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Culture

CommentaryCultureU.S.

Curls in the Cubicle: The Legacy of The C.R.O.W.N. Act & What’s Left to be Done

by Julia Elizabeth Perry 05/15/2026
written by Julia Elizabeth Perry

Professional, neat, groomed, elegant, put-together, official, dignified. Unprofessional, messy, dirty, undone, ghetto, ratchet, ugly. Think of what hairstyles and patterns come to mind when you hear the first group of words, and what comes to mind when you hear the second. There are both implicit and explicit biases associated with how non-Black people perceive Black hair. Sometimes, these biases even come from within our own community.  The first step to breaking them down is acknowledging their prevalence.

For many of us, hair discrimination starts early, before we can even understand the meaning or reason for the discomfort that we feel. A shared experience among many Black girls and women is being petted like dogs by teachers, friends, or even strangers, some of whom give the illusion of respect by first asking, “Can I touch your hair?” For others, it’s the rhetoric used when their hair is described, such as “poofy, fluffy, exotic, crazy, wild” or comparisons of our hair to animals, like a lion’s mane, or the coat of poodles. In both instances, Black people are dehumanized, embarrassed, and disrespected.

The “Creating a Respectful and Open World for Natural Hair” (C.R.O.W.N.) Act is a campaign created in 2019, intended to protect people of color from discrimination in professional and academic settings based on hairstyle or hair texture. While many studies have examined how racialized names are discriminated against on job applications, hair is yet another marker of race that people unjustly use to judge the intelligence and competence of predominantly Black people. Men and women fall victim to hair-based discrimination. Partnering with Dove and LinkedIn, the C.R.O.W.N. Act campaign found that Black women with curlier hair patterns are two times more likely to experience microaggressions in the workplace than Black women with straighter hair, and over 20% of Black women have experienced being sent home from work because of their hairstyle. These statistics attest even further to how, in addition to racial identity, hair in particular plays a significant role in respectability politics. This legislation not only protects Black students and professionals from discrimination but also establishes a baseline of belonging and combats the concept that hairstyle is representative of one’s intellectual or professional capacity. 

While The C.R.O.W.N. Act is a great step in eliminating the discrimination that Black people face regarding their hair, it is only as powerful as people are willing to act in accordance with it. It does well at preventing explicit discrimination by banning employers from using hair as a reason to not hire someone or to send them home. However, there is more work to be done on the individual and interpersonal level to break down implicit biases and eliminate them as a reason that people may face trouble in professional spaces. Furthermore, as of 2026, only 27 states have signed The C.R.O.W.N. Act into law. For progress to continue, The C.R.O.W.N. Act must be signed into law and acted upon in all 50 states. Additionally, while The C.R.O.W.N. Act works to dismantle the systems and practices upholding hair-based discrimination, individuals must do the work to break down their own biases in order to truly advance in the fight against discrimination.

Within Black communities, there have been divisive conversations over what qualities make “good hair” vs what makes “bad hair,” a conversation that is closely tied to colorism, sexism, heteronormativity, classism, and internalized racism. Those determining whether hair is “good” or “bad” ascribe  “goodness” to proximity to straightness/looseness of curls, length, and even color, with long, loose hair being “good”, while tightly coiled shorter hair is deemed “bad.” This rhetoric only further contributes to the idea that features that are closer in proximity to European traits are better than those of African descent, a centuries-long idea that is still upheld. When young Black children, and most often Black girls, hear their hair described using “bad” or “good,” it not only impacts their confidence but also the attitude they carry toward doing their hair. Ultimately, hair is a feature that is meant to be experimented with in whatever way yields the most confidence for the beholder. If, from a young age, Black girls are taught that their natural hair is bad, unmanageable, and wild, the attitude they have towards doing their hair often becomes negative, and they believe their hair to be a burden, a problem to be solved. 

