Peter Magubane was more than a photographer. He was a witness, storyteller, historian and courageous chronicler of one of the most turbulent periods in South African history. Born on January 18, 1932, in Vrededorp, Johannesburg, and raised in Sophiatown, Magubane discovered photography as a young boy after receiving a Kodak Brownie camera. That simple camera would eventually become his instrument for documenting the lives, struggles and determination of Black South Africans. He died on January 1, 2024, at the age of 91, leaving behind one of the most important photographic archives of South Africa’s apartheid era.

Magubane’s professional journey began at Drum magazine in 1954. He initially worked as a driver and messenger, but his ambition was to become a photographer. Under the mentorship of Drum’s legendary chief photographer Jürgen Schadeberg, Magubane developed his skills and began photographing major political and social events. His first significant assignment involved covering the 1955 African National Congress convention. From that point forward, photography became his way of documenting a country undergoing enormous change.

The South Africa that Magubane photographed was governed by apartheid, a system that legally enforced racial segregation and discrimination. For Black South Africans, everyday life was shaped by restrictions on where they could live, work and travel. Magubane did not limit himself to photographing politicians or famous leaders. He photographed ordinary people—children, workers, families and communities—giving the outside world a visual record of what apartheid meant in everyday life.

One of the defining moments of Magubane’s career came in 1960, when he photographed the aftermath of the Sharpeville Massacre. His photographs helped bring international attention to the violence surrounding resistance to apartheid. He also photographed the 1956 women’s anti-pass march, the Rivonia Trial involving Nelson Mandela and other activists, and numerous other events that became part of South Africa’s historical record.

Magubane paid an enormous personal price for his work. In 1969, he was arrested while photographing protesters outside Pretoria Central Prison. He was subsequently held in solitary confinement for 586 days. After his release, the apartheid government placed him under a banning order that severely restricted his ability to work and move freely. Yet the restrictions did not convince him to abandon photography. Instead, they demonstrated just how powerful the authorities believed his photographs could be.

In 1976, Magubane documented the Soweto Uprising, when thousands of Black students protested against the apartheid government’s education policies. His photographs captured young people confronting police violence and became some of the most internationally recognized images of the uprising. Despite the danger, Magubane continued photographing what was happening around him. His work transformed individual moments of protest into permanent historical evidence that could not easily be erased.

His creativity was matched by his determination to get the picture. Because authorities restricted photographers and attempted to prevent journalists from documenting certain events, Magubane sometimes concealed his camera in unusual places, including a hollowed-out Bible, bread and other objects. These methods allowed him to continue working when openly carrying a camera could attract police attention. His photographs demonstrated that documentary photography sometimes requires not only technical ability but extraordinary courage and resourcefulness.

After Nelson Mandela was released from prison in 1990, Magubane entered another important chapter of his career. He became Mandela’s official photographer and documented the transition toward democracy, including significant moments surrounding South Africa’s first democratic election and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The photographer who had spent decades documenting resistance now had the opportunity to photograph a country moving toward a new political era.

Magubane’s legacy extends far beyond the individual photographs he made. He published numerous books, exhibited internationally and received major honors, including an honorary Doctor of Literature from the University of Cape Town in 2010. His photographs remain part of the historical record because they show not only the brutality of apartheid but also the humanity, resilience and determination of the people who lived through it.

Peter Magubane ultimately demonstrated the extraordinary power of photography. He understood that a photograph can preserve a moment long after the people who witnessed it are gone. His camera recorded injustice, resistance, suffering, courage and eventually freedom. For photographers today, his life offers an enduring lesson: photography is not simply about making beautiful pictures—it can also be about seeing clearly, standing close to history and making sure that important stories are never forgotten. Magubane’s photographs gave South Africa a visual memory, and his life’s work reminds every photographer that sometimes the most important picture is the one that history needs someone brave enough to make.

Based on reporting by The Positive Community.

Commissioners from HBCU athletic conferences joined university presidents and corporate leaders in Washington on Tuesday, Sept. 15, for the Salute to HBCU Sports Leadership Reception — an invitation-only gathering aimed at deepening investment in historically Black colleges and universities.

Hosted at Gensler’s K Street office, the evening brought together conference commissioners, campus presidents, and executives from sports, media and design organizations under the theme “Building Partnerships. Celebrating Excellence. Advancing HBCUs.” Gensler highlighted its partnership with Paxton Baker on the event in a post on Instagram, showcasing the room full of HBCU presidents and conference leaders.

