Author

Samantha Talbot

I Got This Sh*t From Tina: Lessons From Mama Knowles

by Mariah Yonique Strawder & Samantha Talbot 06/26/2026

written by Mariah Yonique Strawder & Samantha Talbot

On May 18th, 2026, Black365 hosted their second speaker series at UCLA. In collaboration with the Afrikan Womxn’s Collective at UCLA and American Pride Rises, Black365 brought businesswoman, fashion designer, art collector, and activist, Tina Knowles. We also can’t forget that she is the mother of two musical icons: Beyonce and Solange. The Tina Knowles event was a conversation centering on personal evolution, overcoming generational challenges, and uncovering the strength within our roots. Tina shared how she repeatedly reinvented her career by refusing to let fear, regional stereotypes, or societal expectations restrict her potential. To navigate these hurdles, she highlighted the importance of breaking generational curses of passive humility, learning instead to celebrate personal achievements and recognize one’s value. Ultimately, she challenged the audience to banish self-limitation, embrace their heritage, and step forward as assets to any room they enter.

Before recapping the event, Nommo would especially like to thank American Pride Rises for helping Black365 fund this event. Black365 Founder and Defending Our Dreams Fellow, Runor Pinnock, on APR and their support: “They were the ones that helped to fund this beautiful event, American Pride Rises was founded to help preserve diversity, equity, and inclusion across college campuses. With that, Black365 is meant to highlight Black history and culture year-round. This event is basically us standing our ground and saying that we’re not going anywhere. We’re Black and we’re proud, and we deserve to have our stories heard year-round, and that’s the community footprint we want this institution to remember us by.”

There was so much to learn from Mama Knowles. There were a few lessons that stood out which every Black woman should know. Nommo would like to call them Tina’s 3 B’s.

First, Be Kind

In discussing the strict curation of her inner circle, Mama Knowles kept her policy clear by saying that absolutely “no haters allowed” in her circle. She said everyone should look for friends who lift you up and lift everybody else up because “It doesn’t cost anything to be kind or lift someone up. If you will just find it in your heart to lift somebody up every single day, even if it’s just a small thing, it makes your day as well as theirs.” This is exactly how she raised her own successful family while working for years in the busy entertainment industry. For the students in the audience, it was a great reminder to stay away from negative people and protect their peace of mind. She encouraged everyone to look at their friend group as a supportive team where everyone helps each other out. In the end, her message showed that you can only truly succeed when you have a good inner circle standing right behind you.

Second, Be Authentic

On the topic of navigating predominantly white spaces while remaining unapologetically Black, Mama Knowles responded by saying she learned at a very young age the importance of being authentically herself no matter what room she is in. This is something that she has worked hard on teaching her daughters, grandchildren, and youth that she mentors. Mama Knowles says that Black people are a special people and should recognize that it is a blessing. She tells the audience that you bring value to any room by being yourself, “You don’t need to code-switch and be somebody else. Be authentically yourself. I promise you that when you have the confidence to be yourself, everybody else likes you, too.” Her powerful words filled the room with an immediate sense of pride and confidence. Walking into spaces where you’re the only one who looks like you can be intimidating, but Mama Knowles made it feel like a superpower instead of a disadvantage. She wanted the students to understand that trying to fit into someone else’s box only dilutes what makes them unique. By sharing this, she gave everyone in the room permission to take up space and be incredibly proud of exactly who they are.

Third, Be Proud

When asked what honoring and preserving her family’s legacy means to her, Mama Knowles told the audience that preserving history and lineage is everything. She reminded the audience that our name is our biggest gift and it sets us apart from everyone on this earth. Additionally, she encourages everyone, if they can, to put their investigator hats on and try to find out where they come from, especially Black folk. Just knowing this information can make you feel proud of who you are and where your ancestors came from. Knowing that her grandmothers and great-grandmothers were enslaved and somehow managed to free their children from that same destiny has given her an immense amount of pride. Mama Knowles tells the audience that “You should be proud of your heritage and learn about your ancestors.Go and research your history, know your story, and pass it on to your kids.” Her passion for family history was obvious, and you could tell how much her ancestors’ strength still inspires her today. She made it clear that if we don’t take the time to look into our roots, those precious family stories can easily be lost over time. For the students listening, it felt like a call to become the keepers of their own family legacies. Ultimately, her message was a beautiful reminder that truly knowing where you come from is the best way to ground yourself as you move forward in life.

As we reflect on the Black365 & Afrikan Womxn’s Collective event with Mama Knowles, the knowledge gained, and the lessons learned, NOMMO spoke with Afrikan Womxn’s Collective President and event attendee Addison Perry who shared how Tina’s 3 B’s help shape her understanding of power and Black womanhood.

