Black Culture Discussion Thread

That’s nice and dope.

But i know the dirty side of MNVO companies so i hope she can be transparent as possible to have people put their trust in her company.
 
Zimbabwe Spent Thousands of Dollars on Judges' Wigs -- and People Aren't Happy





https://edition.cnn.com/2019/04/05/africa/zimbabwe-judges-wigs-gbr-intl-scli/index.html

The Zimbabwe government has come under fire after it emerged that it spent thousands of dollars on importing legal wigs from the UK for local judges, with critics lambasting the purchase as a colonial hang-up and a waste of money.

The Zimbabwe Independent newspaper reported that the country's Judiciary Service Commission placed an order for 64 horse-hair wigs from Stanley Ley Legal Outfitters in London, at a cost of £1,850 ($2,428) per wig and totaling £118,400 ($155,000).

Wigs from the outfitter range in price from £457.50 ($599) for a standard barrister's wig, to £2,495.83 ($3,265) for a judge's ceremonial wig.

Stanley Ginsburg, the owner of Stanley Ley, confirmed to CNN that his company had sold wigs to Zimbabwe, but he said the actual number of wigs ordered was "no way near the number" quoted by the Zimbabwe Independent.

Nonetheless, lawyers and rights campaigners have expressed anger at the purchase, arguing that the tradition of wearing expensive wigs represents a mismanagement of financial resources, and also fails to improve access to legal services for average Zimbabweans.

"The judicial wig (colonial) tradition continues in Zimbabwe with all its costs and controversy, without any meaningful benefit to access to justice," Arnold Tsunga, Africa director at the International Commission of Jurists, wrote on Twitter.

Hopewell Chin'ono, a leading Zimbabwean journalist and documentary filmmaker, wrote: "I have argued that this country suffers from a catastrophic mismanagement of resources. How do you explain a government allocating $155,000 for wigs to be bought in England when the same government is failing to buy bandages and betadine for infants in pediatric wards.

"These are people who shout about sovereignty and anti-colonial rhetoric and yet they are still wearing hideous wigs."

Chin'ono said the former colonial powers are "having a laugh" at Zimbabwe, stating: "You can take Zimbabwe out of the empire, but you can't take the empire out of Zimbabwe."


Ginsburg told CNN, however, that traditional legal dress allows lawyers to garner respect in court.
"In law, uniform is important -- you look up to your judges and barristers," he said. "What is wrong with tradition?"

Wigs are still worn in countries such as Malawi, Ghana, Zambia, and in the Caribbean, while South Africa and many Australian courts have abandoned the practice.

On Thursday, a group of United Nations experts warned that the Zimbabwe government's policies aimed at tackling its fiscal deficit were pushing its people deeper into poverty.

Zimbabwe's Judiciary Service Commission did not immediately respond to CNN's request for comment.
 
She Survived a Slave Ship, the Civil War and the Depression. Her Name Was Redoshi.
Redoshi, who was known as Sally Smith after she became enslaved, with her husband, called Uncle Billy or Yawith.Creditvia Shirley Quarles


Redoshi, who was known as Sally Smith after she became enslaved, with her husband, called Uncle Billy or Yawith. Credit via Shirley Quarles

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/03/us/transatlantic-slave-trade-last-survivor.html


It has long been believed that a man named Cudjo Lewis was the last living survivor of the trans-Atlantic slave trade in the United States. Now a researcher at Newcastle University in Britain says she has discovered testimony from someone who may have lived even longer — a woman named Redoshi.

The new findings, published last week in the journal Slavery & Abolition, are likely to be subject to scholarly debate, because there are few records documenting the lives of the last Africans to be captured and brought to the United States on slave ships.

Regardless of Redoshi’s precise historical status, the researcher, Hannah Durkin, has pieced together accounts from different sources and census records to carve out the remarkable life of a woman who survived the treacherous Middle Passage voyage at age 12, was sold as a child bride, and lived through the Civil War and the Great Depression. According to Dr. Durkin, Redoshi died in 1937; Lewis died in 1935.

“It was thought that this woman was lost to history,” Dr. Durkin, a lecturer at Newcastle University, said in an interview.

But Redoshi was not lost. She is believed to have been taken from a West African village before being brought to the United States in 1860 on the Clotilda, the last recorded slave ship to arrive in the country after more than 240 years of slavery.

