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DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVES
This topic was born out of controversy. During my intermittent time on social media, It was often met with negativity, people sharing opinions that seemed more intent on tearing others down than fostering understanding. But this issue isn’t about giving a platform to ignorance or self-hate disguised as opinion. It’s about recognising the different perspectives that shape our world and exploring how we can channel them positively, through thoughtful writing, intentional imagery, and conscious living. The world, as we know it, is in chaos, violent in both thought and action. While that may remain the narrative in many places, our mission must be to seek light, hope, and love wherever we can. And when we have the opportunity to create them, we must. I would love nothing more than to immerse myself in the intricacies of woven fabrics and the art of construction in fashion, but my purpose has to go beyond aesthetics. Those untouched by hate, persecution, or hardship may have the privilege of looking away, but I cannot. To ignore the pain of others feels impossible. Every day, Christians are persecuted for their faith; children, women, and men are displaced, attacked, starved, and silenced. Closer to home, people fight invisible battles, struggles they may never show, yet many of us share them in different forms. Instead of turning against one another, we must find common ground. Ultimately, there has to be a greater purpose behind what I create and contribute, something that not only reflects beauty but also compassion, truth, and humanity. Everyone deserves a home. Every child deserves safety. Much of what divides us comes down to perspective, religious, political, social, racial. What you believe to be true may differ from what I know to be true, but instead of meeting in understanding or mutual respect, we are seeing lives lost because of that difference. From the very beginning, Dinkum Diaries was built on creative storytelling and authentic voices, a platform to share truth and light, and ultimately, to provide meaningful support to those who need it most. As we move closer to that vision, it’s vital that we stay focused on the mission and not be swayed by the perspectives that refuse to remain just that. There are countless words left to say, but sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is silence the noise. To pause. To see the beauty that surrounds us every day, the art, the people, the world, that we often miss because our heads are buried in our phones. So, I urge you: lift your eyes, open your heart, and share your perspective; respectfully. — Editor-in-Chief Marina Townsend
Culture, Identity, and the Weight of Tradition
The topic of culture has surfaced repeatedly for me in recent conversations. It began within discussions about identity—how some people find it easier to know who they are when they are immersed in a single culture from birth, and how others struggle when they are not. Culture can offer grounding, belonging, and clarity. But it can also act as a shield—something to hide behind, something used to excuse behaviours we’ve never questioned.
Many of us follow traditions simply because “that’s how it’s always been done.” Whether we’re talking about the Maasai of Kenya and Tanzania—pastoralists known for their shúkà, their warrior traditions, and their deep communal ties—or the Dogon people of Mali, recognised for their cliff-side dwellings, mask dances, and ancient cosmologies, we see people living daily practices that may seem unfamiliar or even “uncivilised” to outsiders. Yet these practices carry meaning within their own cultural frameworks.
Even within diasporic contexts, traditions persist. My Jamaican relatives as well as myself fry fish and avoid meat on Good Friday. Why? Where did that originate? They say it’s to honour Jesus Christ but this act is not biblical. For many people, the rituals of culture were never explained—they were simply inherited.
But there are also those who were not raised with cultural guidance at all, who had to adapt to whatever environment they found themselves in. For them, identity becomes something uncertain, a puzzle missing pieces. So the question arises:
How do we identify ourselves?
By skin colour?
By the countries our parents or ancestors came from?
By our profession, our gender, our passions?
We live in a world where people define themselves in many ways, some rooted in culture, some drifting free of it, some trying to escape it.
What is culture, really?
Culture is a shared system of beliefs, values, behaviours, and expressions that shapes how a group of people understands the world. But where did these systems come from? Some emerged from necessity, survival, fear, environment. Others were born from trauma, colonialism, migration, or spiritual beliefs that made sense in a different time.
For many Black people around the world, “Black culture” is often described as a culture forged in struggle, resistance, and creativity born from pain. Even musical forms like rhythm and blues, with its roots in the cries of the enslaved in the 19th century, have become signatures of our cultural identity today.
But what does it mean to inherit a culture shaped by struggle?
And what happens if you question the parts of culture that do not resonate with you?
Are you suddenly “less cultural”?
Are you betraying your roots?