Addison: The “three B’s” Ms. Knowles shared helped me further reflect on the way I think about what power even looks like for Black women. She did not define it through how well you can fit into a room or how much you can adapt yourself for other people’s comfort, she defined it through how firmly you know yourself. The first principle, “Be Authentic”, hit because oftentimes we are constantly expected to code-switch just to be taken seriously. She made it clear that showing up as yourself is not a risk, it is actually where your power lives. “Be Proud” took that further by connecting identity to ancestry, and highlighting the importance of knowing where you come from.There is something grounding about being reminded that the strength we carry did not start with us. “Be Kind” was the principle that resonated with me most because kindness is essential not only for having power but also for finding peace and support. She framed kindness not as something passive, but as an active choice to uplift others. I think that message was really important given how often Black women are placed in environments that encourage competition rather than support. She emphasized the importance of surrounding yourself with people who genuinely want to see you succeed, and that kind of community is a powerful form of strength in itself. All three principles together paint a picture of Black womanhood that is rooted, proud, and community-oriented rather than performative. It made me reflect on how I show up in spaces and whether I am leading with those same values. Ms. Knowles made it feel less like advice and more like a reminder of something we all already know deep down.

Nommo talked with Black 365 founder Runor Pinnock about her organization’s growing success and what’s next.

Black365 is growing rapidly, and a board has been established. How is it having a team that is passionate about the org’s mission of celebrating Black history and culture all year round?

Runor: There are truly no words to express the pride and joy I have in my E-board. A team like this is rare to find where it truly feels like we’re a family. The six of them are the embodiment of my visions materialized, and I affectionately call them my “E-Board babies” because of how protective and invested I am in their personal growth. They came into Black365 eager to start in April and were able to execute two entire events in a little over a month. The passion and commitment they displayed throughout was so beautiful to witness because I learned as much from them as I hoped they did from me and our experiences together. I’m quoting one of my E-Board members, Julia Perry, who described her ideal experience as one with a balance of “joy and professionalism”, which we managed to do. I never could have imagined others being as passionate about black storytelling as I am, but now that I know they exist, I intend to do everything I can to continue setting an example.

The 3 events Black365 has hosted have been amazing and packed with attendees. What does this mean for you? Why is cultivating this space important?

Runor: I still get emotional every time I see people interact with us. Though I founded this organization, it is not mine alone; it is for everyone- the attendees, supporters, partners, the casual spectator! Black365 would not exist without any of them. Hearing the positive feedback and the excitement that every event garners is so magical because this is what I intended. I always wanted those who feel as though they may not fit within UCLA’s status quo or underrepresented in their stories to feel seen when they step into something we host.

What do you hope for the future of Black365 as you plan to graduate next year?

Runor: In the essence of its name, Black365 is meant to exist beyond me. I emphasize to my board and in conversations surrounding the organization that I never intended for this to simply start and die with me once I graduate. I am aiming to lay a foundation for future Black Bruins to take up and cultivate these spaces into more than anything I could have envisioned. If nothing else, Black365 is an enduring legacy that always represents the continuity of black culture and history.

We also talked with Black365 inaugural Co-Director of Social Media & Marketing Nazyrah Otubuah about what it’s been like working with Black365 so far and what she hopes for the future.

Nazyrah: Black365’s goal to highlight Black stories means a lot to me as someone whose story often goes unheard a lot of the time. In an age where a lot of Black stories are either censored or simply ignored, it’s vital that we hear them at a place like UCLA, a PWI. Black365 believes that creating community is essential and I really align with that, which is one of the main reasons I joined. For me, being on Black 365’s E-Board has been one of my most fulfilling college experiences so far. It’s been a pleasure getting to know such fun, passionate, and dedicated individuals who show up every week and put their best foot forward no matter the challenges presented against us. Working with them has been nothing but wonderful, full of support and collaboration, where no idea is too big or too crazy because we’re willing to give it our all. I’ve grown in my career path as well as a person and it’s all thanks to these amazing people, and I’m excited to put on more fun events for everybody next year. My hopes for the future are to spread the mission of Black365 further than UCLA’s campus. Our mission to highlight all kinds of stories across the Afrikan diaspora is a really special one, and I want as many people as possible to be able to see themselves in our speakers and to take something that they could use in their everyday life. It’s truly inspiring seeing the community we’ve built and I want as many people as possible to be able to experience different kinds of Black excellence through our speaker series.

Black365 has been established for less than 6 months and has taken the Black Bruin community by storm, providing the community with engaging and insightful events from celebrity panels to hot topic discussion nights dissecting popular culture and societal issues.

