Raina K. Puels is a writer, educator, and editor who lives in Boston. She's passionate about intersectional feminism, positive queer representation, and her cat Layla. Her myriad publications can be found on her website: rainakpuels.com and pictures of Layla can be found on her Twitter: @rainakpuels.
By Raina K. Puels
Many days I’ve walked through Boston in a huff of negative emotion; fuming about the man who kindly complimented my leggings, then yelled “Nice ass!” when I walked away; beating myself up about not doing enough to advocate for the safety of my friends of color, my queer friends, my trans friends; frustrated and scared about the interest growing on both my undergrad and grad school loans. But then I see text out of the corner of my eye and I’m taken out of my own thought-spirals back to the present, back to the street.
By Raina K. Puels
In her latest post for our Weaving the Streets project, Raina Puels explores how some religious congregations in Boston are using public space to express support for Black Lives Matter.
My first week in Boston, I went to Newbury Street in Back Bay. I’d heard from friends it was a destination for those seeking high-end eateries and shopping, or those (like me) who wanted to people watch and laugh at dogs in strollers. It looked the part of a bougie, trendy place to shop: streets lined with big trees, brownstones, and men in suits opening and closing the doors for retail establishments with huge windows displaying slender mannequins clad in the latest fashions. In this commercial center, I didn’t expect to find support for Black Lives Matter. After all, when most people go shopping they’re concerned with finding a new pair of shoes or a suit that fits, not working to end violence against Black people.
By Raina K. Puels
Since moving to Allston, Massachusetts, in September, I’ve been delighted by the use of public space for displays of humor. When I walk to the bank or the grocery store, I almost always see art or text on the street that makes me laugh. My amusement causes other passersby to look at what I’ve discovered, and then they start laughing, too. And that attracts even more people and more giggles and more chuckles. Community is built through the shared experience of this humor. Allston is notorious for being an area populated by college students, grad students, and young post-grads, so it’s natural that many people in my neighborhood have a similar cultural framework that begets a communal sense of humor.