WINTER 2025/SPRING 2026: NOSTALGIA

contents & masthead

letter from the editor .................................................. iii

campus We still speaking ......................................................... 1 Into the archive ........................................................... 3

lifestyle Surfing the seasonal change smoothly ....................... 5

home

Home away from home ............................................. 9 Nostalgia for the homeland ....................................... 11

culture Black Power Voices of My Generation ......................... 15 End of an Era: A Michael Jordan Tribute ..................... 16

entertainment

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Transported in time ................................................... 17 Black Sitcom Commentary ......................................... 18

music

editor’s note

The golden ages ..................................... 19 Taking it back to ‘15 ............................... 20

creative writing

Back in the day ...................................... 23 To kindergarten, to home, & back again 24 Nostalgia for home ................................ 25 Steel Bars, Ackee and Salt Fish Dreams 26

BLACKBOARD

atarah israel editor-in-chief & spread designer for stories

sydney johnson photo & creative writing editor, front and back cover designer

mariam cosmos creative director

dallas thurman opinion editor

yeabsira getachew politics editor

habiba affo newsletter editor

dallas downey

bts photographer and social media specialist

writers

McCall Vickers Stephanie Beresford Olivia Payne Ta’Lea Carter Habiba Affo Jordyn Jones Mariam Cosmos Mark “Yohanon” Dixon Flynard Miller Elbonie Burnside Elle Myers Dallas Thurman Yeabsira Getachew Mary Perkins Robert Boyd Patrick “Biyah” Comi

photographers Sydney Johnson Mary Belay Dallas Downey

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he word “nostalgia” is derived from the Greek “nostos” (return) and “algos” (pain).

Taken literally, the meaning of the word evokes a painful remembrance of one’s origins. When thinking about the idea of return, pain and home in the context of Blackness in America and globally, there is both triumph and tragedy to be found. This magazine seeks to raise questions and celebrate in that regard.

This issue of BlackBoard has to do with the unique texture of Black memory. We are seeking to name the indescribable — what language can put into words the feeling your grandmother’s okra soup evokes, or (for me) my mother’s signature mac and cheese? What about the throaty timbre of Billie Holiday on a Sunday morning, a signal of a day’s worth of cleaning to come? Indeed, as eloquently observed by Dallas Thurman on page 21, listening (and I would add tasting and feeling) can become kinds of remembering.

Especially now, with so many us turning (or returning) to analog media and unplugged ways of being, there is an urgent need to investigate the mind and body as primary knowledge sources.

This issue of our magazine will take you on a sensorial journey, one that’s steeped in the 2000s-inspired colors and trends we’ve observed remerging in today’s taste. After reading, I hope you walk away with your own recollections reawakened and your inner curiosity inspired.

Special thank you to Animal Records in Evanston for graciously allowing us to use their space for our winter photoshoot. Additionally, thank you to the Northwestern Prison Education Program for facilitating student submissions. iii

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nostalgia [nos-tahl-juh] noun

1. A longing for what once was. A tenderness for past trends, media and technology.

2. A remembering. Where quiet mornings and old, familiar smells reside.

Describes the feeling you get when looking at the blurry edge of film, when someone’s laugh catches in the same way your childhood friend’s used to or when you return home to a kitchen counter of knifemarked scars and blunted ends. A limitless moment.

3. The measurement of distance between yourself and that space you call home. A reminder of how far you’ve come.

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ostalgia is defined as a sentimental longing or wishful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations. It is a feeling of longing for the good, old days to return. For Charles Whitaker, dean of Medill, nostalgia encompasses his early days on BlackBoard’s magazine.

“Once I joined, it really felt like a natural home,” Whitaker says.

Whitaker was originally encouraged to join BlackBoard by two third-year students his freshman year. He says he was unsure if he wanted to take the journalism route until he joined.

BlackBoard began as the newsletter of For Members Only (FMO), including resources and campus 1

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story by McCall Vickers & Stephanie Beresford

information directly related to the admitted that he made a lot of club. After a number of changes mistakes as an editor. But, he over the years, under Whitaker’s eventually grew in his artistic leadership, it transformed. discipline, not just as an editor “I changed BlackBoard into but also as a journalist. Whitaker some sort of independent magazine, says that if it weren’t for BlackBoard, because I always wanted to be a he would not have developed the magazine person,” Whitaker says. confidence to interview people and After Whitaker became editor, create human interest stories. he established BlackBoard as a “It was the confidence that I separate entity from FMO and gained from doing BlackBoard pivoted its focus to the broader that made me venture out and try Black community on campus. to create another publication,” Shortly after, the magazine became Whitaker says.

Northwestern’s sole Black studentinterest publication.

Deborah Douglas also With minimal staffing during his credits BlackBoard for inspiring her time, the writing and editing current work in the field. She process was fast-paced currently serves as Senior and less democratic.

