Apologies aren’t easy. Let me revise that statement: genuine, uncanned apologies aren’t easy to make, and apologies that also arrive without an undercurrent of defensiveness are tough stuff. Yes, it’s difficult to admit to being wrong, for we are stubborn. It’s even more unsettling to turn inward and examine how and why one messed up and take steps to right that wrong. Some people are reluctant to do so for various selfish reasons, and the art of the high-profile apology is littered with many attempts that fall short at fostering voices of progress. Yet this weekend saw something different happen. Following Hamilton‘s initial delay in voicing support for George Floyd protesters, the show’s creator, Lin-Manuel Miranda, came forward with a detailed apology and accepted full responsibility for what had (and in this case, what hadn’t) happened.

“We spoke out on the day of the Pulse shooting. We spoke out when Vice President Mike Pence came to our show 10 days after the election. That we have not yet firmly spoken the inarguable truth that Black Lives Matter and denounced systematic racism and white supremacy from our official Hamilton channels is a moral failure on our part,” Miranda said.

Miranda’s apology was an impactful one, but it’s worth noting that the timing of his statement — after CNN host Don Lemon called out a telling silence from the entertainment industry — does matter. Yes, Miranda had already voiced support for protesters on his personal social media, but Lemon made a valid point about equating silence to a lack of “moral courage” and fear about “your reputation and your brand.” It’s an absolutely fair assessment about the complicity that arises from inaction.

For whatever reason, Hamilton‘s social media accounts slipped through the cracks on the Floyd protest response. This does not appear to have been intentional, but when it comes to a trailblazing Broadway show, in which a diverse cast portrays America’s Founding Fathers, silence comes across as its own statement. Miranda’s video apology (he was later joined by Hamilton producer Jeffrey Seller) fully acknowledges the error with this delay, which is not consistent with (as he points out) the show’s immediate statements about the Pulse nightclub massacre and VP Mike Pence’s attendance of the Broadway production. That the show swiftly acted on previous occasions is no excuse for current inaction, admitted Miranda in a video posted to Hamilton‘s Twitter page:

“As the writer of the show, I take responsibility and apologize for my part in this moral failure… I’m sorry for not pushing harder and faster for us to speak these self-evident truths under the Hamilton banner, which has come to mean so much to so many of you.”

Miranda’s full statement can be read here, and he does pay tribute to “the black and brown artists who created and revolutionized and changed the world through the culture, music and language of hip-hop” while bringing this show to life each time it’s performed. All of his declarations are true, but there’s something even more important within his apology: it is not what’s often referred to as a “non-apology apology.”

You’ve seen this countless times: when the person or organization in question issues a statement that begins with an “I’m sorry” but reads as a fake apology. The essence of said statement is that “I’m sorry if you were offended by my remarks/action/inaction” and that “no offense was intended,” and maybe even “I’m sorry that you reacted/feel that way.” These are words that are meant to shift the burden of an offense to the person who is upset or has otherwise been wronged, as if they are simply too sensitive or uncomfortable and should perhaps adjust their barometer. Non-apologies are, essentially, a defense mechanism that allows an offender to carry on without an iota of self-examination. As we continue to observe, though, our nation remains deeply wounded, and non-apologies only further infect existing injuries, rather than encourage a healing process.

That kind of apology didn’t happen here. At no point did Miranda (or Seller, who added that “silence equals complicity and I apologize for my silence thus far”) apologize for how anyone reacted to the Hamilton production’s silence. Instead, the pair understood the harm that results from inaction and accepted full responsibility. Miranda also expressed gratitude for those who are “holding us accountable” to use words and actions to support the liberty and safety of those working for progress.

As a nation and as a collective people, we entered 2020 unprepared on multiple levels, but it’s exceptionally difficult to comprehend that the murder of George Floyd happened. Yet from the officers who ignored pleas from bystanders to a system that allowed police brutality to flourish, it was a sadly inevitable outcome. For over eight minutes, Floyd struggled to survive, and Derek Chauvin disregarded his pleas in a frankly inhuman way. Floyd’s murder is, by the very definition of the word, “senseless.” Following centuries of oppression and decades of progress, the U.S. timeline remains steadily punctuated by violence against Black men (and women) by law enforcement. With each of these tragic occurrences, waves of protests aim to mark their names. This is the case from the 1992 LA police acquittals in the Rodney King case to fatal law enforcement encounters for Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Breonna Taylor, Laquan McDonald, Philando Castile, Terence Crutcher, and too many more, when even one such death is inexcusble.

It’s not only senseless but unfathomable as well, and many of us feel ill-equipped within our own privilege to speak out in an adequate way during these protests. Lin-Manuel Miranda and Jeffrey Seller recognized, even if they were a few beats late, that they had a duty to do so. As activists put on masks to exit the relative safety of their homes, they are mobilizing to protest against an ongoing, formidable threat that can’t be extinguished by a vaccine. The very least that prominent Hollywood figures can do is support them, and all due respect goes out to Hamilton for admitting their error, making the right kind of apology, and pledging support against racial injustice.

