“We really have exactly 100 years in Detroit,” Arthur Chapman says, and that one line sets the whole episode on fire—because this isn’t just jewelry, it’s Legacy Black Detroit economics. Arthur walks us from Yazoo City, Mississippi to Black Bottom, where family relationships became the real infrastructure, and where his grandfather “Daddy E” (Eli Chapman) stayed in motion as a serial entrepreneur—record store, bowling alley, whatever it took—before a bus driver’s tool of the trade opened the door: pocket watches. When the DSR/DDOT watch vendor retired, Eli didn’t hesitate: “I’ll give you X amount of dollars for your inventory and for your contract with DDoT,” and a work relationship turned into a supply chain, then into rings, diamonds, and Detroit success. Arthur also names the barriers—“There were no jewelers willing to sell to him”—and the breakthrough moment when a supplier finally said, “As long as your money is green, I’ll do business with you.” We hear how safety, community, and partnership mattered—“you are your security”—and why returning home for Arthur was the future: Detroit is the culture that raises the next generation, because the goal isn’t just survival, it’s to “go a thousand years.

There’s this interesting thing with time where the past collapses within the present.” Triniti Watson—Curator-in-Residence at the Boggs Center for Nurturing Community Leadership and visionary lead of The Critical Mix—pulls up with Detroit roots deep as the Great Migration and a mission to make “lost histories… more visible.” From her grandma’s West Side St. Mary’s Street house—Jeopardy on the big block TV, journals, photo albums, and “these are your people” images—Triniti traces how Black women become the “OG archivist,” holding our stories when institutions and trauma leave gaps. She breaks down how COVID-era stillness pushed her to say, “I cannot allow an institution to define who I am,” and why memory work is freedom work. Then she invites Detroit into the Boggs Center’s 30-year legacy with First Fridays (1–4 PM), where community safety history meets Detroit’s sonic future: DJs create mixes responding to texts from the exhibit, so visitors feel “the textures of liberation” while learning the names, movements, and traditions that built us. The series launches Friday, February 6, 2026 for Black Histories/Black Futures Month—pull up, bring friend, and follow @boggscenter for updates. Free, intergenerational, and Detroit as ever—Legacy Black culture remembered on purpose, and remixed for what’s next.

“Politics taught me and prepared me for a world that is more political than politics.” Wayne County Commissioner (District 2) and 13th Congressional District Democratic Party Chair Jonathan Kinloch joins Detroit is Different for a Detroit-rooted, world-spanning conversation that starts at Second & Myrtle—“you know you’re Detroit when you remember” it was once Myrtle, now MLK—and reaches back to South Carolina and New Jersey family migrations. Kinloch breaks down how elders like Erma Henderson wrapped their arms around a young volunteer, handing him the City Charter and saying, “I want you to read that and… explain it to me,” then sending him to police, planning, and historic commission meetings to learn how power really moves. From Northwestern’s Motown pipeline—meeting Esther Gordy Edwards—to giving artists civic honors, Kinloch reveals the thread between culture and governance: legacy is built when we protect the block, the schools, and the ballot. He names Reagan-era disinvestment, party infrastructure fights, and why “this bipartisan thing is… bull crap” when working families need results. This episode ties past and future Black Detroit: migration, mentorship, music, and the mandate to organize precinct by precinct so our people steer what’s next. Tap in for stories, strategy, and Detroit love.

“Detroit is different… it’s all because of the melanin that we’re getting from the sun.” In this Detroit is Different conversation, Brother Chungalia—an original member of the US Organization founded by Dr. Maulana Karenga, creator of Kwanzaa, and among the first to celebrate it—takes us from post-riot Los Angeles to the deep roots of Black Detroit. He calls his move here “inevitable,” recalling LA’s Congress building politics—“Jesse Jackson had an office there”—and the discipline of a movement that spoke Swahili daily. He stitches together Conant Gardens, Paradise Valley, and the Blue Bird Inn with a moment of Black memory so wild it feels like spirit work: “She remembered me… from 1959 and spotted me in 1974,” leading to “the only time I cried tears of joy.” From there, he flips elder testimony into future blueprint—“What’s the most important thing in your whole life?… breathing”—and warns that “technology is killing humanity,” pushing him to claim, “I’d rather be known… as a humanitarian,” even while rooted in Black nationalism. This episode is a bridge between the past that made Detroit’s African-centered movement possible and the future our children deserve—where the Nguza Saba isn’t nostalgia, it’s a survival manual for Legacy Black culture today.