An open letter to African-American people:
February marks the 95th observation of what started as Negro History Week and later became Black History Month. I wanted to use the occasion to talk about what being Black means, about how it feels, being us.
Hearing that, you’re probably braced for a litany of depressing statistics, indignities and cruelties. But that’s not why I’m here. No, I want to talk about community.
Lately, I find myself thinking a lot about Shonda Rhimes, which is weird. I’ve never met the lady, or even watched any of the hit shows – “Bridgerton,” “Scandal,” “Grey’s Anatomy” – that have made her one of the hottest producers in television. And yet… I’m so deeply invested in her success, so all-fired proud of what she’s achieved, you’d swear we were related.
Same with Tyler Perry building his studio complex, Regina King winning her Oscar, Kamala Harris, taking her oath. But the pride and investment I speak of is not limited to the celebrated and powerful. Maybe you remember a 2019 story about Morehouse College professor Nathan Alexander teaching a class with the infant daughter of his student, Wayne Hayer, strapped to his chest in a baby carrier after Hayer was unable to find childcare. I exulted in those brothers for the way they refuted a hundred lies about Black men in a single viral image.