This conversation deserves all the care in the world, and at some point, I hope to have something more substantive, because this is far more nuanced than a soundbite or just me sounding off. But right now, I’m tired. So fair warning—this is going to be a bit of a rant. Hopefully, a rational one.
I’ll start with the trigger. During a recent confirmation hearing for the Department of Health and Human Services, the nominee claimed that Black people are genetically better equipped to handle infectious diseases and require less treatment or different schedules to survive an epidemic. Think Tuskegee. Think maternal mortality. Think slavery. Some in our community preened at the idea of being “stronger” human specimens, blind to the racist foundations of this kind of thinking—foundations that have historically justified neglect, abuse, and outright harm against us. We need to be more sophisticated about how we speak and who we prop up. Smoke and mirrors—it’s not a compliment. It’s a trap.
Black communities do extraordinary things—building, innovating, shaping culture—yet the narratives about us remain spectacularly negative. Welfare recipients, criminals, entertainers—these are the roles assigned to us. A viral video of a teenage girl claiming Black people exist to entertain white people isn’t just a random moment of ignorance. It reflects a larger reality: we are rarely allowed to define our worth outside of specific, limited arenas. Worse, we let others speak for us. Anonymous voices online, masquerading as Black, push division. They pit Black men and women against each other, making it seem as though the fractures in our community are unfixable. Some of our so-called leaders, instead of using their influence to uplift, leverage it for personal gain—convincing themselves they are part of a class greater than their own people, only to be discarded when they are no longer useful.
To be clear, I know that empathy, compassion, and integrity is very much alive in the spirit and souls of many people outside our community. As such, I must acknowledge that there are genuine allies outside our community—people who understand our systemic struggles and have contributed their blood, sweat, and tears to our cause. These are not the ones stepping on our necks and breaking our backs. I’m talking about the ones who control the levers of power. The ones with their hands so far up the backs of self-proclaimed bastions of the blacks, the illusion of independence is laughable.
There’ a clear shift in public messaging, that is absent the ambiguity of past oppressors. Recent rhetoric from factions of governments across the globe has been loud and clear: Black progress is a threat. And their actions reflect that sentiment. Policies that seem neutral on the surface often have devastating consequences for Black communities. Welfare is a prime example. For decades, we have been painted as the face of government assistance—not just in America but globally. Despite evidence proving otherwise, the “welfare queen” myth was crafted to demonize Black women seeking support. In reality, the majority of welfare recipients in the U.S. are white. Yet, the narrative persists because it serves a purpose—to justify cuts to social programs, to frame Black people as burdens, and to reinforce the idea that we are weak-minded, lazy, and dependent. The recent DEI statements aren’t just provocative; they reinforce a system designed to keep us in our place.
And this narrative extends beyond America. Africa—undeniably the richest continent in natural resources—is framed as the world’s charity case. Western nations extract trillions in wealth, return pennies in “aid,” and then paint themselves as saviors. Altruistic on its face, but in reality, it creates a narrative that we are unable to care for ourselves. It conveniently ignores the lasting setbacks of colonization, the continued economic stranglehold of neo-colonization. Today, China, the U.S., Russia, and other global powers continue to carve up Africa for their own gain. The perception of African nations as dependent is not incidental; it is strategic.
We are rarely allowed to define our own worth outside of entertainment, sports, or struggle. Just look at the viral video of a teenage girl saying that Black people exist to entertain white audiences. As grotesque as that statement is, it reveals an uncomfortable truth—too often, our value is only recognized in specific, narrow arenas. Our cultural contributions, our intellectual achievements, our economic impact? Overlooked or co-opted. The world wants what we create but rarely wants to acknowledge us as full participants in shaping it.
And we have to ask—how often does “but he’s Black” or “but she’s Black” become the default metric for measuring our worth? As if our value is just in our existence, not our contributions, our intellect, or our humanity.
We have legitimate issues within our community that need to be addressed. The breakdown of the Black family, the growing disconnect between Black men and women—often pushed as fact rather than the consequence of external manipulation. Single-parent households are a reality, and while they are not unique to us, they shape our community in ways that deserve real discussion. But when those conversations happen, too often, they are hijacked. The anonymity of the internet has allowed voices masquerading as Black to stoke division, pushing fringe perspectives as if they represent the whole. And we fall for it. Over and over again, we let others speak for us.
We need to get our house in order. We cannot build if the foundation crumbles every time we progress. If we have to stop too many times to make sure it is stable. The problem is not that we lack the ability—it’s that too many forces are working to convince us we do.
This is not a plea for approval. It’s a demand for reality. We cannot afford to keep falling for the same tricks, the same narratives, the same illusions of progress that amount to little more than reshuffled oppression. It’s time to start speaking for ourselves—and making sure we’re heard. If we do not control the narrative, someone else will—and history has shown us exactly what happens when we allow that.
