Dec. 12, 2019
who grew up in the projects of New York City would one day become a farmer and food activist? Was this journey easy? No. Was it something that I was thinking about growing up? No. In fact, why would I want to enter a profession that was demoralizing, dirty and associated with slavery? Even throughout my formidable school years, Black folks’ contribution to agriculture was never mentioned unless depicted in photos in fields of cotton.
Washington is a farmer, urban gardener and activist.
Karen Washington
Who knew that a little black girL
But that would change when I started to grow my own food. You see, my relation to food was that my mother was a good cook, and that we got our food from the grocery store. For me, planting a seed in the ground with no prior experience was a huge undertaking. I quickly discovered that the food I was growing was healthy and nourishing my body. I knew, right then and there, that eating healthy meant being healthy.
So, I went out searching for the farmers who look like me, only to discover that they were disappearing. Only 1.4% of U.S. farmers are Black with less than 1% landowners. In the aftermath of Reconstruction, a segregated racist food system had taken our land and wealth from the people on whose backs this country was built on. You see, the truth of the matter is that we were brought here as enslaved Africans, not only for our labor but for our knowledge of agriculture. The food that we now eat, the agricultural tools and the systems that are used today, all took that long journey across the seas from the Middle Passage of Africa to the southern shores of America.
Therefore, I farm as a declaration of power! To grow your own food — to own your own land — is powerful and a tribute to my ancestors.
and I watched the gruesome murder of a Black man on my timeline. The murder marked my fifth year in the media industry. It was that day, in which I was confronted with the side effects of being the only Black person within my team and the few within my office and company. The day following his murder, I showed up to work hoping to share my grief and emotions with my coworkers. I never dwelled on the fact that my coworkers
didn’t look like me, as my relationships have never been defined by one’s skin color — something instilled in me by my mother from birth. These were more than just coworkers; they were people whose homes I’d visited, whose kids I’d met and life moments I’d shared. However, to my surprise, it was just another day at the office. We walked to get our morning coffee, talked about evening plans over lunch, and by the end of the day we were off to tend to our families and rushing to make dinner reservations.
That day I realized, thanks to social media algorithms and the privilege that race, class and socioeconomic status affords my coworkers, they likely had been shielded from the unremitting and often tragic injustices that have shackled my community.
As frustrated as I was by the lack of awareness from my coworkers, I began to question the underrepresentation of Black people in my workplace. I felt this exclusion resulted in an absence of sympathy and compassion, forcing me to suffer alone in silence. This simple, yet complex, thought led me to uncover the significant lack of racial and ethnic diversity within my company and other sectors.
It was then that I understood my presence and voice within the media industry are necessary in advocating inclusion for underrepresented communities, to allow them the opportunity to exist in places they are often overlooked and excluded.
Carletta Arnold
Arnold is a digital media and advertising professional, and the daughter of Robin Holloway.
"I came to understand that my portion of the American galaxy was Black and that the other portion was not."
It was the summer of July 2016,
raised by my mother, who became a single parent after my father died when I was four years of age. My encounters with racism were not always recognized initially, yet often realized over periods of time, repetition and reflection of experiences. As a native of Atlanta, Georgia, growing up was a separate and unequal experience. The naivety of my youth, as well as separation of communities, sometimes played a part in my inability to recognize inadequacies which plagued my community, such as food deserts, lack of access
to ethical lending institutions, overpricing of goods and services and other inequalities, which continue to this day. The saving grace in my community was its composition of citizens which included people of various economic levels and career types, such as teachers, nurses, pastors, custodians, factory workers and others, living cooperatively and looking out for each other.
My mother was my role model, as she shared with me her love, passion for literature and the arts, along with her spirit of perseverance and advocacy for the mental health of her family. As a descendent of African women of antiquity, like my mother, it is my responsibility to extend love and truth to my daughter and all who will use their hearts and minds to embrace their beauty and grace, which is and has always been necessary in the sustainability and survival of humanity. Each individual must decide on how they will interact with love and truth as they prepare to cross the bridges in life which lead to each “next” that will be encountered. Although there may be requirements of struggle and sacrifice to cross the bridges that lie ahead of us, our bridges allow growth which prepares us to fulfill our purpose during the journey of life.