Even in this very publication, the concept of culture is fluid, meant to encompass writing, audio, photography, fashion, and art. The “lifestyle/culture” category could mean almost anything. And maybe that’s the point: culture is both inherited and created, both collective and individual.
The responsibility to question
If we’re honest, many cultural habits have no clear origin to us. We pour liquor on the ground to honour the dead—but where did that practice begin?
We dress babies in red in Caribbean and South Asian cultures to ward off the evil eye, but why did we accept these ideas without understanding their roots?
Some of these traditions stem from superstition, colonial trauma, fear, or attempts to control uncertainty. They are often passed down without explanation, becoming what we call generational curses, not always literal curses, but repeated patterns we never challenge.
Redefining identity beyond inherited myths
If generational wounds can echo across five generations, then our identities should not be anchored to ideas or fears that no longer serve us. We honour our cultures not by blindly repeating their rituals, but by examining them, understanding them, and choosing what aligns with who we are becoming.
Culture is not only what was handed to us.
It is also what we decide to keep,
what we decide to transform,
and what we decide to let go.
'BROKEN BLOKES'
It’s not often you come across a track that speaks, truly speaks, speaking a tune of reality that so many are living, yet resisting publicly. Hurt internalised. Pain swallowed whole. And if that suppression doesn’t end in something final, it spills out in other ways, ways that earn labels that swing and stick.
We often come from a place of protecting women and that will always be a stance. But the truth remains: we all need saving. We all need protecting. Men are suffering too, but the moment they show it, their masculinity is questioned, attacked, dismantled.
But what does masculine even mean?
1. Gender (biological or social)
Relating to or characteristic of men or boys.
2. Traits or qualities
Often associated with strength, confidence, assertiveness, protectiveness, independence, or resilience—though any human can carry these qualities.
The protectors. The providers. The leaders.
But what happens when they never had protectors, providers, or leaders to show them the way?
What happens when the world expects them to give what they were never given, to be what they’ve never seen?
Rapper and poet Jourdan Blair aka Jahdigga tells us that there are so many broken blokes.
Which is obvious to see. So hard to heal.
How can we help?
What happens when the world expects them to give what they were never given, to be what they’ve never seen?
Rapper and poet Jourdan Black aka Jahdigga says in Broken Blokes that there are so many broken blokes.
Which is obvious to see. So hard to heal.
How can we help?
It’s difficult because their struggles hide behind smiles, forced strength, forced silence. Vulnerability becomes criminal.
You can’t cry.
You can’t break down.
You’ve got a family to care for.
Too many people relying on you.
Your mental health will have to wait.
Music is poetry—or at least, it should be. Words hold power. Words carry stories. But sometimes they’re received more deeply with a melody behind them, with visuals that amplify the truth. Broken Blokes. There are so many broken blokes…
Ego seems to be the common denominator, another word for pride.
And pride? It comes right before destruction.
So why move toward destruction?
Why not speak?
Why not open up?
Why?
Because minds have been conditioned, by what, we’re not even sure anymore.
Do you know the shortest scripture in the Bible?
“Jesus wept.”
The one pierced, mocked, and beaten wept, fully aware of the pain ahead.
So why do you hide?
Is it your environment?
Or is it simply the world?
In Jahdigga’s tune, the visuals portray the Black man, the man we often expect to carry the weight of the world, to live up to an image of masculinity few understand.
A man with tears sliding down his face, each tear representing trauma, anger, frustration, burdens too heavy to speak aloud.
Would you accept the hug?
Can you even receive love?
You’re holding generational burdens, five generations deep, yet standing in 2025 in a world utterly confused, overwhelmingly toxic, and struggling in every corner.
And then there’s you: battling your own internal demons while strangers try to offload theirs, while your family needs you, while society expects a version of “man” you’ve never even met.
How can we help?
How do we help when we are all dealing with our own?
How can anyone help when the very act of seeing you clearly pushes you deeper into yourself?
'Broken Blokes,There are so many broken blokes.'
I've heard your perspective, your reality, I think it's time to stop and listen.
Photo Credits: @jahdigga
THE CLIFF EDGE ISN'T JANUARY 1ST: IT'S NOW! (By Ella Schwarz)
WHERE THE EARTH BLEEDS FOR OUR LUXURY
Photo Credit: REUTERS
The Thirst is real; more real now than when we first announced the title of our upcoming coffee book, THE THIRST.
