What Black People?

I was talking to this non-melanated friend—a lovely lady, mind you—who got so comfy around me that her well-meaning, “woke” bias spilled right out of her mouth.

She hit me with the following:

“Do Black people not do well for themselves because so many people pity them?”

Now, I knew she had looked at my life—Title 1 public school teacher, 4 degrees, working my behind off, still living below the poverty line—and thought I was gonna let that slide.  But sis… I have time today.

So I hit her with: “What Black people?”

Because here’s the thing: We live in the Tennessee Valley.  You know, that place where everyone and their mama is either a NASA rocket scientist, an engineer, or a defense contractor, The same place where her mother, a Nurse Practitioner, worked for a Black cardiologist.  Her father’s boss was a Black engineer overseeing a massive defense contract.

She grew up in a gated community where the largest, most extravagant homes were owned by—wait for it—Black families.  She went to a private Christian college in Birmingham, where all her friends were Black—not just Black, but Blackity-Black.  Their parent?  Paying cash for their degrees with no student loans.

So, I asked her again: “What, Black people?”

Sis looked bewildered.  Like it had never even occurred to her that I was the lowest-income Black person she knew—and we worked the same job!

Black people don’t get their flowers.  Our accomplishments are erased, overlooked, or conveniently forgotten.  Meanwhile, our inventions changed the world.  What country doesn’t benefit from air conditioning, gas masks, toilet paper, ice cream scoopers, maxi pads, traffic lights, and Black hair products?

Oh, and by the way—if it weren’t for Black people, America wouldn’t have even won its independence from England.

So, I’ll ask again for the people in the back…

WHAT.  BLACK.  PEOPLE?

And she heard me.  She heard me.

She sat there, cheeks turning 50 shades of crimson, realizing she had never thought to question where her biases came from.  She was embarrassed.  But guess what? I gave her the gift of silence.

You see, Black women, sometimes the best way to heal the world is through your silence. I didn’t need to coddle with her; she needed that space to sit in discomfort.  I watched the gears turn in her head like a divine download of reality.

She thought she was fair-minded, woke, and “not racist.” But in that moment, she saw that she’d absorbed narratives fed to her by media, family conversations, and her own limited observations—and never bothered to challenge them. This is a call to action, a reminder of the importance of challenging our biases.

But here’s what I respect: She took accountability.

She started asking questions, had hard conversations with her family, and did the real work. No help from me—she turned to the library, counseling, and Google for that deep dive. She checked herself, corrected her thinking, and ensured her actions followed her new perspective.

And today? She’s an ally—not in name, but in action. She serves her community as a teacher, pouring into the next generation and making sure the real story of Black excellence gets told. Her journey of personal growth is an inspiration to us all.

And let me tell you, Black women… all you gotta do is ask the question.

No exertion. Sit on your throne, regal and calm, and just ask:

“What Black people?”

Let them do the work. Trust me, they’ll get there.

And you will remain unbothered, with your crown intact, posture straight, and the divine truth will download upon your command.

You are divine. You are healing. And you are, quite frankly, the reason the world spins.

We are all divine when we take accountability for our biases and create avenues for change.