Be sure to follow Black365 on social media and be on the lookout for more speaker series and events during the next year. @uclablack365 on Instagram and TikTok

06/26/2026 0 comments

Arts & Entertainment Black History Campus Culture Gender and Sexuality Lifestyle

Black Girl, Take Up Space: Lessons From JaNa Craig

by Mariah Yonique Strawder & Samantha Talbot 04/11/2026

written by Mariah Yonique Strawder & Samantha Talbot

Black women are so often told that they need to work twice as hard to get half as far as their non-black counterparts; unfortunately, this adage is proven true time and time again across everyday life, politics, and media. This is even true for reality television, notably dating shows, where Black women are overlooked, scrutinized, or forced into stereotypical labels that do not reflect them in the slightest. Take the infamous Love Island, where the Black female contestants are ignored by the male contestants, torn apart by the media, or often both. Despite this, the Black women of Love Island have repeatedly risen to the occasion, persevered against negative opinions and vitriol, built strong fan bases, and garnered national success. Love Island contestant JaNa Craig is one such woman who has become an inspiration to Black girls who are reaching for success, trying to fit into spaces that do not welcome them, or simply looking for love.

Black365 is an organization at UCLA that brings speakers to campus to highlight Black history and culture outside of Black History Month. On February 18th, 2026, Black365 hosted its first ever event. Black365 brought up JaNa Craig, one of Love Island USA’s biggest stars, to talk about shaping her narrative as a Black woman in media, her journey in business, and relationship advice.

Nommo Newsmagazine had the honor of talking to Black365 Founder and UCLA Student, Runor Pinnock, about why creating spaces like Black365 is important and the significance behind having JaNa Craig as one of the organization’s first speakers.

“In the midst of budget cuts aimed at defunding Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiatives and increasing attempts to suppress culturally significant aspects of our university, Black365 was created with the intention of filling in the gap I saw as a black transfer student. I wanted to ensure black students- especially those who struggle the most to acclimate to campus, like transfers and commuters- had a safe space to gather where there was no need to code-switch, dilute, or subdue themselves. Forming a space like Black365 where joy is built into its fabric- from the speaker down to the questions- must exist so students can feel supported wholly and be unashamed of their blackness. One of the most powerful tactics of resistance is joy, and having JaNa Craig as our first speaker, who personifies black joy, was so monumental.”

Though there was much to learn from JaNa Craig, there were a few standout lessons that every Black girl (and young adult figuring out their way in life) should hear.

Lesson 1: Make Sure Not to Fit In

When asked how she owns her narrative and identity as a Black woman in society, JaNa Craig expressed the importance of not settling in life. Having strong, unshakable morals is key to preserving your identity in a society that can shift its views of you on a whim. She also noted that the company you surround yourself with plays an integral role in who you become: “Be careful who you call your friends,” she shared. As a self-proclaimed “military brat” and usually one of the few Black students in her high school and college classes, Craig said that between constantly moving and never truly fitting in any one place, she often felt alone. However, she would make sure not to fit in, and urged others to do the same, “since you’re already standing out.” She made a conscious effort to wear her hair how she wanted (and to set boundaries so people wouldn’t touch her hair) and to make friends with anyone and everyone, especially those who might have felt as alone as she did. Though college can be an isolating time, one where you’re more aware of how you stick out than ever before, Craig encourages positive self-talk, and reiterates the simple yet comforting notion that “it’s not that deep.” She herself believes that faith and a “whatever happens will happen” mentality are the key to preserving your peace in the volatile young adult years.

Lesson 2: Let People Underestimate You

When asked what it’s like navigating a male‑dominated industry as a dark‑skinned Black woman, JaNa Craig spoke with honesty about the pressure to represent girls who look like her. Instead of running from that responsibility, she uses it as motivation. “I like when people underestimate me,” she shared. For her, underestimation becomes power when you stay humble, stay educated, and refuse to let labels define you. Still, she acknowledged the reality that Black women often “have to work twice as hard, be twice as nice” just to be taken seriously. She framed that struggle as a generational investment, hoping her great‑grandchildren won’t have to endure what Black women face today. Craig also emphasized the importance of surrounding yourself with people who reflect your values, reminding the audience to be careful about who they call their friends. Above all, she urged young Black women not to settle, grounding their ambitions in strong morals and a deep sense of self-worth.

