by Patrick Hardeman: In and Out of Darkness

Apparently, Black folks became “lazy” the exact moment we decided we didn’t want to work for free anymore. The minute we looked at the plantation, looked at the whip, looked at the sun, and said, “You know what? I think I’ll pass on this unpaid internship.” That’s when the narrative was born.

Before emancipation, our labor powered the entire economy – cotton, tobacco, sugar, railroads, you name it. America was basically a startup built on Black sweat equity. But the day we demanded a paycheck, suddenly we were allergic to work. It’s like the country said, “Wait, you want money now? How dare you ruin capitalism!”

Then came the freedom years – or whatever that half-baked experiment was supposed to be. Black people were too “lazy” to work when white businesses refused to hire us, too “lazy” when they offered us half the pay, and too “lazy” when we refused to work weekends and off-days for free. The logic never added up – unless the goal was never logic, just language that made exploitation sound justified.

Even when we did the work of two or three people – sometimes including the supervisor – we were still “lazy.” And if we dared to ask why, well, that was considered insubordination.

When Black folks went to HR to report being harassed, overworked, or underpaid – lazy. When we were nervous but still spoke up – lazy. When we stayed quiet to keep our jobs – lazy and unmotivated. It’s the only system in history where both silence and speech can be used as evidence against you.

I remember one job in particular. I was early every morning, late every night. Ran the company sports teams. Planned events. Fixed problems that weren’t mine to fix. I was the kind of employee they show in commercials about company culture. One day my car broke down, and I walked several miles to work – showed up sweaty, tired, but still a few minutes late.

A senior white woman – not even from my department – went to the VP and said I was late every day and always taking long smoke breaks. I’ve never smoked a cigarette a day in my life. Next thing I knew, I was being “counseled” on professionalism and told to “do better.”

Meanwhile, that same company had a turnover rate high enough to qualify as a public health crisis. I came in a flipped that number, including saving them over $5.6 million in potential lawsuits. During the quarterly meeting, the VP introduced me to the CEO and bragged about my work. I reached out to shake the man’s hand – he looked straight through me, turned, and walked off the elevator. Lazy.

In the military, same story, different uniform. I worked hard – too hard, apparently. I streamlined operations, trained others, filled gaps that higher-ups ignored. I believed that if I performed at the top, I could rise to the top. I dreamed of becoming a General, not for the rank, but to effect positive change in the system from within. My mistake was believing the system wanted changing.

The moment I started defending younger soldiers from discrimination, I was labeled “a problem.” Suddenly, my evaluations – which had always been glowing – turned into: “needs improvement,” ” lacks efficiency,” “attitude present.” Translation: doesn’t know his place. Or, in corporate code: lazy.

It’s funny – not ha-ha funny, but history-is-a-dark-comedy funny – that “lazy” seems to follow us not when we fail, but when we succeed. When we start climbing ladders that were never meant for us, suddenly we’re accused of taking shortcuts. When we excel, the goalposts move, the rules change, and the compliments come with barbed wire.

Because the truth is, Black excellence scares the hell out of white fragility. It always has. It’s like sunlight to a vampire. Nothing rattles the American myth quite like the proof that the myth was a lie all along.

And speaking of irony – let’s talk about laziness for real.

Because if we’re being honest, the world has white laziness to thank for an entire aisle of pre-packaged food. When Black men where allowed to provide for their families, Black women no longer needed to raise white children or scrub white floors for them – they could finally be home with their own. Suddenly, white women discovered they didn’t quite know how to cook. So along came Betty Crocker, who literally invented a contest to help white women bake a cake by themselves – with a mix, of course. From there came instant potatoes, frozen dinners, TV trays, boxed macaroni, stove top stuffing – a whole industry designed to make life easier for the “hardworking” housewife.

Then came the washing machine boom – right after Black women decided they were done washing behind privileged families. Suddenly, innovation moved fast when there were no Black hands left to pick up the slack.

And the most baffling part? So many white children were nursed, bathed, rocked to sleep, and raised by Black women – yet those same children grew up, reached puberty, and somehow chose hate. The math still doesn’t math.

From Reconstruction to the present, every time Black progress gains momentum, here comes a new narrative – a new smear campaign, a new coded insult dressed up in respectability. The moment success seems inevitable, the budgets for defamation go unlimited. Every industry, every field, the same chorus: white failing forward, Black excellence under investigation.

Barack Obama becomes president, and suddenly half the country acts like equality was a terrorist attack. Gas prices went up? Obama’s fault. Your coffee’s cold? Obama’s fault. The dog ran away? You guessed it – Obama’s fault. That’s how allergic some people are to the idea of Black leadership: they’d rather see the world burn than see the mirror clearly.

And still, even with that symbolism, I can admit this: Obama did very little to truly confront the machinery of racial disparity. He played the game safely – maybe too safely. He gave America a calm face, but not the confrontation it needed. Meanwhile, his family found stability, wealth, and protection – things every Black family deserves – but his presidency never made those things more accessible for the rest of us. That’s not bitterness. That’s just clarity.

Because yes, I am pro–Black – by any means beyond repeating the hatred white history perfected. Being pro-Black doesn’t mean anti-white; it means pro-truth, pro-justice, pro-survival. It means wanting my people to live and thrive without having to shrink, apologize, or be exceptional just to exist.

And I’m also pro–human – because liberation loses its meaning if it stops at the color line. I believe the Black community deserves its rightful share of the pie, not as charity but as a long- overdue debt. And I believe humanity can’t call itself civilized until that debt is paid.

So, when did Black people become lazy? Maybe around the time we stopped being property and started being proof. Proof that we were never lazy – just lied about. Proof that our brilliance, discipline, and endurance built this country twice: once with chains, and again despite them.

Lazy? Please.

If surviving 400 years of unpaid labor, systemic sabotage, and generational theft still ends with us showing up on time, raising families, getting degrees, building businesses, leading movements, and keeping faith – then maybe lazy is the new word for unstoppable.

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