The rest of her life provides a stark example of the physical and psychological trauma left on those who survived the trans-Atlantic slave trade, scars that continue to inflame tensions in the United States today.

The author Zora Neale Hurston discovered Redoshi, who became known as Sally Smith after being enslaved, while doing research for her literary works in the South.

Dr. Durkin wove together bits and pieces of Redoshi’s life that were found in Hurston’s unpublished writings and an interview she gave to The Montgomery Advertiser as well as in “Bridge Across Jordan,” a memoir by the civil rights leader Amelia Boynton Robinson. Redoshi was also filmed for an instructional film released in 1938 by the Department of Agriculture called “The Negro Farmer: Extension Work for Better Farming and Better Living,” possibly making her the only female Clotilda survivor who appeared on film.

The film, which was meant to showcase issues facing formerly enslaved people as they tried to become farmers, shows Redoshi as an old woman on the porch of her small home, made out of wooden planks on a plantation in Alabama. As a narrator speaks, she can be seen talking to someone as she sits in a chair, wrapped by a quilt. Her white hair looks fuzzy, marked by stray braids poking out of it, and her skin is dark and thick but still vibrant. She has a gaptoothed smile, and cheekbones rising up to her eyes.
The footage is the only known video of a woman who survived slavery in the United States, Dr. Durkin said.

Before her death in 1937, Redoshi was filmed for an instructional movie released in 1938 by the Department of Agriculture called “The Negro Farmer: Extension Work for Better Farming and Better Living.”CreditDepartment of Agriculture

Before her death in 1937, Redoshi was filmed for an instructional movie released in 1938 by the Department of Agriculture called “The Negro Farmer: Extension Work for Better Farming and Better Living.”Credit Department of Agriculture

Dr. Durkin said she learned about Redoshi as she researched Hurston’s “Barrac00n: The Story of the Last ‘Black Cargo,’” a nonfiction work centered on interviews with Cudjo Lewis. Dr. Durkin noticed a woman named Sally Smith in the appendix to a posthumously published manuscript by Hurston called “Every Tongue Got to Confess.”

Dr. Durkin says Redoshi was taken from her village in West Africa, where she described her life as “peaceful” before her father was killed by men who kidnapped her.

The interview Redoshi gave to The Montgomery Advertiser in 1932 indicated that she was from an area of West Africa that is now part of Benin, Dr. Durkin said. “I guess she is Yoruba.”

When she arrived in the United States, she was given the name Sally Smith after she was sold to a man named Washington Smith in Alabama, where she was made a child bride to an enslaved man.

“I was 12 years old and he was a man from another tribe who had a family in Africa,” Redoshi is quoted as saying to Mrs. Boynton Robinson. “I couldn’t understand his talk and he couldn’t understand me. They put us on block together and sold us for man and wife.”

This began Redoshi’s life as a slave on a plantation in Bogue Chitto, Ala. Five years after she arrived in the United States, she became a free woman with the ratification of the 13th Amendment, which abolished slavery.

According to an article published in The Montgomery Advertiser, after Redoshi was freed she remained on the plantation with the Smiths, which was common for emancipated people.

“We stay on Smith place, where we know folks be good to us,’” she said in the 1932 interview. When Washington Smith died, she said, “we stay with Mistress Smith,” adding, “We love her and no want to leave.”

Dr. Durkin deduced from the memoir by Mrs. Boynton Robinson, who died in 2015, that while Redoshi stayed on the plantation for the remainder of her life, she later owned land in Bogue Chitto. According to Mrs. Boynton Robinson, around 6,000 acres in Bogue Chitto was owned and operated by black people. The land was inherited from formerly enslaved people who acquired it soon after slavery was abolished.

Redoshi’s life can provide a deeper understanding of the challenges and the narrow but previously unthinkable opportunities facing people as they emerged from slavery in the United States.

“We may still discover people who passed away after Redoshi,” said Sylviane A. Diouf, a visiting professor at Brown University’s Center for the Study of Slavery and Justice. “She may very well not be the last, which is of no importance whatsoever. What is crucial is the people’s stories.”
 
They used to wear wigs to hide their syphilis balding and wounds on their head, same for women actually

Those wigs were disgusting.
Back then they had all kind of mayonnaise and trash holding them things together. Molding and rotting hair wigs just for status smh. People would have all kinds of rats and bugs in there.


