As an academic, I was aware of numerous groundbreaking studies and scientific advancements related to HIV. Yet, even those actively involved in HIV advocacy outside academia were largely unaware of this research. This urgency drives me to bridge the gap between research and practice, to ensure that the brilliance of research is not confined to the Ivory Tower. 

in the Power universe, multiple Black queer characters are not caricatures or void of complexity. Instead, they are the core drivers of the plot and prompt character development for others. Their queerness is as apparent as their Blackness.

As their teammates traded pre-game handshakes at center court, Johnson, an auto plant worker’s son from Lansing, Michigan, and Thomas, a native of Chicago’s hardscrabble West Side, stepped toward one another. 

The best friends shook hands. Then they kissed one another on the cheek. 

Atlanta psychotherapist Dr. Ed Garnes wears more hats than a pub coat rack. Healer. Educator. Community activist. Writer. Podcaster.

Despite such varied, complex interests, Garnes says his professional goal is quite simple. He wants to demolish the trope that Black people — specifically, Black men — don’t look after their mental health. He wants to make therapy cool.

Despite decades spent honing his skills in New York City’s cutthroat housing and economic development arena, then taking on Atlanta’s booming housing market, Doug Jones considers himself an accidental real estate agent. He considers himself a storyteller who happens to sell real estate. 

When I was about 11 years old, my parents suspected I might be gay, and they decided to do something about it. 

I do not want to disappoint God, Mississippi, or home with this letter, but I have to disappoint God, Mississippi, and home with this letter. I am currently succumbing to evil.

As a Black queer teacher with over 10+ years of teaching across various cultures, including in the Midwest, East Coast, Appalachia, and at an HBCU in the South,  I wanted to provide a road map/examples of how teachers of all sorts can intentionally create spaces where Black queer students thrive. 

While ample attention has been given to book bans, especially recently, one aspect is, oddly, glaringly absent from the conversation- how are minority children who desire to read these books impacted by these bans?

Instead, it was a post that read “They’re having a best gay movie off” and it featured two films - Call Me By Your Name and Red, White & Royal Blue. Individuals, particularly Black queer men like myself, were stunned as the film Moonlight, which won an Oscar, was glaringly absent from the discussion (a topic for another day).

It is incredibly dehumanizing, discouraging, and demoralizing to be a 1st generation, neurodivergent Black queer man who flourished academically while others, including friends, seemed to be relegated to the shadows.

While it is important to highlight fatherhood and those who shepherd their children into adult life, we frequently forget to ask a critical question: who gets the opportunity (and privilege) to be a father if desired? For many men who identify as queer, there is a delta between wanting a child and having one.

Despite waning attention, HIV is still around, and most new cases are found in gay men ages 13-34. Of note, we know Gen Zers are between the ages of 13-27. Thus, an unfortunate and impactful storm is brewing, but we must predict the weather and prepare.

At barely 10 years old, Pierce Hand Seitz already had a leg up on other 5th graders: After getting a taste of legal proceedings during a mock trial, he was pretty certain he wanted to be a lawyer when he grew up

Seventeen months ago, Byron Perkins, a Hampton University football player, was in a dark place. After a promising 3-0 start to the season, his team lost two games in a row —  including a likely discouraging, 32-point beatdown at the University of Delaware. 

In 2000, I wrote an introduction for a new edition of Essex Hemphill’s magnificent collection "Ceremonies." I pointed out what I believed to be that work’s purpose: remembrance as the only way to begin the process of healing the wound that white supremacy, poverty, homophobia, heterosexism, and most recently HIV/AIDS had inflicted upon us as Black Gay Men. (Cover image of Essex Hemphill by Barbara N. Kigozi, June 1994)

It was with these words that poet Audre Lorde began her groundbreaking 1982 work “Zami: A New Spelling of My Name”, in the process launching earning a reputation as a master poet and black lesbian literary icon that has endured years after her death.

In 2020, at the peak of his career, Dwight Howard had a list of accomplishments many of his pro basketball peers would envy: a championship with the Los Angeles Lakers, multiple selections to NBA all-star teams, a seven-figure salary and sportswriters debating whether the Atlanta native is among the greatest players in history.