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“A lot of times I was on a team and I was the only Latina when we were doing improv. If I said something in English, but I have an accent, or I said a word wrong, they would make that the funny thing.”

Raiza Licea was tired of being limited by the things that set her apart from her fellow performers on the improv stage, which is why the actress, comedian and activist joined with fellow Latinx writers and comedians Oscar Montoya, Tony Rodriguez, and Carlos Santos to create Spanish Aqui Presents, the Upright Citizen Brigade’s first and only all Latinx main stage show. Based in Los Angeles, Spanish Aqui Presents is also the Earwolf Podcast Network’s only Latinx podcast and provides a space for Raiza, Oscar, Tony, and Carlos to chop it up with other Latinx voices and legends about the comedy of everyday life while exploring their unique experiences navigating the mosaic that is Latinx culture. And true to the group’s origins, they always inject a bit of improv into each episode.

“Improv, for a long time, has been a white space but with Spanish Aqui presents, we are building the arena, this is our space. These are our rules,” says Montoya, “The basic core of improv is to support someone’s idea. We have that support system where we can say something and even if it’s taken out of context or the wrong way, we know that it’s all love — our intention is to celebrate and to push-up.”

Get to know Spanish Aqui Presents in the video above and subscribe to the podcast now.

Artists have a lot to say about what is going on in the US right now, and Meek Mill has addressed the current climate on a new song, “Otherside Of America.”

The song begins with audio from a 2016 speech Trump gave in Dimondale, Michigan. Making an appeal to Black voters, trump asked his audience, “What do you have to lose? You’re living in poverty, your schools are no good, you have no jobs, 58 percent of your youth is unemployed. What the hell do you have to lose?”

From there, Mill addresses issues of politics and race: “Reporting live from the other side / Same corner where my brothers died / Livin’ like we ain’t got care / Told my mama I ain’t dying here.”

The track ends with a sample of Mill during a 2018 appearance on CNN (video of which he re-shared before releasing the song), saying, “I always dreamed to be on CNN to be able to express myself and speak for the voiceless young men of America. The first step I would say: I grew up in America in a ruthless neighborhood where we are not protected by police, we grew up in ruthless environments, we grew up around murder, you see murder, you see seven people die a week, I think you would probably carry a gun yourself. Would you?”

CNN’s Michael Smerconish responds, “Uh, yeah, I probably would.”

Listen to “Otherside Of America” above.

Meek Mill is a Warner Music artist. Uproxx is an independent subsidiary of Warner Music Group.

As protests against police brutality continue across the country and online

I found it surprising when, in the midst of my Community re-watch, I felt the need to switch gears. It was the start of lockdown and I just needed a different flavor of comedy. One that led more with its heart than its head. I spent time watching Parks and Rec, Bob’s Burgers, and Schitt’s Creek. Shoot, I even dabbled with a few episodes of Perfect Strangers in the pursuit of feel-good fun. But now, running low on familiar favorites that I haven’t recently re-explored, I’ve returned to Community (five years from when its finale aired, incidentally) and re-discovered a valuable lesson. While it may not be as quick to affection as the above-mentioned, Community brings an element of sentimentality and existentialism that shouldn’t be obscured by its reputation for wildly imaginative adventures. Particularly in its later seasons.

You could argue that in addition to housing some of series creator Dan Harmon’s most self-indulgent (not a complaint!) and all consumingly thematic ideas, the show’s most emotionally complex episodes live in season 3 and more fully in season 5 and at the end of the road in season 6. Sure, the fun and inventive spirit of the first two seasons are present, but pangs about growing up are also sprinkled in.

As I’m sure you know (but I’ll remind you anyway), Harmon went on a journey with this show. Network fights while dealing with what seemed like the imminent cancelation of this thing he’d loved and poured everything into. The humiliation and torture of being separated from that thing while watching someone else come in and play with his toys for season 4. Oh, and then between a surprising comeback at the start of season 5 and a migration to an unsteady new format with Yahoo Screen (RIP) in season 6, he lost almost half of his cast. And that’s to say nothing about his personal life and everything Chevy Chase that happened behind the scenes and in the press and on voicemail.

Change can be a hell of an instigator, creatively. Sometimes for the better (think Parks post-Ben and Chris), sometimes for the worse (The Office in the post-Michael years). And sometimes, specifically, when it looms large as an ever-present thing, it can make something more interesting.

Donald Glover’s exit from Community at the start of season 5 was doubtlessly the most significant loss the show suffered (even greater than Harmon’s one-year absence), but it also felt more like a graduation than anything else. Community fans latched on to the symmetry of Troy (Glover) and Abed’s (Danny Pudi) personalities and a friendship that often verged on codependency, but Harmon was obviously mindful of the dangers of creative laziness and leaning on something that works for too long without exploration.