Start @9:25

 
Ms. Maxine don't be playing :lol:

She a G too. I think it was year ago the Klan said they was going up to here office and the crips was out there waiting and they never showed up.
 
Why dark-skinned black girls like me aren't getting married



I take a deep breath and ready my fingers. I admonish myself for being theatrical about something so mundane. Another deep breath.

“Here we go,” I mutter, pressing enter.

My profile has been created. It seems simple enough: swipe left to dismiss, swipe right to express interest.

The first eligible bachelor appears – not my type, I swipe left. Then another follows – too young, I swipe left again. Ten swipes in, and I find myself texting my eldest sister this was a bad idea. A feeling of vexation settles over me.

I didn’t think I would ever have to use a dating app, but men don’t talk to me any other way.


I’ve spent so much time trying to understand what is so unattractive about me that men shun me. At first, I thought it was because I was intimidating – a word I’ve heard used to describe me. For a while, I concluded I was “not that interesting,” a line I subsequently used as my biography on social media. But those explanations won’t do.

The real issue is staring me right in the face: my deep mahogany skin.

Colorism – the prejudice based on skin tone – has stunted the romantic lives of millions of dark-skinned black women, including me. We are not as valued as our lighter-skinned counterparts when seeking romantic partners, our dating pool constricted because of something as arbitrary as shoe size.

Like other systems of racial inequality, American colorism was born out of slavery. As slave masters raped enslaved women, their lighter-skinned illegitimate offspring were given preferential treatment over their darker counterparts, often working in the house as opposed to the fields. This order has since been perpetuated by systemic racism and internalized by black people. It remains alive even now, insidiously snaking into my life.

I have many memories of being degraded because of my complexion, the most piercing is from middle school: two girls giggled in my Georgia history class during the showing of a documentary about slavery. As the film explained the origins of skin tone prejudice, one girl – biracial, hazel-eyed and the only other black girl in class – whispered that she would have been a house slave, but that I would have been a field slave. As the famous image of whipped Peter played on screen, I sank down in my chair, silently greeting the weight of oppression on my 12-year-old shoulders.

In many ways, nothing has changed since that day. Dark skin still not only comes with the expectation of lower class but lessened beauty, not to mention uncleanliness, lesser intelligence and a diminished attractiveness. Meanwhile, everywhere we look, women like me see successful black men coupled with fair-skinned female partners who pass the paper bag test – a remnant of the Reconstruction era, where the only black people worthy of attention had to be lighter than a paper bag. This “test” was even instituted in places such as historically black colleges and universities as an informal part of the admissions process.
Today, this gradation discrimination remains. “It’s typical to see light-skinned black women as representing beauty in the black community and therefore being highly desirable for high-status spouses,” says Dr Margaret Hunter, who teaches sociology at Oakland’s Mills College and has studied the relationship between marriage and colorism for over two decades. Hunter sums it up like this: “Black women in general marry less than other races but darker-skinned black women marry men of lower social status than the lightest-skinned black women.”

The lighter the shade, the higher the probability of marriage
Jasmine Turner, owner of BlackMatchMade, a Chicago-based matchmaking company, agrees this affects all black women. “Honestly, I think black women tend to lower their standards because they’re finding challenges in dating. Now I’m finding that black women are like ‘You know what, as long as he has a good job and he’s a good person …’ No matter how successful they are, they’re open to dating him.”

I’ve never been one to settle. I’ve taken this attitude to the app, only searching for men who are gainfully employed and fairly decent-looking. But I definitely understand what she means. Previously, dating has made me feel like I must drop some of my must-have criteria – a college education, a steady job, and able and willing to pay for the first date – in order to find a match. My mother has even scolded me for it, telling me to raise my standards: “I’ve been on a lot of dates, and no girl should ever pay for a first date!”

But my feelings of a necessary drop in standards have been validated by research from Dr Darrick Hamilton, a professor of economics and sociology at Ohio State University. Hamilton aggregated information from the 2003 Multi-City Study of Urban Equality to identify why so many dark-skinned women who date men remain bachelorettes. His assessment was designed to show how the imbalance of eligible black males – taking into account high incarceration rates and a limited labor market – affects the marriage market.

