2

Rachel

Whenever I apply for something online or over the phone, like a job or a school, the first thing I wonder when the communication ends, and ends well, is: “Oh, dear. Do they know I’m black?” I [...]

0

Micah

Can I touch your hair? Is your beard real? Can I take a photo with you? Dude, you’re so cool! Especially the drunk white chick or the group of dudes in the bar that just can’t control themselves. [...]

0

Dara

Once, in Portland, Maine, a skinny white boy in grubby clothes calls me ‘nigger.’ He waits until we pass each other on the street to hurl the insult at my back. Amazed, I turn around to stare at [...]

0

Shai

My earliest memory of my mother was at the age of six. This is when she taught me how to become a thief. Walking down the street with my mother, in what I thought was an ice cream run. She [...]

0

Tameka

When this picture was taken, I was 16. A teacher/mentor had taken me and another student on a trip to New Orleans to work with other students on a peace project. She had a friend who owned a boat [...]

Kesai

Not knowing my dad was not knowing my masculine self, my blackness, who I was as a person. My mom did her best to support me and my emotional needs. As a child, she enrolled me into therapy. [...]

page 1 of 2