People from LGBTQ+ communities are more likely than the general population to use alcohol and drugs and to be diagnosed with substance use disorder. LGBTQ+ individuals often do not seek or receive the substance use treatment that they need. We explore the substance use treatment trends of the LGBTQ+ population, including the efficacy of current evidence-based practices and group treatments for use with LGBTQ+ clients with substance use disorders. We then discuss the influence of spirituality in the lives of recovering LGBTQ+ individuals, define characteristics of LGBTQ+ affirmative relapse prevention, and provide a sample LGBTQ+ relapse prevention plan. We conclude with a theoretical case vignette.

Many Black intellectuals and artists have called for a counter-historiography that would redress the silencing of Black voices and the inadequate representation of Black experiences in earlier comics. This chapter identifies three categories of graphic historiographies, each with thematic and formal recurrences: those that propose a frontal look at the context of enslavement, from the horrors of the Middle Passage to the violence of the plantation world; those focusing on the political and social struggles of Black communities after the Civil War, from the Jim Crow era and the courageous actions of Civil Rights leaders to twenty-first-century police brutality; and, finally, those that imagine new Black futures in the mode of speculative fiction, while metaphorically referencing past forms of exploitation and repression. The chapter studies the specific devices of several of these works, including the use of temporal shifts in the graphic adaptation of Octavia Butler’s Kindred, the reliance on oral history and photo-based illustrations in John Lewis’s Run, Book One, the depiction of Black women’s subordination in Shirlene Obuobi’s ShirlyWhirlMD webcomic, and the futuristic metaphors of slavery and capitalism in Roxane Gay’s The Sacrifice of Darkness.

Chaney investigates the "changing same" of visual self-presentation in African American autobiography, history, biography, and fiction, paying attention to two forms: frontispieces and illustrations of the nineteenth-century ex-fugitive and comics from twenty-first-century African American artists and writers. The bridge between these two zones of history is not to be erected or traversed in the name of a naïve comparison, nor is it to be drawn from the coincidence of similarity arising from the fact that all the texts involved are partly visual. Rather, the gulf separating Frederick Douglass and Matt Johnson, for example, and their time periods is itself an assumption that the graphic works discussed in this chapter all seek to dismantle. Insofar as the traumatic Black subject is nearly always also a historical one in contemporary entertainments, African American graphic novels reclaim the past in the name of the present: through a style, voice, or look that is unavoidably "presentist" in its approach — since even a comic designed to resemble antebellum illustrations always does so in a manner that contrarily flaunts what is more contemporary than historical about the text.

The complex interaction between the visual and print culture is central to transitions in definitions and perceptions of Black personhood and to an understanding of mid-century African American literature. Marshaled by race science and underwriting the emergence of the periodical as a media form in the United States through its advertisements for fugitives and enslaved Africans for sale, visuality and its imbrication with print were also mobilized by Black authors to contest those racializing scripts through authorial frontispieces. The mid-century explosion of slave narrative publication and the popularization of photographic portraiture are coincident and imbricated, making visuality and viewing practices central to understanding African American autobiographical texts. In this chapter, Michael Chaney focuses on “ex-fugitive” authorial frontispieces between 1850 and 1854 within the frame of what he calls “embedded gazing and looking relations” scripted by the illustration and phenomenal success of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin. In doing so, he traces contestations over visual compositions of “the slave” that he argues form “the emergence of an ‘optic American slave’” during a “volatile juncture” for African American pictorial self-representation in print culture. How might, and did, Black authors challenge what Chaney calls a “viral Uncle Tom”?

The exceptional character of the Harlem Renaissance as a watershed of selfdirected “Negro” arts and letters and the popular view of its centralization in Harlem have led to an unfortunate occlusion of its international dimensions. The “New Negro Movement” bloomed within a global network of epiphenomenal cultural nationalisms and folk revivals. In the first two decades of the twentieth century, pulses of decolonization rippled throughout Asia, the Caribbean, and Ireland, catalyzed by China's 1901 Boxer Rebellion, the Russian Revolution of 1917, and postwar efforts to accommodate European ethnic minorities in their struggles for self-determination. Much of the scholarship surrounding the Harlem Renaissance, however, has approached it at the expense of the global as a phenomenon of primarily national significance despite the persistent emphasis on internationalism in the works and life experiences of the movement's leading figures. Even when this emphasis is noted, as with the much-studied Negro vogues of Paris and Berlin, the international scope of the movement's influence and impact has been conceptualized according to an American context rooted in slavery, reconstruction, migration, and segregation. Nevertheless, a few scholars, such as Robert Stepto, Michel Fabre, and Melvin Dixon, have outlined the global contours of the Harlem Renaissance currently being reexamined and theorized anew by Brent Hayes Edwards, George Hutchinson, and others, so that the transnational shape of the movement and the disparate worldviews of its writers may come more fully into view.