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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.

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CommentaryNewsU.S.

Recounting the Flames: A Year Since the Los Angeles County Wildfires

by Mariah Yonique Strawder
written by Mariah Yonique Strawder

On January 7th, 2025, wildfires broke out across Los Angeles County, devastating the Altadena, Pasadena, and Pacific Palisades areas. On social media, I saw “Pray for California” spread rapidly. My timeline was full of videos of people who were evacuating their homes, salvaging what they could, and families sobbing as they watched their homes be engulfed in flames and fall to ashes.

The Palisades Fire in Pacific Palisades started around 10:30 a.m. on January 7th. The Eaton Fire in Altadena began on the same date later in the evening around 6:00 p.m. The Palisades fire covered over 23,448 acres while the Eaton fire covered 14,021 acres. A rough estimate of 100,000 people were forced to evacuate, 16,000 structures were destroyed, the number of lives lost is up to an estimate of 31, and fires were active for about 24 days. According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s February 2025 report, the Los Angeles January 2025 wildfires were the result of climate change, a record-level dry fall season in 2024, and Santa Ana winds from a near-hurricane event. With the help of firefighters from around California, Mexico, and Canada as well as incarcerated youth and adults from Los Angeles County jails and prisons, the fires were announced to be contained on January 31st. 

I asked Eloheem Mahone, Altadena Native, 2nd year UCLA Student, and member of Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity, Incorporated, Upsilon Chapter, about his and his family’s experience with the Eaton Fire, and what rebuilding has been like.

“My family’s roots in Altadena go way back,” Mahone says. His father is from Los Angeles and his mother is from Long Beach. His dad moved to Altadena while in high school. Later on, his parents would buy their own home in the area and begin building their family. 

When the Eaton Fires broke out, Mahone was at UCLA, in his dorm, lying in bed, waking up from a nap. “I had missed more calls than I had ever seen before. My phone was flooded with messages from people asking if my house was okay or saying sorry. My heart dropped to my stomach as I read messages from my family members who were in our home as it burned down. My first reaction was to go home. My college friends and I went to Altadena to help fight the fire. We couldn’t lose both of the homes my family grew up in. My next-door neighbor was a retired firefighter and did everything in his power to help our neighborhood. He told us that our house was one of the first in the neighborhood to catch fire, and by the time he had retrieved all his equipment, it was too late.”

When asked about the aftermath of the Eaton Fires, Mahone says: “Rebuilding has been rough. My family currently stays in a trailer in my grandparents’ backyard. I give a lot of credit to my mom, dad, and sister. They spent a lot of time doing research and outreach to survive as our resources were so limited. Then and now, my sister works nonstop trying to find resources for sustainable and affordable living.” Mahone also highlighted the work of his friend and UCLA Alum, Fayola Obasi, who used her sorority, Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated, Pi Chapter, to start a GoFundMe, raising over $30,000, to support his family. A year later, Mahone says that he is lucky. After putting the tragedy into perspective, he remains grateful for his support system and most importantly, his family still being here. 

In tracking the 2025 LA fire recovery efforts, FEMA has helped about 35,093 people and distributed about $163.4 million in aid. Angelenos have also been vocal in critiquing Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass’s efforts in the Palisades fire recovery. LA Times writes that since the fires the mayor “Bass has been announcing recovery strategies with great fanfare, only for them to get bogged down in the details or abandoned altogether.” This has left many Angelenos feeling unconfident in the Mayor’s leadership.

It is also important to highlight that the Los Angeles fires affected two distinct communities. The Palisades Fires set the Pacific Palisades ablaze, home to business executives and Hollywood movie stars. The Eaton Fires ravaged the east side communities of Pasadena and Sierra Madre, reducing much of the Altadena community to ash. Altadena, a diverse middle-class neighborhood known for being a Black enclave since the 1950s, is home to many Black legends such as athlete Jackie Robinson, writer Octavia E. Butler, actor Sidney Poitier, and activist Seaborn B. Carr. 

In October 2025, I visited California’s African American Museum in Exposition Park. I got to experience Ode to Dena: Black Artistic Legacies of Altadena, an exhibit that traces Altadena’s artistic history in light of the Eaton Fires. This CAAM exhibit is curated by Dominique Clayton, independent curator and founder of Dominique Gallery, in collaboration with Larry Earl, Kenturah Davis, Arianne Edmonds, Dylan Joner, and V. Joy Simmons, MD. The Exhibit highlights the Altadena community over the decades. It features over 20 Black artists who live in or have family ties to the neighborhood. It captures treasured moments like birthday celebrations, moments in the kitchen, and family pool time. While the exhibit stems from pain and loss, it is a beautiful reminder of Los Angeles’s cultural history.

