Category:

Opinion

“The clothes do not make the man”: Changing the narrative on the perceptions of black men and boys

by Julia Elizabeth Perry & Mariah Yonique Strawder 02/12/2026

written by Julia Elizabeth Perry & Mariah Yonique Strawder

While Black boys and men share the experiences of racism, prejudice, and bias throughout their lives, there is often an evolution of how this discrimination presents itself. While in older age, Black men are often not taken seriously or treated as professionals, Black youth are taken too seriously and not allowed to act like children. In their youth, Black boys are disproportionately punished in academic settings and expected to mature much faster than their non-Black peers. They are treated with less patience and understanding of the concept that, as children, they will act playfully and make mistakes.

In a 2024 study, UC Berkeley Professors Sean Darling-Hammond and Eric Ho found that Black students were 2.5 times more likely to face suspension in school than their white counterparts. Of course, the impacts of this pattern go far beyond academics and create a troubling mindset for overpunished Black children. They go on to have poor self-esteem, little interest, and, in turn, success in school, and turn to paths outside of education, sometimes leading to incarceration or other illegal and dangerous activity.

While this problem is prominent, it is exacerbated by the media, which often shows the outcome of this overpunishment and racism faced by Black men, with violence and negative portrayals of them dominating the media. Rarely are positive stories of Black men succeeding despite the racism they faced and continue to face reported on. On the flip side of things, the violent acts and prejudice that Black men across the U.S. experience every day are underreported, as the attention usually goes to white people with similar experiences.

TikTok & Streaming Culture

TikTok and streaming culture as a whole contribute heavily to the way Black men are represented in the media, as most of the top creators like Kai Cenat, iShowSpeed, Duke Dennis, and more are Black men themselves.

When asking Black men at UCLA about streaming culture and its implications for Black youth, we got this response:

“I think there are a few positive role models for Black boys; however, a lot of positive role models are overshadowed by not-so-positive media personalities. With TikTok and streaming culture, so many people are chasing a clip. So Black boys see creators such as Kai Cenat, Rakai, or iShowSpeed, they mimic everything they do, the good and the bad. I believe Kai Cenat is a somewhat positive role model, but still has some work to do. At the same time, it is unfortunate that Black men choose to look up to these creators, but at the same time, we don’t have that many people leading us in the right direction,” – Orlando Johnson, first-year UCLA student.

If we as a community continue to label this type of content as entertaining rather than disreputable, it will be destructive for the development of Black boys. We must push content that allows Black boys to see that they can be more than what the media and content creators show them.

While streaming culture often promotes harmful content and behavior among young Black boys, it is ever-changing, and lately has been for the better. Recently, the two most popular streamers on Twitch, Kai Cenat and iShowSpeed, have pushed out content that influences young boys in an educational and positive way.

Kai Cenat shared a video of him doing 20 minutes of reading on January 1st, 2026, to “improve the way that he speaks.” While to some this appears as performative or a way to gain positive attention and offset backlash from controversies he’s been involved in, it is bound to have an influence on his young, impressionable audience and encourage them to read books.

iShowSpeed has recently begun a 28-day series in which he plans to visit 20 countries in Africa, immersing himself in the culture and activities of each place he visits. In doing so and publicizing his travels, he is debunking many of the stereotypes surrounding Africa and showcasing the diversity in culture, lifestyle, and people across the continent. For Black boys who are hearing about Africa at school only through the topic of slavery or if their peers bring up stereotypes, this publicity can be extremely influential and change the narrative.

The actions of Kai and iShowSpeed should not go unnoticed. We hope other creators will follow their wave and do the same in order to shed a more positive light on the way Black men are represented in entertainment and for impressionable Black boys.

Quarter Zips, Matcha, & Respectability Politics

When Black men exhibit behavior or participate in an activity that is viewed as unconventional and outside of the stereotype held for them, they tend to get a lot of attention, both online and in real-world settings. While some of this attention is positive or appears to be positive, much of it is sneakily negative. They continue to be labeled as “YNs,” and typically receive comments that are extremely backhanded and imply that what they are doing is outside of what is expected of them, even if it is something as simple as drinking matcha or wearing a certain type of shirt. Comments such as “professional YN,” “wholesome YN,” “cheerful YN,” etc., often flood the comment sections on these videos, with the abbreviation “YN” meaning “young n*gga.” Regardless of the word preceding YN.

