black voices – The Black Panther Party

A Black Jew Speaks, Pt. 2: The Credits Never Lie

Here’s another truth we need to talk about.

If you watch any show—doesn’t matter what network, what genre, or what time of day—take a look at the credits. Really look. The producers. The writers. The directors. The studio heads.

You’ll see a pattern. Jewish names. Over and over. Sometimes Eastern European. Sometimes obvious. Sometimes coded. But if you know what to look for, you’ll see it—and once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

Now before anyone starts clutching pearls—this isn’t about hate. I’m Jewish. I know the names. I know the history. And I know what access looks like. I also know what exclusion feels like.

Because here’s the thing: you don’t see that same energy for other communities. Where are the Garcias? The Watanabes? The Choudhurys? The Johnsons?

You don’t see a balanced spread of Latin, Asian, Indigenous, or even Black creatives behind the scenes—not at the same scale. Not with that kind of consistency. And when you do see those names, they’re usually down the list. An assistant. A guest role. A “diversity hire.”

Meanwhile, Jewish presence in media is everywhere—not just in front of the camera, but behind it, owning the entire machine. And yet, no one talks about it.

Because the moment you even raise a question, you’re labeled antisemitic—even if you are Jewish. Even if you’re just pointing out what’s real.

That silence? That fear? That’s not equality. That’s protectionism. That’s unchecked power. And it’s not reflective of the actual society we live in.

I’m not mad that Jews are represented in media. I’m mad that everyone else isn’t.

Because real diversity isn’t just a hashtag. It’s not just casting a Black lead and calling it a day. It’s about who holds the pen, who funds the project, who gives the greenlight, and who owns the lens you’re seeing the world through.

I’ve been in those rooms. And I’ve seen the difference between walking in as Craig Cohen versus Justice Jones. One name opened doors. The other got raised eyebrows.

That’s not just bias. That’s built-in.

So yeah—the credits never lie.
And maybe it’s time we actually started reading them.

A Black Jew Speaks: Enough Already

A Black Jew Speaks: Enough Already.

Let me be clear, because I don’t want there to be any confusion: I am Jewish. I come from Kohans—one of the oldest priestly lines in the culture. I’m also Black. And I’m done being quiet.

I’m tired of seeing the Jewish story dominate every narrative about pain and suffering—especially here in America. I turned on PBS today, and once again, it was another Holocaust special. And sure, the Holocaust was horrific. It was evil. But damn it, it happened eighty years ago.

Meanwhile, Black history in this country gets erased, minimized, and dismissed. We still can’t get real airtime for the transatlantic slave trade, the genocide of Native Americans, or the ongoing trauma of being Black in America. Where’s that programming?

And here’s the kicker: while we’re being told to “never forget,” the State of Israel—our so-called answer to Jewish persecution—is wiping Palestine off the map in real time. Right now. Today.

And yet, no one is allowed to talk about that without being labeled antisemitic. Even when the critique is coming from inside the house.

Let’s stop pretending Jewish power doesn’t exist. It does. In media, in law, in medicine, in politics. That’s not a conspiracy. That’s reality. And when you have that kind of power, you should be held accountable like anyone else.

Not shielded by historic trauma forever. We can’t keep using our pain as armor to ignore the pain we’re causing.

And don’t even get me started on how we police who’s “really” Jewish. As a Black Jew, I’ve been questioned more times than I can count.

And yet, when I used the name Craig Cohen in the Hollywood scene back in the day, doors flew open. More callbacks. More access. More attention—until I showed up in person and the assumption collapsed.

That tells you everything about how whiteness functions within Jewish spaces. Jewishness gets respect—until it’s attached to Blackness. Then suddenly, you’re “not really Jewish,” or worse, invisible.

This isn’t hate. This is truth.
And I’m done being polite about it.

No More White House

They call it The People’s House. But when a sitting president—Donald Trump—takes a wrecking ball to a piece of it, just to build himself a ballroom, what he’s really tearing down is the illusion. The illusion that this house belongs to all of us. That our tax dollars, our history, our sacrifices—mean a damn thing when power decides it wants to redecorate.

If this house truly belonged to the people, then there would’ve been a vote. There would’ve been accountability. But no. There was silence. Complicity. A shrug. A nod. The same way there’s silence every time Trump steps over a line and dares the country to stop him.

And now? He’s not just stepping over lines—he’s rewriting the map. Floating the idea of a third term like he’s some emperor reincarnated. So here’s our position, loud and clear:

If Donald Trump is allowed to violate constitutional norms and run again, then we, the Black Panther Party, fully endorse a return of President Barack Obama—with Gavin Newsom as Vice President.

If the rules are being rewritten for tyrants, then they can be rewritten for justice too.

