_Lack Friday
Kwame Braithwaite, Black is Beautiful, via SNCC Legacy Project
A person considered bad or worthless by other people in that family/group.
An adverse vote especially against admitting someone to membership in an organization.
An underground (or shadow) economy in a clandestine market or series of transactions that has some aspect of illegality.
A person who continues working when fellow workers are on strike.
Something used to indicate that someone is remembered and regarded with disfavor.
How do these definitions make you feel? Read them again, slowly. Maybe even out loud. Do they evoke positivity or negativity? Do they inspire prosperity or despair? How would you feel if a loved one were described by these terms? Or if you were?
Now, ask yourself: Is it a mere coincidence that all the words mentioned here start with the prefix “Black”?
Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better. - Toni Morrison
Our understanding of the world and language are interconnected: language shapes the world we see, and the world shapes the language we use. It is not surprising, therefore, that for centuries, Blackness has been entangled with negativity—not by accident, but by deliberate and nefarious design. The linguistic programming has reinforced systemic racism, stigmatized Black people, and shaped perceptions both within and outside the Black community. Anti-Blackness is global, y’all. As we learn the truth about the origins of these connotations, we must unlearn them. To truly "do better," we must reclaim and celebrate the beauty and power of Blackness. The connection is again obvious: it’s time to dismantle the language that confines us and use it instead to create a world with dignity for all:
Black Is Beautiful
I’ve never claimed to know it all. In fact, I’ve often found it wise to feign ignorance, listening to learn rather than to respond. "But there is a truth that transcends my own human experience and is not up for discussion. I have received it as an inheritance, and since then, I have always known, I have never forgotten: Black is beautiful. Nothing—and no one—can convince me otherwise.
Who taught you to hate the color of your skin? - Malcolm X
For me, the answer is simple: no one.
As early as I can remember—maybe age six or seven—my mother instilled in me and my sister a deep love for our Black skin. Growing up in East Flatbush, Brooklyn, she knew what we were up against. The media and society at large told me my nose and lips were too big. Both at large encouraged my sister to use products to straighten her hair over embracing her natural curls. But inside our home, our mother, June, countered those messages with unwavering affirmations.
“You are beautiful. You are enough,” she’d say. She didn’t just teach us to love ourselves; she taught us to love all Blackness. In her eyes, no Black pigment was superior or inferior to another. She raised us to see beauty in every shade and to recognize the power in community.
Our predominantly Black American neighborhood reflected that lesson. My mother, a single parent from Trinidad and Tobago, prioritized building connections with both Caribbean and non-Caribbean neighbors. She understood that Black solidarity was essential for survival and progress in a world actively designed to divide us.
And while she encouraged us to participate in the broader Black culture—listening to jazz, eating Southern food, adopting fashion trends—she made it clear that we should never abandon our Trinidadian roots (soca music, roti, carnival). This balance would prove invaluable when my sister and I attended predominantly white institutions (PWIs), where the pressure to assimilate was constant. Holding onto our heritage anchored us in spaces that often tried to erase it.
The Lies About Blackness
Somebody told a lie one day. They couched it in language. They made everything “‘Black’” ugly and evil. — Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
The negative connotations attached to Blackness are not incidental; they are intentional. They are the tools of white supremacy, used to subjugate Black people as a group and each individual within it. This programming has two effects: it teaches non-Black people to associate Blackness with negativity, and it convinces some Black people to internalize those same harmful ideas.
Language is not neutral, nor does it exist in a vacuum; it takes root within us. And that’s why, for example, we equate having a (b)lack job with illegality, low wages, and mistreatment. And that is why, in reality, having such a job often involves exactly all that. In other words, what we say has direct consequences in the real world and affects living, breathing people.
As King pointed out, dictionaries present “Black” as degrading, sinister, and low, while “white” is defined as pure, clean, and high. Yet history shows us that whiteness has often been the opposite: destructive, exploitative, and devoid of care—even for its own. Whiteness is not something pure to aspire to, but rather a system that consumes all in its path to maintain power.
Decolonizing Our Minds
My feeling is that white people have a very, very serious problem [with racism]. And they should start thinking about what they can do about it. Take me out of it.” - Toni Morrison
The responsibility for addressing white supremacy lies squarely with white people. Acknowledging the harm caused by their ancestors, divesting from systems of oppression, and advocating for reparations would be necessary steps toward justice. But history has shown us that waiting for white people—or institutions—to do the right thing is often futile.
So instead, we must focus on what we can control: decolonizing our minds and reclaiming the language used against us. We must reject the negative programming around Blackness and replace it with truth, beauty, and pride. In doing so, we uplift not only ourselves but everyone around us.
A Better Future for All
Reclaiming Blackness, and more specifically, language, is not just about affirming the worth of Black people; it’s about dismantling the systems that harm us all. When Blackness is celebrated rather than stigmatized, it creates space for healing and growth—for Black and non-Black people alike.
Should we buy things we don’t need, at absurd prices, that make us wonder whether or not that price is related to a dignified job for vulnerable communities? Let’s remember the expression, “going into the black,” referring to the black ink on documents businesses used to mark profit.
Coined by police in Philadelphia in the 1960s, Black Friday was used as a term to describe the hordes of people who arrived before Thanksgiving to go shopping or to watch the Army-Navy football match, traditionally held on the Saturday that followed. The name spread throughout the country, but it wasn't until the 1980s, when merchants popularized the idea of going from red-to-black ("going into the black"), that the name stuck as it is today.
Let’s say it slowly, maybe even out loud: Black is beautiful.
Is It Only About Bargains?
Besides the name, what else lies behind the (in)famous Black Friday? Perhaps it’s an opportunity to reflect on our place in the world, our excessive consumerism, and the need to believe that sales are an opportunity rather than a manufactured need. In fact, it can be an opportunity not to buy things, but to examine our consumption habits and the emotional voids we attempt to fill with a trip to the store. Maybe then, Black Friday could live up to its name: a day to reflect, a day to think, a day to be better as individuals and as a community. “Black” is an opportunity.