Latest news with #BlackExcellence
CNN
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- CNN
Losing Malcolm-Jamal Warner is losing family, says Van Jones
The loss of Malcolm-Jamal Warner is devastating. For millions of us, especially those of us who grew up Black in America during the 1980s, he wasn't just an actor. He was family. He was possibility. He was hope. Before Barack and Michelle Obama entered the White House, we had the Huxtables. Before college tours or career fairs, we had Theo. And for me — and for so many other young Black men — he was the first person we saw on TV who looked like us, lived like us, and was expected to become something great, not despite being Black, but while fully owning it. When The Cosby Show premiered, it was revolutionary. Not because it had Black characters — that had been done before — but because it showed a Black family thriving. Cliff was a doctor. Clair was a lawyer. They were raising smart, funny, ambitious kids. And in the middle of it all was Theo, the every-kid: imperfect, relatable, learning life's lessons with charm and humility. That mattered. It mattered because, for decades, portrayals of Black people on television were painfully narrow: butlers, maids, addicts, criminals, punchlines. But Theo wasn't any of that. He was a teenager with dreams, a good heart, and two parents who demanded excellence. The image of a middle-class Black household striving together on national TV was so new, so powerful, that it drew tens of millions of viewers a week. It helped shift the national imagination. And it shifted mine. I had two professional parents. I wasn't living in a junkyard like on Sanford and Son or hustling like The Jeffersons. I saw my story in Theo's. He made me feel seen — and not alone. But Malcolm-Jamal Warner didn't stop with Theo. He went on to build a thoughtful, artistic, and courageous career. He didn't chase cheap fame. He didn't trade dignity for ratings. Instead, he used his platform to speak up about mental health, about nuance in the Black experience, about our full humanity. He invited honesty into a culture that too often demands invincibility. And he did it all with class. With grace. With quiet, unwavering strength. That kind of consistency is rare in Hollywood — or anywhere. Malcolm weathered the pressures of child stardom with integrity. While so many struggled under the spotlight, he matured, grew and gave back. His work — from Malcolm & Eddie to his Grammy-winning music to his podcast — always carried a message: we are complex, we are diverse, we are worthy. His passing hits hard. For those of us in our 40s, 50s, even early 60s, this feels like losing a brother. He represented an era when we had shared cultural touchstones, when families across the country sat down at the same time to laugh, learn, and witness something groundbreaking. And yes, The Cosby Show has become complicated by the fall of its patriarch. But the contributions of its cast, especially its young stars, endure. Lisa Bonet. Tempestt Bledsoe. Keshia Knight Pulliam. And Malcolm. They carried that show's legacy forward — not with scandal, but with substance. They embodied the excellence it promised. It's okay to mourn this loss loudly. It's not 'playing the race card' to remember how stunningly rare it once was to see a Black kid on TV who wasn't in chains or trouble. It was a revelation. It was dignity in primetime. Malcolm-Jamal Warner gave us that, and so much more. He started high. And he went higher. May we honor him not just by remembering Theo, but by continuing the conversations he sparked, the truths he told, and the humanity he championed. Rest in power, brother.
