Happy publication day to The Black Kids by Christina Hammonds Reed!
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It’s 1992 in Los Angeles, senior year, and for Ashley Bennett nothing was more important than spending her last few weeks in high school with her friends, going to the beach, drinking and smoking, going to prom, and getting into her dream college. Everything changes April 26th, when the police officers responsible for the brutal beating of Rodney King are acquitted. Violent protests break out throughout the city, LA is on fire, and suddenly Ashley is one of the Black kids. As she comes to terms with the denial of her parents, the activism of her sister, and the weight of her family’s history, she also finds her own voice and the power that comes with embracing who you are and choosing your own path.
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This book does so many things at once. At its core it’s a story of intersectionality, how issues of race, class, and gender intertwine in the challenges faced by Black kids growing up in America. Ashley is not a perfect protagonist, but over the course of the book you watch her change, grow, and figure out who she is and what she wants her life to be, and you really can’t help rooting for her. I will obviously never truly understand what its like to be BIPOC in America, so I can only sympathize, but not empathize, with Ashley’s experience. Nonetheless, I think the author does an amazing job depicting the double consciousness that comes with growing up as a Black kid in white dominated spaces, having to simultaneously navigate being an individual, a human being with emotions and flaws, and being a symbol. This book reads as part diary, part biography, and part history lesson, with its own soundtrack of references to 90’s culture and music. It’s a story that is both timely and timeless, as we continue to fight for the value of Black lives.
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“It’s like the riots pulled focus form one Los Angeles to the other, but it’s all part of the same photo, if you’re looking. Always has been. The palm trees and the pain, the triumph and the trauma—all of us, one big beating heart. The “real Los Angeles.” The “real America.” It’s like Uncle Ronnie said: it’s our history, in our blood, in our bones. “Ain’t no new starts,” he said.”