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Tuesday, 27 May 2025
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Written by Margaret Dickson
I am not a Catholic, but I have always had an interest in the traditions of that faith, which now spans 2 millennia and the impact the church has had on world events during that very long time. Western culture would simply not be the same without the Catholic church, its teachings and its drama.
The world just witnessed one of its most dramatic traditions, the election of a new pope, following the death of the sitting pope. We have seen this before and relatively recently as the last pope, Pope Francis, was elected by his fellow cardinals in 2013. This month’s election of Pope Leo XIV, the 267th pope, was especially riveting for Americans because he is one of us.
An American man is now the leader of 1.4 billion people around the world.
Perhaps citizens of other popes’ home countries have been enthralled by the backgrounds of their native sons who became popes. For us Americans, Pope Leo is the first and we can’t seem to get enough of him, probably because few Americans, even Catholic Americans, saw an American pope coming.
Born Robert Prevost, called Rob by his family and raised in Chicago, Pope Leo is the youngest of 3 sons of an educator and a librarian. His maternal ancestors had roots in New Orleans with Haitian and Dominican backgrounds.
The Prevost home was in a section of Chicago where, decades later, a young Barack Obama worked as a community organizer. Brothers Louis and John are still around to see their baby brother become pope, in Florida and Chicago respectively, an event Louis has described as “mind-blowing,” and which I can hardly imagine myself.
Following Pope Leo’s election, middle brother, John, consented to an interview with the Associated Press during which Pope Leo telephoned his brother, and John addressed the pontif as “Rob.” The brothers have made it clear that Pope Leo supports the White Sox, not the Cubs. He also plays Wordle, probably much better than I do.
He has voted in both Democratic and Republican primaries. He voted in most general election cycles since 2000, except 2016 and 2020.
Sounds all-American to me.
The brothers also say the family had an inkling that young Rob would choose a career in the church. As a child, he “played priest” with his brothers and served communion with what the Prevost family had on hand, Necco wafers.
All said, young Rob, now Leo XIV, apparently did want that career in the church. From high school through seminary, he was schooled in Catholic institutions and ordained in 1982. Shortly thereafter, he was sent as a missionary to Peru.
After a few years back in the US, he returned to Peru, where he became a bishop and then a cardinal in 2023. He is fluent in Spanish and Italian and knows Latin from his church work, as well as his native tongue, English.
Speculation abounds as to what sort of pope the first American to hold the job will be. Conventional wisdom has it that Leo will continue much of his predecessor, Francis’s, emphasis on social justice, climate change, and peace, as well as seek to bridge tradition and contemporary issues. He also has a reputation as a peacemaker and is expected to be involved in international issues to promote openness and communication.
However Leo’s papacy unfolds, our American brother is a mere 69, youthful by papal standards, and may have several decades to put his stamp on one of the world’s most impactful and enduring institutions.
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Tuesday, 20 May 2025
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Written by J. Antoine Miner, Sr.
In today’s America, the term Black fatigue has evolved far beyond its original context. Initially coined to describe the emotional weariness experienced by Black Americans in the face of systemic racism, the term has taken on a new and controversial dimension. Increasingly, Black fatigue is being used to describe a growing frustration among both white conservatives and conservative Black Americans—though for very different reasons.
White Americans, especially those with traditional values or conservative viewpoints, are voicing exhaustion from being labeled racist or bigoted for expressing dissent from liberal talking points. Whether it's opposition to critical race theory in schools, concerns over crime, or support for law enforcement, their views are often instantly dismissed as rooted in hate. They are fatigued not by race itself, but by the constant accusation of racism for daring to think differently.
But perhaps more notably—and more painfully—conservative Black Americans are experiencing their own version of Black fatigue. And theirs is not directed outward. It is inward.
Many conservative and traditional Black voices are tired of the narrative that portrays Black America as perpetually oppressed, helpless, and devoid of agency. They’re weary of the cultural silence when it comes to addressing the internal issues plaguing our communities—issues like absentee fathers, rising drug use, spiraling youth violence, and the devastating toll of Black-on-Black crime.
It is exhausting to watch videos of young Black teens ransacking stores or engaging in brutal fights, only to have the blame redirected at vague notions of systemic injustice without ever confronting the destructive choices being made. Black fatigue, for these individuals, stems from watching the same cycle repeat itself while being told that any effort to promote accountability or traditional values is “anti-Black” or “respectability politics.”
I’m tired of watching our culture get hijacked by ignorance. We blame the system, but we’re glorifying thug life in our music, disrespecting education, and shaming anyone who tries to rise above it.
There’s a difference between acknowledging history and being held hostage by it. Many conservative Black Americans understand that racism exists, but they also believe it cannot be the scapegoat for every social ill. At some point, there must be room for tough love—where we confront our own failings with the same intensity we direct toward systemic critique.
This isn’t about shaming the Black community—it’s about loving it enough to demand more. More accountability. More responsibility. More leadership.
As Fayetteville continues to face its own challenges with youth crime, educational disparities, and economic instability, the conversation around Black fatigue must include more than blame. It must include solutions. That starts with honesty—about where we are, how we got here, and what we must do differently.
Black fatigue isn’t just real. It’s a warning. One that says if we don’t start changing the narrative from victimhood to victory, from reaction to responsibility, we will continue to wear ourselves—and our community—into the ground.