‘Survivor’s Remorse’ recap: Cam upends Missy and Reggie’s grand plans and Cassie gives her imprisoned ex a merciful peek The fourth and last season has just one more episode to go

Season 4, Episode 9 | “Family Ties” | Oct. 15

First you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the respect. That’s how it’s supposed to go, right? Unless you’re Missy and Reggie Vaughn, in which case, first you get $480,000 from a trust fund and then you get … pushback.

Poor Reggie. Poor Missy. The two spent so much time discussing the big issues in their relationship. And just last week, it seemed a financial future disentangled from dependence on Reggie’s (RonReaco Lee) cousin Cam (Jessie T. Usher) had appeared. But maybe they started counting that profit a leeeeeetle too soon.

In the penultimate episode of Survivor’s Remorse — Starz announced this week that the season four finale would end the series — Missy and Reggie encounter a roadblock to buying an abandoned school from the city of Atlanta and flipping it into yogurt shops and lofts: Cam. Or rather, Cam’s need to do good.

When Reggie tells Cam about his newfound investment opportunity, Cam wants no part of it. Not only does he not want to raze the school, he wants to save it. He’s down for making money, but he wants to do it the right way. And to Cam, replacing a school with yuppie paradise just isn’t right. Cam is generally a laid-back guy. But he snaps a bit when Reggie tries to get him to rethink his position on the development deal, telling his best friend and cousin that he doesn’t want to be babied. He’s morally opposed to it, and he’s not budging.

Survivor’s Remorse is produced by LeBron James. For the most part, Cam and his family have existed, at least for me, as completely separate characters. Perhaps their experiences are informed by James’, but this show never felt like a thinly veiled adaptation of his life. Until now. Watching this episode, I wondered just how much the relationship between Reggie and Cam mirrors the one between James and his longtime business partner Maverick Carter. Especially since Cam started exhibiting the deep interest in social justice causes that we’ve come to expect from James.

Survivor’s Remorse has done a great job of offering a 360-degree view of the debate between Reggie and Cam. On the one hand, Cam’s curiosity about why the school was closed and put up for sale are admirable. He doesn’t want to contribute to the school-to-prison pipeline or educational segregation. But there’s a big difference between him and the Vaughns: multiple income streams. Cam gets money from his endorsement deals and his team contract. The Vaughns get money from … negotiating Cam’s deals. And so part of what allows Cam to act on his high-minded principles is that he’s more than set for life, and so are his kids, and his kids’ kids. That’s not the case for Missy and Reggie. The beauty of Survivor’s Remorse is that it makes it hard to choose a side.

Cam has to be reminded of how his wealth makes his daily life different from most. For instance, Allison (Meagan Tandy) and Cam are proceeding toward their wedding with a dinner including Allison’s parents and Cassie (Tischina Arnold). When Cam suggests hosting the dinner at his Buckhead mansion, Allison has to gently remind him that his enormous wealth — and his house, which is such an obvious indicator of it — can be intimidating. So they do dinner at the Pierces’.

Cam’s fortune is bound to present issues for Allison’s career too. DJ Khaled makes a guest appearance as a nurse who works with Allison at the local hospital. After seeing her giant engagement ring, he thinks the worst: Did Cam cheat? Is he beating her? There’s skepticism, echoed by a hospital patient, that this is a partnership of true love and nothing else. And that presents another question: What happens to Allison’s career after she’s married and doesn’t have to work?

My favorite bit of this episode, though, takes place between Cassie and Cam’s father, Rodney (Isaiah Washington). Cassie, on her route to Catholic confirmation, visits Rodney in prison. She’s dressed in a black turtleneck and a long white, A-line suede skirt that offer subtle visual references to her Catholicism and to her now-chaste relationship with Rodney.

Washington and Arnold expertly play out the tension between two people who once shared a fiery connection. The flames are still evident, even with Rodney still imprisoned in Boston and Cassie in a serious relationship with Chen (Robert Wu). It’s a scene that hits you in the gut as Cassie asks Rodney for forgiveness. Rodney, on the other hand, exhibiting that smooth charm that must have drawn Cassie to him as a young woman, asks for a “family visit.” As “If You Were My Woman,” plays over the scene, Cassie politely demurs. But she assents to giving Rodney a peek at her booty as she swishes her way to the visiting room vending machine. Corporal act of mercy, indeed.

Women’s March organizers have received unexpected donations for upcoming convention Detroit is the backdrop, and the city’s sports figures want to make sure people can attend

The revolution was televised. On Jan. 21, networks tuned in to watch 2.6 million people across the world come together for an iconic moment. A five-hour rally known as the Women’s March took place.

The event highlighted topics dealing with criminal justice reform, social justice, racial discrimination, domestic violence and women’s rights, and it implored entertainers, celebrity speakers, actors and activists to help progress the cause.

Now, the Women’s March organization is taking its activism further. The first Women’s Convention will be held in Detroit from Oct. 27-29. The massive gathering, which will bring together thousands of women and allies of all backgrounds for a weekend of workshops, strategy sessions, inspiring forums and intersectional movement building, will aim to continue the preparation going into the 2018 midterm elections in Detroit.

The convention is set to bring first-time activists, movement leaders and rising political stars to the forefront. And it’s all happening a few short weeks after NFL players sat, knelt or raised their fists in protest during the national anthem in direct response to President Donald Trump’s recent comments regarding on-field protests.

Now, Detroit-based players, coaches and their families are taking their causes a bit further and stretching their likeness to organizations such as the Women’s March for their upcoming Women’s Convention. To date, former Detroit Lions linebacker DeAndre Levy and his wife, Desire Vincent Levy, recently donated $30,000, along with Detroit Pistons president and head coach Stan Van Gundy and his wife, Kim, who have also donated $10,000 to a scholarship fund for the convention.

Activist Tamika D. Mallory, national co-chairwoman for the Women’s March and founder of Mallory Consulting, said players coming together to help with the cause isn’t surprising.

“I think that has really garnered the attention of NFL supporters,” Mallory said. “With all of the issues we see happening with the NFL and how it sort of intersects with some of the issues that the Women’s March has been bringing to the forefront, it would make sense that there would be players and others within the sports industry who would want to support and help.”

Mallory notes that while the Women’s March did not have any past relationships with players, the Gathering for Justice, the organization that the Women’s March is part of, has a relationship with Colin Kaepernick.

“He donated to the gathering prior to the Women’s March and has had a very strong relationship with us,” she said. “I think that it [the decision to donate] was really important for us because it lets us know that people are not disconnected from the issues. That just because a person is playing for a sports team and it may sometimes seem as though they’re not necessarily connected to what’s happening on the ground, that’s not in fact the case. That people are actually listening, that the work that we’re doing resonates with folks from all industries. So it is certainly very encouraging to have the support of people from the sports industry, for certain.”

The organization’s decision to choose Detroit as the place to hold the Women’s Convention was made during the summer and “very intentional.”

“We were looking across the country, looking for cities that we thought represented all the issues in our Unity Principles, a place that’s sort of a microcosm of the issues that we know are happening to marginalize people in America,” she said. “Detroit specifically, you’re looking at a place where gentrification, workers’ rights, the police accountability issue, right down the road from Flint, where the water crisis continues to today. Looking at economic stability, or instability, and just looking at the displacement of black and brown folks and how that plays out within the Detroit area. Even gun violence, a major issue there. We looked at Phoenix, Arizona, we also looked at Atlanta, Georgia, and Detroit was always the No. 1 choice for us, so when we were able to find dates that worked, we went there.

“We wanted to go to a place that we could bring folks from across the country to hear from people who are dealing with very, very serious challenges, but also we know that Detroit is a place where you have so many great organizers, people who have organized and done great work throughout history, and so we know that there’s also a great cultural experience that people coming from all over the country can benefit from. Lastly, we wanted to make sure that when bringing resources into a particular city, that we as Women’s March would bring our resources to a community that needs those resources and needs an infusion of care from people across the country.”

The Levys attended the Women’s March in January. The two made their donation to the Women’s Convention “to support women and girls from Detroit to be able to attend the conference” and “for local vendors to be able to vend in a social justice city.”

“I was really excited when I learned that it was going to be coming to Detroit,” Desire Vincent Levy said. “This is important because it’s a convergence of a lot of different individuals from Detroit, from around the country, coming together to connect and build and learn. Supporting that, the connection and convergence, just given the climate of the world right now, I think is very important.”

The Levys are no strangers to giving. They host a fundraiser called Our Issue, which raises money for the backlog of neglected rape kits in Detroit.

“We also have a scholarship in partnership with the Detroit Food Academy that is funded through a dinner series called Regenerate Detroit,” Levy added.

With the climate of what’s going on right now with football players’ silent protests, Levy believes the NFL and Women’s March organization can collaborate more.

“I think both are looking for solutions and sparking and continuing conversations about inequality and injustice that’s occurring in our society,” Levy said. “To me they both have the same aspiration: to spark conversation, to get people engaged that maybe wouldn’t normally be engaged and, quite honestly, need to be engaged.”

The organizers refer to the convention as a place where people can get the tools that they need to organize locally and connect with other organizers so they are able to continue their local work.

“The resources that we have received and continue to receive from people in the sports industry and other influencers alike, it’s helpful to give us the space and the opportunity to provide them these necessary tools to organizers and activists,” Mallory said.

The portrait of an artist: Derek Fordjour dissects race, sports and culture A Morehouse and Harvard grad is telling the world how he feels about life and athletics — via art

Mid-September in Harlem, New York. The wind, sotto voce. Rain is in the forecast but as yet, no tears from the clouds that hover above the neighborhood commonly known as the birthplace of the Harlem Renaissance. On the corner of West 155th Street and St. Nicholas Avenue stands a 13-story charcoal-colored building designed in 2015 by Sir David Frank Adjaye, the Ghanaian-British architect of the National Museum of African American History and Culture.

The building not only offers affordable housing, and early education programs, it’s also home to the Sugar Hill Children’s Museum of Art & Storytelling. Just one floor down, though is like entering a previous century. The shift in the atmosphere is due to PARADE, an exhibition of the work of visual artist Derek Fordjour. Fordjour, a Morehouse, Hunter College and Harvard graduate born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee, creates installments at the intersection of race, sports, and the “economic, political and psychosocial implications of games.”

Fordjour always knew he was an artist. “I don’t think it was realization,” he said. “I think I was just an artist … all kids are artists. I just started … and I just never stopped. Art is the first language for kids, but [most] of us kind of adapt, or move away from it. I just kind of kept going.”


At Fordjour’s Brooklyn studio, one piece stands out: acrylic, oil pastel, charcoal on newspaper, mounted on a 30-inch by 24-inch canvas. The piece is prideful. It presents the head and shoulders of a black athlete in a striped jersey. The colors peek from behind shadows and strong, textured diamond shapes. The work reeks of the often unsettled place of black athletes in pro sports, a space complicated by fame, money and sometimes false narratives. Fordjour is recipient of the C12 Emerging Artist Award 2017 has had his work featured in exhibitions at Roberts & Tilton Gallery in Los Angeles, New York City’s Sotheby’s S2 Gallery, and Luce Gallery in Turin, Italy.