Robin Holloway
Holloway is a retired public school teacher and mental health advocate.
I am the youngest of four children
This time I drove under nightfall, through dawn, and exited the panhandle around noon. Perhaps I’d catch a few shops that were in denial, like me, about the invisible threat that lay ahead. This time, experience was by my side, perspective in my wake, courage being gifted from the battle scars and friendly faces awaiting on the other side, motivating the release of a heavy weight.
Tallahassee looked more like a ghost town than a college town. My pop-up in Gainesville was cancelled along the way. Podcast-binging left my subconscious sounding like a droning host on public access talk radio. And my parents' hysteria about Covid-19 was pulling me out of my road-tripping and healing bliss.
A new stretch of road was soon ahead. Fear began to cut through me like a knife. I was coming home to a place my inner child never left. To an extended contact zone with my past and present. The penultimate challenge in the quest for empathy and happiness, the pursuit of love of my life. Was it time for a return to reality? Which stories would make the next important moments? The ones told by generations before me? Or the ones I dream, manifest and magically ignite? What awaits me in the sea of possibility? I’ll let my inner values guide me to a future in the light.
Michael Tennant
Tennant is founder and CEO of a boutique marketing agency.
“I felt in this a cosmic injustice,
a profound cruelty, an irrepressible desire to unshackle my body and escape.”
It was my second time driving This
describe my corporate career of 25-plus years. I had a rapid rise and many memorable experiences and a few champions along the way. However, as my career progressed, I remember feeling less welcomed and more isolated in the executive ranks. I remember being excluded and, at times, left to fail and having to remind myself that I had been the right person for the job, and that they were lucky to have me. I remember relying on my own voice to guide me in keeping things in perspective and using good judgement. I remember calming my own spirit of doubt in the absence of having someone in the room with me who understood my experience.
And when I remember the risks I’ve taken with some of my career moves — being the primary breadwinner, Black and female, new mother and without the corporate safety nets many of my colleagues benefited from — I most remember being graceful more than I remember being brave. I was a self-soother. I learned how not to rely on the approval and judgement of others to fuel my confidence, and most of all, I learned to stay calm. That's what I wanted my son and the young women of color coming up behind me to see and learn.
Twenty five years ago, I believed my son’s work experience would be different; fast-forward 25 years and out of college he joins a global organization as the only Black male on his team with a manager ill-equipped to lead a diverse team. Wow. How is this still happening?
Well, it is still happening, and our young people still need to be prepared to stand steady and unrattled in the toughest situations. I hope I have provided a solid example until their experience in the workplace has been changed for good.
Pamela Culpepper
Culpepper is an entrepreneur and cofounder of a D&I advisory firm.
“No regrets” is how I would
through Black Twitter — yes, it’s a real and powerful thing — that said, “You are the product of your strongest ancestors.” The tweet continued to say that only those individuals with the most perseverance, unshakeable spirit, unparalleled strength and courage, survived the throes of history that, inevitability, would produce me. It’s sometimes difficult to grasp that I am the result of decisions made (and not made) over centuries.
As I put that into perspective, I see my being here not only as a blessing, but as both confirmation and affirmation that I, in fact, am purposefully and intentionally meant to be here. So when I’m asked how I live gracefully and beautifully in this world, I reflect on my evolving purpose and on experiences that have molded me. I reflect on moments I’ve spoken up and when I’ve remained quiet. I think about my fears and my lowest moments, but, more importantly, my points of greatest redemption.
Mr. Coates says in his book that we, as Black people, must live within the all of this body, this country and this world, and I compare it to opening a complex lock. Each twist and turn we make must align simultaneously, in order for us to solve this maze of life. And like all locks, the possible combinations are endless, meaning that we as a people must get creative. And if you have ever had a chance to scroll through Black Twitter, you’d be amazed at just how creative we can be. It’s in the food we cook, the way we laugh to keep from crying, our ability to galvanize through pain, through music or through a pandemic.
