For many years, Black superheroes have been dismissed as sidekicks, imitators of established white heroes, or are accused of having no role outside of blaxploitation film contexts. Yet the importance of a Storm, Luke Cage, Black Panther, or Jon Stewart as Green Lantern or Miles Morales as Spiderman cannot be understated. Their entry into comic books also served as entry to the hearts and imaginations of black children, confirming that they too can be superheroes and could one day save the world.
For a list of Black Superheroes see here
93 years ago on this day May 31, 1921, the Tulsa Race Riot began. It is marked as the deadliest race riot in the history of the U.S. & destroyed what was known as, Black Wall Street.
Black Wall Street was the wealthiest black community in the United States, full of black owned businesses consisting of:
a bus system
its own hospital.
Racial tension boiled over on May 30, 1921 when a white woman accused a black boy of sexual assault. Late that night, a mob of nearly 10,000 white men launched an all out assault on Black Wall Street systematically burning down every home & business.
Attacks came from both the ground and the sky as the mobs used planes from World War I to drop firebombs and shoot at residents. African Americans that were captured were held in internment camps around the city by local police & National Guard units.
Blacks who were injured during the 16 hour attack couldn’t seek medical care because the mobs torched the only black hospital in the city.
The attack left about 10,000 African Americans homeless and 35 city blocks burned to the ground. In total, 1,256 houses & 191 businesses (including churches, a middle school & a hospital) were burned.
In the aftermath, it was estimated that 300 African Americans were killed and many of their bodies were buried in unmarked graves.
The Tulsa Race Riot was taught for the 1st time in Tulsa public schools in 2012. #NeverForget #BlackWallStreet #BlackHistory
When I outstepped the boundaries that society labeled as the “norm”, I began to critique myself. There’s a saying that goes we ourselves are our harshest critics, and its true. I could tell you at the exact moment when people labeled me as “different”. When I was not the standard of beauty, and at that exact moment I began to hate myself. Should I bleach myself to accommodate to a persons standard of beauty? Then them, a hypocrite, turn around and tell that I was fine the way I was before. I lived in North Carolina where it was okay for kids to mock and tease others for their appearance in skin tone. It was something that I didn’t quite understand. We never spoke about skin tone when I was growing up. My mother was so light to the point that my cousin thought she was white, and my father was dark as the night sky. Now not only am I afraid of my own skin tone, but I’m afraid to love too, because I already told myself that nobody likes dark skinned girls. When i know it’s not true…so I hope this unorganized story let’s somebody know they’re not alone.
I was reading over some of your posts of people submitting stories. It truly has brought back memories. I hated my self so much in the fifth grade. I am multicultural. I am black white and native american. I look more native and black than anything. In the fifth grade i would always be bullied. The black kids always question me. “Why do you have hair like a white girl?” “Are you black?” “Are you half white?”. Endless questions. I asked my mother what should i say about my long hair and she told me to tell them i am native indian. Wrong choice. Everyday i walked into class they would make these war noises. Every single day. They told me i thought i was better than them. They called me a savage. They told me i looked like a wolf. Every day. They told me i was ugly. They would also make wolf noise and joke about hows there is a animal in the room. I question what is wrong with me?? Why cant i be like the other black kids. I had one main white friend. Even the white kids didn’t like me either. That killed me. I grew to hate my heritage. I hated my genocide ethnicity i barely knew. I wanted to die. I realize i am beautifully, i am not a savage. There is nothing wrong with the way i look. I am not a half bred or a mutt. I am loved. God loves me. I will not ever be ashame of my heritage ever again. I’m FLAWLESS.
My Black is Beautiful. Your Black is Beautiful. Our Black is Beautiful. -@zellieimani
"When You Black…"
Original poem by Rob ‘Robalu’ Gibsun.
In third grade I moved from a diverse school in Maryland to an essentially all-White school in Texas. On the first day a girl asked me, “Are you from Africa?” I remember being in shock and thinking, “Am I the first Black person you’ve ever met? Don’t you know Black people live in America?” and I’ve hated Texas ever since.
Anonymous said: I have to say, i miss judged this blog, looking further i see you have posted black women with curves. SORRY! lol i kinda jumped on this without further looking in on the blog. Just been tired of seeing blogs that say "black women are beautiful" and only show me runway models! For that I'm truly sorry and keep up the good work. You have a new follower.
Thank you! No need to apologize but thank you for it. We hope to continue to post inclusive photo sets that represents the diversity of Blackness.
When I first decided to go natural the only person who even remotely supported me was my mother. After 8 years of perms and a constant frustration, I decided that I was done with dealing with it. I cut off all of my perm ends and my mother braided my hair into cornrows. She didn’t agree with what I was doing, but more because she thought I would have a hard time at school. She was right. Alot of the black students there would call me ugly, question why I was doing what I was doing, and even my sisters would repeat the same thing back to me. Surprisingly, the only people that really supported me were my non-black friends. Within my little circle, they thought it was cool and thought it was an interesting process. The stigma around natural hair is one that needs to be changed from the inside out. If we as Black people cannot accept ourselves, how to we expect the outside world to do so?