Black Representation in Video Games
Video games have existed for over 60 years and have seen major upgrades. One upgrade that has been adopted at a really slow rate is the inclusion of Black characters. In cases where Black characters are included, there are heavy limitations on aspects like their skin tones and hair. While it is good to be satisfied that Black characters have some representation, it’s still important to ask for better. Black hair in video games Rumors of cauliflower The Sims 4 is the fourth iteration of the life simulation series The Sims. Simmers, as the games’ players are called, saw an article where a concept designer showed that they modelled an afro after a cauliflower. Now, it’s not known if this designer actually worked with Electronic Arts (EA), the company behind The Sims franchise. However, what is known is that simmers weren’t happy with the afro choice they did end up with. After seven years of that afro, The Sims team (the team at EA responsible for The Sims franchise) released a new afro. Simmers do end up referencing the old ‘fro as “the cauliflower hair”. Hair has been a contention in The Sims franchise. An EA Forums post from 13 years ago, before The Sims 4, had discussions about hope for the inclusion of more Black hair. Modders (someone who creates modifications and custom content for a game) have had to come to the virtual rescue. They will often add in content like Black hairstyles that aren’t available in the game, among many other things. The problem with this is that the entire Sims 4 community isn’t being served as simmers on consoles like the PlayStation, and Xbox can’t access that content. Kilmonger The award-winning film Black Panther graced screens in 2018. One of the main villains is Eric Killmonger. He sported a high-top fade with locs. The look inspired too many video game characters; the style has been dubbed the “Killmonger hair.” The problem is that the overuse of this hair makes players become tired of seeing it. It also gives the illusion that game development companies were finally glad to have another easy hairstyle (like the afro and cornrows that they always do) instead of also incorporating other natural hairstyles. Black skin in video games The Sims 4 finds itself here again. The problem was that the skin colour swatches were limited and some of the darker shades were ashy with bad undertones. Then, six years after the initial release of the game, Black simmers had more options when the game developers expanded the available skin tones. This came after a modder, Xmiramira (Amira Virgil), released a custom content pack with better skin tones than what was available in-game. The Sims 4 article that announced the update credited her and other simmers for helping them diversify the game. In 2024, the Sims team teamed up with Ebonix (another prominent modder) and Dark & Lovely (the haircare company) to add more variety for Black simmers. Black characters Adding a Black character to a game stirs online talk as a lot of people take issue with what skin colour a fictional character has, like Ubisoft’s Assassin’s Creed Shadow. The Assassin’s Creed series changes locations for every installment. This installment is set in Japan and has a Black samurai, Yasuke, and female shinobi (ninja), Naoe, as protagonists. Many people got upset that the samurai isn’t a traditional Japanese man; however, Yasuke is historically accurate. There is an argument to be made about the lack of a male Japanese protagonist in a game that is based in Japan. However, the conclusion should be to ask Ubisoft (and any other game developer) to expand its inclusion, not limit it. What Black people are doing in response There is a lack of education on how to make Black hair and a lack of Black video game developers. Many Black artists are now creating the change they want to see. More Black video game models A.M. Darke is an Associate Professor of Performance, Play, and Design, and Digital Arts at the University of California Santa Cruz (UC Santa Cruz). Alongside a team headed by Yale computer science professor Theodore Kim, Professor Darke worked on a program “that better represents coily hair in animation.” This collaboration is important because, as Professor Kim says, “[an] artist and a scientist put their knowledge together and make something really interesting that neither could have done individually.” To add to that idea, it is important to get Black artists involved when tackling issues like hair and skin tone in the virtual space. For artists like Professor Darke, knowing how and why Black hair works the way it does is a step towards knowing how to recreate it. You can read the study that came from the team here. Professor Darke also started the Open Source Afro Hair Library where individual artists can use models (created by contributors) to make their art. The library being open source means that artists can freely transform the models while giving the contributors credit. Code my Crown is a guide that stems from a collaboration between Open Source Afro Hair Library, Dove (yes, the body care company) and artists. The guide “[offers] more help combating the lack of access to resources and detailed documentation.” According to Isaac Olander, one of the artists who worked on the guide, “the response to Code my Crown has been overwhelmingly positive across the industry.” Black Girl Gamers Female gamers tend to receive a lot of harassment online, and that harassment worsens for Black female gamers. This is misogynoir, the intersection of sexism and racism. To provide a space for Black female gamers like herself, Jay-Ann Lopez founded Black Girl Gamers. Today, the company has expanded into consulting and doing events. They also have a Twitch page (with over 40k followers) that features several Black gamers. A common theme in asking for new hair
Rewriting the narrative: Black voices in psychology