And as I continue to grow and learn, it excites me to see what special skills and characteristics I’ll be responsible for imparting several generations down the line. And, albeit selfish, who doesn’t want to be considered the strongest ancestor?
Jordan Culpepper
Culpepper is a graduate student of international law and conflict resolution. He is also the son of Pamela Culpepper.
I saw a tweet while scrolling
throughout my life when I was told that I wasn’t Black enough, as if there’s a rule book to follow or boxes to check that make you undeniably Black in America. This left me feeling outcast for a large part of my life. On the other hand, I’ve always felt discomfort in white spaces as well. I would feel like I was their representative for all Black people, or I would be made to feel like I was just one of the “good ones.” It seemed to me like I was a little too hood for the artsy kids and a just a little too artsy for the hood.
I developed a love for music at a very young age; music was everywhere. My father played the bass guitar and was an avid collector of different types of music. My mother, she introduced me to gospel by forcing me to join the youth choir at my church. My sister and older cousins introduced me to hip-hop. I had a natural love for discovery so I could sit and spend hours just digging for new music and new artists that I may not have heard of before.
I always seem to gravitate toward the more eccentric artists. I found that the most influential and poignant musicians to me were those that were doing something fresh, new and different; artists that were bold in their statements, eclectic in fashion sense and sometimes seemed like they were from another planet. These artists owned their identity and their differences that didn’t make them any less Black. It just added to the spectrum of what Black culture actually is — it’s forever evolving. Music helped me accept my own truth and find my own identity.
While witnessing a global pandemic and worldwide social unrest I decided that the most authentic way for me to contribute to the current state of the world is to reflect and document it through my art. So, I created an album, it’s called "Planet Earth Is A Ghetto... But I Still Love You." In making this album, I found that if you share your truth you will find that you’re not as alone in this world as you may think.
Mark Ferg
Ferg is a musical artist.
There’s been countless times
"The struggle, in and of itself, has meaning. Never forget that we were enslaved in this country longer than we have been free. You have to make peace with the chaos,
but you cannot lie."
"I submitted before your needs,
and I knew then that I must survive
for something more than survival’s sake. I must survive for you."
deep red stretch of I-10 from New Orleans to Tallahassee when lockdown became imminent. Last time, I was so afraid that I made the drive in the daylight to avoid the boys on the highways. The ones you hear about on the news or read in the headlines. The ones Black parents warn Black men about. The troopers waiting for the delight of putting uppity niggers like me “in their place.”
"That this is your country, that this is your world, that this is your body, and you must find some way to live within the all of it."
LISTEN TO
HER STory
LISTEN To HIS STory
This personal narrative contains language some listeners and readers may find offensive.
LISTEN TO
HER STory
LISTEN TO
HER STory
LISTEN TO
His STory
LISTEN TO
His STory
“I wasn’t so much bound to a biological ‘race’ as to a group of people, and these people were not Black because
of any uniform color or any uniform physical feature.”
The following messages were written and recorded in response to quoted lines from the HBO Original “Between The World and Me.” Scroll down to see each speaker’s prompt, and click the play buttons to hear them read their stories.
AUDIO RECOMMENDED
it was scribed as a personal and intimate conversation between a father and his 15-year-old son on the complexity of what it means to grow up Black in America in the 21st century. For the stage and screen, I worked to conceive and direct “Between the World and Me” as a witnessing, with an impetus to create a consciousness around how much this intimate conversation resonates throughout our community. The journey of evolving such poignant text for the stage and the screen has been rooted deeply in illuminating how this work lives inside of testimony and in community. This work confronts, celebrates and interrogates what it means for all of us — every man, woman and person — to be in our Black bodies in America. My hope is that this film can be a place where we can see ourselves in all our complexity, both beautiful and triumphant, and that it sparks dialogue, reflection and celebration amongst our community.
Forward by
Director and Executive Producer
of the HBO Original
“Between The World And Me”
on HBO Max
Kamilah Forbes
When Ta-Nehisi Coates published “Between the World and Me” in 2015,
Ferg is a musical artist.
