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Blog #6

This quarter has been such a wild and inspiring ride. From our deep dives into Afrofuturist texts to the incredibly creative projects shared in class, it’s hard to wrap up everything we've explored. But here’s my attempt at capturing a few key moments and themes that stuck with me. One major takeaway was how much Afrofuturism offers a lens for imagining futures that challenge our current systems, especially when those systems fail marginalized communities. We saw this vividly in the student showcase, like in the short film Nunca olvides tu nombre. This film really drove home how dystopian futures aren’t always just fictional, they’re extensions of our present realities. The idea of people being selected to migrate to Mars based on race felt so haunting because it echoed real histories of exploitation and scapegoating. It reminded me a lot of Derrick Bell’s The Space Traders, where Black Americans were literally offered up in exchange for national salvation. This showed that legacy of sacrifice into a future shaped by climate catastrophe and state violence, and yet, through the character of Carolina, she also showed resilience, memory, and voice as tools of survival.

Another film that really stayed with me was Let’s Chat. The idea of an AI therapist was genius, so timely and relevant. What I loved most was how it raised questions without giving us easy answers. Is it okay to rely on artificial intelligence for emotional support? Can something synthetic really help us heal? What if it feels real, even if it's not? That gray area is where the film lived, and it felt like a conversation our generation needs to be having. Mental health, especially among young people of color, is so often overlooked or stigmatized, and here was a story that explored the appeal and the eeriness of turning to tech when human options feel limited. Depending on your perspective, the film could feel hopeful, disturbing, or both.

Beyond the films, I really appreciated how our class created space for everyone to explore different creative outlets. One student even produced an original soundtrack inspired by Parable of the Sower, and the level of intention behind that composition was next-level. They used fire sound effects and shifting synths to reflect themes of danger, transformation, and survival, just like in the novel. It felt like listening to a journey, not just a track. Ultimately, this class taught me that storytelling, whether through film, sound, or written word, isn’t just about escape. It’s about possibility. It’s a way to reflect, question, reimagine. And maybe most importantly, it’s a way to remind ourselves that even in dystopia, we can still make art, still hold onto joy, and still claim our names.

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Blog #6

This quarter has been such a wild and inspiring ride. From our deep dives into Afrofuturist texts to the incredibly creative projects shared in class, it’s hard to wrap up everything we've explored. But here’s my attempt at capturing a few key moments and themes that stuck with me. One major takeaway was how much Afrofuturism offers a lens for imagining futures that challenge our current systems, especially when those systems fail marginalized communities. We saw this vividly in the student showcase, like in the short film Nunca olvides tu nombre. This film really drove home how dystopian futures aren’t always just fictional, they’re extensions of our present realities. The idea of people being selected to migrate to Mars based on race felt so haunting because it echoed real histories of exploitation and scapegoating. It reminded me a lot of Derrick Bell’s The Space Traders, where Black Americans were literally offered up in exchange for national salvation. This showed that legacy of sacrifice into a future shaped by climate catastrophe and state violence, and yet, through the character of Carolina, she also showed resilience, memory, and voice as tools of survival.

Another film that really stayed with me was Let’s Chat. The idea of an AI therapist was genius, so timely and relevant. What I loved most was how it raised questions without giving us easy answers. Is it okay to rely on artificial intelligence for emotional support? Can something synthetic really help us heal? What if it feels real, even if it's not? That gray area is where the film lived, and it felt like a conversation our generation needs to be having. Mental health, especially among young people of color, is so often overlooked or stigmatized, and here was a story that explored the appeal and the eeriness of turning to tech when human options feel limited. Depending on your perspective, the film could feel hopeful, disturbing, or both.

Beyond the films, I really appreciated how our class created space for everyone to explore different creative outlets. One student even produced an original soundtrack inspired by Parable of the Sower, and the level of intention behind that composition was next-level. They used fire sound effects and shifting synths to reflect themes of danger, transformation, and survival, just like in the novel. It felt like listening to a journey, not just a track. Ultimately, this class taught me that storytelling, whether through film, sound, or written word, isn’t just about escape. It’s about possibility. It’s a way to reflect, question, reimagine. And maybe most importantly, it’s a way to remind ourselves that even in dystopia, we can still make art, still hold onto joy, and still claim our names.

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Blog #5

One of the things I’ve appreciated most about our class so far is how it’s pushed me to look at familiar genres like science fiction, horror, and fantasy through a completely new lens. I’ve grown up watching movies and reading vampire stories without ever thinking critically about how race, history, and representation operate in those narratives. But now, I can’t not see it. This class has completely reshaped the way I think about speculative fiction, and in a way, it’s also reshaped how I see my own identity reflected, or not reflected, in the stories I’ve consumed for years. Take District 9, for example, I thought it was original and gripping. But after our class discussions, I saw how problematic it is to use aliens, literal non-humans, as metaphors for Black South Africans. The idea that these CGI creatures, who eat tires and rip off roofs, could somehow stand in for real people who lived under apartheid is not only flawed, but it’s offensive. As we talked about in class, the aliens aren’t even sympathetic in the way humans would be. Also, the main character is a white man, and the entire narrative revolves around his transformation and redemption. It’s a classic white savior story masquerading as social commentary. That breakdown helped me realize how much we’ve normalized that kind of centering in Hollywood films. It was a wake-up call.

