Only the foolish dismiss the scribe who records the history, hopes and dreams of a people.
John W. Fountain
In your arms, we found freedom to be as black as we wanted to be — free from isolation and racial animosity.
Let us sing again those spiritual songs that once ushered a movement in America toward civil and human rights.
As strange as it may seem to some, riding my motorcycle is about living.
Free at last to forgive the man who had deserted me — whether I understood his absence, or not.
The diagnosis was Alzheimer’s for his mother, the prognosis eventual death twice over.
To me, Killmonger is T’Challa. They both have the same blood, the same potential as men to become part of the solution, or part of the problem.
I write — over the last 30 years — guarding against ever losing sight of the forest for the trees.
That racially profiling black men is as American as Starbucks and apple pie. And that America is largely deaf to our cries.