His interest in dissecting race in sports takes over a large space in his studio, which is in the DUMBO area of Brooklyn. He says he is a Los Angeles Lakers fan, from as far back as the Showtime Lakers/Magic Johnson era. “In sports … there’s a lot of preparation and skill, but there’s also luck,” said Fordjour. “Playing the game in the right place matters. If I were [making art] in some far out, distant city, it wouldn’t have the same resonance as it does in New York. I see those parallels, I see [sports] as … entertainment as well, and these works really are about that.”

“Growing up, I heard in a speech once — ‘If I have to run 10 yards for a first down and you have to run three, it don’t matter how hard I play.’ ”

He says that art and sports occupy similar positions in society — because there’s no utility to either of them. “The outcome of a game,” he said, “or when I complete a piece, it doesn’t really fundamentally change the lives of many people … materially anyway … but it has social value.”

He said that some of what happens when he works is he takes “the story” and then tries to internalize a lot of it. “One of the reasons why … surfaces are really worn the way they are is because coming from Memphis, I grew up getting things that were worn a lot — freshly used. I had a big brother, my parents were immigrants … [so also] seeing our [used] clothes go to Ghana. Those cycles, the things we have worn … is a lot about what [my] surfaces are about.”

Many times, he starts by laying down a base of cardboard. “Then I do a second layer,” he said, “where I actually paint the image, and then I use registration, which is like transparencies, these clear things, to mark where it is. I have these marks that will help me position the image on the top layer, and then I kind of tear through. I will do another image. I can almost tear it and then just pull that middle layer if I wanted, or go all the way back to the bottom layer. They’re really three paintings on top of each other, and then I just kind of tear in between. I don’t even know how I thought of it, I think it just happens. You’re making things … you just keep making them.”


Fordjour’s PARADE installation at the Sugar Hill Children’s Museum.

Courtesy of Derek Fordjour

Fordjour’s PARADE opened on July 27 and runs through Jan. 14, 2018, is a bold indicator that art still thrives in Sugar Hill. The installation is backed by carnival music — a nostalgic journey that places visitors back to their own childhoods while giving them a glimpse into Fordjour’s own youthful obsessions. There’s a brick-paved tunnel complete with flashing lights and shiny floors. Lighted archways lead to a kind of fun house, with each step visitors move into a new creative space. Unlike regular parades, where the crowd gathers to view the fun passing by, in PARADE visitors walk through the exhibit and enjoy the pieces.

The walls are lined with newspaper, with masks and statues, serving as the backdrop of pieces representing Fordjour’s Ghanaian heritage.

The walls are lined with newspaper, with masks and statues, serving as the backdrop of pieces representing Fordjour’s Ghanaian heritage. Throughout are what the artist refers to as “works on paper” and the museum describes as ” … his signature and highly textured collages … vignettes, small sculptures, found objects, and interventions.” There is even a small mounted Ferris wheel, a food cart, and a ceiling of blue skies. Sneakers hang from a utility line.

“A touch of urbanity,” Fordjour said. “Certain kind of symbols, monikers, they locate an experience, and I wanted that kind of specificity. There are certain neighborhoods you don’t see that in.”

Near the end of PARADE visitors enter a closet that houses coats, hats, shirts and shoes. It turns out he got them from a museum staffer. They were items she’d had stored after a breakup with an ex.

Fordjour is curious: “But did you go through it?” He believes it’s a becomes kind of a litmus test, particularly for adults, about risk-taking. “Some people turn around,” he said of the people who don’t push through and back, and see what’s there, “and go all the way back out.”

Fordjour uses material that methodically disseminates layers of texture, which intensifies as the pieces hit the surface. The end result? Astonishing, thought-provoking art.

“We want fairness,” he said. “Societal fairness. Growing up, I heard in a speech once — ‘If I have to run 10 yards for a first down and you have to run three, it don’t matter how hard I play.’ Some of my work is about that inequality. That’s what it comes down to. If you look at health care, if you look at the history of housing, if you look at the history of banking, if you look at education, the disparities across all … are a lot greater than we realize. I’m interested in those ideas of fairness.”

David Robinson’s advice on effective social change: ‘Slow down’ ‘The Admiral’ says it took years to get his school and investment fund up and running

SAN ANTONIO — The students making their way through a first-floor corridor at Carver Academy and College Prep grew wide-eyed when they bumped into the school’s founder. A few gasped when the still-trim, 7-foot-1 Spurs legend David Robinson stopped to wave, and they beamed when he posed for a few selfies.

Most of these young people were not yet born when Robinson’s Hall of Fame NBA career ended in 2003. But, to them, the man nicknamed “the Admiral” is as much a star for what he has done off the court as for what he did on it.

Robinson launched what was then called Carver Academy 16 years ago with $10 million of his own money. It began as a small parochial school serving elementary students, but it is now a publicly funded charter school that enrolls more than 1,100 pupils. Most of the students are Hispanic or black, and most of them are from low-income families. Nearly all of them are on track for college, school officials say.

We’re in an age when athletes are embracing social activism in a way that rivals anything in the past. Following the lead of former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick, scores of NFL players have stirred a national debate by taking a knee or sitting during the national anthem to call attention to police brutality and racial injustice. Others have worn T-shirts or hoodies to protest the deaths of Eric Garner or Trayvon Martin. Many athletes have started foundations or otherwise tried to leverage their wealth and fame to spur social change.

It is a level of consciousness that heartens the 52-year-old Robinson. And while Robinson is careful not to criticize any protesting players, he says it remains to be seen whether their strong words will be matched by meaningful deeds — or make the kind of difference that is happening at Carver.

“There is certainly more awareness now. Guys understand their influence and opportunity,” Robinson said. “I’ve talked to a lot of young athletes. They care. They want to do something significant. The question is, how? How do they do it?”

It is something Robinson knows firsthand. It took him years to turn his dream of a school into reality. He says the athletes eager to make change should be prepared for a similar struggle.

A line of students eagerly greet David Robinson as they walk to their next classroom at the IDEA Carver College Prep campus. “I’m a teacher at heart,” said Robinson. “I’m a lifelong student.”

Julysa Sosa for The Undefeated

“Guys in the NBA visit Carver all the time. Some of them say, ‘This is great. I want to start a school too,’ ” Robinson said. “My reaction is usually, ‘Wait. Slow down.’ You’ve got to be sure this is what you want to do. There is so much to learn. It is daunting. When a lot of guys come into the league, they are not prepared to write a check, much less run a school or build something.”

Robinson’s patient brand of activism led him to not only open a school but to also co-found Admiral Capital Group, a private equity firm that helps pay for his good deeds. Admiral controls more than $1 billion in office space, hotels and apartment developments. The company also has invested alongside several NBA and NFL team owners in an online platform that helps coaches at all levels break down game film as well as a separate online platform that automates management of youth athletic leagues. The firm sets aside 10 percent of its profits for donations aimed at making social change.

“The business is a sustainable way of making a long-term impact,” said Daniel Bassichis, a former Goldman Sachs banker and the firm’s co-founder, who once served on Carver’s board. “It has a constant income, which is key. Most [athletes’] foundations do not have this kind of income.”

Admiral has also helped guide investments by other professional athletes, including Spurs guard Tony Parker, former NFL defensive lineman Justin Tuck (who served an internship with the firm as an MBA student) and retired major league outfielder Torii Hunter. Not only are the investors immersed in the details of their investments, but they also receive advice on how to make lasting social change.

“There is so much to learn. It is daunting. When a lot of guys come into the league, they are not prepared to write a check, much less run a school or build something.”

For instance, each year the firm hires 25 Houston-area high school students to work in a Hilton Garden Inn hotel it owns there. The idea is to expose young people to careers in the hospitality industry. If students take to the work, they are given scholarships to the University of Houston, which they attend as Admiral scholars.

Robinson’s vision for social activism came into focus three decades ago during a two-year military commitment after his graduation from the Naval Academy. During that time, Robinson visited a couple of dozen Washington, D.C.-area high schools to deliver a simple message: Just say no to drugs.

Most students seemed thrilled to have the basketball star in their midst. Still, Robinson’s words frequently fell flat, particularly with the students who most needed to hear them. He realized he had to do more than say something. He had to do something.

“I realized it was like trying to put a Band-Aid on a big wound,” Robinson recalled. “Some of the kids would say, ‘This ain’t reality to us.’ From what they knew, drug dealers were making money. Or education wouldn’t change their lives. I found myself wondering, what can I do to help these kids? How do I make change?”

Robinson, a devout Christian, prayed on it. The answer he got convinced him that he should one day open a school to help guide young people to make better choices, regardless of the difficult circumstances they may confront.

“You can talk until you are blue in the face, but you can’t change people,” he said. “But you can plant seeds, and education is a natural way to plant seeds.”

Robinson nurtured his dream for most of his NBA career, making donations and connections and learning what he could about educational policy. Finally, he made his move, opening Carver Academy in 2001, two years before he retired from basketball. As a parochial school, it had just 120 students. To expand its reach and relieve the constant fundraising pressure, Robinson agreed in 2012 to convert Carver into a publicly funded charter school by joining forces with IDEA, a nonprofit that operates 61 schools serving 36,000 students across Texas. Robinson is now a member of IDEA’s San Antonio regional board.

The school, renamed Carver Academy and College Prep, now has more than 1,100 students in kindergarten through 11th grade. (It will add 12th-grade classes next year.)

David Robinson originally founded George W. Carver Academy in 2001. Eleven years later, he partnered with IDEA Public Schools to expand his goal of accessible quality education for all children.

Julysa Sosa for The Undefeated

“When I started Carver, I did not know what I was doing,” Robinson said. “It is a huge undertaking: fundraising, curriculum, finding partners. It is a commitment, and it takes a long time to learn.”

Carver is located not far from the Spurs’ home arena. “We have students in homeless shelters, or who have lived in cars for periods of time. There are all kinds of life issues,” said Guadalupe Diaz, principal of Carver’s elementary program. “But there is an abiding belief that they can overcome. They can do it.”

One of Robinson’s core beliefs is that tough circumstances should not be seen as insurmountable obstacles to achievement. He named the school after George Washington Carver, who was born into slavery but nonetheless went on to become a widely respected botanist, inventor and teacher. He thought Carver’s life story contained a lesson for young people today.

“If you think you have a bad situation, that man grew up in a worse situation,” Robinson explained. “But Carver knew there was a reason he was here. That led him to do amazing things. We have to start where we are, use what we have and make something of it. And never be satisfied.”

Robinson says another one of his core strategies is to inspire young people to tap into their own gifts and leverage whatever opportunities they have.

“Every time you turn on the television, people see rap stars, athletes and actors. You don’t see the everyday people who are doing well. The culture points us to these unattainable roles. How many of us are going to be athletes? Practically nobody. Success is not being Jay-Z. There is only one Jay-Z. Who is telling kids that this long journey of being a father is crazy important? The idea is to get them excited for the life before them.”

Too often, Robinson said, schools that serve low-income students succumb to the instability and low expectations that often accompany poverty. It is a problem identified by many educators but one Carver has apparently found a way to conquer. Its elementary school students consistently score near the 70th percentile on standardized math and reading tests, an achievement that officials attribute to their individualized focus on the students. Parents have responded: This year the school could enroll just 120 new students out of 300 who applied through a lottery.

“Who is telling kids that this long journey of being a father is crazy important?”

