The Chauvin verdict isn’t the end of our struggle. It’s a potential new beginning.

This is not a threat, but an assurance that I and other Black and brown people like me, must guard our own humanity.

Five simple practices that, if maintained, should serve as the basis for (not extent of) your remote activism amidst the ongoing pandemic.

May this Juneteenth serve as a reminder that half measures—partial emancipations—betray America’s most sacred guarantee of equal rights and protection under the law.

It’s been time for you to stop spectating from the sidelines and do something to protect Black Lives.

To characterize social benefits paid for by the exploitation of black and brown bodies, particularly those indigenous to this land and those captured and brought here as slaves, as privilege is disgusting and, at best, grossly negligent.

This country seems to rely on black voters to swoop in and save us all—no matter how often that requires us to vote against our own blackness. And I’m over it.

My father died suddenly on January 27, 1998 at the age of 44. I was 11 years old. In the months and years that followed, I journaled my thoughts and feelings, as part of the grieving process. Today, I share some of that sentiment with you.

If your antiracism and allyship efforts are not a part of your professional life, you are not being the most effective ally you can be. 

Dedicating energy to national presidential politics at the expense of our individual fight and personal commitment to dismantling white supremacy is a mistake—and one that’s often difficult for us to identify.

White people are given the choice to avoid—intentionally or otherwise—discussing issues of race and equity. Awareness of that choice is key to the success of white anti-racism work.

Participation in the harmful practice of displacing black and brown residents should horrify urban-dwelling white allies, but on the whole it usually doesn’t. At the very least, it should rouse additional responsibility and obligation for those who claim to value black and brown lives.

After reading the entire Mueller Report, I have some thoughts.

White people who “have black friends” should be on the front lines of the fight for racial equity, loudly disrupting the racial status quo, kicking down doors in the name of equality and justice.

As a black man, my participation in this country’s society consists of mandatory social indoctrination, which demands that I accept that vital aspects of my identity are bad, morally wrong, incorrect, or otherwise unacceptable. No more.

This metaphorical gesture may be insignificant from a practical standpoint, but it’s an exercise that will help illustrate and solidify the mindset required for the fight allies must commit to undertake.

In 2011, I was publicly accused of lying about a racially-motivated incident. These are my thoughts on Jussie Smollett.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. cited white moderates as one of racial equality’s greatest obstacles. How do well-meaning white people combat complacency and act as effective racial allies?

Ever since I can remember, it’s been obvious to anyone who has encountered me that I’m not a part of what society considers America’s default race—I’m not white. I’m something else. Some other. I refer to myself and identify as black because I am—and society treats me as such, usually without exception.

Every year people wonder, “Can’t Thanksgiving be the one day we enjoy time with relatives and leave politics at the door?” Simply put, the answer is no.