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The People’s House Was Never Truly Ours

Built by enslaved hands, praised as a beacon of democracy while soaked in the sweat and blood of Black labor, the White House has always worn its irony like a crown. It was never neutral ground. From the architecture to the occupants, it’s stood as a monument to a very specific idea of power—white, male, wealthy, and untouchable.

They called it The People’s House to sell a dream. But for centuries, that house had no room for the people who built it. Not in its design, not in its decisions, and sure as hell not in its heart.

Fast forward to now: a president tears through it like it’s a casino he’s flipping in Jersey. A ballroom, of all things—during a time when people are sleeping on sidewalks, rationing insulin, burying hope. It’s not just disrespect. It’s a flex. A reminder that even the most symbolic house in America is still owned and rearranged by the powerful for the powerful.

And here’s the deeper pain—it’s not even shocking anymore. The People’s House being treated like a private estate? That’s America showing us, again, who it was built for.

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It’s Time to Change the Name

But naming is power. Always has been. The name White House was never just about paint—it was a declaration. A subliminal claim of ownership. A visual cue about who the house is for, and who’s forever just visiting. Even when Barack Obama stepped inside as Commander in Chief, some folks still clutched their pearls like he broke in through the back door.

That house has never welcomed us fully. It tolerated us. It displayed us when politically convenient. But it never embraced the Black, the Brown, the Indigenous, the immigrant—the working class, the poor, the displaced. The People’s House? That was the myth. Not the reality.

And when Trump takes a hammer to its bones to build a ballroom? It’s not just about luxury. It’s a signal that his vision of America has no space for restraint, balance, or the voice of the people. Just ego. Just dominance.

And that’s why reclaiming it matters. Not just in name, but in practice. It has to become more than a symbol—it has to serve. It should reflect the actual nation, not the fantasy clung to by the powerful.

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Call to Action: Paint It What It Is

So here’s our call to action:

What color should we paint it?

No, seriously. If it’s truly the People’s House, then it shouldn’t be stuck in one image, one name, one tradition rooted in exclusion. Let it shift. Let it reflect who’s leading, and who they serve. Paint it every administration. Let the walls carry the message of the moment—be it power, peace, protest, or pride.

Pink? Cool. Let it stand. Rainbow? Even better. Black, gold, green, blood red—if it speaks for the people, paint it. It should be uncomfortable sometimes. It should challenge us. That’s the point.

No more White House. We’re not asking. We’re saying it:

It’s the People’s House now. And the people have colors, voices, stories. So let the walls speak too.

Americans Live on $6 a Day

This is what hunger looks like.

JJ:

You ever seen a grown man cry over a grocery bill?

Monique M:

Twice this week. One of them was a vet. Other one had three kids and a busted radiator. She was asking how to stretch forty-three dollars across thirty days.

JJ:

Forty-three dollars.

Monique M:

That’s the average cut some folks saw this year. Pandemic-era boosts gone. Rent’s up. Eggs are still five bucks a dozen in half the cities I track.

JJ:

You tracking suffering like data?

Monique M:

I’m tracking survival. It’s my job to hand out lifeboats, but they keep shrinking the damn boats.

JJ:

Who’s shrinking them?

Monique M:

Congress. State-level administrators. Budget hawks who’ve never missed a meal. People who say “bootstraps” like it’s gospel. You know the drill.

JJ:

I know the drill. It was pointed at my uncle’s head when he got denied for assistance back in ’99. Said his disability check disqualified him. Said being poor wasn’t poor enough.

Monique M:

We lose staff every month. Burnout. Guilt. Some of us stay because walking away feels worse.

JJ:

So you’re inside the machine that’s grinding your own people.

Monique M:

I’m trying to jam it. I tell folks how to appeal, where the loopholes are, who to call when the office “loses” their paperwork for the third time. But it’s not enough. We need noise. We need backup.

JJ:

Forty-three dollars gone means forty-three meals gone. That’s a missed breakfast before school. That’s hunger making a child mean in class. That’s a mother eating instant noodles so her baby can have fruit.

Monique M:

And if she complains, the world says she’s lazy. Says she’s a leech. Says she should be grateful.

JJ:

Grateful for what?

Monique M:

A system that feeds her kids every other week and starves them in between.

JJ:

We’ve seen this game before. Starve the people. Blame the people. Punish the people for daring to survive.

Monique M:

So what do we do?

JJ:

We speak. We write. We show up. We use this page, this name, this legacy. No more waiting for things to get worse before we call it what it is: war by policy.

Monique M:

And you think that’ll change something?

JJ:

I know it will. It already is. You’re here. You came to speak. That’s how it starts.

Monique M:

Then let this be the start.

JJ:

Let it be the start, and not the end.

Food is a human right. The cuts to SNAP are not “budgeting.” They are violence by pen. This page stands with Monique M, and every worker, parent, elder, and child caught in this cycle. Forty-three dollars is a number. But behind it are names.

— Justice Jones