Five Conferences, One Room

Commissioners from four NCAA conferences and one NAIA conference were on hand, representing institutions that compete across Division I, Division II and the NAIA:

Anthony Holloman — Southern Intercollegiate Athletic Conference Charles McClelland — Southwestern Athletic Conference Jacqie McWilliams Parker — Central Intercollegiate Athletic Association Sonja Stills — Mid-Eastern Athletic Conference Kiki Baker Barnes — HBCU Athletic Conference

Their presence linked leadership from across the HBCU athletics landscape with campus administrators and organizations working in event management, design and media.

Presidents and Black Press Leadership in the Room

Among the university presidents in attendance were Prairie View A&M’s Tomikia P. LeGrande and Bowie State’s Aminta H. Breaux.

LeGrande’s appearance came just days after the Thurgood Marshall College Fund named her the recipient of its Educational Leadership Award, as announced by Prairie View A&M. She was honored at TMCF’s 39th Anniversary Gala on Sept. 12 in Washington. LeGrande has served as Prairie View A&M’s ninth president since June 2023.

Breaux, who has led Bowie State since July 2017, previously chaired the CIAA’s board of directors, according to her university biography.

Benjamin F. Chavis Jr., president and CEO of the National Newspaper Publishers Association, also attended — fitting, given the NNPA’s role as one of the reception’s presenting partners. Chavis and HBCU GO’s Lawrencia Moten conducted two 30-minute interview sessions with the conference commissioners, covering topics ranging from the NIL era to conference growth and the experience of leading HBCU athletics, according to HBCU GO President Curtis Symonds, who spoke with HBCU Legends about the sessions.

Corporate and Institutional Partners

Five organizations presented the reception together:

Gensler — the architecture and design firm that hosted the event Events DC — the District’s convention and sports authority USA Track & Field — the sport’s national governing body National Newspaper Publishers Association — representing Black newspaper publishers HBCU GO — the network dedicated to HBCU sports and culture

That mix of partners pointed to a range of possible collaborations ahead, from athletic facilities and event operations to sports programming and media coverage.

Building Beyond the Scoreboard

What stood out most was the mix of people in the room — conference commissioners setting strategy for their leagues, university presidents shaping institutional priorities, and corporate partners bringing resources and expertise from multiple industries.

With college athletics undergoing rapid change, particularly for HBCUs navigating the NIL era and shifting conference dynamics, the reception offered a venue for candid conversation and relationship-building. Its underlying purpose went beyond athletics: using sports as an entry point to broader opportunities in education, workforce development and economic growth for HBCUs.

Based on reporting by Columbus Times.

WASHINGTON — Among the more than 100 policy forums and brain trusts at this year’s Congressional Black Caucus Foundation Annual Legislative Conference was a conversation about influence itself: who has it, and what they do with it.

"Platforms & Purpose: A Conversation With Black Men Leveraging Their Reach" brought together actor and activist Kendrick Sampson, Rep. Jasmine Crockett, media personality Jason Lee, singer Eric Benét and rapper and radio host Yung Joc. The session looked at how entertainers, creators and elected officials can turn public attention into real-world change.

The panel took place at the 55th Annual Legislative Conference, a five-day event in Washington that began Wednesday. This year’s theme is "Rooted, Ready & Rising," and the conference coincides with the CBC Foundation’s 50th anniversary. CBCF President and CEO Nicole Austin-Hillery has said the gathering is meant to "combine celebration with purpose," while taking up issues including voting rights, economic opportunity, education, health disparities and criminal justice.

That mix of celebrity and policy is a long-running feature of the conference, which brings lawmakers, advocates, entrepreneurs, students and entertainers into the same rooms. The panel’s premise reflects a broader question as creators reach audiences that rival traditional media.

A career built on both stage and street

Sampson is a natural fit for that conversation. The Houston native is known for television and film work, including HBO’s Insecure, and for his activism off screen. He co-founded BLD PWR, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit that combines entertainment, education and activism.

The organization says its mission is to "reimagine and realize the liberated future we know our people deserve." It works to mobilize entertainment-industry figures and organize communities around racial, gender, immigration, economic and environmental justice, mental health and wellness, and opposition to state violence. BLD PWR emphasizes storytelling and community healing, and it centers the voices of Black, Indigenous and other marginalized communities.

What to watch

The conference runs through Sunday at the Walter E. Washington Convention Center. Details on sessions and registration are available through the CBC Foundation.

Based on reporting by Columbus Times.

