Black Woman: An Essay

Black Woman: An Essay

B.W. McKay

I’m glad you’re here; please come in. I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve prepared a comfortable chair just for you. It’s made of the finest leather. Let me cater to you. Rest your feet and your mind as I share my heart. Do you like wine? Let me pour you a glass of my finest Chardonnay. How are you feeling? Have you eaten? Close your eyes and rest. You’re safe here.

The world hasn’t been too kind. We haven’t always protected you, and for that I’m sorry. Heavy? I know, but to ignore our history would be damnatory. Our journey from the Gold Coast to the treacherous waters of the Americas has only muddied our love.

The essence of life can be found deep in your eyes. The eyes of the Black woman are the window to our souls. Everything we are and everything we will become comes from you. The beauty, joy, and heartbeat of Blackness would not exist without you. You are impeccable love made flesh. As Black men, we owe a great deal to you. It’s our duty to love, honor, and protect with our lives, words, and deeds. In fact, it’s our creed: the charter of our love for you.

In a nation where we’re consistently under attack, our love cannot be easily broken. Our commitment to each other has been tested under the harshest of conditions. Systemic poison seeks to devour our union. The fights only push us further apart. Our communication has waned as we haven’t seen eye to eye. I admit, we haven’t always been great at listening. Our actions haven’t been congruent. There’s no excuse for it.

What are your dreams? What are you feeling? What are your fears? What is your heart saying? How can we love you better? Your cries in the darkness often went unheard. Your thoughts, feelings, and ideas matter. When you speak, we must listen not only with our ears but also with our soul. You’re brilliant and in a league of your own. There are so many examples of your brilliance; it’s woven into the fabric of our lives.

Your beauty is deeper than your outward appearance; I could bask in your glory all day. There’s something about your smile that makes everything alright. The calm in your voice makes our deepest pain easier to bear. When you speak, nature listens. When you move, things change. Every shade of your Blackness is majestic. While many try, you cannot be duplicated. You’re poetry in motion, the embodiment of God’s love and grace.

Every inch of your shea-buttered body is heaven on earth. Mm mhmm. Your embrace gives us hope, and your presence lights up the world. There aren’t enough words in the English lexicon that adequately describe all that you are. Thank you for never turning your back on us. We can only thrive when we’re on the same page. Together, we can conquer this world. Together we have the power to alter the course of history with our offspring. This type of love and commitment to each other is spiritual. It begins and ends with us.

Black in America: An Essay

Black in America: An Essay

B.W. McKay

America suffers from a severe case of apathy and delusion. We’ve sacrificed much to move this country forward. Blackness is seen as the antithesis of American values. Our existence is an uncomfortable reminder of a past that they so desperately wish to erase. Black people have been on the front lines of some of the most powerful movements in American history. Other groups have benefited from our work. We’ve never been a selfish people. Our inherently loving nature has quelled our rightful vengeance. Our anger and pain have been used to make the country a better place for our children. This love, though tested, has always been on display.

On the eve of America’s 250th celebration, I choose to celebrate a different America. One that was built by the tired hands of our ancestors. One that stood defiantly against tyranny and refused to be second-class citizens. I’m encouraged by our journey through the muck and mire that has been America. We’re the definition of fortitude and strength. We’ve turned water into wine in the midst of the struggle. With our feet planted firmly in the same soil that holds the blood, sweat, and tears of our ancestors, we’re still standing: immovable and proud.

In America’s 250th year, we watched the Voting Rights Act be gutted. Maps were redrawn hours after the decision to remove Black voting power. Black women have been shamefully ousted in corporate America. There were marches in the streets after ICE gunned down American citizens in Minnesota. People have been tossed into cages because of their status, while AI data centers are contaminating our natural resources. We’re at war with Iran for the hundredth time, while many are struggling to make ends meet. This nation has conducted illegal wars across the globe. I suggest revisiting what greatness means as these are all symptoms of a dying republic unable to reckon with the reality of what it has always been. No amount of gaslighting from this current administration would make anyone with critical thinking see otherwise. Black people are no strangers to the ills of this society. The rest of the country, who’ve been asleep, are now just seeing what we’ve been seeing all along.

