At an advance screening of “I Am Not Your Negro,” I thought deeply about the broken record of oppression that has a hold over black life in America. Racism is not over. James Baldwin knew it, modern black people know it and it is likely that those after us will know it.
I was lucky enough to create a video from an event where teens from metro Atlanta spoke their true, uncensored thoughts about this year’s presidential election and the issues they believe the candidates should tackle head on.
When I learned that I would be attending a college where 75.9 percent of the student body is composed of white people, I immediately found myself anxious about whether my blackness would be accepted. I shaved off my hair, telling people “I just want a new start.” But I really did it because I did not want to face the awkward looks in the dorm’s bathroom.
Racism is complicated. This poem is dedicated to those convoluted, often invisible social constructs that hinder black liberation.
We live in a era where somebody will spend little time on Earth for stealing some bread, while criminals are set free for shooting someone in the head.