Ask someone outside of Louisiana what they know about Southern University, and there is a good chance the conversation will eventually lead to HBCU culture and the Human Jukebox. And rightfully so. The Human Jukebox has earned its reputation through generations of hard work, discipline and excellence. It represents more than halftime entertainment; it is part of the heart of Southern University and HBCU culture. But after the Jukebox, what comes next? That is where Southern has a public relations problem.

Southern University is home to a nursing school that was named Best Nursing School in the United States by Nurse.org for the second consecutive year in 2026. The program also reported a 100% first-time pass rate on the 2025 American Academy of Nurse Practitioners certification examination. Accomplishments like those should be just as inseparable from Southern’s name as its band and culture.

Instead, Southern’s positive story is too often forced to compete with another narrative: housing shortages, unanswered questions, aging infrastructure, power outages and the familiar feeling among students that something else has gone wrong. The recent power outages made that especially difficult to ignore.

Southern lost power on Sept. 1, forcing classes to be canceled. Days later, another outage affected campus operations, eventually leading the university to close campus for multiple days and shift classes remotely. Students told local news stations about losing food, struggling without air conditioning and Wi-Fi, and trying to keep up with schoolwork while the campus dealt with electrical problems. Watching frustrated students explain their experiences to local reporters made me ask a simple question: Is this bad PR? At first, I thought the answer was obvious. Communication during the outage felt too slow. Students wanted to know when power would return, whether classes would continue and when campus life would return to normal. When information is limited, rumors fill the gap. One person says the power is back. Someone else says it went back out. Students begin relying on each other before they rely on the institution. But learning more about what happens behind the scenes complicated my original opinion.

The people responsible for communicating cannot simply release whatever information is circulating. They may be waiting on utility companies, facilities officials, emergency management or university leadership to confirm what is actually happening. Publishing an estimate that turns out to be wrong can create even more confusion. That does not mean communication should stop.

There is a difference between saying, “We don’t know,” and saying nothing. Even when there is no new information, students can still be told that there is no new information. An update saying officials are still waiting for confirmation, explaining what is currently known and telling students when to expect another update creates something extremely important during a crisis: certainty about the communication process, even when there is uncertainty about the situation itself.

But the more I thought about “Bad PR?” the more I realized Southern’s problem is bigger than how quickly an email goes out. Public relations cannot turn the electricity back on. It cannot build a residence hall overnight. It cannot make every office answer its phone. It cannot win a football game. At some point, an institution’s reputation has to be supported by the institution itself.

Southern entered Fall 2026 with campus housing completely occupied and its housing waitlist at capacity. The university is responding by moving forward with new housing that is expected to add approximately 850 beds. That investment matters. But it also represents a larger pattern Southern cannot afford to continue: waiting until a problem becomes part of the student experience before the solution becomes visible. Southern cannot continuously rely on the resilience of its students as part of its operating model.

There is almost a collective “struggle bus” mentality that can develop on campus. Something is broken. Something is delayed. Another office is not answering. Another unexpected problem appears. But at least we are still here, getting our education and figuring it out. Southern certainly develops character. But students should not have to develop character by constantly learning to navigate problems that an evolving university should be working to eliminate.

That is especially important because Southern does not exist in isolation. Across Baton Rouge sits LSU, one of the most recognizable universities in the state. Comparisons between the two institutions are almost inevitable, whether those comparisons are fair or not. Southern should not try to become LSU. It should become the strongest possible version of Southern.

There is something different about attending an HBCU. There is value in entering classrooms where students who look like you can be recognized for their intelligence without first having to prove that they belong there. There is value in being surrounded by people who may come from completely different backgrounds while sharing an experience rooted in Black history, culture and achievement. Southern has that. It has legacy. It has culture. It has nationally recognized programs. It has students worth celebrating. It has one of the most recognizable bands in college culture. The problem is not that Southern lacks a brand. Southern’s problem is keeping that legacy intact while building an institution capable of carrying it into the future. Construction around campus shows that change is happening. New housing is coming. Infrastructure is being addressed. But physical construction cannot be the only visible evidence of progress. Students should be able to experience that evolution in customer service, communication, technology, facilities and the everyday systems they depend on.

The Human Jukebox does not need less recognition. The rest of Southern needs to reach the same standard of excellence that makes the Jukebox so easy to celebrate. If Southern wants to control its narrative nationally, the answer cannot simply be better marketing whenever something goes wrong. Southern already has the story.

The nursing students achieving nationally recognized results are part of the story. The students earning degrees are part of the story. The culture is part of the story. The Jukebox is part of the story. The history and generations of alumni are part of the story.