May this piece be a love letter to you, to us, as we navigate these uncomfortable times. White delusion has been fueling their hatred since the dawn of this republic. We were not considered citizens in 1776, yet the effects of their attacks have remained long after we’ve taken our freedom. Let no one be fooled; they didn’t give us anything; we demanded it through our relentless resolve.

Tomorrow there will be celebrations. There will be dancing. There will be singing. They will bask in the glory of the red, white, and blue. The flag will be flown high, so that all can see. I ask that we take time to remember those who’ve come before us and paid the ultimate sacrifice, so that we may continue this fight for equality. Independence Day will be a day of quiet reflection for me.

To be Black in America is not easy. It’s the furthest thing from it. Our Blackness is a beautiful reminder of who we are and what we’ve survived. Thriving is a choice that we must make daily. Our independence hasn’t come without its battle scars. May we rest in our Blackness with pride and fervor. America has no choice but to make room because we aren’t going anywhere.

Black Last? Black First?: An Essay

Black Last? Black First?: An Essay

B.W. McKay

“C’mon, man, it wasn’t that bad,” an old friend said as we recounted our time in youth ministry. “Our church wasn’t perfect, but you’ve got to be fair.” This was often in response to sharing that I didn’t quite enjoy those years. Sadly, I learned to suppress my feelings. It felt like a crime to question what I truly believed. Truthfully, it was fear. I understand this today. I spoke the language, played in the band, but inside I wondered if I was making a mistake. Critical thinking, in hindsight, was vehemently shunned. God’s ways, of course, were higher than mine. What did I know? That was often how I silenced the intrusive thoughts about Christianity and my church.

My identity was the church. My friend group featured those from the church. Many days of my life were spent in the church courtesy of my parents, who were active members themselves; my father was even co-pastor. He preached the importance of faith and having a value system rooted in Christ. My pastor, who often appeared “god-like” to the church, was a larger-than-life figure. He preached fire and brimstone from the pulpit. He positioned himself as a conduit of God himself who knew what was best for your life even before you did. If someone said he walked on water, many in my church would probably believe it without question. He was Black, but never touched on Black issues. What a shame, because most of the congregation were Black. In fact, I felt they were Black last, which is a sin against our nature.

I watched as Christians gave white supremacy a pass during the Bush years. “Pray for the President,” they’d say as our communities were being torn apart. They’d look the other way when it came to systematic oppression, because Christianity is built upon the same principles of control and domination. Their silence spoke loudly. Not much has changed today as Black people’s rights are being challenged and erased. Questioning God’s presence during these evil times invites contempt. Questioning God’s presence during slavery does the same. Asking why Children die is another uncomfortable topic that is hard to reconcile.

Choosing to confront what I believed for many years without question was challenging. It’s the path I chose. I used to be afraid to admit I struggled with my faith. What would they think of me? I worried about that a lot. I don’t know all of the answers, and I’ll never profess that I do. The unfortunate aspects of deconstructing are evident in how hateful, intolerant, and closed-minded some people are toward those they label unbelievers. This added to my fear. You’re dead to them, even to some friends and family. It encapsulates their entire being. Their identity becomes that of a mercenary whose sole mission in life is to convince others with different beliefs that they’re wrong and their beliefs are right.

Spirituality is deeply intertwined with who we are as Black people. It’s rooted deep within us and our culture. We’ve certainly come a mighty long way. Indeed, we have. Our faith in ourselves and our God is evident because we’re still here. I respect people’s autonomy. Religion is a choice; Blackness is not. It’s our gift. We must never lose sight of who we are as Black people and what we face collectively. You’re free to believe whatever you choose; that’s the beauty of personal choice. We should all strive to be open and accepting without turning our backs on each other. I have decided to explore what God means to me without casting aside my Blackness. I will always be Black first. To those on a similar path, I send my love and support. Life is most certainly a journey, a beautiful one at that, despite its thorns.

