Ebony Tomatoes Collective: Ava Emilione on the Power of Intersectional Storytelling
By Natalie McCarty
Founded with a commitment to amplifying marginalized voices, Ebony Tomatoes Collective stands as a testament to thoughtful storytelling and genuine representation. Under the leadership of founder and editor-in-chief Ava Emilione, the editorial team meticulously curates each issue, ensuring that every piece resonates deeply with their growing community, which has quickly become a hub for honest narratives and bold creative expression.
A portrait of some of the Ebony Tomatoes Collective’s founding members. Photo by Zelle Westfall.
I had the pleasure to speak with Emilione about the inspirations, challenges, and future aspirations of a publication committed to authenticity and inclusivity, in which they shared their mission to amplify voices and celebrate stories that deserve to be heard.
What inspired you to establish the Ebony Tomatoes Collective, and how has its mission evolved since its inception?
I came up with the idea for Ebony Tomatoes Collective as a junior at NYU Tisch. I grew up in predominantly white schools, hoping that college would introduce me to a network of Black, queer, and diverse writers. By my junior year, I felt that I had made little progress on that goal. Tisch connected me to many friends and talented storytellers, but my identity did not overlap with most of my classmates and nearly all of my professors, I fear. I grew tired of being the most “ethnic,” radical voice in the room, even as I learned about the fundamentals of storytelling. The community I yearned for wouldn’t just drop into my lap, not even in New York. I had to create that space for myself. I started a writer’s group for Black women that year, mostly so I could have a space to share my writing with people who wouldn’t comment on Black people or Black stories in a way that made me cringe. The writer’s group became a place where we could discuss the difficulties of being Black in hegemonic institutions and offer support to one another. We offered encouragement, cracked jokes, and made plans offline. The collective’s co-founders—Yumna, Leslie, Rachel, Jasmine, and I—decided to expand into a literary magazine by that spring.
Our mission has evolved a lot since we started in 2022. Initially, we described ourselves as a “digital soul scrapbook” for and by Black women and non-binary folks. As my own gender identity developed and more gender expansive people joined the editorial team, we widened our scope to include all Black folks with intersectional identities. We found that many of the people we wanted to hear from did not fit neatly into the “woman” or “non-binary” label—myself included. We invite all writers who fall outside of colonial, language-bound binaries to feel encouraged to submit their work. After being a digital-only magazine, we started publishing printed issues in October 2023. Printing Ebony Tomatoes made our work feel even more real and pertinent. I love thinking about readers holding our work in their hands or putting our magazines on their night stands. It’s also comforting to know that if the digital world crumbled or all the lights shut off, our work would still exist in the physical realm. Not everyone has or wants access to the Internet, so distributing printed work and reduced-price PDF eBooks feels more democratic because there are less barriers to entry. While our stories may hit just a bit different for Black readers, the sort of things we’re talking about—community, emotion, sexuality, and liberation—apply to everyone.
How does the magazine ensure that it authentically represents a Black, intersectional viewpoint in its content and editorial decisions?
We’re different from many other media or literary spaces because for us, Blackness is the norm. The entire editorial team at Ebony Tomatoes Collective is Black—it has always been that way. We understand that writers and artists from our community face disproportionate hurdles to publication because we continue to face those hurdles ourselves. While other literary spaces are still fumbling with the question of what it means to be Black, we are asking ourselves what it means to be Black and—Black and queer, Black and Palestinian, Black and grieving, and so on. Within the team, we refer to ourselves as “Etc”—which is an acknowledgement of our work to represent all “the other things” Black people are and experience. Since we all share an understanding of what it means to be Black in our own ways, our content and editorial decisions expand mainstream notions of race, gender, geography, and identity. That’s where intersectionality comes in. The large majority of us are queer, so intersectionality, or how our social identities intersect to shape our experience, is on all of our minds.