“What I think Carver has figured out is how to help students grapple with community issues that might come up and not hold them against the kids,” said Brittany Hibbert, an assistant principal at Carver’s upper school. She said students and administrators do home visits, staff Saturday school and take calls from students at night. “We literally do whatever it takes.”

High expectations and individually tailored instruction help. But it is also helpful that one of San Antonio’s best-known celebrities is a regular presence at Carver. The first floor of the upper school has a small museum dedicated to Robinson, a two-time NBA champion, 10-time All Star and former league MVP. There are jerseys from the Naval Academy, the Spurs and the two U.S. Olympic teams he played for. There are also medals and trophies, and even a small section of basketball floor marked with the footprints of Robinson and some of his former teammates and coaches.

“His presence is significant,” said Chang Yu, principal of Carver’s upper school. “His name appeals, and it resonates quality, sportsmanship, education — all good things that people gravitate toward. He definitely is a factor in our success.”

Robinson says that is where many people who command the spotlight can be helpful. Robinson applauded stars such as LeBron James, Chris Paul and others who have backed up their calls for social justice by donating millions of dollars for things such as after-school programs and college scholarships. As he watches more athletes find their voice embracing the new civil rights movement, he said he will be dividing them into two categories: those who just say things, and those who back their words with action.

“I can say anything I want to say, but you can also go back and track what I’ve done over the last 20 years to see if what I’m saying matches up,” Robinson said. “Where is your money going? What have you given to? So you have the nerve to make a public statement. Now I am going to check and see how much you’ve done so I can determine whether your statement has any value.”

Gregg Popovich’s speech about white privilege felt like a personal rebuke But now I’m starting to understand what it means

White Privilege: (noun). The fact of people with white skin having advantages in society that other people do not have.

Monday afternoon in downtown Washington, D.C., and every one of the overhead office televisions is leading with NFL franchises responding to the 45th president of the United States, who called anthem-protesting players “sons of bitches” last week and implored owners to tell these kneeling men, reality TV-style, “You’re fired!”

Then Gregg Popovich’s cloudy-white visage filled the screen, making me feel like crap.

“We still have no clue of what being born white means,” the coach of the San Antonio Spurs said in the middle of a three-minute, Check Your Privilege, Mr. President, scolding. “It’s like you’re at the 50-meter mark in a 100-meter dash. And you’ve got that kind of a lead because, yes, you were born white. You have advantages that are systemically, culturally, psychologically there. And they have been built up and cemented for hundreds of years.”

My colleagues, almost all of whom are black, nodded approvingly because Pop “gets it,” and some vowed to become Spurs fans simply because of his comments. I did the same.

But I also had this pang gnawing at me all day and into the night.

The truth: Many well-intentioned white people I know lose their minds when they hear about their “white privilege.” It’s not that we haven’t acknowledged our ancestors’ original sin — the dehumanization of a people, manifested in tragically being able to call another human being “property.” We have.

But fully accepting that the color of our skin benefits us today is often too much to unpack.

When we hear, “Check your privilege,” we feel ostracized from the people we thought shared the common purpose of equality with us. Further, if we are directly confronting racism in our online and physical worlds, we don’t want to hear, “Thanks, but there is no extra credit for doing what is right.”

We want an impossible validation: to be told that, unlike those Confederate-lovin’ nationalists in Charlottesville, Virginia, we don’t have white privilege.

And that gets to dissecting the meaning of privilege — separating the feelings of personal slight from a systemic inequity. Which is flat-out hard. We either a) don’t believe it; b) don’t think we are participants in it; or c) will engage to a point but ultimately decide, “I’m sorry, I don’t share this outlook on the world.”

It was only after hearing Popovich that I realized that we who continue to bullheadedly think that way represent a real obstacle toward achieving this elusive better place we always talk about.

Look, this isn’t something Colin Kaepernick or Michael Bennett can fix alone, just as Tommie Smith and John Carlos couldn’t fix it in 1968. This isn’t something any person of color can change by himself.

This is a difficult white-person-to-white-person conversation that has to happen between white men and women of all classes for any lasting change to occur. Black and brown people already know this. It’s not news to them that we have advantages bestowed at birth that they don’t.

If you can’t accept that white people have it easier, then you will never accept why someone would kneel during the national anthem. And until those two are reconciled, we shouldn’t expect people to stand — especially those most adversely affected by society’s unfair constructs.

We want an impossible validation: to be told that, unlike those Confederate-lovin’ nationalists in Charlottesville, Virginia, we don’t have white privilege.

The display of unity on Sunday, with some NFL owners linking arms with their players, was indeed an act of togetherness. But it was in response to the president crudely calling out their employees — not black men being killed by police. They were standing up for the NFL, not human rights. If Sunday was it, all they did was participate in a photo op that made everyone feel good.

We don’t need to feel good right now; we need to feel uncomfortable.

It’s a process. For one, hearing we have “white privilege” feels like it carries a stigma, as if we have been branded “racist” and don’t know why. It’s almost like a virus one needs to be inoculated from at a CVS pharmacy each fall.

But, of course, it doesn’t work like that. We don’t have a disease — society does.

Author and consultant Frances E. Kendall’s 2002 essay Understanding White Privilege put it this way: “For me, the confusion and pain of this knowledge is somewhat eased by reminding myself that this system is not based on each individual white person’s intention to harm but on our racial group’s determination to preserve what we believe is rightly ours. This distinction is, on one hand, important, and, on the other hand, not important at all because, regardless of personal intent, the impact is the same.”

In other words, hearing you have “white privilege” shouldn’t carry an ounce of baggage, even if the language feels accusatory. I know it took me a while to get there.

I have, for much of my life, failed to acknowledge that privilege. I rationalized that I did not have it because my papa-was-a-rolling-stone father moved us to a rural area of Hawaii when I was 12 — and I faced ugly prejudice for being white. (Everyone, by the way, should be on the other side of the fence at least once in their life to see what it’s like.) Given my own life circumstances, I reasoned it didn’t apply to me, that my own broken-home, abusive childhood didn’t involve any suburban cul-de-sacs or regular visits to the dentist, so what do I know about privilege?

But when you begin to think deeply about your own life experiences compared with your friends of color, it’s harder to dismiss.

I’ve never had to educate my young sons to be aware of systemic racism for their own daily physical protection, to warn them of law enforcement officers who might not give them the benefit of the doubt.

I’ve never applied for a home loan and suspected that I was turned down because some of my prospective neighbors only want to live next to and around people who look and think like them.

Privilege is when a deranged racist murders multiple black worshippers at a church Bible study and, upon seeing the race of the individual who did it, you did not have to say to your friend, “Damn, now they’re going to think all of us white folk are racist killers.”

The biggest benefit of being white: Our problems are far less likely to be attributed to some racial/cultural failure. Our government will hear our cries and not tell us to get over it but rather, in point of fact, ask us how it can help (even if the help doesn’t always come).

If Popovich is honest, white privilege is what allows him to make those statements in the first place. Meanwhile, coach Mike Tomlin, who’s never had a losing season, has been to two Super Bowls, won one and has guided the Pittsburgh Steelers to more wins the past decade than any team except the Green Bay Packers and New England Patriots, is walking a tightrope at this minute, trying to keep his protest-torn team together while not being shunned by his boss and the team’s customers.

“People get bored. ‘Oh, is it that again? They’re pulling the race card again, why do we have to talk about that again?’ ” Popovich said. “Well, it’s because it’s uncomfortable and there has to be an uncomfortable element in the discourse for anything to change. People have to be made to feel uncomfortable, and especially white people — because we are comfortable.”

I don’t like hearing this. It forces me to confront truths I don’t necessarily want to accept, because I don’t remember any breaks given me or job opportunities offered because of my complexion. But I’d be in denial to not believe that in numerous situations my race has helped me — in ways I never even notice.

Popovich’s statements are a piece of a conversation between white people that needs to happen more frequently. Whether there are enough people who look like me willing to engage in that conversation is an open question.

At least this week, though, his gruffness and often-annoying certainty about everything turned out to be good for more than just lighting a fire under Tim Duncan’s tush:

“Many people can’t look at it because it’s too difficult. It can’t be something that is on their plate on a daily basis,” he said. “People want to hold their position. People want the status quo. People don’t want to give that up. And until it’s given up, it’s not going to be fixed.”

Anyone else white want to take a stab at it? It’s the only way the work of everyone from Muhammad Ali to Colin Kaepernick will ever get done.

John Carlos, John Wooten know Kaepernick’s road is a long one After 50 years of fighting for change, these old warriors are unbowed but tired

Five decades before a backup NFL quarterback used the national anthem to tell America it can do better — enraging a U.S. president and millions of others, suffering the personal and professional consequences — John Carlos did the same.

He was the original.

He paid his dues, put in the time, working for social change for so long that he and Tommie Smith, his teammate on that Olympic podium in Mexico City, became the gold standard of athlete activism. They’re now so revered for their conviction and courage during the bubbling-over racial cauldron of the 1960s that there are statues of them on their college campus at San Jose State.

Carlos is now 72 years old. But he still can’t smell the roses. Or catch barely a sniff of satisfaction for all the work put in. His voice is raspy. He sounds exhausted. He knew it wasn’t over, this centuries-old cage fight for human rights. He just figured there would be more enlightened soldiers by now.

“It’s been a wakeup call for the last 50 f—ing years to let them know,” Carlos says from his home in Atlanta. “Excuse my language.”

“Like I been sayin’ for 50 years, there ain’t no neutrality. You gotta be on one side or the other. This man [President Donald Trump] is pushing them to make a decision, to find out who they really are. It’s time to get involved, to speak your truth — ‘You’re going to call me for what I am and respond to me for what I am’ — or you’re going to be a sucka for all eternity.”

You don’t want to be a sucka for all eternity.


A group of top African-American athletes from different sporting disciplines gather to give support and hear the boxer Muhammad Ali give his reasons for rejecting the draft during the Vietnam War, at a meeting of the Negro Industrial and Economic Union, held in Cleveland, June 4, 1967. Seated in the front row, from left to right: Bill Russell, Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown, and Kareem Abdul Jabbar. Standing behind them are: Carl Stokes, Walter Beach, Bobby Mitchell, Sid Williams, Curtis McClinton, Willie Davis, Jim Shorter and John Wooten.

Bettmann/Contributor/Getty Images

John Wooten was blocking for Jim Brown in Cleveland and learned a brother needed help: Muhammad Ali was facing charges for refusing to fight the war in Vietnam. Wooten began calling famous black athletes willing to stand with Ali at the Cleveland Summit. From Brown to the future Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, they all said, “No problem, we’ll be there.”

He knew it wouldn’t be over in 1967 when he stood behind The Greatest and alongside Bill Russell at that historic conclave of change agents. But 50 years later, Wooten is 80 years old, and there’s no sense of triumph for him either. No sense of finality in his war against inequality.

It’s going on midnight at his home in Arlington, Texas. He’s tired, the words tumbling slowly and deliberately through the receiver.

“It’s obvious to me that nowhere does our president understand the Constitution of this country,” says Wooten, the chairman of the Fritz Pollard Alliance, which promotes diversity in the coaching ranks and front offices of the NFL. “Because those players standing or kneeling or sitting did not break one single law of this country, nor have they broken any rule in the National Football League.”

Wooten has a couple of more thoughts before going to bed, so he can get up and fight tomorrow.