Psychology is one of the most rapidly growing fields in the social sciences. It seeks to understand human thought, behaviour and feeling. Yet, when we examine the individuals credited with laying the foundation of the discipline, we can see one thing in common: they are all white men. Freud, Jung, Adler, Piaget, Frankl — these are the titans of psychology, those whose work fills the pages of all psychology textbooks and whose names ring in university lectures and on bookshop shelves. However, what is missing from this narrative is the contribution of Black psychologists, psychologists who were crucial to the development and understanding of psychology. This is not by accident; it is a consequence of systemic erasure. Best-selling books, such as The Psychology Book: Big Ideas Explained and How Psychology Works: The Facts Visually Explained (both published by D.K. Publishing), offer comprehensive encyclopedic overviews of the field featuring hundreds of entries. But neither of these publications includes a single Black psychologist. The same pattern carries over to any bookseller. Walk through the psychology section at Indigo any other major bookseller in Canada. After the first couple of shelves that contain books on cognitive science, behavioural psychology, mindfulness and positive psychology, you are hard-pressed to find any written by a Black psychologist. That sends a subtle but damaging message that Black minds and Black voices are not included in the canon of psychology. Recovering what was lost To adequately rewrite the story, we need first to recover it. This begins with the recognition of the supreme inequitable labour of countless Black psychologists who irreversibly changed the field of psychology — limited only, in some instances, by the field simply trying to forget them. Francis Cecil Sumner, who is widely referred to as the “Father of Black Psychology,” was the first African American to earn a PhD in psychology (Clark University, 1920). Sumner wrote academic papers that acknowledged systemic bias and inequality against African Americans. While Sumner was publishing in the 1920s, two psychologists, Mamie Phipps Clark and her husband, Kenneth B. Clark, were conducting the well-known “doll experiments” in the 1940s. These proved that the cultural and self-regard of Black children had been damaged due to segregation. The Clarks’ work eventually played a role in convincing some justices of the U.S. Supreme Court in the case of Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka (1954) that segregation in places such as schools should not continue to exist as it was unconstitutional. The Clarks are best known for their pioneering research on identity and racial bias in children. In their most cited work, the “doll experiments,” their most important finding was that Black children preferred white dolls. Such findings were discounted by their more significant finding, that of evidence for internalized racism and the psychological effects of segregation. The Clarks argued that systemic racism contributed to Black children’s low self-esteem and deficiencies in their psychosocial development and perspective. In their research on childhood racial identity development, they claimed to be the first to study Black children or children of colour. The significance of the Clarks’ work grew, following its citation in the civil rights Supreme Court case Brown v. Board of Education. This case can be regarded as one of the most significant instances of social science being applied in U.S. legal history. Then there is Na’im Akbar, a current Black psychologist, who is recognized for synthesizing Afrocentric ways of knowing into psychology. A key part of Akbar’s contribution involved a significant critique of Western psychological models based on individualism and Eurocentrism. Akbar’s promotion of community, historical trauma and spirituality as foundational to the Black experience was only an example of his new thinking. What about Beverly Daniel Tatum? Tatum is a former president of Spelman College and is best known for her scholarship around racial identities and education. Her book, Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?, is brilliant for understanding how systemic oppression operates by forming young minds. Tatum is well known for her work on the topic of racial identity development, especially through the lens of schooling. Broadly based on William Cross’s Nigrescence Model, Tatum described her work as an exploration of how Black adolescents develop a sense of racial identity, particularly in predominantly white institutions. In her influential book Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?, Tatum frames racial grouping not as self-segregation, but as a healthy and necessary part of the tailored identity space for youth in a racially divided society. Moreover, Tatum recognized just how much structured racism plays a role in the institutional development of the student. Therefore, combined with other educators, she made a call to create more equitable and inclusive educational spaces. These scholars did not simply “contribute” to psychology; they interrogated and expanded the field’s domain. They revealed the blind spots of psychology and conceptualized how it can address race, power and identity in ways all too often forgotten. Why this story matters For Black students, creatives, educators and mental health advocates, this is not just a historical reckoning — this is validation. To see oneself represented in the histories of a discipline as deeply personal as psychology validates belonging, pride and intellectual curiosity. Representation matters not just for social justice, but also scientific rigour. If social science erases the experiences and wisdom of entire populations in the study of the psyche, then the science is inherently compromised. A comprehensive understanding of psychology cannot omit what it means to be Black — it cannot simply remain as footnotes and electives in the body of theory and practice. The cultural cost is significant: when authorities on mental health, trauma and resilience are almost entirely recognized as white voices, the various ways of healing, identity and community are narrowed. The work of Black psychologists, for example, provides different therapeutic modalities, critiques of colonial and western perspectives and praises of holistic mental wellness and justice that are rooted in their lived experiences. Next steps in rewriting