Do fat people exist in the future?

That's likely a question that many have never thought to ask. It has been argued that people of size are some of the most openly discriminated against and marginalized. So, for some, thinking about fatness and fat people existing in the future may be hard to imagine.

But not for writer Alex Smith, a 46-year-old, Philadelphia-based artist, with roots in the Punk music scene. Smith is not afraid of anarchy. In some ways, he thrives on it, and people are taking notice. His newest work, "Black Vans," takes his ambitions to uncharted territory and places Black, queer, fatness center stage.

"If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do this," Smith tells The Reckoning. "It was a no-brainer that the main character was going to be a fat, Black bear, period," when discussing his comic book series and its lead character, "Bo," who is of Afro-Latin descent.

Despite an active childhood that included playing football and running track since fifth grade, Gerald Thomas was a bit spooked when he read his class schedule at the start of his freshman year at Elbert County Comprehensive High School in northeast Georgia.

“When I saw it said ‘weightlifting’ I went to my school counselor and asked her to change it because for some reason I was intimidated,” Thomas recalls. “She told me that for all athletes, weightlifting was our P.E.”

Thomas’s aversion to bench presses and squats soon dissipated as he became a stronger defensive end, a faster 400-meter runner, and experienced other benefits of regularly being in the gym.

“It helped me improve my performance, and it also made me look better,” says Thomas, who more than 30 years later remains an avid weightlifter, and whose 50-year-old physique resembles that of a college athlete. He briefly stopped working out after ending his collegiate track career, but within a month, Thomas noticed the activity he once dreaded had become an essential part of his being.

It was 30 years ago, on November 7, that basketball legend Earvin “Magic” Johnson Jr. announced he’d acquired HIV. No other HIV disclosure has had such a reverberating impact before or since. From the Great Western Forum in Los Angeles, where he achieved era-defining success with the LA Lakers, the cherub-faced icon held a press conference where he revealed he was living with HIV and would immediately retire from basketball. The magnitude of this event was due not only to his popularity as a sports hero; he was a 32-year-old heterosexual Black man who appeared to be perfectly healthy and still in his athletic prime.

Unlike other celebrities with HIV whose disclosure and/or death made mainstream (Rock Hudson, Liberace) and LGBTQ (Sylvester) headlines, Magic was not gay, nor did he use intravenous drugs. He was heterosexual, which meant he was "just like anybody else" and not like those dispensable others. Those others made up a besieged minority who did not need to be convinced that AIDS was real. Among them were Black gay men.

One of the goals in softball is to return to the same home plate you started from, but Jeremy Nobles’s journey through the sport led him to a new world.

“Growing up, being around the same people, doing the same thing every day and every weekend,” Nobles says, describing his life as a 20-year-old in Moundville, Ala., population less than 2,500. “And just knowing in the back of my head that I like guys and there’s no way the people I hang around with would acknowledge or understand that. It’s hard living with that kind of secret with nobody to talk to, and trying to find myself—I just didn’t know what to do.”

These days, Jericho Brown is planning his laughter. Despite living through a pandemic, the last five months in the life of this Louisiana-bred, Atlanta-based poet certainly isn’t lacking for reasons to evoke joy, after all, he is the author of “The Tradition,” which earned him the 2020 Pulitizer Prize for Poetry—a historic moment in which Brown became one of two openly queer Black men to be awarded the prestigious honor in the same year. Much like his poetry, Brown’s laughter is infectious and unrestrained, soothing and measured, jarring and familiar; delivered with the intonation and cadence of a Kat Williams stand-up routine that leaves you bellowing over in laughter only to realize that he’s delivered a gut-punch that is simultaneously reflective and unrelenting. Jericho Brown is poetry in motion. He’s also in demand. One glimpse at the 326 text messages on his phone, many of which are congratulatory messages sent after his win, speaks to his impact on the world and the literary community. But despite the Pulitzer Prize elevating his career to unimaginable heights, Brown is embracing the journey and prioritizing laughter.