In November, almost everyone opened TikTok to see the start of the “Quarter Zip Movement”. Black Men were shifting the narrative. They were no longer wearing Nike tech hoodie and sweatpants sets and ski masks; they were wearing quarter zips and drinking matcha. This movement has sparked conversation about Black men’s representation based on clothing and appearance.

“The Quarter Zip movement is a rapid surge of respectability politics that tells Black boys and men that if you drink matcha and wear a quarter zip, then you’re a respectable human being; if you don’t, you’re seen as a YN,” Tehilah Favour Ofumbi, UCLA Student.

Jason Gyamfi, Founder of the Quarter Zip Movement says that the entire point of the movement is to allow Black men to feel comfortable in “trying new things, expanding your palette, and expanding your horizons of what it is to live this life, coming from a neighborhood where I live these things [matcha and quarter zips] are not something you see on a day-to-day basis” He goes further by mentioning how beautiful it is to see Black Men who are often subjected to stereotypes feel good about themselves and do things such as putting on a suit for the first time. He ends the video on a powerful note, saying that: “The man makes the clothes. The clothes do not make the man. It was never about clothing.”

Black Suffering Goes Unnoticed

While the media is full of content that displays Black boys and men in negative ways, we almost never see when they suffer, especially at the hands of white rage. On December 31st, a Black man by the name of Keith Porter Jr. was murdered by an off-duty ICE agent. Porter was shot outside his home after firing one gunshot into the air, his way of ringing in the New Year. A resident in his apartment complex just so happened to be an ICE agent, and he decided to take matters into his own hands by murdering Porter.

What makes this situation worse is that Porter’s death was not uncovered until days later. Black Lives Matter Los Angeles Chapter reported this information to Instagram on January 2nd, when it should have been reported immediately after it happened. Additionally, Porter’s murder has not received any mainstream media coverage, unlike the murder of Renée Nicole Good, who was shot by ICE agents in Minneapolis. Porter is human just like Renée Good, but his Blackness creates a discrepancy in how their stories are reported and characterized.

Porter was a father, son, worker, and beloved community member. However, as a Black man, his suffering went unnoticed until Black Lives Matter Los Angeles brought it to light. We stand with BLM Los Angeles in their demands to “release the name of the agent who murdered Porter, arrest the agent, cease all character assistantion, and abolish ICE”. Furthermore, we demand accountability and action. We demand that Porter’s story and all those similar all be treated with the same attention and humility as others.

Black men and Black people in general are also underreported in cases where they are missing or in danger. The most recent example that we have seen of this, although new, and old cases are brought to the news every day, is the case of Sam Beal. Beal is 29 years old and a former player for the New York Giants and has been missing for seven months, although his story has only been publicized by major news pages as of January 12, 2026.

If Beal, a Black man in a profession with a lot of publicity, can have his case go unreported on for seven months, imagine how long it takes Black men who aren’t well known publicly to get their stories out and get the resources they need to be safe. For both Beal and every other Black man who is missing, we can only wish and make efforts to ensure that their stories are reported on in a timely manner to maximize the chance of them returning home safely.

Black Success Goes Unnoticed Too

Black men are not a monolith. We know there are Black boys and men doing great things in the world; we are not just aware or informed. Despite making up small percentages, we know that Black men are doctors, lawyers, and community activists. A Black man was president of the United States. However, these positive figures are overshadowed by society’s perceptions of Black men being only able to reach success as athletes or entertainers, or only being seen as a thug or criminal.

Mitchell Stevens, a 4th-year UCLA student and member of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Incorporated, Gamma Xi Chapter, gave Nommo his thoughts about Black men’s representation in the media and how Black men’s success is overshadowed by negative perceptions

“When I think of Black men’s representation in the media, I really just think of Black men being visible. What does it mean to see somebody who looks like you in spaces the world tells us we aren’t meant or fit to be in. Now I believe the problems themselves lie with the narrative written on centuries of perceptions built about our people. We can’t inherently change the structure of stereotypes that group Black Men in what seems like an impenetrable bubble. But we can change the nature of what we continue to do as Black men and more importantly how we show up for each other.