Lesson 3: Know Your Worth

When the conversation shifted to how Black women were treated in the villa and how she handled the backlash that followed, JaNa Craig grounded her response in self‑worth. She reminded the audience that the right person will never make you feel insecure, and that loving yourself first is non‑negotiable. “Never forget your worth,” she said, urging young women to focus on their careers, their friendships, and their own growth. She emphasized that there is no rush, “you have time”, and that when your person enters your life, you’ll recognize it by how you feel about yourself, not by how loudly they perform love. For those who have been disrespected in relationships, she offered both compassion and clarity, insisting that you only have one life to live, so spend it wisely. Craig shared that she believes in karma and that if you are in the right, things will naturally work out in your favor. “You will naturally get your lick back,” she joked, but quickly added that she ultimately puts everything in God’s hands. She said she’s grateful even when people do her dirty, because it teaches her about herself and makes room for new blessings. In her eyes, every loss becomes a lesson, and every setback becomes a setup for something better. As she put it, “It will always work out for you in the end.”

As we reflect on the Black365 event with JaNa Craig, the knowledge gained, and the lessons learned, Nommo spoke with event attendee Da’Vionnah Hutchinson, who shared how Craig’s honesty and confidence shaped her own understanding of what it means to be a Black woman taking up space in this world.

“As a young Black woman, hearing her speak after watching what she went through on Love Island felt personal. I remember watching those moments play out in real time and feeling frustrated and honestly hurt by how easily she was overlooked and reduced. So being able to hear her unpack that experience herself, in her own words, felt like a full circle moment I did not even realize I needed. Being a Black girl on campus, you get used to seeing things play out a certain way, especially when it comes to how Black women are treated and perceived, so hearing her talk about her experience on Love Island just confirmed a lot of what is already known and felt. But what stood out more was the energy in the room and the way she and Serena showed up together. There was something real about that bond, something that did not feel forced or for show. It felt like two Black women choosing each other and standing firm in that choice, and that is not something we always get to see in spaces like that.

Despite everything that happened on television, JaNa spoke with so much confidence. She did not deny what happened or try to make it seem lighter than it was, but she also did not let it take anything away from who she is. It reminded me that even when spaces do not treat us the way we deserve, we still have control over how we carry ourselves and how we define our worth. Jana was serious about being her unapologetic self. No shrinking, no trying to make themselves more digestible, just fully existing in who they are. As a Black girl, that matters. We often feel like we have to adjust how we show up depending on the space, but seeing that level of confidence and authenticity makes it feel like it is okay to just be. Not perfect, not overly polished, just real. Overall, it just felt good to witness that kind of con\helnection and to hear someone like JaNa speak with that level of honesty. It reminded me that there is power in being yourself, even when it is not always easy, and that seeing Black women support each other like that is something that should be normal, not rare and I’m glad to have experienced it at an event hosted by Black 365 (shoutout Runor).”

As Runor said, JaNa Craig embodies black joy and love, which in itself is a form of resistance. Especially for Black women, expressing joy and loving ourselves and others is countercultural. It is incredibly important, now more than ever, that we as Black women cultivate spaces of community and belonging to support each other through the ups and downs of school, love, and life. Black365 will be hosting more speakers and events in the near future, so be on the lookout for more opportunities to engage in these spaces.

04/11/2026 0 comments

Arts & Entertainment Commentary Culture

Unearthing Black Authors: Expanding the Exploration of Black Literature in Western Media

by Samantha Talbot 02/22/2026

written by Samantha Talbot

There is much to be said about the current state of the Western literary canon, referring to a body of literature consolidated across time and continents that is considered highly influential or “great” to the Western world; in other words, books that we would call “classics.” Much of the discourse surrounding the Western literary canon centers on the prominence of white, male authors in this arbitrary grouping and how this preference for the works of this specific kind of author consequently affects which books (and, by extension, perspectives) are taught in schools. A lack of diversity impacts how students view the world and, beyond the classroom, the narratives being pushed and prioritized in our society. There has always been a call from students, educators, and avid readers alike for increased diversity in the literary canon, for the highlighting of varied racial, gendered, and queer literature. And these pushes have been mostly successful (though one cannot ignore the waves of book bans in public schools over the past few years), with many universities offering literature courses centered on authors of color, women, and queer authors.

However, I’d like to focus on the issue of which authors are being represented in this diversity. From my experience as a Black AP English Literature/Language/African American Studies student attending school in a white, suburban town, and as a current English major at UCLA, I encounter many of the same Black authors: usually a combination of Langston Hughes, Toni Morrison, Frederick Douglass, W.E.B. Du Bois, and Phillis Wheatley. Furthermore, schools always pull from the same few works: Hughes’ “Harlem,” Morrison’s Beloved, Douglass’ Narrative, and so on. Not only that, sometimes educators will cover the exact same excerpts from these works, with a relatively similar analysis that has been taught for decades.

