This article contains major plot points from The Queen’s Gambit.

Every few months, Netflix markets another binge-worthy series in full-force for global consumption. On October 23, The Queen’s Gambit, a limited series based on the novel of the same name by Walter Tevis, made its debut on the streaming service. The series, set in the 1960s, follows Elizabeth (Beth) Harmon, a chess prodigy who discovers her love and aptitude for the game after her mother passes and she moves to an orphanage for young girls.

Soon after we are introduced to Beth at the beginning of the series, we meet Jolene, a hard-headed young Black woman who is often punished for disrespecting the staff at the orphanage. Jolene becomes Beth’s first friend, teaching her how to hide the tranquilizer pills they are given every day under her tongue and consume them at night so she can experience a better high. After Beth is adopted and leaves the orphanage, we don’t see Jolene again until the final episode, when she rescues Beth from her crippling alcoholism, pill addiction, and depression. Though she appears in less than half the series, Jolene’s significance cannot be understated as she all but ensures Beth’s victory at the Moscow Invitational by funding Beth’s trip to the tournament with money she saved for law school. …

When a place can so quickly determine who does and does not matter, no life matters. Tell me who matters? Tell me someone in the world that matters? That’s why there are so many songs about love. Because somehow you know that you don’t matter, and we’re searching for the person that makes our life matter.

My professor made this comment in 2018 while discussing Black Lives Matter and police brutality in the United States, and now, 2 years later, I am revisiting his words as I reflect on the past 7 months and the torrent of pain, disaster, and stress they have brought to anyone fortunate enough to survive the COVID-19 pandemic. In the United States, we have watched family members die alone, hurricanes ravage our coasts, and wildfires burn forests, while constantly being reminded of the country’s disregard for Black lives as Black men, women, and children are killed in our streets. Every day, Black people have to proclaim our worth while managing the emotional, mental, and physical stress precipitated by the pandemic. …

Earlier this year while discussing the Trump Administration’s failure to control the COVID-19 pandemic, my father commented: “You can’t have people in government who don’t believe in government.” On the surface, his sentiment seemed self-evident.

Those working in government should believe in the institution in which they serve. I wouldn’t want a teacher who doesn’t believe in education or a doctor who doesn’t believe in medicine, so why would the government be any different? …

Growing up, I was taught to heed authority. To be respectful if I ever found myself pulled over on the side of the road awaiting judgment from law enforcement. When I got my driver’s license, my mother made sure I placed my insurance and registration in the car door so an officer would not question what I was reaching for in the glove compartment. We rehearsed what I was supposed to say, where my hands should be, and where to look, all to ensure that I survived the confrontation.

I noticed then, as I do now, that my mother was afraid. She was afraid, not of my carelessness, but of what fate may befall me if I were pulled over by an officer who felt threatened by my Blackness. As I grew older, I expected her fear to subside. After living on my own for several years and proving that I could take care of myself, I expected the weight to be lifted from her shoulders so that she could finally relax, knowing I would be okay. But this year, just a few weeks before I was supposed to leave for my vacation, she cautioned me against traveling alone in rural areas across the United States for fear of what punishment I might face if I ran into a disgruntled cop or a racist who decided to claim me his next victim. And though I was surprised, I couldn’t blame her after seeing that Maurice Gordon, a Black 28-year-old student, was killed in New Jersey during a routine traffic stop. He was killed on May 23, two days before my 28th birthday. Maurice’s story could have been my story, it still can be, and my mother is right to fear for my life, but I am struggling with how to prevent that fear from governing my decisions. …

I was proud the first time I saw Black Panther. When I arrived at the theater, I felt I had come home; stepping into a sea of fans sporting Black Panther costumes and accessorizing with African clothing and jewelry (in a personal call to Black culture and history, I chose to dress like a member of the Black Panther Party). This moment was different. Unlike other Marvel premieres, we did not rush to the box office because we were obligated to view every cinematic experience leading up to the next Avengers mega-movie. Our reason for being there had little to do with the lore and at what point Black Panther fell into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. …

On the day following the 155th anniversary of Juneteenth, the day celebrated as the official end of slavery, White nationalists will rally in Tulsa, OK, as if to commemorate the anniversary of the Tulsa Massacre. While watching us protest, shout “Black Lives Matter!”, and demand justice for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and many others; Donald Trump will rile a group of people who look all too similar to the mob that slaughtered more than three hundred Black men, women, and children and burned Greenwood to the ground. He is mocking us.

But Trump’s actions, while predictably reprehensible, are only the latest in a long line of hate and mayhem cast on Black bodies by the United States. Only four years ago, White people elected a White nationalist to the presidency because they were enraged by the prosperity of a Black president, spitting in the face of each of us who wanted this country to change for the better. Now, White nationalists rally to plan for their next round of retribution against everyone who has taken to the streets to mourn the deaths of our brothers and sisters and proclaim the value of Black lives. …

In “Get Out”, guests ogled at Chris’ body, eye, and skin. Earlier this year, Jessica Richardson described it as ‘heat’:

“I felt it. I felt the heat from it. I felt it in her eyes. I knew exactly what it was.”

It’s the feeling you get when your eyes meet another’s and you know they see you as less. You know they want you out of their space. You don’t feel safe.

And while I’m glad P&G is acknowledging an often unrecognized prejudice that people of color experience every day, I can’t help but wonder why the man in this video was made a judge. To me, videos like this present the solution to this prejudice as, “Recognize your unconscious biases! This black man is a judge. He is excellent and smart and capable and all the things that you don’t think he can be because of your bias.” While that is true, the black judge is excellent and an example many can look up to, we should also consider the rest of the message. What does this say about the man on the street who is nothing more than the man on the street? What about the family minding their business at a cookout or the 12-year old playing in the park? …

When I watched Hannah Gadsby’s Netflix special Nanette, I couldn’t help but relate her words to the ongoing Senate confirmation battle over Brett Kavanaugh. Her message — that a connection built on love should be the focus of the stories we tell — articulates why sexual assault allegations are commonplace in our society. Somewhere along the way we chose to focus on individual desires and aspirations, forgetting how to approach one another with love, compassion, and empathy.

Earlier this summer, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford accused Judge Brett Kavanaugh of sexually assaulting her 36 years ago while they were at a high school party. My newsfeed is flooded with articles, essays, and posts relaying the many opinions on what should happen, and I couldn’t help but chuckle when I read one comment, that “digging up dirt like this sets an extraordinarily bad precedent.” This suggests that there is a precedent based on merit and credibility, and that we should judge Brett Kavanaugh not based on the alleged crime of his past, but on his record as a judge. …