I think creating spaces, whether that’s in the media, on campus, in the community, where Black men SEE each other is where our power and strength are fostered. With the work of my organization, the Gamma Xi Chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Incorporated, we work to build these spaces that otherwise weren’t there. That’s a part of the entire founding of my fraternity: a space created for and by Black Men.

To build upon our respective strengths. One of our notable programs, Barbershop Talks, does just that. A ‘Barbershop’ experience is tailored for Black men to come into a space with other Black men, contribute to meaningful dialogue related to our respective experiences and get a free haircut. And that’s only a glimpse honestly. We as Black Men are very powerful and have that much more unforeseen power together. When we see each other, we dismantle every narrative that said we wouldn’t. It’s living proof that the stereotypes never told the full story.”

As a community, we should be amplifying the stories of the groups and organizations that are putting in the hard work to give back and shift the narrative.

Algorithms

Nommo Newsmagazine created a survey to gauge UCLA students’ and the community’s opinions about how Black boys and men are represented in the media. We then shared this data with Dr. Tanksley, UCLA Education and Information Studies Graduate School Alumna, and a researcher who studies young people’s experiences and perceptions of artificial intelligence and its role in education and the media. Here are her thoughts:

“These student responses confirm what decades of scholarship in race and media studies have been saying: the media ecosystem is rife with anti-black misandry, not because these depictions of Black men and boys are true, but because the dissemination of these images plays a key role in the maintenance of the violent and inequitable racial status quo.

Importantly, the students’ responses overwhelmingly highlight the personal and individual level harms – that black boys can internalize and ‘buy in’ to these images, which can have a host of socioemotional, psychological and academic effects.

This, however, is just the beginning of the discussion. It’s important to recognize these micro level aberrations as canaries in the mines – the first warning signs that there is a deeper, more toxic, more far reaching threat lurking just beneath the surface. Images of black boys as unable, unwilling and uninterested in education; as inherently criminal and culturally deviant; and hyper sexual, hyper violent ‘super predators’ – is used to justify their horrific treatment in schools, in employment scenarios, in public spaces, and in society writ large. When we see our Black boys killed in the streets for laughing, playing, dancing, eating snacks, singing, its easier for the public to justify these as heinous and senseless acts of violence because ‘they probably deserved it.’

I also want to note that invisible apparatus that’s behind these images:

A contract was uncovered that showed the private prisons purchased by a company – Vanguard – required its prisons to maintain a 90% occupancy rate, regardless of what the crime rates were. So even though crime rates in the US have remained stagnant for years, Black people have been continually funneled into prison systems at exponential rates – at one point, the rates of incarceration had quadrupled despite flattened crime rates

How can rampant imprisonment be justified to the public if the public isn’t committing more crimes? Without a believable narrative, people would question these corrupt practices and perhaps even organize against mass incarceration on a national scale. This is where the stereotypes of Black people as aggressive, violent, and inherently criminal come in.

The same company that owns a majority of US private prisons as well as juvenile detention centers – all of which have an overrepresentation of Black inmates inside – also own the news stations and television channels depicting Black people as violent, aggressive, hostile. So they create and disseminate the narrative of Black aggression and criminality that allows them to corral and cage Black bodies into prisons.

Keep in mind that the 13th Amendment didn’t completely abolish slavery; it abolished slavery outside of US prisons. This means that Black folks can still be yoked, chained, and brutalized into completing free or low-wage labor for white-owned corporations – just like they were slaves on Antebellum plantations and as sharecroppers during reconstruction – as long as they are placed into US prisons.

Finally, private prisons are one of the leading sources of profit for the US. It’s where our ‘made in the US’ products are assembled. Because these products are assembled by inmates, they do not have to be paid livable wages. Inmates make a few dollars a day – if they are even paid – and then the companies sell these assembled products at retail price and make millions.

This is the prison industrial complex at work, and it is made possible – in large part – by stock narratives about Black people in general, and Black boys and men in particular – that society internalizes as fact.