In Harvard Kennedy’s School of Public Policy Student Policy Review on Racial Disparity in Disaster Response in the United States, Matt Plaus writes that “natural disasters strike Americans indiscriminately; unfortunately, relief does not reach them the same way”. From Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, Louisiana (2005), to Flint, Michigan’s decade-long water crisis (which the Environmental Protection Agency’s 2016 emergency order for was lifted in May 2025), and Hurricane Melissa in Jamaica (2025), racial disparities in disaster response have resulted in Black Americans suffering from worse impacts, slower recovery efforts, less aid, and greater health risk. In the aftermath of destruction, Black communities also become increasingly vulnerable to exploitation and displacement. 

As Altadena residents began to recover, A UCLA study done by the UCLA Ralph J. Bunche Center for African American Studies, the UCLA Center for Neighborhood Knowledge and the UCLA Latino Policy and Politics Institute found that “48% of Black households experiencing damage or destruction” faced disporportionate burdens of damage in the aftermath of the Los Angeles fires “compared to 37% for non-Black households”. The study also found that predatory insurance companies targeted families with “57%” of them being Black homeowners from Black Altadena, over the age of 65, and facing barriers to recovery. 

The Los Angeles wildfires were most certainly a chaotic way to start the beginning of 2025. The impacts of the Eaton and Palisades fires were devastating and recovery will take years. Homes, possessions, businesses, families, friends, and pets were lost. The trauma is immeasurable. For Black communities, the loss is one of many. There is still so much work that needs to be done. We as a community must hold our elected officials accountable and continue working together to ensure the victims of the Los Angeles fire regain stability. Going into 2026, let us prioritize electing leaders who are committed to the safety and well-being of Black communities.

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CultureNewsWorld

The Heart of Africa

by Orisha Lamon
written by Orisha Lamon

The colonialists care nothing for Africa for her own sake. They are attracted by African riches and their actions are guided by the desire to preserve their interests in Africa against the wishes of the African people. For the colonialists all means are good if they help them to possess these riches.
– Patrice Lumumba, Speech at the All-African Conference in Leopoldville August, 1960.

Congo was described as the “heart of Africa” by Kwame Nkrumah, a leading figure in decolonial struggle and Pan-Afrikanism. Nkrumah was closely aligned with Patrice Lumumba and his dedication to Congolese independence, decolonization, and repatriation of resources and autonomy from western colonial violence and control. The current strain most consider to be on the “heart of Africa” is the mineral crisis which has existed since the imperialist scramble for pieces of the African continent. Monetarily, Congo is projected to have approximately $24 trillion in mineral wealth from natural resources including cobalt, uranium, coltan, copper, and the ecological richness that sustains earth’s carbon sink. 

There lies the myth of Green Technology, drenched in the exploitation, blood, and sweat of Congolese laborers. Approximately 7 million people have been uprooted from their communities by Rwandan and Western backed Congolese militias under the guise of putting an end to any remnants of the Rwandan genocide that seeped into Congo. The needs of mass production and technological consumption have in turn created one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world. A crisis that, though sensationalized, is treated almost as an afterthought precisely because its victims are Afrikan people. Against the longstanding colonial legacy of dehumanization, the people of Congo have been left with no other choice but to survive and righteously struggle against the conditions induced by rapid capitalist and globalized needs. This is not a passive acceptance of colonial dispossession and structural genocide, but rather an internal resistance effort that has made its way into the continent and global sphere, and has generated solidarity movements and mutual efforts to materially support the displaced. 

The problem in the Congo should not even be considered – “as a problem” ; it is a colonial and capitalist development by the imperial and colonial cores. The foreign hands in Congo are from the United States, South Africa, Belgium, the broader EU, China, Taiwan, and many other countries, contributing to the loss of wealth and autonomy for the Congolese people. This project of foreign extraction is built upon an establishment of Afrikan subjugation, violence, and chattelization, corroding any sense of humanity. Thinking of the mines of the Congo and the millions displaced, we must support the independence, nationalization, and ownership of resources and decisionmaking in the hands of governance reflective of the people of Congo, to fulfill its suppressed and stolen economic presence as the heart of Afrika and continue to struggle toward a liberated and unified continent.

Resources

URGENT Support Needed in Goma, DR Congo

Documentary: Lumumba: Death of a Prophet 

Documentary: LWANZO (Cobalt) (paywalled)

Friends of the Congo

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Black HistoryCommentaryCultureNewsOpinionPolitical EducationWorld

Sudan and the Reminders of Genocide

by Hanae Noirbent
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.

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

What Happened to the Artist?

by Hanae Noirbent
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.

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CommentaryOpiniontechnologyU.S.World

The Consumption of Humanity

by Nicole Crawford
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. 

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CommentaryNewsPolitical EducationU.S.World

“This Country is Broken”

by Hanae Noirbent
written by Hanae Noirbent

“This country is broken.” 

No. 

This country is functioning according to its design. Founded upon the labor of the enslaved and the displacement of the Indigenous, this land we call united was fractured from its very conception. The current administration is not a mistake in the history of this nation but rather a product of it. And yet, amidst the knowledge that the citizenship we hold dear is a stolen identity or one that has been given to us by force, we still find ourselves dreaming, wishing the fires erupting with vigor, the red lines drawing blood in the concrete of our cities, were all mere accidents.

