This is America
Vol. 1, Issue 23 | July 7, 2025 - July 13, 2025
CURATOR’S NOTE
I stared at each IV drop. They were a metronome I could not follow. They marked time in a language my body didn't know. Or had it forgotten? The rhythm of waiting. For healing. For answers. For the next dose of whatever kept the pain at bay.
My mother sat in a plastic recliner, still wearing her coat from the flight to BWI, the closest she could get to this hospital wing in the shadow of the Jefferson Memorial. She pulled down her mask against protocol and looked into my eyes the way she had when I was small and afraid. I smiled. A faint smile. An attempt to say I was okay. Even though I didn't know if I was.
Time moved differently here. Thick. Antiseptic. The steady percussion of machines keeping watch.
She picked up the remote control, then put it down. Picked it up again. The screen flickered to life.
South Florida. Miami. Little Havana. Pre-dawn darkness fractured by camera flashes, headlights, the harsh white of spotlights. A 6-year-old boy. Carried by a woman in civilian clothes. Escorted by men in tactical gear. Good Friday morning, 2000.
The significance of the date was not lost on me.
The IV bags that ended with -ine and -ax had sharpened everything instead of dulling it. I could see what the news anchors missed in their breathless coverage: they had surrounded one house in Miami with enough firepower to level a small army. For one 6-year-old. Negotiations with the Cuban-American family had failed. Attorney General Janet Reno, who had lived her entire life in the Miami house her mother built by hand, faced what some called a Solomonic dilemma. At dawn, federal agents moved in. The boy was returned to his father in Cuba: one example of family reunification, and it was traumatic.
The cameras weren't rolling 90 miles south when Haitian migrants gasped their final breaths in the Florida Straits. The same waters where the boy's mother had drowned fleeing Cuba. No federal agents came for them. No coverage of their children's faces pressed against inner tubes. The Coast Guard turned those boats back toward the darkness they'd fled.
My mother found my gaze. She looked into my eyes, keeping time with the IV's steady pulse. She was watching that screen like she was trying to solve a math problem that didn't add up. What I saw was a child who understood the adults had stopped making sense.
Twenty years later, I recognized that same mathematical impossibility. A text arrived at 8:49 p.m. A boxer detained. Twenty-nine years old, brought here as a teenager. His American wife and two small children, both born in the U.S.
He had been celebrating his last win with members of the fight club. They were pulled over for a broken tag light.
I sent his story to colleagues at the network. Silence. To another network, a colleague I'd worked with before. When she called back, her voice was careful. They'd just commissioned a piece, assigned the team. Another Mexican family.
I sent his story to local affiliates across multiple markets. They dispatched reporters and photographers. He was released.
A Spanish-language channel brought cameras to the ring where he trained, bathed him in television light. They knew what the networks had forgotten: faces have power. Names break chains.
That same year, a senior executive producer expressed interest in my pitch about a Jamaican couple who had spent 843 days in a Philadelphia church basement. They had fled gang violence on the island in 2004, worked for fourteen years, paid taxes, raised seven children. Three of them were born in the U.S. ICE moved to deport them anyway.
By the time we scheduled the interview, they had been freed. They spent Christmas morning with their children.
Six years ago, those wins were still possible. Now the networks settle lawsuits. Legal departments counsel caution over coverage. The very apparatus that once freed families grows dimmer.
This time it’s faster. Major cities across the country. Families organize through WhatsApp and church groups. Messages flow like an electronic drum circle: ICE spotted near the courthouse, know your rights training tomorrow, legal clinic this weekend. When federal agents arrive, they find children playing on apartment steps. Elderly women in folding chairs. Communities that refuse orders to scatter.
In the Florida Everglades, they built what officials call "Alligator Alcatraz" in eight days. Tents surrounded by barbed wire and swampland, where escape means facing pythons and alligators.