“When does unsportsmanlike conduct come in when men are standing to show this country that they are concerned about the young people being killed across the country? Are the football players and athletes to pretend this doesn’t exist?”


These two athletic icons for human rights know that change comes embarrassingly slowly. Fighting for it is soul-siphoning hard. Discouragement and defeat are just as frequent, if not more frequent, than success and victory. It wears you down and can leave you bitter.

“Listen, man, they are out there all the time,” said Carlos of the racists in our midst. “When they come, they come in numbers. The real sad thing is, they’re more united than we’ve ever been. Even people now, they think these dudes [protesting] hate their country instead of fighting for a better world and saying we can do better. Fifty years after Tommie and me, really, how far have we come?”

“It’s time to get involved, to speak your truth — ‘You’re going to call me for what I am and respond to me for what I am’ — or you’re going to be a sucka for all eternity.” – John Carlos

Next summer is the golden anniversary of Carlos and Smith bowing their heads, standing on the podium without shoes to symbolize American poverty, and raising their gloved fists. The next day they were expelled from the U.S. team and sent home. For the next 10 years, “my life was hell,” Carlos told Vox last year. He lost much more than money: friends, his marriage. They loved him. But they were scared they, too, would be ostracized.

Ali’s anti-war position was blasphemy to many Americans in 1967. But “we didn’t care about any perceived threats,” Wooten told the Cleveland Plain-Dealer this past year to mark the summit’s anniversary. “We weren’t concerned because we weren’t going to waver. We were unified. We all had a real relationship with each other, and we knew we were doing something for the betterment of all.”

The country forked in thought with some repulsed and others viewing their acts as courageous.

Just like … now.

“Why does it take for [Trump] to make that one statement to make all [players] react now, when they know they should’ve reacted earlier anyway?” Carlos said. “They should have been out there a long time ago to support [Colin] Kaepernick and Michael Bennett. They all should have been rallying around them.

“But Trump done put it on the line now and told them, ‘If you do it, we gon’ spank your a–.’ And that’s a threat. So now it’s on the owners — should they disrespect the will of their players, their human rights?”

Says Wooten: “I hope these players will … show the president and the country the unity felt by all of us who want to see a better, more just world. And that those who feel it is an affront to patriotism will one day see that this act of solidarity is about making America better, not worse.”

Many NFL owners locked arms with their players on Sunday. Some released statements in support of their socially conscious employees. NFL commissioner Roger Goodell and NFL Players Association executive director DeMaurice Smith bonded over a common enemy.

“Those players standing or kneeling or sitting did not break one single law of this country, nor have they broken any rule in the National Football League.” – John Wooten

Former Cleveland Browns great John Wooten watches during an NFL football game between the Browns and New York Jets on Sunday, Nov. 14, 2010, in Cleveland.

AP Photo/David Richard

Wooten is more measured than Carlos, who is animated, sometimes angry and trying ineffectually to avoid a public scrap with Trump.

“The man is creating so much division in the country,” he continued. “You better get ready for the next Civil War, brother. Not to mention the wall. What can I say, man? If I get out there right now, I’m going to lambaste the man so bad, ’cause I ain’t gonna hold s— back about where his mind his. I don’t want to get into no running battle with this fool.”

Voice rising, Carlos is spiritually back in the ’60s. And, of course, that’s the most wrenching part: Fifty years later, not enough has changed.


Large chunks of our society don’t see black men kneeling for racial justice and a more equitable country. They see people demeaning Arlington National Cemetery’s dead.

Wooten and Carlos know of this historical bait and switch. They refuse to allow #TakeAKnee to be reframed as a referendum on “The Star-Spangled Banner.” It’s a protest of police brutality and racism, the often senseless killing of black men by overwhelmingly white law enforcement. That’s it.

“You would think the NFL is a Hollywood show now, the way they promote it on TV, where it’s about family and inclusive and we’re all happy,” Carlos says derisively.

“Until we go into a meeting to find out why this young man isn’t in the NFL now playing. He’s played for several years. He’s gone to the Super Bowl. He’s better than a lot of quarterbacks in the league. Why is it that he’s not playing? But [Goodell] refuses to answer and address that, and the public refuses to demand him to do that. And everybody eats it up and does nothing.”

Carlos is resigned to the fact that most people will never care as much as he does. Wooten is more hopeful, if equally tired. For 50 years, nothing has happened quickly for either of them.

It’s the right fight; it’s just not an easy one. You devote your life to something for that long, you pay a price. People get burned out. It’s deflating.

But the best of them keep going, because they know the alternative. It’s too important, too ingrained in their identities. Today’s players need their wisdom and strength now just as Ali and Smith needed them then.

John Carlos is 72. John Wooten is 80. Their joints throb. They’re tired. And 50 years later, they still live for the fight.

At American Legion Hall, patriotism is complicated by the persistent realities of being black Discomfort with national anthem protests coupled with disgust over Trump’s denunciation of players

Old Glory flapped in the breeze outside American Legion Hall 263 near Baltimore Sunday as a group of black veterans and their relatives gathered inside to enjoy America’s game.

The Baltimore Ravens were getting roasted by the Jacksonville Jaguars on television, but much of the talk was about the groundswell of national anthem protests triggered by President Donald Trump’s angry outburst denouncing them. Dozens of Ravens and Jaguar players took a knee in defiance of Trump, and many others stood on the sidelines locking arms in a show of support.

“This much is for sure, Trump only fueled the fire,” said Richard Smith, 71, who served with the 82nd Airborne during the Vietnam War before going on to a career as a butcher. “It is amazing that he had more to say about this than he did about those racists marching in Charlottesville.”

Smith is proud of his military service and proud of his imperfect country. Truth be told, he was ambivalent about the NFL players who took a knee or raised a fist during the national anthem. But once Trump weighed in — calling on NFL owners who see players “disrespecting the flag” to “get that son of a b—- off the field right now” — Smith felt disgust, not solidarity, with the commander in chief.

“I don’t agree with taking a knee when the Star-Spangled Banner is played,” Smith said. “I thought it was not the right way to protest real problems. But, that said, I know Trump never served in the military. Now, he is cursing and disrespecting these guys. It only makes their point.”

Many of the Legionnaires and their family members voiced similar sentiments as they came to the hall for an afternoon of football as they do every Sunday during the NFL season. On one hand, they know better than most the sacrifice of military service. They also believe deeply in the promise of America. They spoke proudly of leading happy, productive lives and having children and grandchildren living the American Dream, with good jobs, nice homes, and successful families.

Ronald E. Randall Sr., outside of Jackson and Johnson Memorial Post 263 during the Ravens game.

Reginald Thomas II for The Undefeated

But their sense of patriotism and reverence for the nation’s symbols are complicated by the persistent realities of being black. They salute the American flag that flies in front of their stucco-faced hall. They rise for the national anthem. But they also know firsthand that their allegiance to the flag has not always protected their rights. For them, the national anthem can come across as both a song of soaring inspiration and a hollow tune.

Ronald E. Randall Sr., 69, a retired school custodian whose father and brother served in the Navy, grew up not far from the legion hall in an enclave that has been all black since just after Emancipation. As a kid, he was barred from the white-only swimming pools during Baltimore’s sweltering summers. His mother could not shop along the local commercial strip. That was for whites only, too. He was in junior high when the public schools were integrated, and he remembers he and his black friends having to brawl with insult-hurling white students before they were left alone.

Legal segregation was struck from the books more than six decades ago, but the stretch of wood-frame homes in the neighborhood, now known as the Winters Lane Historic District, remains overwhelmingly black. Economics, it turns out, is as effective as the law when it comes to limiting mobility. Homes just a few blocks away in mostly white Catonsville sell for at least double the cost of those on Winters Lane.

“That’s the kind of thing that makes people say really nothing has changed,” Randall said. “The players see that and that is what they are protesting. I don’t carry hate in my heart, but I know a lot of white folks have no respect for us.”

They rise for the national anthem. But they also know firsthand that their allegiance to the flag has not always protected their rights.

Smith remembers family members telling stories from when housing segregation in Baltimore was enforced not just by compliant real estate agents, but also by the fists and bricks of whites who could not countenance black neighbors.

“People used to attack you if you went into certain neighborhoods, just for being black,” he said. “We’ve come a long way, but racism is going to be with us for a long time.”

Consuella Rheubottom, 77, who has two sons who served in the Army, tends bar at the hall. Fewer than a dozen people are in the dimly lit bar, a couple are playing on slot machines and others sit on their stools, watching the game on two flat screens.

Rheubottom said she felt some discomfort with the anthem protests. Yet, she felt repulsed — and scrambled to turn her television off — when she heard Trump insulting the players who chose to demonstrate.

“I was not sure what I thought about the protests. I can’t say that I firmly support them. I did not oppose them either,” she said, looking up as she mixed whiskey sours. “But I do know that what the president said is ignorant.”

Edward Neal, 85, a retired laboratory technician wearing a Ravens cap, slowly settled into a corner stool in the hall’s bar as conversation about the protests wore on. It was not long before he joined in.

Consuella Rheubottom makes whiskey sours at Jackson and Johnson Memorial Post 263 during the Ravens game.

Reginald Thomas II for The Undefeated

He has mixed feelings about it all, he said. Neal agreed that the protesters have a point. While race relations have improved during his lifetime, he said, there is still is a long way to go to achieve equality. At the same time, he has deep respect for those who choose to serve in the military, because has seen the physical costs of war up close. Serving as a medical corpsman during the Korean War, he helped treat troops with severed limbs and horrific burns. That kind of sacrifice, he said, should always be respected. The anthem protests can lead people to think that the sacrifice is not being honored, he said.

He added that teams should stand together. Unity is tested when some kneel and others stand for the anthem. And issues of social justice, he argued, are best debated in the halls of government and the courts.

Despite that, Neal took no comfort from Trump’s words. “What the president said was out of order,” he said. “If that is all he had to contribute, he should have said nothing.”

Can’t get into the Blacksonian? 25 black-centered museums near you Seattle to St. Croix, Memphis to Miami — these art spaces are as vibrant and important as ever

It’s the first anniversary of the opening of Washington, D.C.’s extremely popular National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC). While visiting the NMAAHC is a life-changing experience, getting in can feel like praying on Willy Wonka’s golden ticket. But while you wait, you can have an amazing museum experience closer to home. There will almost always be must-see exhibits at places such as New York’s Whitney Museum of American Art and Los Angeles’ The Getty Center, but there are a bevy of other museums and galleries around the country that are doing brilliant and important work. This list of museums and galleries — from Miami and Houston to Sao Paulo and Cincinnati — feature new and continuing exhibits around race and identity, saxophonist Sonny Rollins, hip-hop’s golden age, activist grandmothers, salsa as a social movement, black women in silent films, the age of Black Power, Oregon during the civil rights era, African-American umpires, design and technology in the time of slavery, and so much more.

SOUTHEAST

Memphis Brooks Museum of Art

Memphis, Tennessee

Memphis Brooks Museum of Art

Kevin Barre Photography

Tennessee’s oldest and largest art museum is home to a major collection that spans all eras and encompasses all mediums. It also serves as a cultural center, hosting a variety of programs, events and films. The vision: “Transforming lives through the power of art.”