Black Women in Media
The medium is the message” – Canadian theorist Marshall McLuhan, 1964. McLuhan believed that media, like TV, radio, etc., have a bigger impact on their audience than the content they deliver. So, a TV screen has more influence than the shows or movies playing on it. This is a good base, but more can be added to it. It is true that something like a movie screen signals to a population that something is worth seeing en masse. Here, though, is where the meaning behind a movie comes in. What is it that movie creators feel is so important for a large audience to watch together? As we’ve built up more understanding on how people are influenced, it’s important to look at both the movie screen and the movie as equally impacting. This understanding helps us ask an important question: why did/do creators make Black actresses portray so many negative/overdone/misogynistic tropes? Representation has slightly improved for Black women over the years. More of them are able to wear their natural hair on screen and get better roles (often from creating those roles themselves). However, there is still more to be done. While not every trope is negative, they largely make a character lack range and depth. One common theme is that many of these roles are filled with dark-skinned Black actresses—even younger (under-18) ones. This is just a list of tropes that you should be critical of while consuming content. Black woman voice of reason While not an official term, this trope is similar to the “magic negro.” The “Black woman voice of reason” is about a Black woman who is the involuntary counsellor in a movie or show. Sometimes she’s a side character who encourages the main character(s). Other times, she’s the main character and one of the side characters needs to be encouraged. The problem is that she’s never on the receiving end; she has to be the one to encourage herself. Throwaway Black girlfriend This character is too often a stepping stone for a main character (normally a white male). She exists to be his partner for a short amount of time before she leaves his life. Sometimes this ends up with the male character finding a new (white) girlfriend. On the graphic end, she ends up dying and that jump-starts something in him. This has overlap with the women in refrigerators trope. Token Black friend This friend has no goals of her own—she only exists to move the story along for the main character. When this happens with two Black actresses, the main character is often lighter than the token friend. The audience knows almost nothing about the character other than her name and her relationship to the main character. She can also double as the “Black woman voice of reason” in her friend’s eventful life. Obnoxious Black characters Obnoxious covers a lot of different areas: unnecessarily loud (mostly for comedic effect), overbearing or just plain mean. Again, these roles are populated with dark-skinned actresses. Unnecessarily loud She’s loud with a laugh track. The unnecessarily noisy character announces herself by yelling or just talking over everyone else. Whether she’s excited, sad or angry, all of those emotions just come out as loud. Overbearing Almost the opposite to the “token Black friend” and the “Black woman voice of reason,” the overbearing character is always in the main character’s business. She mostly annoys them by giving unsolicited opinions and constantly judging them. Mean This character never has any nice things to say. If she’s in a scene, she’s there to be mean to the main character. Her character acts as a foil to the protagonist. Much like the overbearing trope, she constantly judges and gives unsolicited opinions. She takes it further by outright insulting the main character—which can sometimes fuel the main character to seek revenge that furthers her own character development. Disparaging tropes These are the tropes that can draw from reality but take things to an extreme: overly sexual, constant slang or AAVE usage, ratchet and constantly struggling. Overly Sexual This is mostly the Jezebel trope. There is no depth to the character other than being desperate for male attention. Her character is always flirty and sometimes handsy. She often gets portrayed as not being able to have a long-term relationship because of her promiscuity. Lots of slang or AAVE usage This trope is often associated with a character that hasn’t gotten a high level of education. She speaks completely different to those around her—even if they are Black too. She often takes on other tropes like “Black woman voice of reason” or any one of the “obnoxious” tropes. This makes slang/AAVE seem as though it’s only for those who haven’t gone far academically. Ratchet Ratchet is somewhat of a reclaimed word. However, in this context it is in reference to being “trashy and disorderly…”. She’s often the “slang/AAVE” character who is loud and overbearing. It’s not part of who she is, it’s who she is. This doesn’t match up with the way that Black people have shifted the meaning where it’s part of a whole. Constantly struggling This character struggles in everything but mostly love and finances. This, too often, manifests in the Black single mother. She is looking for love after her “baby daddy” left her, but raising a child or children on her own becomes hard financially. This happens especially with dark-skinned characters. This subconsciously implies that her skin colour plays a role in her current situation (dishonourable mention: the welfare queen). There are many more examples of these types of tropes. No matter how fictional this type of entertainment is, it still draws from the real world and affects it. If the only exposure some people get are negative tropes, they might come to expect them in the real world. Be more critical of the content you consume and, where you can, support creatives