On the flip side, Sinners completely blew me away. I haven’t seen many films that manage to layer history, culture, music, horror, and Afrofuturism all in one. The juke joint scene alone was unforgettable. It was joyous and powerful, but also so loaded with meaning. I loved how Ryan Coogler made the past feel present, and how the vampires in the story weren’t just scary, they were metaphors for cultural appropriation. That hit hard. As someone who has grown up seeing creativity constantly repackaged and sold back to the world without credit, the idea of vampirism as a symbol for that kind of theft made perfect sense. And it reminded me of personal experiences, like being in school and seeing other people get praised for styles, slang, or music that Black communities created but were ridiculed for when we did it ourselves. Also, I had never heard of a soucouyant before “Greedy Choke Puppy.” The idea of a woman who takes off her skin to feed on others was wild, but the story hit different when we started unpacking the folklore behind it. It made me think about how myths evolve to help us make sense of tragedy, especially things like infant mortality that defy explanation. It also got me thinking about how different cultures explain the unexplainable through stories, and how those stories can carry both fear and wisdom. This class has made me reflect a lot; not just on the stories we’re reading and watching, but on the bigger story of how Blackness is represented, erased, or distorted in mainstream media. It’s made me more aware, more critical, and more appreciative of the creators who are reclaiming space in these genres.

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Blog #4

One of the most mind-opening moments from class recently was our discussion with Steven Barnes about his novel Lion’s Blood. I was already familiar with themes of oppression, resistance, and survival from works like Parable of the Sower, Children of Men, and Dirty Computer, but Lion’s Blood added a whole new layer. Instead of simply flipping races in a"what if?" scenario, Barnes constructed an entire alternate history in which Africans colonize the Americas and enslave Europeans. And he didn’t just make the switch for shock value, but he spent years researching how that reversal of power could plausibly happen, grounding it in actual historical, geographical, and cultural possibilities.

One thing that stuck with me was how he challenged the notion that dominance in history was about innate superiority. He used sources like Guns, Germs, and Steel to explore how things like geography and the ability to share agricultural innovations across the east-west Eurasian landmass gave Europe certain advantages. In contrast, Africa’s north-south orientation and the presence of undomesticated animals like zebras made it harder for certain developments to spread. It wasn’t about intelligence or work ethic, but it was about access and infrastructure. That shift in perspective reframes how we think about historical narratives and who gets to write them.

The depth of his world-building made Barnes’ approach very powerful to me. For example, the work in a different story that we discussed was all surface; a white guy loses his job and kidnaps his Black boss, and somehow that’s supposed to illustrate systemic oppression? As my professor, (professor Due) pointed out, it missed the point entirely. But Barnes created an entire society, with languages, religions, power structures, and even an original music tradition. That’s Afrofuturism at its best. Not just imagining different futures or histories, but fully realizing them, with all their beauty and brutality.

Connecting this to other class themes, like in Parable of the Sower and Children of Men, we see how imagined worlds are often mirrors that let us examine our own. Whether it's Lauren Olamina’s Earthseed offering hope through change, or Kee’s pregnancy symbolizing a rebirth of humanity, these stories wrestle with survival in the face of collapse. They echo the core of Afrofuturism: the belief that even in dystopia, there’s space for vision, resistance, and reinvention. That’s why Lion’s Blood hit so hard. It doesn’t just imagine what could have happened, but it asks why things happened the way they did, and how they could have gone differently. It challenges power not by erasing history, but by deeply reimagining it.

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Blog #3

There’s something oddly comforting about the way a film like Daughters of the Dust lingers. It doesn’t just tell a story, but the way I saw it, it breathes it. I didn’t expect to feel so pulled into a slow, poetic movie where the past felt more important than the plot. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe when the present feels overwhelming, like the chaos we’ve seen lately on college campuses, including our own, the past becomes a map, and the future becomes a question.

I keep thinking about the phrase: “Passed is prologue.” That hit me. Especially after seeing students arrested for peacefully assembling, just like generations before them. That cycle of protest, overreaction, and then deeper solidarity. It reminded me of something my aunt used to say about the 90s, watching Rodney King and the uprisings. She recalls that her eyes were glued to the news, not just out of concern, but because she recognized the pattern. It’s like I’m watching history rhyme again.

That’s part of why Daughters of the Dust stuck with me. It’s not sci-fi in the usual sense, as it isn't about spaceships, or androids. But it is about time travel in its own way. Memory itself becomes a vehicle. The whole story is narrated by an unborn child, which is wild. She hasn’t even lived yet, but she’s already remembering. That kind of future looking from within the past? That’s Afrofuturism to me. Not always shiny and metallic, but sometimes it's made of dirt, dialect, and rituals passed down like recipes.