Lecturer and Director “I will admit of the Midwest that I was a very Solutions Journalism dictatorial editor,” Hub, based in Whitaker says.

Northwestern’s Most of the time, Chicago campus. he says would assign “In terms of feeling CO H W staff stories that he the full breadth of my UR ES TES Y O F DEAN C HARL chose, edit them and take vision for my journalism them off to the printer. Whitaker also career, I expressed that fully through ITA

BlackBoard alumni talk new ventures and past reflections

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BY JAS ON M

CCOY

BlackBoard,” she says.

Their advice, she says, helped her feel Douglas was a founding Co-Editorconfidence in her abilities. in-Chief of The Emancipator, which “It was like, ‘the Dean can do this, uses journalism as an anti-racism the professors can do this, so [that] I platform to produce multimedia can do this.’” content aimed at finding Currently, Breajna works solutions to racial in copywriting for the inequality. She American Marketing credits BlackBoard Association, but for laying the she’s held a series groundwork of jobs in which for her current her experience interests. at BlackBoard “I’m looking informed her very deeply at work. From who we center, PR boutique P and how we center, firms to university / AS L G communications, the skills and how we tell stories OU HD A R O B of people. All of that was she gained have helped her DE incubated at BlackBoard,” she says. along the way.

She cites the support she received Breajna Dawkins was fastas the catalyst for her biggest tracked into BlackBoard’s editorial accomplishment as editor — getting position. She moved from staff writer the magazine printed in color. to Editor-in-Chief by her sophomore “Being able to do all that writing, year. Though difficult, Breajna and being able to be in charge of all adjusted quickly. She relied on the those people and put together all my guidance of her professors, the nowmagazines, gave me the confidence Dean Whitaker and previous editions. to stretch and expand,” she says.

For Candace Wells, a former BlackBoard editor, the publication reflects the closeknit dynamic of Black students on campus. Wells encourages students to use this network during difficult times as a place to express our discontent.

“You have a voice. There’s a certain strength to the Black community on campus that just perseveres and exists. We still have enough strength in and of ourselves, in our community, to make things happen,” Wells says.

“WHO WE CENTER, AND HOW WE CENTER, AND HOW WE TELL STORIES OF PEOPLE…ALL OF THAT WAS INCUBATED AT BLACKBOARD.” - DEBORAH DOUGLAS, DIRECTOR OF MIDWEST SOLUTIONS JOURNALISM HUB

campus

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into the archive Exploring the Black experience at Northwestern story by Olivia Payne When Ronald Craig first picked up a camera in his photography class, he didn’t expect to become the unofficial photographer of

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Northwestern Black student life from 1970 to 1976. Craig highlighted groups such as Black Folks Theater and For Members Only (FMO) through his various photographs of club meetings, captures of vibrant performances

and joyous student portraits.

Almost 50 years later, he worked with Northwestern’s archive to create a collection showcasing his photographs and diary entries, making one of the most detailed depictions of Black student life.

The Black Experience at Northwestern is an archive of writings, oral histories and photographs

came as part of another expansion that was a result of campus protests in 2015. In protests across the country, students called on universities to address racial injustice on their campuses.

“They were saying, you all need to do something about this, but we also want safe spaces. We want to feel safe on these campuses, particularly on predominantly white campuses. And so Northwestern was part of that movement,” Wilson says.

After students’ protest of making the Black House a multicultural space, alumni felt called to protect the history of Black life on campus. In order to keep record of why spaces like the Black House were important, the alumni partnered with the Library Office of the Provost to create a position dedicated to chronicling the Black Experience.

Wilson is the first to hold the position after she was hired in 2017.

Her time at Northwestern has been spent executing the mission of the alumni and ensuring the archives have materials that speak to the Black experience.

“That means reaching out to student org leaders about the records of their organizations, reaching out to alums about their papers, as well as faculty and some staff organizations that are on campus. I’ve built upon that as well by including oral histories,” says Wilson.

Ronald Craig’s collection is one of Wilson’s favorites in the archives. Craig contributed over 600 items, 585 of them being photographs. He donated the materials in 2021, along with descriptions of each photograph and diary entries detailing the events that occurred in his time here.

Craig’s photographs

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that detail the history of Black students at Northwestern. Through the steering of Charla Wilson, archivist of the Black experience, the archive brings together and chronicles seminal moments in the Black student struggle to achieve equality at Northwestern.

Achievements, such as the career of alumna Daphne Maxwell Reid, and their everyday life are captured as well.

The Northwestern archive began as a collection of records, yearbooks and catalogs after the establishment of Deering Library in 1933. The expansion of the archive came years later in the 1970s, as the university started to add student organization records and photographs. University Historian Kevin Leonard contributed to even more growth as he started collecting personal papers of Northwestern alumni.

Wilson works to make sure the archive is comprehensive and accessible in order for Northwestern community members to be able to connect to their history. Wilson’s position as archivist of the Black experience

provided a unique depiction of the casual life of Black students on campus, as well as insider looks at the changes being made.

