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The murder of Elijah McClain triggered me more than I ever thought possible. It made me feel the same anxiety I felt 16 years ago as a freshman at CU Â鶹ӰԺ.

Black voices are telling us they are not safe here. That means white people, who enjoy the privileges of whiteness, such as feeling safe where we live, work and play, have a responsibility to demand safety for Black bodies.

CU Buffs share experience with racial injustice on campus and illuminate paths toward anti-racism.

How will we set the precedent for future generations of BIPOC students and alumni who deserve to thrive at CU, in their careers, and as American and Universal citizens?

This edition of the Coloradan calls out unrelenting injustice, and a new chapter in our university’s long history of amplifying student and alumni voices to catalyze change.

Growing up in Hammond, Indiana, near the south side of Chicago in the 1970s was as one might imagine. Less than a decade after the greatest movement of civil rights in the history of America, I was oftentimes in the middle of something that I didn't quite understand.

Since I was a little girl, people have often told me that I was different from what some folks consider to be the typical Black girl and Black woman. I was smart. I was an exception. For a long time, I’ve resisted this stereotype. Now, I proclaim that all Black girls and Black women are exceptional and smart.

In quarantine, I’ve realized in addition to a COVID-19 virus vaccine, we desperately need a vaccine for the virus of racism, COVID-1619.

Born in 1949, on Juneteenth — the day celebrating the end of slavery — my grandmother, one of nine children, could barely read, but she understood the meaning of equity. On her 71st birthday this year, I launched a social justice-minded business to provide technological/digital literacy training to faith communities and mission-driven organizations.

A personal essay describing an escape from Vietnam.