There’s a photo from the 2020 US Open that I still think about. Naomi Osaka is standing there with the trophy in her hands, kissing the silver bowl with her eyes closed. At first glance, it’s just a picture of a young woman who won a major tennis tournament. It’s a picture of success, celebration, and victory. But when you remember everything that happened before that moment, the picture means something completely different. Before Naomi ever held that trophy, she walked onto the court for seven matches wearing seven different masks, and each mask carried the name of a Black person who had been killed by police or racial violence. Breonna Taylor, Elijah McClain, Ahmaud Arbery, Trayvon Martin, George Floyd, Philando Castile, and Tamir Rice. She wasn’t wearing those names for decoration. She wanted people to ask questions. She wanted somebody watching to say, “Who is that?” Maybe they would look the name up on their phone. Maybe they would learn something they didn’t know before. That was the point. She wanted the names to be seen because once people know a name, it becomes harder to pretend the person never existed.

Then she won the tournament, and suddenly the image that traveled around the world was Naomi Osaka holding that trophy. What people saw was triumph, but behind that triumph was grief, protest, anger, remembrance, and a deliberate decision to make people uncomfortable enough to pay attention. That moment also happened during a much bigger wave of awareness in America. The WNBA dedicated its 2020 season to Breonna Taylor. NBA players wore Black Lives Matter messages on their jerseys. Courts were painted with words that had become impossible to ignore. LeBron James helped create More Than a Vote to fight voter suppression. Colin Kaepernick had already taken a knee years earlier, but George Floyd’s murder brought everything to another level. It happened during a pandemic, when millions of people were home, online, watching, talking, and paying attention. For a moment, it felt like America had no choice but to look at itself.

There were names everywhere. There were conversations everywhere. There were protests in cities across the country. Athletes were speaking. Musicians were speaking. Actors were speaking. Companies were making statements. People who had never talked about racism before were suddenly having conversations about it. For a short period of time, it felt like everybody was looking in the same direction. Six years later, that intensity feels different. Not because racism disappeared. Not because police violence disappeared. Not because inequality disappeared. They didn’t. What changed was the amount of attention we give those things.

I think that’s something we need to be honest about. America has a very short attention span when it comes to pain. We can become deeply emotional about something when it is happening in front of us, especially when the images are impossible to ignore, but once the cameras move somewhere else, we have a way of moving on. 2020 was an unusual moment. People were home, people were grieving, people were angry, and people were paying attention in a way that doesn’t happen very often. But eventually, the pandemic restrictions lifted, people went back to their routines, the news cycle changed, and other issues took over. The same conversations that once dominated our feeds became quieter.

There’s another part of this that we shouldn’t ignore either. Speaking up can come with consequences. A 2026 report from the USC Race and Equity Center found that fear of saying the wrong thing has become a major reason athletes give for staying quiet about racial injustice. That says something about how much the environment has changed. In 2020, speaking out could make you feel like you were standing with the moment. Today, speaking out can sometimes make you wonder what it could cost you. Could it affect your career? Could people turn against you? Could you lose opportunities? Could somebody take your words out of context? Those questions can make people think twice before they say anything at all.

And corporate America has played a role in that shift. We all remember the statements companies released in 2020. We remember the promises about diversity, inclusion, equality, and racial justice. We remember companies putting Black Lives Matter messages on their websites and social media accounts. Some of those commitments were real, but a lot of that energy has faded. Some companies pulled back because of political pressure. Others faced legal pressure. Some simply stopped talking about racial justice once the public stopped demanding that they talk about it. When the institutional support disappears, the individual becomes more exposed. An athlete can say the same thing in 2026 that they said in 2020 and receive a completely different reaction.

But I also think we have to be careful about saying activism disappeared, because it didn’t. Some activism just became less visible. Not everything meaningful happens in front of a camera. Naomi Osaka didn’t simply put those masks on, win the US Open, and move on with her life. Through her production company, Hana Kuma, she has continued helping tell stories that center Black and Asian voices. There are people doing voter mobilization work. There are people pressuring corporations. There are people organizing in communities. There are people having difficult conversations with their families. There are people doing work that will never become a viral post. That work may not photograph as well as a protest sign or a famous athlete wearing a message on their jersey, but that doesn’t make it less important.

And this is where another part of the story concerns me. While attention toward Black issues has become quieter in some places, there has also been a growing fight over how Native American history is being presented, taught, and remembered. I don’t think those are completely separate stories. I think they are connected by something much bigger, which is what happens when uncomfortable history becomes politically inconvenient.

Earlier this year, the Center for American Progress reported that federal officials had flagged exhibits at 74 national parks for possible removal or revision, including material about colonialism, Native Americans, and Indigenous history. That should make all of us stop and think about what happens when history makes people uncomfortable. Do we tell the truth about it, even when the truth is painful, or do we start changing the language until the pain becomes easier to swallow?

One example that really stands out is Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument in Montana. Language describing Native American boarding schools and the way Indigenous children were separated from their families and stripped of their languages and cultural identities was flagged for revision. What makes this even more disturbing is that the Northern Cheyenne Tribe had specifically requested that this history be included through the official tribal consultation process. Think about that for a moment. A Native community is saying, “This is what happened to our people. This is what happened to our children. Please tell the truth about it.” And then the history is being reconsidered.

That is more than changing a few words on a display. When you change the way something is described, you can change the way people understand what happened. You can take something that was brutal and make it sound unfortunate. You can take something that was intentional and make it sound accidental. You can take something that affected generations of people and reduce it to a paragraph that students read once before moving on to the next chapter.

That is why education matters so much. Children learn history from somewhere. If you keep removing the uncomfortable parts, eventually you create a version of America where almost everything looks cleaner than it really was. Slavery becomes something that happened a long time ago. Racism becomes an unfortunate exception. Colonization becomes a footnote. Native people become people who existed in the distant past. Then somehow the story jumps forward and everybody is supposed to believe that we simply arrived at the present without carrying anything with us.

But that isn’t how history works. People are still living with the consequences of history. Families still carry memories. Communities still carry wounds. Native nations did not disappear in 1900. Native people did not stop existing when the frontier closed. Their governments, cultures, languages, families, and communities continued. So when Native history suddenly becomes quiet after a certain point in a textbook, we should be asking why.

The same thing happens when Black history gets reduced to a handful of familiar names and dates. We remember slavery. We remember Martin Luther King Jr. We remember Rosa Parks. We remember Malcolm X. We remember the Civil Rights Movement. But what about everything around those moments? What about the people whose names never became household names? What about the organizers, writers, mothers, students, workers, activists, inventors, artists, and everyday people who kept communities alive? What happens when history becomes so simplified that an entire people’s experience can fit into a few chapters?

That is where erasure becomes dangerous. It doesn’t always look like somebody burning a history book. Sometimes it looks like a history book that leaves people out. Sometimes it looks like a museum exhibit that suddenly uses softer language. Sometimes it looks like a school curriculum that stops teaching a community’s history after a certain date. Sometimes it looks like a company that decides a racial justice program is no longer necessary because the moment has passed. Sometimes it looks like people simply getting tired of hearing about it.

And maybe that is the part we don’t talk about enough. Erasure doesn’t always require a conspiracy. It doesn’t require everyone sitting in the same room and agreeing to erase something. Sometimes it happens one decision at a time. One curriculum change here. One funding cut there. One exhibit revision somewhere else. One politician deciding that certain history is too divisive. One company deciding that it’s safer to say nothing. One news cycle moving on. One generation growing up knowing less than the generation before it.

Eventually, something that once seemed impossible to ignore becomes something fewer people know about.

But there is another side to this story, and that is the part that gives me hope. People are still fighting back. Native communities are still fighting to have their histories told accurately. Tribal nations are still pushing for their perspectives to be included in schools. People are still organizing. People are still educating. People are still correcting the record. The Northern Cheyenne pushed back when their history was threatened. States have taken steps to require Native history and tribal perspectives in education. Representatives Sharice Davids and Dan Goldman introduced legislation aimed at protecting the historical record at national parks.

And the same thing is happening in the Black community. People may not be seeing as many masks or protests on their social media feeds, but people are still doing the work. Some are building organizations. Some are creating films. Some are writing books. Some are teaching children. Some are organizing voters. Some are documenting family histories. Some are simply refusing to let certain names disappear.

That matters because history doesn’t stay alive just because somebody wrote it down once. History stays alive because people keep telling it. They keep teaching it. They keep questioning it. They keep correcting it when somebody gets it wrong. They keep saying the names of people who might otherwise be forgotten.

And maybe that is where all of us have a responsibility.

We can’t only care when something is trending. We can’t only care when a celebrity puts a name on a mask. We can’t only care when a video goes viral. We can’t only care when everyone around us is talking about the same issue. If we really believe these stories matter, then they should still matter when the hashtags disappear, when the cameras leave, and when the algorithm finds something else to show us.

Will we still care when there is no viral video? Will we still listen when there is no celebrity attached to the story? Will we still remember the names when nobody is putting them on masks? Will we still care about Native history when it isn’t part of the news cycle? Will we still talk about racism when the hashtags disappear?

Because remembering people only when everyone else is remembering them isn’t really remembering. That’s following the crowd. Real remembrance means staying with the story after the crowd leaves. It means being willing to learn something that makes you uncomfortable. It means understanding that history isn’t supposed to make us feel good all the time. Sometimes history is supposed to make us question ourselves. Sometimes it is supposed to make us angry. Sometimes it is supposed to make us grieve. Sometimes it is supposed to remind us that the world we live in didn’t simply appear. It was built through choices, struggles, sacrifices, injustices, resistance, and survival.

That is why I keep coming back to that picture of Naomi Osaka with the trophy. People can look at it and see a tennis champion celebrating a victory. I see that too. But I also see the seven names that came before that moment. I see someone using the platform she had to make sure people remembered people who no longer had a platform of their own.

Maybe that is what we need to keep doing.

Not just asking who gets remembered, but asking who gets forgotten. Not just asking what history is being taught, but asking what history is missing. Not just asking whose voice is loud, but asking whose voice has been made easier to ignore.

Because the quiet part is still there.

The stories are still there.

The names are still there.

The question is whether we are willing to keep saying them when nobody is listening.

There is a season no one prepares you for, not winter, not loss, but the quiet that comes after you've been asked to give more than you have.

I didn't choose to disappear. I chose to survive. And survival, it turns out, doesn't announce itself. It doesn't explain. It just asks you to go still, to close the doors that used to be open, to stop performing wellness for people who only wanted to see you smiling.

They called it isolation. I called it repair.

Somewhere between the fighting and the waiting, the appeals, the silence, the slow grind of proving you deserve what you're owed, I stopped trying to be understood and started trying to heal. Not for anyone watching. For myself.

There were years I had to become someone I didn't recognize, someone who filled out forms instead of living, who learned the language of denial letters and waiting periods, who had to prove, over and over, that the weight I was carrying was real. Nobody warns you how exhausting it is to fight for what should have simply been given. Nobody tells you that healing and surviving are not the same thing, and that sometimes you have to choose one before you can afford the other.

So I went quiet. Not because I gave up, but because noise was a luxury I couldn't carry anymore. Every voice that asked "why are you pulling away" didn't understand that pulling away was the only way I knew how to hold myself together.

A soulstice isn't the absence of people. It's the presence of peace, finally, after so long without it. It's turning inward not because you're broken, but because you're rebuilding, brick by brick, breath by breath, the person the noise almost erased.

There was no single day it ended. No moment where I stood up and declared myself whole. It was slower than that, a therapy session where I said something true for the first time, a morning I woke up and didn't feel dread, a letter that finally said yes after years of no. Small returns. Quiet victories nobody saw but me.

I am still here. Not despite the quiet. Because of it.

And if this is what it took, the stillness, the waiting, the years spent learning how to hold myself when no one else could, then I don't regret a single season of it. I was never isolating. I was in my soulstice, finding my way back to myself.

So I want to talk to you about something that doesn't get talked about enough. Black designers in fashion. Not just who they are, but the whole story. Where they came from, what they had to fight through, and what's happening right now with efforts to actually change the industry.

Grab a coffee. Let's get into it.

It starts further back than you'd think

When people think about Black fashion history, they usually jump straight to someone like Virgil Abloh or Telfar. And don't get me wrong, we'll get there. But this goes back over 150 years.