In season 3, Harmon was content to add dimension to Troy. And longing. Troy wasn’t quite ready to jump, but he was becoming more aware of his need to ponder a future on his own terms. One that would eventually acknowledge that very difficult life lesson: sometimes we outgrow the people who mean the most to us.

This is revealed in the lingering air conditioning repair arc in season 3 and in tensions on display between Troy and Abed in “Contemporary Impressionists” (when Troy grows tired of having to reign Abed in) and “Pillows And Blankets” (when Troy grows tired of feeling like a bit player in Abed’s fantastical adventures). When the time comes to say goodbye to Troy two seasons later — in “Cooperative Polygraphy” after he’s inspired by a challenge from beyond the grave by Pierce and “Geothermal Escapism” when he actually leaves — we’re weirdly ready, even if Abed isn’t.

Abed’s own journey is another area of growth that the show explored. With nuance. He’s not just a quirky side character. He’s experiencing these changes and the erosion of his comfort zone uniquely and with difficulty all the way to the end of the show.

For Annie, Britta, and Jeff, their emotional state is less tied to Troy’s exit than their own reckoning with the things that set him off on an adventure across the world — the hyper-relatable stirring that comes from standing in place for too long while everyone else seems to be rocketing ahead. That’s not the show in its last two seasons. Not exclusively. But we know that, in these later years more than before, it exists under the surface as the action and absurdity chugs along, adding to the urgency of these characters’ time together and to our understanding of and appreciation for the affection that they have for each other. Something that they clung to while pushing down the urge to break away. All of this helps to underwrite both the show’s late-stage existence and its meaningful end.

It’s important to consider the narratives that build up around shows as time passes if for no other reason than because they can serve as a blockade to re-exploration. As it did for me for a minute. Community was wildly creative, silly, and sometimes absurd. Yes. There was a comedic coolness to it in both its punk-comedy “damn the rules” creativity and in the “if you don’t get it that’s not our problem” kind of way. These labels that get pinned to its chest are accurate. But the show was also a meditation on adulthood and how we run away from and toward it. Community was the most human kind of art — a weird amalgamation of moods and themes, awkward, lifting off as one thing and touching down as another. Whether that’s the kind of journey that you seek right now is subjective, but it’s worth considering for the multitudes that it contains.

By now, Tekashi 69 fans were supposed to have the follow-up to “Gooba,” but the rapper delayed his next song in light of what’s going on in the world at the moment. He did give fans something else to enjoy, though, as yesterday, he and DJ Akademiks linked up for a 45-minute Instagram Live session.

They touched on a lot of topics and did a lot of things during their time together, and at one point, Tekashi took a minute to praise Pop Smoke. He described the late rapper as a New York talent, saying, “I’m actually a fan of the kid. […] Rest in peace, Pop Smoke. Listen, they shouldn’t have done that. That was a great talent from New York City. And I think, to be honest with you, he was the fresh New York City.”

Elsewhere during the broadcast, the two discussed whether or not certain rappers — YK Osiris, BlocBoy JB, and Blueface — are one-hit wonders. Tekashi didn’t seem to know much about Blueface — “Thotiana” was released while Tekashi was in prison — but after weighing the facts, he deemed him to be a one-hit wonder. “He fell off. That’s to be perfectly honest.”

Check out the highlights above, and watch the full livestream below.

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When Adrian Wojnarowski was hired by ESPN in the summer of 2017, it was more than just a professional opportunity — it was a return home. Few know Bristol for anything other than housing the Worldwide Leader, but for Wojnarowski, better known among NBA fans simply as Woj, it’s where he grew up and spent countless hours at the local Boys and Girls Club while his mother and father worked.

Spending time at the Boys and Girls Club was formative for a young Woj. He remembers there being hardly more than a big asphalt lot outside the club, but it was a place where he’d skid his knees rough-housing with older kids, compete in pickup hoops, and learned to think on his feet.

“When I was a young person it was different, Bristol has built a big, beautiful state of the art facility since I’ve grown up,” Wojnarowski told Dime. “But the club when I was a kid, it was not big by club standards, but it had everything we needed.”

With Boys and Girls Clubs shuttered around the country due to CDC guidelines on large indoor gatherings, Woj decided to up his involvement with the organization this spring. He had previously hosted fundraisers with the likes of Connecticut men’s basketball coach Dan Hurley, as well as speaking events here and there, but Woj wanted to give kids across the country access to the athletes and media personalities he covers and works with on a daily basis.