The Block is the Gallery: Streetwear, Graffiti and the Art of Everyday Resistance
Toronto’s cityscape is more than just sleek glass towers and polished gallery walls; it’s a raw canvas of everyday resistance. Nowhere is this truer than in neighborhoods like Queen Street West’s famous Graffiti Alley, Kensington Market, Parkdale or Little Portugal, where Black streetwear and graffiti culture converge to shape narratives of identity, resistance and creativity. Style Painted on Stone Walls Streetwear and spray paint go hand-in-hand in Toronto’s visual dialogue. Grassroots brands and underground collectives repurpose city walls, fire escapes and basement storefronts into immersive galleries. Their murals become mood boards for streetwear trends like bold African-inspired patterns, hand-me-down sneakers reimagined with lacquer and slogans that echo in hoodie prints and bucket hats. This is art that isn’t framed, it’s worn and walked in. Sun-bleached tees, hardwood deck caps and cargo pants become moving billboards that amplify Black voices on sidewalks, underpass pathways and shadowed laneways. Each outfit becomes a visual extension of the mural behind it and vice versa, embodying the synergy between fashion and paint. Graffiti Alley: Rush Lane as Black Canvas Between Spadina and Portland, just south of Queen Street West, lies Graffiti Alley (officially Rush Lane), a three-block kaleidoscope of colour, commentary and protest. Long celebrated by locals and tourists alike, the alley was designated an area of municipal significance in 2011 thanks to the advocacy of businesses and artists, including Black creatives pushing for permission to paint freely. In 2020, during the peak of Black Lives Matter protests, Graffiti Alley took on a new purpose. The “Paint the City Black” initiative, organized by Black graffiti artists Jessey Pacho, Moises Frank, Yung Yemi and others, transformed the alley into a living mural dedicated to Black lives, from portraits of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor to powerful slogans such as “No Justice, No Peace.” Here, style meets purpose: artists wearing rugged streetwear like hoodies, Carhartt jackets and baggy cargo worked through the night, turning walls into protest signs and resistance becoming a runway. The effect? Sidewalks became exhibition spaces where fashion and message walked the same beat. Kensington Market & Augusta’s Black Lives Mural Around the corner in Kensington Market, Black artists again took over the streets with public art. In June 2020, a collective led by Yung Yemi painted the iconic “Black Lives Matter” block-letter mural on Augusta Avenue. Each letter was created by a different artist—reflecting both diversity and unity with the project being fully self-organized and funded by the Art Gallery of Ontario. In this gritty, repurposed neighbourhood, streetwear thrives, like second-hand bomber jackets, loose-fitting jeans and crisp white sneakers. These outfits are both tribute and tool, canvases for embroidered patches, political pins and bold graphic prints that echo the messages painted on walls. Fashion and art amplify each other’s narratives. Kensington Market is also home to many second hand stores lined up side by side selling streetwear clothing. Parkdale & Little Portugal: Hidden Black Gems Beyond the mainstream lanes, Parkdale and Little Portugal host lesser-known murals by Black artists like Elicser Elliott, Canada’s leading aerosol artist. His signature soft, whimsical characters whether it be people, animals or blends of both, bring tenderness to brick and cement, interrupting the urban grind with empathy and community. Outfits worn by local youth mimic his aesthetics: pastel hoodies, netted hats and sneakers. Little Portugal’s laneways also whisper with Afro-Caribbean influences. Cadenced lyrical graffiti and icons rooted in ancestral stories, like Phillip Saunders’s murals celebrating Black women, or Curtia Wright’s vibrant portraits of Black queer femmes at 529 Oakwood Avenue, add depth to Toronto’s street art scene. Their art becomes fabric inspired. Caps and tees are screen-printed with reinterpreted motifs: bold florals and lyrical lines. Street Art as Everyday Resistance What makes these spaces, or this block gallery powerful is how resistance walks among the people. These are not stories told but kilned into the asphalt. Graffiti Alley, for instance, continues to shift, ebb and grow; it’s a living protest. Some murals honor lost community members like Jamal Francique or pay homage to Martin Luther King and James Baldwin. In crafting these walls, Black artists claim space at every level: municipal, cultural and sartorial. Meanwhile, streetwear spreads the message further. A block-print hoodie reminds you of the mural; a cap worn backstage at a music venue references the same protest slogans. The synergy becomes immersive. Why It Matters In Toronto, the city isn’t just a backdrop for Black stories, it’s the storyteller. Streetwear and graffiti are culture, protest, prayer and celebration. Walls and wardrobes invite us in. Do you see a mural? Think of its story. Do you wear the brand? Think of its lineage. Everyday resistance isn’t always loud; sometimes it’s painted in pastel, drawn into the seam of a cap, or worn as a reminder that even when institutions ignore us. The block hears, remembers and reflects us back. Toronto’s street art, such as Queen West’s Graffiti Alley, Augusta’s Black Lives mural, or Parkdale’s hidden gems, act as open-air galleries curated by Black artists in and beyond fashion. These are not just aesthetics. Through paint and pattern, local walls and wardrobes create a narrative that cannot be ignored.