Elizabeth Hobbs Keckley was making gowns for Mary Todd Lincoln in the 1860s. One of the dresses she made is literally sitting in the Smithsonian right now. Then you've got Zelda Wynn Valdes, who opened her own shop on Broadway in 1948, dressed people like Ella Fitzgerald and Josephine Baker, and even designed the original Playboy Bunny costume. Most people have no idea she existed.

Then there's Ann Lowe. This one always gets me. She designed Jackie Kennedy's wedding dress in 1953. One of the most photographed dresses in American history. And she barely got credit for it. Not from the press, not from the Kennedys. She did the work, made history, and got erased from her own story.

That's kind of the theme here. Talented people doing incredible work, and the industry either ignoring them or taking credit away.

The doors slowly start opening

In 1957, a guy named Arthur McGee became the first known Black designer to run a design studio at an actual Seventh Avenue company. Before that, he'd been told at fashion school that there were simply no jobs out there for a Black designer. He left, and went and proved that wrong. Later on, he ended up mentoring other designers who became huge names themselves, like Stephen Burrows and Willi Smith.

Speaking of Stephen Burrows, in 1973 he was one of five American designers picked for this massive fashion showdown in France called the Battle of Versailles. American designers versus French designers. He became one of the first Black designers to get real international recognition because of it.

Then in 1988, Patrick Kelly became the first American, not just the first Black American, the first American period, to get accepted into this elite French fashion association that basically ran the ready to wear industry in Paris. Huge deal.

Fast forward to 2018, and Virgil Abloh becomes the first African American artistic director at Louis Vuitton, while still running his own brand, Off White, on the side. That's the kind of moment that shows how far things had come, even if it took over a century to get there.

And today you've got people like Telfar Clemens, whose bags became this massive cultural phenomenon, nicknamed the "Bushwick Birkin" because it was luxury that regular people could actually afford. That whole "Telfar is for everyone" thing wasn't just marketing. It was a direct response to how exclusive and unreachable luxury fashion had always felt for a lot of people.

Okay, but here's the uncomfortable part

Even with all these individual wins, when you zoom out and look at the industry as a whole, it's still pretty rough. Depending on which numbers you look at, somewhere between about 7 and 14 percent of fashion designers in the U.S. identify as Black. Within the Council of Fashion Designers of America, one of the biggest trade groups in the industry, only about 3 percent of members are Black. And at the last New York Fashion Week that got studied, less than 10 percent of the designers showing were Black.

So you've got these incredible individual stories of people breaking through. But structurally, the industry still has a long way to go.

This is where the 15 Percent Pledge comes in

In 2020, right after George Floyd was killed, a designer named Aurora James got fed up. She kept walking into stores and seeing basically no Black owned brands on the shelves. So she went on Instagram and said something like, hey, Black people make up about 15 percent of the population in this country, so how about you commit 15 percent of your shelf space to Black owned businesses.

She tagged a bunch of major retailers. The post blew up. Within a day she had almost 100,000 signatures on a petition. By day 10, Sephora became the first major company to actually commit.

That's how the Fifteen Percent Pledge was born.

Here's how it actually works. A company signs on, and they're asked to look inward first. They audit their own spending and figure out how much of their business currently goes to Black owned brands. Then they commit to hitting that 15 percent shelf space goal, but not overnight. It's meant to happen gradually, over years, with the Pledge organization making regular recommendations of Black owned brands that could be a good fit.

And it's actually worked, at least in terms of numbers. Within the first year, 385 Black owned brands ended up on shelves at places like Macy's, Gap, and Sephora. By the three year mark, over 625 Black owned businesses had built relationships with companies that took the pledge, and the organization says it helped shift somewhere around 14 billion dollars toward Black entrepreneurs. More recently that number has been cited as over 16 billion in annual revenue. Around 29 to 30 major companies have signed on, including names like Nordstrom, Ulta, Macy's, Bloomingdale's, and Gap.

But it's not all smooth sailing

Let's be real about the limitations too, because there are some.

First, it's a pledge, not a law. Nobody's forced to sign it, and there's no real penalty if a company signs on and then drags their feet. Target and Walmart, for example, never committed at all, even after being publicly called out.

Second, the political climate has made things harder. After the Supreme Court ended affirmative action in 2023, and after a wave of companies started quietly backing away from DEI programs, the whole landscape shifted. Aurora James has said none of her official partner companies have dropped out because of this, but it's clearly created pressure. Interestingly, surveys have found that a good chunk of consumers, somewhere around 40 percent, say they'd stop or reduce buying from a company that rolls back its DEI commitments. But that also means a majority might not really notice or care either way.

Third, and this is the part that doesn't get talked about as much, there have been some pointed questions raised by smaller Black owned brands and independent creators about how certain grants and opportunities tied to the Pledge get handed out. Some people have publicly questioned whether the selection process for things like the Sephora Beauty Grant favors brands that already have connections, rather than being a totally open and fair process. To be clear, most of this is coming from independent critiques circulating online rather than major news investigations, so it's more of an ongoing dispute than a settled fact. But it's out there, and it's worth knowing about.

And fourth, even when it works exactly as intended, getting a spot on a shelf doesn't automatically mean a brand survives. Being stocked somewhere doesn't guarantee marketing support, doesn't guarantee people actually buy it, and doesn't guarantee the retailer reorders next season. Visibility helps, but it's not the whole battle.

So where does that leave us

Honestly, I think both things can be true at once. The Fifteen Percent Pledge really has moved real money toward real Black-owned businesses, and that matters. People like Christopher John Rogers, Pattern by Tracee Ellis Ross, Brandon Blackwood, and Danessa Myricks have all been named as brands that benefited from these kinds of partnerships. Aurora James herself has pointed to Danessa Myricks as an example. A brand that was already excellent, but couldn't get a major retailer's attention until this initiative built the bridge.

At the same time, it's not a cure for everything. It doesn't fix generations of unequal access to capital. It doesn't guarantee fair treatment inside the process itself. And it's operating in a political environment that's actively pushing back against this kind of work right now.

But when you put it all together, the history of Black designers being written out of credit they deserved, then slowly forcing their way into rooms that didn't want them, and now pushing for actual structural commitments from the biggest retailers in the country, it tells a pretty clear story. Progress in this industry has rarely been handed over willingly. It's been taken, earned, and fought for, one designer and one pledge at a time.

And that fight is still going on right now.

Sources

Zippia, Fashion Designer Demographics and Statistics

CareerExplorer, Fashion Designer Demographics in the United States

BET, Women's History Month: 10 Black Designers Who Continue To Move The Fashion Needle Forward

Fast Company, Why Racism Is So Entrenched in the Fashion Industry

Edgexpo, Fashion's Firsts: Black Fashion Makers, Influencers, and Groundbreaking Events That Shaped Fashion History

Fox News, 5 Black Fashion Designers Who Broke Barriers in the Industry

Inside Fashion Design, Influential Voices: Black Fashion Designers Who Paved The Way

The Garnette Report, Fashion First: Black Designers Who Changed the Industry

Los Angeles Sentinel, Trailblazing Black Designers: Shaping the Future of Fash,ion

Graveyardshiftclothing, Top 10 Trailblazing Black Fashion Designers Shaping History

Biography.com, The Black Models Who Redefined Beauty and Fashion

HerCampus, Celebrating Black Excellence in Fashion

Back in Time Today, 16 Black Women Who Influenced Fashion in Ways You Never Knew

Forbes, Aurora James, and Fifteen Percent Pledge Return to Honor Black Business Owners

Fifteen Percent Pledge, Aurora James team bio page

Inc., The Fifteen Percent Pledge: Scaling Impact with Aurora James

Forbes, As the 15 Percent Pledge Marks Its 3rd Anniversary

CBS News, Meet the Woman on a Mission to Have Retailers Commit 15 Percent of Their Shelf Space to Black-Owned Brands

Think with Google, Aurora James and the Fifteen Percent Pledge

Essence, Aurora James In Awe By Unbelievable Support of Fifteen Percent Pledge

Fortune, How Fifteen Percent Pledge Founder Aurora James Is Reckoning With the DEI Rollback

NPR, Update On Retailers' 15 Percent Pledge

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The 19th, How Corporations Can Support Black Brands Even As Anti DEI Efforts Ramp Up

Fast Company, In One Year, the 15 Percent Pledge Got 385 Black-Owned Brands on the Shelves of Macy's, Gap, Sephora, and More

Let's start with something wild: the words we call "dirty" today weren't always dirty. Some of them used to be totally normal. Some of them used to be way worse than they are now. And some of the "polite" words we use instead actually got their politeness from something pretty messed up: class snobbery.

So let's dig in.

Bad words used to mean "breaking a sacred rule," not "being crude"

If you traveled back to medieval Europe and dropped an F-bomb, people honestly might not have blinked. But if you said "God's blood!" or swore "by God's wounds," people would gasp.

Why? Because for most of history, the worst kind of bad language wasn't about sex or bathroom stuff. It was about religion. Swearing an oath and breaking it, or using God's name carelessly, was seen as a direct offense against something sacred. That's actually where the word "swearing" comes from in the first place. It originally meant making an oath, and it's also why we call bad language "cursing" and "swearing" interchangeably today.

You can still hear the fossils of this in old expressions like "'Zounds!", which is just a squished-together version of "God's wounds." People used to soften it the same way we now say "gosh" instead of "God" or "darn" instead of "damn." Same instinct, different century.

The words we think of as "crude" were once just... normal words

Here's the twist. Words like "shit" and "arse" weren't originally taboo at all. They were just the regular Old English words for things, the same way you'd say "rain" or "table." Farmers, tradespeople, everybody used them without a second thought.

So how did they become "the bad words"?

Blame 1066

In 1066, the Normans invaded England, and French became the language of the ruling class: the nobles, the church, the courts. English stuck around, but it became the language of "regular" people.

Over time, this created a pattern that's still baked into English today: for a lot of body-related or bathroom-related things, we ended up with two words: a fancy one from French or Latin, and a blunt one from Old English. Think:

"Excrement" (French/Latin root) vs. "shit" (Old English)

"Perspire" vs. "sweat"

"Derriere" vs. "arse"

The French-rooted words got treated as proper and polite. The Old English words got shoved down into "vulgar" territory. And that word, "vulgar," literally just means "of the common people." So a huge chunk of what makes a word feel "crude" in English isn't really about the word itself. It's leftover classism from 900 years ago.

The Victorians flipped the whole system

Fast forward to the 1800s. Suddenly the priorities flip almost completely. Religious cursing, the thing that used to be the ultimate taboo, gets softened into things like "heck," "darn," and "gosh." Meanwhile, anything related to sex or bodily functions becomes the new unspeakable territory: the stuff proper Victorian society refused to say out loud, even in writing.

That shift basically set up the taboo hierarchy we still live in today, where sexual and bodily swear words are treated as the "real" profanity, and religious oaths barely register as rude anymore.

A quick real example: the F-word

The F-bomb gets a lot of urban legend attached to it. People love to say it's a secret police acronym or a wartime abbreviation. It's not. It's Germanic in origin, related to old words meaning "to strike" or "to move quickly," and it shows up in print as early as the 1500s. No secret code, no acronym. Just a very old, very blunt word that outlived a lot of the "polite" vocabulary around it.

The big takeaway

Profanity isn't really about which words are inherently bad. It's a moving target shaped by three things over and over again throughout history:

What a society treats as sacred (religion, in the old days)

Who's in power and which language they speak (French nobles vs. English commoners)

What a culture is most anxious about at a given time (Victorian anxiety around bodies and sex)

Change any of those three things, and the "worst" word in the language changes too. That's honestly the coolest part: bad words are basically a fossil record of what a society was afraid of, or obsessed with, at any given moment in time.

I know someone whose life, from the outside, appeared completely put together. Hair done. Nails done. Good job. In college. Already a good mom to one child. Funny, warm, the kind of good-hearted person people just like being around. She had a man too. They used to live in the same city, but he moved abroad, so they made the long distance thing work.

From the outside, nothing looked wrong. And that's the thing about how we present ourselves. The makeup, the clothes, the bags, the perfume, all of it. It's real, but it's surface-level. It's not the whole story.

Underneath all that, she was pouring her heart into someone who wasn't pouring anything back. He humiliated her on social media. He cheated. He got someone else pregnant while she was still loving him, still trying to make it work, still telling herself, as we all do sometimes, that no relationship is perfect, that everybody struggles, that real love means showing up through the arguments and the hard moments too.

But there's a difference between working through imperfection and just absorbing harm. And somewhere in that difference, she lost herself. The verbal abuse, because abuse isn't only physical, wore something down in her. She stopped seeing herself as beautiful. Stopped seeing herself as the great mom she actually was. Stopped believing she had more to give, because she'd forgotten how to give any of it to herself first.