He captured the aftermath of the Bursar’s Office Takeover in 1968, which ended with various demands being met, such as the establishment of the Black House and the addition of Black Studies courses to the curriculum. However, not all of the students’ original demands were met. Black students organized another campus protest in 2023, demanding Northwestern create a plan to meet the rest of the original demands, including increased scholarships and hiring a Black counselor for Black students.

Craig’s entries allowed for an early look into FMO’s plans.

“I’m just grateful that he had the foresight to keep everything. I often ask alums, did you keep anything from your time as a student? They’re like, ‘Oh, I threw it away,’ or ‘My parents threw it away.’ It was great that he kept his,” Wilson says.

Craig’s photographs also provided valuable information for putting names to faces.

Connections such as those are what inspired Wilson to create the “I know them!” initiative. The program allows people to look through photographs that don’t yet have descriptions in the archives and provide any context they might have by filling out a form attached to the photo. This initiative follows the intent of former president of the Northwestern University Black Alumni Association Jeffrey Sterling. “ I think it’s important within University archives for us to have record of the presence, the actions and the history of Black student life and Black people in general here on campus so that we know it, we don’t forget it and we learn from it,” Wilson says. campus 4

surfing the seasonal change smoothly Tips for navigating a whirlwind school year, on and off the clock

by Ta’Lea Carter

physically

Summer is upon us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t prepare for next winter. We all know — and many dread — the onset of freezing temperatures, early nightfall and inches upon inches of snow. The school year stretches into an endless routine of quizzes, papers and finals with (seemingly) no sunlight in site.

Then, once spring finally arrives, you’re left mitigating allergies and haywire temperatures.

Interested in learning how you can find ease no matter the season? Read on.

• Do not forget to go outside, even if it’s just for a few minutes. It can get really easy to stay cozied up, but a lack of vitamin D and stagnancy can drive you mad. Even sitting by the window and breathing in fresh air helps.

• Indulge in the foods of the season!

Hearty soups, warm ciders and syrupy desserts are easy to make and filling.

• Since we live in the fluctuating climate of the Midwest, check your weather app consistently. You do not want to be heavily layered up in 50-60 degree weather, nor do you want to wear leggings in the snow. Note how your body responds to temperatures and dress accordingly.

intro written by Atarah Israel

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home

mentally • Reach into your childhood and consume some comforting media with slower plots and longer seasons. Here are some of my personal recommendations:

For nostalgia: Nickelodeon’s “Danny Phantom” For silly teen drama: MTV’s Clone High For the “real adults”: MTV’s Downtown • Having a clear idea of school and club responsibilities ahead of time can prevent you from allowing studies to totally consume your free time. Let yourself breathe and enjoy what the season can bring.

• Ask more questions, and don’t let the crushing weight of college coursework diminish your childlike curiosity. Ask absolutely anything: How are animated TV shows directed?

How are phone batteries made? Then, do the research! Not through ChatGPT — but through YouTube, Google and the infinite library of resources at this school that is not going to peruse itself.

emotionally • Start evaluating how you feel at the end of every day through a written journal or even a personal podcast in voice memos. Going through repetitive days in mental airplane mode only suppresses the joy life can bring during dark times.

• Take more pictures. Use your phone camera, if nothing else. Document the changing leaves and the growing sun, and remind yourself what the transition to spring looks like to have something to look forward to next winter.

• Allow yourself to change. Do not embrace your bad habits as a part of you; push yourself today towards becoming a better you tomorrow.

Changing your perspective on change and growth as an entire concept makes it easier to face when it’s the small things, like the seasons. home

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When Ife Adeyemi came to Northwestern, she made sure to pack her powdered milk. The liquid milk in the dining halls was strange to her; it wouldn’t taste right in her cereal. However, there are things in the cafeteria that are familiar to Adeyemi.

It isn’t the jollof rice the chefs occasionally try to make, but it was actually the Spanish Rice that reminded Adeyemi of home.

It tastes similar to jollof, without painfully trying to replicate the popular Nigerian dish.

Adeyemi is from Ogun, Nigeria.

She lived in a reddish-brown house between trees and water, meaning that she was always surrounded by wild animals. Cats, dogs and geckos were always at the edges of Adeyemi’s home, bothering her with their noises and smells.

Even though Adeyemi may not have loved the environment during every second of her stay there, it made a lasting impression on her.

Today, as Adeyemi walks through Northwestern’s black walnut trees, she often finds herself thinking of the teak trees in Ogun.

Adeyemi doesn’t need to go outside or eat Spanish rice to be reminded of Nigeria. All she has to do is open her phone’s music app and play Asake. Afrobeats weren’t always Adeyemi’s go-to genre, but since coming to Northwestern, Fireboy DML’s slow melodies and soulful lyrics help her relax.

