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How ironic is it that in an interview about a movement that’s all about radical, uncensored self-representation our message was wildly diluted (and in our opinion, made to look vain and superficial). 

Buzzfeed did an interview with Mars and myself on the Art Hoe Movement, and while the exposure is wonderful, a lot of what we needed said was excluded. So, we’re going to add our uncensored answers because we demand be in control of our own narrative. 

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When we look at the first 15 years of the 21st century, the most defining moment in black America’s relationship to its country isn’t Election Day 2008; it’s Hurricane Katrina. The events of the storm and its aftermath sparked a profound shift among black Americans toward racial pessimism that persists to today, even with Barack Obama in the White House. Black collective memory of Hurricane Katrina, as much as anything else, informs the present movement against police violence, “Black Lives Matter.”

Among the first images of New Orleans after the storm were shots of low-income black Americans, stranded and desperate to escape the floods and debris. In the narrow sense, they were there because the city’s evacuation plan—which didn’t account for massive traffic out of the region—fell apart. Rather than bring remaining New Orleansians out, officials sent them to the Superdome and the convention center, which were quickly overcrowded and undersupplied. In a much broader sense, however, they were there because in a city defined by decades of poverty, segregation, and deep disenfranchisement, poor and working-class blacks (including the elderly, and children) would largely shoulder the burden of the storm.

To black Americans around the country, this looked like neglect. In an ABC News andWashington Post poll taken shortly after the hurricane, 71 percent of blacks said that New Orleans would have been “better prepared” if it were a “wealthier city with more whites,” and 76 percent said the federal government would have “responded faster.” A Newsweek poll confirmed this sense among black Americans that the government responded slowly because most of the affected people were black. “I, to this day, believe that if that would have happened in Orange County, California, if that would have happened in South Beach, Miami, it would have been a different response,” said then Mayor Ray Nagin in a speech to the National Association of Black Journalists, a year after the storm.

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Black Safe Spaces.

Social media is an easy way to escape the normalcy and mundaneness of everyday life. It gives us a way to constantly be surrounded by things that make us feel safe, happy, amused, etc. Why so many people tend to gravitate towards social media platforms such as Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and the like is due to its sense of immediacy. Whatever we publish is instantly seen, read or heard by our friends, followers, and supporters. With the rise of social consciousness and media coverage of the disproportional injustice people of color, specifically black people face, in every day life, people across race and culture, like anyone, feel like their opinion is worth being shared. These platforms offer us an easy way to communicate and share our opinions with the added bonus of having someone comment on it and eventually create dialogue. 

Obviously, opinions are always welcomed and dialogue, when it comes to important subjects, is always good. But, what happens when ones opinion is laced in bigotry and anti-blackness? At this point in time you can’t escape the ongoing problem of police brutality in the United States. An innocent black person is killed, on average, every 8 hours in the hands of armed polices forces. Naturally, people have something to say. What they have to say however is influenced by the amount of privilege they have. And, because of how we’re born into a white supremacist anti-black society such opinions tend to be nuanced.

This ongoing and constant critique of black struggle by non-black people leave the socially conscience black person in a tricky situation. What happens when one of your non-black friends posts a meme about black people condemning their anger but at the same time applauding black people who somehow managed to “make it”? do you tell them that there are systems in place to keep black people oppressed, that such systems are the sole reason why so many of us protest? do you keep scrolling and pay it no mind? or do you leave a lengthy and heavy-worded comment about how it’s a micro-aggression towards black people? These are the scenarios us as black people are faced with almost every day.

My solution to this is quite simple. I created an all black safe space. An all black safe space means that most of my social media platforms such as Instagram, Tumblr and Twitter will be encompassed by black people. Why? because I feel it’s important to create a space where the dialogue is healthy, educated and uninhibited. The benefits are endless. It’s like everywhere you go you’re surrounded by people who look, think and act like you. With the racial tension as high as it is, it’s important to have solidarity. A way one may achieve solidarity is by constantly being in community and to appreciate one another. In a society constantly striving to bring us down (the black community), as a whole, it’s vital that we’re in constant reach to one another and surrounded by a constant reminder that we’re good enough and our place in this world is not up for debate.

This leads to a more fulfilling and all around more enjoyable Internet experience. An experience where ones own life and actions isn’t constantly the center of racist think pieces or memes that subject to racist caricatures. Plus, melanin is such a beautiful thing, why wouldn’t you surround yourself with it every chance you get?