Intersectionality was created by Kimberlé Crenshaw, a Black feminist civil rights scholar. I was introduced to Black radical tradition through this intersectional lens, and I believe our content reflects that. Some of our editors are focused on narratives from the Global South (Yumna), others are enthralled with lesbian media (Cheyenne), others still are enthralled by nature poems (Cecilia) and environmentalism (me). Our tastes reveal that authenticity is expansive.
Ebony Tomatoes Collective’s new issue, “Against the Tide,” at our latest launch party. Photo by Tiffany Harris.
The forthcoming issue delves into the collapse of political systems and the potential for community organizing. Can you elaborate on the themes and objectives you aim to explore in this edition?
Yes! I created our new issue alongside editors Yumna Elhdari, Binnny Onabalu, and Cheyenne Edwards. We started working on the issue on the eve of the 2024 election, and we knew that the news cycle would be focused on the horrors of American electoral politics for the foreseeable future. We wanted to tell a different story and resist political resignation, which doesn’t serve anyone. Raising awareness about the potential of organized action, which is really just showing up for one another, is the primary objective of this edition. We interviewed the founder of The Free Black Women’s Library in Bed-Stuy, Black queer DJs who are connecting queer folks through music and dancing, and Denita Jones, a grassroots organizer in Texas. I also traveled to Taos, New Mexico to feature Darien Fernandez, who operates a conservation non-profit and land trust.
The night I proofread the final magazine for the last time, I felt such a deep sense of hope and inspiration. This issue is our way of asserting that we don’t have to continue to participate in a system we did not consent to. We don’t have to participate in the circus of late-stage capitalism. We may not have millions of dollars or conglomerate corporations, but we have the land. We have our labor. We have buying power. We have music. We have each other. I think that’s quite enough to create the sort of world that’s safe for working class, rural, Black, Indigenous, disabled, and queer people. The first step is highlighting people who are already doing that work and joining them in their mission.
In what ways do you believe grassroots movements can foster hope and transformation amidst societal breakdowns?
I think a lot of us are struggling with a sense of hopelessness right now. The job market is notoriously hard to navigate, and the jobs within the market are often exploitative and soul-sucking. Many Americans are facing housing insecurity, burnout, and lack of access to medical care, AI is encroaching upon us as if by design, and it’s easy to feel helpless to resist the breakdown hurtling towards us. To make matters worse, those in power are dedicated to maintaining their positions in the global order. We can’t expect them to act for the people because their influence depends on natural resources and cheap, around-the-clock labor.
Grassroots movements offer an alternative to despair and exploitation. Instead of critiquing the system from a place of powerlessness, grassroots organizers host punk shows, direct plays, publish novels, manage local farms, and offer accessible resources to their community. In one essay for “Against the Tide,” for instance, Imani Krisée Herring tells a story of how she attempted to start an agriculture club while attending college in a food desert. In an immersive profile on Denita Jones, a Texas-based community organizer, Yumna Elhdari explores criminal justice reform and political advocacy in the South. Binny Onabolu also interviews Ola Akinmowo, who founded The Free Black Women’s Library, an incredible literary advocacy program in Bed-Stuy. Organizers often are the first to support Black, rural, working-class, Indigenous, and disabled folks, and we would do well to follow their example. I believe that movements led by the people are the only way to rebuild a society that’s in disrepair.
What criteria do you use to select pieces for publication, and how do you balance showcasing personal narratives with broader socio-political commentary?
I publish honest, somatic pieces that move away from mainstream discourse and expand my understanding of the world. I seek submissions that offer a moving look into the human experience without regurgitating what’s trending on social media or the news cycle. Building that level of skill is definitely a nonlinear journey for a writer. However, I selected pieces for Ebony Tomatoes that portray vivid, in-your-body experiences: Speaking with your grandmother under a canopy of trees. Falling in love. Beginning a gardening club to gain access to fresh groceries. When told in just the right way, writing captures a fragment of life that feels more real, more honest, than life itself. I won’t claim to know what art is, but I can certainly recognize how it feels to witness it. That’s the feeling I’m after.