Across the world, from the ongoing massacre in Sudan to the mass displacements in Congo, even to the so-called “natural” (yet deeply unnatural) disasters in Jamaica, it all comes down to one word: THIRST.
In this context, Thirst translates to desperation.
The love of money, through gold, oil, and the endless exploitation of the Motherland’s natural resources, fuels this desperation. Human beings are being killed, abducted, abused, and assassinated, all because of how desperate the West, in particular, has become for the materials that sustain its luxuries. Overconsumption drives global warming, which in turn destroys regions that have contributed the least to the problem, killing innocent civilians while the world keeps scrolling.
Scrolling on iPhones made at the cost of human lives.
And here I am, typing these words on a MacBook Air, telling tales of human sacrifice made to satisfy our hunger for “the best.” The hypocrisy is wild, yet the reality remains.
Boycott brands. Boycott countries.
The slogans echo. But the truth is, most people delight in the very things that society tells us equal success, happiness, luxury, and quality.
That’s the perspective of the masses.
But what about those shielding themselves with their own bodies, hiding from bullets, running from monsters? Those who dream only of escaping their hell, even if it means sleeping on the cold streets of London, because here, at least, they can cling to a fragment of hope.
Even that hope has become a problem, a problem born from colonisers and carried on by the colonised. Even some with roots in the East turn a blind eye, choosing instead to bask in their reality of jets, gold, and caviar.
Money is a tool, and in the right hands, it can build sustainable change, save lives, and still allow one to live well.
So, what do we do?
We use our resources for the greater good. Our skills, our talents, our time, our voices, these are our weapons against destruction.
Reversing minds steeped in corruption is something only God can do, but driving out hate with love? That’s something we can begin to do.
That might look like physically planting yourself in the midst of chaos, helping to rebuild what’s been destroyed. Or it might be as simple and as powerful as using your voice to speak out, to keep the conversation alive, to expose the devastations and atrocities that too many choose to ignore.
By speaking, you force those “in charge” to act, or, more realistically, you reach the ears of those with the financial means and influence to do what you cannot.
Our voice is power. We are free to speak, to shout, to demand, unlike the persecuted Christians in Nigeria, the silenced women and children across continents.
So use it.
‘WE DON’T ALL HAVE TO AGREE BUT WE SHOULD
‘WE DON’T ALL HAVE TO AGREE BUT WE SHOULD ALL COEXIST PEACEFULLY’
‘WE DON’T ALL HAVE TO AGREE BUT WE SHOULD ALL COEXIST PEACEFULLY’
DISCOVERING TT SWIM
I first came across TT Swim, the swimwear line from Tasteful Tribe, a London-based slow fashion brand, after attending the UAL exhibit “Speaking from Margins” a couple of months back. There were plenty of incredible brands with captivating stories, but what truly stopped me in my tracks were the visuals that TT presented. Even before hearing directly from founder and designer Stephanie, I could already feel the culture, the soul, and the depth behind her work.
As we move into a time where people are becoming more conscious and intentional about where they spend their money, storytelling has never been more vital. Independent brands are no longer just about product, they’re about purpose. You either see yourself in their story or you’re inspired to learn from it, and TT Swim manages to do both beautifully.
Handmade in Togo, West Africa, TT Swim pieces are crafted using vibrant wax print fabrics, infusing each design with a sense of identity and celebration. It’s more than just swimwear, it’s a lifestyle, a connection to heritage and artistry. While not all of us are immersed in that culture every day, TT Swim gives us a way to carry it with us, whether we’re soaking up the sun on holiday or simply channeling that energy throughout the year.
What sets TT Swim apart is its genuine commitment to sustainability, community, and cultural dialogue:
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Produced in small batches; prioritising mindful production and sustainable practices.
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Empowering craftsmanship; every piece supports fair wages and dignified work for a talented team of seamstresses.
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Building bridges; actively fostering creative connections between Black designers in the diaspora and creatives on the African continent.
TT Swim isn’t just about looking good in the sun; it’s about wearing something that means something. A reminder that fashion can be both expressive and ethical, grounded in culture, shaped by story, and made with intention.