There are constant reminders, whether it be through experience or social media, that people still believe they’re entitled to comment on the hair of Black people. While the C.R.O.W.N. Act provides legal protection from discrimination in office and school spaces, Black people are continually policed outside of those contexts regarding hair. A recent example of a Black woman who faced criticism for wearing her natural hair is Coco Gauff, one of the most skilled tennis players in the world, at just 22 years old. Gauff was shown in a Miu Miu photoshoot wearing her natural hair in a ponytail, showcasing her coils without slicking them down. Many criticized her hair, saying it looked “undone,” “messy,” or “unprofessional.” In a TikTok video responding to the backlash she faced after the photoshoot, Gauff explained that the concept for the photoshoot was an everyday look, leading her to do her everyday hair and makeup. “I’m not gonna apologize for the way that my hair looked because there are other girls who have the exact same hair as me and I just wanted them to feel represented that your hair is literally fine the way it is. My hair was good enough for a high fashion brand like Miu Miu to promote one of their newest launches. So if my 4c hair is good enough for that, yours is good enough for you to do whatever you want to do.” She continues by emphasizing that however you want to wear your hair, natural or not, is perfectly fine and up to your own discretion, “If you want to straighten your hair, permanently straighten your hair, perm your hair. If you want to wear your hair Afro, wear your hair afro. If you want to wear braids, wear braids. If you want to wear cornrows, wear cornrows. If you want to slick back your hair to the Gods, slick it back; if you don’t and you just wanna put it in a bun, put it in the bun.” In encouraging Black people, and specifically, Black girls, to wear their hair whatever way they like it, Gauff exemplifies the message of The C.R.O.W.N. Act, which is to have complete freedom over your hairstyle, without interruption from others.

Another phenomenon that Black people often fall victim to is the over-politicization of Black hair. While many aspects of Black identity have been politicized, Black people should also be allowed to exist and thrive in spaces without being a topic of politics. Many of the hairstyles that Black people continue to wear do have historical significance and connections to efforts of resistance and powerful social movements. However, Black hair is not inherently political. Just as any other features on Black bodies are not political objects for debate, Black hair also does not exist as a topic for non-Black people and communities to weigh in on. It is an aspect of identity and a method of personal expression. Black beauty can exist without being tied to a political message or an act of protest, just as other races use aspects of their appearance to express themselves both in and out of cultural contexts. 

Just as Brown v The Board of Education ruled that schools couldn’t discriminate against students on the basis of race, The C.R.O.W.N. Act makes an important step toward eliminating racial discrimination. However, the progress cannot end there. Government action is significant, but individuals also must work to break down their own biases, and ensure that they are practicing the missions of The C.R.O.W.N. Act in their interpersonal and professional relationships.

05/15/2026 0 comments
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Arts & EntertainmentBlack HistoryCommentary

No Laughing Matter: Resistance and the Redefining of Afrikan Humor

by Orisha Lamon 05/15/2026
written by Orisha Lamon

When you’re at your grandma’s or cousin’s house for a sleepover, there is somehow going to be a movie either featuring, or referencing, Eddie Murphy and his comedic craft. Murphy is a figure that has defined much of Afrikan comedy alongside comedians and writers like Arsenio Hall, Paul Mooney, Robert Townsend, and Keenen Ivory Wayans – also known as The Black Pack. The Black Pack, shaped comedy around the Afrikan experience, around Afrikan cultural production and community. While the argument that these productions partake in systemic webs of white consumption and racial capital point to an overarching contradiction, commentators like Artel Great frame this “post-Blaxploitation” era of film and comedy (if you could even call it post) as a point and tool of resistance. With its audience in mind, the Black Pack highlights aspects only the Afrikan experience could really pick up on, not in a dog-whistling, subliminal messaging way but as an obviously comedic and dramatized reflection of Afrikan life far removed from the lens of racialized stereotypes. Instead, the Black Pack depicts archetypes that humanize and promote the multiplicity of being Afrikan – rather than a characterization in a white visual medium, it is its own cultural production, and through this production (which remains sensationalized and commodified through whatever means of consumption) it emerges as a reference point for cinema history and rejects the violent origins of film and humor stemming from anti-Afrikan violence and the maintenance of white supremacist ideology as seen through Amerikkka’s first picture film, “The Birth of a Nation”.

