Turning Inward: The Key to Black Resilience and Rebuilding the Family
In America, the Black family has always been both a source of strength and a battleground. It has endured slavery, segregation, and systemic exclusion. It has been fractured by policies, economics, and cultural narratives designed to weaken its foundation. Yet, time and again, we have rebuilt. We have turned inward, drawing upon our collective resilience to create thriving communities like Black Wall Street in Tulsa and Black Bottom in Detroit. We have lifted each other up, even in the face of deliberate efforts to pull us down.
But today, as I look at the state of our families, I see fractures—not born of external forces alone, but deepened by our internal dynamics. Black women, in particular, have been celebrated for their progress, their achievements, and their undeniable impact. But in the shadows of these victories lies a painful truth: too often, this progress has come at the expense of Black men, boys, and the family unit as a whole.
This imbalance is no accident; it is the result of a deliberate strategy. Society has poured resources into programs that uplift Black women and girls while systematically dismantling efforts to advance Black boys and men. This divide is not about empowerment—it is about control. It mirrors the oldest tactic in the book: divide and conquer. By fostering resentment and division, the system ensures that the collective power of the Black community is never fully realized.
“But there was something in it for me.”
And here, I cannot help but hear the voice of Fredo Corleone in The Godfather: “But there was something in it for me.” Fredo’s tragic flaw was his desire for validation, his willingness to betray the family for his own sense of power and recognition. Like Michael’s admonition to Fredo—never side with anyone outside the family—there is a lesson here for us. Too often, Black women have found themselves aligning with external systems that promise them opportunity and power, often to the detriment of Black men and the broader family.
This is not a new phenomenon. In the chessboard of society, Black women have often been cast as the Queen—permitted to move freely, to advance with speed and range. Meanwhile, the Black man, like the King, is restricted, confined to limited movements. But this freedom for Black women is no gift; it comes with strings attached. Society promotes Black women’s advancement not out of goodwill but as a strategy to weaken the family and maintain control. The resources are offered not to empower the collective but to sow division.
Nowhere was this more evident than in the last election. White women, long seen as allies in the fight for equity, overwhelmingly cast their votes for Donald Trump. Their loyalty, as it has always been, was to their husbands, their sons, their fathers—to white men and the structures of power they represent. Black women, who had aligned with feminist ideals and broader coalitions, were left in the cold, reminded once again of the limits of these alliances. The promises of external systems proved hollow, as they so often do.
This is not an indictment of Black women as individuals. Their progress is remarkable and deserving of recognition. But we must confront the fact that this progress has sometimes come at the cost of unity within our own communities. The question we must ask is not what Black women or Black men have done to each other, but what we have allowed the system to do to us. The fractures between us are not natural; they are engineered. They are the legacy of a society that has always feared the collective strength of a united Black family.
And yet, history offers us a roadmap. After slavery, when the world gave us nothing, we turned inward. We built schools, businesses, and entire communities from the ground up. In the face of segregation, we created self-sufficient ecosystems that thrived despite every obstacle. The lesson is clear: when we focus on the micro—our families, our neighborhoods, our communities—we create power that cannot be taken away. This power does not come from external validation but from internal resilience.
To move forward, we must reject the systems that divide us. Black women and men must recognize that their struggles are intertwined. We cannot allow the narrative of betrayal to consume us. Instead, we must adopt the wisdom of Don Vito Corleone: loyalty to the family above all. This does not mean turning away from the fight for justice on the national stage, but it does mean prioritizing the rebuilding of our homes and communities.
Imagine what could happen if the energy, skills, and talents of Black women were directed not toward external validation but toward the strengthening of the family. Imagine a generation of Black boys raised in communities where their value is affirmed, their potential nurtured. Imagine Black men and women standing together, united in purpose, rejecting the forces that seek to divide them.
The time has come to turn inward—not as an act of retreat, but as a strategy for survival and growth. When we prioritize the family, we honor the generations that came before us and lay the foundation for the generations to come. Let us move forward together, not as divided pieces on a chessboard, but as a family united in strength and purpose.
