Category:

News

CommentaryNewsU.S.

The Black Vote is Not Safe

by Mariah Yonique Strawder & Julia Elizabeth Perry
written by Mariah Yonique Strawder & Julia Elizabeth Perry

They are trying to take us back to before 1965 – Tennessee State Representative Justin Jones

On April 18th, the Supreme Court of the United States (SCOTUS) took us back to before 1965. In a 6-3 ruling in the case of Louisiana v. Callais, the court struck down Louisiana’s second majority-Black congressional district, holding that race-conscious redistricting under Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 is unconstitutional.

The now voided Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 stated: 

“No voting qualification or prerequisite to voting or standard, practice, or procedure shall be imposed or applied by any State or political subdivision in a manner which results in a denial or abridgment of the right of any citizen of the United States to vote on account of race or color, or in contravention…” 

This section, along with the entirety of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, gave Black and minority communities increased representation in Congress and eliminated barriers to the ballot. After the Act passed, the number of Black members in Congress increased from 6 in the 90th Congress (1967-1969) and 24 in the 101st Congress (1989-1991). As of now, the Congressional Black Caucus sits at over 60 members. Not only did it increase representation, but it also outlawed poll taxes and literacy tests, two barriers preventing Black communities from making it to the ballot. By 1966, the percentage of Black voters who registered soared. From 5% to 32% in Mississippi, 11% to 51% in Alabama, and from 27% to 72% in Tennessee. The VRA was essential in providing Black voters the representation they needed to see change in their communities.

These implications of Louisiana v. Callais are not limited to Louisiana. The ruling gives more states the authority to eliminate majority-minority districts across the United States. Southern states such as Tennessee have passed a new map, wiping out the only majority-Black district in the state. Soon, Southern states like Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, South Carolina, and others will follow suit, creating new maps, and intensifying their efforts to dilute majority-minority communities’ voices. These new maps could wipe out over 30% of the Congressional Black Caucus, diminishing the number of members from 64 to around 30.

The Supreme Court’s decision in striking this section down was the majority’s belief that Louisiana’s prior map already had one majority Black district and that the creation of a new district was not required under the VRA, stating that the “map is an unconstitutional gerrymander”. In Justice Clarence Thomas’ concurring opinion, he wrote that the court “should never have interpreted §2 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 to effectively give racial groups ‘an entitlement to roughly proportional representation.’”

Among the judges who dissented were Justices Ketanji Brown Jackson, Sonia Sotomayor, and Elena Kagan. Justice Kagan authored the dissenting opinion stating that, “The Voting Rights Act, is—or, now more accurately, was—‘one of the most consequential, efficacious, and amply justified exercises of federal legislative power in our Nation’s history.’ It was born of the literal blood of Union soldiers and civil rights marchers. It ushered in awe-inspiring change, bringing this Nation closer to fulfilling the ideals of democracy and racial equality.”

The decision to strike down Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 brings us to an era of disenfranchisement and oppression. This decision will raise the bar for racial discrimination in voting maps, making it easier to redraw districts in ways that dilute Black political power across the South. The ruling will also result in fewer opportunities for people to elect representatives who reflect their beliefs and values. 

In response to the SCOTUS’ decision to reshape Black political power, over 90 civil rights, voting rights, faith, labor, and community organizations like the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), came together on May 16th for a National Day of Action called All Roads Lead to the South. Advocates gathered to protest and march through Selma, Alabama, beginning at the historic Tabernacle Baptist Church and crossing through the Edmund Pettus Bridge.

This All Roads Lead to the South Movement is coming 60 years after Bloody Sunday. Bloody Sunday occurred on March 7th, 1965 when about 600 civil rights marchers tried to peacefully walk from Selma to Montgomery to demand voting rights. The marchers were violently confronted by law enforcement at the Edmund Pettus Bridge which resulted in brutal attacks on the peaceful protestors. Following this incident, the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was passed. 

This SCOTUS decision is a wake-up call to Black Americans and minorities across the United States. It is time to rise up, organize, and mobilize our communities. The fight for freedom never ended; it is just now beginning. 

Image sourced from blklivesmatter via Instagram.

