Summer in the Bronx lasts forever, and it is like this: naked bodies that are at once child-skinny and child-swollen sprinting through spray-capped fire hydrants, stained popsicle sticks in neat piles on the sidewalk, asphalt that remembers the warm smell of rain long after it storms.
In summer 2020, I witnessed the eerie formation of a narrative: the sensationalized focus on the police officer that little matched the masses’ sentiments regarding prisons. There was lots of “ACAB!” and little “Prisons are obsolete.”
The school bus halts at my stop. My cul-de-sac still out of view, I continue forward, listening to the satisfying crunch of leaves under my feet, trying to forget the day I just had.
Writing and research from Shatima Jones's interdisciplinary seminars, “(De)Tangling the Business of Black Women’s Hair” and “Black Experiences in Literature, Movies, and Television,” published in honor of Black History Month, 2021.
The second installment of "A Seat at Our Table," featuring “Modeling Race” by Netanya Ronn, “Redefining Black Beauty” by Tatyana Tandanpolie, “Blackness and Colorism in Kenya Barris’s Productions” by Britney Agyen, “Pelo Bueno/Pelo Malo” by Melany Canela, and “White Parents, Black Hair" by Rachel Goulston.
How does the language used on hair care products define what is considered beautiful and, thus, imply how Black women should see their beauty?
How do white parents of black, biracial, or transracial children find resources and form community centered around Black hair care?
Whenever an author lays claim to what it means to be Black, a site of disruption is created, wherein a Black audience member is expected to identify with or see as “truth” a representation of himself that cannot be.
“Othello, no matter how respected or how much he can claim the privileges of whiteness, cannot escape his blackness.”
"By placing black male bodies into the classic framework of portraiture, Kehinde Wiley asserts that there is something inherently noteworthy about blackness."