For as long as I can remember, the presence of melanin in my skin has felt like a burden, as if I were carrying uranium on my shoulders. Being Black in America is an immense weight.
I have felt this heaviness during the countless times I’ve been stopped by police under the guise of a “routine check.” I’ve felt it when overly vigilant security guards shadow me in stores. I’ve sensed it as the only person of color in my workplace, a feeling that intensifies when I am in a position of leadership. I’ve carried this weight during job interviews, while searching for housing, and even on dates.
Much like an electromagnetic force that binds atoms, I also feel the collective weight of Blackness. I know, deep down, even before verdicts are announced, that there will be no justice for Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, and countless others whose names fade into obscurity, including my cousin, Marcus Hayes, who remains unknown.
This weight becomes palpable when I witness Americans burning Colin Kaepernick’s jersey for his peaceful protest against racial injustice. I feel it as I watch military-grade vehicles descend upon peaceful protests. I notice the stark contrast of fortunes made from the legal marijuana industry while so many Black men remain imprisoned for minor offenses tied to cannabis. From every noose left as a “joke” to every N-word screamed in anger or inscribed in secret, I witness the ongoing attempts to undermine Black achievement, erase Black contributions to arts and culture, and navigate the institutional barriers that people of color face daily like champions.
I taste our struggles in our foods, read them in our poetry, and hear them in our music. The weight of our continuous fight resonates in the works of Langston Hughes. The culinary artistry we practice often masks the harsh truth of our origins. From country music to gospel, jazz, rock & roll, rhythm & blues, and hip-hop, every beat and lyric echoes with tension and purpose.
Yet, the heaviest burden of all is knowing that despite your talent, your success often hinges on someone else’s decision to grant you an opportunity. I reflect on the pivotal moment when, without Branch Ricky’s intervention, Jackie Robinson might never have had the chance to make history in the ’55 World Series. The reality is stark: if they can take what you have, they will do so. If outright theft isn’t possible, they will appropriate your ideas, claiming credit while ignoring the pain that birthed them. While Black creativity is boundless, access to capital remains a distant dream.
I also see the impact of prevalent health issues that disproportionately affect people of color—diabetes, hypertension, and other ailments that arise not from genetics, but from a confluence of circumstances and the relentless stress of everyday life.
The weight of Blackness is enough to shift tides.
Learning to love my Black identity has been a journey, one that begins early. Like many Black children, I was taught to sing “The Greatest Love of All” by the time I was five. As a child, I didn’t grasp the significance of this mantra, but as an adult, I understand its importance. It instills a deep sense of pride necessary for navigating a world that often seems designed to undermine us—”To make it easier.”
“To make it easier.” Each time you hear mockery of your beautiful hair texture or see their fearful comparisons to primates. Each time they question your intelligence or work ethic, insinuating moral inferiority based solely on the color of your skin. Each time you confront a centuries-old system built to limit your potential, and every time you’re punished for daring to believe you can rise above the obstacles that keep so many of your people down.
What is often left unsaid to children learning this song is that no amount of pride—personal or collective—will ever simplify the struggle. You can grow stronger, smarter, and more perceptive, but the challenges will persist. Despite the burdens, the only choice is to rise above them.
In the United States, we celebrate Black History Month each February. We are reminded of the struggles endured by Black heroes, the inventors whose contributions have been overlooked, and the resilience displayed in the face of adversity. We’ve become adept at recognizing when society cherry-picks Dr. King’s most uplifting quotes, all while we await the next wave of racist outrage on this sacred day, remembering a leader who fought valiantly for justice, only to be met with violence and tragedy.
But today, I choose to embrace the joy of my Blackness. Today, I will blast my music, dance with abandon, and bask in the sunshine that nourishes my Black skin—melanin shielding me from the sun’s rays, just as my ancestors shielded their descendants with their strength. Today, I celebrate a culture so rich that generations of oppression have yet to dull its brilliance. I reject the weight of others’ expectations based solely on the beautiful hue of my skin. In honoring Dr. King’s legacy, I will transform myself at a fundamental level: instead of bearing the weight of struggle, I will soar above it all. I will defy gravity and expectations, channeling that energy like Michael Jordan soaring for a dunk.
Today, I will wear my melanin like hydrogen.
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In summary, the journey of embracing one’s Blackness is fraught with challenges, but it also holds profound joy and empowerment. By choosing to rise above societal burdens, we can celebrate our identity and heritage with pride.
Keyphrase: Joy of Black Identity
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