Beyoncé’s Lemonade brought those visuals forward, too. And honestly, I’d seen Lemonade before but had no clue how much it borrowed from Daughters of the Dust. I thought Beyoncé invented all that in the video! But now I get that it’s an homage, not a copy. She’s pulling memories into the future, too. She’s remixing legacy.

Same with The Brother from Another Planet. That film felt clunky at times, but the metaphor landed. An alien, Black and mute, wandering New York like a ghost from another place… or maybe just another context. The scene where the cops say they’re looking for an illegal alien,  and someone in the bar responds that his people built this country made me proud, and I wanted to stand up and clap. Because yeah, they did. They still are.

So if there’s a theme I’m carrying with me from this class, it’s that memory isn’t a burden, but it’s a toolkit. Whether it’s a protest, a poem, or a sci-fi story, we’re always shaping the future from the clay of our past.

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Noah Blog Post 2

Two real-life issues that make it necessary to create my Earthseed community are climate change and economic collapse. Every year, wildfires, floods, and droughts destroy homes and wipe out communities. Meanwhile, the growing gap between the rich and poor leaves more and more people abandoned by the system. I’m seeking shelter from both the chaos of a dying environment and the cruelty of a broken economy. One Earthseed verse from Parable of the Sower to inspire my community’s foundation is, “All that you touch You Change. All that you Change Changes you. The only lasting truth is Change." We will apply this by embracing flexibility, whether it’s how we build homes or how we govern ourselves, always ready to adapt to survive. Another verse is: "God is Change, and in the end, God prevails." This reminds us to trust that transformation is natural and necessary, even when it feels scary. We’ll teach our members to work with change, not fight it. We will build this community in the Pacific Northwest. The area has rich soil, abundant rain, and enough distance from major cities to avoid urban dangers. Dense forests will help hide and protect us, while rivers and ocean access will give us water and food sources. Anyone can join our community if they are willing to work together, respect others, and learn. We won’t tolerate selfishness, violence, or rigid thinking. Anyone who refuses to contribute to the safety and growth of the group can’t stay. Trust and teamwork are survival skills here. Our leadership model will be council-based. No one person will have absolute power. We will have rotating leadership teams for different areas: food, safety, education, and health. Everyone will have a voice, and every major decision will be made through community meetings. A future technology we’ll use is vertical farming towers. These will be advanced, solar-powered structures that allow us to grow fruits and vegetables indoors year round using hydroponics and smart climate control. This will help us stay fed even if outdoor farming becomes impossible because of climate disasters. This community will survive by staying small and mobile enough to adapt if needed, while also building deep roots with farming, water collection, and skill-sharing. Everyone will be trained in survival skills so we’re not dependent on just a few experts. The first step we’ll take to build a better future is education. We'll run constant workshops to teach farming, engineering, first aid, and self-defense. Knowledge will be our most valuable resource. A second step would be conservation. We’ll practice sustainable living, replant trees, and protect waterways. We won't just take from the land, but we'll also rebuild it, ensuring that this community will not only survive but thrive for generations.

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Blog 1

Over the past couple of weeks, learning about Afrofuturism has been surprisingly emotional to me. I did not realize how much I’d connect to the material on such a personal level. When I first enrolled in this class, I assumed we’d be watching different types of movies with mostly Black casts and analyzing them, like maybe just those of the science fiction genre. But I’ve come to see in just the first few weeks that it’s so much more than that. We’re learning about identity, history, survival, hope, and the fight for liberation. It's like this course cracked open a door into a genre that’s not only artistic, but political and even deeply personal. One of the first works that stuck with me was the short film Pumzi. It was such a visually beautiful film, but what really hit me was the theme of sacrifice. This film reminded me of how often Black women have had to carry the weight of saving entire communities, and a lot of the time, it comes with no recognition. This film made me think about my own mom and grandma, and the quiet ways they’ve had to fight for better lives, often without getting to enjoy the results themselves. It really made me feel grateful for my life and appreciative of all the strong women around me. This film hit me in a soft spot, as it showed how Afrofuturism helps with imagining survival, rebirth, and most notably to me, possibility in the face of destruction. Then there’s The Space Traders. Wow. That one was hard to watch. I felt kind of sick afterward. The way the country so easily voted to trade away all Black people to “solve” national problems was terrifying. But the scariest part to me was that it didn’t feel unrealistic. And I think that’s what shook me the most. This film reminded me of real images I’ve seen in the news, of people being rounded up, displaced, and even forgotten over time- heartbreaking!! Space Traders doesn’t just predict a scary future, but it exposes a dangerous present. Furthermore, the music part of the class really opened my mind to show what type of huge cultural impact music can have. Seeing how the deeper meaning of songs can represent escape, salvation, and liberation was eye opening to me. That idea of music being more than entertainment, but being a survival tool, and even a weapon, changed my perspective. The way we traced the roots of Afrofuturist music all the way back to slave spirituals was especially powerful. When we listened to that clip of enslaved people singing, it really hit me that this history isn’t far away at all. So yeah, this course is way more than I expected. I’m honestly grateful for that. It’s made me think more deeply about what it means to be Black in the past, present, and future, and how creating new worlds through film, storytelling, and sound holds great significance.