FIGHTING GHOST IN BROAD DAYLIGHT: THE TRUTH ABOUT BEING BLACK IN AMERICA

Our little ones deserve to see us building what needs to be seen, instead of begging to be seen.

Once upon a time, there was a little Black girl trying to box a ghost. Every time she swung, it ducked. When she turned around, it giggled behind her back. When she sat still, it climbed into her thoughts and whispered, "You ain't from here." That ghost didn’t come from her family or her block. That ghost came from an idea—a lie dressed up in law, draped in textbooks, and etched into concrete like commandments.

That ghost’s name? Race.

Let’s be clear—race ain’t real. Not like mangoes or mountains. It’s a costume party thrown by colonizers. And the only folks forced to wear the same outfit forever were the ones renamed Black.

Before we were “Black,” we were African. With names. Nations. Ancestors. Tongues that clicked, rolled, and called the spirits home. But in the American remix, they scratched the record and called us Black—just Black. As if we were broken crayons at the bottom of history’s box. Meanwhile, whiteness got to be everybody else’s prize. Irish? White now. Italian? Welcome to the club. “White” was never about color—it was about power, borders, and access.

And still… we’re here. Still swinging at ghosts that shape-shift. Because race is deeper than skin—it’s psychological warfare. A long con. An invisible leash. And racism? That’s just the side effect. The real disease is the invention of the racial caste itself.

Now here’s where it gets heavy:

Blackness, the thing they tried to flatten, is now the realest identity on this soil. We the only ones without a “somewhere else.” Everybody else got a flag, a hyphen, a recipe, a story. We got roots in the ground we were forced to plow. We made here here. From the soil to the sound. From cotton fields to corporate floors.

We are not outsiders. We are not guests. We’re the architects. And it’s time everybody else remembered that. This is the truth about being Black in America.

So if you’ve been pushed to the edge of whiteness... if your brown skin got followed through stores or your name got paused in job interviews or your people been deported while their labor built cities… baby, you been living Black-adjacent. And now’s the time to stop reaching for distance and start reaching for us.

Not in imitation. In alignment. This ain’t about losing your culture—it’s about finding your coalition.

Come closer to Black. Not out of pity, but out of power. Blackness is not a burden. It’s a position of truth. A frequency of resistance. And if you've ever been othered, you’re already humming the tune. Might as well join the chorus.

Because Black is not just a color—it’s a commitment. It’s the drumline of every revolution that shook this country awake. It's not a skin tone—it’s a stance. The only one in this country that's ever been honest enough to say: “We see the lie. And we ain't playing along.”

So no—we're not ghosts. We're not shadows. We're the sun. And baby, we been rising.

We’re not asking. We’re activating.We’re not knocking on doors—we’re building new blueprints.We’re not from somewhere else. We are here. Because we made here.

BLACK is the most American thing there is. And when we root ourselves in that truth, the whole map changes.