Black Theatre in Canada: More Than a Spotlight
There’s something electric about walking into a Black-led theatre production. The smell of the stage paint. The low hum of anticipation in the seats. Black theatre in Canada has been creating space, telling stories and telling the truth long before most people were paying attention. But if you’re just tuning in now, don’t worry. The curtains are still rising. A Legacy That’s Been Here When people think of Canadian theatre, they usually picture Stratford or Shaw. Polished stages. Shakespeare. Maybe a polite slow clap. But Black Canadian theatre has always had a different rhythm—rooted in resistance, reflection and joy. Companies like Black Theatre Workshop in Montreal (founded in 1972) or Toronto’s Obsidian Theatre (est. 2000) were never just about entertainment. They were about carving out space in an industry that often excluded, stereotyped or straight-up ignored Black stories. Let’s be clear: these aren’t just theatres. These are institutions. Cultural keepers. Launchpads for some of the country’s most important voices—Djanet Sears, Trey Anthony, Omari Newton and so many more. Not Just Representation – Reclamation In recent years, the word “representation” has become trendy. Every festival now scrambles to include “diverse” voices. But Black theatre doesn’t do it for the optics. It does it because the stories need to be told—raw and specific. Take ’da Kink in My Hair. When Trey Anthony’s groundbreaking play first hit the stage in 2001, it wasn’t just a play—it was a cultural moment. Set in a West Indian hair salon, it explored grief, joy, sisterhood and resilience. It went from a fringe show to a full-blown hit, and eventually even a TV series. But its heart was always in the theatre. Intimate. Unapologetic. Ours. Or look at Obsidian Theatre’s 2021 project 21 Black Futures—a digital series showcasing 21 Black playwrights envisioning the future of Blackness in Canada. It was bold and collaborative. The Challenges? Still Here. Of course, it’s not all standing ovations. Funding for Black arts organizations is still a fight. Black creators are still told their stories are “too niche” or “too specific.” There’s still that subtle pressure to only produce trauma narratives, as if Black joy, fantasy and absurdity don’t deserve stage time too. And yet—people keep writing. Keep directing. Keep showing up. What’s Next? More. What’s exciting right now is how many younger artists are coming up with ideas. They’re not asking for permission. They’re just doing the work. Theatre collectives, solo performers, indie playwrights—Black Canadian theatre is not waiting to be mainstream. It’s building its own path. And it’s not just in the big cities either. You’ll find small but mighty productions popping up from Halifax to Winnipeg to Vancouver, often in community centres, pop-up spaces and schools. Anywhere someone has a script, a speaker and something to say. Final Act Black theatre in Canada isn’t just alive—it’s thriving, evolving and refusing to be placed in a box. It’s not just about taking up space in White institutions. It’s about building our own stages, writing our own roles and deciding for ourselves how the story ends. So go to the show. Support the fundraiser. Share the flyer. And when the lights dim and the stage glows, remember: this isn’t just performance. It’s history in motion.
Rewriting My Curriculum: How I’m Bringing More Black Voices Into My Classroom
The first time I realized my English curriculum was deeply whitewashed, I was already halfway through teaching it. I was reading Of Mice and Men with a room full of students—many of them racialized, some Black, some newly arrived in Canada—and I could feel the disconnect. It wasn’t that Steinbeck didn’t have value. It’s that we were centering the same voices over and over again: white, male, American and dead. I started asking: “Who’s missing? And what would it look like to change that?” Learning & Unlearning When I went through teacher’s college, the reading lists were traditional. Shakespeare. Fitzgerald. Orwell. Maybe Toni Morrison if the syllabus wanted to feel diverse. But most of the “canon” wasn’t built with Black students—or Black people—in mind. It’s not that I wanted to get rid of the classics entirely. It’s that I didn’t want my classroom to be a museum. I wanted it to be a space for conversation. So, I began the slow, intentional process of reimagining my course content—not just sprinkling in “Black History Month” lessons but embedding Black voices into the foundation of what we study year-round. More Than Just a Book List This isn’t just about adding The Hate U Give to the shelf (though we did read it, and the kids ate it up). It’s about challenging what kinds of texts we value through graphic novels, spoken word, Hip-hop, essays, and plays by Black Canadian authors. I also incorporated stories that reflect real-life intersections of identity: being Black and queer, Black and Muslim, Black and neurodivergent. In Grade 12, we now compare The Great Gatsby with excerpts from Desmond Cole’s The Skin We’re In. We read poetry by Canisia Lubrin and Rupi Kaur alongside Shakespeare and Sylvia Plath. We watch Amanda Gorman’s inauguration poem and ask why it went viral—and what that says about how we consume Black brilliance. This work doesn’t just amplify Black voices. It complicates the narratives. It makes students question who gets to be “universal” and who’s always labeled “specific.” Resistance Comes Quiet and Loud Some pushback is subtle—an email asking why we’re not reading Macbeth “like we used to.” Some are louder. But most of it is internal. The fear of not “doing it right.” Of being performative. Of tokenizing. But perfection isn’t the point. This work is messy. It requires reflection. Correction. Sometimes an apology. But it’s worth it when a student picks up a book and says, “I’ve never read something that felt like me before.” What I’ve Learned (So Far) Bringing more Black voices into my classroom has made me a better teacher and, more importantly, a better listener. It’s made the space more alive. My Black students feel seen. My non-Black students get stretched. And the conversations that follow? They’re not only richer but sharper, messier and genuine. The Curriculum Wasn’t Built For Us. So We’re Rebuilding It. It’s never a finished project when you’re learning, reworking, reading. But I know now: representation isn’t an “add-on.” It’s the groundwork. And if education is about opening minds, then let’s start by opening the syllabus.