“If I feel like overstimulated, I just listen to Afrobeats and that’s helpful,” she says. It reminds her of home — her family, her friends and the life she was living about six months ago.

Although Adeyemi doesn’t see

a large difference between Nigeria-raised Nigerians and those raised in America, occasionally she says she can feel outcasted by Nigerians who haven’t had to face the country’s issues directly. Because she was raised in that struggle, she finds it difficult to immerse herself in other people’s praise of Nigeria.

“When [you] see the state of the country, it’s not really something to be happy about,” she says.

Despite that, Adeyemi has many Nigerian friends at Northwestern, all of whom help make her feel an inch closer to Ogun.

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Ogun, Nigeria

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Chicago, Illinois

Brooks Lansana is bringing his love for Chicago to Northwestern through music.

Lansana, a School of Communications sophomore studying Theater, says when he thinks of home, he thinks of art.

“Chicago’s art scene is really popping,” Brooks tells me. “So I’ve always appreciated being able to be proud of my home.”

He listens to rap, R&B, rock and indie music.

“You would be surprised how many people come from my home,” he says about some of the industry’s biggest names. Kanye West, Saba, Ravyn Lenae and Noname are a few of the artists he listens to — a taste profile that demonstrates the variety Chicago’s music has to offer.

As a Chicago native, Lansana thought it would be an easy adjustment coming to Northwestern. Yet, when he arrived he says it took him some time to figure out where he belonged.

“I realized a lot of people come from musical theater,” Lansana says.

Students speak on memory and nostalgia in relation to home

h from ome

“I don’t come from that. For a minute, I tried to change myself to fit in. I came to the realization that, ‘I don’t fit here and that’s okay.’ I eventually found theater spaces where I can be authentically myself.”

He joined a club called Vibrant Colors Collective (VC^2) that produces plays and musicals for people of color on campus. He says connecting with Black individuals with the same interests made him feel at home here at Northwestern.

“It’s a space for people of color to come and feel safe, heard and appreciated,” he says.

A year later, Lansana is now the head producer of In Living Color, the club’s annual art fest. VC^2 has become a space where he can bring home to Northwestern.

“Chicago is full of unique art forms and, now, I am helping to make sure Northwestern is, too!” Lansana says.

story by Habiba Affo and Jordyn Jones

Cavalcante, Brazil

When you see Jean Pereira, he’ll probably greet you with a warm hug. It’s the custom in his home, Cavalcante, Brazil. However, Pereira noticed that his hugs aren’t received the same way here.

His American friends usually seem confused by the hug, but lean in to make him happy. The hugs feel strange to Pereira, too; he knows they’re not exactly welcome.

Thankfully, Pereira has made many friends at Northwestern who share hugs and other customs from back home. Brazza, the Brazilian Student Association, celebrates traditional events and holidays together as well as indulges in brigadeiros, Brazilian chocolate truffles. The strong Brazilian community at Northwestern encouraged Pereira to apply.

“I was like, ‘Okay, I think I would be feeling a sense of home if I go to Northwestern’,” Pereira says.

However, Brazza can’t come close to Comunidade Quilombola Kalunga Engenho 2, his quilombo. It’s one of many communities in Brazil made of the descendants of formerly enslaved Africans.

One of Pereira’s favorite features of his quilombo is its proximity to the Santa Bárbara waterfall. He would go there nearly every day to enjoy the sounds, sights and cool water.

Clark Street Beach isn’t exactly Santa Bárbara but it still reminds Pereira of home. In the warmer months, Pereira likes to swim in the sweet water and reminisce. When winter comes, he will be running by the lake with memories of home pushing him forward.

“I get so happy because I am here, but also I feel inspired because I know that being here, I can do more for the others back home,” Pereira says.

Going on runs, visiting the lake and just being outside are important to Pereira’s physical and spiritual well-being. He practices Umbanda, an Afro-Brazilian religion which requires him to stay connected to nature. Since coming to Northwestern, Pereira has remained faithful to his practices. He has pictures of his religious entity in his dorm, and everywhere he goes he wears a protective beaded necklace.

It’s also a way of being close to his entities and protectors, he says.

These items reassure Pereira that although he’s thousands of miles away from home, there’s still someone watching over him, keeping him safe at Northwestern. photo courtesy of Jean Pereira

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nostalgia for the homeland

Remembering one’s homeland is an act of love story and photos by Mariam Cosmos

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ears ago, my brother received hundreds of vinyls from a record shop that was closing down the street from his apartment. Naturally, he accepted all of the records and transported them several blocks to his 1-bedroom apartment. He invited me over, and we spent hours sifting through the handful of boxes until my brother excitedly pulled out a record — Kamal Keila’s “Muslims and Christians.”

Recorded in a pair of sessions in August 1992, the album features a 10-track collection of both slow, melodic ballads and rhythmic jazz.

