And so to the sermon. Or the address, or maybe the homily, or, as I prefer to think of it, the aria. Some listeners found it too long. I wanted more of it—hour after hour of oceanic incantation, wave upon wave. Martin Luther King, Jr., was name-checked within seconds. Fifteen minutes in, and Bishop Curry was just warming up, in the instinctive assurance that nothing of this timbre, or of this mettle, had ever been heard before in this sacred edifice. Behind him, you could just make out the Dean of Windsor; even in profile, his demeanor was that of a man who, enjoying a gentle set at his local tennis club, suddenly realizes that Rafa Nadal has started practicing his overhead smashes on the adjacent court.
Some incisive commentary on Childish Gambino, aka. Donald Glover’s audience, narratives and perceptions from the viewpoint of a black disabled femme writer, Jazmine Joyner, with a bold opening statement:
Childish Gambino truly made a video for the white voyeurs of black death.
Keen to see further commentary and analysis about how other black creatives are producing similar work (e.g. Janelle Monáe in ‘PYNK’, Beyoncé in ‘Formation’), and how (or why) media chooses who to examine in detail.
Not only were women’s physical appearances up for judging, the open office also meant there was no private space where workers could go if they were emotionally distressed or needed to conduct a private conversation. “If you’re upset about something, there’s nowhere to go,” one woman told the researchers. “Where can you go? All you can do is go to the ladies, so there’s nowhere that you can go and speak to somebody on a one-to-one basis where you can’t be observed.”
Hat tip Jean Burgess.