‘A Different World’ Shook Up My World

‘A Different World’ will forever hold a special place in my life. …It became my North Star to an experience largely foreign to me — undergraduate life. It gave me insight into the strength gained from friendships with Black women. … Seeing images of young, gifted, and Black women pursuing higher education at a historically Black college or university (HBCU) shaped my vision for my life.

A Different World

This guest post written by Shara D. Taylor appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.


The 1980s hit series A Different World will forever hold a special place in my life. Set at the fictional, historically Black school Hillman College, it became my North Star to an experience largely foreign to me — undergraduate life. It gave me insight into the strength gained from friendships with Black women. It provided me with a reason to focus on my schoolwork, even when I found myself spending an inordinate amount of time in the principal’s office.

As my mom tells it, she raised me to think college was the natural next step after high school. Despite having no one else in my family who had completed a bachelor’s degree, I never considered other options. She probably didn’t know it then, but her efforts came with reinforcements in the form of a Thursday night TV show. I knew my life probably would resemble the lives of the students at Hillman, though it meant following an obscure path made brighter by these representations.

Because of A Different World, a spin-off of The Cosby Show, I didn’t see the obstacles ahead of me. I didn’t listen to the teachers who predicted doom and gloom for my future. Instead, I listened to southern belle Whitley Gilbert (Jasmine Guy) when she explained how her grandfather learned to love himself during his time at Hillman. I paid attention when the earthy Freddie Brooks (Cree Summer) extolled the need to remember history after discovering a stop on the Underground Railroad behind a wall in the Gilbert Hall dorm. It still gives me goose bumps when I reflect on that episode.

When pre-med student Kimberly Reese (Charnele Brown) stretched herself too thinly with her classes, jobs, and extracurricular activities, Freddie and Kim’s other friends forced her to party when she really wanted to study. She woke up exhausted the next day, but managed to ace her exams.

Jaleesa Vinson (Dawnn Lewis), an older Hillman student who had been married and divorced before enrolling, played big sister to a lively group of early 20-somethings. She often butted heads with the spoiled Whitley whose divorced, Hillman alumni parents gave her everything she wanted without teaching her any responsibility. Over time, their relationship grew into one of mutual respect, though they still worked each other’s nerves.

I couldn’t describe it as a youngster, but I recognized the complexities in these relationships. I figured my life might be like theirs some day, so I paid close attention.

A Different World

While writing this piece, I thought about the images of Black women that had appeared on television prior to A Different World’s premiere in 1987. I couldn’t find one example of a group of young, Black girlfriends finding their way in life while walking on the wobbly bridge into womanhood. To be sure, other Black women had shared friendships on the small screen before A Different World’s debut. In the 1970s, there were Florida Evans and Willona Woods on Good Times and Louise Jefferson and Helen Willis on The Jeffersons. In the 1980s, the women of 227 — Mary Jenkins, Rose Lee Holloway, Pearl Shay, and Sandra Clark — supported each other as adults. However, all of these women lived more stable lives than college students.

We saw more representations of young, Black women throughout the 1990s and 2000s in Living Single, Moesha, and Girlfriends. For me, none matched the camaraderie that I felt with the characters on A Different World.

Although my love of the show began when I was only four years old, it sustained me through my rough middle school years when I landed myself in the principal’s office several times per week. In high school, my main goal was to get to college with as few visits to the principal as possible. Somewhere along the way, I absorbed A Different World and its rich characters into my bloodstream. Seeing images of young, gifted, and Black women pursuing higher education at a historically Black college or university (HBCU) shaped my vision for my life. As a child, I knew for sure that I wanted to continue my education at a school like Hillman.

A Different World

I remember the day I told my mom that I planned to attend Howard University (HU!). I was a junior in high school. A substitute teacher in my Algebra II class suggested it when I told her about my desire to study business at an HBCU. I went home that afternoon, searched Howard’s website, and decided it fit my criteria. That evening, I walked into my mom’s room and declared my intentions. She fell silent for a minute. “I can guarantee you one year. You have to figure out the rest,” she replied. I accepted her challenge. I knew I’d get to Howard somehow; my Hillman friends-in-my-head had convinced me of it.

Throughout my time as an undergrad, I often stood in awe of my peers and what I saw them accomplishing. At Howard, the women on campus held leadership positions in student government, social justice organizations, and pre-professional associations. My female classmates pushed me to be a better woman, a better friend, and a better global citizen. As if on cue, they offered encouragement when I needed it most and reality checks when I lost my way. The women of Hillman did the same for each other. They shared their triumphs and disappointments in their careers and their love lives. They uplifted each other when the outside world tried to belittle their existence for being Black and woman. They wouldn’t stand for it and neither would my Howard people.

In 2015, I celebrated my 10-year Howard class reunion with a couple hundred of my beautiful classmates. Nothing could have prepared me for the swell of love and pride I felt being back on campus. I have yet to find another environment as nurturing and supportive as the one at Howard.

Many years after my trying adolescence, my mom asked me how I managed to keep up my grades despite my rebellious behavior. I explained that being smart and being “cool” were never mutually exclusive in my mind. She and I can thank A Different World for that.

Every Thursday for six years, I watched my future self and my future classmates laugh and cry and dance across my screen. I’m not sure where I would’ve landed without Whitley and Freddie or Kim and Jaleesa. I don’t know where I’d be without the women of Howard University who continue to inspire me.

I’ve determined how I exist in this world through them. For that, I’m eternally grateful.


Shara D. Taylor watches films to break the monotony of her raging urban planner lifestyle. Her interests include Hip-Hop, A Different World, Back to the Future, and everything directed by Ava DuVernay. You can send her pleasant tweets @sharas_soapbox.