While Keila’s musical career began in the 1960s, prior to this project, he had not released a record on vinyl. Instead, he mostly recorded music for the radio with his more political songs written in English to evade censorship from the Sudanese government. Throughout the album, Arabic and English move effortlessly between songs and sometimes verses.

Drawing inspiration from

the folk traditions of the Shilluk, Dinka, and Nuer peoples of South Sudan, Keila’s sound also reflects the musical landscapes of Egypt, Sudan, the United States and, most intimately, his home-state of Kassala—nestled on the Eritrean border. His music, therefore, is an intricate amalgamation of African, Arab, and Western influences seamlessly woven together.

“I don’t know where you come from,” sings Keila.

“Whether you are from my motherland, I will take you to Africa — to make you see what is going on.”

Keila’s ballads carried my brother and me to a temporality between past and

present, evoking an enduring longing for our homeland. We kept listening, quietly transfixed.

I do not possess memories of my beloved country. Yet when I listen to this album, my thoughts drift to the lush, green landscape of Yei, my father’s birthplace. I envision the sunsets that transform Juba’s sky to hues of orange, pink and yellow.

I once read that sunsets are caused by a phenomenon called Rayleigh scattering, where light is dispersed by particles. We, the children of war, are also scattered, but across continents. Music, then, becomes our collective memory when we are raised in exile without memories of our own.

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the Black Power retrospective on voices of my Avoices that shaped generation the culture story by Mark “Yohanon” Dixon

As I sit in Northwestern Prison Education Program’s “dayroom,” watching the 2026 Grammy awards, Lauryn Hill comes to the stage. At the sight of the singer with her signature locks, my memory floats back in time. The year is 1997, and I’m in my bedroom. Getting ready for school, I am busy ironing my favorite Tommy Hilfiger hoodie. My radio blasts Lauryn Hill and Nas’, “If I Ruled the World.” When they get to the bridge, I stop ironing and sing along: If I ruled the world, if I ruled If I ruled, I’d free all my sons Black diamonds, I love ‘em love ‘em baby Black diamonds and pearls, if I ruled If I ruled the world If I ruled the world I love ‘em, love ‘em baby!

The power of their combined rhythm flows through me like electricity through a circuit. Their words challenge my mind to stand up to a world trained to destroy people whose skin looks like mine. Their words, and the words of many other hip hop artists, are the Black power voices of my generation.

When most people think of Black power, they envision marquee names like Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., 15 culture

Malcolm X, Harriet Tubman and others. They think of social movements aimed at tearing down the white supremacist structures that exist hidden behind the guise of civilization.

However, for those of us who grew up in the 1990’s, the voices that attracted our attention were those of the rappers.

Tupac Shakur’s voice rhyming “Death Around the Corner” spoke to our generation’s ethos of surviving the maze of racism. “I see death around the corner/gotta stay high while I survive.” Pac’s words, spoke the simple truth of our experience. In a world where a Black person could be killed for breathing, instructions on how others maneuvered were like words from the Bible. While many criticized the messages of hip hop, those of us stuck in the twisted system saw rap music as a manifesto.

I remember my friends and I being desperate to survive the injustices of economic depravity, police brutality and overall poverty. Trudging through environments that promised us little more than death or incarceration, we wriggled through day by day. We fed off of rhythms and melodies, whose frequencies would aid our quest to endure a city’s frigidity that runs

deeper than its weather.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King once visited Chicago and reportedly said that Chicago’s racism was more vicious than anything he’d seen in the darkest woods down South. What Dr. King saw was the reality hidden behind the vertical plantations known as Chicago’s “projects.” What he saw was the segregation of Blacks on the South and West sides of Chicago from the whites who congregated up North. What Dr. King saw was that the winds of Chicago blow cold — so cold that it sinks into people’s souls.

Facing the obstacles of a world designed to view us as commodities destined for consumption, my peers and I saw rap artists like Nas as the modern-day messiahs. We listened as their rhyme plots pulled us above the limitations of our world. We were energized by the clever combinations and musical mastery through which they sketched our world and its obstacles. Through each song we heard one message: SURVIVE. So, when I looked on that Grammy stage and saw a hip hop icon as legendary as Lauryn Hill, I remembered the power of the messages from back then rumbling in my spirit.

end of an era Remembering Michael Jordan’s legacy

story by Flynard Miller I remember growing up in the Michael Jordan era. It was a time in the late 80’s and 90’s. I remember watching the Bulls games on TV. Michael was the preeminent Black super hero. I was about nine or 10 years old when the Bulls began their dynasty run. This was an era when the city of Chicago was lit. It was a joyous time in Chicago. The Bulls were winning championships back to back. Everywhere you went in the city there were huge posters or paintings of Michael Jordan.

Everybody and their mommas was wearing Michael Jordan shoes.