The balance between personal narratives and socio-political commentary has come fairly naturally for us. Unfortunately, a great deal of the life of Black people is politicized. Politics are inseparable, at least in some small way, from the lived experience of marginalized people. We are expected to go on as usual knowing that most of the tragedies inflicted on us by the state are completely legal. At the same time, Black culture is filled to the brim with humor, joy, and mysticism. That sacred balance of pride and pain colors so much of what comes out of marginalized communities. As a Black person, as a queer person, my rage and grief comes from that place. My hope and optimism that love can transform the world comes from that place, too.
Friends of Ebony Tomatoes and Ava Emilione at our “Against the Tide” launch.
How does the Collective engage with its readership and contributors to build a sense of community and shared purpose?
Ebony Tomatoes began as a writer’s group, so garnering excitement about other people’s art, collaborating on projects, and forming friendships has always shaped our ultimate purpose. I’ve met some incredible people from Ebony Tomatoes.There’s not one person on the team who I don’t consider a good friend of mine—as a result, we share a certain level of respect for one another. That camaraderie extends to our global community. Our 21st issue, titled Liberation, explored stories about community care across Sudan, Palestine, and the Congo. Our editors Cecilia, Yumna, and I donated 20% of Liberation’s sales to mutual aid, raising over $300 for families impacted by colonial violence. Cheyenne, our social media director, posts mutual aid fundraisers sent by our followers to raise money for everything from rent costs, to top surgery, to cancer treatments. It’s hard out here, so our goal is to uplift readers not only through literature, but through collective material support and visibility.
This question reminded me of a highlight from my week: I sent copies of our new issue to a high school in New Jersey for a Black History Month event held by the Black Student Union. I went to high school in New Jersey, so sharing our work with up-and-coming readers was definitely a full-circle moment. We’re resuming our writer’s group after a very long hiatus, so I’m excited to connect with folks that way, too!
What challenges have you faced in running an intersectional literary and arts magazine, and what successes are you most proud of?
When Ebony Tomatoes began, I didn’t fully realize that running a literary magazine also means running a business. However, publishing a magazine requires communication, problem-solving, and, of course…funding. Securing consistent funding definitely poses a challenge for us, especially because Black businesses face disproportionate hurdles to entrepreneurial and grant opportunities. In 2024, 56% of white-owned businesses and only 32% of Black-owned businesses were approved for the loans and cash advances. This is only further compounded by the economic challenges facing the entire publishing industry. I think the biggest hurdle in selling any magazine or book right now is building excitement within our communities around reading and writing, as opposed to watching a movie, going to a party, or engaging on social media. While we publish films and visual art, throw wonderful parties, and use social media, Ebony Tomatoes is a literary organization at its heart in a world where honest, equitable writing is overlooked in many spaces. Luckily, a lot of emerging and established writers are working hard to turn that around.
Personally, I’m most proud of every issue we’ve published, especially our printed editions. All of our magazines are so beautifully designed and so woven together by a group of talented people. It feels like making a group sculpture, in a way, and it’s cool to lead the process of creating work that’s so much bigger than myself. I feel proud of the community we’ve formed around our work, too. I’ve met so many editors, writers, illustrators, and photographers who have contributed their time and talent to our collective. The force that drives us to read poetry, throw a launch party, or write a story is so magical, yet so fundamentally human. It’s a joy to see that sort of energy in action time and time again. I’ve heard people say that journalism is dead, that publishing is dead, that reading is dead. I don’t believe that. Reading is dead only if we let it die. If we want to keep reading, how would we let that happen?
Looking ahead, what are your aspirations for the Ebony Tomatoes Collective, and how do you envision its role in the literary and arts community evolving?