We cannot avoid the truth of what this country was built upon nor the values which anchored its inception. Acknowledging those histories will bring us to our crossroads, where the climate crisis culminates to a state of emergency, where censorship becomes law, and where our bodies continue to be properties of a state willing to break them to meet its ends. But as I said, we are at a crossroads. We are at a pivotal moment where yesterday cannot be reversed but perhaps tomorrow could open new expectations. Ultimately, it is our inaction which will cost us our future. So then, where to begin? 

Let us begin right here, on this first page. Established in 1968, NOMMO was the first ethnic newsmagazine established on a public university campus. Its principles were anchored in an era where the rights of Afrikan peoples were virtually non-existent and in this critical moment, we find a specter of that movement reemerging. In that time when NOMMO was the space for our people to create with radical optimism and hope for the tomorrow, we persevered. And today, upon these pages, we ask you to do the same. Not to glance at news cycles without batting an eye but rather to sit in the discomfort and engage in our voice. Not to believe the work we have done is over but rather to understand that collective liberation is more than simply occupying spaces. We must interact with our environment, and question it to always keep the dynamism of change at the forefront. 

We invite you to keep engaging with us as we question our environment and our roles, as we extricate ourselves from our positions of complacency and admit to our agency. We invite you to find strength in yourself, to pick up your tools of creation and express who you are as change comes from within. We invite you to rest as well, and to know that the fight lives on and we will welcome you to join us when you are ready. 

There is no land of the brave or the free. But there are the people whose search for bravery and freedom inspire a vision that acknowledges our shared generational traumas and projects them into a commemorative work. We cannot change our past, but if we reclaim the principles justifying it we can alter the course of not only the next four years, but the next four hundred. So that the children of our children will know the Earth and their ancestor’s beauty and why they should protect it. 

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Black HistoryCommentaryCultureNews

God is Change

by Bahji Steele
written by Bahji Steele

Since the LA fires started, me and I’m sure many other readers of Octavia Butler’s Parable series felt a sense of déjà vu. The neighborhood of Altadena has a rich black history that began after the civil rights movement. Before civil rights, this neighborhood was full of white ranchers and business owners. When Black/Afrikan and brown families began to move in, many white families moved out during the period, a phenomenon commonly known as “white flight”. White families did not welcome diversity in their neighborhood and their departure left opportunities for the diverse Altadena community we see today to bloom and grow. Octavia Butler grew up in Altadena. Her mother worked as a maid in wealthier white homes south of Pasadena proper. Butler received her associate’s degree from Pasadena City College and studied writing, anthropology, geology, and much more at UCLA. This was the same route of schooling my grandmother took when she came to California for college to become a nurse which led my family to settle in Altadena. Butler attended John Muir High School the same as my mother and her brothers and ironically my college roommate, an Altadena native, and his mother and generations of black families like ours. This beautiful neighborhood in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains has always been home to my family. One thing that I always particularly loved about Altadena was seeing a thriving Black/Afrikan community in LA with an abundance of green space, something most black communities in LA aren’t so fortunate to have. Altadena was always a beautiful neighborhood with its overhangs of oak trees, beautiful, lush mountains, an abundance of hiking trails and waterfalls. Altadena was the only place I wanted to dream of settling in when I grew up.

“We had fire today” reads a February 1st, 2025 diary entry in Butler’s Parable of the Sower. In the story, Lauren, a girl from the LA area living in 2024, is forced to live inside a community gated by large walls to protect herself from desperately poor starving people and a band of criminals high on a drug called pyro causing them to have arson addictions. Looking back at this story now is haunting as we enter only a few days into 2025 and the Eaton Fires have leveled the majority of the Altadena homes. The childhood home of Butler, where her grave, minimally burned in the fires. 

Earthseed is the community that Lauren dreamed of, the sanctuary not only physically safe from the harshness of the outside world and the fires but a spiritual space for people. Altadena was my Earthseed, as my grandpa was escaping gang violence in Watts and my grandmother an abusive orphanage in Boston, they both came to settle in Altadena for refuge, similar to the many Altadena residents that found their way escaping the Jim Crow South. This neighborhood was a sanctuary for us and it lives on. These fires have come as a result of long-standing climate injustice and extractive practices of capitalist consumption that do not engage with the Earth in regenerative ways. However, I believe the soul of the community members of Altadena will not so easily be turned to ash.

Etched in the gravestone of Butler reads the famous quote from Parable of the Sower, “All that you touch, you change. All that you change, changes you.” In the pulse of Altadena, Los Angeles, and beyond, the world now breathes the change she foresaw—a change that echoes through the shifting climate, the very manifestation of Butler’s prophecy. Written in 1993, her vision stands, astonishing in its clarity. Renowned for grounding the realms of Afrikan/Black science fiction and Afrofuturism, after the tremors of early 2025, one cannot help but ask: Is this fiction—or the future? She is the living word, embodying NOMMO, and with each story, she wields the griot’s power—the power of the word, the power to shape reality.

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