Trying to grow as a successful Black man in today’s world often feels like standing at a lonely crossroads. You strive for excellence, self-awareness, and truth – not just for personal gain but to honor your history, your people, and your potential. But as you ascend, something painful becomes clear: not everyone wants to see you rise. Not everyone sees your growth as progress.

Within parts of the modern Black community – even family and friends – your ambition and insight can make you a target. You’re seen as someone rocking the boat, making things uncomfortable. Not because you’re wrong, but because your growth challenges a survival strategy rooted in silence and compliance. Too many have internalized the idea that our safety, our peace, depends on keeping our heads down and not drawing too much attention – especially not the kind that critiques whiteness or white power structures. They’re afraid that speaking truth will cost us the little approval we’ve managed to get. So when you speak out, when you grow, when you challenge – you risk becoming isolated.

On the other side, many in the white community don’t celebrate your success either. Your voice, especially when it’s educated, confident, and unflinching in truth, becomes a threat. You’re not fitting into the comfortable, digestible image of a “safe” Black man. You’re not just playing the game – you’re pointing out how the game is rigged, who rigged it, and how it’s still being played. Whether you’re talking about the generational theft of African resources, the legacy of colonization, or the way systemic injustice is woven into the fabric of American life – your voice becomes a mirror they don’t want to look into.

And so, you stand alone.

But I’m not just standing alone as a man – I’m standing alone as a father of two adult children. And I ask myself daily: how am I supposed to teach them to trust in a system that has never protected us? A system that, even in 2025, continues to show – clearly and unapologetically – that Black people will not be granted equal rights, not in practice, not in protection, not in dignity, and most definitely not in empathy.

My children see the world. They see who gets rewarded. They see how the most unscrupulous individuals – often those who exploit, manipulate, or conform to power – are celebrated. (Presidential) They see other ethnic groups receiving protections and benefits that were promised to us – benefits rooted in our history, our struggle, and our blood. But somehow, we’re left watching others cash in on what was never meant for them. Protection from tyranny, access to justice, economic mobility – these are not distributed equally, and my kids are old enough to see it for themselves.

So, what do I tell them? How do I look them in the eye and say, “Stay hopeful,“ when the evidence says otherwise? When the truth is that the world still punishes Black brilliance, still resents Black pride, still fears Black truth?

And yet – I do what I can. I tell them the truth, because sugarcoating it only sets them up for more betrayal. But I also tell them this: growth rooted in integrity is still worth it. Even if it’s lonely. Even if it’s thankless. Because our worth isn’t defined by how this world treats us – it’s defined by how we hold our heads up in spite of it.

Still, we grow.

Still, we rise.

Because the struggle is not just about us. It’s about reclaiming the right to exist fully, truthfully, and powerfully – and passing that right to the next generation, no matter how hard the world tries to keep it out of reach.

America’s foundation is on my back; which matches the color of its soil.

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