His research shows that a scarcity in available “high-status” husbands (defined as higher levels of education, not growing up on public assistance, coming from neighborhoods that had less crime), effectively leave black men in control of the dating selection process. His data concluded 55% of light-skinned women were married while only 23% of dark-skinned women had jumped the broom.

“[Black men] have unnatural power within marriage markets that enables them to bid up cursory characteristics like skin shade,” Hamilton told me over the phone. In other words, the lighter the female, the higher the probability of marriage. “One of the results that we found was that [darker-complexioned] black women who have ‘higher status’ faced a greater penalty in marriage markets than those with a lower socioeconomic status.”

According to his research, I am the epitome of the “high-status” option. College educated, familial middle class background, age 16-30, able-bodied. But according to the equation, I haven’t the “social capital” (read: skin tone) to seek a quality match.

But before even entertaining thoughts of marriage, I have to get past the dating stage. Turner says she often sees black men pass up perfectly eligible dark-skinned women. “Black men will say, ‘complexion doesn’t matter’, but they might give that lighter complexion woman who is very comparable to a darker-complexion woman a chance, when they wouldn’t give that darker-skinned woman a chance.”

The effects play out in the lives of women like me and my friend Larissa. We usually like to talk about sci-fi books and traveling, but today I ask her if she’s ever felt diminished by men due to her complexion. “Sometimes, I can kinda feel their eyes sliding off of me to go the pretty white girl next to me, or even the fairer-skinned Yara Shahidi type,” she says, a twinge of sadness in her voice. While she sees herself getting married, she doesn’t know if she will end up with a black man. “I don’t necessarily see myself walking down the aisle with a black guy. Not because I’ve written them off or because I don’t want to, but just realistically, based on how the dating life has been treating me and how I’ve been approached.”

Julie Wadley of North Carolina’s matchmaking service EliSimone, which caters to a mostly black clientele, has observed this dynamic in her field. “I’ve had colleagues who were like, ‘Hey, I have a black client and he’s open to any race’. I’m like ‘Oh, OK, great! I’ll send you a couple of matches who fit what he’s looking for. Then they’ll come back and say, ‘She’s too ethnic looking’.”

I know exactly what she means, but I ask anyway: “What would ‘too ethnic’ mean, in terms of look?”

“Dark skin. Someone who is probably brown to dark skin. Someone with natural hair. Someone who is over the size of six,” she answers. “I would bet $5,000 every single one of my black colleagues have had that happen. Where they’ll come back and say, ‘Uh, well, he’s only looking for someone who is very fair’; or, ‘He’s looking for someone who is light-skinned’.”

Still, Wadley tells me, she hoped I’m not writing a “woe is me, nobody wants dark-skinned girls” article. I wince hearing it, hoping for the same, deep down. But this topic doesn’t lend itself to optimism.

‘It made me feel like I would never be wanted’
Writing this piece, a memory I had long forgotten resurfaces. At university, on the line for the security check-in for dorms, I bumped into a friend of my former roommate. I inquired about something someone had said. Immediately, his face changed from joy to anger. “You’re too dark to be talking to me like this, Dream,” he sneered. Hurt to the point of rage, I bristled and walked away. We never had a conversation again.

I aimlessly skim the app late one night, swiping left, right, right, left. I’ve only made a few matches since downloading it the week before. Then, I come across a profile. “I only date light-skinned women…” reads his bio, even though his skin tone matches mine. I wasn’t going to swipe right in the first place – he was not cute – but I still feel the bristle of my sophomore year. I roll my eyes, and swipe to the next one.

I would like to think I’ve grown up since that 19-year-old who was insulted at the gate of my dorm. My dark skin is not something to be ashamed of, even if past lovers made it clear they were ashamed to be associated with me because of it. I’ve been all of it before – I’m dating someone but there’s a secrecy to our relationship: hands that only hold yours in private, a reluctance to present you to family and friends, kisses that only meet your lips when no one else can see.

I hate that I’ve had to beg for legitimacy in my intimate relationships. I hate that my friends have had to do so too. I want love, but my self-esteem is too high a price to pay.

Sharlene and I met at a Kendrick Lamar concert during our freshman year of college and we’ve stayed in contact ever since. Knowing she’s shared similar sentiments about dating in the past, I get in touch, hoping to round out my perspective on the matter. “I feel like dark-skinned women were just the women that men had behind closed doors. They weren’t trophy wives enough for you to show to the world. Somebody wouldn’t want to show me off but, next thing you know, they’ve got somebody lighter and they’re showing them off … It made me feel like I would never be wanted.”