I admit that this can be said about all authors to some degree. Usually, authors are known for a specific work, and specific parts of that work have more cultural prominence than others, such as a famous soliloquy or an especially notable last chapter. However, I believe this is far more frequent with Black and other marginalized authors than it is with white, male authors. I have never read the same Shakespeare play twice in any class, yet I will come across the same excerpt from Du Bois’ The Souls of Black Folk numerous times across different classes. I only just learned recently from a friend that Du Bois also wrote short stories (e.g., “The Comet”), rather poetic ones at that. From my experience, I am more likely to come across a white author that I have not heard of than a Black author. This extends even beyond the classroom, to where most people are exposed to only a select few Black authors and books, while knowing significantly more of their white counterparts.

This is not to say that authors like Hughes and Morrison are not worth engaging with, just because they are more prominent in popular culture. Their most famous works are famous for a reason, and it is always good to diversify your reading in any way that you can (and I personally believe everyone should read Morrison’s The Bluest Eye). However, by pushing the same few Black authors, it suggests that there are only a few Black authors worth engaging with, and that, of those, only a handful of their works are worth reading; thus, only a select few Black perspectives are worth listening to. It can also perpetuate the notion that there are only a small percentage of “great” Black authors out of an insinuated small pool of talented Black writers.

I strongly believe that the Western literary canon should encompass a broader range of Black experiences, and we should collectively make an effort to bring lesser-known Black (and other marginalized) authors into literary spaces. There is no shortage of excellent writing from Black authors, both from the past and in our contemporary era; we just need to make the effort to engage with them. There is a wealth of undiscovered works simply waiting to be unearthed, and in doing so, perhaps we can expand our understanding of Black literature as a whole.

02/22/2026 0 comments

Culture Opinion Poetry

Somewhere in Mississippi

by Samantha Talbot 11/14/2025

written by Samantha Talbot

Therein lies a church, and next to the church, a bar
And this extends indefinitely, past where earth kisses star
Beyond the bourbon bends of nothing that is or is to be
This uncanny pattern of church and bar, bar and church.

Within the church, a bar—open once the pastor doubts
Wine on tap, bloody christ, convictions on the house
Cannibalize to sober up (water repented long ago)
Communion for confidence, then go, onwards into the church.

Somehow you will fellowship for one trip around the sun
Speaking in limp tongues, chewing on confessions
You know by heart the dimensions of their soul and sin
But you do not know your brethren inside of this church.

And you will return to the bar and speak to the tender
Who never got past our father, who art in heaven
He will prattle on about planks and specks and eyes
Perhaps go in blind, when you seek out this church.

This humble church, heavenbound, removes herself from the world
While vultures circle in halos, worship with wings unfurled
She disposed of the you that drowned in that trough
God’s servants pick off the remains near the church.

There sits a long table in some nebulous space
Miraculous fountains sputter both curses and grace
You are loved by all, and by all you are hated
Are you the god who created this bar and this church?

Across the street from the church, there is that bar still
Closed on fridays (a sabbath unordained by god’s will)
Those days, the owner takes long walks down taken roads
He does not slow when he passes the church.

Light filters through stained windows, dust flits like embers
Cup and laughter runneth over, and you start to remember
The you, slightly swaying, marveling at the stars
That night, drunk with God, in the bar next to the church.

11/14/2025 0 comments

Arts & Entertainment Black History Commentary Culture Opinion

Black Pain is in Fashion: Catharsis in Relation to Black Horror

by Samantha Talbot 11/02/2025

written by Samantha Talbot

D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation (1915) may as well be considered a Black horror film. While perhaps not in a contemporary sense, the portrayal of newly emancipated slaves both during and after the Civil War—notably by white actors in blackface—as bestial, depraved, coniving threats to the purity of a white nation and the purity of that nation’s white women, as well as the blatant displays of lynching and other violence against the Black characters by white people—usually the Klu Klux Klan—can easily be described as horrific. Of course, in the context of the movie, the monsters were not the racist white mob, but the Black characters, and by extension, Black Americans in real life. With this negative portrayal of race, The Birth of a Nation is widely credited with the revival of the KKK.

One can only imagine that some white audiences felt a sort of catharsis in seeing a fantasy in which the Black American was the true collective enemy of America, and seeing that enemy get their comeuppance. Griffith was fully aware of this collective fear in the white consciousness at the time, which is why he knew his movie would sell; Griffith was not a confederate-apologist, nor did he have particularly strong stances on race. He instead was capitalizing on Black pain for a white audience.

