buried. Look at who gets buried.
This Latinx Heritage Month, I’m calling for non-Black Latinxs to reflect on the ways in which we’re aiding white supremacy and how we can instead be accomplices for the liberation of Black people.
I am safe nowhere, the Black women in my family of origin and family of choice are safe nowhere. It’s a fact we’ve known but one that feels all the more threatening in the wake of continuing violent injustice for Black women.
Seeing as the modern police force is an evolution of slave catchers, for a film trying to make a point about how the horrors of the past still exist in the present — it comes across as both ahistorical and like a serious misstep.
Zaina Arafat’s You Exist Too Much is the bi Arab romance novel l didn’t know I needed. We chat about the book, first-gen traumas, sexual ambiguity and Arab parents.
When I was younger and even admittedly sometimes now, I excused the lack of representation on the screen. Last weekend I attended the Black Femme Supremacy Film Fest and got to spend the entire time looking at fully realized, multiple versions of myself on my television. You can do that too, this weekend!
Our thighs slapped against the tarp as we threw each other across the floor. Our eyes and ears were painted in mud like two casts of the human form. The thing that pulled me into the ring that night was desire itself.