Commercials of Jordan ran across

my life was when Michael went into retirement in 1993. It wasn’t just a sad time for me, but also for the city and Chicago’s sports fans as a whole. With Michael the television screens daily. Everyone gone, so did that hope of winning was captured by the dream of the a championship, because no one era. Everywhere on radio and TV thought that the Bulls stood a chance you’d hear the “If I could be like to win a championship without Mike” theme song. And I, as a child, Michael. We would no longer get to wanted to be like Mike. see our hero save the day.

Michael was my idol. I had a Michael went on to play 6-foot by 6-inch poster of Jordan baseball for a couple of years, which on my wall, and I loved that poster. didn’t pan out for him. However, My friends and I would go to the hope for Chicago was on the basketball court and try to imitate horizon. The worse Michael was Michael’s moves and, once we hit at playing baseball, the better our a shot, we would imitate his poses. chances were of getting Michael I felt free every time I dribbled a back to basketball. basketball, because in my head I Then comes 1995 and, behold, believed I was Michael. Although I Michael Jordan announced he was didn’t become good at basketball exiting retirement. The whole city until I was older and in my 20’s, erupted into bliss. We all knew that back then just the fact that I could the Bulls were about to return to their play was enough to invoke this sort former glory. That also meant the of euphoric sense inside of me that I city was about to be redeemed, and only got when I tried to be like Mike. my personal fantasy of being great One of the saddest times in like Michael would return. Michael came back to the game of basketball and shocked the world by winning 3 more back to back championships, after winning the previous ones in ‘91, ‘92 and ‘93. The city was ecstatic.

Living in that era, I was in bliss.

I long for Chicago to land another Michael-type player so that, in this new era, the Chicago Bulls and its fans can return to our former glory. culture 16 illustration by Edmond Duffin

transported in time

For the Sunday Soul Train enthusiasts

story by Elbonie Burnside

My Saturday mornings are not the same as they were when I was growing up. See, I’m an 80’s baby and what I loved most about my weekend mornings was watching “Soul Train.”

As I sat on the couch waiting for my father to finish cooking breakfast (usually eggs and bacon), the music blasting from the TV speakers transported me to the studio. Don Cornelius’s deep baritone voice always demanded attention.

The show allowed me to be okay with my Blackness no matter how different I was.

It was a resource for Blackness — a cultural encyclopedia — and the place for Black excellence to show itself in all forms.

I tuned in weekly to get a better understanding of what was new in my world: the latest music, the slickest fashion, the most updated hair styles and the hippest dance moves. I remember the first time I tried to do the robot. My arms were stiff, and I moved my legs and arms in a robotic manner, just like I had seen it done on a Soul Train line.

For decades, I was able to enjoy Soul Train. I was a willing passenger, and when the train reached its final destination, I was heartbroken and looked for the next best thing to fill the void. MTV videos, “106 and Park,” “Rap City,” and “TRL:” I watched and listened to them all. But none were as important as Don Cornelius’s Soul Train. I still live by the shared values of that show: love, peace and soul.

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illustration by Juan Garnica

n e d l o g e th ages

Black sitcoms through the years

story by Elle Myers Throughout my childhood, I remember sitting on my grandma’s living room floor watching reruns of “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” and “SisterSister,” singing every word of the theme songs like my life depended on it. It wasn’t until recently, when I got this story assignment, that I understood the importance that these shows had on the Black community as a whole.

After seeing the financial success of “The Cosby Show,” outlets saw their untapped audience for the first time: Black Americans. Hollywood realized the untapped potential of Black sitcoms, leading to “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,” “Martin,” “Living Single” and countless others. Black sitcoms attracted tens of millions of viewers a week. And, for the first time, Black American families were portrayed in a positive light without the heavily used negative tropes Hollywood loved relying on.

Besides sitcoms, the ‘90s were filled with Black creativity, from the

raps of Biggie and Tupac, to fashion with oversized jerseys and fresh kicks. There became a feedback loop, with sitcoms influencing culture and culture influencing sitcoms. Black culture was becoming mainstream.

Black Hollywood had a tremendous effect on white Hollywood. Case in point: “Living Single” influencing the unfunny (in my opinion) “Friends.” Both shows followed a group of six friends living in New York City trying to find the balance between personal life, careers and romance. With an all Black cast starring Queen Latifah, “Living Single” did not reach the same heights that “Friends” did.

Screenwriter Kendall Rivers says, “These were ladies that repped Black women in ways television hadn’t before ... ‘Living Single’ gave us four Black women that represented the full spectrum of humanity.”

Building on the portrayals in “Living Single,” Black sitcoms as a whole showed a different side of the Black diaspora, one fueled by community, love and mobility.

“The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air,” for

example, did not have the typical nuclear family that Hollywood often portrayed, as Will Smith’s character moved in with the Banks family after “a couple of guys who were up to no good started makin’ trouble in [his] neighborhood.”