That's the real cost of staying too long in something that drains you. You don't just lose the relationship. You lose your own sense of self-worth. And getting that back takes time. For some people it's quick. For others, it takes way longer. For some, it never fully comes back. I'm not saying any of this with judgment though, because everybody works through their own situation differently. All anyone on the outside can really do is hope, and pray, that the person finds their way back to themselves eventually.

I think about her a lot. We were both going through hard things around the same time back then, she with the relationship, me with a health situation. Looking back, it might've been a little bit of trauma bonding, two people just trying to hold each other up while we were each quietly falling apart in our own way.

That was the early 2000s. It was hard then. And honestly, it hasn't gotten any easier. If anything, every year that passes adds a new layer of complexity to what it means to navigate love, especially as a woman. I won't even call it hard. I think the better word is challenging. But the answer to a challenge isn't to harden up or disappear into somebody else's needs. It's to protect your peace. It's to stay discerning about who you let have access to your heart. It's to love yourself enough that you can recognize when love has stopped being a thing.

Because at the end of the day, you can't pour into anyone else, not your kids, not your family, not your partner, from somewhere that's already empty. You have to fill yourself up first. That's not selfish. That's survival.

There's a lesson school never quite prepares you for: the test of time doesn't end when the bell stops ringing. If you were the quiet one growing up, the kid who stayed to themselves and did their work, you already know what it feels like to be tried. What I didn't know in my early twenties was that adulthood had the same test waiting for me, just dressed in a different uniform.

I learned this the hard way at my first real job, working as a claims analyst at a health insurance company. I wasn't a smoker, but I used to tag along with a group of women on their breaks, just to talk and unwind. One of them, older than me, maybe in her mid to upper thirties, sweet to everyone, helpful to a fault, became someone I genuinely liked being around.

One day I came downstairs and found her in tears, chain smoking through her break. A group of five women, all around her age, had been picking at her, something she'd apparently been holding in for a long time, long before I'd even started working there. I remember thinking: we're doing this? This feels like high school all over again.

It got worse before it got better. The next day, one of the five threatened to fight her in the parking lot. And on a beautiful afternoon that should've meant nothing, it almost happened, until a few of us got there in time to break it up. I remember saying something like, we're grown, we have kids, we have rent, we are not doing this.

What stayed with me wasn't the conflict. It was what came after. She ended up leaving that job, not because she wanted to, but because the pressure had become unbearable. She had bills like everyone else. She had high blood pressure, diabetes, asthma, and she still smoked, because it was the one thing that calmed her down. Watching her carry all of that quietly, for as long as she had, taught me something I didn't have words for yet: fear, held in long enough, doesn't just sit there. It turns into stress, and stress doesn't stay in the mind, it moves into the body. She paid for that in her health long before she paid for it with her job.

I understood, eventually, why she didn't fight back the way some might have expected her to. She wasn't a fighter, and maybe that protected her in the end, because reacting could have cost her even more. But that doesn't make it fair. Nobody should have to choose between their paycheck and their peace, especially when the only thing they did wrong was be kind and quiet in a room full of people looking for somewhere to put their frustration.

I thought about her again this morning, out of nowhere, the way memories surface sometimes. I hope she's doing well. She deserved better than what she got. But I carry the lesson she handed me without meaning to: people will test you, at school, at work, anywhere people gather, and the kindest, quietest ones are often tested hardest. The real measure isn't whether you get tested. It's whether you protect yourself, and whether you stand up for the next person who's too afraid to stand up for themselves.

Credit:

📸New Dawning

Creative LLC.[Pinterest]

Okay so let's talk about this sisterhood thing, because I feel like we need to be real with each other for a minute.

We talk all the time about Black women's sisterhood. We go to the conferences. We start the groups. We post about it, hashtag it, sell the t shirts. And honestly, a lot of that is real. There are women who show up for each other no matter what, who lift each other up in rooms where nobody else will. That's beautiful and it's true and it needs to be said.

But there's another side to this that we don't say out loud enough, and I think it's time we did. There's a gap between what we preach about sisterhood and how we actually treat each other sometimes, especially when it's a woman who isn't even here anymore to speak up for herself.

Let's talk about what just happened with Oprah

So back in June 2026, Oprah was at this big festival called Cannes Lions in France, and she told a story about Whitney Houston's last appearance on her show back in 2009. She said Whitney had relapsed and fell off the stage during the taping, and that she begged the audience not to release any pictures because she was scared it would destroy her. Whitney's estate came back fast and said no, that's not what happened. They said she fell during a soundcheck because the lighting was bad and she wasn't used to the stage, and she was absolutely not high. They ended their statement with something that hit hard: "We owe her the dignity of telling the truth, not repeating myths."

Now here's the thing. Whitney passed away in 2012. She can't clear her name. She can't tell her side. And this story didn't come out during some heartfelt tribute or a documentary about addiction and healing. It came out at a marketing festival, while Oprah was talking about legacy and purpose. A lot of people online reacted exactly the way my mama raised me to think about this. You don't speak ill of the dead, period, and especially not over something like a stage fall.

And here's another piece worth sitting with. Oprah was friendly with Harvey Weinstein for years, publicly, and we all know what he ended up being convicted of. So you've got a private friend's serious crimes getting handled with a whole lot more discretion than a late friend's relapse. That's the kind of double standard that should make us all a little uncomfortable, and it's fair to call it out.

This isn't a new problem

This tension between Black women didn't start with social media or celebrity gossip. It goes way back, all the way to slavery, where slave owners purposely created divisions to keep enslaved people from uniting. Lighter skinned enslaved people often got treated better, more likely to work in the house instead of the field, sometimes even offered an education or freedom. That wasn't random. It was on purpose, and it's where colorism took root and never fully left.

That wound never really healed after slavery ended either. By the early 1900s, some Black sororities, fraternities, even some churches were using what people now call the "brown paper bag test," where if your skin was darker than a paper bag, you got left out. Dr. Joy DeGruy, who came up with the idea of Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, talks about how generations of oppression can create this pattern of distrust and envy inside a community, what folks call "crabs in a barrel." Basically, if I can't make it, you're not making it either.

None of this means Black women can't get along or that something is uniquely wrong with us. It means the tension a lot of us have seen at the very sisterhood events meant to bring us together actually has roots. Somebody planted that seed on purpose a long time ago. That doesn't excuse it, but it explains a lot about why it still shows up.

Madam C.J. Walker and Annie Turnbo Malone

History gives us another good example, and it shows how a real rivalry between two Black women can get blown up into something way uglier than it actually was. Back in the early 1900s, Sarah Breedlove, who we know as Madam C.J. Walker, was selling hair products for Annie Turnbo Malone's company before she left and started her own competing line. They genuinely became rivals in the hair care business, and Walker ended up becoming one of the first Black female millionaires in this country.

That rivalry was real, no doubt about it. But when Netflix made that show about Walker's life called "Self Made," they took it way further, with made up confrontations and made Malone look like some jealous villain trying to sabotage her. Walker's own great granddaughter, A'Lelia Bundles, who wrote the book the show was based on, pushed back on that. She said the show took real tension and turned it into something far more dramatic and unfair to Malone, who built her own legacy of beauty schools and giving back, and never stopped, as her family put it, "spreading her light."

What stands out to me here isn't just that two Black women were in competition. It's that decades later, somebody took that story and made it more sensational, because drama between Black women sells easier than mutual respect does. Both things were true back then too. Real competition, and real ambition that gave thousands of women jobs and independence through both of their companies. The exaggeration came later, from people retelling it for an audience.

Both things can be true

There really are women out here living out real sisterhood every single day. And there are also moments, like dragging up someone's private struggle after they're gone, like the competition and gossip hiding inside spaces that are supposed to be about empowerment, where we fall short of what we say we're about. Holding both of those truths at the same time isn't a contradiction. It's just being honest.

If we actually want sisterhood to mean something beyond a banner at a conference, it has to hold up in moments like this one. It has to mean we protect each other's dignity, especially when somebody isn't even in the room to protect it themselves.

Sources

The Hollywood Reporter, "Whitney Houston's Estate Says She Was Not High During Oprah Show Fall" (June 2026)

Variety, "Whitney Houston's Estate Refutes Oprah's Claim That Singer Fell Off Talk Show Stage While High" (June 2026)

The Daily Beast, "Oprah Winfrey Reveals Whitney Houston's Secret On-Stage Disaster" (June 2026)

Nursing Clio, "Tracing the Red in 'Redbone': Colorism and Misogyny in Black History"

Dr. Joy DeGruy, "Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome: America's Legacy of Enduring Injury and Healing"

Colorism Healing, "Colorism Historical Roots and Routes"

A'Lelia Bundles, "The Facts about Madam C.J. Walker and Annie Malone" (aleliabundles.com)

National Trust for Historic Preservation, "Fact or Fiction: Netflix's 'Self Made' and the Real Story of Madam C.J. Walker"

Chicago Crusader, "Madam C.J. Walker's Great Great Granddaughter Responds to Accusations that Netflix's 'Self-Made' Trashed Annie Malone"

We are living through a moment that asks a lot of people. The cost of living keeps climbing. Job security feels thinner than it used to. For many, especially people of color, unjust treatment and discrimination add a constant, grinding layer of stress on top of everything else. And for some, all of this lands on top of existing mental health conditions or major health crises.

If you've been feeling stretched thinner than you ever have, you are not imagining it, and you are not alone. Here are some of the things that can happen when a person is pushed past their limit. This is why recognizing them matters.

Burnout

Burnout isn't just being tired. It has a recognizable shape: emotional exhaustion, a growing sense of cynicism or detachment from things you used to care about, and a feeling that nothing you do makes a difference anymore. Physically, it can show up as disrupted sleep, getting sick more often, headaches, and stomach issues. Burnout usually has a clear source, such as overwork, prolonged caregiving, or unrelenting pressure, and tends to ease when that source is addressed.

Persistent Depressive Disorder (PDD)

PDD is a long-term, low-grade depression, sometimes lasting years, that can exist quietly in the background of someone's life. Unlike burnout, it doesn't always have an obvious trigger, but it absolutely intensifies under stress. Someone managing PDD may seem like they're "doing fine" day to day while still carrying a real, ongoing weight.

Chronic Anxiety

When the body's stress response stays switched on for too long, it takes a toll. Racing thoughts, irritability, muscle tension, and trouble sleeping are common. Over time, the constant flood of stress hormones can affect digestion, immune function, and even memory and focus.

Compassion Fatigue

People in caregiving professions, such as teachers, nurses, social workers, and special education professionals, are especially vulnerable to this. Years of giving care to others can lead to a specific kind of exhaustion: numbness or irritability toward work you once felt deeply passionate about. This isn't a personal failing. It's the natural cost of sustained emotional labor.

Allostatic Load

This is the medical term for the cumulative physical wear that chronic stress puts on the body, including elevated cortisol, immune suppression, and cardiovascular strain. It's the science behind the saying "stress will make you sick," and it's a real, measurable phenomenon, not an exaggeration.

The Added Weight of Discrimination

Being targeted by racism or unjust treatment is its own documented category of chronic stress, separate from general life pressure. It activates the same fight-or-flight systems as any threat, but because it's often unpredictable and ongoing, the body rarely gets the chance to fully stand down. This is a real physiological burden, not something to be dismissed as "just stress."

Grief Tied to Major Life Change

Leaving a long career, especially one tied closely to identity, like decades in education or healthcare, can trigger genuine grief, even when the change was the right decision or even a relief. Health crises, job loss, and major transitions all deserve to be grieved.

Why This Matters

None of these experiences mean something is wrong with you. They are common, well-documented responses to real and sustained pressure. The most important thing is this: you don't have to carry it alone, and you don't have to wait until it becomes a crisis to get support.

If any of this sounds familiar, in yourself or someone you know, please consider reaching out to a therapist, psychiatrist, or doctor. Professional support, sometimes combined with medication, can make an enormous difference. Naming what you're going through is often the first step toward managing it.

You are allowed to take your stress seriously. You are allowed to ask for help.