The Bristol Club connected Woj with the national office, at which point ESPN’s Citizen Group got involved. Soon it turned into the #oneteam Speaker Series, hosted live by Woj each week and posted to the ESPN YouTube page. The series has featured everyone from Donovan Mitchell, who also grew up in Connecticut, to Maria Taylor, a multi-sport college athlete at Georgia turned ESPN star.

“I thought that by bringing in some athletes and doing some Q&As on a regional level and posting it, getting the brand name of the B&G Club out there and reminding people that they’re still serving their communities even though physically, the doors might be shut,” Wojnarowski said.

Although he admits children, particularly those in worse socioeconomic circumstances who are supported by the Boys and Girls Club, are going through an unfathomable amount of strife, he hopes seeing and hearing from athletes who went through similar challenges can be helpful. For instance, Mitchell, an alumni of the Greenwich Club, answered a question from a viewer who wanted to know how to get better at basketball while living at an apartment that doesn’t have a hoop.

Though local stay-at-home orders and travel restrictions forced the #oneteam series online, Wojnarowski says it’s been eye-opening just how big the reach is for virtual events, a lesson that can extend past the coronavirus crisis.

“People have done meetings with class where you don’t have to get on a plane, but I think (this has) humanized people in a lot of ways,” Wojnarowski said. “One thing I was conscientious of is the Boys and Girls Club was a respite in (viewers’) lives. However long they might spend there, that was lost in their lives, and many of them are in dangerous home situations.”

Discussing these kids in underserved neighborhoods, especially during a week in which protests and civil unrest have overtaken news chyrons and city streets across the nation, our conversation pivoted back to police brutality and how Black communities are speaking out. Wojnarowski traced his perspective back to the Boys and Girls Club, saying his time there as a kid was “a great lesson in being around a lot of different people from diverse backgrounds and understanding we had a lot in common.”

Still, conversations the past couple of weeks with NBA coaches, who recently formed a committee on racial injustice, and players, who have often led the charge of public protest in the mainstream, have forced Wojnarowski to realize that as a reporter, he can sometimes rest on the laurels of relationships with Black sources, rather than asking uncomfortable questions directly.

“I’ve tried to be mindful and had conversations with African American men and women that I’ve covered and gotten to know, and part of your job as a reporter is the ability to tell their story,” Wojnarowski said. “Even with all of that, I’m not sure that I’ve always done … these moments in time remind you that sometimes we always assume things about other people’s lives and what their challenges are and how people feel about what they’re up against every day.

“We’re not always as mindful of it as we need to be, and this is an opportunity to address that, and continue to do it,” he continued. “It’s a reminder to always dig deeper with those around you and those you don’t know very well.”

Asked what the temperature is within the NBA when it comes to bringing basketball back at a time when many might argue there are more important issues to confront, Wojnarowski said he believes the majority of NBA stakeholders believe their voice will be even stronger when games are going on. Between modeling safe behavior with regard to public health recommendations and speaking out against wrongful treatment of Black Americans, that’s probably true, even if some will disagree.

Though he’s still been at the forefront of NBA news during a crazy year for this country, Wojnarowski certainly doesn’t have all the answers. He’s been lending his platform to voices that he hopes will inspire younger generations with the #oneteam series, and hosting thoughtful conversations about the state of affairs in America on his ESPN podcast. Perhaps virtual events aren’t the only thing that should carry on past this time. Staying honest about injustice and corruption sounds like a pretty good takeaway from 2020, too.

“Unless you ask the question, you don’t know the answer,” Wojnarowski said. “And we have to be asking those questions.”

When Veep and Detroiters star Sam Richardson was 12 years old, he was falsely accused of shoplifting at a sporting goods store.

“I was walking through the aisles and kind of just looking around perusing. I went to walk out of Sports Authority and this woman grabs me and yanked me into this room. ‘I know what you did, I know what you did, the cops are coming, the cops are coming. I know what you did. And then the police showed up and they’re like, ‘We know that you stole something,’ and I just couldn’t… I was just fully confused,” he said. “They check the footage of me in the aisleway, and I had taken off my watch to put on a baseball glove and put my watch in my pocket. And the response as though I had committed army robbery, and she knew that calling the police was going to elicit that sort of response.”

That experience, as Richardson explained to host Conan O’Brien on Thursday’s at-home episode of Conan, is what it’s like to grow up black in America.

In response, Conan asked the I Think You Should Leave legend how he lives with that anger. Robinson replied with a Marvel Cinematic Universe quote. “I mean, we all have to. If we were all to shoulder the amount of frustration and fear that we feel, we wouldn’t be able to exist in society,” he said. “To make it nerd, in the movie The Avengers, they’re surrounded by the villains, the aliens are attacking, and Captain America’s like, ‘Hulk, now would be a good time to get angry,’ and Hulk looks at him and says, ‘That’s my secret… I’m always angry.’ I’m always angry, but I can’t let that anger dictate my life.”

You can watch the entire interview above.