The targeting has expanded beyond traditional enforcement. Jane Eugene, the British-born voice of '80s R&B group Loose Ends, was detained after decades of touring without papers. Students, professionals, artists: anyone who built a life in this country and forgot that building was never meant to be permanent.
Temporary Protected Status for Haitians was terminated this February. The descendants of Haiti's revolutionaries now count days until deportation. Their ancestors knew this kind of terror. Sugar plantations teach survival lessons that last generations.
The same force that surrounded one house in Miami has leveled villages in Iraq, separated mothers from children in Afghanistan, displaced families across Somalia, turned Venezuelan families into rivers of people walking north. The helicopters circle. The lenses focus.
My ancestors knew something about constitutional amendments written to protect children born in the U.S. The Fourteenth Amendment's promise: "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States." And the Thirteenth Amendment's exception, "except as punishment for crime," creates a loophole wide enough to drive the entire apparatus of family separation through.
The system operates on multiple tracks. Black migrants face deportation at four times their population rate, according to an analysis by the Black Alliance for Just Immigration. One in five Black boys born today will see prison, down from one in three in 1981, The Sentencing Project found. One in 22 Black Americans loses voting rights through felony conviction. County jails hold Black families at twice their population rate. Immigration facilities place Black detainees in solitary confinement at six times the rate of others, Freedom for Immigrants documented.
America remembers. Barbed wire and boarding schools. Auction blocks and intake centers. Children learning that citizenship is conditional, that families are temporary. The hands change. The harvest endures.
The boy from Cuba grew up. Built a life. Joined the island's Popular Assembly.
In my hospital room, phone calls came all day. My grandmother. My stepfather. Aunts from different corners of the southeast. Everyone held us together across state lines. Everyone knew that love builds networks no protocol can break.
The IV dripped steady for ten days. My mother looked into my eyes each morning. The same look she'd given me as a child. The same look parents give children in detention centers and refugee camps and hospital rooms across the world that says: I love you. I see you. You are not alone.
On the final morning, as the nurse removed the IV, my mother looked into my eyes. The drip stopped. Outside the window, traffic lights. Metro trains. Hearts beating in apartments and detention centers, in homes and hospitals across the country.
But in that moment, there was stillness. The absence of the steady drip that had marked our time together. A different rhythm now. Not mechanical. Human. The presence of two people who refused to be separated, against every system built to tear them apart.
—Khalilah L. Liptrot
Curator, The Black Third
ONGOING EXHIBITIONS
Jax Contemporary
The Museum of Contemporary Art Jacksonville | Through November 9, 2025
Fresh off its centennial, MOCA Jacksonville launches Jax Contemporary, a triennial exhibition spotlighting the depth and diversity of artistic talent across Northeast Florida. More than a showcase, the initiative deepens the museum’s relationship with its local arts community, offering professional development, curatorial dialogue, and a platform for exchange. Among the 64 artists featured are Deshonna Buchanan, Christopher Clark, Keith Doles, Overstreet Ducasse, Lenny Foster, Dustin Harewood, Marsha Hatcher, Erin Kendrick, Michael Rakim, and Princess Simpson Rashid—each bringing a distinct perspective to the region’s evolving visual language. With artist talks and public programs built into the run of the exhibition, Jax Contemporary opens space not only for viewing, but for conversation. In connecting the city’s creative voices to broader networks, the initiative affirms what MOCA has long believed: that contemporary art thrives when rooted in community—and when artists are seen not just as contributors to culture, but as architects of it.
Access:
Tuesday-Sunday, 11 AM-5 PM
Location: 333 North Laura Street
Jacksonville’s Norman Studios: Movie Posters from the Permanent Collection
Cummer Museum of Arts & Gardens | Through December 6, 2026
Before Hollywood's rise, Florida was a hub for the early film industry, thanks to its favorable conditions. In the 1920s, Jacksonville native Richard Norman seized this opportunity, producing films featuring Black casts and protagonists that boldly challenged the status quo. Norman's innovative studio complex, now a historic landmark, stands as a testament to his trailblazing contributions to American cinema.