Sources

World Health Organization, "Burn-out an occupational phenomenon," ICD-11 (who.int)

National Institute of Mental Health, "Persistent Depressive Disorder (Dysthymic Disorder)" (nimh.nih.gov)

Harvard Health Publishing, "Persistent Depressive Disorder (Dysthymia)" (health.harvard.edu)

McEwen, B.S. & Stellar, E., on the concept of allostatic load; overview via "Allostatic Load," ScienceDirect Topics

Meyer, I.H. (2003), Minority Stress Theory, summarized via "Minority Stress Theory: Application, Critique, and Continued Relevance," PMC (ncbi.nlm.nih.gov)

American Psychological Association, overview of minority stress model (via Medical News Today summary, medicalnewstoday.com)

Okay so you've probably clapped your hands to this one as a kid. "Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black, with silver buttons, buttons, buttons, all down her back, back, back." You probably never thought twice about it. It's just a clapping game. But every couple years some post goes around online saying it's secretly this deep coded message about slavery, and people share it like it's settled history. I wanted to actually dig into that, and the real answer is messier and honestly more interesting than the neat version going around.

What we actually know

The earliest written record of this rhyme is from 1888, in a book about kids' counting rhymes, collected from a town in Pennsylvania. That's a real fact. Past that point, almost everything gets fuzzy fast.

The popular theory

The most common explanation you'll hear is that Mary Mack isn't a person at all, she's a ship. There was a warship from the Civil War called the USS Merrimack, and it was black with silver rivets down the side. Black dress, silver buttons down her back. People line that up and say "see, that's obviously what the song is about." Some folks take it even further and say the elephants jumping the fence represent the Republican Party of that era jumping the Mason Dixon Line to help end slavery, and that the whole song is basically a coded spiritual that Black children sang to process what was happening around them without saying it outright.

It's a compelling story. It would make total sense that something painful gets wrapped in a kids' game so it can be passed down safely. That kind of thing absolutely happened with other songs and games throughout history.

Why it's not that simple

Here's the part that messes up the neat version. There's an even older rhyme from England, sung by little girls in a town called Shropshire, that goes almost word for word the same way, just with a different name. "Betsy Blue, dressed all in black, silver buttons down her back." That version shows up before the American Civil War even happened. So if the original song already existed across the ocean with basically identical lyrics, it's hard to say the whole thing was invented in America as a coded message about a ship that didn't exist yet.

On top of that, there's a folklorist from the 1920s who wrote down a version of this same opening line being used as a riddle among Black laborers, where the answer to "what is this describing" was simply "a coffin." Not a ship. Not a political party. A coffin.

So you've got at least four or five different explanations floating around, a ship, a political metaphor, an old English nursery rhyme, a riddle about death, even a theory about a circus performer, and none of them have solid proof behind them. Nobody alive today actually knows for certain why the song says what it says.

Why this matters

I'm not telling you this to be a buzzkill or say the deeper meaning isn't real. I'm telling you because I think the honest version is actually more respectful than the neat version. When people pass around the confident, polished story, "this is secretly about slavery, full stop," it can feel satisfying, like you just learned something true and hidden. But when you find out it's really a tangle of folklore that nobody's ever been able to pin down, you start to see something else: how much of Black history and oral tradition got passed down through song and rhyme precisely because it wasn't allowed to be written down plainly. The fact that we can't trace the exact meaning isn't a failure, it's basically proof of how that kind of history survived in the first place. It had to travel in disguise, through games and rhythm, because the alternative was often dangerous or forbidden.

So next time you see one of those slides claiming to reveal the "real hidden meaning" of an old children's rhyme, it's worth asking what's actually documented versus what's a good story that caught on because it feels true. Sometimes the honest answer is just, we don't fully know, and that's still worth sitting with instead of replacing it with a tidier myth.

Sources

Wikipedia, "Mary Mack"

American Songwriter, "Behind the Meaning of the Nursery Rhyme 'Miss Mary Mack'"

AllNurseryRhymes.com, "Miss Mary Mack"

Dictionary.com, "Miss Mary Mack" (Pop Culture)

Pancocojams blog, "Miss Mary Mack Recreational Rhyme, Sources, Theories, Early Versions"

SAHMurai, "Miss Mary Mack: A hand-clapping history"

Ranker, "Remember Miss Mary Mack? Turns Out It Has A Far More Slave-Related History Than You Thought"

Okay so here's something I think about a lot, and I want to just talk you through it like we're sitting on the couch, not like I'm lecturing you.

People love a clean number. You ask "how bad is discrimination, really?" and everybody wants to hand you a percentage like it's a fact. "Only 3% of complaints turn out to be real." "90% of companies have a problem." Sounds official, right? Decimal points make things feel true.

Here's the thing though, nobody actually has that number. Not the people trying to defend companies, not the people trying to expose them, not researchers, not the government. And it's not because "everyone has their own truth" or whatever, that's not really it. What happened, happened. Either someone got treated unfairly in that room or they didn't. That part isn't up for debate. The problem is that almost nobody's holding a flashlight big enough to light up the whole room.

Why the room stays dark

Most discrimination never gets reported. Not because it's rare, but because reporting it is expensive in ways that don't show up on paper. You're scared of getting fired for speaking up. You don't even know what your rights are. You think nobody's gonna believe you anyway, so what's the point. People do that math in their head, and a lot of the time, staying quiet is the rational call. Not the brave one. The rational one.

So whatever does get counted, official complaints, lawsuits, HR reports, that stuff is real, but it's tiny. It's one flashlight beam in a warehouse the size of a stadium. It tells you something happened exactly where the light's pointed. It tells you almost nothing about the rest of the room.

That's also why you and your friend can work at the same place and have completely opposite opinions about it, and you're both right. You had a great manager, you got promoted, you love it there. Your coworker got passed over a few times and nobody can explain why. You're not lying to each other. You're just standing in different corners of a dark room holding two different flashlights.

A piece of history that explains this perfectly

So let me give you something real, because this isn't a new problem. It's old, and it used to be way more obvious.

For decades in America, banks would draw literal red lines around Black neighborhoods on maps and refuse to give people in those areas loans or mortgages. Didn't matter your income, your credit, nothing. This was called redlining, and it was happening openly, backed by the government's own housing policies. It wasn't a secret, it wasn't an accident, and for a long time it wasn't even illegal. It was just how things worked.

Here's the part that connects to everything we're talking about. For decades, almost none of this showed up as "discrimination cases" anywhere official. There was no complaint line most people knew about. No agency tracking it the way we'd expect today. If you'd looked at "official numbers" back then, you'd have seen almost nothing, not because it wasn't happening, but because the system wasn't built to catch it. It was happening to millions of families, reshaping entire cities, and the official record stayed basically silent the whole time.

It took decades of people testifying, writing things down, organizing, and refusing to shut up about their own experience before laws even started catching up. And even after that, the effects didn't disappear. They show up today in things like the wealth gap between Black and white families, because homeownership is how most American families build wealth, and entire communities were locked out of that for generations.

That's the flashlight problem playing out in real life, at massive scale, for generations. The absence of a number was never proof of absence of harm. It was proof that nobody official was pointing a light at it.

So what do you actually do with this

Two things. Real, doable things, not "go raise awareness" nonsense.

Write it down. Something happens to you, at work, applying for a job, wherever, write it down. Date, what was said, who was there. You don't have to march into HR tomorrow. You're not obligated to do anything with it right away. You're just making sure the record exists somewhere other than your memory, because memory fades and doubt creeps in ("did I overreact? was that even a big deal?"). Writing it down is you pointing a flashlight at your own corner of the room, even if no one else ever sees it.

Believe people before there's a spreadsheet about it. When someone tells you what happened to them, don't sit there waiting for a statistic to show up and grant them permission to be believed. The data shows up late, if it shows up at all, we just talked about a generations-long example of that. Demanding proof before you'll take someone seriously isn't being smart or careful. A lot of the time it's just a polite way of looking away.

This doesn't mean every claim is automatically true or that people can't be wrong. It means silence in the data was never the same thing as nothing happening. The room is always bigger than any one flashlight. The least we can do is stop acting like the dark parts are empty just because we can't see into them.

I have come to believe that story was not just about my father. It is a small piece of a much bigger pattern in this country. Every racial group seems to have been pushed into certain kinds of jobs and certain levels of opportunity, and kept from rising past a certain point, especially past white people. I am not saying one person sat in a room and planned all of this out like a single conspiracy. What I found instead, while looking into it, is something that might be even more telling. Several different systems, run by different people, in different decades, for different stated reasons, all ended up producing the same result. A ceiling that moved over time, but never really disappeared.

Here is what the history actually shows.

Fire Departments and the Jobs Black Men Were Kept Out Of

My father's experience was part of a much larger story. The New York City Fire Department spent decades almost entirely excluding Black men. A federal judge eventually ruled on this directly. In 2010, Judge Nicholas Garaufis found that the city had intentionally and knowingly run discriminatory hiring practices in the fire department for decades, going back to the 1960s. This was not a guess or a feeling. It was a legal finding of fact.

A historian named David Goldberg, who studied the department closely, found that white firefighters and their union fought harder against Black equality than almost any other group of white workers in America. For a long time, the belief baked into the department was that firefighting required traits that white men were assumed to have and Black men were assumed to lack. As late as 2007, Black and Hispanic firefighters made up only about ten percent of the department combined, in a city where those two groups made up more than half the population. New York's fire department was the least diverse of any major city in the country at the time, far behind Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and Boston.

So when my father became a fireman, trained by an Irish firefighter, that was not just a personal milestone. It was a crack in a wall that had been built on purpose and defended for generations.

The GI Bill and the Wealth Gap It Created

If you want to see how a law can look fair on paper but work very differently in practice, look at the GI Bill. Passed in 1944, it offered veterans free college and cheap home loans. It helped build the modern American middle class. But Southern lawmakers made sure the law would be run by individual states rather than the federal government, specifically so local officials in segregated areas could control who really benefited.

The results were stark. In thirteen cities in Mississippi, out of more than three thousand government backed home loans given to veterans, only two went to Black veterans. Historians who study this estimate that the gap between what Black and white World War Two veterans received works out to about one hundred and eighty thousand dollars per veteran in today's money. Research from Brandeis University found that the families of white veterans ended up holding, on average, thirty two times the wealth of Black veterans' families.

This is one of the clearest examples of a system built to look equal while working very differently underneath. It was not random. It was decided, debated, and voted on by people who said out loud what they were trying to prevent.

Native Americans and Schools Built to Limit, Not Lift

For Native Americans, the mechanism looked different but led somewhere familiar. Starting in the late 1800s, the federal government built boarding schools meant to strip Native children of their language, culture, and identity. The man who founded the most famous one, the Carlisle Indian School, coined the phrase "kill the Indian, save the man."

These schools were not designed to prepare children for leadership or advancement. They taught basic trade skills and farming, even on reservations where the land could not support farming. One historian who has studied this closely put it plainly: the government was deeply invested in taking Native land, and the promise of jobs and citizenship was the cover story for that. Most students who went through these schools and returned to their reservations found that the skills they had been taught did not actually lead to jobs.

Black Women and a Ceiling That Keeps Relocating

The pattern shows up again with Black women in corporate America, and it is still happening right now, not just in the past. The first Black woman to ever run a Fortune 500 company was Ursula Burns, who became CEO of Xerox in 2009. The Fortune 500 list started in 1955. That means it took fifty four years for a single Black woman to reach that level once.

When Burns left Xerox in 2016, the number of Black women running Fortune 500 companies dropped back down to zero. Even in years when women overall made real progress moving into CEO roles, Black women barely moved at all. As of this year, that number sits at three. Looking at Black CEOs in general, in the entire history of the Fortune 500, out of around eighteen hundred chief executives total, only nineteen have been Black. That is roughly one percent.

It is not that Black women never rise. It is that the rise is rare, hard fought, and fragile. Each time someone breaks through, it does not stay broken. The door swings shut again until the next person forces it back open.

What This Pattern Really Tells Us

None of these four stories share the same villain or the same paperwork. A firefighters union protecting its own jobs is not the same thing as a senator writing legislation, and that is not the same thing as a school official trying to erase a culture, and that is not the same thing as a corporate board choosing who gets promoted. Nobody needs to prove these people coordinated with each other for the pattern to be real.

What makes this worth paying attention to is that these were separate systems, run by separate people, with separate justifications, and they all converged on the same outcome. Each group was funneled into a defined lane. Each group hit a ceiling that was higher than the one before it but was still a ceiling. That convergence, happening over and over across completely different institutions and different eras, is harder to explain away as coincidence than a single plan would be.

