Blog
A collection of weekly reflections written by BLK South community and board members.
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Why Representation Matters
Whose stories shape how we see the world, and whose voices have been missing? From a bathroom poster in Phoenix to the photographs honoring his great-grandmother in Durham’s Fannie Latta House, Kendall Dooley reflects on how representation shapes identity, belonging, and the knowledge we value. Drawing on Boaventura de Sousa Santos and Aisha Thomas, he explores what it means to learn from the wisdom of those whose experiences have been pushed to the margins. Their stories offer more than a reminder that we belong; they invite us to participate in imagining and shaping our collective future.
When History Rhymes
History may not repeat itself, but its rhythms often sound familiar. In this reflection, Kendall considers what it means to become “poets of history”—people who recognize the patterns echoing from the past and discern how old harms can reappear beneath new language and forms.
Drawing from the history of Durham’s Hayti community and BLK South’s work in the Grant Street neighborhood, Kendall reflects on the courage required to name these familiar rhythms. He invites us to imagine new ones that can help mend historical wounds and lead us toward more just, healing, and humane ways of living together.
How the Grant Street Ladies, Monument of Faith Church, and BLK South Found One Another
Some stories take generations to come together. This is the story of how Kendall and Erin Dooley's journey of tracing their family's Great Migration history led them to Durham's historic Hayti District, where they met the Grant Street Ladies and Monument of Faith Church—neighbors whose stories, commitment, and love for place have shaped a shared vision for the future.
The Taste of Ashes
When Ash Wednesday rolled around last week my wife asked if I wanted to go to any of the church services in town. You see, after seventeen years in pastoral ministry I’d been spending the last two learning the trade of earthen building. Separated from the rhythms of traditional church life, and more particularly the life of a pastor, I said I’d like to do laundry instead. But that Wednesday moved fast and it was dark and late by the time we left the adobe house we’re building. We opted for enchiladas and a Modelo and dirty clothes. After finishing our meal we chatted with the restaurant owner as the plaza in our small town was being cordoned off after rumors of an active shooter and bomb threat were being addressed. Snow was falling for what felt like the first time all winter.