0 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
Black HistoryCampusCultureHealthLifestyle

Black Bruin Resource Center, Afrikan Womxn’s Collective, and UCLA Alphas host “Shop Talk” to cultivate community

by Mariah Yonique Strawder
written by Mariah Yonique Strawder

On May 19, 2026, the Black Bruin Resource Center, Afrikan Womxn’s Collective, and UCLA Alphas came together for the first “Shop Talk” event. This event brought the Black UCLA community together and engaged in meaningful conversations centered around the Black student experience. 

The shop stems from the Barbershop Talk series that is hosted every quarter by the Black Bruin Resource Center and the Alpha Phi Alpha chapter at UCLA. During these events, Black men at UCLA get together to build community, discuss the realities of being a Black man on campus, and get free haircuts.

The Black women on UCLA’s campus also sought the need to build community in a similar way. Inspired by the Alpha’s Barbershop Talk series, the Black Bruin Resource Center Afrikan Womxn’s Collective, and Afrikan Student Union came together to hold the first Beauty Shop Talk in March. The Beauty Shop Talk provided Black women on campus the space to come together and talk about challenges within the community, how Black women are treated on campus, and how Black women could support and uplift each other.

Amariah Scott, BBRC student staff, on the importance of events like Beauty Shop Talk:

Cultivating spaces for Black women is so important because many of us often navigate environments where we do not always feel seen, heard, or fully supported. I wanted to start Beauty Shop Talk to create a sense of community and a safe space where Black women could come together, be themselves, and feel valued. This event was intentionally held at the end of Black History Month and the beginning of Women’s History Month to celebrate and appreciate the Black women on our campus. Seeing that Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. had been hosting Barbershop Talk as a space for Black men to connect inspired me to create a similar experience for Black women. I reached out to the Afrikan Womxn’s Collective and Dr. Tunstall to help bring this vision to life. At this PWI, there are very few spaces dedicated specifically to Black women, despite the challenges we often face, including racism, colorism, sexism, and discrimination. Because of this, we need to build community, uplift one another, and have spaces where we can openly discuss our experiences and concerns. Beauty Shop Talk helped create that space by bringing nearly 50 Black women together to engage in meaningful conversations about beauty standards, our hair, support, and sisterhood. 

During the Beauty Shop event, the attendees discussed how urgent a community discussion event was between the Black women and men on campus. That’s when the BBRC, Afrikan Womxn’s Collective, and UCLA Alphas came together to host the first-ever Shop Talk Event. Shop Talk was a much-needed conversation for the Black Bruins on campus. Some of the major themes explored were mentorship, building community, and upholding tradition. 

Nommo talked more with Amariah Scott to gain more insight on the event, what could be approved, and goals for the Black community moving forward: 

Question 1. What did you think about the Shop Talk? How important did you think the conversation was?  

Amariah: Cultivating spaces for Black women and men to come together and discuss issues within the community is important because it creates opportunities for understanding, accountability, and unity. After hosting both Beauty Shop Talk and Barbershop Talk, there were many conversations about how we could bring these spaces together. We decided to host The Shop Talk event so Black men and women could openly discuss ways to better support one another and strengthen our community. When creating the discussion questions, we wanted to be intentional and ensure the conversations were honest, productive, and solution-oriented. While Black men and women may experience different struggles, it is important to acknowledge that we are all impacted by issues affecting the Black community. Having open conversations about where gaps in support exist helps us become more united.

Question 2. How could the event be improved? 

Amariah: Although I was very happy with the turnout, with nearly 80 RSVPs, I think one area where the event could be improved is encouraging participants to feel more comfortable being honest and open about the issues discussed. During the separate Beauty Shop Talk and Barbershop Talk events, people seemed more comfortable speaking within their respective spaces. However, during the first half of the Shop Talk event, there was some hesitation when it came to openly engaging with one another across genders. It took time and breakout groups to help break down some of those walls and create a more open environment for discussion. Once participants became more comfortable, the conversations became much more meaningful and productive. Although the discussions we had were impactful, I believe future events could go even deeper into the challenges our community faces.

Question 3. After this event, what do you hope for the Black Bruin community moving forward? What steps do we need to take to address the gap between mentorship, building community, and upholding traditions?