CNN
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- CNN
Losing Malcolm-Jamal Warner is losing family, says Van Jones
The loss of Malcolm-Jamal Warner is devastating. For millions of us, especially those of us who grew up Black in America during the 1980s, he wasn't just an actor. He was family. He was possibility. He was hope. Before Barack and Michelle Obama entered the White House, we had the Huxtables. Before college tours or career fairs, we had Theo. And for me — and for so many other young Black men — he was the first person we saw on TV who looked like us, lived like us, and was expected to become something great, not despite being Black, but while fully owning it. When The Cosby Show premiered, it was revolutionary. Not because it had Black characters — that had been done before — but because it showed a Black family thriving. Cliff was a doctor. Clair was a lawyer. They were raising smart, funny, ambitious kids. And in the middle of it all was Theo, the every-kid: imperfect, relatable, learning life's lessons with charm and humility. That mattered. It mattered because, for decades, portrayals of Black people on television were painfully narrow: butlers, maids, addicts, criminals, punchlines. But Theo wasn't any of that. He was a teenager with dreams, a good heart, and two parents who demanded excellence. The image of a middle-class Black household striving together on national TV was so new, so powerful, that it drew tens of millions of viewers a week. It helped shift the national imagination. And it shifted mine. I had two professional parents. I wasn't living in a junkyard like on Sanford and Son or hustling like The Jeffersons. I saw my story in Theo's. He made me feel seen — and not alone. But Malcolm-Jamal Warner didn't stop with Theo. He went on to build a thoughtful, artistic, and courageous career. He didn't chase cheap fame. He didn't trade dignity for ratings. Instead, he used his platform to speak up about mental health, about nuance in the Black experience, about our full humanity. He invited honesty into a culture that too often demands invincibility. And he did it all with class. With grace. With quiet, unwavering strength. That kind of consistency is rare in Hollywood — or anywhere. Malcolm weathered the pressures of child stardom with integrity. While so many struggled under the spotlight, he matured, grew and gave back. His work — from Malcolm & Eddie to his Grammy-winning music to his podcast — always carried a message: we are complex, we are diverse, we are worthy. His passing hits hard. For those of us in our 40s, 50s, even early 60s, this feels like losing a brother. He represented an era when we had shared cultural touchstones, when families across the country sat down at the same time to laugh, learn, and witness something groundbreaking. And yes, The Cosby Show has become complicated by the fall of its patriarch. But the contributions of its cast, especially its young stars, endure. Lisa Bonet. Tempestt Bledsoe. Keshia Knight Pulliam. And Malcolm. They carried that show's legacy forward — not with scandal, but with substance. They embodied the excellence it promised. It's okay to mourn this loss loudly. It's not 'playing the race card' to remember how stunningly rare it once was to see a Black kid on TV who wasn't in chains or trouble. It was a revelation. It was dignity in primetime. Malcolm-Jamal Warner gave us that, and so much more. He started high. And he went higher. May we honor him not just by remembering Theo, but by continuing the conversations he sparked, the truths he told, and the humanity he championed. Rest in power, brother.
CBS News
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- CBS News
Roxbury Unity Parade celebrates Black culture and honors residents in Boston
Celebrating Black culture and excellence, the annual Roxbury Unity Parade took center stage Sunday in Boston. Kicking off at Madison Park High School, Roxbury families, elected officials and those running for office marched in solidarity. The parade is meant to honor the past and reflect the rich tapestry of Roxbury's legacy. "Today we celebrate Black beauty, Black brilliance, Black resilience, Black innovation," said Rep. Ayanna Pressley. Found Toy Burton said the parade began in 2017 after a summer of violence. "Let those who grow up here know that they come from a proud neighborhood," said Burton. "There's good happening here every day and that's why we give away awards to uplift those who uplift Roxbury every day." Wu and Kraft also took part in the event. "We are still in a moment where people are really struggling," said Wu. "The cost of just putting food on the table is still a big, big stress, so we are going to keep fighting, we're going to fight against the federal administration that's trying to attack our identities, take us backwards, rejects the beauty of our diverse communities." Kraft said there is a lot of work that needs to be done in the community. "Celebrating the legacy through a powerful parade the way Toy Burton has created is an easy thing to get behind," said Kraft. "The number one concern in the city is people don't feel listened to, they don't feel connected to the city and the first tangible issue that we hear about is housing. Housing is unaffordable and unattainable, especially for working families." Boston music legends and Roxbury natives Michael Bivens and Ron DeVoe from New Edition and Bell Biv DeVoe also made an appearance at the parade and helped present community awards.
