The Minari of My Memory
That plant in a park in Rhode Island delivered the promise that there might be something familiar in this place where everything was new.
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When Americans consume media that privileges white survival, what does it mean for which disasters earn our attention, our money, our likes, our grief?
Our fathers may never know us the way we wish they would. And if we learned that ignorance is bliss, it’s because we learned it from them.
What is lost in a story that chooses to make Brandy a princess and Whitney Houston a fairy godmother despite their Blackness, not because of it?