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Let’s talk about it.
Karen Attiah — a name that carries power, intellect, and the kind of fearless journalism we say we want — just got dropped from The Washington Post after eleven years. Eleven. Years.
And not because she couldn’t write. Not because she wasn’t good at her job.
But because she did what every real journalist is supposed to do: tell the truth.
Attiah has spent her career writing about things people pretend not to see — political violence, race, gun control, and how power moves in America. She’s one of the few Black women in mainstream media who dared to say, “I’m not watering this down for your comfort.”
And apparently, that was enough to get her shown the door.
βπΎ The Uncomfortable Truth About “Diversity” in Media
Here’s the thing — every newsroom loves to talk about “diversity.” They love the panels, the hashtags, the PR statements.
But when a Black woman actually uses her platform to speak about Black pain, or systemic racism, or the truth behind “gun rights” politics… suddenly she’s “controversial.”
Suddenly her voice is “too divisive.”
That’s what happened to Karen.
Because what media institutions really mean when they say they want diversity is: We want your face, not your fire.
They want your presence for the optics — but not your power for the truth.
π The Pattern Is Too Familiar
We’ve seen this story before.
Joy Reid. Roland Martin. Marc Lamont Hill. And now Karen Attiah.
Each time a Black journalist becomes too bold, too honest, or too willing to connect the dots between white supremacy and everyday policy, they’re told their “tone” isn’t right.
Or their “brand” doesn’t fit.
Or their “focus” should shift toward something more “balanced.”
Translation?
Stop talking about racism. Stop talking about Black death. Stop challenging systems that weren’t built for us in the first place.
But Karen didn’t stop.
And that’s why she’s out.
π£ The Real Message: Silence the Truth-Tellers
Let’s call it what it is — this wasn’t just a job ending, it was a message.
A warning to every Black journalist, writer, and commentator who dares to stand flat-footed in truth:
“If you speak too loud, we can replace you.”
But here’s the part they always forget — Black voices don’t disappear. They multiply.
Karen Attiah might not be at The Washington Post anymore, but she’s still Karen Attiah.
And her story just lit a fire in the Black media community that’s not going out anytime soon.
Because when one door closes, ten Black-owned platforms will open to make space for the truth.
Black journalists have always built their own tables when they’re denied a seat — that’s literally how the Black press began.
π€ A Reminder From History
Nearly 200 years ago, when mainstream media ignored or distorted stories about Black life, our ancestors built their own newspapers.
They didn’t wait for approval. They didn’t wait for an invitation.
They wrote their own headlines, published their own papers, and told their own truths.
Fast-forward to now — different year, same battle.
Black journalists are still being told that their lived experiences make them “biased.”
As if objectivity means pretending racism isn’t real.
As if neutrality means ignoring who’s holding the gun and who’s bleeding.
π Why This Moment Matters
Karen Attiah’s story is bigger than one journalist and one job.
It’s about control — who controls the narrative, who decides what’s “appropriate,” and who gets punished for breaking the silence.
When Black voices are pushed out of mainstream spaces, the stories about our communities lose context.
They lose compassion.
They lose truth.
And when truth gets lost, injustice wins.
That’s why we have to show up for Karen.
We have to show up for every Black journalist, author, and creator who risks everything to say what needs to be said — even when it costs them their career.
π£οΈ Support Black Media. Period.
This is your reminder: every time you click, share, or repost a story from a Black-led media outlet, you’re doing more than “supporting.”
You’re keeping our truth alive.
Because while mainstream outlets debate whether Karen was “too opinionated,” we’ll keep doing what we’ve always done — amplify, document, and protect our own.
So here’s your call to action:
Follow and share work from Black journalists.
Support Black-owned outlets financially.
Challenge the narratives when you see them twist the truth.
And never, ever let anyone make you believe that speaking up for your people is a problem.
βπΎ Final Word
Karen Attiah’s story is not an ending — it’s a reminder.
That being Black, brilliant, and bold in America’s media machine comes with a cost.
But the price of silence is higher.
So, to every Black journalist out there:
Keep writing.
Keep filming.
Keep posting.
Keep being “too much.”
Because the world needs that “too much” more than ever.
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