Where This Leaves Us

My father broke through a barrier that was real, documented, and defended for generations. He did it during a time when the data shows the odds were stacked clearly against him. The walls have moved since then. They are higher now, and more people have found their way over them. But looking at the fire department numbers, the wealth gap from the GI Bill, the boarding school curriculum, and the small number of Black women who have ever run a major company, it is hard to say the ceiling is gone. It just sits higher up than it used to.

Sources

Black Firefighters and the FDNY, New York Labor History Association

https://newyorklaborhistory.org/web/?page_id=1714

Historic Victory: Court Rules FDNY Hiring Practices Intentionally Discriminated on the Basis of Race for Decades, Center for Constitutional Rights

https://ccrjustice.org/home/press-center/press-releases/historic-victory-court-rules-fdny-hiring-practices-intentionally

Working for the Public: Black Firefighters and the FDNY, The Gotham Center for New York City History

https://www.gothamcenter.org/blog/working-for-the-public-black-firefighters-and-the-fdny

How the GI Bill's Promise Was Denied to a Million Black WWII Veterans, History.com

https://www.history.com/articles/gi-bill-black-wwii-veterans-benefits

The GI Bill and Planning for the Postwar, The National WWII Museum

https://www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/gi-bill-and-planning-postwar

Not all WWII veterans benefited equally from the GI Bill, The Heller School, Brandeis University

https://heller.brandeis.edu/news/items/releases/2023/impact-report-gi-bill.html

Black vets were excluded from GI bill benefits, a bill in congress aims to fix that, NPR

https://www.npr.org/2022/10/18/1129735948/black-vets-were-excluded-from-gi-bill-benefits-a-bill-in-congress-aims-to-fix-th

The History of Native American Boarding Schools Is Even More Complicated than a New Report Reveals, Time Magazine

https://time.com/6177069/american-indian-boarding-schools-history/

American Indian Boarding School, Britannica

https://www.britannica.com/topic/American-Indian-boarding-school

Indian Boarding Schools in the Pacific Northwest, University of Washington

https://content.lib.washington.edu/aipnw/marr.html

The Black Ceiling: Why African American Women Aren't Making It to the Top in Corporate America, Fortune

https://fortune.com/2017/09/27/black-female-ceos-fortune-500-companies/

Where are the Black CEOs?, Fortune

https://fortune.com/2021/02/04/black-ceos-fortune-500/

Women run a record 11 percent of Fortune 500 companies in 2026, Fortune

https://fortune.com/2026/06/03/how-many-women-are-fortune-500-ceos/

In May 2026, researchers at Stanford University looked at hiring data from 3.4 million people who submitted more than 4 million job applications. The study covered 1,700 job postings, 150 employers, and 11 different industries. What they found was concerning. About 26 percent of Black applicants and 15 percent of Asian applicants applied for jobs where the AI screening system showed signs of discrimination against their racial group.

The reason this matters is because AI is now everywhere in hiring. Around 90 percent of employers in the United States use some type of AI tool to help sort through resumes and applications. Most companies are using software from the same handful of vendors. That means if one system has a problem, that problem can affect people across multiple companies, not just one workplace.

Think about it this way. You could apply to ten different jobs and feel like nobody is calling you back. Meanwhile, several of those companies might be using the exact same screening technology. If that technology is making unfair decisions, you may never even get a chance to speak to a real person.

The Stanford study estimated that if Black and Asian applicants had been advanced at the same rate as the group that received the most favorable treatment, roughly 40,000 more job applications would have moved forward to the next stage of hiring.

What makes this even more troubling is that researchers found AI systems could often figure out a person's race even when race was not listed on the application. In other words, simply removing names or checking a box does not always prevent bias.

This helps explain why some people feel like they are doing everything right but still are not getting interviews. It does not mean every company is discriminating or every AI system is biased. But it does show that technology can sometimes create barriers that people do not even realize exist.

For people looking for work, there are a few things that may help. Applying directly through a company's website can sometimes be better than relying only on large job boards. Government jobs, union apprenticeships, trade programs, and many skilled labor positions often rely more on certifications, training, and direct interviews than automated screening systems. And if someone believes they were treated unfairly during the hiring process, they can file a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, also known as the EEOC.

At the end of the day, AI is supposed to make hiring more efficient. The concern is that efficiency should never come at the cost of fairness. As technology becomes a bigger part of the job market, making sure everyone gets an equal opportunity will be one of the biggest challenges employers face.

The Similarities: Promises as Products

A salesperson's entire job is to get you to say yes. They highlight benefits, downplay drawbacks, and frame their pitch around what you want to hear. Politicians often do the same thing, just with bigger stakes. Instead of promising that a blender will change your morning routine, they promise that healthcare will be more accessible, that rent will become affordable, that utility bills like electricity, water, and heat will be easier to manage, and that wages or financial support will increase so people can actually live with some stability.

These promises function much like a sales pitch: they are designed to capture attention and create hope. Just as a salesperson might say "this product will solve your problem," a politician says "this policy will solve your problem." Both rely on language that sounds reassuring and direct, even when the full picture is far more complicated.

Statistics play a role in both worlds as well. A salesperson might cite a study showing their product is "clinically proven" or "rated number one." A politician cites data on unemployment, crime rates, or economic growth to support their claims. But just as not every product claim is fully honest, not every statistic presented by a politician is presented in good faith. Data can be selectively chosen, framed out of context, or used to support a conclusion that doesn't hold up under closer scrutiny. The phrase "numbers don't lie" is true only if the person presenting them isn't being selective about which numbers to show.

The Differences: Presence Versus Promises

Here is where the comparison starts to break down, and where the more important insight lies. A salesperson, even an aggressive or manipulative one, usually has to interact with the customer directly. They listen to objections, adjust their pitch, and respond to the specific person standing in front of them. There is, at minimum, a moment of real contact.

Some politicians skip that step entirely. They craft policies and promises based on assumptions, polling data, or political strategy, without ever walking through the neighborhoods they claim to represent. They speak about communities rather than with them. This creates a problem that goes beyond persuasion, because it becomes a matter of representation. How can someone claim to know what a struggling family needs, what a child living in poverty experiences day to day, or what an elderly person on a fixed income is going through, if they have never actually sat with these people and listened?

This is the difference between salesmanship and genuine representation. A good salesperson tailors their pitch to the individual in front of them because their livelihood depends on understanding that person's actual needs in the moment. A disconnected politician, by contrast, can make broad promises about an entire population without ever truly knowing what that population is experiencing. The risk is not just dishonesty. It is the danger of designing solutions for problems that were never fully understood in the first place.

Why This Distinction Matters

This is not simply a complaint about politics being "fake" or "salesy." It points to something more specific: the difference between persuasion and accountability. A salesperson who oversells a product faces a fairly contained consequence, since a customer can return the item or leave a bad review. But when a politician oversells a policy, the consequences ripple through entire communities, often the very communities who were never consulted in the first place. People's healthcare, housing, and basic cost of living are not "products" in the traditional sense; they are necessities, and treating them carelessly has a much higher cost than buyer's remorse.

This is also why direct engagement matters so much in politics. Town halls, neighborhood visits, and genuine listening sessions are not just symbolic gestures. They are the closest equivalent to the moment a salesperson has with a customer, where real needs can be heard and addressed rather than assumed. Politicians who do this well are, in a sense, behaving more like effective salespeople: tailoring their approach to the actual people in front of them rather than relying purely on polling numbers and prepared talking points.

Conclusion

The comparison between politicians and salespeople is useful, but it is not perfect. Both rely on persuasive language, appealing promises, and selective use of data to win people over. However, a salesperson typically has to engage directly with the person they are persuading, while a politician can sometimes craft an entire platform without ever truly listening to the people it claims to serve. The real danger is not that politics resembles sales. It's when politics resembles sales without ever including the customer in the conversation at all. Recognizing this distinction is important, because it shifts the question from "Is this person persuasive?" to a much more meaningful one: "Does this person actually know who they're speaking for?"

You've probably seen it floating around online. Some post says Black Americans read at a sixth grade level. It sounds shocking. It sounds like proof of something. And if you grew up hearing doubts about Black intelligence or work ethic, it might even feel like it confirms what you already suspected.

Here's the thing though. That number is fake, at least in the way people are using it.

The real stat is this: about 54% of all American adults, every race, every background, read below a sixth grade level. That's not a Black statistic. That's an everybody statistic. Somehow it got passed around online and attached to one group, and now millions of people believe something that was never true in the first place.

So let's throw that number out and look at what's actually real. Because the truth is still serious. It's just different, and it tells a different story than "something is wrong with Black people." It tells a story about what gets built around a child, starting from the day they're born.

It starts at home, before school even begins

Picture two kids. Same intelligence, same potential, same curiosity. One grows up in a house full of books. Someone reads to her every night. The other grows up in a house where books are harder to come by, where the adults are working multiple jobs just to keep the lights on, and reading time gets squeezed out by survival.

The numbers back this up. About 62% of Black children between ages 6 and 8 have books at home, compared to about 79% of white children. That's a real gap, and it shows up before a kid ever sits in a classroom.

By kindergarten, only about 10% of Black kids are meeting reading readiness benchmarks. That means most are walking into school already behind, not because they're less capable, but because the foundation wasn't there yet.

Then school makes it worse, not better

You'd hope school would close that gap. Instead, in a lot of places, it widens it.

By fourth grade, about 26% of Black students are reading at a proficient level, compared to about 47% of white students. That's nearly double.

And it's not just about reading scores. Black students are also less likely to get into gifted or advanced classes. Around 32% of Black students end up in those programs, compared to 49% of white students. So even kids who are doing well often don't get pushed further the way other kids do.

Why does this happen? A lot of it comes down to money. Schools in America get a big chunk of their funding from local property taxes. Neighborhoods with lower property values, often because of decades of housing discrimination, end up with schools that have less money for books, smaller class sizes, and experienced teachers. It's not that the kids in those schools are less capable. It's that the schools themselves are working with less.

This didn't happen by accident

None of this is random. A lot of it traces back to housing policy from decades ago, like redlining, where banks and the government literally drew lines on maps and refused to lend money to Black families trying to buy homes in certain neighborhoods. That kept Black families out of neighborhoods that were building wealth, and it pushed them into neighborhoods that weren't.

Wealth gets passed down. Homes get passed down. Stable neighborhoods, good schools, money for tutoring or private school if a kid needs extra help, all of that tends to follow family wealth. So when one group was blocked from building wealth for generations, the effects show up generations later, in things like reading scores.

This isn't about blaming anybody alive today. It's just connecting the dots on how we got here.

Now let's talk about adults

This is where things get interesting, because the popular stat about adults is the part that's most distorted.

Remember, that 54% reading below sixth grade level figure applies to all American adults, not just Black Americans. So where did the racial gap actually show up?

The honest answer is that the data is messier than people want it to be. Studies that measure adult literacy, like the National Assessment of Adult Literacy, have found that white adults score highest on average, followed by Asian adults, then Black adults, then Hispanic adults. So yes, there's a real gap. It's just measured differently than people think, using literacy proficiency levels rather than school grade levels.

Here's something that might surprise you. When you look at raw numbers of adults with low literacy skills in this country, white adults actually make up the largest single group, simply because there are more white people in the country overall. Hispanic adults come in close behind. This doesn't erase the racial gap in rates, but it shows how a real statistic can get twisted into something scarier and less accurate once it spreads online.

So if you're writing or talking about this, the honest version is: there is a real, documented gap in adult literacy by race. But the viral sixth grade number isn't it. That number describes everybody, and somebody just slapped a different label on it.

It's getting better, slowly

Here's some good news buried in all of this. The gap has actually been shrinking over time. Back in 1992, the average reading score for Black fourth graders was 192 out of 500. By 2017, it had climbed to 206. White students improved too, from 224 to 232. So both groups are moving up, and the gap, while still real, has narrowed some over the past few decades.

That tells you something important. This isn't fixed. It's not some permanent gap baked into people. It moves when investment, programs, and policy move. Early literacy programs, smaller class sizes, more funding equity between schools, all of that has made a dent. There's more work to do, but the trend line proves it's not a lost cause.

The bottom line

The real story here isn't "Black Americans can't read." The real story is that reading ability is shaped by what surrounds a kid long before anyone tests them. It's shaped by whether there were books in the house, whether the school down the street had the same funding as the one across town, whether a family had the kind of generational wealth that buys tutoring and stability.

Numbers can tell the truth or they can be twisted into something uglier. The sixth grade stat going around is the twisted version. The real numbers are still hard to look at, but they point toward something fixable: schools, funding, housing policy, and investment in early childhood. Not something broken in a group of people.