Access:
The museum opens at 12 PM Sunday
The museum is open until 9 PM Tuesday
Wednesday-Saturday, 11 AM-4 PM
Location: 829 Riverside Avenue
Contact: (904) 356-6857
The Museum Space
A.L. Lewis Museum at American Beach
The A.L. Lewis Museum showcases both permanent and rotating exhibits highlighting African American culture, history, and civil rights. Visitors can explore artifacts, photographs, and documents that illuminate the local community's profound influence on American history. Guided tours are highly recommended for a deeper understanding of the exhibits and the history they represent.
Access:
Friday-Saturday, 10 AM-2 PM
Sunday, 1 PM-5 PM
Visitors are encouraged to check the museum's website or call ahead for any schedule changes
Location: 1600 Julia St, American Beach
Contact: (904) 510-7036
The Road to Black History Runs Through Lincolnville
Lincolnville Museum and Cultural Center
Step into over 450 years of history at the Lincolnville Museum and Cultural Center, located within the heart of St. Augustine's historic Lincolnville District—once home to a community of freedmen who shaped the city's cultural landscape after the Civil War. Here, the rich story of Black history in Florida unfolds, from the ancient empires of West Africa to the early Black presence in colonial Florida, through to the powerful movements of the 20th century.
Access:
Sunday-Monday, 1 PM-4:30 PM
Tuesday-Saturday, 10:30 AM-4:30 PM
Location: 102 M. L. King Avenue, St. Augustine
Contact: (904) 824-1191
Lift Ev’ry Voice
Ritz Theatre & Museum
Discover the story behind "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing," the beloved anthem composed by Jacksonville natives James Weldon and John Rosamond Johnson. Step into the vibrant "Harlem of the South" nightlife captured by photographer Ellie L. Weems. Experience the quiet resolve of Civil Rights protesters at a Woolworth's sit-in. These immersive encounters at the Ritz Museum connect you to the rich tapestry of Jacksonville's African American history and heritage.
Access:
Tuesday-Friday, 10 AM-4 PM (tickets must be purchased by 3 PM)
The museum is open until 8 PM Thursday
Location: 829 North Davis Street
Contact: (904) 632-5555
Eartha M. M. White Historical Museum and Gardens
Clara White Mission
The Eartha M. M. White Historical Museum and Gardens celebrates the legacy of Dr. Eartha White and her mother, Clara English White, two African American women who dedicated their lives to community service. Located in the historic Globe Theatre in LaVilla, the museum showcases Eartha White's lifelong work to empower underserved communities, featuring portraits, personal memorabilia, and artifacts from her numerous initiatives. The museum continues Dr. White's vision by preserving and sharing Black history and culture.
Access:
Location: 613 W. Ashley Street
Contact: (904) 354-4162
Works on Paper
Cummer Museum of Art & Gardens
The Cummer Museum's collection of works on paper and photographs numbers approximately 2,200 objects, nearly a quarter of which are part of the Cornelia Morse Carithers Print Collection. Featuring works by celebrated artists, the collection includes the powerful visual narrative of Jacob Lawrence's The Migrants Cast their Ballots (1974).
Access:
The museum opens at 12 PM Sunday
The museum is open until 9 PM Tuesday
Wednesday-Saturday, 11 AM-4 PM
Location: 829 Riverside Avenue
Contact: (904) 356-6857
COMMUNITY SUBMISSIONS
Share details of your upcoming events here.
Deadline: Wednesdays at 5 PM
Life continues to be a cycle of learning and being in tune with our surroundings. I continue to be amazed how you capture like experiences across cultures to bring a light to what is occurring in this country. Continue to shine the light!
Your ability to weave and use your personal memories into social, political, cultural, historical, and so many other "-als" discourse is both powerful and magical. Once heard, your voice is impossible to un-hear. Your stories draw readers into your world...or so it feels. Thank you for using your voice to touch hearts and minds and connect us in this space.