Although I didn’t live in a mansion in BelAir, the Banks family, in some ways, mirrors my own family. Both of my parents worked in the medical field and, when I was younger, I was just trying to navigate the majority white community I grew up in, much like Carlton. Shows like this allowed us to see ourselves in positions of power and authority — we can be judges and lawyers like Philip Banks or magazine editors like Khadijah James. These Black communities were not on the periphery of white communities, but rather, the center of the Black gaze.

Today, we can still see aftereffects of the renowned ‘90s sitcoms, with the successes of “Insecure,” “Black-ish” and, more recently, “Abbott Elementary.” The Golden Era of ‘90s sitcoms have and will continue to be proof of the importance of Black viewership and positive representation.

While I no longer can sit on my grandma’s living room floor back in Arkansas watching “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” and “Sister-Sister,” I know my kids will have the same experience as I did. I will make it my goal to show future generations that we are so much more than what society tries to define us as, just like the Golden Era of sitcoms showed those before them. entertainment 18

golden time of day

Carrying soul music with you after loss

story by Dallas Thurman

Most of us can remember where we were or what we were doing when we were first introduced to a certain type of music. You might’ve been sitting in the back seat of the car, listening to one of your parents embarrassingly belt it out in full vibrato. Maybe a record player was spinning in the kitchen or living room on a weekend morning, signaling that it was time to clean the house.

For me, it was my grandfather and soul music. On warm days, or even not-so-warm days, he would sit in the driveway outside my grandparents’ house, a handheld radio resting nearby as he leaned back in a folding chair, rocking gently, singing to himself or tapping his feet to the rhythm. It never felt like he was listening so much as remembering.

There was something about the way soul music filled the space around him. It slowed everything down. It made ordinary moments feel important, almost sacred. The music carried joy and grief at the same time, like it understood that life rarely gives you one without the other.

As its name suggests, soul music is the rare kind that resonates deeply — touching something beneath the surface. I didn’t grow up in the era that the music came from, but I grew up with 19 music

the feeling of it. Those songs taught me that emotion didn’t have to be hidden, that vulnerability is strength.

Artists like Marvin Gaye, Earth, Wind & Fire, Curtis Mayfield and Teddy Pendergrass weren’t just voices on the radio in my family; they were a constant part of our lives. For many Black families, especially in the 1970s and ‘80s, soul music met people where they were. It spoke to what they were already feeling.

In that way, soul music became a kind of time capsule.

One of my all-time favorite soul songs is “Golden Time of Day” by Maze featuring Frankie Beverly. The song might feel simple on the surface, but it carries a quiet depth about growth, selfdiscovery and recognizing the moments that define us. When I listen now, the “golden time of day” feels literal.

It was the moment my grandfather sat in the sun, basking in the warmth of the day and the music that wrapped around him.

Frankie Beverly sings, “There’s a time in your life when you find who you are, that’s the golden time of day.” Another lyric follows: “When you feel deep inside all the love you’re looking for, don’t it make it feel okay?” When

I return to these songs, I realize I’m not just listening, I’m looking for his love. It doesn’t always make everything better, but it does make things feel okay. And somewhere along the way, I’ve come to understand that my grandfather was my golden time of day.

Now that he’s gone, the music feels different. The same songs still play, but they carry more weight. They remind me that soul music isn’t just something you hear, it’s something you inherit. It holds the people we loved, the moments we didn’t realize were becoming memories and the parts of ourselves that are shaped by both.

When I hear soul music now, I’m not chasing the past — I’m honoring it. In those brief, fleeting moments of grief, there’s also gratitude for the gift he gave of introducing me to this music. I may be listening alone, but a part of my grandfather still lives in the music. That inheritance is something I hold with pride.

The nostalgia isn’t about longing to go back and talk to him once again; it’s about recognizing what shaped me, and the love that continues to live on, note by note.

taking it back to ‘15

Decade-Old Bangers That Live On Through Wildcats story by Yeabsira Getachew

2026 so far has been a doozy.

While some may be embarking on the summer with new physical and mental health goals or preparing for graduation, many are stressed about the state of our government, especially BIPOC folks.

Yet as we enter unpredictable times, music is something that soothes and connects us all. Whether it is Pop, Afro-beats or even Country, our love for music remains a universal connector, allowing people from all walks of

life to relate, obsess and just vibe over all types of tunes.

The year 2015 was a special era for music. From albums like “Currents” by Tame Impala and “Beauty Behind the Madness” by the Weeknd — or even singles like “Uptown Funk” by Bruno Mars — many of the seasoned artists we know and love today were at the height of their careers, dropping music regularly.

The wildcats’ elementary and middle school days are certainly a memorable time to look back on.

Let’s see what 2015 gems we were jamming to!

“My favorite album was Drake’s,” Weinberg freshman Jalyn Dixon said. “I think the beats are more original, the songs and the concepts are more fun, relatable!”

When “If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late” by Drake was released, the album sold nearly 400,000 copies in its first three days.

Weinberg freshman Solyana Tatek says songs from a decade ago were much more unique than today. “[2015 music] sounds more unique compared to now, where songs on the radio all have the same pop feel to them,” Tatek said.

