A protest in support of immigration reform during the Hispanic Congressional Caucus gala this October. Photo by Ep_jhu.
Last month when President Obama finally announced his executive action to provide deportation relief to millions of undocumented people living in the United States, you could practically hear the collective intake of breath taken across the country.
A Portland police officer hugs 12-year-old Devonte Hart at a Ferguson protest in Portland, Oregon, last week. Devonte was holding a sign offering free hugs and the officer asked to take him up on the idea. Photo by Johnny Nguyen.
I waited three months to hear the phrase—the phrase that etched another devastating moment into the history of America. When it finally came, I prayed for the Brown family, who had to endure a painful Thanksgiving dinner with one less light at the table.
In the wake of Ferguson, Black Friday takes on a whole new meaning.
I recall with stunning clarity that day in 1992 when the Rodney King beating verdict came down. An all-white jury in Simi Valley pronounced that a gang of police officers was not guilty for beating an unarmed black man nearly to death, despite the fact that a bystander caught the whole ugly incident on video.
I am half-Pakistani. My mother was born in Pakistan, I grew up in North America. Superficially, I have a lot more in common with Adnan Syed—a Pakistani-Muslim who grew up in Baltimore and was convicted of killing his Korean girlfriend, Hae Min Lee, in 1999—than radio journalist Sarah Koenig does. Does that mean I'm more qualified to report on his case than she is?
October is Black Speculative-Fiction Month. The month is drawing to an end, so it's time to stock up your bedside table with titles by Black women authors that you can spend the next 11 months reading.
I once dined in a restaurant with my boyfriend on Halloween while a white gentleman ate his meal across from us decked out in head-to-toe blackface. New film Dear White People seemed like it was going to put into more dignified words what I was thinking that fateful night: “Oh, no, this mofo didn’t.”