There is a slight skepticism in framing humor as resistance, especially as expressions of joy are intertwined with a notion of exclusivity and ignorance to a material reality. Much of cultural expression has and is commodified alongside this growing question of resistance, and redefining it with consciousness requires us to struggle against racial capitalism and its extension. In doing so, we should shy away from emphasizing identity politics and calls for representation, and turn our attention to needs redefining of expressions life and the confines of a material validation. I, however, found the way Artel Great explains resistance through Amerikkka’s Afrikan comedy supergroup to develop a fascinating approach to how humor was utilized as a tool of resistance. Humor is reframed not as a way to entertain and assimilate to an industry but as a moment that displays and creates relationships to Afrikan culture, community, and a lived experience that could only be felt while busting out laughing after seeing the remnants of Jheri Curl juice on the couch in “Coming to America”. Places such as the church, the barbershop, hair salon, and the corner store where folks working and passing each other everyday become a part of a mundane tradition that is then recounted through a lens of humor, fiction, and relatability. “Coming to America” is an example of reframing this experience of Blackness by bridging relatability, humor, fantasy and culture with identity politics and demands for complex representations of Afrikan people. Through the geographic and cultural aesthetics, “Coming to America” varies class distinction with a fascinatingly fictional narrative of an Afrikan country of royalty that engages with the lived experience of working and middle class royalty in Queens, New York. The creations of both Zamumba and Queens as spaces of Afrikan social and artistic expression as well as cultural hubs of community depict an outward humanization and normalization of Afrikan life, contesting the stereotypical and racist characterizations housed within the media. Instead, “Coming to America” highlights the possibility of life, a fantasy that centers on Afrikan imagination, and engages with the implications of Afrikan freedom in the fictional realm and beyond.

While writing this, I find myself still grappling with this question of humor as resistance. In a contemporary sense, humor has been an overly sensationalized tool platforming identity politics rather than a struggle  – there often is a reinforcement of recognition and visibility that work in ways that both organize structure with capabilities of mobilization but also engage with systemic order of consumption – this dual work of connection and sentiment informs a relationality between interactions with humor as a tool of resistance, but also one to redefine outside of a white capital medium.

05/15/2026 0 comments
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CultureHealthLifestyle

Skip Erewhon, Simply Wholesome has the O.G. LA Wellness smoothie

by Bahji Steele 05/15/2026
written by Bahji Steele

Located at the corner of Slauson Ave and Overhill Drive, Simply Wholesome is a South LA landmark that feels less like a restaurant and more like a healing apothecary. For over 40 years, this Black-owned institution has been a sanctuary for health and wellness.

For the Nommo team, this was a crucial spot on our black-owned business crawl of LA, so we went on a little trip from Westwood to Windsor Hills to try out some of their famous smoothies. This spot is hard to miss when driving down Slauson with its 30 feet tall googiestyle spire poking out on the top, and its dark green and stone exterior. It feels like walking into a little herbalist shop of delicious food, herbal remedies, and medicinal mixtures. 

We went on a Sunday, so the store was fairly busy with its regulars. We decided to order their guava explosion smoothie, which was perfect as the LA weather had been warming up. As we sipped our smoothies, we explored the store’s diverse selection of retail items. The store is a masterclass in community support, stocking products from over 160 small businesses. From specialized herbal remedies for digestion and women’s health to a curated beauty section featuring African hair products, the shelves are a testament to Percell Keeling’s mission of making organic living accessible.

The highlight of our trip was getting a chance to briefly speak with owner Percell Keeling, and we discovered that he is a UCLA alum, class of 1975, and was familiar with Nommo. A beautiful full-circle moment for us. 

Simply Wholesome truly radiates throughout its community, providing jobs for youth in the neighborhood and teaching them about entrepreneurship. Just by taking a longer look at all the awards and images that decorate the store, you can see how this business has triumphed over the years. From Surviving the LA ’92 riots through the protection of the community, being featured in Slauson native and R&B star Jhene Aiko’s music video, and just this past February, to being honored by the California Legislative Black Caucus with a certificate recognizing its dedication to community, healthy food, and cultural uplift, Simply Wholesome has endured and cemented itself as a beacon of care. It is dedicated to providing healthy food not only on their menu, but also by stocking shelves of retail food items that are organic and healthy for their community. 

So next time an LA piece of sh*t urges you to try Nara Smith’s $23 Erewhon smoothie, maybe try Simply Wholesome instead. You may find your next go-to spot for a little sweet treat.

05/15/2026 0 comments
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Arts & EntertainmentBlack HistoryCommentary

Museums Suck: The Getty’s Black Photography Exhibit

by Faith Olaleye 04/21/2026
written by Faith Olaleye

Marble floors glisten with the warm light emitting from the fixtures above them, as thousands of footsteps parade in a hush, portraits of civil rights leaders and everyday people lining the walls of the Getty Center’s latest exhibition, Photography and the Black Arts Movement. 

As a lifelong artist, I’ve been taught to venerate the museum, though I never have. One of the essays that got me into art school centered on how these spaces never felt like home to me. They were white walls and spotless floors, the individuals centered in the paintings which lived within them just as pale as the surfaces on which they hung. I must have overlooked the splendor everyone else drew from them. Maybe I wasn’t tapped in enough, maybe I wasn’t a “real” artist, since museums have “real” art, and thus are the only valuable places to consume it from. 