Oral Traditions: Spoken Word and Poems
Spoken word is where writers/poets perform poems/written works for an audience. This is not to be confused with slam poetry. While both are forms of poetry, slam poetry is where poems are created for a competition. History of spoken word Spoken word, or performance poetry, stems from the Black community. It was a natural progression from the oral traditions of old (many communities have used oral traditions to pass on their history and have used stories as fables). Spoken word found a place in jazz clubs and has since expanded from there. Rap and social issues Spoken word is similar to rap as it also has rhyme and rhythm. Some feel that rapping is spoken word, just to a set beat—both do have the theme of addressing social issues. Simply put, “They overlap—in terms of audience, artists, roots, styles, and approaches—but they are also distinct cultures and communities.” Black performers use their voice to speak out against systemic issues like racism and police brutality. However, this is a narrow range of topics in comparison to poets who can and do explore any number of topics. What’s in a voice A voice is important as it can portray so many different emotions. Black people know their voices and words are needlessly and constantly policed. One common experience is having to code-switch. To assimilate (and to avoid awkward encounters), Black people learned to adapt to their surroundings and change the way they speak. In other words, to avoid being policed, they self-police, which isn’t good mentally. Performance over strict poetry Poems have been used as a vessel for emotions. The rise of authors like Maya Angelou shows that the general public felt a connection to her words. In fact, poems are what earned Gwendolyn Brooks a Pulitzer prize. She was the first African American to be awarded the prize. Both her and Angelou’s poems dealt with the African American struggle and trauma that existed in their day-to-day lives. That vulnerability still exists in spoken word performances. Poets are not only able to voice their poems, but they can act, dance or add anything they feel enhances their performance. Poetry, as many understand it now, is rhyming lines studied in English class. This doesn’t carry over to spoken word. Rhymes do help a piece to flow, but they aren’t necessary. Slam poetry This genre was founded by Marc Kelly Smith. He felt “that poetry readings and poetry in general had lost their true passion, [and he] had an idea to bring poetry back to the people.” Poets doing slam have the opportunity to compete and build up their experience as performers. It also allows anyone to be a judge. This is good because that means that there is no high level of expectation, no rubric to follow. The point is just to entertain and hope that randomly selected audience members enjoy your piece. It is important to remember that slams aren’t the height of spoken word. They exist with spoken word, not above it. Creating community Spoken word is inviting to anyone. It creates a good outlet for people to express their emotions, whether it’s younger people looking to speak out against lived injustices or older people who want to give out words of advice/wisdom. Spoken word provides a community for people who just happen to enjoy creating poems and want to share them with others. Spoken word in Ontario In a Humber Et Cetera article, poet Joshua “Scribe” Watkis says that The Canadian League of Poets didn’t consider spoken word as a form of poetry. It was the actions of award-winning poet Lillian Allen that helped to change this idea. Now, the League and the Ontario Arts Council have created two awards in her name for 2025. Other poets like award-winning artist Dwayne Morgan have also helped to expand the spoken word community for up-and-coming artists. Be sure to read about the other poets in Humber Et Cetera’s article and support artists at slams and open mic nights. If you are someone who is interested in doing spoken word, don’t be afraid to join the community.
