Who is we?

It’s the first day of Black History Month, and in my opinion we still have not gained full consciousness of who we are. Somehow, after everything, we are still confused. So let this entry be a reminder.

I’ll start with the thing that has always bothered me the most. Being labeled as BLACK. A word that by definition means nothing. That alone should raise questions. It always confused me because I am not black. I’m brown. I have melanin, texture, warmth, lineage.

This world has convinced us of so many wrong things, things that have been passed down, repeated, and glued onto our culture until they became our identity. What blows my mind is that so much of what we stand on, revise, defend, and even honor was never established by us. Yet we claim it as ours, knowing deep down that it isn’t.

Even the segregation within language itself, the phrase “black and brown people,” feels like a slap in the face. A reminder that you are nothing, and somehow still separate from nothing to them. Divided even in emptiness.

So again, who is we?

This is a phrase commonly used in our culture. Something that, when heard, immediately triggers the response, “Who is we?” It carries weight. If you know, you know. It’s a check. A pause. A moment of awareness that asks who is included, who is excluded, and who decided in the first place.

We’ve been taught that the languages we speak, verbal and nonverbal, are ghetto. That our tone, our rhythm, our expressions, our silence are something to unlearn. When in reality, they are culturally appropriate. They are adaptive. They are intelligent. They should be protected and praised within our own communities instead of shamed out of us.

They’ve successfully taught us to hate ourselves. To the point where many don’t see value in themselves, their neighborhoods, their families, or their way of life because it does not resemble whiteness closely enough. Which has always confused me. Because from what I’ve witnessed, almost everything stems from brown culture. Rhythm. Style. Language. Food. Movement. Creativity. Flavor. Soul. Yet we are told it is lesser unless approved, repackaged, and sold back to us.

So we walk this soil brown, on land no one asked to be born into, constantly questioning why. From redlining to credit creation. From separating fathers from families to manipulating mothers’ emotions, removing figures from children while we watch our women struggle and grow resentful toward their opposites. Divide and conquer. Strip away authenticity. Replace it with something sprayed on, watered down, and profitable.

To burn, hang, eat, and drown another human simply for being human showed me everything I needed to know. Evil does not appear overnight. It is inherited, normalized, and passed down through generations that refuse accountability.

Now people are starting to accept what happened, what is happening, and what the future of humanity might look like. At the same time, there is a push to erase the very history that explains how we got here. Both cannot coexist honestly.

It is all human error. And as I continue my lifelong studies of The Human Experience, I will continue to document it. For those who wish to read. For my children. For my future self. As proof that someone was paying attention.

Until we understand that we are not liked but used and tolerated, we cannot begin healing. Until we understand that our culture is ours, we will not be able to look at a stranger and value their life as if it were our own.

Until we understand that the systems in place were designed to halt, divide, devalue, and dehumanize us, we will not be able to make the necessary changes within our communities. Until we are taught to love ourselves fully in our natural state, instead of hiding behind designer labels, artificial dopamine, makeup, and borrowed validation, all while funding generational wealth for the opposing party, we will never do the same for ourselves.

Alright, let me land this plane.

What I’m saying is this. I think you should seriously consider taking back what is ours and who we are. And it starts with stopping the practice of referring to yourself, your peers, and your culture as BLACK. I have yet to see a human the color of nothing. Purple maybe. But definitely not black.

If you insist that you are black, that you are nothing, then by all means, be you. Just do not be around me with that outlook on yourself. Because I think your brown skin is beautiful exactly as it is. Accurate. Honest. Alive.

We are all we have.

Stop hating yourself.
Stop hating each other.

Happy Brown History Month

Hope this helps,

-B