I want to end by saying that, we know that Black youth constantly challenge, critique and struggle against racist depictions of themselves in the media. So it would be incorrect for readers of this article to assume that the reason black boys continue to struggle academically in school, enroll and attend college in lower rates, suffer stifling unemployment rates, are arrested and contacted by law enforcement at disproportionately high rates, etc. is simply because the boys buy into and subsequently embody these problematic tropes. Though tempting to assume, this rationale simply shifts blame away from the systems of white supremacy, patriarchy, capitalism and anti-blackness that creates and sustains this violence, and places it back on Black boys. We need to keep our eye on the true culprit: systemic racism.

And in order to do so, we must all continue to cultivate our critical media and digital literacies! We also need more positive, nuanced and expansive representations of Black boys/men in media – stories of joy, friendship, love, queerness, perseverance, etc. And even though we are constantly told that ‘there’s no audience for these stories’ or ‘Black boys and men don’t want those stories’ – the data in this study proves that wrong.”

Conclusion + Writer’s Opinion

The stories of Black people have long been warped by the media, whether it be in history books about the enslavement of Black people, movies and TV perpetuating harmful stereotypes, or news stories reporting inaccurately to promote a narrative. While it is greatly disappointing to see these patterns of misrepresentation still booming in 2026, it is unfortunately not shocking, and many have become desensitized to it. However, it is important that we reverse this desensitization to the best of our abilities, stay emotional, stay passionate, and stay active. Change cannot be made without the presence of passion and the emotion that motivates it. As exhausting as it is, we must remain sensitive to prevent the misrepresentation from being normalized further, and continue working toward efforts to accurately shed light on the stories of Black people.

CONSUMPTION

We curated another list of media outlets that focus on uplifting Black men and the community at large. This list was put together by Nommo Staff and recommendations from our survey.

Instagram

@blackwealthcrew
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@afrotech
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@essence
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YouTube Channels

In Class with Carr
NPR Code Switch

Misc

Grits & Eggs Podcast

02/12/2026 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

Black History Commentary Culture News Opinion Political Education World

Sudan and the Reminders of Genocide

by Hanae Noirbent 11/09/2025

written by Hanae Noirbent

As satellites witness the crimson remains of massacred villages, so too does the world, slowly turning its sleep-crusted gaze to the horrors of Sudan. There, for the past two years, civilians have been at the mercy of a conflict between two military groups, the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF).

In a brief article outlining the reasons behind the war, the BBC points to the 2019 deposition of former Sudanese dictator Omar al-Bashir as a key turning point. Following Bashir’s removal, the SAF sought to integrate the RSF, a paramilitary group founded by Bashir and funded by the United Arab Emirates, into its ranks. However, the proposition proved controversial as neither military party was interested in losing their power, resulting in escalating tensions starting in 2023 and the subsequent outbreak of the ongoing war, which is just as invested in attacking each side as it is in targeting and punishing civilians.

Pulling back the curtain of the military campaign reveals the full extent of the story, where the exploitation of natural resources and organized religion have become the primary motivations behind ethnic cleansing, gender-based violence, and famine. In recent years, the brutality of such war crimes has become more visible than ever, through the ease of online access and the repeated assertions of genocide echoing across the world, from Sudan to Palestine. What has escaped our attention, however, is the reasoning paving the bloodied ground, the persistent yet hidden “why” that continues to lay the foundation for mass atrocities. Finding our answer requires us to investigate another history, in the hills and rivers at the heart of Afrika.

In her collection of short stories titled Ce que murmurent les collines, which translates to “What the Hills Whisper,” Scholastique Mukasonga writes about the various daily lives and cultural practices unfolding in Rwanda prior to the 1994 genocide. Whereas most of the short stories are narrated from the perspective of native Rwandans and their experiences with religion, superstition, and colorism, the opening story follows the writings of German explorer Richard Kandt as he ventured onto the Rukarara River.

The river was no ordinary water source, however, having been called into question as a mythical sight in a country nearing paradise and inhabited by seemingly enchanted people. Under the sheen of orientalist fascination, Kandt encountered the Tutsi people and determined their physiques aligned with their presupposed superiority.