But in museums, I rarely see myself, I rarely see us. That’s because those who fund them have no connection to the fervor that produces the poignant works I’m moved by. Paintings that I whisper to my brother about, questioning how an artist perfectly articulated a cultural reference. The people whom I, as an artist, if I wish to somehow gain any footing or advancement, must please. I entered the walls of the Getty with that same mindset and chilling understanding. In some part, this belief was broken by the presence of a Black exhibit that was both broad and visually stunning, but my issue with the institutions remains. 

As a Black person, particularly a Black artist, I’m well aware of the environment that museums cultivate. They provide a transaction to a visitor, and are precise about who they feel is worthy of participating in that trade. In exchange for a facade of sophistication and refinement, the visitor gives their three hours to the marble halls and cascading gardens of the environment. Most of the visitors, though the crowd had some racial diversity, were clearly those who could afford to take time out of their day to venture out and look at art for hours. They entered the space with the hopes of gaining cool points amongst their friends and colleagues for being able to expatriate about the Gauguin they saw during their time there, based solely on the placard placed beside it, which they briefly skimmed. 

People of color and those of a lower socioeconomic standing are rarely welcomed to take part in this transaction. Museums, akin to golf, are oftentimes reserved for those who have the time, finances, and triumph in the geographic lottery to be able to enjoy them. Furthermore, those who decide what work is shown, and which stories those works tell, don’t often uplift the voices and experiences of Black artists. Which is why this exhibit caught my eye.

The lower level of the west wing was filled with the work of numerous Black artists, like L.A.’s own David Hammons. One particularly striking work was a portrait of a man in the early 70’s, adorned in an all-white suit, whose eyes didn’t meet anyone who looked like him until I walked into the room, and most likely didn’t again until quite some time after I’d left. And while the exhibit was extensive and spanned multiple mediums, from painting and photography to mixed media installations, the gap between the work and the audience was increasingly evident. This was most clear in a moment where two teenage girls chose an enclosed room whose walls were pasted with newspaper clippings of wars and uprisings to be the site of their TikTok. It calls into question what purpose is served by an exhibit that so beautifully displays the history of a people, when those very people are rarely given access to the space it inhabits. 

This conflict with museums and the relationship Black artists must have with them has been circling my mind since I began my formal art education in the Fall. I’d been thinking of myself as an artist, my values, the ethos that shines through in my work, and the audience I wish to speak to. Many of my peers echoed similar concerns about the balance between artistic integrity and making a living. So I, considering that my staunch stance could be rooted in youthful defiance, sought the opinion of those more experienced than I’ve grown to be. 

I asked a peer, quite my senior, who’d worked in the industry across mediums and came back to school to pursue a graduate degree, what they thought. We discussed it, and my opinion stayed firm. We each echoed the same things, not quite sure of the solution but certain of the issue. At one particular moment, we dared to proclaim that museums had lost their relevance. Most people don’t frequent them, and in terms of cultural cache, they’re akin to a 1996 MC Hammer. We noted that many artists are moving away from the museums and that we, as Black artists, must create our own spaces and alternative forms of showcasing.

There’s a cruel tug of war in which Black artists are coaxed to engage. Either strip your work of its seasoning to ease the palette of the culturally disconnected individuals who you need to fund your work, or safeguard your flavor and potentially forfeit financial success and the security of an established career in the arts. I dare to say, we must put down the rope. And maybe, if we’re lucky, our final tug before letting it fall will reverberate and mollywop the institutions on the other end. Maybe it won’t. 

I acknowledge that it may be wishful and naïve thinking to believe it is possible to authentically create and still make a living, but that’s the same reasoning that allows the culturally severed, but financially tied, to maintain the upper hand. My suggestion is that we, as Black artists, must create our own spaces, where the work not only reflects us but is accessible to us. Curators like Gabrielle Narcisse and Robert Provilus, with the BLACK STARS exhibition in New York this past Black History Month, have already begun creating a blueprint for how that can come to pass. 

While the struggle between unfettered expression and financial stability will likely persist, continuing to center institutions that are incapable of connecting with the cultural collective consciousness is neither beneficial for the progression nor the ownership of Black artists and our audience. 

