My Journey Into Black History...The Good, The Bad And The Ugly.

  In this post, I want to explore a delicate subject—what happens when individuals within our community seem to turn away from shared struggles and align themselves with ideas or systems that feel counter to our collective progress. I'm referring to figures like Candace Owens, Ben Carson, and others who are often viewed as being too aligned with white-dominated structures, leaving many of us to wonder: Why would they walk away? Or worse, why do they act as if they are "better" than those they leave behind? At first glance, their choices can feel like arrogance, a rejection of our shared experiences in favor of personal gain or assimilation into the dominant culture. There’s a palpable sense that these individuals have adopted an attitude of superiority, as if by aligning themselves with the majority, they’ve "made it" and no longer need to worry about the struggles faced by the broader Black community. But let’s take a moment to pause and consider what might be

Over the years, I’ve battled an inner oxymoron: how can I trust in a God who allowed slavery, or be part of a religion dominated by those who have historically oppressed us? After much reflection, I’ve started to conclude that many white supremacists are reading from a different Bible, one they've used to justify their agendas, while cherry-picking the parts that suit them. While the Bible mentions slavery, it also stresses treating slaves with respect, like members of one's household, ensuring their well-being and safety. In historical context, some passages refer to slavery as a punishment for crime, meant to be temporary, with the provision of freedom after debts are paid. However, we know from history that none of these tenets were upheld when it came to the brutal enslavement of our ancestors. This was not the slavery of biblical times but a cruel system that dehumanized generations. In Exodus, God freed the Israelites from their suffering and set them on a path to liberat

It’s taken me a long time to accept that living in a society where we are constantly told to "be grateful" for the scraps of progress is, at its core, a society that was never designed to protect us. Perhaps, in the past, Black people were dismissed as no competition—never seen as equals, only ever seen as labor. The systems created were never meant to include us as citizens. When the first enslaved Africans were taken, there was no vision of Black people as part of this "great" society. The plan was for us to remain enslaved indefinitely. What the architects of this system didn’t anticipate was the resilience, courage, and unity of Black people. They didn’t expect us to continue resisting, even when the laws, the violence, and the constant threats of lynching and death were meant to break our spirits. But we never stopped. Despite the odds, we built communities, businesses, and safe havens, such as the Black Wall Street in Tulsa. We achieved success despite Jim Cro

As I reflect on Nelson Mandela’s life and his journey to freedom, I find myself caught in the same debate many of us feel: War or peace? Vengeance or forgiveness? While Mandela is often celebrated for his choice to forgive and build bridges with those who once oppressed him, this decision wasn’t embraced by everyone in our community. For many, Mandela’s forgiveness felt like a betrayal. After years of suffering under apartheid—years where Black people were denied basic rights, families were torn apart, and lives were lost—how could anyone forgive those responsible for so much pain? To some, choosing peace over vengeance seemed like surrender, as if the oppressors had “won” by never fully being held accountable for the horrors they had inflicted. This reaction is understandable. After so much pain, it’s only natural to feel anger and demand justice. But Mandela’s choice to forgive wasn’t an act of weakness. It was an act of wisdom, born from the understanding that vengeance alone wouldn