Euzhan Palcy’s ‘A Dry White Season’: Black Lives in a White Season

It is doubtful that anyone else could have made ‘A Dry White Season’ as poignantly relevant as Euzhan Palcy did. Her eye for the upending effects of apartheid on Black families brings their grievances to bear. … The meaning behind Palcy’s work resounds clearly: Black lives matter in 1976 South Africa as they do in 2016 America.

A Dry White Season

This guest post written by Shara D. Taylor appears as part of our theme week on Women Directors.


Young, Black people take to the streets to peacefully protest unequal treatment. Officers in military gear face them in battle formation and order them to disperse. The protestors sing in unity, refusing to cower at the threat. The officers indiscriminately shoot canisters and bullets into the crowd and begin beating anyone within striking distance. They unleash dogs and wield batons against the backs of Black residents as helicopters whiz overhead. After the tear gas clears, parents find their little ones and shuffle them into safer quarters.

This could be a recent description of the streets in Ferguson, MO, Baltimore, Chicago, or another U.S. city where Black Lives Matter activists have fought against police brutality and harassment.

But, it is not. It is a breathtaking scene from Euzhan Palcy’s seminal film A Dry White Season (1989).

A Dry White Season

Set in South Africa in 1976 during the reign of apartheid, it stands as a testament to the continuous assault on Black lives around the globe. The story reflects Black South Africans’ struggle for freedom from a system that devalues and maims them with impunity. As the first Black woman to direct a film for a major studio, Palcy handles her subjects with such care and reverence that it becomes impossible to ignore their modern incarnations.

Scenes of everyday life punctuate the film. Black residents escape reality by drinking beer in crowded dining halls, as white residents play rugby in lush green fields. Black folks resist the heavy hand of a corrupted justice system, while white people roll around in well-manicured lawns with their babies.

Their lives touch in an uneasy social stratification that allows them to intersect without intermingling. Even as Black domestic workers toil in the homes of white families, their lived experiences exist on the periphery of their employers’ purview.

Gordon Ngubene (Winston Ntshona) works as a gardener for Ben du Toit (Donald Sutherland). When police cane the buttocks of Ngubene’s son Jonathan (Bekhithemba Mpofu) and leave deep wounds without cause, du Toit’s response is telling: “They must’ve had a reason.”

It never occurs to him that a system set in place to protect him would abuse its authority. It is easy to imagine him responding “all lives matter” to “Black lives matter.” His worldview rests comfortably in the idea that Black people always make trouble for themselves. Any other explanation upsets his blindly privileged life.

Concerned about his son having a criminal record, Ngubene turns to his employer for help. Du Toit asks the boy if he clearly explained his situation to the court. When Ngubene reminds him that Jonathan is merely a child, du Toit dismisses it as a “minor matter” and offers treatment for his physical wounds. It again becomes apparent that du Toit lacks the socio-political awareness that would give him pause at such a troubling offense.

A Dry White Season

Du Toit’s 21st Century American contemporaries likely would label Jonathan as a “thug” who “got what he deserved,” in much the same way they have shown their contempt for Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown. Indeed, du Toit’s houseguest goes unchecked for referring to Black children as “bloody savages.” His wife Susan (Janet Suzman) quickly changes the subject as the family gathers for a meal. All the while, Jonathan and du Toit’s son Johan (Rowen Elmes) absorb the messages of their fathers, all but ensuring a perpetual cycle of black oppression and white obliviousness.

During the earlier-mentioned protest, Jonathan goes missing at the hands of police. Officers deny having a record of his arrest. This sends his father on a mission to find him. Ngubene and his wife Emily (Thoko Ntshinga) search hospitals and makeshift mortuaries crammed with dying and dead children. Their quest yields nothing.

When Ngubene returns to work in the du Toit’s garden, du Toit and Johan watch a helicopter fly overhead, noting that it is the third one of the day. Instead of inquiring about the safety of Ngubene’s family, du Toit demands to know where he has been for two days. When Ngubene explains the unrest that has taken place in his community, du Toit responds with disbelief, as expected. Nevertheless, he makes a call to lawyer Ian McKenzie (an excellent, post-retirement Marlon Brando) to inquire into the whereabouts of Jonathan. He finally receives word that the boy is dead with police blaming the protests for his death.

McKenzie provides a pragmatic, if cynical, view on the South African legal system. He describes justice and law as distant cousins who do not speak to each other in this country. He should know. His courtroom victories result in changes that mute his arguments.

A Dry White Season

The unbelievable suicide of Ngubene while in police custody compels du Toit to ask McKenzie for his assistance in prosecuting the officers involved. As he discovers how deeply embedded corruption is within the court system, du Toit relents his harsh stance on the plight of Black South Africans. This comes at a steep price for him and his family and proves too late for the untold number of South Africans who have perished under apartheid rule.

Similar to the lives witnessed in Ava DuVernay’s magnificent Selma (2014), the characters in A Dry White Season become part of the world beyond the screen. They inform the viewer’s understanding of what it means for Black people to live under a racist regime. They want their humanity respected, their rights acknowledged, and their lives protected. Supporters of Black Lives Matter want the same. It seems a simple premise that remains elusive to a violent power structure rooted in white supremacy.

It is doubtful that anyone else could have made A Dry White Season as poignantly relevant as Euzhan Palcy did. Her eye for the upending effects of apartheid on Black families brings their grievances to bear. She also captures the damaging psychological effect on white people who finally realize their beneficiary status in an oppressive system.

The meaning behind Palcy’s work resounds clearly: Black lives matter in 1976 South Africa as they do in 2016 America.


Shara D. Taylor watches films to break the monotony of her raging urban planner lifestyle. Her interests include Hip-Hop, A Different World, Back to the Future, and everything directed by Ava DuVernay. You can send her pleasant tweets @sharas_soapbox.