But so are the outages, housing frustrations and institutional problems students experience. Public relations can decide how a story is communicated, but it cannot permanently separate reputation from reality. Maybe Southern does not have a “bad PR” problem after all. Maybe Southern has an institution with an incredibly strong brand that is sometimes being asked to carry more weight than it should. If Southern truly wants to control its narrative, that work cannot begin and end with a press release. It has to begin within.

Based on reporting by Southern University – SouthernDIGEST.

By Jordan Meadows, Staff Writer

Dan Bullock was 15 years old when he was killed in Vietnam on June 7, 1969, making the Goldsboro native the youngest American service member to die in the war.

Bullock was born Dec. 21, 1953, in Goldsboro and lived in North Carolina until he was about 12, when his mother died, and he moved to Brooklyn to live with his father.

Family members later said he’d talked about wanting to become a pilot, a police officer, a firefighter or a Marine. Unsatisfied with his living situation in New York and discouraged by the lack of opportunity he saw around him, Bullock went looking for a faster path forward—and told his father that enlisting seemed like the quickest way to get an education.

In September 1968, at 14 years old, Bullock walked into the Marine Corps recruiting station at Albee Square in downtown Brooklyn. At 5-foot-9 and roughly 160 pounds, he was big enough to pass for 18, and he had altered the year on his birth certificate from 1953 to 1949.

Recruiters never questioned it. He enlisted on Sept. 18, 1968, and his family found out only when he came home with the signed paperwork in his hand.

Bullock reported to Parris Island, South Carolina, assigned to Platoon 3039, and struggled through parts of the 13-week training regimen before fellow recruits helped pull him through. He graduated from boot camp on Dec. 10, 1968, eleven days before his 15th birthday.

Private First Class Bullock arrived in South Vietnam on May 18, 1969, assigned as a rifleman in 2nd Squad, 2nd Platoon, Fox Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines, 1st Marine Division. His posting was An Hoa Combat Base in Quang Nam Province, a forward hub surrounded by some of the most contested terrain in the country. Bullock kept largely to himself, and while his fellow Marines didn’t know his real age, several sensed something was different about him.

On the evening of June 6, Bullock had been assigned cleaning duty, but took another Marine’s place on the night watch near the airstrip after that Marine was wounded. Shortly after midnight, North Vietnamese Army sappers breached the perimeter wire and launched a coordinated assault with rockets, mortars, and small arms. Accounts of exactly what happened next differ.

Fox Company accounts hold that sappers crawled beneath the wire and hurled a satchel charge through the firing slot of Bullock’s bunker, an explosion that killed Bullock; other accounts describe Bullock being killed by small arms fire on the perimeter.

Bullock’s company commander, Capt. Robert Kingrey, described the young Marine’s actions during the attack in a letter home.

“Dan immediately realized that the attack was stronger than usual and that the ammunition supply was becoming depleted,” Kingrey wrote. “He rushed to get more ammunition for his unit. He constantly exposed himself to enemy fire in order to keep the company supplied with the ammunition needed to hold off the attack.”

Bullock had been in Vietnam for 21 days.

A week after his death, the New York Times broke the story of his real age, and the Defense Department subsequently confirmed Bullock was the youngest of the roughly 58,000 Americans killed during the war.

His remains were returned to Goldsboro and buried at Elmwood Cemetery with full military honors, but no headstone marked the grave. It stayed that way for 31 years, until television talk show host Sally Jessy Raphael learned of the unmarked plot in 2000 and purchased a headstone. NYPD officers, state troopers from four states, and two veteran motorcycle groups escorted a 600-mile caravan from Brooklyn to Goldsboro for the dedication ceremony.

In 2003, the New York City Council renamed a stretch of Lee Avenue in Brooklyn—the street where Bullock had lived—as PFC Dan Bullock Way.

North Carolina dedicated a state highway historical marker near his childhood home on West Ash Street in Goldsboro, and the entrance to Elmwood Cemetery in southwest Goldsboro was also named PFC Dan Bullock Way.

His name is inscribed on Panel 23W, Line 96 of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington.

Based on reporting by The Carolinian.

This video features Jess Jackson from the Minnesota Office of Cannabis Management discussing the historical roots of cannabis prohibition. The conversation delves into how early laws and enforcement surrounding cannabis were significantly influenced by racist ideologies. Jackson explains the systemic nature of these discriminatory practices and their lasting impact.

The discussion highlights the disproportionate targeting of minority communities under prohibition laws. It aims to shed light on the injustice of past policies and the ongoing efforts to address the legacy of these racist foundations within the cannabis industry and regulatory frameworks.