Black Actress Excellence
Becoming an actress isn’t easy, and it’s even harder for Black actresses. This is why it’s important to uplift and give recognition to those who are doing their best and succeeding. It also shows that there is a space in media for a variety—no need for pigeon-holing. Ayo Edebiri Ayo Edebiri was born in Boston, MA, U.S. She realized at an early age that she was into comedy; she participated in open-mic events when she was younger and did stand-up in her early 20s. She went to NYU to become a teacher but realized that it wasn’t the route for her. She changed her major to dramatic writing and graduated in 2017 with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. Her switch turned out to be a great choice. It led to her landing a lead role in FX’s The Bear. She has been awarded time and again: she has one Emmy win out of two nominations, one Golden Globe out of two nominations, an NAACP and many more wins and nominations. She’s worn many different hats in the industry: writer, director and producer. Vanessa Morgan Vanessa Morgan was born in Ottawa, Ont., Canada. She is both a singer and actress, making her a double threat. She began singing at a young age, and that got her discovered while she was in California. She has given her acting talents to shows like Degrassi: The Next Generation and A.N.T. Farm. She also starred as the lead in My Babysitter’s a Vampire, which is both a movie and TV series that aired on Teletoon and Disney Channel. Morgan was added to The CW’s hit show Riverdale that’s based on the Archie Comics. She became a series regular in the third season. Unfortunately, she mentioned that she was paid the least, which was a sad but all-too-common occurrence for Black actresses. Morgan landed a lead role in the CBC/CW original series Wild Cards. She plays the confident con woman Max Mitchell. The series has been renewed for its third and fourth seasons. Quinta Brunson Quinta Brunson was born in Philadelphia, PA, U.S. She began attending Temple University to study communications. She decided to leave in 2013 to pursue a career in comedy in Los Angeles. Her experiences (and a good friend) led her to becoming a junior producer at Buzzfeed. She left the company in 2018 and began acting on mainstream TV. In 2021, Brunson and ABC released the hit show Abbott Elementary. (Edebiri is Brunson’s sister in the show!) Since then, the show and its cast have been nominated for and won many awards. Brunson has many nominations and has won two Emmys and a Golden Globe. Abbott Elementary has been renewed for its fifth season and will possibly be out in Fall 2025. Temple University granted Brunson an honorary degree in 2024; she was also able to address the graduating class. In the address, she jokes to her mom, “it only took me 11 years, two Emmys and one Golden Globe to finally get a degree.” Issa Rae Issa Rae was born in Los Angeles, CA, U.S. She attended Stanford University to study African and African American studies. During and after attending, she made a number of web series designed around Black lives. She cites the misrepresentation of Black girls on TV as the reason for her creating one of her web series. In 2016, Rae created Insecure for HBO. It ran for five years and ended on season five. The show was quite impactful. As one viewer said, “…Issa Rae is changing tv and has put the narrative of black women back in our hands…” Rae has also taken her acting to the silver screen. She’s acted in the summer hit movie Barbie and rom-coms like Photography and The Lovebirds. She founded the media company Hoorae (formerly Issa Rae Productions). It houses the management company ColorCreative that she co-founded with producer Deniese Davis. ColorCreative, in collaboration with SONY, created the film One of Them Days. Popular singer SZA (who had a small role in Insecure) and well-known actress Keke Palmer play the main characters in the film. These are just a few of the amazing Black actresses who work to create more representation for Black people in the media. Hopefully their presence encourages the industry to make more space for up-and-coming Black actors.
Viola Davis’s Iconic Wig Moment
Picture this: it’s 2014 and the soon-to-be-hit show How to Get Away with Murder is on. Viola Davis’s character Annalise Keating is at her vanity table after coming home from work. She takes off her wig, her eyelashes and her makeup. She finishes by putting lotion on her hands and neck. Iconic—in more ways than one. First off, the scene is much deeper than just getting undone after coming home. For many Black women, hiding their natural hair is part of their job, or as Angela Mackie-Rutledge puts it, “revenue protection.” Annalise Keating is in a job where some feel like they have to change their hair to fit in with the white majority. Actresses like Sanaa Lathan have talked about how Black actresses have felt pressured to hide their natural hair. this leads to her wearing a wig and makeup while she works. It is aptly described as her “armour” by Quinci LeGardye from Marie Claire and Shania Russell from Slash Film. This scene was one thing that Davis herself felt was necessary for the show. The show’s creator Peter Nowalk says, “Viola’s one request when she agreed to be on the show was to see Annalise without her wig.” Nowalk continues to describe Davis as both a genius actor and a genius storyteller. For Davis, this scene is “a bold choice to ground Annalise in reality.” It invited viewers to see Annalise Keating as a rounded character who, like many, physically separates her private self from her public self. This choice was a way to push against the norms of a character having “a glossiness that has no resemblance to life.” This was