I aspire for Ebony Tomatoes to continue the tradition of literary resistance. Language is a fluid potion. With only a few well-placed words, writers can summon and destroy worlds. We need that sort of power in circumstances like ours, where the selfish madness of our political leaders assault our right to live and choose for ourselves. Ebony Tomatoes offers an alternative to a culture that requires us to withstand circles of digital hell to learn how our peers are engaging with the world. Ebony Tomatoes Collective is a community effort to sustain independent, cutting-edge literature and journalism, giving a voice to people instead of propaganda.
I hope that more people will support our work not only as a writer or editor, but as a reader, a neighbor, and a friend. I hope to build more coalitions with other zines, creatives, and publishers as well. There’s definitely a strong zine and publishing culture popping up around the country right now, and I’d love for Ebony Tomatoes Collective to play a meaningful role in that space. Deepening my literary community is such a big part of that for me.
How have your personal experiences as a writer and editor influenced the direction and ethos of the magazine?
I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was very young, so I share many of the goals and experiences of the writers and editors I work with. Being a writer, or any sort of creative person, is a humbling experience. I’m submitting my work to literary magazines just like writers are submitting to us, and I’m working to make a living from literary work because it matters so much to me. Even my writing for Ebony Tomatoes is always edited by a member of our editorial team. When I started this magazine, I hoped to impart the joy and connection that storytelling is capable of without hierarchy, discrimination, or high barriers to entry.
I think a lot of people turn a cold shoulder to literature because it has a pretentious, vaguely threatening light academia vibe, but I want my writing and literary work to challenge that notion. Capitalism demands so much from us that we’re challenged to find the capacity to be still with a book. This has resulted in an assumption that literature is the professor’s tool, or the academic’s tool, or the tool of pre-digital society. But that’s not true. At its best, literature is a tool for the people. Imagine if the stories of working class people, Black people, Indigenous and genderqueer people, could be accessible to the average American by wandering through a bookstore, subscribing to a newsletter, or visiting a cafe. What would happen if we, as a society, consciously chose to support independent publishers and storytellers in our communities? The world would be a better place. This conviction motivates pretty much everything I do for Ebony Tomatoes, and it comes from my sensibilities as a writer.
Cecilia Innis, an editor for Ebony Tomatoes Collective, at the release party for their 22nd issue Beyond the Margin. Photo by Brie Nunley.
What guidance would you offer to Black creatives seeking to share their personal stories and perspectives through literary and artistic platforms?
Be precious with your writing, but not too precious. Writing is an interesting medium—it’s such a solitary practice, so I think as writers we hold our work very near and dear to us. However, I’ve developed some of the best pieces with writers who were willing to reimagine their sentences, dig deeper into certain topics, or spend a little extra time discovering their voice. As someone who has been flogged with constructive criticism many times, I know that workshopping writing can be difficult. Humiliating, even. At its best, however, editing is a sacred and beautiful process. When trust and communication is exchanged between a writer and editor, they can nurse the chrysalis of an idea into a story with wings. If you want to submit to literary and artistic opportunities, share your work with your friends. Ask for feedback. Separate rejection from your self-worth. Allow yourself to share your writing—the streets are saying it’s a key part of artistic development. Easier said than done, though. Don’t I know it…
My second piece of advice would be to read often, read contemporary authors, and read across genres. While I adore classic literature, as an emerging writer, it’s important to know what your peers are saying and working on. We become better storytellers by witnessing skilled writers untangle themselves on the page. If you follow a literary magazine on Instagram or TikTok, take a second to read their work, buy a copy of their magazine if you have the funds, or email their team if you want to work with them. I feel like literary and artistic platforms can sometimes loom as judge, jury, and executioner figures for emerging writers. However, most literary magazines, especially the up-and-coming organizations, are run by people who really care about what they do. So much of the work that literary magazines do is on a volunteer basis. Many of us are facing institutional hardship firsthand, and we’re writing our way out of the system right alongside you. Reading maintains a record of how we can unfurl the world with our tongues and make a new world together.