New this winter: Black Resistance: Ernest C. Withers and the Civil Rights Movement. Withers (who has been accused of being an FBI informant) was a prolific photographer who documented everything from the Montgomery bus boycott to the Negro Leagues. It’s estimated that he took almost 2 million photographs over the course of his career. The exhibition focuses on the 50th anniversary of events that took place from March 27 through April 8, 1968, such as striking sanitation workers carrying “I AM A MAN” placards, Martin Luther King Jr. returning to Memphis and the march to Memphis City Hall. On view from Feb. 3 to Aug. 19, 2018.

Muhammad Ali Center

Louisville, Kentucky

The LeRoy Neiman Gallery at the Muhammad Ali Center

Courtesy The Muhammad Ali Center

The Muhammad Ali Center is a museum and education center in The Champ’s hometown of Louisville, Kentucky, and is rooted in his core principles of confidence, conviction, dedication, giving, respect and spirituality. The permanent exhibit tells Ali’s story via interactive exhibits, images and artifacts.

New this fall: Grandmother Power: A Global Phenomenon. The exhibit features photo essays about activist grandmothers from around the world who are working to create a better future for their grands. On view through Jan. 8, 2018.

The Birmingham Civil Rights Institute

Birmingham, Alabama

Courtesy Birmingham Civil Rights Institute

Birmingham, Alabama, was the site of some of the most horrific events of the civil rights era. The Civil Rights Institute is an educational and cultural center dedicated to preserving that bloody and inspiring history. Inside, there’s a Ku Klux Klan robe, as well as the bars of the cell in which Martin Luther King Jr. wrote his “Letter from a Birmingham jail.” The institute is across the street from the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, the site of the bombing that took the lives of four young girls 54 years ago this month.

New this fall: To create Blood Mirror, Jordan Eagles encapsulated the blood of 59 gay, bisexual and transgender men into a large resin block. The result is a luminous sculpture where viewers can see themselves reflected in the blood. The work is meant to raise awareness about the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s discriminatory blood donation policy. On view through Dec. 9.

The Harvey B. Gantt Center for African American Arts + Culture

Charlotte, North Carolina

The Harvey B. Gantt Center for African American Arts + Culture is an art and cultural center located in a neighborhood once known as Brooklyn, the epicenter of black life in Charlotte, North Carolina. Named for Harvey B. Gantt, who was the first black student at Clemson University and Charlotte’s first black mayor, the building’s interior is a nod to the biblical story of Jacob’s ladder, while its exterior evokes West African textile patterns and quilt designs from the Underground Railroad era. Aside from great art, the center hosts talks, films and plays.

New this fall: Shows from North Carolina natives Miya Bailey and Sloane Siobhan, and an exhibition curated from the private collection of John and Vivian Hewitt, including work from Jacob Lawrence and Charlotte’s own Romare Bearden. Also of note: the premiere of the Darryl Atwell Collection of African-American Art as Simple Passion, Complex Vision. Atwell’s collection was put together in collaboration with retired NBA player and avid art collector Elliot Perry, and it includes Theaster Gates’ provocative assemblage In the Event of Race Riot XIII. All shows run through Jan. 22, 2018.

The george & leah McKenna Museum of African American Art

New Orleans

Le Musée de f.p.c., the free people of color museum owned by the McKennas.

Courtesy The George & Leah McKenna Museum of African American Art

The George & Leah McKenna Museum of African American Art was born from the private art collection assembled over 30 years by Dwight McKenna and his wife, Beverly Stanton McKenna. The permanent collection includes works by Clementine Hunter, Kerry James Marshall, Jacob Lawrence and many more. The McKennas are also passionate about supporting new and emerging artists. Past exhibitions have included Contemporary Artists Respond to the New Orleans Baby Dolls, The Spirit of Haitian Culture and From Moussor to Tignon: The Evolution of the Head-Tie. Besides owning the art museum, the McKennas own Le Musee de f.p.c., which is dedicated to telling the story of free people of color. They also founded the New Orleans Tribune in 1985. On top of all of that, Dwight McKenna is poised to become the first black coroner of Orleans Parish.

New this winter: The New Orleans 2018 African American Tricentennial Art Exhibition: Painting Our Own Story, Singing Our Own Song. The exhibit will celebrate the city’s 300th birthday and is being put together with the New Orleans chapter of the National Conference of Artists. Artists from around the country were invited to submit work for the show. The show runs from Jan. 13 to Oct. 27, 2018.

Yeelen Gallery

Miami

Yeelen Gallery owner Karla Ferguson stands beside her favorite photograph in Mariette Pathy Allen’s exhibit.

Alessandra Pacheco/Miami Herald/TNS via Getty Images

The contemporary Yeelen art gallery is owned by Karla Ferguson. Originally opened in 2008 in Miami’s Wynwood Arts District, the museum was moved over to Little Haiti in 2013. A slew of galleries have since followed, making Little Haiti the hottest art district in the city. Yeelen doesn’t operate like a typical gallery. Instead of planning shows a year in advance, Ferguson stays open to responding to what’s happening in the moment. In the past, that has included such shows as Woke AF, Black Freedom and TransCuba. “A lot of my curatorial work is based in legal theory and social justice,” she has said. No surprise, given Ferguson’s educational background in law, political science and artist relations. Hurricane Irma knocked Yeelen’s power out for a week and causing water leaks, forcing Ferguson to postpone a planned photography show. She now has her sights set on Art Basel, which hits Miami in December, and she will be up and running for the October iteration of her monthly Afro Beats N Bites day party.

New this fall: A fresh exhibit (still to be determined) will most likely go up around mid-November. Afro Beats N Bites — which combines the culinary arts with visual arts, and a DJ — happens the second Saturday of every month.

NORTHEAST

The Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture

New York

The “Black Power!” exhibit at the Schomburg Center.

Jonathan Blanc

The Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture is an award-winning research library and National Historic Landmark. The center preserves, documents and promotes the study of black history and culture with its collection of more than 10 million items. The Schomburg also promotes lifelong learning through a calendar of events, talks and other programming.

New this fall: The unveiling of The Sonny Rollins Collection, which highlights the life and career of the saxophonist. The Black Power! exhibit is a collection of interviews, essays and images covering key areas of the movement, and Power In Print is a presentation of Black Power Movement posters. On view through March 30, 2018.

The Museum of the City of New York

New York

The Museum of the City of New York

Filip Wolak, courtesy of the Museum of the City of New York

The Museum of the City of New York contextualizes all things NYC. The museum also hosts a number of events and educational and public programs.

New this fall: Rhythm & Power: Salsa in New York explores the popular musical genre and its role as a social movement. On view through Nov. 26.

Carnegie Museum of Art

Pittsburgh

Installation view: 20/20: The Studio Museum in Harlem and Carnegie Museum of Art.

Bryan Conley

The steel baron Andrew Carnegie opened an art museum with a vision of collecting “the old masters of tomorrow.” Embodying that mission, the Carnegie Museum of Art makes a good case for being “the first museum of contemporary art in the U.S.” The museum is one of four institutions that make up the Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh.

Continuing this fall: Co-curated by the Studio Museum in Harlem and the Carnegie, 20/20 aims to prompt discussions about race and identity during this turbulent time. Called “the most important art show in America” by Vogue, the show is made up of works by 40 artists, including Glenn Ligon, Titus Kaphar, David Hammons, Kara Walker and Kerry James Marshall. “There was a point where I marched for Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown, and I just couldn’t be angry anymore,” co-curator Amanda Hunt told ArtNet. “I couldn’t figure out what I could do to start affecting change, either in a more immediate sense or in a collective community sense. So this show represents our power, our purview — this is what we know and have been trained to do, and have voice and ownership of, and a platform for. We’re curators at major institutions in America. And that’s powerful.” On view through Dec. 31.

Reginald F. Lewis Museum of African American History and Culture

Baltimore

Reginald F. Lewis Museum of Maryland African American History building.

Jeffrey Greenberg/UIG via Getty Images

The Reginald F. Lewis Museum of African American History and Culture is dedicated to documenting, preserving and exhibiting the lives of African-Americans in Maryland. Its permanent collection includes photos, artifacts and textiles, as well as expanded collections focused on jazz recordings and military history. And be sure to peep the gift shop, where ESPN Radio’s Freddie Coleman picked up a fly Frederick Douglass T-shirt.

New this fall: Maryland Collects: Jacob Lawrence. The exhibit features 50 prints from private collectors in and around Maryland. “This is an exhibit we put together ourselves,” says Lewis executive director Wanda Draper. “We wanted to bring this community a collection by an esteemed African-American artist that they can’t see anywhere else.” On view through Jan. 7, 2018.

Museum of African American History

Boston

The Nantucket campus of the Museum of African American History.

Courtesy The Museum of African American History

With two campuses, Boston and Nantucket, the Museum of African American History is the largest museum in New England dedicated to African-American history and culture. It includes four historic sites and two Black Heritage Trails.

Continuing this fall: Picturing Frederick Douglass. With a brisk understanding of visual language and its effects, Douglass used his photographic images as a tool to counteract the ways that imagery was often used to create stereotypes about African-Americans. This is the first major exhibition of Douglass photos, many unseen until now. On view in the Abiel Smith School on the museum’s Boston campus through December.

MIDWEST

The DuSable Museum of African American History

Chicago

The exterior of the DuSable Museum of African American History Thursday, Sept. 22, 2016, in Chicago.

AP Photo/Tae-Gyun Kim

You may know the DuSable Museum of African American History as the place where Chance the Rapper is donating his best rap album Grammy. But it’s also one of the oldest and most revered African-American museums in the country. The DuSable is also involved with the Hyde Park Jazz Festival and The Margaret Burroughs Centennial Film Series.

New this fall: Chicago: A Southern Exposure features the work of architectural photographer, critic and DuSable vice president Lee Bey. It’s the first major show dedicated to often overlooked South Side architecture and highlights black architects such as John Moutoussamy and Roger Margerum, alongside the likes of Frank Lloyd Wright and Mies van der Rohe. “The city’s best architecture, outside of downtown, is on the South Side of Chicago,” Bey told New City. “You can tell these things in other places and tell a fine story, but to have it here in a black institution, and to have the story told by black people and have those exhibitions in the context of other exhibitions for and by black people, gives a richer story.” On view through February 2018.

The Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History

Detroit

Self-Portrait, Allie McGhee, 2008, on display at the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History.

Courtesy Charles H. Wright Museum of AfricanAmerican History

Charles H. Wright, a Detroit doctor who delivered 7,000-plus babies, got the inspiration for opening a museum after visiting a Denmark war memorial. Initially known as I AM (International Afro-American Museum), the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History opened in 1966 as a small physical location with a traveling mobile-home version. The Wright has grown through the years and is now a cornerstone of Detroit’s Midtown Cultural Center, along with the Detroit Institute of Arts and the Michigan Science Center.

Continuing this fall: Say it Loud; Art, History, and Rebellion. The exhibit is rooted in the Detroit rebellions and the ways in which art has responded to those rebellions and continued events. The exhibit begins outdoors with photos, quotes and a 24-foot sculpture by Charles McGee. Inside, there are works by 40 artists, including Faith Ringgold, Sanford Biggers and Jeff Donaldson. On view through Jan. 2, 2018. (A complementary exhibit, Art of Rebellion: Black Art of the Civil Rights Movement, is up at the nearby Detroit Institute of Arts until Oct. 22.)