Amariah Scott, 3rd year: After this event, I hope the Black Bruin community continues creating more open, honest, and supportive spaces for one another. I hope students leave knowing they have a community they can rely on and that people continue reaching out to their accountability groups to check in, build relationships, and support one another beyond the event itself. This event was only the beginning. Real change happens when people continue these conversations in their everyday lives and make intentional efforts to connect with their peers one-on-one. I also hope people felt seen, heard, and encouraged through these discussions. I hope upperclassmen recognize the importance of reaching out to underclassmen to mentor and guide them, especially at a PWI where community and support systems are so important. I also hope Black men and women continue stepping up to support one another and work toward strengthening unity within the community. Traditions and community-building events are important because they create opportunities for connection across different class years and experiences. For example, after discussions about preserving the tradition of spicy uno, students organized a game night event where seniors would teach underclassmen how to play. Moments like that are important because they turn conversations and concerns into action. While Beauty Shop Talk, Barbershop Talk, and The Shop Talk will continue, what matters most is that these conversations, relationships, and acts of support continue year-round on a personal level throughout the Black Bruin community.

Moving forward, Nommo hopes Black Bruins can continue to come together and have meaningful conversations about our experiences on campus and support one another with open arms. It is critical to recognize the strength within the Black community at UCLA. As a small minority on campus, it is important that we stick together in any way we can. This looks like giving a smile and nod to every Black person you see on campus. It looks like attending community events for the sake of building community rather than grabbing a free plate of food. It also looks like having conversations with peers that push beyond simply asking “how are you?”

If you are interested in learning more about the Barbershop Talk, Beauty Shop Talk, or Shop Talk events, please visit @uclaalphas, @uclabbrc, and @awcatucla on Instagram.

0 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
CommentaryNews

We Want Our Black Youth to Thrive, Not Survive

by Mariah Yonique Strawder
written by Mariah Yonique Strawder

Tamir Rice. Michael Brown. Stephon Clark. Trayvon Martin. Daunte Wright. 

Aiyanna Stanley-Jones. Latasha Harlins. Ma’Khia Bryant. Rekia Boyd. Shantel Davis.

These are just a few names of the Black boys and girls whose lives were lost at the hands of police brutality or perpetrators of anti-Black violence. They are the kids who never got to see 25. The kids whose futures and youth were stolen in an instant.

Now, Kohen Wiley joins this devastating list. A one-year-old baby who will never get to take his first steps into the world, experience the joy of growing up, or dream of a future. Police responded to a shoplifting report over a mother taking diapers. Instead of assessing the situation with care or attempting to de-escalate, officers opened fire on the car Kohen was in. In a matter of seconds, they chose violence over humanity and stole a precious baby’s life.

Black children deserve love, joy, and absolute safety. They deserve to live in a world where they are protected, not targeted, a world where they can grow old. Tamir, Michael, Stephon, Trayvon, Daunte, and Kohen deserved this. Aiyanna, Latasha, Ma’Khia, Rekia, and Shantel deserved this.

This cannot keep happening. Black children deserve love, joy, and protection. They deserve to grow up in a world where their innocence is guarded, a world where they can safely navigate childhood and make it to 25 and far beyond. Tamir, Michael, Stephon, Trayvon, Daunte, and Kohen deserved this. Aiyanna, Latasha, Ma’Khia, Rekia, and Shantel deserved this. There are so many Black youth, those whose names we may never hear, who deserved this. 

Black youth have a long history of being failed by the system. From the murderers of Emmitt Till, Latasha Harlins, Trayvon Martin, and Elijah McClain being acquitted despite their actions being rooted in malice and anti-Blackless. We always talk about abolishing the police. We always talk about getting justice for the lives lost. We don’t acknowledge that not only will systemic racism prevent us from doing so. We don’t talk about how these systems are upheld by one common thread: white supremacy; it is not just about being “superior”. It is about creating a system that constantly places Black communities in danger and keeps us at a disadvantage within society. 

Our Black youth can not keep dying at the hands of police brutality or trigger happy individuals. This cannot keep happening. Black children deserve love, joy, and absolute protection. They deserve to grow up in a world where their innocence is guarded, a world where they can safely navigate childhood and make it to 25 and far beyond. Kohen deserved a lifetime. He deserved to grow old. Tamir, Michael, Stephon, Trayvon, Daunte,  Aiyanna, Latasha, Ma’Khia, Rekia, and Shantel deserved it too.

0 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
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
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.

0 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
Arts & EntertainmentBlack HistoryCommentary

No Laughing Matter: Resistance and the Redefining of Afrikan Humor

by Orisha Lamon
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.