That's a story worth telling accurately.

Let's go back for a second. Muhammad Ali gave up his heavyweight title, faced prison time, and watched his career get stripped away because he refused to fight in Vietnam on moral grounds. Harry Belafonte spent his OWN money bailing civil rights activists out of jail. Paul Robeson had his passport taken by the United States government because they wanted to silence him, and he STILL refused to back down. Ossie Davis delivered the eulogy at Malcolm X's funeral when that was one of the most dangerous things a public figure could do. These men didn't have Instagram. They didn't have brand deals. They had heart, passion, and an unshakeable love for their people.

Here's something that American history books don't say loud enough. The Black civil rights movement didn't just open doors for Black people. It opened doors for EVERYONE. The Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, the Fair Housing Act, all of it created a foundation that women, Latinos, Asians, people with disabilities, and so many others walked right through. Irish Americans, Native Americans, every minority group in this country benefited from the sacrifice of Black men and women who bled, marched, went to jail, and sometimes died for freedom. And Black people, alongside Native Americans, have always been at the bottom of that pyramid, carrying the heaviest load while others walked through the doors we built.

Now let's talk about today, because this is where it gets uncomfortable. We have celebrities and athletes sitting on billions of dollars, with platforms that reach every corner of the globe, and too many of them won't say a word unless it's safe, popular, and approved by their PR team. The moment success comes knocking, something happens. They move to the gated community. They protect the brand. They go quiet. It's almost like the system is designed to use wealth as a leash, because the more you have to lose, the less likely you are to speak up. Ali didn't think that way. Robeson didn't think that way. And that's exactly why we still say their names today.

Take the Jay Z and Target situation as a perfect modern example. Black communities organized a real, meaningful boycott against Target after the company rolled back its DEI programs, pulled back support for Black owned businesses, and essentially told minority communities that inclusion was optional whenever it became inconvenient. People showed up and showed OUT. Target felt it in their sales. And then Jay Z, a man who came from the Marcy Projects in Brooklyn, a man who lived the struggle firsthand, turned around and partnered with that same Target anyway. That is a slap in the face to every person who participated in that boycott, plain and simple. No amount of business strategy justifies that.

And here's the thing people need to understand. No matter how many billions Jay Z has, no matter how many businesses, how many awards, how many magazine covers, he will always be a Black man in America. They are not sitting around talking about his accolades when he walks into certain rooms. The same system that he came from, the same one that had him on those corners, does not suddenly love him because he's worth a billion dollars. Ali knew that. That's WHY he fought. Because he understood that his championship belt meant nothing if his people were still being treated as less than human.

But here's the part that gives real hope, because it's not all dark. Sometimes it's the ones you least expect who step up and do something real. Boosie Badazz, a rapper that plenty of people wrote off, went and invested in low income housing, creating real homes for real people in real communities. Nipsey Hussle bought back his neighborhood in Crenshaw, owned his masters, opened a co working space to teach kids coding, and built something lasting before his life was tragically cut short. Master P built an independent empire and has been feeding and mentoring communities for decades. These men didn't wait for a corporation to validate them. They went back to their people and BUILT something.

What we need right now, desperately and urgently, is that same energy that Paul Robeson carried, that Muhammad Ali carried, that Sammy Davis Jr. and Ossie Davis carried into every room they walked into. We need Black men with platforms who understand that their success is not just personal, it is communal. It belongs to every child in the projects who looks up and says maybe I can make it too. We don't need more sellouts chasing the next brand deal with a company that just told our community we don't matter. We need warriors. We need men who remember where they came from and fight like it. Because the struggle is not over, the doors are not fully open, and our people still need somebody willing to pay the cost. Just like they did back then.

Here's a fact that should stop you mid-scroll: Black Americans make up about 14.4% of the U.S. population. But we own only 3.4% of employer businesses, meaning businesses big enough to hire even one other person. That gap is not a coincidence. That gap has a history. And that history has a name most of us already know, even if we do not always say it out loud.

Now, 3.7 million Black-owned businesses sounds impressive. And it is, on the surface. But dig a little deeper and you'll find that 97% of those businesses have fewer than 20 employees. Three out of four have fewer than five. We are building, but we are mostly building small. And small, without capital behind it, has a ceiling that most of us hit before we ever get to fly.

Here's where it gets even more real: nearly half, 47%, of Black business owners who apply for a loan get denied. Flat out denied. So we're starting with less, growing with less, and when we go to the bank to get what we need to scale up, the door closes in our face more often than not. This isn't about hustle. We've always had hustle. This is about access. And access in this country has never been equally distributed.

The industries where we show up the most, healthcare, transportation, and professional services, are the same industries where we are still underrepresented as owners compared to our share of the population. We work in these spaces every single day. We built expertise. We show up. But the ownership numbers tell a different story. Black people are the culture, the labor, and the consumer, all at once. We just rarely get to be the ones signing the checks.

The voices who saw this clearly and said so were many but most have been erased from the mainstream record. Sadie T.M. Alexander, the first African American to earn a PhD in economics in 1921, was blocked from practicing her profession entirely due to racial discrimination. She used her legal career instead to call out the very government programs including FDR's New Deal and Social Security that strategically excluded Black domestic workers and farm laborers from their benefits. Robert S. Browne founded the Caucus of Black Economists in 1970 specifically because the entire economics profession refused to acknowledge Black economic reality. Opal Jones ran a federally funded employment program for poor Black residents in Los Angeles and was fired for it, with her supporters saying the "power structure" deliberately removed her influence. Daniel Speed, a Black grocery store owner in Tallahassee, bankrolled a bus boycott out of his own pocket and turned his shop into a headquarters for the movement. Nobody teaches their names. That silence is not accidental either.

The reason these truths stayed hidden is itself a system not a single conspiracy, but five overlapping mechanisms working in concert. First, education was controlled from the top, stripping Black economic history from textbooks. Second, the government actively destroyed the messengers. COINTELPRO, the FBI's covert program running from 1956 to 1971, used surveillance, infiltration, misinformation, and in some cases assassination to dismantle Black nationalist and economic self-determination movements. J. Edgar Hoover began targeting Marcus Garvey in the 1920s specifically because Garvey advocated Black economic independence. Third, the laws that robbed Black communities were written in neutral language the G.I. Bill, the New Deal, zoning ordinances so the targeting was invisible on the surface. Fourth, media ownership ensured the narrative stayed controlled. And fifth, COINTELPRO never truly ended. In 2017, the FBI created a new designation "Black Identity Extremists" to justify surveillance of racial justice activists, drawing direct comparisons to the original program from scholars and civil rights organizations alike. The tools upgraded. The target stayed the same.

Change is being fought for on multiple fronts today, but it faces fierce resistance at every turn. In Congress, H.R. 40 the bill to study and develop reparations proposals for African Americans has been reintroduced in the current legislative session, formally acknowledging that convict leasing, redlining, Jim Crow, and unequal education collectively stole generational wealth from Black families. There are also active calls to amend the 13th Amendment itself, specifically to remove the punishment clause that still permits forced labor as a criminal sentence a loophole that critics argue feeds mass incarceration and functions as a modern continuation of the same economic exploitation. At the state level, California's Legislative Black Caucus introduced 14 reparations-related bills in 2024 directly stemming from a major state reparations report. Yet simultaneously, legal attacks are dismantling the very tools designed to measure and fight discrimination, and DEI programs built after 2020 are being systematically challenged in courts across the country.

The most powerful response, however, may not come from waiting on the government that built the problem. Black purchasing power in America surpassed two trillion dollars in 2024 larger than the GDP of entire nations. The foundation for economic independence already exists. The challenge is keeping that money within Black communities long enough to build institutions, not just transactions. Studies show the Black dollar circulates for roughly six hours before leaving the community, compared to twenty days in Asian communities and seventeen in Jewish communities. The blueprint articulated by Dr. Claud Anderson, Dr. Amos Wilson, and a growing new generation of Black economists and entrepreneurs — calls for vertical integration: Black communities owning the full chain from production to sale, building banks, investment networks, and businesses that do not require permission from the same system designed to exclude them. The unsung heroes of this story did not fail. They were stopped. The question for this generation is whether we finish what they started with full knowledge of what we are up against, and why.

If you are a creator who uses your platform not just for content but for causes, real, unfiltered, truth-telling causes, then you already know the risk. You know what it feels like to watch your subscriber count dip after speaking on something that matters. I know that feeling personally. My YouTube channel was sitting at nearly twenty-two thousand eight hundred subscribers, and after speaking my truth on the things that need to be said about the downward spiral happening in America right now, I saw that number drop. But here is what I also know: that is perfectly fine. Some of those departures were bots anyway. I call it spring cleaning. The ones who stayed are the ones who are meant to be there. And the one person who reads your Substack post, watches your TikTok, or stumbles on your YouTube video at the right moment, and that one person is worth more than a million passive viewers who never really heard you at all.

The downward spiral is not abstract. It shows up in numbers that most people never get taught. Roughly 80% of Black-owned businesses close within 18 months, and half fail within five years, at rates far higher than the average small business, driven by systemic funding gaps, higher loan denial rates, and interest rates that are stacked against them from the start. In fact, only 13% of Black-owned businesses that applied for financing were likely to receive it, compared to 40% of white-owned businesses, and Black business owners are more than twice as likely to report experiencing discrimination in the loan process. That is not a personal failure. That is a system doing exactly what it was designed to do. And it does not stop at business. Black patients receive lower-quality care than white patients on more than half of all quality measures tracked by the federal government, with disparities cutting across heart disease, cancer, maternal health, and pain management. These are not statistics to argue about. These are people's lives. This is why the truth has to be told, out loud, with receipts, on every platform you have access to.

We are living in a time when the truth is uncomfortable, and uncomfortable truths have a way of shaking loose the people who were never really with you in the first place. When you start getting close to the truth, people will come at you, not to debate them, but to distract you. That is how you know you are hitting something real. Do not let the noise silence you. If the comments cross a line, block and move on. But do not confuse opposition with being wrong. Speaking on causes such as Black businesses, Black ownership, Black banks, the state of education, and the failures inside the medical system, these are not entertainment topics. They are calls to action, and they require you to show up with your receipts. Make sure your research is solid. Cite your sources. Use reputable news outlets, academic essays, independent journalism, and credible books. When you back your statements with evidence, you take away the power of anyone who tries to dismiss you by saying you just made it up. Research is not optional when you are speaking on causes. It is your armor.

One of the most important lessons any creator can learn right now is that you cannot put all of your voice in one platform's hands. The algorithm does not care about your mission. It cares about engagement, watch time, and advertiser-friendly behavior. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram have fully leaned into algorithm-led discovery, meaning your content is shown based on what the platform thinks people want to see, not necessarily to the people who followed you. Platform dependency is one of the biggest risks in the creator economy, with nearly three-quarters of single-platform creators experiencing significant income or reach drops due to algorithm changes. That is why you must spread your presence across YouTube, TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, Substack, and wherever else your people are gathering. My TikTok is growing right now because I took a chance, leaned into a course on Black businesses and ownership, and trusted that there was an audience hungry for that kind of truth. There was. There always is.

Being a truth-teller also means being open to growth. Communication is a two-way road, and one of the reasons society feels like it is in a downward spiral right now is because people have stopped being willing to look through any lens but their own. Speak your truth, but stay open. If you are a little bit wrong on something, say so. Correct the record. That is not weakness; that is integrity. The goal is not to win an argument. The goal is to actually help people understand what is happening around them. Content creators from marginalized communities have long reported frustration with algorithmic bias that suppresses their reach and robs them of critical engagement, which makes it even more important that we refuse to be quiet and that we build communities that do not depend entirely on any one platform's goodwill. Independent journalism is rising, and purpose-driven creators are part of that wave.

Let go of the obsession with brand deals, viral numbers, and follower counts as measures of your worth. A creator with five hundred followers can outperform a creator with fifty thousand if their content is genuinely resonating with the right people. Use your own expertise, your lived experience, your research, your years of knowledge in whatever field you have worked in, and make that your platform. Speak from the heart, do the work, cite your sources, and trust that the right people will find you. If you lose some followers along the way, let them go. Adios. Au revoir. The ones who need what you are saying will stay, and the ones who find you next may have been waiting their whole lives to hear it. So here is the challenge I am putting directly to you: What do you know that someone else needs to hear? What have you lived through, worked through, or researched that could change the way someone sees themselves or the world around them? You do not need a million followers, a brand deal, or anyone's permission. You need your voice, your truth, and the courage to keep showing up even when the numbers dip. The world does not need more noise. It needs more people willing to speak clearly, research deeply, and refuse to be silent. That person can be you. That person should be you. Start today.