Righteous Anger: An Essay

Righteous Anger: An Essay

B.W. McKay

My shoulders slumped as I glanced at the headline. “I knew this day would come,” I uttered to myself. I watched my daughter ride her pink tricycle in the courtyard. “Daddy, look! I did it!” Her smile was bright as the desert sun. My son smiled at me, unaware of the ills that plagued the world we lived in, while his sister played. In my arms, his eyes met mine; they were innocent and loving. My stomach churned as I thought of the implications. I struggled to hide my disappointment and growing anger. White supremacy is the root of evil in America. It is no longer a cancerous whisper covered by howling wind in the dead of night. Its death grip on America tightens as the empire continues to crumble under the weight of its unforgivable sins.

They’d always sought to silence Black voices, even as they reluctantly passed the 15th Amendment in 1869, giving Black men the right to vote. Just 27 years later, Louisiana passed the “grandfather clauses,” keeping slaves and descendants of slaves from voting. Many other southern states followed suit. We didn’t let it slide, though. Throughout the years leading up to 1965, they tried all kinds of schemes under Jim Crow laws to thwart our progress. They tried things like literacy tests and poll taxes to suppress our ability to vote.

Nearly 5 months after the Selma to Montgomery March, President Lyndon B Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act into law on August 6th, 1965. He called it “a triumph for freedom as huge as any victory that has ever been won on any battlefield.” Dr. King was instrumental in its passing. History matters, and it’s of the utmost importance that we understand what it took to get here. Many people made sacrifices to institute and protect this fundamental right for Black Americans.

On April 29th, 2026, the Supreme Court ruled on the Voting Rights Act, gutting key provisions that prevented racial discrimination. Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 prohibited discrimination in voting based on race. As a result of the ruling, congressional maps can now be redrawn to dilute and essentially render Black votes useless. Our ancestors fought for the rights that are systematically being taken away.

It’s 2026, and white supremacy is still nipping at our heels. They call us divisive and race-baiting when we speak out against their cowardly attacks. I woke up this morning angry and unsettled. I will never understand their hatred, nor do I want to. We’ve done nothing to these folks to warrant what we experience. If our voices did not have power, they would not be launching this despicable attack against our people. We are all we have, and we must move like that.

After all we’ve endured at the hands of these people, we’re still standing. May our righteous anger drive us to continue fighting for what is right. They will never be able to destroy us because we’re built to last. We aren’t backing down. Our children need us. They will be here long after we’re gone. I know you’re tired. I am too. Today, I ask you to give yourself grace, put yourself first, and remember we’re in this together. Be encouraged.

Black Rest: An Essay

Black Rest: An Essay

B.W. McKay

“Daddy?” A small voice called out below me. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t resist picking her up and kissing her cheeks as I came to my senses. It was as if the walls of my office had suddenly moved back into place in one thunderous moment. The blinking cursor on the blank page in front of me was a sign that stepping away was for the best. “I’m fine,” I smiled as I carefully closed my laptop with my free hand. My beautiful little girl was a welcome distraction. Over the last month, I’ve struggled to write anything meaningful. My thoughts were jumbled, fragmented, and uncertain. My mind raced often as I reached to grab the thoughts that floated by. Shortened hours of sleep, fixated on the movements of a dying republic, have only supported my lethargy.

I know the ancestors have traversed difficult terrain. I’ve been careful not to judge my own journey harshly, as what we face today as Black people is equally difficult and uniquely challenging. The exhaustion brought forth by thriving within a failing empire that has yet to atone for its original sin has been proven arduous at best. I walk this earth, not as a victim, but as a Black man who understands his value, mission, and role as protector. Despite this truth, exhaustion is still inescapable at times. This nation is plagued with problems of its own making. It’s neither Black people’s fault nor responsibility to fix the mess we’re in as a result of the damning nature of white supremacy. It has proven to be a fool’s game with material consequences that extend well beyond the intended audience.