Mail & Guardian
12-07-2025
- Mail & Guardian
Alcohol adverts see young black people only as a market
Underage drinking: A tavern in Diepsloot. Young people are being lured into consumption by manufacturers and marketers. Photo: Delwyn Verasamy In the townships, billboards glamourise alcohol as a marker of success, style and independence, and it's no accident who the adverts are speaking to — young, black and aspirational people. Across South Africa, teens to 35-year-old black people are being sold an identity that is tied to the bottle because they are a profitable market. It's a tactic with deep roots. During apartheid, the infamous 'dop system' saw black and coloured farmworkers in the Cape winelands paid in alcohol, fuelling generational cycles of dependence. Apartheid leaders used 'liquor freedom' to dampen political opposition and generate revenues for the bantustans — and the alcohol industry cashed in on the ride. Today, the method has changed but the motive has not. Big Liquor continues to extract value from the most vulnerable, not by force, but by fantasy. The fantasy of glamour, success, and 'black excellence' — bottled and branded. In this country, heavy drinking is linked to more than But make no mistake: this crisis has been engineered. It is not simply the outcome of personal choices, it is the product of a calculated marketing system that targets youth where they live, learn and scroll. Tactics of targeting Alcohol brands concentrate their adverts in black townships, on the walls of bottle stores that sit just metres from schools. Liquor outlets in close proximity to schools On TV, alcohol commercials flood programmes popular with black youth, portraying drinking as essential to being cool, respected or successful. A S These messages are further amplified by social media, where alcohol brands work with influencers, many of them young, black people, to push products at parties and music events. To teenagers, these posts don't look like adverts. They look like an aspirational life. And that's exactly the point. Add to that celebrity endorsements and sponsorships, and excessive advertising at sports engagements, and the message is relentless: drinking is what the glamorous, accomplished and confident do. Especially if they look like you. The industry is strategic even in its segmentation. Bigger than South Africa This is not just a South African story. It's a global playbook. In the United States, black and Hispanic neighbourhoods have historically been flooded with alcohol and cigarette billboards, while white suburbs remained untouched. Cognac brands such as Hennessy targeted African-American consumers so aggressively in the 1980s that In Kenya, authorities ordered the And yet in South Africa, where the We cannot continue to let an industry that profits from trauma define the futures of our youth. We cannot allow 'black excellence' to be sold to us through bottles, billboards and branded content. There is no single fix, but there is a clear path forward. Yes, the draft Liquor Amendment Bill, languishing in the department of trade, industry and competition since 2016, should be passed. It proposes raising the drinking age from 18 to 21, banning ads that target minors and preventing liquor outlets from trading within 500 metres of schools. But the real work is deeper and longer-term. We need to reclaim the public and digital spaces where young people gather. We must elevate music, mentorship, sport and storytelling that doesn't rely on alcohol to be compelling. We must support youth initiatives that build real confidence. Above all, we must challenge the idea that alcohol is part of becoming 'a somebody'. It's time to say: enough. Our culture is not your campaign. Our future is not for sale. Alcohol advertising sees young black people as a market. We see them as the future. Kashifa Ancer is the campaign manager for Rethink Your Drink, an alcohol harm reduction campaign by the DG Murray Trust.
Yahoo
11-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
The Real-World Impact of Mr. Terrific in SUPERMAN
We're finally getting to see one of the coolest, smartest, and most brilliant minds in DC Comics hit the big screen: Michael Holt, aka Mr. Terrific. Not only is he an intellectual powerhouse, but he also represents a crucial facet of Black STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) excellence. In James Gunn's new Superman movie, Edi Gathegi's portrayal showcases his intellect, power, and ingenuity. He's also a major player in helping Superman save the world. This kind of visibility matters far beyond films, entertainment, and comic books. We haven't seen many heroes, super or otherwise, or even villains, who are primarily STEM-based characters. Why is this important? Because it can shift aspirations, challenge stereotypes, and even influence industry practices. RELATED ARTICLE SUPERMAN Is Really, Really Good (Thank God) On the STEM side, the story is similarly stark. According to Pew Research, Black students earned no more than 9% of STEM degrees awarded in 2018 across the bachelor's, master's, and doctoral levels, with particularly low representation in engineering and the physical sciences. Black women, in particular, comprise only about 2–2.5% of the U.S. STEM workforce. Black STEM professionals report higher rates of workplace discrimination: roughly 62% say they've experienced race-related slights at work, compared to lower percentages