 

National Underground Railroad Freedom Center

Cincinnati

Courtesy National Underground Railroad Freedom Center

The National Underground Railroad Freedom Center encourages visitors to remain active participants in the continued struggle for freedom of people everywhere and is involved in combating modern-day slavery and human trafficking. Earlier this year, the center launched the Open Your Mind learning lab, designed to teach visitors about implicit bias.

New this fall: The Kinsey African American Art & History Collection, an exhibit culled from the private collection of Bernard and Shirley Kinsey. It will feature archival material related to Malcolm X and Zora Neale Hurston besides artwork by luminaries such as Richard Mayhew. “Remembering, celebrating, examining and commemorating the black experience … is something we invite all to participate in,” Ashley Jordan, curator at the center, said in a statement. “African-American history is American history.” Opening Nov. 4.

Negro Leagues Baseball Museum

Kansas City, Missouri

Courtesy the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum

Dedicated to preserving the history and legacy of African-Americans in baseball, the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum weaves together black history and baseball history via multimedia displays, photographs and artifacts. “The premise is baseball, but the story is so much larger than the game of baseball,” said museum president Bob Kendrick. “It is America at her worst, but it’s also America at her triumphant best.”

New this fall: An exhibit celebrating African-American umpires from the Negro Leagues to the majors to little league. The exhibit is unnamed as yet but will be dedicated to Bob Motley. Barrier Breakers: From Jackie to Pumpsie will look at the complete integration of baseball, from Jackie Robinson and Larry Doby to Elijah Jerry “Pumpsie” Green. An expanded piece will feature the women of the Negro Leagues — Toni Stone, Mamie Johnson and Connie Morgan — who played with and against the men.

SOUTHWEST

California African American Museum

Los Angeles

Brian Forrest, Courtesy California African American Museum

The California African American Museum does a great job of using art to contextualize historical events; its rich history is reflected in the depth and breadth of its exhibitions. The state of California supported the museum early on, acknowledging the cultural and political impact of California’s African-American community.

Continuing this fall: On view through Oct. 8, Face to Face: Los Angeles Collects Portraiture is an exhibit of 50 works put together from L.A.-based collections. Artists from Titus Kaphar to Mickalene Thomas examine the changing ways in which artists are approaching portraiture. For Center Stage: African American Women in Silent Race Films, the museum screens multiple “race films.” “Directors often created these films in retaliation against disparaging portrayals of African-Americans, to challenge the larger narrative and to get across themes of upliftment, pride and self-sufficiency within the black community,” said co-curator Tyree Boyd-Pates. On view through Oct. 15. For Fade to Black, Gary Simmons combines his signature smudged erasure technique with the titles of “race films” to create an installation in the museum lobby. “Fade to Black provides a nuanced history of black representation in motion pictures from the early to mid-20th century,” Naima Keith, the museum’s deputy director and chief curator, told the Los Angeles Times. “History’s subjective bent is also a strong theme within Gary’s work, and the simple nature of chalk lends itself to his artistic concerns — especially in its suggestion of basic communication, the human hand, education systems and of easily erasable or altered information.” On view through July 21, 2018.

New for fall: We Wanted A Revolution: Black Radical Women 1965-1985 focuses on the intersection of art and activism and includes the work of more than 40 African-American female artists. It touches on every major social movement of the period, including the civil rights and Black Power movements, the women’s movement, the anti-war movement and the gay liberation movement, among others. “This exhibition feels especially relevant for our audiences because it includes women artists working in various parts of the country, not just on the East Coast,” Keith said in a statement. On view Oct. 13 through Jan. 14, 2018.

Museum of the African Diaspora

San Francisco

Courtesy Museum of the African Diaspora

The Museum of the African Diaspora uses contemporary art to help audiences engage with the African diaspora via exhibitions, public programs and events. The vibrant space focuses on cultural expression rooted in four themes: origin, movement, adaptation and transformation.

New for fall: En Mas: Carnival and Performance Art of the Caribbean explores the artistry behind carnival parading, masquerading and procession. The exhibition tracked nine artists — John Beadle, Christophe Chassol, Charles Campbell, Nicolás Dumit Estévez, Marlon Griffith, Hew Locke, Lorraine O’Grady, Ebony G. Patterson and Cauleen Smith — during the 2014 carnival season. On view Sept. 20 to March 4, 2018.

Houston Museum of African American Culture

Houston

The Houston Museum of African American Culture explores and shares the history and culture of African-Americans. Besides exhibits, the museum hosts talks, screenings and other public events.

New for fall: The Telling and the Told: The art of David McGee. Curated by artist Benito Huerta, The Telling and the Told is an exhibit of works on paper and continues McGee’s exploration of the intersection of imagery, politics, race, class and pop culture. On view Nov. 4 to Jan. 12, 2018.

Kansas African American Museum

Wichita, Kansas

The Kansas African American Museum provides a mix of art, history and special programming to engage audiences of all ages. Past exhibitions have included an homage to President Barack Obama’s Midwestern roots and Undefeated: The Triumph of the Black Kansas Athlete. The museum is also spearheading the creation of The Kansas African American History Trail.

New this fall: UNDEREXPOSED: Contemporary Black Women Photographers. These women have often been overlooked for their contributions and creativity. This exhibition looks to rectify that by shining a light on the work of Toni Parks-Parsons, Chandra McCormick, Pat Patterson, Shineta Horton, Labeebah Beruni and Keshia Ezerendu. On view through Dec. 30.

NORTHWEST

Northwest African American Museum

Seattle

The Northwest African American Museum is dedicated to preserving the culture and telling the stories of the African diaspora in the Pacific Northwest. This includes both historical contributions and those being made today by a continuing wave of new immigrants from places such as Somalia, Sudan and Ethiopia.

New this fall: Professor/writer/historian Daudi Abe gives a talk on Emerald Street: Race, Class, Culture, and the History of Hip Hop in the Northwest on Nov. 9.

Oregon Historical Society

Portland, Oregon

Bob Setterberg

The Oregon Historical Society documents the history and culture of the state and presents it via physical and digital exhibits, talks and events. OHS’ commitment to inclusion is evident in its partnerships and programming, which address themes from Native American history, the struggles faced by the Japanese-American immigrant community, and broaching the subject of “Peace in the Middle East” with an assemblage of religious leaders. On view online: Black Athletes Disrupting White Supremacy in Oregon.

Continuing this fall: Racing to Change: Oregon’s Civil Rights Years. The exhibit is presented by the Oregon Black Pioneers and tells the story of the civil rights battles fought by African-Americans in Oregon, particularly sparked by discrimination in housing and employment practices. “No matter what you do in Oregon, you’ll find the footprint of a black person that was there. And that’s all over the state. Black folks weren’t congregated in Portland; 32 of Oregon’s 36 counties had African-Americans in them,” Willie Richardson, board president of the Pioneers, told Portland Architecture blog. “They provided services. They owned land. They did all the things that Oregon laws said they couldn’t have.” On view through June 24, 2018.

INTERNATIONAL

Caribbean Museum Center for the Arts

Frederiksted, St. Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands

Denise Bennerson

The Caribbean Museum Center for the Arts focuses on promoting Caribbean arts and culture through exhibits, events, classes and other programming.

New this fall: Pride Through Art. The exhibit showcases the work of LGBTQ artists and allies, addressing themes of gender identity, society and inclusion. On view Sept. 28 to Nov. 13.

Tate Modern

London

A woman looks at the ‘Did the bear sit under a tree’ painting by Benny Andrews at the exhibition Soul Of A Nation, exploring the art made by African American artists between 1963 and 1983, in London, Tuesday, July 11, 2017. The exhibition started on July 12, 2017 and ends on Oct.22, 2017.

AP Photo/Frank Augstein

If you’re looking for very cool modern art in London, head to the Tate Modern. As part of the Tate group (which also includes the Britain, Liverpool and St. Ives), the Tate’s collection comprises international modern and contemporary art from 1900 through today.

Continuing this fall: Soul of a Nation: Art in the Age of Black Power. The exhibit showcases the ways in which artists responded to events of the day, from the civil rights movement to Black Power, and addresses issues of revolution, pride and solidarity. Artists include Barkley L. Hendricks and Emory Douglas. “The show provides a whole array of American artists who should be part of the art curriculum,” Zoe Whitley, curator of international art at the Tate, told The New York Times. “It shows that black artistic culture at that time was as varied as any other culture. It’s not ‘black’ art, it’s a range of practices.” On view through Oct. 22.

Musee D’art Contemporain

Marseille, France

People look at pictures by US photographer Henry Chalfant “Third Avenue, the Bronx 1084” as they visit the exhibit ‘Hip Hop , un age d’or’ (Hip Hop, a golden age) at the Contemporary Art Museum in Marseille, on May 12, 2017.

Boris Horvat/AFP/Getty Images

Marseille, France, is the hub of hip-hop in southern France — so it’s no wonder that the Musee D’Art Contemporain would host an exhibit around the culture’s origins. You can also get your Jean-Michel Basquiat fix there. Although small, the museum is known to have an impressive collection of modern and contemporary art.

Continuing this fall: HIP HOP: a golden age 1970-1995. The exhibit features many elements of hip-hop culture: graffiti murals, sketchbook pages, racks of spray paint cans, Kangols, shell toes, nameplate belt buckles, a Zulu Nation medallion and even a Wild Style diorama. On view through Jan. 14, 2018.

Museu Afro Brasil

Sao Paulo

The Museu Afro Brasil, a major repository of Afro-Brazilian art, looks at Brazilian art and heritage through the lens of the African diaspora with a focus on (among others) Africa’s diversity and persistence, work and slavery, and Afro-Brazilian religions.

New this fall: Exhibits featuring Baroque masters, geometric forms, and design and technology in the time of slavery.

Ibram Kendi, one of the nation’s leading scholars of racism, says education and love are not the answer Founder of new anti-racism center at American University sees impact of policy, culture on black athletes

It’s a Wednesday night at a bookstore in a well-off part of Washington, D.C., and every seat is taken. More than 100 people spill into the aisles or crowd the stacks past the philosophy and cookbook sections to hear Ibram X. Kendi talk about the racist ideas that founded the nation. About how racial progress is always followed by new and more sophisticated racist progress. And, especially, about the deeply held beliefs that most Americans, including black people and liberal whites, woke up with this morning that they don’t even know are racist and wrong.

For instance, “Black neighborhoods are not more dangerous than white neighborhoods and neither are black people,” Kendi tells the crowd. Layers of racist ideas account for why we think so.

Last year, the 35-year-old scholar became the youngest person to win the National Book Award for nonfiction in 30 years for Stamped from the Beginning, The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America.

And this year, his moment continues. He’s just moved to Washington, where he is launching the Antiracist Research and Policy Center at American University next week. He’s a historian of racism at a time when our public conversation is fixed on it, when successive presidents have triggered the tribal apprehensions of our Mason-Dixon lines, and when the threat of shoot-you-down, run-you-over racial violence feels as close at hand as the peril to the republic from fake facts and revisionist history. This convergence of circumstances keeps him perpetually on book tour.

Ibram Kendi, right, addresses the audience as Washington Post reporter Wesley Lowery, who was the presenter for the event, stands by.

André Chung for The Undefeated

A diverse group made up a standing-room-only audience during Dr. Ibram Kendi’s recent book promotion event at Politics and Prose.