The war of equality couldn’t be muddier. With battles on multiple fronts, this administration is set on continuing to destroy the progress that was made by those who’ve come before us. Voting rights are being threatened, jobs are being taken, illegal wars are being waged across the globe, and the economy is tanking at a rapid pace as they focus on red herring fallacies such as DEI and thwarting the progression of Black people. They’re threatened by our soul and ability to carve out lanes for ourselves despite their dastardly efforts. We live amongst fools who consistently bathe in ignorance while simultaneously holding the keys to society.

The lack of energy and cohesion is hurting our cause. Some say this is not our fight, let it burn, while others are still asking Black people to trust Jesus to fix it. Spirituality certainly plays its part as we find ways to deal with the current state of affairs, but we must take matters into our own hands. We’re tired of the constant attacks. The events during this past Black History Month alone are prime examples of this perpetual tug-of-war.

Truthfully, I believe in allowing this nation to reap what it has sown so vehemently. There will be pain felt by those who participated in the ills of white supremacy. Many are slowly waking up to the notion that it cannot save them as they once thought it would. It’s a cancer that must be eradicated from society completely. It just furthers the divide and ultimately seeks to devour all in its path.   

Resting, although it might seem passive, is what I believe we need to do more of as a people. Stepping away from the noise to find our way back to self-love, Black joy, Black expression, and true community helps us to stay grounded in times such as these. Today, find time to rest. Make it a priority. You’re worth it.

The Price of Freedom: An Essay

The Price of Freedom

B.W. McKay

Home. One small word that elicits emotion and meaning. Home is where the heart is. It’s a place of safety for most. Home isn’t something to take for granted. I’m a Black man living in America, shit, I can’t take anything for granted. One false move and I could end up dead. It’s fucked up, but it’s reality. I’m used to being careful. I’m accustomed to the ills of a failing empire that’s clinging to white supremacy and hatred with its putrid hands.

I stood in the doorway, watching the garage door as it came to a thundering close. Moist brisket, pulled pork, and tender ribs, along with all the fixings, made leaving the house worth it. My baby girl’s footsteps against the tile could be heard in the distance as I entered the kitchen with a large brown bag of hot food. “Daddy, daddy,” she called out as she heard my steps. I smiled at the scene that played out before me. The sound of laughter and plates being prepared with love warmed my heart. It’s in those simple moments that you realize how beautiful life can be.

How do you keep your family safe when ICE is roaming our streets looking for trouble under the guise of immigration? How do you navigate a deranged society that sees your existence as an impediment to the creation of their illogical utopian society? Freedom comes with a price. We cannot afford to cower in fear as their grand displays of injustice grow with each passing day. Remaining silent is not an option as they attempt to roll back everything our ancestors fought for.

The American government is at war with its own people. White people think this is new. It’s not. They’ve largely been immune to the side effects of white supremacy. The unwarranted killings of Keith Porter, Renee Nicole Good, and Alex Pretti are eerie reminders of a nation that devours its own with impunity. Even white people aren’t safe from white supremacy. Interestingly enough, Keith Porter has been left out of many conversations about the state of the union. Go figure.

In a post-truth society, challenging the errors of white supremacy is met with anger and disdain. This administration has tried to silence many. I often chuckle when I hear people say, “Voting has consequences.” Although the sentiment is true, we’re in the midst of an ideological war that has been raging on since the Reconstruction Era. To put it bluntly, a large segment of the voter population is not equipped to handle the weight of the responsibility. I think America is full of severely uneducated people who choose to be ignorant because they have relied on the perceived benefits of whiteness.

There’s a heavy price to pay for liberation. We’re not looking for acceptance. We’re not looking for handouts. Black people want to live their lives in peace. We want what is justly ours. We want to experience the joys of life without persecution. We must continue to stand firm in the middle of the fire, unmovable and unshaken. We are the embodiment of resiliency. Our voices matter. Our lives matter too.

Crimes Against Blackness: An Essay

Crimes Against Blackness: An Essay

B.W. McKay

We were three hours away. My anticipation grew with each passing mile. I’d never been before; I didn’t know what to expect. Uneasiness gnawed at me most of the way. It was as if I’d eaten something spoiled. Road trips were supposed to be exciting, but this one was different. As a Black man and student of history, I needed to see it for myself. The wide open midwestern plains made their presence known. Livestock, gentle rolling hills, and blue skies as far as the eye could see were everything I’d imagined Oklahoma to be.

Downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma, finally came into view. The city was a bedrock of rich Black history, triumph, and sorrow. It was a stark reminder of America’s transgressions against Black people; a sin it hadn’t yet atoned for. I remember how I felt when my feet touched the pavement. Walking through Greenwood was both surreal and gut-wrenching. Soulful murals and carefully placed monuments reminded all never to forget the massacre that took place in the spring of 1921. Remnants of that fateful day, hidden in plain sight, stood unbothered as America vehemently refused and continues to refuse to right its wrongs. The destruction of Black Wall Street is still bothersome because their campaign against Blackness continues. Their lust for death and destruction fuels their imperialistic pursuits.

I was reminded of my journey to Tulsa as Christmas night came to a close. The house was quiet. Debris from the day’s festivities lingered. Wrapping paper fragments from an eager toddler stuck to the bottom of my feet as I made my way into my office to unwind shortly before bed. I promised myself I’d avoid the news; it was Christmas after all, but messages about a strike in Nigeria encouraged me to confirm.

The American attack on Nigeria is reprehensible. They went from blowing up boats in the Caribbean to attacking the motherland. Congress must do its job. This country cannot continue to operate like a criminal enterprise. It’s a danger to itself and the world.

It’s important to understand the parallels between events like chattel slavery, Jim Crow segregation, the Tulsa massacre, Rosewood, the Tuskegee experiment, and so many others. The attack on Nigeria, although outside of America, is another example of their hatred toward non-white peoples. They see Africa as fertile ground. The abundance of natural resources is enough motivation to rain down fire from the skies in the name of God. One thing remains true today: they’ll always justify violent acts against Black skin. They’ll use religion as their guiding light. Different day, same playbook.

The Brilliance of Blackness: An Essay

The Brilliance of Blackness

B.W. McKay

I settled into my seat by the window. People scurried in all directions as the city brimmed with activity. The light rail train passed by, ringing its signature bell. The seasonal aroma of cinnamon lattes, holiday treats, and fresh bread added to the cozy ambience. I must say the cafe was lovely; it was a wonderful place to read and write in the afternoon. “Thank you,” I smiled as the kind server brought me warm jasmine tea and the delicious chocolate chip cookie I’d ordered. Intrigued by the cover of the book on the table, she leaned in to get a closer look. Moments later, she was still standing there.

“Hmm.” I nodded slowly as she spoke with conviction. I understood that a good ear is hard to find these days. Everyone had the right to share their authentic thoughts and feelings without reproach, provided they were genuinely being respectful. Truthfully, I wasn’t obligated to engage. I just wanted to read my book and write in peace. Books about the Black experience always seemed to trigger some people, or in this case, invoke unwanted conversation. Black people truly want to be left alone. White people, we’re not always looking to have deep discussions with you about race, systemic oppression, or whatever else you deem important to us. Quite frankly, it’s rude and tone deaf to make that assumption.

Most of our lives, we’re navigating non-Black spaces that honestly don’t give a damn about our lives, stories, and struggles. This couldn’t be clearer today as the Government wages its invisible war on diversity. Black women have lost their jobs at a record pace this year. Let it be known, Black women are the most educated and qualified group on the planet. This attack on our people is disgusting and cannot be tolerated. It will not stand as our brilliance continually shines above the noise. Although our road has not and never will be easy, we persevere. We’re a resilient people.

They try to criminalize our love of self. Loving your Blackness is not an indictment against others. Enforcing our boundaries is not an act of war. We live in a world that prioritizes lies over the truth. We’ll navigate a post-truth society by embracing knowledge, history, and genuine love of our people. It’s how we invigorate the next generation of Black leaders. Our skin is not a crime. Our thoughts are not worthless.