Similar movies followed in the years following The Birth of a Nation that played on a similar fear of the Black individual—or perhaps the Black collective, as they were often seen as a monolith during this time. One such movie is Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Shoedsack’s King Kong (1933). In the words of American columnist Jim Pinkerton, “…for this movie to have been made in 1933 about white people going over to the Third World to capture a large, black being with a flat nose and bring him back in chains was sort of powerful then.” Although King Kong’s focus is not explicitly on representing Black people as egregiously as possible, like the aforementioned The Birth of a Nation, there are clear comparisons between the bestial, depraved, sexual threat to white women that is Kong and how Black people were represented in Griffith’s movie—it is still a large, black ape that is conquered by white colonial powers. The goal might have been to capitalize on audiences’ fascination with exotic, jungle-centered movies at the time, but this subconscious fear of Blackness nonetheless manifested itself in the monster, just as it had done previously. This is not just a coincidence, but a pattern.

Despite there being countless examples of subconscious (as well as conscious) negative portrayals of Black people in horror films, literature, and media, I do believe that it is important to draw the line somewhere, to ensure that we are not attributing all qualities of monsters to inherent Blackness. Some have pointed to works such as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein as an example of racism in horror, arguing that Victor Frankenstein’s monster has traits associated with Black slaves and indigenous people—a sort of Kong-like character, as in my previous example—with a “horrid” complexion and “black lips.” They also argue that Victor’s fear of his monster is associated with a fear of Black people, since one of the reasons for his fear is that he is no longer able to control a creature that he believed himself to be superior to, both physically and mentally.

Although one can imagine that the fear of losing control over colonized people and slaves was prominent in the white consciousness at the time, I believe that a deeper understanding of Frankenstein—and by extension, any piece of media we are examining for harmful racial representation—is crucial before we say that any fictional monster is contributing to racism in horror. Shelley portrays the monster as extremely sympathetic, with the latter half of the book containing chapters from the monster’s perspective where he monologues with self-awareness about his nature and the pain that Victor had caused him. It is through the monster’s eyes that it is revealed that he is simply a reflection of Victor himself, the direct consequence of his hubris. Frankenstein’s monster, as a character, is treated with the same respect as Victor himself, rather than as an animalistic enemy that the white protagonists must subdue. And though it isn’t unreasonable to assume that Shelley was inadvertently influenced by the fears of her surrounding society, it’s also important to be intentional with what we are critiquing. If we are to appropriately map the trajectory of anti-Blackness throughout the horror genre, our critique should be centered on more overt examples of anti-Blackness, rather than attributing potential anti-Blackness to an example.

As we move into the 1970s, the movie industry shifts from blatant anti-Blackness in its storytelling, instead attempting to cater to minority audiences (a largely untapped market at this point in time) with the development of blaxploitation films, and later what will be considered the beginnings of Black horror. Blacula (1972), Night of the Living Dead (1968), and other such movies, while cheaply made and specifically created to pander to Black, urban audiences by white studios, still hold a special place in many people’s memories. The movies were fun, and this time, the catharsis spurred on by seeing a Black actor star in a horror film was for Black audiences in particular. It was cathartic to see Duane Jones in Night of the Living Dead valiantly fight his way through zombie hordes, although he was shot by police at the end of the film—must we always meet the same end? However, there was still room for growth, and for Black directors to finally take control of their own narratives.

2017 ushered in Jordan Peele, arguably one of the most influential figures in the Black horror genre. One does not have to speak on the overwhelming success of Get Out (2017), Us (2019), and Nope (2022), all of which artfully combined real Black experiences, social commentary, and classic horror elements into compelling and entertaining narratives. Get Out in particular was monumental in sparking nationwide interest for Black horror, signaling to Hollywood executives that there needed to be more Peele-like films.

2021 then followed suit with the release of Nia DaCosta’s Candyman, a reboot of the 1992 movie of the same name. However, despite Peele being a co-writer, Candyman was met with mixed reviews, with many of the critiques being about the film’s heavy-handedness in conveying its political message. Themes about gentrification and racial justice are dumped onto audiences through expository dialogue, which begs the question: Who was this movie for?

Earlier in 2020, Christopher Renz and Gerard Bush’s Antebellum, a story about a Black woman who was kidnapped and enslaved on a mock-plantation in a Civil War reenactment park run by Confederates, begged the same question. Though clearly trying to make a statement on systemic racism and confronting past oppression, the majority of the film consisted of visceral scenes of enslaved Black folks as they are brutalized, tortured, and ridiculed. And with it not being revealed that all of this is part of a reenactment park until the very end of the movie, audiences are left with Black trauma porn for more than an hour of runtime rather than true Black horror.