André Chung for The Undefeated

With the breadth of his scholarship and expanse of his reach, Kendi has been compared to the famed late historian John Hope Franklin, except he wears his locs long and his edges laid. He used to fantasize about a career in the NBA — or, at the very least, on SportsCenter. He’ll hit you back on Twitter.

Just so you know, black people are not inherently better athletes than white people, Kendi says. We only think so because “black people have not only been rendered inferior to white people, they’ve been rendered like animals,” and thus physically superior creatures. It’s an old racist idea that helped justify African-Americans’ suitability for backbreaking labor and medical experiments and the theft of their children. “When we embrace this as part of our identity,” Kendi says, “we don’t understand.” He wants to correct our misunderstandings.

Education, love and exemplary black people will not deliver America from racism, Kendi says. Racist ideas grow out of discriminatory policies, he argues, not the other way around. And if his new center can help identify and dismantle those policies in the U.S. and around the world, he believes we can start to eliminate racism. At least that’s the goal.

As the evening wears on in the crowded bookstore, people line up at microphones to question, challenge or offer up hosannas to this young scholar, who, in many ways, is just getting started.


Ibram Kendi is the new founding director of The Anti-Racist and Policy Center at American University. He is a leading thinker on race and his 2016 book, “Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America” won the National Book Award.

André Chung for The Undefeated

Kendi apologizes for the spare office space he shares with a colleague inside American University’s School of International Service. The walls are bare, and his name has not yet made it outside the door. He’s still unpacking from the move to D.C. with his wife, Sadiqa, a pediatric emergency room physician at Children’s National Health Center, and their 1-year-old daughter, Imani. It’s an ambitiously busy life.

Besides being the founding director of the research center, he’s teaching history and international relations as part of a joint appointment that brought him from the University of Florida, where he was a professor of African-American history.

He’s learning the city, and working on priorities for the center — part think tank, policy shop and incubator for anti-racism strategies — which formally launches next fall. It joins dozens of other customized centers of racial research. One of the earliest and most notable, the W.E.B Du Bois Research Institute at Harvard University, rose to prominence under the leadership of Henry Louis Gates Jr. This year, “year zero,” is to raise funds and recruit researchers, faculty and students.

The goal is to identify inequalities, identify the policies that create and maintain those inequalities, and propose correctives in six areas: criminal justice, education, economics, health, environment and politics. Kendi also hopes to create an online library of anti-racist thinking. He’s still considering initial projects.

But when he talks about racism, he is not still puzzling out his ideas. Kendi has spent thousands of hours reading thousands of documents, including “some of the most horrific things that have ever been said about black people,” to uncover the origins of racist thought. His words are distilled, precise, authoritative. His voice never rises. He is, temperamentally, an antidote to the heat of the subject matter and the hyperbole of the times.

“We have been taught that ignorance and hate lead to racist ideas, lead to racist policies,” Kendi said. “If the fundamental problem is ignorance and hate, then your solutions are going to be focused on education, and love and persuasion. But of course [Stamped from the Beginning] shows that the actual foundation of racism is not ignorance and hate, but self-interest, particularly economic and political and cultural.” Self-interest drives racist policies that benefit that self-interest. When the policies are challenged because they produce inequalities, racist ideas spring up to justify those policies. Hate flows freely from there.

The self-interest: The Portuguese had to justify their pioneering slave trade of African people before the pope.

The racist idea: Africans are barbarians. If we remove them from Africa and enslave them, they could be civilized.

“We can understand this very simply with slavery. I’m enslaving people because I want to make money. Abolitionists are resisting me, so I’m going to convince Americans that these people should be enslaved because they’re black, and then people will start believing those ideas: that these people are so barbaric, that they need to be enslaved, or that they are so childlike that they need to be enslaved.”

Kendi boils racist ideas down to an irreducible core: Any idea that suggests one racial group is superior or inferior to another group in any way is a racist idea, he says, and there are two types. Segregationist ideas contend racial groups are created unequal. Assimilationist ideas, as Kendi defines them, argue that both discrimination and problematic black people are to blame for inequalities.

“The actual foundation of racism is not ignorance and hate, but self-interest.”

Americans who don’t carry tiki torches react viscerally to segregationist ideas like those on display at the white nationalist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, that left one young counter-protester dead. Assimilationist ideas are more subtle, seductive and coded.

“You can be someone who has no intention to be racist,” who believes in and fights for equality, “but because you’re conditioned in a world that is racist and a country that is structured in anti-black racism, you yourself can perpetuate those ideas,” says Kendi. No matter what color you are.

Anti-racist ideas hold that racial groups are equal. That the only thing inferior about black people is their opportunities. “The only thing wrong with black people is that we think there is something wrong with black people,” a line that Kendi uses like a mantra.

The Blue Lives Matter (the problem is violent black people) Black Lives Matter (the problem is the criminal justice system, poor training and police bias) and All Lives Matter (the problem is police and black people) arguments are extensions of the same, three-way debate (segregationist, anti-racist and assimilationist) that Americans have been having since the founding of the country.

“We’ve been taught American history as a steady march of racial progress,” but it’s always been a dual march of racial and racist progress, which we see from Charlottesville to “their Trump Tower,” Kendi says.

This is the jump-off Kendi uses to frame the most roiling issues of the day. But before he could build that frame, he first had to deal with his own racism.


Ibram Kendi

André Chung for The Undefeated

Kendi was born Ibram H. Rogers in Jamaica, Queens, New York, to parents who’d been student activists and were inspired by black liberation theology. He grew up playing basketball and still is an ardent New York Knicks fan.

The family moved to Manassas, Virginia, where Kendi attended Stonewall Jackson High School (named for the Confederate general) and dreamed of a career on the hardwood. The slim, 6-foot-1 former guard says he specialized in the no-look pass. “I consider the beautiful pass the most beautiful part of the game of basketball,” he says.

Sweet passing aside, his basketball aspirations were irrevocably dashed his sophomore year when he failed to make the junior varsity team. “I was so crushed,” Kendi says.

He studied journalism at Florida A&M University and initially wanted to be a broadcaster or a sportswriter. But after internships at The Mobile Register and The Atlanta Journal Constitution, he began to shift his career focus. He wound up getting a doctorate in African-American studies from Temple University. His first book, on the black student protest movement in the ’60s and ’70s, was published in 2012. He began researching Stamped from the Beginning the following year.

That’s when he started to re-examine some of his most deeply held beliefs about race. “I was born into a world of racist ideas, many of which I had consumed myself,” says Kendi. “I had to come to grips with … some of the things that I imagined and thought,” about black people “and one of the first and most obvious ones was the idea that black neighborhoods are more dangerous than white neighborhoods, which is a very popular idea.”

The highest instances of violent crime correspond with high unemployment and poverty, and that holds true across racial lines, Kendi found. Most white poverty, unemployment and thus violent crimes occur in rural areas, while for blacks those ills are more concentrated in densely populated urban neighborhoods. If impoverished white communities “had five times more people, then that community would have five times, presumably, more violent crime.”

“I was born into a world of racist ideas, many of which I had consumed myself.”

Another racist idea: “I believed that black children were achieving at a lower level than white children. And I believed in the existence of an achievement gap,” says Kendi. Standardized tests prioritize reading and writing as measures of verbal proficiency, as opposed to the wider ability to articulate. And they test subject areas where black schools are vastly underresourced.

“I certainly am somebody who advocates equalizing the resources of school and creating a situation in which we actually live up to our pronouncements that we live in a meritorious society,” says Kendi. “But even if these schools persist in being resourced unequally, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the students in the schools with lesser resources are intellectually inferior to the students with better resources.” He reaches into history to illustrate his point: Just because slaves’ lives were circumscribed, they faced more adversity and they dealt with more violence, that doesn’t mean enslaved people were inferior to people who were free.

A “more lighthearted area” he had to confront was his ideas about dating black women. “Black women were angry, they didn’t know what they want, they’re difficult,” he’d heard. “And from my standpoint, those are some of the things that I said when I was having some difficulties in dating.” When we have negative experiences with individuals, “we often say there’s a problem with that black group,” without realizing those are racist ideas.

Now, he’s a poster child for black love. He and his telegenic wife met on Match.com and debuted their new last name Kendi (“loved one” in the Kenyan language of Meru) at their 2013 wedding in Jamaica, which was featured in Essence magazine.

Mark Anthony Neal, a professor of African and African-American studies at Duke University, calls Kendi part of a vanguard of young black historians, which includes Treva Lindsey at Ohio State and Brittney Cooper of Rutgers, who are transforming the field. Part of what makes him right for the moment is his ability to speak to millennials, who have access to lots of information but can’t always decipher what is good or bad. “What he has written is an accessible history of black folks,” said Neal. In terms of a book for general readers “that covers such a wide historical period, the only thing I can think about in terms of comparison is John Hope Franklin’s From Slavery to Freedom.”

Kendi’s book resonates like the 2015 National Book Award winner, Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates, said Neal. “Ta-Nehisi’s was kind of an emotional analysis of what this moment is. Kendi’s was to bring that kind of energy, except to do it in a historical context. I think it’s important to be able to talk about the history of these racist ideas, the impact they’ve had on black people and black life.”

With regard to the most front-and-center issue in sports today, athletes and activism, Kendi says it’s important to remember that the athlete/activists of the 1960s — Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown and Tommie Smith — all spoke out in the context of the Black Power movement, which is “precisely what’s happening now” with Colin Kaepernick and others who were inspired by Black Lives Matter. “We look for athletes to generate movements, when historically athletes have been good at being athletes, which is precisely what they should be good at, and we should be looking to activists to generate movements.” There will then be those athletes who use their platforms to support those movements and ideologies.

Kendi says that while the numbers of black players on the fields, courts and arenas have increased dramatically over the past 50 years, it’s been harder to make shifts at other positions.

“We should determine diversity in sports, just like outside of sports, not by the transient players but by the people who are permanent, like the owners, like the coaches, like the sports writers, like the executives.” If those groups “are lily-white, then [a sport] is simply not diverse.”

This kind of analysis gives Kendi cachet beyond the ivory tower and makes him popular with students, Neal said. Young people see Kendi with his locs and his ability to communicate in a vernacular they know and that expands their thinking about the possibilities for their own lives. They’ll say, “This is somebody I can imagine being somewhere down the line,” said Neal.

“We should determine diversity in sports, just like outside of sports, not by the transient players but by the people who are permanent, like the owners, like the coaches, like the sportswriters, like the executives.”

Peter Starr, dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at American University and one of those responsible for bringing Kendi to the university, cites Washington as an organic place to do anti-racist work. “To make real lasting change, change that lasts beyond changes of administrations and flips from one party to the next, you really need to reach out to people who are making more fundamental policy on the ground, in the agencies and throughout the government,” he said.

Starr calls Kendi’s vision to use researchers from around the country an approach that mirrors what happens in the sciences. “He’s got a very expansive vision of the center, and we really think this is a center that’s not just the usual, relatively small, one-person shop,” he said.

He calls Stamped from the Beginning the kind of book scholars write in their 50s and 60s. But Kendi’s impact will transcend the written words, Starr said. Especially since American has struggled with racist incidents recently.

In May, bananas were found hanging from nooses at three locations on the American University campus. This followed racist social media messages and a banana thrown into a black student’s dorm in the past few years.