What started as a legend soon became the pedestal upon which German and Belgian authorities placed the Tutsi people. In a society that had long been aware of its demographic divides, from the Tutsi who were traditionally wealthier than their Hutu and Twa counterparts to the centuries of Tutsi monarchies implementing anti-Hutu policies, a colonial power decreeing which ethnic group held entitlements had devastating consequences.

Within the colonial trend of dividing and conquering, the act of threading mytho-histories to confirm pre-existing narratives was then a critical component to sustaining dominance. And as with most colonial practices, dominance came with the cost of violence. When narrowing this lens onto Sudan, we capture a mirror image.

Like Rwanda, Sudan is also home to multiple ethnic groups. In his article titled “Rethinking Identity, Citizenship, and Violence in Sudan,” Professor Amir Idris suggests this inability to contend with ethnic pluralism staged much of the conflict between the Northern region inhabited by people deemed Arab and Muslim, and the Western and Southern portions inhabited mainly by Afrikan and Black people. While racialization is one point of contention, another is the notion of civilization, exacerbating the differences that emerged in the 16th century with the rise of an Islamized and Arabized Sudanese population.

Following that period, much of the Afrikan population was reduced to enslavement, leaving room for supremacy to take form. Not only was bondage accepted as a norm by Northern Sudanese nationalist groups, but it also became a practice for British administrators and Christian missionaries, facilitating the repression of Afrikan bodies on all fronts. Without being accorded agency or humanity, Afrikan Sudanese people witnessed their stories sink from the annals of history under the guise of primitivity. The suggestion that Southern Sudanese bodies were lesser than Northern ones was then the foundation that would be used to justify multiple campaigns of ethnic cleansing, including the one unfolding at this very moment.

Last month, after a brutal siege of almost two years, El-Fasher fell to the RSF, precipitating another wave of mass displacement as an estimated 82,000 civilians fled from house searches, detentions, and executions. Like many of the campaigns the RSF has waged against Sudanese civilians, the violence witnessed in El-Fasher is targeted, notably against the Masalit, an indigenous Afrikan ethnic group native to Darfur, the western region of Sudan, and the site of the 2003 massacre. In both El-Fasher and Tawila, where many have fled to find shelter and safety, conditions continue to deteriorate as Sudanese civilians struggle to obtain basic aid, plunging them into a second wave of famine.

Against the current of war, the United States formed a mediation group involving Egypt, the United Arab Emirates, and Saudi Arabia. Yet as of right now, no concessions nor truces have been made, and a lack of pressure has been applied to the UAE for its human rights violations in supporting and arming a genocidal campaign.

History is then more than a date or a distant memory to be called upon in times of need. It is a promise and a protection insulating the most vulnerable people from a fate of silence. When we shine a light on the histories that oppressors have attempted to erase because they deemed them unworthy of remembering, we must commit to bringing back the humanity lost in the fray of atrocity.

11/09/2025 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

Three Afrikan figures reach towards the audience as they drown in the ring of fire

Opinion

What Happened to the Artist?

by Hanae Noirbent 10/08/2025

written by Hanae Noirbent

Drones descend from the sky, striking mercilessly. Within moments, a home becomes rubble, and from those ashes, no civilian rises to tell the tale. Families hold the still faces of their loved ones, blood smeared on bodies drained of its circulation. Gunshots continue to pepper the air, a rhythm as constant as the caving of stomachs starved over days, weeks, months. Amidst chorus of collective punishment, another sound arises. A click. It’s not perched above, or nestled around a corner. It’s in the crowd, camouflaging with the devastation it bears witness to. A camera. And holding it in steadied hands, is a journalist, crouching low as they adjust the lens, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

International human rights lawyer Amal Clooney stands on the grounds that journalists are truth tellers . In many ways, journalism requires its reporters to abide by that oath. No matter the extent of human plight, the journalist on the clock does not have the option to intervene. On the battlefield, death is a more trustworthy companion for a war journalist than any soldier or civilian. As a child, and even now as Editor-in-Chief of Nommo’s newsroom, I struggled with the notion that being on the frontlines of a story required letting that narrative unfold before your very eyes. On television, I observed how journalists traveled all over the country and the world to families steeped in poverty and survivors of generational violence, without a solution to offer, only an ear and a notepad ready to be scribbled upon. From my eyes, professional passivity quickly soured into deliberate complicity – we were not digging at change, we were only documenting it.