The answer is the same for those movies as it was for the movies which came out decades earlier, like The Birth of a Nation: they were made for white audiences. Although Candyman, Antebellum, and other contemporary Black horror films may not contain harmful portrayals of Black people , their content is certainly not for the catharsis of Black audiences. In the words of American author and educator Tanavarie Due, “Black History is Black Horror.” Black people do not need gentrification and racial justice explicitly explained to them, like in Candyman, because they have already lived it by virtue of being Black in America. Black audiences do not experience catharsis from seeing the horrors of slavery—of which they are already well aware—played out on screen with high-quality cameras and lighting. We cross the line between horror and trauma porn when the narrative begins to mirror reality too closely.

This line is also crossed when horror utilizes Black trauma as a source of education for the benefit of white audiences. Them (2021), an Amazon Original show, follows a Black family and their experiences living in a suburban American town in 1953, where they are subject to extreme racism, along with supernatural hauntings. The show is almost hindered by its inclusion of the supernatural, as in an effort to weave in paranormal activity with very real social issues, the discussion of race relations in suburbia remains largely superficial. It is nothing that Black people do not already know and are not continually aware of—and could be living in right now. Thus, it stands that the only audiences to whom this horror would be novel are white audiences. Black horror, in this context, becomes an educational tool to perhaps evoke sympathy, or maybe remind viewers that things like systemic racism, slavery, and gentrification were bad and continue to be bad well into the twenty-first century.

Though it’s incredibly important for people—especially Americans—to be educated on the history of their country, these films take away one of the greatest appeals of Jordan Peele’s movies and Black horror as a genre, which was that they were made for Black audiences. In an alternative ending of Get Out, the main character, Chris—played by Daniel Kaluuya—is arrested by a police officer. However, in the current iteration of the film, Chris’s TSA friend, Rod, comes to save him from his horrific situation. Peele said on the matter, “It was very clear that the ending needed to transform into something that gives us a hero, that gives us an escape, gives us a positive feeling when we leave this movie.” Peele understood this need for catharsis, especially for the Black audiences who are meant to be centered in these films. The failure of modern Black horror films is that in trying to bring Black narratives to light, they forget to make the film enjoyable for the people whose narratives they are showcasing.

One can still have a compelling exploration of race in a horror film without simply expositing horrors that Black people have already witnessed. In this way, not only are people outside of the Black community able to absorb racial themes and lessons, and Black audiences are able to relate and experience catharsis through the characters on screen, but also the film serves as an enjoyable horror movie in its own right. Black horror is at its fullest potential when it is, in earnest, made for Black audiences again.

11/02/2025 0 comments

News Poetry Political Education

Reflections on Poetry and Resistance

by Samantha Talbot & Orisha Lamon 05/16/2025

written by Samantha Talbot & Orisha Lamon

Harlem – Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Harlem by Langston Hughes is an extremely well-known poem, one often taught by English teachers during Black History Month to illustrate the resilience of Afrikans in Amerikkka in a way that is palatable to a non-Afrikan audience. Despite its simplicity, this poem has stuck with me throughout highschool and into college as one of my favorite poems.

Hughes opens the poem with the poignant question, “What happens to a dream deferred?”, and though the answer is never explicitly stated, it is clear what he believes the answer to be. It does not “dry up,” “fester,” “stink,” “crust and sugar over,” “sag,” or any other images of decay that Hughes presents us with. These descriptions call back to plantation life, with the planting of sugar cane, the untreated wounds of the slaves, and the “heavy load” that slaves were forced to bear both physically and mentally. Organic matter may suffer from decay, just as our own bodies will eventually, but dreams are not bound by time and impermanent flesh. Dreams are carried throughout generations, written down, spoken aloud, and carried in the soul rather than the body. Thus, when Hughes ends his poem with the question, “Or does it explode?”, we know the answer.

The last line of Harlem is often dismissed as referring to riots. Though it is a valid interpretation, it can easily fall under the assumption that Afrikans are inherently violent. They will “explode” in anger and irrationality in the face of the perpetuated oppression they have dealt with. However, an explosion can be read in ways beyond acts of violence, such as “the rapid growth of a population and the breakdown of a misconception, as when someone or something “explodes” a cultural myth, fantasy, or deeply held assumption,” as is expressed by professor Scott Chanceller at the College of William & Mary. It can be an explosion of culture, arts, and expression like the Harlem Renaissance. It can be an explosion in that it reverberates across ethnic divides and impacts other marginalized communities.

One of my favorite aspects of Harlem is that it is so much bigger than Harlem. There were references to the Great Migration in Harlem in the original drafts of the poem, but I believe they were omitted because Hughes realized the universality of his statement. Afrikans everywhere have experienced “a dream deferred,” and many currently have dreams that are being deferred. In America, it seems that all of the promises that this flawed country has purported to us have been deferred since the beginning of the Afrikan American population. But therein lies the beauty of Harlem, a message that has resonated and will continue to resonate with Afrikans and speak to their resilience.