for other groups. This combination of underrepresentation and unease can severely discourage young Black talent from even considering STEM careers. This is where Mr. Terrific on the big screen comes in: a visible example of a person of color who embodies scientific brilliance, resilience, and moral conviction. Studies show that seeing 'someone like you' in a field correlates with greater interest and persistence. For instance, Black students with Black STEM teachers report more positive experiences and encouragement to stay in STEM tracks. Translating that to cinema: young viewers who identify with Michael Holt may internalize, 'If he belongs here, maybe I do, too.' It's a psychological nudge that can plant seeds for future scientists, engineers, and innovators, potentially inspiring them to seek out real-life examples like Lonnie G. Johnson (NASA engineer and inventor of the Super Soaker), Mae C. Jemison (the first African American woman to travel into space), or Alan Emtage (credited with inventing Archie, the world's first internet search engine). RELATED ARTICLE 10 Black Innovators Who Changed the Gaming Industry While Mr. Terrific's arrival is a huge win, it's worth acknowledging that the road to meaningful Black STEM representation in genre storytelling has been uneven at best. For every step forward, there have been glaring misses or outright missteps. Take Blankman (1994), for instance, starring Damon Wayans as a nerdy, socially awkward crime-fighting inventor. He rigs up gadgets and has a whole home base made from junkyard scraps. He was like a broke, muscle-free mashup of Iron Man and Batman. And this was decades before Black Panther and one of the first portrayals of a Black STEM superhero on the big screen. Then there's Steel (1997), starring Shaquille O'Neal as John Henry Irons, a brilliant weapons engineer who builds his own armored suit after tragedy strikes. We also cannot forget Dr. Karen Jensen, played by N'Bushe Wright in Blade (1998), a hematologist who unfortunately becomes Blade's indispensable ally. In that film she uses her medical expertise to hunt for a cure for vampirism. Lucius Fox, played by Morgan Freeman in Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy, also deserves a nod. He's the CEO of Wayne Enterprises whose sharp engineering mind outfits Batman with his most advanced tech. In more recent years, we've seen Shuri, played by Letitia Wright in Black Panther (2018) and Wakanda Forever (2022), the chief architect of Wakanda's technology. Her brilliance is woven into every part of those stories. RELATED ARTICLE IRONHEART Soars With Its Exploration of Temptation, Grief, Legacy, and Magic (Review) Almost all the scientists in Wakanda are STEM experts, and the country itself is founded on STEM principles. Right alongside her is Ironheart (Riri Williams), played by Dominique Thorne, the teenage prodigy who crafts her own Iron Man-level suit while still at MIT. Even T'Challa, played by Chadwick Boseman, himself is more than a warrior-king; he's a physicist whose mind helps propel Wakanda's scientific edge. There's also Cyborg (Victor Stone), played by Ray Fisher, whose arc in Justice League (2017) and Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) pivots on his advanced cybernetics and hacking genius. Dr. Bill Foster (played by Laurence Fishburne in Ant-Man and the Wasp) is a pioneering biochemist once deep in Pym Particle research. Even our few STEM-aligned villains, Jamie Foxx's Electro in The Amazing Spider-Man 2 and No Way Home, or Black Manta, played by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II in the Aquaman films, are too rare. However, as antagonists, they still deserve mention. What I love about Superman is how it leans all the way into the 'show, don't just tell' mantra when it comes to Michael Holt's genius. The film steers clear of the usual pitfalls that often snag Black intellectual characters in genre stories. Gunn doesn't reduce Mr. Terrific to a 'walking supercomputer' or a glorified IT guy for superheroes. Instead, we get to watch his T-Spheres operate as living extensions of his mind. Holt proves his brilliance through hands-on problem-solving and innovation. His character isn't one-sided or just spitting out tech jargon; he's cracking dry jokes, revealing different sides of his personality, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Superman and Lois to take down Lex and his crew. The film grants him true agency, letting his own ethical dilemmas and decisions drive key moments. That's precisely what gives seeing Mr. Terrific on screen such real-world impact. Mr. Terrific in Superman is a bona fide co-star, right alongside the other meta-humans. His time on screen isn't some blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo; he has a full-on impact on the outcome of the film. I'm sure fans of the character, and of Gathegi (who also played Darwin in X-Men: First Class) before being killed off way too quickly, despite Darwin's power literally being able to evolve and survive anything, will appreciate finally seeing him get his due. Seeing a Black STEM superhero take center stage isn't just important for fans or indie projects; it matters on the biggest screen possible. With this portrayal, Mr. Terrific's presence carries far beyond the new DC movie universe; it sparks thought, inspires ideas, and expands possibilities, contributing to the hope and potential of future generations.