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The Natasha Doll and the Content: What Is Being Done and Why It Matters

The "Natasha doll" is a squishy toy that originated in China and spread across Asian social media platforms, particularly Douyin and RedNote. While the toy was manufactured in multiple skin tones, it was the dark-skinned version that became the overwhelming focus of viral abuse content. Videos accumulated millions of views showing users punching, stomping on, stretching, boiling in water, and running over the doll framed as comedy or stress relief. The doll reportedly became one of the top-selling squishy toys in China and parts of Asia in 2026. Several Chinese schools moved to ban it from classrooms, citing concerns about student behavior and the normalization of violence.

The pattern of singling out the dark-skinned version was not accidental, and defenders of the trend made this unmistakably clear. An alleged explanation that circulated on Chinese social media intended to justify why the Black doll was preferred stated that the white version did not have the same "ugly" appeal, and that the Black doll's selling point was that it was "ugly, abstract, and interesting." Critics were swift to point out that this explanation made the racism more explicit, not less. As one observer noted online, the attempted justification made the content "more racist than if the explanation was not there."

Even more alarming is content in which real Black children many appearing to be from African nations are used in degrading scenarios by Asian content creators. Children are filmed performing servile and humiliating acts for adult entertainment. This is not comedy, satire, or cultural misunderstanding. It is the exploitation of children who cannot consent, framed within a long-standing global hierarchy that positions Black people and Black children especially as lesser, as servants, as entertainment.

What makes this particularly harrowing is that there is a documented audience for this content. People seek it out. People request it. This is not passive stumbling upon offensive material it is active demand for content that depicts the abuse and degradation of Black children. That demand, and the market that feeds it, must be confronted directly.

Anti-Blackness Is a Global Phenomenon

It would be a mistake to frame this issue as unique to China or to any single Asian country. Anti-Blackness is a global ideology one that has been exported, reinforced, and internalized across cultures through centuries of colonialism, Western media influence, and colorist beauty standards that prize lighter skin while devaluing Blackness. Anti-Black racism has been documented in South Korea, Japan, India, the Arab world, Latin America, and Europe. It manifests in discriminatory hiring practices, colorist advertising, violent attacks, and yes degrading social media content.

This global spread of anti-Black sentiment is not coincidental. It is rooted in systems in the historical presentation of Blackness as inferior that was spread through colonialism and Western cultural dominance. Media, including social media, has accelerated this spread. When anti-Black content is produced, shared, monetized, and met with laughter rather than condemnation, it reinforces the message that Black lives are worth less, that Black children can be props, that Black suffering is entertainment.

It is also important to note the specific vulnerability of Black children in this content. Children cannot advocate for themselves. They cannot consent to being filmed, exploited, or degraded. When adults regardless of their nationality use children in humiliating content, they are committing a form of abuse. When that content targets Black children specifically because of their race, it is both child abuse and a racist act, and it must be named as both.

Justice Denied: The Case of Cyrus Carmack-Belton and the Pattern of Anti-Black Violence

The Natasha doll trend did not emerge in a vacuum. It arrived at the same moment that the Black community in the United States was absorbing a devastating blow: the acquittal of Chikei Rick Chow, a 61-year-old Asian convenience store owner in Columbia, South Carolina, who shot 14-year-old Cyrus Carmack-Belton in the back in May 2023. On June 1, 2026, a South Carolina jury found Chow not guilty of murder. Cyrus was running away when he was shot. Surveillance footage showed he had not stolen anything from the store. Multiple witnesses testified they never saw him point a weapon at anyone. Yet a jury watched all of this evidence and still returned a not guilty verdict.

Cyrus's family released a statement that captured the anguish of the moment: "Yesterday a jury watched our 14-year-old boy run away from two grown men on video. They knew one of them shot him in the back and they still said no one is to blame. We are heartbroken. We do not accept it. Cyrus stole nothing. He was a child, and he was running for his life. Our son mattered." Protesters gathered at the Parklane Road gas station where the shooting occurred, holding water bottles aloft a symbol of the bottled water Cyrus was falsely accused of stealing.

For many observers, the case was an echo of a wound that has never fully healed. In 1991, 15-year-old Latasha Harlins was shot in the back of the head by Korean American store owner Soon Ja Du in Los Angeles, after Du falsely accused her of stealing a $1.79 bottle of orange juice. Security footage showed Harlins had money in her hand. Du was convicted of voluntary manslaughter but received no prison time only probation, community service, and a fine. The resulting outrage was one of the flashpoints of the 1992 Los Angeles uprising. More than three decades later, Carmack-Belton's case has revived that grief with painful precision.

The convergence of the Cyrus Carmack-Belton acquittal and the Natasha doll trend occurring within days of each other in early June 2026 ignited a firestorm of anger in Black communities online and offline. Calls began circulating on social media to boycott Asian-owned businesses. The slogan "Shut Down Everything Asian" spread rapidly. South Carolina Representative Todd Rutherford, who serves as the Carmack-Belton family's attorney, announced a civil lawsuit and stated the verdict "makes us feel like Cyrus' life didn't matter and it did." Meanwhile, some Asian social media users responded to the boycott calls with provocative and dismissive online posts, further inflaming tensions with videos circulating of an Asian content creator daring Black Americans to follow through with a boycott of Asian businesses.

These events must be understood together. A Black teenager is shot in the back, his killer walks free, and within the same week a viral trend of abusing a Black baby doll for entertainment sweeps Asian social media. The cumulative message sent to Black communities is the same message that has been sent for generations: your children are not protected, their lives are not valued, and their suffering can be turned into a product or a punchline. This is not coincidence. This is a pattern.

Social Media’s Role: Amplification Without Accountability

None of this content exists in a vacuum. It is hosted, shared, recommended, and monetized on social media platforms and platforms that have the technical capacity and stated policy commitments to remove content that dehumanizes people based on race or that exploits children. The persistent presence of this content is not a technological failure. It is a policy failure driven by inconsistent enforcement.

Major platforms including Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, and others have community guidelines that explicitly prohibit hate speech, content that dehumanizes people based on race, and content that sexually or otherwise exploits minors. Yet content targeting Black people with dehumanizing imagery and racist caricature routinely remains online for extended periods, often only being removed after significant pressure from Black users and advocacy organizations while those same Black users frequently report being censored, shadow-banned, or suspended for speaking out about racism.

This double standard is not invisible to the communities most harmed by it. When Black creators and activists report racist content and are ignored, while simultaneously facing aggressive moderation of their own speech, the message sent is clear: the platform does not consider Black dignity worth protecting at the same level as others. This is institutional anti-Blackness embedded in the infrastructure of the internet itself.

The Psychology of Anti-Black Dehumanization: What Experts Say

Psychologists and mental health experts have been vocal in challenging the framing of the Natasha doll trend as harmless stress relief. The core marketing premise that beating an object shaped like a Black baby releases stress has been directly contradicted by psychological research. Experts warn that venting anger through physical aggression does not relieve stress; rather, it trains the brain to associate anger with destructive physical acts rather than constructive coping mechanisms. Repeatedly attacking an object in this manner may actually reinforce aggression rather than reduce it.

Beyond the individual psychological harm, experts have raised serious concerns about the societal impact on young viewers. Psychologists and educators warn that repeated exposure to videos portraying violence against child-like figures particularly when those figures are racially coded as Black can normalize aggressive behavior and reduce empathy toward real Black children. Several Chinese schools reportedly moved to ban the Natasha doll from classrooms specifically because of concerns about students imitating the abusive behavior they saw in viral content.

The psychological dimension extends beyond the content creators to the audience. Content depicting Black people particularly Black children as lesser, as objects, as entertainment, does not arise from nowhere. It is absorbed, reinforced, and passed down through cultural conditioning. Human rights advocates and social commentators have pointed to how social media algorithms amplify this content by rewarding engagement, meaning the more people interact with it even in outrage the more the algorithm distributes it. The architecture of social media platforms is itself a psychological and structural actor in the spread of anti-Black dehumanization.

The Law: China’s Anti-Discrimination Framework and Its Failures

China does not have a standalone hate speech statute. Its legal framework for addressing racial discrimination is scattered across several pieces of legislation, most notably Articles 249 and 250 of the Criminal Law of the People's Republic of China. Article 249 criminalizes the incitement of ethnic hatred or ethnic discrimination, with penalties ranging from up to three years imprisonment for serious offenses, to three to ten years for especially serious ones. Article 250 covers the publication of materials that discriminate against or insult ethnic minorities. Additionally, the Law on Penalties for Administration of Public Security allows for administrative detention and fines for inciting national hatred online.

On paper, these laws could apply to the Natasha doll trend. In practice, they almost certainly will not and the reason why reveals something important about China's approach to anti-discrimination law. China's hate speech framework is, at its core, a political tool. It is primarily deployed to suppress speech that threatens ethnic unity within China's borders or that challenges state authority not to protect Black people, who are not recognized as a minority group within China's official 56-ethnic-group framework. Human Rights Watch has directly called on the Chinese government to acknowledge and condemn anti-Black racism on Chinese social media, noting that while Chinese platforms like Douyin claim to moderate hundreds of pieces of anti-Black content daily, the sheer volume and extremity of racist content suggests the platforms are either not meeting their own standards or that their policies are woefully inadequate.

Notably, the Chinese government did respond to the Natasha doll controversy but not in the way one might hope. Chinese authorities advised against the most abusive videos of the doll, framing the concern around protecting the mental health of minors not around condemning racism or protecting Black dignity. This framing is telling. It treats the problem as a child welfare issue rather than a racial justice issue, sidestepping entirely the question of anti-Blackness. It is the legal and governmental equivalent of missing the point.

What Must Be Done: A Call to Action

Awareness is the first step, but it must be followed by action. The following steps are urgently needed:

1. Platform accountability: Social media companies must be held to their own stated standards. Content that dehumanizes Black people based on race must be removed swiftly and consistently, with the same urgency applied to other protected groups. Content that exploits children of any race must be removed immediately and reported to appropriate authorities.

2. Legislative pressure: Governments particularly in the United States, the European Union, and other regions with regulatory power over tech companies must push for enforceable content moderation standards that specifically protect against racially dehumanizing content and child exploitation.

3. International dialogue on anti-Blackness: Anti-Black racism must be recognized and addressed as the global crisis it is. Governments, civil society organizations, and international bodies must create space for honest conversations about anti-Blackness outside the West, including in Asian contexts, without excusing or minimizing the harm.

4. Protection of African children: The use of real African children in degrading content is a child protection crisis as much as a racial justice crisis. African governments, international child welfare organizations, and global advocacy groups must coordinate to identify, document, and prosecute those who exploit children in this manner.

5. Amplify Black voices: Those who have been speaking out about this content Black creators, activists, and community members deserve amplification, not suppression. The people most harmed by anti-Black racism online are often the least protected by the platforms where it occurs.

Conclusion

The stress toy shaped like a Black baby. The videos of African children performing degrading acts. The audience that seeks this content out and rewards it with views and shares. None of these exist in isolation. They are connected by a common thread: the global devaluation of Black life that has persisted for centuries and found new expression in the digital age.

This is not about pointing fingers at any single culture or nation. Anti-Blackness is a global problem that requires a global response. But acknowledgment must come first honest, unflinching acknowledgment that what is happening is racist, that children are being harmed, that platforms are failing, and that silence is complicity.

Black children are not props. They are not stress toys. They are not entertainment. They are children, and they deserve the same dignity, protection, and humanity that every child deserves. Until the world including its social media platforms, its governments, and its individual users acts accordingly, the work of advocacy must continue.