If We Must Die – Claude McKay

If we must die, let it not be like hogs

Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,

While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,

Making their mock at our accursed lot.

If we must die, O let us nobly die,

So that our precious blood may not be shed

In vain; Then even the monsters we defy

Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!

O kinsmen! We must meet the common foe!

Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,

And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!

What though before us lies the open grave?

Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,

Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Red Summer, 1919 was a time of bloodshed and white supremacist vigilante violence against Afrikan Americans across the United States. This era of anti-black (Afrikan) violence was scattered across the United States orchestrated by white hatred with the movement of Afrikan Americans across the Mid and Northeast United States looking for jobs within white dominated industries. As resentment rose, so did the self-victimization of whites as a rationalization for starting these terror attacks on working class and poor Black communities in their proximity. Structured as a Shakeperean sonnet, McKay’s words of resistance and militancy linger amongst the many movements for liberation. In facing suppression, besiegement, and death, the struggle against and defeating the common foe of subjugation is a struggle that is glorious and noble. This poems’ popularity is not one that is historic and timelined. These words ring loud with the Afrikan people facing genocide in Congo and Sudan, those facing the blockades in Haiti, Cuba, and neocolonialism throughout the Carribean and Afrikan continent, within the walls of penitentiaries and militarization in the imperial core, with the people of Palestine, with Refaat Alareer’s, prose on death and life, we will remain to honor the struggles of those before us and continue to their struggle til we defeat the common foe.

If I Must Die – Refaat Alareer

If I must die,

you must live

to tell my story

to sell my things

to buy a piece of cloth

and some strings,

(make it white with a long tail)

so that a child, somewhere in Gaza

while looking heaven in the eye

awaiting his dad who left in a blaze–

and bid no one farewell

not even to his flesh

not even to himself–

sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above

and thinks for a moment an angel is there

bringing back love

If I must die

let it bring hope

let it be a tale

05/16/2025 0 comments

Culture Gender and Sexuality Political Education

The Afrikan and Anti-Femininity

by Samantha Talbot 03/11/2025

written by Samantha Talbot

“How to dress in a way that embraces your femininity…”

“Ways to play into your traditional roles…”

“How to attract a man using feminine allure…”

The internet constantly spews rhetoric about what it means to truly be feminine, with self-proclaimed “femininity coaches” on TikTok and YouTube benevolently guiding young girls towards a future with a “masculine” husband and a life of softness, docility, compliance, and ultimately, silence. These often white cis-gendered women somehow hold the unspoken rules of what can or cannot be feminine. Bantu knots, cornrows, locs, any hairstyle that stands out, is too loud, and is not the natural state of a white woman’s hair, is not feminine. Thus, many Afrikan femininity coaches who have been shaped by standards of beauty that oppose their very culture are never seen without a silk press. Modesty is feminine, and so are simple, solid-colored dresses that fall below the knees, light jewelry, and dainty earrings. And one must never be vulgar or have an attitude; many femininity coaches will take this moment in their videos to act out a caricature awfully similar to the Sapphire trope–exaggerated head and hip movements, one eyebrow always quirked up, and an overall emphasis on sass. In setting up these rules of femininity, Afrikan women do not simply fall into the category non-feminine, but anti-feminine. They are the antithesis of these ideals that our eurocentric society purports that all women should aspire to. Afrikan women are then a monolith of “otherness”—they are sapphires, jezebels, caricatures of beings pretending to be women.

This is not to say that Afrikan women wanting to present in a feminine way is inherently bad and contributes to systems of oppression; it is saying that maintaining of an extremely narrow view of femininity and judging those who do not fit into that ideal is harmful and continues to place power in the hands of the oppressor. Thus, it is important to recognize femininity as something variable and largely self-defined. The modesty and elegance associated with “traditional” femininity are just as valid as the Afrikan feminine ideals set by the Ghetto Fabulous movement of the late 90s to early 00s, which is just as valid as feminine ideals brought by Afrikan women from their home country, which is just as valid as any way in which Afrikan women choose to visually present themselves. Divestment from and decentering of binarism of gender identities and categorizations gives us the freedom to be free within our humanity and honor our ancestral roots. This is the key to reconstructing “femininity” in a way that will be sustainable and helpful in crafting a revolutionary, liberated future. Afrikan women should not be seen as enemies to femininity as they have been portrayed time and time again since slavery to the modern day. We are free to express what we believe makes us feminine and embrace those parts of our culture that have been deemed otherwise.

03/11/2025 0 comments