For students of color and “all students, being able to look to someone like Ibram Kendi, who is a model of intelligent scholarship and activism informed by deep contextual and historical understanding,” is powerful, said Starr. He’s got “a fire to make a difference in the world that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen in another scholar, frankly.”


Ibram Kendi greets fans at Politics and Prose after discussing his book.

André Chung for The Undefeated

At the bookstore, the questions, and disquisitions posing as questions, continue as the crowd grapples with, or pushes back against, Kendi’s ideas about race and America.

“I think that the issue is that the Africans and the Europeans really can’t mix,” one person steps to the mic to say.

Across the room, another questioner says, “Gentiles are underrepresented on Wall Street. White males are underrepresented in the NBA. At what point does the assimilation shift into something where other factors come into play?”

“All right now, tell it like it is,” says E. Veronica Pace, a genealogist who steps to the microphone and identifies herself as a student of Howard University sociologist E. Franklin Frazier. She asks about the book’s title, which was taken from a speech in which Confederate President Jefferson Davis called racial inequality “stamped from the beginning.”

Finally, the talk is over and people form a line that stretches toward the door to have him sign their books. “If we are all mindful about this and put our hearts and souls into it, we can turn this ship around,” says James Kilgore, whose wife is in the line. He’s says he’s waiting to see what Kendi is going to do.

For starters, he’s working on another book, a memoir entitled How to be An Anti-Racist. “Racist ideas become almost like a drug. Once you hear them and become hooked, you need more in order to sustain the way you see the world, right?” Kendi says. “I was hooked for a long time,” and now “I’m trying to relieve other people.”

And he’s focused on launching the center he’d like to help change the world. The former sports reporter reaches for a metaphor. It’s a rare moment where his equanimity seems to falter, just for a bit, perhaps from the weight of the task at hand. “I’m on the court and I’ve suited up. Now the game is about to start and I have to be ready to perform,” Kendi says. “And to win.”

Bree Newsome’s social justice fight continues two years after taking down the Confederate flag in South Carolina ‘Staying quiet is also like its own form of death’

It has been more than two years since Bree Newsome became a household name for climbing a 30-foot flagpole on the grounds of the South Carolina statehouse and removing the Confederate flag. She knew jail would follow. However, Newsome, now 32, knew it was a task she had to do.

The mood in South Carolina at the time was bleak following the evening of June 17, 2015, when Dylann Roof gunned down nine black members of the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. The flag that Newsome removed was originally raised in 1961 as a statement of opposition to the civil rights movement. Many individuals have always hated what the flag represents.

In many communities, Newsome became a hero and her actions caused a domino effect. In August, two years after Newsome’s act, 22-year-old Takiya Thompson was arrested after helping to take down a Confederate statue in Durham, North Carolina. Thompson was charged with disorderly conduct by injury to a statue, damage to real property, participation in a riot with property damage in excess of $1,500 — and inciting others to riot where there is property damage in excess of $1,500, according to the Durham County Sheriff’s Office. This was following a white supremacist march in Charlottesville, Virginia, that turned deadly and prompted a call to action by many people for the removal of Confederate statues.

“I just see this shifting in the consciousness, and people just kind of reaching a point where we just can’t be quiet anymore, because I think there has been, in some ways, this belief that we keep ourselves quiet in order to survive,” Newsome said. “But staying quiet is also like its own form of death. I think people are just tired of living that form of death.”

Newsome is now a local organizer in Charlotte, North Carolina, and focusing on housing.

“We have a real affordable housing crisis going on in our city, as many cities around the country are,” Newsome said. “We have communities that were redlined in the late Sixties, that’s kind of when the cities drew, basically, lines around areas that were predominantly black that had been segregated. So, these are areas that were basically divested from, by the city and now they are prime real estate. So we have a lot of developers wanting to develop in this land, but the folks who have lived here for decades are not benefiting from it. So, housing remains an ongoing justice issue.”

Newsome says housing is a human right.

“A lot of times people say, well, it’s just a byproduct of development. But, it’s really important, again, to understand why,” Newsome said. “That’s obviously one of the basic things that we need in order to live. Then, it’s a justice issue, because we’re still very segregated. Segregation is not forced upon us anymore, it’s not part of the law, but we are still largely racially and economically segregated. How are we addressing any of these issues with wealth and with race if folks are being pushed out of their homes?”

Newsome’s father, Clarence G. Newsome, served as the dean of the Howard University School of Divinity and was the president of both Shaw University and the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center. Her mother spent her career as an educator addressing the achievement gap. Newsome studied film at the New York University Tisch School of the Arts.

She spoke to The Undefeated about social justice, today’s battle for equality and her plans.


How do you feel about today’s racial climate?

What we are seeing today is kind of part of a pattern, I would say, in history. On one hand, I was born in ’85; in my lifetime it is maybe one of the most tense periods, racially, that I have experienced. But, when I look back over the history of America, it’s kind of part of a pattern where racial tensions kind of ebb and flow.

We’re integrating certain institutions. We obviously had the election of the nation’s first black president. Now what we’re seeing is, again, this period of racist backlash to that. But there is, kind of, this pattern of like, we make this progress forward and then there is this racist backlash. No, it’s not as bad, and I think if you talk to most folks, like my grandmother, my grandmother is 91 years old. When she saw on TV the police in Ferguson tear-gassing folks in their yard, she said, ‘It reminds me of the Ku Klux Klan.’ So, on one hand, yes, we’ve gone far, but clearly we haven’t gone far enough at all.

When I look at what is going on today, the main thing it says to me is that we cannot rest on our laurels. And that’s part of what spurred me toward becoming an activist in the first place, it was after the Trayvon Martin case.

What do you think about the protests for Colin Kaepernick?

I think that’s amazing. I support that. Two histories in America that I find really fascinating is the treatment of black veterans and the treatment of black athletes. … Even at the college level, there’s a real justice issue around the treatment of black athletes. They are clearly the majority, especially when you are talking about a sport like football. The majority of athletes are black men. They generate billions of dollars for this industry, not just in pro football, but also in college football. In many ways they are exploited. They are exploited physically. We see the kind of damage that is done physically to their bodies.

Part of what I think is really awesome about what is happening right now is there’s greater solidarity. In some ways, it’s bigger than the NFL. It’s about protesting for Colin Kaepernick to have a fair shot, but it’s also kind of bigger than that because it’s like, he has a right, as a human being, to speak. Especially to speak about a system that is killing us. When he’s out of uniform, and he’s off the field and he’s just driving down the street, he has just as much a chance of getting killed by the police as anybody else. I think that that is sometimes what people forget. They think just because a black man puts on a uniform and goes in to play football that he is supposed to disconnect from all the other realities of the nation in which he lives.

Do you recall the first thing you did as an activist?

I don’t know if you remember the Moral Monday movement that was happening here in North Carolina. That was organized by Reverend Barber and the North Carolina state chapter of NAACP. This was back in 2013. This was the same summer that George Zimmerman was acquitted. This is the same summer that the U.S. Supreme Court gutted the Voting Rights Act. North Carolina just went H.A.M. on the voting issue. They hadn’t yet passed it, but they brought up this legislation, House Bill 589, and at first it was this five-page bill that focused on student voter ID. It said the students could no longer use their IDs to vote.

I go up to this Moral Monday protest about voting rights. At that time, I wasn’t considering myself an activist. I was very much aware of things that were going on. Literally overnight, between that Monday and the Tuesday, they sent the bill from the House to the Senate and they added almost 50 more pages to the bill. It was clear that they were targeting black people. They had things like ending Sunday voting.

That was the wake-up moment for me. I had always been socially and politically conscious, but I wasn’t the person out on the street protesting.

Why did you make the decision to fight for justice in North Carolina?

When I was about 2, my family moved up to Maryland. I grew up in Columbia, Maryland. I would spend all of my summers in Charlotte, North Carolina, where I live now. That’s where my grandmother is.

My grandmother would come stay with us during the school year and then I would come stay with her during the summer. Then my dad’s family is from eastern North Carolina, so the Carolinas have always been kind of like home. In a way, it’s kind of like my family home. It really wasn’t until I got back in the Raleigh-Durham area and Moral Monday was going on and I kind of connected with the folks there and I was like, ‘Yeah, I can’t go back to work now, this is too crazy.’

What has been the hardest part of your journey?

I think it’s always finding the balance. I would say, you know, in 2013 when I’m walking to the protest and I was like, ‘I can’t go back to anything, I’ve got to stay in the street.’ And I pretty much did, for like the next two years. Just protesting. I went up to Ohio when John Crawford was killed. I marched with the Ohio Student Association. I went down to Florida. We were just out protesting, just trying to raise this awareness around what was happening.

I was getting to a point where I’m exhausted. It’s traumatic. … When you ask me what has been the greatest challenge or struggle, I think it has been finding out how to sustain in this work. … How do we continue to support ourselves and do this important work? How do we balance life, and all these other things, because we’re out here fighting for our lives and there really is nothing that’s more important. But I know I reached a point where I was, like, you know, I have to live too.

Living is also resistance. If I’m out here killing myself, that’s not, at a certain point I’m no longer resisting. I have to thrive at the same time.

How would you describe your personal feelings after seeing what happened in Charlottesville?

The first word that’s coming to my mind is revelation. But I don’t know if that’s the right word. I’m trying to think of a word that is kind of revealing, because I feel like what happened with Charlottesville was, like, it was all there. All of that was there. But, it was kind of like Charlottesville was the moment that it could no longer be denied. … We’ve known for a while, we’ve known since 2008, at least. Because as soon as Obama was elected, you had a surge in white supremacist groups.

White supremacist groups have been out here organizing. They have been out here planning and connecting. And in a lot of ways folks are looking away.

So, when I think about Charlottesville, to me it was kind of ‘blatant.’ It was like that’s when America could no longer look away from what had been going on, cause here you had all of these white supremacist groups from around the nation organizing and converging on this city over this monument. And, the same way people kept saying, ‘Well, you know, does the monument really represent this, does the Confederate flag really represent that?’ People were really trying to still be kind of wishy-washy about it and it was like Charlottesville was the moment that they could no longer deny what had already been there. It’s not that Charlottesville was new. It’s that Charlottesville made plain what was already there.

How do you see your work in social justice?

The way I look at the work is two ways. One, I think we have system-facing work. There’s work where we are trying to dismantle a racist system. We have a system of white supremacy, and that’s one of the main things I speak about all the time is trying to get people to understand. Racism is not just prejudice. It’s not just, ‘I don’t like somebody because of the color of their skin.’ It’s a system that was designed. It’s an economy. It’s a social caste system that is built based upon, not just the color of a person’s skin, but African ancestry. It is built on the subjugation of people who are descended from Africans. So, I think there is system-facing work and then there is community-facing work. And I try to get people to see both ends. Because I think sometimes we think it’s either-or. Either we’re out here fighting white supremacy or we are doing work in the community. We’re trying to come out of 500 years of slavery.

My family was enslaved in South Carolina and North Carolina. So, I know the personal story of my family trying to come out of slavery. But as a people … that’s the work that we’re trying to do. It’s about economic freedom, it’s about mental freedom. It’s about having agency over ourselves. It’s about how do we break free of oppressive dynamics that we have internalized from the people who have oppressed us. … Sometimes I’m speaking to the system and then sometimes I’m just talking to my people.