Mark
Ferg
LISTEN TO
His STory
throught my life when I was told that I wasn’t Black enough, as if there’s a rule book to follow or boxes to check that make you undeniably Black in America. This left me feeling outcast for a large part of my life. On the other hand, I’ve always felt discomfort in white spaces as well. I would feel like I was their representative for all Black people, or I would be made to feel like I was just one of the “good ones.” It seemed to me like I was a little too hood for the artsy kids and a just a little too artsy for the hood.
I developed a love for music at a very young age; music was everywhere. My father played the bass guitar and was an avid collector of different types of music. My mother, she introduced me to gospel by forcing me to join the youth choir at my church. My sister and older cousins introduced me to hip-hop. I had a natural love for discovery so I could sit and spend hours just digging for new music and new artists that I may not have heard of before.
I always seem to gravitate toward the more eccentric artists. I found that the most influential and poignant musicians to me were those that were doing something fresh, new and different; artists that were bold in their statements, eclectic in fashion sense and sometimes seemed like they were from another planet. These artists owned their identity and their differences that didn’t make them any less Black. It just added to the spectrum of what Black culture actually is — it’s forever evolving. Music helped me accept my own truth and find my own identity.
While witnessing a global pandemic and worldwide social unrest I decided that the most authentic way for me to contribute to the current state of the world is to reflect and document it through my art. So, I created an album, it’s called "Planet Earth Is A Ghetto... But I Still Love You." In making this album, I found that if you share your truth you will find that you’re not as alone in this world as you may think.
There’s been countless times
“I wasn’t so
much bound to a biological ‘race’
as to a group of people, and these people were not Black because of any uniform color or any uniform physical feature.”
through Black Twitter — yes, it’s a real and powerful thing — that said, “You are the product of your strongest ancestors.” The tweet continued to say that only those individuals with the most perseverance, unshakeable spirit, unparalleled strength and courage, survived the throes of history that, inevitability, would produce me. It’s sometimes difficult to grasp that I am the result of decisions made (and not made) over centuries. As I put that into perspective, I see my being here not only as a blessing, but as both confirmation and affirmation that I, in fact, am purposefully and intentionally meant to be here. So when I’m asked how I live gracefully and beautifully in this world, I reflect on my evolving purpose and on experiences that have molded me. I reflect on moments I’ve spoken up and when I’ve remained quiet. I think about my fears and my lowest moments, but, more importantly, my points of greatest redemption.
Mr. Coates says in his book that we, as Black people, must live within the all of this body, this country and this world, and I compare it to opening a complex lock. Each twist and turn we make must align simultaneously, in order for us to solve this maze of life. And like all locks, the possible combinations are endless, meaning that we as a people must get creative. And if you have ever had a chance to scroll through Black Twitter, you’d be amazed at just how creative we can be. It’s in the food we cook, the way we laugh to keep from crying, our ability to galvanize through pain, through music or through a pandemic.
And as I continue to grow and learn, it excites me to see what special skills and characteristics I’ll be responsible for imparting several generations down the line. And, albeit selfish, who doesn’t want to be considered the strongest ancestor?
I saw a tweet while scrolling
Culpepper is a graduate student of international law and conflict resolution. He is also the son of Pamela Culpepper.
Jordan Culpepper
"That this is your country, that this is your world, that this is your body, and you must find some way to live within the all of it."
LISTEN TO
His STory
LISTEN TO
HER STory
describe my corporate career of 25-plus years. I had a rapid rise and many memorable experiences and a few champions along the way. However, as my career progressed, I remember feeling less welcomed and more isolated in the executive ranks. I remember being excluded and, at times, left to fail and having to remind myself that I had been the right person for the job, and that they were lucky to have me. I remember relying on my own voice to guide me in keeping things in perspective and using good judgement. I remember calming my own spirit of doubt in the absence of having someone in the room with me who understood my experience.
And when I remember the risks I’ve taken with some of my career moves — being the primary breadwinner, Black and female, new mother and without the corporate safety nets many of my colleagues benefited from — I most remember being graceful more than I remember being brave. I was a self-soother. I learned how not to rely on the approval and judgement of others to fuel my confidence, and most of all, I learned to stay calm. That's what I wanted my son and the young women of color coming up behind me to see and learn.
