Image from Kwame Anthony Appiah’s “The Case for Capitalizing the B in Black”

Black and white or black and white? Black and White maybe? It depends on who you ask. My professors do not often correct my usage of the capitalized ‘b’ in the word Black. The ones that do ask with a curiosity that is both annoying and sincere: why don’t I capitalize the ‘w’ in white? Shouldn’t the capitalization of adjectives be consistent throughout my writing? Just academic things: assuming that the rules of the English language must be strictly adhered to, that they cannot be stretched, bent, strained, and disregarded how Blackness is; written language, like Black mobility, must remain…


Image from The Odyssey Online

Election 2020 is here and it feels like that one scene in The Purge when the sirens start going off and people are locking themselves in their homes and the ugliest, most barbaric crimes are being committed. I know — that sounds dramatic. And the truth is that although my family and I will be physically safe, that tension will define social interactions moving forward; the quick exchange with the cashier at the supermarket, the eerie silence that follows during a Zoom meeting when your professor asks “how is everyone?”, and the awkwardness that hangs in the air when you…


Image featured in “When Dismantling Power Dismantles You Instead” by Marie Solis, a writer for Vice

I love studying social justice more than most things. I love critical thinking and anything that forces me to interpret the physical and conceptual world. I love discovering new things. I love uncovering profound truths about myself and my surroundings. I love to read and write; I can feel my mental library expanding when I do. My studies help me better understand that in a world like ours, it’s okay to be enraged, tactful, and articulate all at once. I love academic theory. I love academic research papers that have big, complicated words in them — the ones that demand…


Growing up, my hair was the thing about myself that I despised the most. I hated everything about it — the pain that I had to endure on Saturdays at the salon in order to make it straight, the way that my hair would curl up as soon as I got even the slightest bit sweaty, the smell of it burning to a crisp between the plates of a 400 degree flat iron. …


It’s difficult not to see the things that you have consciously reconditioned yourself to notice. Picture this. You’re in the car with your white friend while they sing along to their favorite rap song by an artist whose roots they couldn’t care less about. Still, they casually mimic the language of their tyrannical predecessors, boldly repeating that word — the one that cuts and stings like a whip breaking supple, melanated skin.

“But it’s not that serious!”, they will say, “I didn’t use it like that.” I wonder, though, if they would feel different if they’d been with me that…

Sarah Valdez

Leftist Dominicana, recent college grad.

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