When he was diagnosed with prostate cancer late last year, Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin joined the 280,000 Black men annually identified with the disease. It’s so common, studies show, that 1 in 6 Black men will develop it during their lifetime. 

A nationally-known HIV researcher and practicing clinician, Dr. Hyman Scott believes that PrEP, the once-daily drug that can prevent transmission of the potentially deadly virus, has become arguably the most important weapon in the anti-HIV arsenal.

Last Spring, the nation was alarmed to hear of another infectious disease that was rapidly spreading. On the heels of the COVID-19 pandemic, public health officials, including the World Health Organization, declared Monkeypox, now called Mpox, a public health emergency of international concern.

A layoff, death in the family, a violent assault—in 1999, the hits just kept coming for Antoine Craigwell, then a young adult trying to make his way in New York City.

And so, one November day, he inched toward the edge of a Manhattan subway platform and prepared to take matters into his own hands: He would jump in front of the oncoming No. 1 train and end it all.He steeled his nerves—then he thought of his family, including his adopted mother, who’d buried his sister just months before. Craigwell backed off.

For most, intimate partner violence (IPV), historically known as domestic violence, is defined as some form of physical abuse enacted on a woman by a man in their life—usually their husband or boyfriend.

However, there is so much more to the issue that causes many experts to consider IPV an epidemic.

The recent altercations between Grammy award winner Kanye West and social media influencer, Kim Kardashian, in the wake of their divorce proceedings have ignited a new conversation about IPV.

According to Ruth Glenn, president, and CEO of the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence, the events surrounding West and Kardashian highlight the complications of people’s understandings and definitions of IPV, while at the same time shining a light on the contradictions and double standards.

Cycling is quickly becoming the newest phenomenon of transportation in Atlanta. However, almost explicitly missing from the conversation is the presence of Black queer voices and how popular cycling is to this group, whether native or transplant.

Octavia “Tay” Roberts, better known as Big Oreo, and Lauren Fareira, known best as Senorita Awesome, are two Black queer cyclists leading the way for more to join the experience.

Eight or so years ago, Big Oreo became interested in cycling. But it wasn’t until 2015 before she purchased her first bike. And as soon as she did, she got busy immersing herself in the culture.

“I got the bike and then went and got a job at [the popular sandwich shop] Jimmy John’s—because I wanted to,” the Atlanta native told The Reckoning. “The type of cycling Jimmy John’s cyclists do is unorthodox. It’s not like how you would see a group of cyclists or even racers.”

Co-founder of the cycling group Rolling Peach Bandits, Big Oreo considers herself an urban street cyclist. When on her own, or with a group of her buddies, she can be seen dipping and dodging traffic on her fixed-gear bike. It’s an exhilarating thrill for her.

On a recent Sunday, on an unassuming corner in West Atlanta, an industrial-style gym transformed into a modern-day ashram. There, with the gritty rhymes of rap artists like Yella Beezy blaring in the background, dozens of Black and Brown people contorted their bodies into positions like high dragon, mermaid, and tree pose—reclaiming the ancient eastern art of yoga to find health and a little peace.

Countless people of color start their year with a handful of classic rituals—often a soul food meal, a vision board, and a lofty plan to get a snatched waist. The latter usually leads to a mad dash to the nearest gym—but across Atlanta, fitness professionals are encouraging people of color to add yoga to their list of ways to get summertime fine.

They’re offering “trap yoga”, Christian-themed classes, and even LGBTQ+ friendly practices as they try to woo a community that’s long viewed yoga as unwelcoming to all but the white health elite.

NAESM exists to serve Black, gay and bisexual men. Full stop. This tenet has been central to the organization’s mission in the fight to reduce new HIV infections and to provide care for those living with HIV, including Atlantans who do not exist within the targeted group for over 30 years. It’’s with the same laser focus on Black, gay and bisexual men, one of the most heavily impacted groups by HIV, that NAESM’s African American MSM Leadership Conference on Health Disparities and Social Justice, the nation’s largest annual convening dedicated to exploring HIV prevention, care, treatment, policy, and research, will escape the cold of the Southeast in January for the warmth of sunny Los Angeles.

In case you haven’t noticed, fat bodies are having a moment.

It’s apparent in marketing strategies like Victoria’s Secret’s recent 180-degree turn toward size inclusivity; in the abundance of plus-sized TV and book characters reaching beyond stereotypical “fat friend” roles, and every time pop phenom Lizzo proudly struts her extra-large frame across the stage to wild applause.

The new era message is fat positivity, and to the casual observer at least, it appears there’s never been a more affirming time to be a big person.

Da'Shaun L. Harrison knows better. Large, Black, and queer, they exist at a precarious nexus of historically undervalued identities with complex social stigmas that reach far beyond what a few size-inclusive ad campaigns can address.

When Brandi Pinckney-Green learned that NAESM Founder Rudolph “Rudy” Carn needed help to bring his vision for a new Men’s Health and Wellness Center to fruition, her first instinct as a nurse practitioner was to ask how she could help. Despite juggling teaching duties as a nurse educator at Georgia State University and as a home health and hospice RN, the Savannah, GA native, who was born into a family of nurses, says she “saw an opportunity to be a part of something good” when she received the call nearly two years ago to bring her medical expertise to this unique healthcare facility.

Black gay relationship counselor and psychosexual therapist Machel Hunt tells The Reckoning that he is “on a mission to have every Black gay man in Atlanta in therapy.”