Sources

"Black Stress Relief Doll ‘Natasha’ Sparks Widespread Outrage, And The Alleged Explanation Doesn’t Help." Bored Panda, June 2026. https://www.boredpanda.com/black-stress-relief-doll-natasha-sparks-widespread-outrage/

“Explanation Made It More Racist”: Viral ‘Natasha’ Doll Sparks Outrage As Disturbing Videos Spread Online." AOL / Bored Panda, June 2026. https://www.aol.com/articles/black-stress-relief-doll-natasha-172402418.html

"Videos: Chinese Users Stomping, Tearing, Boiling Black ‘Natasha’ Doll Appears In Disturbing Viral Trend." Shine My Crown, June 2026. https://shinemycrown.com/videos-chinese-users-stomping-tearing-boiling-black-natasha-doll-appears-in-disturbing-viral-trend/

"The ‘Harm This Natasha’ Trend Raises Alarming Questions About Racism, Exploitation and Digital Accountability." Southerton Business Times / Factually.co, June 2026. https://www.southertonbusinesstimes.com/post/the-harm-this-natasha-trend-raises-alarming-questions-about-racism-exploitation-and-digital-accou

"China’s Viral Natasha Doll Trend Sparks Outrage, Racism Debate." YNews Digital, June 2026. https://ynews.digital/newsflash/chinas-viral-natasha-doll-trend-sparks-global-outrage-over-racism-allegations/

Human Rights Watch. "China: Combat Anti-Black Racism on Social Media." August 16, 2023. https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/08/16/china-combat-anti-black-racism-social-media

ABC News. "‘We do not accept it’: Family reacts to acquittal in fatal shooting of 14-year-old Cyrus Carmack-Belton." June 2, 2026. https://abcnews.com/US/accept-family-reacts-acquittal-fatal-shooting-14-year/story?id=133533029

Essence. "Family Of Cyrus Carmack-Belton Condemns Acquittal In Fatal Shooting Of Black Teen." June 2026. https://www.essence.com/news/cyrus-carmack-belton-family-reacts-chikei-rick-chow-acquittal/

Atlanta Black Star. "Black Americans Call for Boycott After Rick Chow Verdict." June 3, 2026. https://atlantablackstar.com/2026/06/03/black-americans-call-for-boycotts-after-rick-chow-verdict-revives-wounds-from-1991-case-as-his-past-faces-new-scrutiny/

Post and Courier. "After acquittal in Cyrus Carmack-Belton shooting, Columbia leaders call for peace amid outrage." June 2, 2026. https://www.postandcourier.com/columbia/news/columbia-protest-rick-chow-cyrus-belton-shooting/article_95b08aa6-06fb-4a72-b12a-8f00e5a2c786.html

Where is your money right now?

Chances are it is sitting in a major bank. Bank of America. Chase. Wells Fargo. Citibank. And those banks are taking your deposits, your fees, and your trust and investing them in communities and businesses that have historically worked against yours.

It is time to change that. But first you need to understand exactly how we got here and what is being done about it right now in 2026.

According to FDIC data there were only 23 black owned banks in the entire United States as of 2018. Out of more than 5,400 financial institutions in this country less than half of one percent were owned and operated by Black people.

And it has been getting worse not better. The number of black owned banks dropped by more than fifty percent between 2001 and 2022. According to FDIC data for the fourth quarter of 2022 only 21 black owned banks remained in America, down from 48 in 2001. More than half gone in less than twenty years.

This did not happen by accident.

The largest black owned bank in America right now is OneUnited Bank with approximately 625 million dollars in assets. That sounds significant until you place it next to Bank of America which manages nearly two and a half trillion dollars. That means Bank of America is roughly four thousand times larger than the biggest black owned bank in the country.

That is not a gap. That is a canyon. And it was dug on purpose over generations.

Why Did This Happen? The Honest Answer.

Black owned banks were already operating at a severe disadvantage because they serve communities that were deliberately stripped of wealth through redlining and discriminatory lending practices for decades. That means their customers had less money to deposit. Less deposits means less money to lend. Less money to lend means the bank stays small and vulnerable.

Then when economic hard times hit those banks had no cushion because the system never allowed them to build one.

The 2008 financial crisis hit Black Americans harder than almost any other group. Black homeowners were specifically targeted by major banks for predatory subprime loans. Black wealth which was largely tied up in home equity collapsed almost overnight. Black employment dropped sharply which meant deposits in black owned banks dropped with it.

COVID made things worse. Black owned small businesses closed at higher rates during the pandemic which meant more loan defaults and less banking activity in the very communities black owned banks were built to serve.

So the same systems that created the crisis also weakened the institutions trying to protect Black communities from it.

Someone Took This Fight To The Highest Levels Of Government

In December 2022 Marc H. Morial, President and CEO of the National Urban League, testified before the United States Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs at a hearing officially titled "Fairness in Financial Services: Racism and Discrimination in Banking."

He did not mince words.

Morial testified that throughout the National Urban League's work they have seen the dire consequences of an American financial system that has systematically cut off and shut out individuals, families, businesses, and communities of color from access to capital. He further testified that when people of color suffer racist treatment in the financial marketplace it causes substantial monetary and non-monetary harm and that community members often do not even realize they received unfair treatment or a discriminatory outcome.

Also present at that hearing was Lisa Rice, President and CEO of the National Fair Housing Alliance, Representative Byron Donalds of Florida, and Janai Nelson, President and Director-Counsel of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund. This was not a small gathering. This was a formal government hearing putting racism in banking on the official record of the United States Senate.

Senator Sherrod Brown, who chaired the Senate Banking Committee at the time, stated plainly that in 2022 in the United States of America you can still be turned away at a bank because of the color of your skin. He described the wealth and income disparities between white and minority households as a direct consequence of the unequal access and treatment minorities have faced throughout American history. From accepting enslaved people as collateral for loans, to Jim Crow, to redlining, to predatory subprime mortgage practices, Black and brown Americans have never had equal access to or fair treatment in financial services.

That statement was made before the United States Senate. On the record. By a sitting United States Senator.

What Is The Fair Access To Financial Services Act And Why Does It Matter To You?

At that same hearing Morial urged the passage of the Fair Access to Financial Services Act. So what exactly is that in plain language?

Think of it this way. Right now banks can turn you away and never have to explain why. They can deny you a mortgage, a business loan, a bank account, or a credit card and face no real consequences for doing so. The Fair Access to Financial Services Act would change that by legally prohibiting banks and other financial institutions from discriminating in the services they offer on the basis of race, color, religion, national origin, or sex.

In other words it would make it illegal for a bank to treat you differently because of who you are. And if they did you would have the legal right to take them to court.

The legislation was also designed to build upon the Dodd-Frank Act of 2010 and existing regulatory protections by ensuring that all Americans have equal access to the goods and services offered by financial institutions and that those institutions are held legally liable if they do not comply.

This is not a radical idea. It is simply the completion of what the Civil Rights Act promised but never fully delivered in the financial sector.

Here Is Where It Gets Complicated In 2026

This is the part your community needs to understand clearly.

There are currently two different pieces of legislation in Congress with very similar names that are fighting for very different things.

The original Fair Access to Financial Services Act that Morial and the National Urban League fought for was specifically designed to protect communities of color and other marginalized groups from racial discrimination in banking.

The version currently moving through the 119th Congress in 2025 and 2026 under the current administration is called the Fair Access to Banking Act. This version is based on a rule from the Trump administration and is primarily focused on protecting industries considered politically unpopular from being denied banking services. It is not specifically focused on protecting people of color from racial discrimination.

That is a critical difference. One bill protects people. The other protects industries.

Your community needs to know which one your representatives are supporting. And you need to ask them directly.

But Here Is The Good News. Black Banking Is Fighting Back.

According to a March 2023 report in Black Enterprise the story is no longer only one of decline. New players began entering the black banking space through startups and acquisitions marking what the publication described as a major about-face after years of closures.

One of the most historic examples is the Redemption Holding Company, known as RHC, which marked the first time in United States history that an existing non-black bank would become a black owned minority depository institution through acquisition. Among the Black investors involved with the RHC deal is Dr. Bernice A. King, daughter of the late Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. That is not just a business deal. That is a statement.

At least five black banks or credit unions announced startup or acquisition plans around that same period representing a genuine resurgence of Black ownership in the financial sector.

Do You Need To Be In A Labor Union To Join A Credit Union?

No. And this is one of the most common misconceptions that has kept people from accessing these institutions.

The word union in credit union has absolutely nothing to do with labor unions. A credit union is simply a member owned nonprofit financial institution. Instead of making profits for outside shareholders a credit union returns its earnings to its members through lower fees, better interest rates, and more flexible lending standards.

To join a credit union you typically just need to meet one simple requirement such as living in a certain area, working in a certain field, belonging to a church or community organization, or being related to an existing member.

Most people qualify for a credit union without ever having been part of a labor union in their life.

So How Do You Actually Move Your Money Right Now?

You do not have to do it all at once. Here is a simple path anyone can follow.

Step one. Find a black owned bank or credit union near you. Start at Bankblack.org, the National Bankers Association website, or ask your local church or community organization for recommendations.

Step two. Open an account. Most black owned banks now have full online and mobile banking just like the major banks. You can open an account from your phone today without ever visiting a physical branch.

Step three. Move gradually. Keep your old account open while you set everything up. Move your direct deposit first. Once everything is running smoothly close the old account. There is no rush but there is a reason to start today.

Step four. Tell somebody. Tell your family. Tell your friends. Tell your church. One person moving their money is a drop. A whole community moving together is a flood.

How To Bring Black Banks Into Your Neighborhood

Banks go where the money is. If a community can demonstrate that thousands of people are ready to open accounts and make deposits that becomes very attractive to a black owned bank looking to grow.

Organize through your church and community groups. A congregation of one thousand people collectively committing to bank black is a powerful and credible invitation.

Talk to your city council. Local governments can offer incentives for black owned banks to open branches in underserved areas. They can also deposit city funds in minority owned banks which directly strengthens those institutions.

Support Community Development Financial Institutions, known as CDFIs, in your area. Even where a full black owned bank does not exist a CDFI is specifically chartered to lend in communities that major banks ignore. The National Urban League's own Urban Empowerment Fund was certified as a CDFI by the Treasury Department and provides direct loans to Black and minority owned businesses through Urban League Entrepreneurship Centers operating in thirteen cities across the country.

How To Bring Black Banks Into Your Neighborhood

Banks go where the money is. If a community can demonstrate that thousands of people are ready to open accounts and make deposits that becomes very attractive to a black owned bank looking to grow.

Organize through your church and community groups. A congregation of one thousand people collectively committing to bank black is a powerful and credible invitation.

Talk to your city council. Local governments can offer incentives for black owned banks to open branches in underserved areas. They can also deposit city funds in minority owned banks which directly strengthens those institutions.

Support Community Development Financial Institutions, known as CDFIs, in your area. Even where a full black owned bank does not exist a CDFI is specifically chartered to lend in communities that major banks ignore. The National Urban League's own Urban Empowerment Fund was certified as a CDFI by the Treasury Department and provides direct loans to Black and minority owned businesses through Urban League Entrepreneurship Centers operating in thirteen cities across the country.

The Bottom Line

Every dollar you deposit in a black owned bank or credit union funds loans for black homebuyers, finances black owned businesses, creates jobs inside the institution itself, and builds the asset base that makes the bank stronger and better able to survive the next economic storm.

The reason black owned banks have been disappearing is partly because not enough people know they exist. And not enough people know how easy it is to access them.

That ends today.

Leaders like Marc Morial have taken this fight all the way to the United States Senate. New investors including Dr. Bernice King are putting their names and resources behind new black banking institutions. The legislation to protect your rights in the financial marketplace exists and is being fought for right now.

But none of it works without the community behind it.

Your money is powerful. Where you put it is a choice. And that choice either builds your community or builds someone else's.

Choose wisely. Bank black. Spread the word.

OUR VOICES. OUR COMMUNITY. OUR POWER. 💪🏾

SOURCES:

Senate Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs. "Fairness in Financial Services: Racism and Discrimination in Banking." December 1, 2022. banking.senate.gov

Marc H. Morial, National Urban League. Testimony before the Senate Banking Committee. December 1, 2022. banking.senate.gov

National Urban League. "Fair Access to Financial Services Is Vital to Closing the Racial Wealth Gap." nul.org

The Washington Informer. "Morial: Fair Access to Financial Services Is Vital to Closing the Racial Wealth Gap." December 2022. washingtoninformer.com

Consumer Finance Monitor. "Senate Holds Hearing on Fairness in Financial Services." December 7, 2022. consumerfinancemonitor.com

Black Enterprise. "Black Banks Are Surging, Disrupting Long Term Flow of Closures." March 9, 2023. blackenterprise.com

FDIC Data. Minority Depository Institutions. Fourth Quarter 2022. fdic.gov

GovTrack. "Fair Access to Banking Act." S.401. 119th Congress 2025 to 2026. govtrack.us

Congress.gov. "Fair Access to Banking Act." H.R. 987. 119th Congress 2025 to 2026. congress.gov

C-SPAN. "Senate Hearing on Discrimination in Banking." December 1, 2022. c-span.org

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