a scene for the viewers, even outside of the Black crowd. As LeGardye pointed out in her article, a character like Annalise Keating would normally be portrayed by a man, typically White. Vulture’s Diane Gordon reports on Davis’s decision to take the role at a For Your Consideration panel. Davis says, “When someone is described as sexual and mysterious and complicated and messy, you don’t think of me.” She knows what it’s like to have someone fit her into a mold. Davis attended Juilliard School—a prestigious arts (music, dance and drama) academy. While speaking with Diana Evans for The Guardian, Davis is very critical of Juilliard and its “crushing white-centrism, its desire to create the ‘perfect White actor’.” Her critique is that the school imposes the rigid way it thinks actors should go—the White way. Having such inflexible criteria leaves little room for actors of colour to express themselves their way. It was with all this knowledge that she asked Nowalk to include the wig removal scene. Davis is a great actress, and she knows that. To her, Annalise Keating is a character that “[reflects] the full scope of [her] talent.” She got to play a lead role in a popular show as opposed to “being the third girl from the left.” The scene was also “…showing an image that isn’t palatable to the oppressor.” This is a scene that speaks loud and clear to its audience without having any dialogue. Despite Juilliard trying to train her to be a White actress, Davis showed her range as a powerful Black actress. The online natural hair movement was very popular in the 2010s. By 2014, the community would be heavily embracing their natural hair. A scene like this was validating to any Black woman whose hair held high value to them. Many women would wear a wig as a form of protection. These women can also relate to the routine of taking everything off after a long day. As an actress with great talent and over 20 years of acting experience, it makes sense that this scene came from Viola Davis. For her efforts, she has become one of four Black holders of the coveted title of ‘EGOT’ (Primetime Emmy, Grammy, Academy Award/Oscar, Tony). She won an Emmy in 2015, a Grammy in 2023, an Oscar in 2017 and two Tonys, one in 2001 and again in 2010. Davis has the accolades to show that she knows what she’s doing. This wig scene pulled no punches, and it delivered the message that it needed to. For everyone’s sake, let’s hope she keeps posing great suggestions and has the right people listening to her.
Black Artists You Should Know in the GTA
Toronto’s creative landscape is brimming with talent, but too often, Black artists are underrepresented in galleries, overlooked in grant funding or expected to create only within narrow cultural expectations. That’s starting to change. A wave of Black artists across the Greater Toronto Area is enriching what art means, who it’s for and where it’s seen. From fabric portraits to powerful photo essays, these creators aren’t just making work—they’re telling stories that have long gone unheard too often. Take Gio Swaby, for example. Originally from the Bahamas and now based in Toronto, her textile portraits of Black women—stitched, layered and radiant—have been displayed in major institutions across North America. Her work reclaims softness, power and pride all at once, shying away from the negative stereotypes placed on Black women. Swaby’s 2024 solo exhibition Fresh Up at Art Toronto was a major cultural moment, proving that “fine art” can be rooted in family and community. Textile isn’t the only medium making waves. In west-end Toronto, Daniel Akinlalu captures striking portraits of Black residents and urban backdrops in work that feels part documentary, part love letter. His photography explores what it means to be Black in the city—not just surviving but thriving, celebrating, becoming. His recent series, featured in Humber ETC, draws attention for the way it quietly commands space in a loud world. Another essential voice is Shelly Grace, a multi-disciplinary artist who blends spoken word, photography and community education. Her work often centers Black girlhood, care and self-actualization, refusing trauma as the only narrative. In 2022, she was awarded Toronto’s Breakthrough Artist by the Toronto Arts Foundation, recognizing her unique ability to build bridges between art and activism. Of course, some artists defy easy categorization. Anique Jordan is one of those boundary-breakers. A visual artist, curator and cultural historian, Jordan’s work often draws from archival research to reimagine Canadian history through a Black lens. Whether she’s constructing surreal photographs or staging powerful performances, her work reminds viewers that Black presence in this country is deep, rich and enduring. Then there’s Esmaa Mohamoud, known for monumental installations that explore Black masculinity, vulnerability and athleticism. Her sculptures—like a series of deflated basketball forms cast in concrete—speak to systemic pressure and identity. Mohamoud’s work has been shown at the Art Gallery of Ontario and in public spaces as part of the Scotiabank CONTACT Photography Festival. These artists aren’t working in isolation. They’re part of a broader movement—one that’s reimagining not only the arts but the infrastructure surrounding it. They mentor, collaborate, host community programs and reclaim the artistic space in every sense of the word. And they’re not just creating for galleries or grants; they’re creating for each other—for the older generations and the younger ones who might finally see themselves being represented. Black art in the GTA is not a trend or a category. It’s a force—ever-evolving, deeply rooted and impossible to ignore.