We must teach our children to be thinkers. We must teach them to create. We must teach them to relish knowledge and truth. They must love themselves. For Black people, this is of the utmost importance. Our excellence is often rooted in our innate ability to create. Our brilliance shouldn’t be suppressed even in a society that usually attempts to reject and erase our contributions. We shouldn’t dim our light out of fear that we won’t be accepted. Acceptance isn’t the goal. We don’t owe anyone an explanation for existing as our truest selves. Often imitated, never duplicated, our art, music, literature, innovation, and scholarship matter.

A long Walk: An Essay

A Long Walk: An Essay

B.W. McKay

The rustling trees made their presence known as I carefully ducked to avoid their fragile limbs. Void of leaves, they stood tall against the mountainous backdrop as a beacon of strength in nature. This walking path is amongst my favorites; I often gather my thoughts here. My daughter’s laughter fuels me as I pull her along in her wagon. She points at a curious jackrabbit that hops by. The simple things catch her attention. Our time together is invaluable. She’s still discovering the world around her. The innocence in her eyes recharges my soul. One day she’ll understand the challenges of being a Black woman in America, but that day is not today.

White supremacy is a fool’s game. Black people just want to be left alone. I could argue we’re still living through the Reconstruction Era. History notes, reconstruction ended in 1877, but if we’re honest, the stains of chattel slavery and the Civil War are still ever present. We picked their cotton and filled their coffers. The blood, sweat, and tears of our ancestors can be felt blowing in the air around us, reminding us that our work is not yet finished. Things are still awfully awry despite the significant advancements of our people.

America has never adequately dealt with its original sin. They, white supremacists, often blame Black people for their inability to compete in a nation that has been rigged for them since the beginning. They hate diversity because it exposes them for who they really are: weak, entitled, and glaringly incompetent. Instead of atoning for their original sin, they’ve doubled down. If it weren’t so, they would not try as hard as they have to keep the playing field uneven.

The current administration has leaned into dangerous ideologies that fuel the decay of society. Harmful rhetoric continues to damage what some used to consider America’s strength in the modern age. When did diversity become an unbearable stench? A white only America is their fever dream. It’s an unusual fantasy that will never happen. Despite the opposition, we continue to rise. Despite their open attacks, we continue to march forward, paving a way for our children to thrive in spite of the immense pressure. We will never give up. Our children are depending on us. We ain’t going nowhere. This is our country too. The nation was built by our people. We will continue the fight for equality, access, and the ability to live our lives in peace.

Renaissance of Black Love: An Essay

Renaissance of Black Love

B.W. McKay

The moon and its effervescent cast of twinkling stars were a worthy companion as I burned the midnight oil. A shea butter-scented candle burned softly in the background. Its luminous flame danced and flickered amongst the darkness as I examined my thoughts. Mmm, the scent it produced was refined, yet alluring. The mood had been set to convey what needed to be said. Black Woman, may I? I know you’ve heard it all before; empty words have only added credence to the pain and betrayal. I understand, believe me, I do.

Systemic trauma wounded our love. The oppressor still seeks to contaminate and destroy our families. Despite our history, we’ve forged ahead through the mire. Our resilience validates the strength passed down to us by our ancestors. Today, now more than ever, we need each other. Our souls will never know peace until we’re restored.

You’re tired, I can see it in your eyes. You’ve cried in the darkness. You’ve yearned for our love, support, and protection. Your grace is as the day is long. How have we repaid you? With scraps? With broken promises? We’ve betrayed you with our incautious deeds and lack of consideration. We’ve harmed you with our words. You’ve never deserved this. We fuss, fight, and drift further apart. Like a ship without a sail in search of dry land, we’re lost without you. The promised land will remain hidden if we continue to forsake you. There are no streets of gold without you by our side. To sin against thee is to sin against ourselves. The war between us must end. On the battlefield of love, there are only casualties.

Queen, you deserve nothing short of our best. It’s our duty to protect you with our lives. We must honor you with every ounce of our being. We must lift you and support your dreams just as you’ve supported ours. Those who wish to abuse you and profit from your pain must be canceled and dealt with appropriately.

The next generation of men must learn from our mistakes. A renaissance of Black love is needed. Black love is life. Black love is healing. Black love is everything.