Twenty five years ago, I believed my son’s work experience would be different; fast-forward 25 years and out of college he joins a global organization as the only Black male on his team with a manager ill-equipped to lead a diverse team. Wow. How is this still happening?
Well, it is still happening, and our young people still need to be prepared to stand steady and unrattled in the toughest situations. I hope I have provided a solid example until their experience in the workplace has been changed for good.
“No regrets” is how I would
Culpepper is an entrepreneur and cofounder of a D&I advisory firm.
Pamela Culpepper
"I submitted before
your needs, and I KNew then that I must
survive for something more than survival’s
sake. I must survive
for you."
and I watched the gruesome murder a Black man on my timeline. The murder marked my fifth year in the media industry. It was that day, in which I was confronted with the side effects of being the only Black person within my team and the few within my office and company. The day following his murder, I showed up to work hoping to share my grief and emotions with my coworkers. I never dwelled on the fact that my coworkers didn’t look like me, as my relationships have never been defined by one’s skin color — something instilled in me by my mother from birth. These were more than just coworkers; they were people whose homes I’d visited, whose kids I’d met and life moments I’d shared. However, to my surprise, it was just another day at the office. We walked to get our morning coffee, talked about evening plans over lunch, and by the end of the day we were off to tend to our families and rushing to make dinner reservations.
That day I realized, thanks to social media algorithms and the privilege that race, class and socioeconomic status affords my coworkers, they likely had been shielded from the unremitting and often tragic injustices that have shackled my community.
As frustrated as I was by the lack of awareness from my coworkers, I began to question the underrepresentation of Black people in my workplace. I felt this exclusion resulted in an absence of sympathy and compassion, forcing me to suffer alone in silence. This simple, yet complex, thought led me to uncover the significant lack of racial and ethnic diversity within my company and other sectors.
It was then that I understood my presence and voice within the media industry are necessary in advocating inclusion for underrepresented communities, to allow them the opportunity to exist in places they are often overlooked and excluded.
It was the summer of July 2016,
LISTEN TO
HER STory
Arnold is a digital media
and advertising professional, and the daughter of Robin Holloway.
Carletta Arnold
"I came to understand that my portion of the American galaxy was Black and that the other portion was not."
children raised by my mother, who became a single parent after my father died when I was four years of age. My encounters with racism were not always recognized initially, yet often realized over periods of time, repetition and reflection of experiences. As a native of Atlanta, Georgia, growing up was a separate and unequal experience. The naivety of my youth, as well as separation of communities, sometimes played a part in my inability to recognize inadequacies which plagued my community, such as food deserts, lack of access to ethical lending institutions, overpricing of goods and services and other inequalities, which continue to this day. The saving grace in my community was its composition of citizens which included people of various economic levels and career types, such as teachers, nurses, pastors, custodians, factory workers and others, living cooperatively and looking out for each other.
My mother was my role model, as she shared with me her love, passion for literature and the arts, along with her spirit of perseverance and advocacy for the mental health of her family. As a descendent of African women of antiquity, like my mother, it is my responsibility to extend love and truth to my daughter and all who will use their hearts and minds to embrace their beauty and grace, which is and has always been necessary in the sustainability and survival of humanity. Each individual must decide on how they will interact with love and truth as they prepare to cross the bridges in life which lead to each “next” that will be encountered. Although there may be requirements of struggle and sacrifice to cross the bridges that lie ahead of us, our bridges allow growth which prepares us to fulfill our purpose during the journey of life.
I am the youngest of four
Holloway is a retired public school teacher and mental health advocate.
Robin Holloway
"They made us into a race. We made ourselves into a people."
LISTEN TO
HER STory
LISTEN To HIS STory
This personal narrative contains language some listeners and readers may find offensive.
deep red stretch of I-10 from New Orleans to Tallahassee when lockdown became imminent. Last time, I was so afraid that I made the drive in the daylight to avoid the boys on the highways. The ones you hear about on the news or read in the headlines. The ones Black parents warn Black men about. The troopers waiting for the delight of putting uppity niggers like me “in their place.”