Something cracked my resolve flying over into Los Angeles. Having put it off for quite a while, I finally watched A24’s movie Civil War, following a group of journalists on their way to D.C. to get an interview with the president amidst the outbreak of an American civil war. While the background context leaves much to be discussed, what gripped me were the reflections on journalism and its role during conflict. In a scene where the journalists stumble upon the beaten bodies of two men with their assailant grinning maddeningly, our protagonist Lee Smith asks the attacker if she can take a photo of him standing next to his victims. The man obliges and shortly after, the journalists resume their journey to the capital. It’s inhumane, and it’s powerful. Lee captures the truth, violence laid bare, a case awaiting conviction. It’s provocative, perhaps even goes as far as to desensitize. Yet it’s inviting something, a reaction, a discussion a full scale mobilization. We as viewers are not privy to the intentions, but do we have to be in order to take action?

At this crossroads where violence has been sensationalized, snaking its way onto the screens of newsletters and the short form content consumed across social media platforms, it is necessary to call out the seeming spectacle we as consumers are making of livelihoods which are not our own. But perhaps that is precisely the point. Have we not had enough of seeing high definition footage of mangled bodies on our feeds? Are we not already fearful of being the next activist slammed to the curb by an insurrection of armed forces? Do we not look upon the marble columns of the Capitol and see the reflection of fascism staring back at us?

Journalists must tell the truth, and that truth always comes at a cost. That price continues to be paid when readers, viewers, and consumers, leave the truth behind – tuning out until the next moment, awaiting eagerly for news without any interest in making their own.

10/08/2025 0 comments

Commentary Opinion technology U.S.World

The Consumption of Humanity

by Nicole Crawford 06/02/2025

written by Nicole Crawford

2 december 2024 – 9:49

under capitalism, we are always looking to revolutionize and further consume people, as commodities, within our relationships. always thinking that we should run away from security and stability, thinking that settling into a place, planting roots, is unrealistic and unattainable, impractical. we are trained to consistently seek the next thing, to become inherently unsatisfied and unsatisfactory.

we are never fully present in love because we are conditioned to assume its end and replacement, we are always predicting loss, that our experiences of one another can only be temporary. we have no incentive to choose one another in this world, to stay, to build and grow, because we expect to be left behind, to be replaced, to lose one another.

we do not stay within discomfort, we do not transcend it, because the capitalist within us tells us to start anew at all times, this voice, behaving as a parasite to our truest needs in community, tells us that longevity, accountability and commitment to each other and ourselves, to community and restoration, to repair and love, to honor, is temporary and therefore nonexistent.

the only long term thing we can imagine and believe in (to imagine and believe are incredibly different acts of faith), is our perpetual suffering, inevitable collapse, and misery.

as the masses, we are strangers to love, to a home that is not easily destroyed, to places to which we can return and rest. this existence is a disease. to believe that goodness can only survive outside of where we currently are, that love can only be cultivated, nurtured, and flourish in far away gardens, with flowers foreign to our own soil, is torment. we become a problem to which there is no solution. we begin to find our resolve in lovelessness.

we begin to develop our faith in a certainty that we are anything but chosen, everything outside of the bounds of worthiness, anything but capable of this distant love.

many of us cannot imagine being known within our misery and despair. we cannot imagine being intentionally held, called by our names, honored as sacred. we have nothing to give but our truth, our rawest, most undeniable forms which cannot be exchanged on the market. we cannot imagine why people would desire to keep us with nothing to sell. we can only understand absence and abandonment. we justify and accept our insignificance and replacement, marking ourselves inevitably disregarded. within the belly of the beast, we look for answers and this is the only plausible reality.

in the absence of our ancestors, we believe lies.

06/02/2025 0 comments

Commentary Opinion

A New Lens: Afrikan Ways of Knowing in the Amerikkkan Classroom

by Bahji Steele 06/02/2025

written by Bahji Steele

There’s a peculiar kind of tension that settles in your chest when you sit in a room built to inspire ambition—but only for those who were always meant to succeed.