The nostalgic powers of throwback songs are especially cherished by Teta Ineza, a secondyear international student in Weinberg, who recognizes the distinctiveness of the tunes from ten years ago.

“It makes me remember people whom I’m not in contact with anymore, my friends from back home,” said Ineza, who is originally from Rwanda. “The music back then was more of things that actually speak to me.”

The unique era of music that existed in 2015 is sought after by many. And though times may be tough now, we can always find comfort in the nostalgic pieces of our childhood that are reflected in our favorite songs. music 20

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back in the day that too. And everybody—I do mean everybody— knew it.

One Christmas, I got my Back in the days, when I was wish: a boombox with a double young cassette player and two fiveI’m not a kid anymore pack sleeves of 90-minute blank But some days I sit and wish I cassettes. Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose’s “Treat Her was a kid again Like a Lady” played in my head Back in the days, when I was instantly. I wouldn’t dare sing young that out loud at home; I hadn’t I’m not a kid anymore even reached puberty yet. I was But some days I sit and wish I crazy, but not that crazy.

My brother used to hang was a kid again. out with a guy who used to (Ahmad, “Back in the Day,” 1994) make money DJing. One day, my brother showed me how to record from one deck to the This was the hook from a other. When I learned that, song I heard one day when I nothing else mattered. I would was a young “tenderoni.” The radio was on 24-7 in my room. never have to wait again for songs that I liked. I quit all my And if I heard a song I loved? friends and gave this love all my The volume went up, no matter attention. Nothing and no one the time of the day. With mic else compared to the joy and (my hairbrush) in hand, I’d be pain this love of mine took me singing like I was Beyonce through. (before Beyonce). Then, my I began making momma would come in my tapes—mixed room, asking me if I had lost tapes, slow the better part of my mind. I’d just nod my head up and down jam tapes, smooth in the affirmative, still on beat singing my song, but turning the grooves, and whatever else volume down. was on the Music was my thing. It is radio — and what moved me, settled me, eventually clarified me, understood me, 23 to me and used me. Yeah, started spoke

essay by Mary Perkins

selling them. My play/record button was always set. I would jump out of bed like Wonder Woman breaking my toe just to be sure I caught that song. The thing about it, though, was that it consumed all my free time.

Back in the day, I listened but did not listen.

And mama used to say “Take your time, young man!”

And mama used to say “Don’t you rush to get old!”

And mama used to say “Take it in your stride!”

And mama used to say “Live your life!”

“Live your life!”

“Live your life!”

(Junior Giscombe, “Mama Used to Say,” 1982)

The irony of it all.

illustration by Hugo Ocon

to kindergarten, to home & back again. poem by t. carter

Even in its absence, the moon left a shade of blue that glared through the condensated glass of a white Dodge That slyly snuck past slow movers and stale pedals while bleeding out the beats of car-rocking intimacies So blatant and clear Yet misunderstood.

Tell me, tell me The line of generation That separates the lyrics Of love and lust.

The lyrics of a teenage motherhood And an old-school marriage longing to end.

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nostalgia for home poem by Robert Boyd

The beauty of the place where I was born, Bordering a sea of blue, Punctuated with fields of green.

People, loyal beyond belief—and proud Of their city, of the amazing teams, Cubs in baby blue, Sox in black and white, Bulls bloody red, Bears navy like night, Blackhawks’ colors like an African flag.

A city of sights nowhere else to be seen: The mag mile, the silver bean, so reflective, Like a star in daylight, Chicago’s skyline captured in black silhouette That I see only in my dreams.

Route 66 begins its westward journey here, The third largest city in the country, A home that is so close to me But where I cannot go: Chicago.

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steel bars, ackee, and salt fish dreams poem by Patrick “Biyah” Comi

Behind these concrete gray walls I count nights from days.

Years stretch longer than Kingston roads, Each hour heavy with silent mood.

I dream in spice and island air, And taste the breakfast that I wish for: Ackee soft with salt fish, Fried dumpling golden, crisp, and round, Callaloo green like hills at dawn, Bananas ripe as island sunrise.

I remember the taste of being free.

Every night when lights go low I close my eyes and let myself go Back to a yard with laughter and love, With ackee and salt fish, the taste of home.

Steel bars can cage my skin type, But not the dreams that season my night.

One day, beneath blue skies, I’ll eat at home once more and taste the island’s sunrise.

Here plastic trays fly down the line, Gray prison gravy, bread past its prime.

Rice too pale, meat tough as time, Flavors stripped of soul and rhyme.

No thyme, no scotch bonnet flame, No taste of joy or taste of home.

I chew and swallow: my stomach is full But hunger lingers, emotions unfulfilled.

For food is memory, Food is home, Food frees the spirit to roam.

Though I am locked away from sun and sea,

26 illustration by Patrick Comi

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