0 comments
0 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
Arts & EntertainmentBlack HistoryCommentary

Museums Suck: The Getty’s Black Photography Exhibit

by Faith Olaleye
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. 

0 comments
3 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
CommentaryNewsU.S.

Use of Force, the Long American Tradition

by Bahji Steele & Orisha Lamon
written by Bahji Steele & Orisha Lamon

In only 7 months under the Trump administration, over 200,000 people have been deported by ICE. Hundreds of people get arrested, deported, and separated from their families every day under this administration, and thousands more are placed in detention centers. The late January greenlighting of ICE raids in sanctuary cities and the increasingly violent stealth tactics are leaving many immigrants in this country fearful. Fear of ICE has already taken a toll on industries heavily reliant on immigrant labor like hospitality, agriculture, and construction. 

ICE violence feels all too familiar for the Afrikan American community. Since 2020, police brutality has been a headline in all news stories, but this was never new to Black Americans. Growing up Black means hearing seemingly countless stories of peers being brutalized and killed. And each name echoed through the media, each father, mother, and child that gets killed leaves a scar on the heart of communities who just want to exist and feel safe. 

This physical and psychological violence is all rooted in the American worship of the use of force. Law enforcement is protected by the shield of this phrase. Claiming that innocent persons pose imminent danger to others, utilizing deadly force, and reframing the narratives later for self-preservation. And when applied to those without the protection of citizenship, we have seen unorthodox and inhumane tactics. 

The Afrikan population falls disproportionately through the cracks when it concerns the use of force. Use of violence and force after all is intrinsic to our being. To be sought and to be brutalized is simply a globally accepted facet of Blackness. With 20% of those held in ICE detention facilities being Afrikan, despite being 7% of the “non-citizen” population, the enhanced policing and monitoring of violence still is informed by an anti-Black project that has socialized enforcers of force to attack and criminalize on a racialized basis. 

Whether it is ICE or the police precincts besieging communities across the United States, policing entities are one and the same in their use of force. They serve to preserve a hierarchical system that benefits state agents through subjugation, driven by an intrinsic connection to globalized anti-Blackness and violence against those challenging such hegemony.

The ideological alignment with forceful and peaceful expression has also presented itself through the passivity of movements that require escalatory modes of action. In movements that are to be labeled as peaceful therein lies a harsh reality that the entities being protested are not, and violence is intrinsic to their existence. Amerikkka’s inception has a basis of force through justice and freedom as a justification of violence against Indigenous peoples of the Americas and Afrika. The use of force is now a pillar in how we are made to be passive in the face of state and structural violence as it actively harms and kills, through slow and rapid machinery. 

The militarized use of force from extensions of federal deployments, police, and immigration enforcement are at a height of violence and criminalization that those made victim of its inception must be fought, humanized, and organized for. In rejecting displays of passivity, we may find ourselves deepening our work in prioritizing the lives to be lived for those incarcerated. Rather than remembrance, we work toward a material emphasis on care and collectivist practices for the futures we imagine. The work done in firstly interrogating why communities in the imperial core are so served on bases of racialization and class, and how we develop material solidarity within and on a global level, starts with the community patrols, mutual aid, and social organization that is intrinsic to a transformative struggle. There is power within grassroots organizational capacities and escalatory capacities seeking to educate and actively contribute toward building a world that will value humanity. 

When violence is exacerbated through means of militarized control and capture such as the white militias of immigration enforcement, the extraction and sanctioning of the Caribbean, the obvious coups in South America (most recently Venezuela) to fuel a chase for geopolitical power, alongside the instigated warfare in West Asia and across the Global South in an attempt to preserve democracy, it creates networks spreading these colonial forces thin. Within a racial capitalist regime—one in which class and constructions of race are wagered, one in which there are entities and aristocrats that are aligned with this aforementioned cannibalistic system of wealth and control—these colonial networks will soon perish and find themselves pumping out of a dead carcass.

0 comments
1 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
Arts & EntertainmentBlack HistoryCampusCultureGender and SexualityLifestyle

Black Girl, Take Up Space: Lessons From JaNa Craig

by Mariah Yonique Strawder & Samantha Talbot
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. 

0 comments
1 FacebookTwitterPinterestEmail
Newer Posts
Older Posts