Deflated, I talk to Elizabeth, my former sophomore-year roommate, who is now in her third year of law school. I ask if a partner has said anything rude to her because of her skin tone. She names a man I know, to my dismay. “There was just a comment that he made one time. [He said] ‘I want a white family’.” She laughs: “It was just so weird to me because you’re telling me you want a white family. I can’t give you that! Like, why are you talking to me?”

“I want a white family.” The words stick with me for the rest of the day, weighing me down like a bale of cotton. It brings tears to my eyes. I wonder: are dark-skinned women just the placeholders until they meet their desired match? Do all these men really just want white families?

A few nights into the app, another guy pops up on my screen – decent looking and seemingly gainfully employed. I’m mildly interested. His profile bio is just one line: “The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.”

My immediate thoughts warn me of a possible fetish. Dating with dark skin often comes with a double-edged sword: we are unwanted, except by men who want to create an experience out of us, leaving our personhood out of the equation altogether. We become empty objects, vehicles for pleasure, rather than multi-dimensional beings.

Hunter vocalizes this sentiment. “At the same time, there’s also a kind of fetishization of darker skin. So sometimes you’ll hear people say ‘I only like dark-skinned women’ or that ‘dark skin is sexy’ or something like that,” she tells me. “Not that those things aren’t true or good, but they also kind of objectifying or sexualizing in a way that isn’t necessarily the solution to the discrimination. It’s an inversion, basically.”

The bachelor on my screen shares my mahogany skin tone. But I’m wary he, like other black men, may fall victim to this form of objectification. I remember how Sharlene expressed her frustrations with her beauty being seen as skin deep. “We can’t get just get a regular compliment,” she laments. “I know that people think that calling me chocolate all the time, or talking about ‘your skin is beautiful’ is a compliment. But why can’t I just be beautiful?”

I hear what she and Dr Hunter are saying, but my choices are few. I feel limited; I was made to feel this way. In the end, I swipe right. My screen darkens, proclaiming a match has been made. We chat, but the spark isn’t there.

But three weeks after joining the app, I finally hit a stride and start having more fun. I’ve matched with someone who seems promising. He’s smart, we work in the same industry, and our conversations online have been pleasant. I ask him to meet, and he agrees.

We are meeting at a food hall; for me, it’s a short walk and a train across town but feels like a world away. A slew of hopes run through me on the way over. I hope I’ll be just as attracted to him in person as I am online. I hope he won’t murder me.

I approach the hall, take a deep breath, and ready my fingers to pull the door open. “Here we go,” I whisper to myself.


 
http://blackmenheal.org/

https://www.instagram.com/blackmenheal/

Our Mission
Healed Men Heal Men


To provide mental health treatment, education, and resources to Black Men. To help increase the likelihood that Black men will seek treatment for mental health struggles.

Our Goal


Remove The Stigma
Research shows that men feel pressure to conform to traditional gender norms such a toughness, fearlessness, and invulnerability to pain. Unfortunately many Black men often suffer in silence because of fears that being vulnerable goes against masculinity ideals. Each male selected for the free sessions is essentially encouraged to become a mental health change agent. By one male simply sharing/discussing his experience with other black men, he creates a safe space for another man to step into.



Matching the male up with a qualified provider of color.
In addition to myths regarding masculinity, a second cited reason is apprehension about attending therapy is comfortability. Men of color want a therapist who they feel can actually identify with their unique cultural stressors such as racism, prejudice, and economic disparities.



Initially eliminating cost.
Lastly, a third major barrier is the cost of treatment or lack of insurance coverage. Based upon their experiences with other societal health organizations, research also indicates that men fear limited financial resources will result in not receiving quality therapy. We pair the male up with a provider of color who is qualified to meet their specific needs.

I'm 2 free sessions in and wanted to share the opportunity with you guys. Check them out and they are legit.

Basically, they provide 8 free therapy sessions for black men.
 
see but if africans wanted to be dirty
they can just take all the money
and accept all the tech and all that
then cast them out
Many parts of Africa are doomed. Too corrupt to change. However, there are other parts that get it, and they are sitting back, simply watching.
 
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