This quarter, I enrolled in my first class toward the entrepreneurship minor with the UCLA Anderson School of Management. As a humanities student, I carry the quiet burden of that ever-present whisper: make yourself marketable, do something that pays, there are no guarantees. It’s a whisper that’s easy to ignore—until the rent is due.

So I sit there—back straight, face blank—as the professor extols the genius of the McDonald’s franchise model. He calls it beautiful. Efficient. Replicable. I grit my teeth as his guest speaker casually diminishes the value of manual labor: “None of the people in this room will have to work blue collar jobs.” Meanwhile, my mind is caught in protest. My Public Affairs training is screaming. I see not beauty but bureaucracy; not genius but the logic of a machine designed to turn people into parts and land into profit.

The professor chuckles at his own misogynistic jokes, flaunting the kind of self-satisfaction only a man rewarded by capitalism can afford. He speaks like someone who has never had to question his place in the world—only how to expand it. And I’m told this is the path to security. He had a home in the Palisades—had, because it burned down. But the system that built it still stands.

This is the contradiction I’m forced to hold. I want stability, yes. But I also want dignity. I want to create, to redistribute, to dream—without becoming the thing I oppose. I want to be of use to others without assuming I know what they need. And so, in this article, I turn away from the empire and toward the village—from franchised ambition to ancestral wisdom. I look to Indigenous Afrikan governance structures to imagine what entrepreneurship could mean if it wasn’t built on extraction, but on reciprocity.

The Kenyan ethic of harambee—“all pull together”—offers a sharp contrast to Western business ideals rooted in individualism and profit. Instead of celebrating competition and personal gain, harambee prioritizes collective responsibility and mutual aid. Success is measured not by wealth accumulation, but by how well a community thrives together. Applied to Western entrepreneurship, this philosophy challenges the myth of the self-made founder and urges a shift toward businesses that are relational, redistributive, and rooted in care.

06/02/2025 0 comments

Commentary Opinion Political Education

closed mouths don’t get fed

by Nicole Crawford 05/16/2025

written by Nicole Crawford

11 april 2025 – journal entry

i have found myself often reflecting on how we are out of practice in advocating for ourselves and our needs. we are taught to neglect our rights to survival and revolution, our rights to struggle and healing, our rights to change. in the eyes of the colonizer we are incapable of deciding for ourselves, with courage, that we are indeed worthy of liberation and further opening our mouths to protest our oppression.

i have been reflecting on the power of the tongue, and how our inability to speak with certainty, without shame, in naming the violations injected into our skin, our bodies and our minds, has made us incapable of struggle, incapable of being decent lovers, friends, and comrades. i do not believe that we have understood the gravity of practice in our attempts to speak into existence the structures that will replace this cursed world. we are unfamiliar with boundaries and standards and with the righteous anger that allows us to transmute grief and disdain into action.

we consider ourselves to be individuals in this plight, and we are left disconnected, unprepared for what is required of us. when i neglect to speak up for myself i am practicing a denial of your rights. as your lover, your friend and comrade, i am ill-equipped in requiring the world to soften before you. i am unwilling and unconsenting to changing your reality, to fighting for and with you.

i become unreliable, a co-conspirator against your peace and the possibility of our future generations demanding justice and dismantling the systems that have burned us all. when we neglect to speak up for ourselves, we prepare to see harm and justify our complicity. we are irresponsible and apathetic in the face of love and tragedy. we are positioned against collective healing.

our capacity to resist requires meaningful, grueling, and nauseating repetition.

we are tasked with identifying clearly where we have been wronged by empire, and one another, so that we are capable of vomiting up the guilt of having sinned and the shame of conviction that plagues the consciously oppressed.

closed mouths don’t get fed, nor can they recognize their transgressions, their aspirations. we are required to practice ripping ourselves from the belly of the beast, we must be uncomfortable and tired at times, resistant always. a nuisance always.

theory without practice is miseducation. we must practice seriously. we must purge out the insecurity of silence. this is the only way that we keep one another safe. i cannot trust myself if i cannot speak life into your wounds, if i refuse to condemn your oppressor, and admit when i too have conspired against the oppressed.

neglecting my tongue, i am useless in struggle.

05/16/2025 0 comments

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