04/21/2026 0 comments
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Arts & EntertainmentBlack HistoryCampusCultureGender and SexualityLifestyle

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
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Arts & EntertainmentBlack HistoryCampusCulture

Back to Black Wednesday: A Night of Jazz

by Faith Olaleye 03/31/2026
written by Faith Olaleye

Students sit huddled on couches in a dark room, red light pinging off the brass of a saxophone as a steady baseline echoes from the double bass. Drums couple with warm piano chords, leading the way for the blaring sax. This was the scene as students gathered in the Black Bruin Resource Center for Black Wednesday, a tradition started by the Afrikan Student Union at UCLA in the early nineties. 

Started as a way to celebrate culture and foster the Black community on campus, events like this continue to unite students decades later. Joined for a night of live jazz and performances, dozens of people bustled into the BBRC, many there for different reasons. Some students expressed that they try to make an effort to engage with events held on campus by Black organizations as a way to further connect with their peers. Others, many of whom were transfers and freshmen, attended as an opportunity to become more involved with the Black community at UCLA and better acclimate to such a large environment. 

Janiyah Williams, a third-year transfer student, said the BBRC was the first place she felt comfortable being herself on campus. Spaces like Black Wednesday are crucial for Black students at UCLA. At an institution where we make up less than 7% of the undergraduate population, it’s easy to feel alone and disconnected from the community. 

We asked some students what they believe should be done to continue making spaces for Black students on campus. Many said events like movie nights, tailgates, and speaker sessions hosted by numerous Black organizations at UCLA have provided opportunities for them to connect with peers and find a sense of community. Others expressed that they often don’t know where to look for events or find fellow Black Bruins. Listed below are some orgs that prioritize uniting Black students on campus.

By attending events like Black Wednesday and utilizing spaces like the BBRC, students can better connect with the Black community at UCLA. Gathered for a night of jazz and camaraderie, students found a space to be themselves and meet fellow Black Bruins. We can’t wait to see what the next Black Wednesday has in store. 

Resources:

@blackbruins

@uclabbrc

@uclablack365

@houseofbruin

@aacsatucla

@ucla.cod

@uclaeastafricans

@csaucla

@harambeeucla

@nsa.ucla

@culturalaffairs

03/31/2026 0 comments
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Arts & EntertainmentCulture

A Night with Willow Smith at Blue Note Jazz Club

by Bahji Steele 03/05/2026
written by Bahji Steele

On Monday, February 16th, at Blue Note Jazz Club, Willow Smith offered a small audience an intimate first listen to her newest album, “petal rock black.” Known for her unique vocal style, Willow used the legendary jazz venue to introduce a project that leans fully into jazz techniques while maintaining her grungy roots. The setting felt intentional. Blue Note’s Los Angeles location, newly opened this year, joins a lineage of rooms that have hosted icons like Stevie Wonder, Liza Minnelli, and Dizzy Gillespie—a fitting backdrop for an artist stepping deeper into her musicianship. This venue is also very collaborative, with past other artists coming to enjoy but also jumping on stage when called upon to create something new. 

She opened with “hear me out,” live-layering her vocals in real time, building the song piece by piece before the audience. It immediately showcased her control and experimentation: stacked harmonies, airy runs, and complex vocal jumps. Sparse arrangements defined the night, honoring the Jazz Club environment, with her drummer and pianist taking extended, expressive solos that transformed the set beyond just a standard album preview. Her drummer, in particular, earned a standing ovation for a solo that felt emotionally raw and intense.

When the album officially dropped days later, the feature list added a new dimension to what we had heard live. The project includes Kamasi Washington, George Clinton, and Tune-Yards—a diverse lineup. Tune-Yards’ scattered, rhythm-forward sound feels similar to Willow’s. George Clinton’s presence carries historical weight: a revolutionary force in funk and R&B, he narrates a poem on the opening track, “petal rock black,” with lines that echo later in songs like “ear to the eocoon.” 

Live, “Sitting Silently” was a standout, with its haunting staccato piano and vocals, and “ear to the cocoon” followed with a sense of grandeur and joy emanating from Willow’s performance. However, “not a fantasy” is the track I will be replaying for the coming weeks.

The Blue Note performance didn’t feel like a promotional stop but a statement. Willow Smith is expanding her artistry in real time, honoring jazz traditions while reshaping it through her own alternative lens. In a crowded room in Hollywood, I felt like I was discovering a small artist for the first time, not the global star that we know Willow to be.

03/05/2026 0 comments
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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
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