This time I drove under nightfall, through dawn, and exited the panhandle around noon. Perhaps I’d catch a few shops that were in denial, like me, about the invisible threat that lay ahead. This time, experience was by my side, perspective in my wake, courage being gifted from the battle scars and friendly faces awaiting on the other side, motivating the release of a heavy weight.
Tallahassee looked more like a ghost town than a college town. My pop-up in Gainesville was cancelled along the way. Podcast-binging left my subconscious sounding like a droning host on public access talk radio. And my parents' hysteria about Covid-19 was pulling me out of my road-tripping and healing bliss.
A new stretch of road was soon ahead. Fear began to cut through me like a knife. I was coming home to a place my inner child never left. To an extended contact zone with my past and present. The penultimate challenge in the quest for empathy and happiness, the pursuit of love of my life. Was it time for a return to reality? Which stories would make the next important moments? The ones told by generations before me? Or the ones I dream, manifest and magically ignite? What awaits me in the sea of possibility? I’ll let my inner values guide me to a future in the light.
It was my second time driving This
Tennant is founder and CEO
of a boutique marketing agency.
Michael Tennant
“I felt in this a cosmic injustice,
a profound cruelty, an irrepressible desire to unshackle my body and escape.”
who grew up in the projects of New York City would one day become a farmer and food activist? Was this journey easy? No. Was it something that I was thinking about growing up? No. In fact, why would I want to enter a profession that was demoralizing, dirty and associated with slavery? Even throughout my formidable school years, Black folks’ contribution to agriculture was never mentioned unless depicted in photos in fields of cotton.
But that would change when I started to grow my own food. You see, my relation to food was that my mother was a good cook, and that we got our food from the grocery store. For me, planting a seed in the ground with no prior experience was a huge undertaking. I quickly discovered that the food I was growing was healthy and nourishing my body. I knew, right then and there, that eating healthy meant being healthy.
So, I went out searching for the farmers who look like me, only to discover that they were disappearing. Only 1.4% of U.S. farmers are Black with less than 1% landowners. In the aftermath of Reconstruction, a segregated racist food system had taken our land and wealth from the people on whose backs this country was built on. You see, the truth of the matter is that we were brought here as enslaved Africans, not only for our labor but for our knowledge of agriculture. The food that we now eat, the agricultural tools and the systems that are used today, all took that long journey across the seas from the Middle Passage of Africa to the southern shores of America.
Therefore, I farm as a declaration of power! To grow your own food — to own your own land — is powerful and a tribute to my ancestors.
Who knew that a little black girL
Washington is a farmer, urban gardener and activist.
Karen Washington
LISTEN TO
HER STory
"The struggle, in and of itself, has meaning. Never forget that we
were enslaved in
this country longer
than we have been free. You have to make peace with the chaos, but you cannot lie."
El'cesart
Forward by
Kamilah Forbes
LISTEN TO
HER STory
it was scribed as a personal and intimate conversation between a father and his 15-year-old son on the complexity of what it means to grow up Black in America in the 21st century. For the stage and screen, I worked to conceive and direct “Between the World and Me” as a witnessing, with an impetus to create a consciousness around how much this intimate conversation resonates throughout our community. The journey of evolving such poignant text for the stage and the screen has been rooted deeply in illuminating how this work lives inside of testimony and in community. This work confronts, celebrates and interrogates what it means for all of us — every man, woman and person — to be in our Black bodies in America. My hope is that this film can be a place where we can see ourselves in all our complexity, both beautiful and triumphant, and that it sparks dialogue, reflection and celebration amongst our community.
Forward by
Director and Executive Producer of the HBO Original
“Between The World And Me”
on HBO Max
Kamilah Forbes
When Ta-Nehisi Coates published “Between the World and Me” in 2015,
The following messages were written and recorded in response to quoted lines from the HBO Original “Between The World And Me.” Scroll down to see each speaker’s prompt, and click the play buttons to hear them read their stories.
Illustrations by
"They made us into a race.
We made ourselves into a people."