When I think of Black love, I think of beauty. Beautiful Black bodies lost in the moonlight of their skin. I think of my parents. I think of my grandma’s and grandpa’s old restaurant on 12th Street, Papa Lew’s. I think of my sister and my cousins. I think of my best friends, and I think of myself. After that, I immediately think of its origins.
Since its inception, Black Love has been an act of resistance and a testament to the resiliency of Black people. It has been used to support and build communities. It has allowed Black people to share their woes and dreams and express themselves outside the bounds of whiteness.
But one of the most important things Black love has done is provide an avenue for Black Americans to recognize our humanity, and acknowledge that we are deserving of love and capable of loving. And for these reasons, Black love has been revolutionary.
As time has passed, however, Black love has been stripped down and removed from its roots. Black love portrayals are mostly limited to illustrations of Black families in suburbia and are draped in elitist rhetoric. Black love, which once held neighborhoods and communities, now only holds enough space for the Black nuclear family.
Black love has also become a narrative of struggle. A narrative limited to the boundaries of suffering and stereotypes, and without many of us even noticing it, solely about the individual.
What was once revolutionary, is now filled with expectations that adopt practices and beliefs—anti-Blackness, misogynoir, classism, and homophobia—that have no place in Black Love.
Expectations that fool Black folk into believing that whiteness is the standard of love and that material is or should be the fruit that love bears.
Black love is so much more than these expectations, and the purpose of this article is to start conversations about Black love and to reunite it with its roots so it can grow and blossom into the revolution that it has been and the one it can be.
In the vein of conversing, I interviewed a wide range of people, from Black high school and college students to community organizers. I ask that you, as a reader, approach this with an open mind and an open heart and that when reading the questions, you answer them for yourself and ask them to those you love.
Question 1: When you think of Black love, what comes to mind?
When interviewing Tori Rollins, a writer, artist, poet, and college student, they said, “a Black couple in some dimly lit jazz bar slow dancing, or two people sitting in silence. All of them have the air of a good, finished conversation about them.”
Ikemba El Shabazz, a community organizer and activist, said, “When I hear Black Love, I think of all the Black, revolutionary love I’ve had the honor of being exposed to. I think of Huey P. & Fredericka Newton, Assata & Mutulu, Kwame Ture & Miriam Makeba, El Hajj & Betty Shabazz; of course Martin & Corretta. I think of my parents: Shayne & Mary.”
Akiram White, a student from Academie Lafayette and columnist for The Next Page KC, said, “I immediately think of self-love.” Fern Scott, co-leader of the Black Student Solidarity Network and a student from Shawnee Mission West, as well as Jeremiah Kelley and Micaiah Venn, who are both students who hail from North Town, listed community, solidarity, and intimacy.
Question 2: How do you define Black love? Is that definition different from how you or society define love? If so, how does it differ, and why aren’t your definitions the same?
I asked this question because it’s important that, as Black people, we define words for ourselves. Language has been and is being used to oppress us. By defining words, movements, and ideas for ourselves, we reclaim the very words that have been used to hurt us, and we breathe life into the words we speak and what we aim to create when we speak them.
Shabazz defines Black love as “depicted through the ongoing “Black struggle” for liberation. Black love is Black self-reliance and self-determination despite all the odds placed against our people since the first settler, colonized.”
Tori said, “I define Black love as the willingness to know me as I get to know you. It’s intertwined with our unique culture and centers love in a broad sense. I think American society tends to focus on romantic love more than any kind; they kind of frame it as the ultimate achievement when it comes to different kinds of love. My definition of love is community-based. It starts with wanting a connection because I reflect you, and you me. Romance, or sex, isn’t the goal, just the concept of knowing someone and being known.”
Question 3: What does Black love mean to you?
For this question, many of the interviewees echoed their responses in question one and stated that Black love to them means unity, solidarity, and connection.
But for Fern, Black love means “a lot of personal stories.” It means the neighborhood they grew up in and the front porches they became so familiar with. It was the first time their grandma did their hair. It means the love that bounced and rang throughout their house. The joy that makes home, home.
Question 4: What do you think is missing in representations of Black love?
When I posed this question to Micaiah, she replied, “I think there’s just not enough of it. Too much stuff about our experiences revolves around the trauma inflicted on us. Which is good, but we need to build something new in its place.” And I agree Black love and many of its current depictions are seen as only tumultuous. Black love deserves to be represented as more.
Akiram believes that what is missing from representations of Black love is “the fact that there are mostly Black love stories but rarely any Black self-love stories.” Tori echoes that sentiment but strays a bit and believes self-reflection is what’s missing. She said, “I don’t know who said it, but the idea of someone only meeting you as much as they’ve met themselves holds truth. I can only love you as much as I’ve known love.”
Fern and Shabazz had similar answers. Fern said, “What’s missing is diversity in who’s represented. That means diversity in sexuality and the inclusion of people with disabilities.” Shabazz said, “True intersectionality, recognizing certain privileges within the group and the sub-groups, exposing contradictions, deep diving into generational traumas, and looking into our own ways we exploit each other by using the same value systems as the oppressor. I also wanna see some Real Blackness when representing all Black people. Stop allowing mainstream media to lighten everybody up. Like, let’s really tackle how white supremacy actually names and shapes what we even deem as ‘Black Culture’.”
They both bring up great points. Black love in representation, should be whole. The whole of who we are and the diversity of identities that come with said wholeness should be included.
Question 5: What is a representation (art, film, literature) that embodies Black love for you?
(In Reference To 90s R&B)
by Steve Wonder
by Talia Hibbert
by Zora Neale Hearston
For Akiram, To Pimp a Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar is an album that perfectly illustrates his definition of Black love. Shabazz also talked about music and said, “I am thinking about the R&B of the 90s since I was born in 1990. That gettin’ down on one knee while wearing a leather vest and short set, with timbs-on music. Soul was right before that… From The O’Jays tellin’ shorty not to ever think about leavin’… cause this heart would be grievin’. To The Delegation affirming that if they ever were to get lost or felt like they’d been crossed, lady love would be what saves them. To Stevie Wonder talkin about how he knew they wouldn’t lose with God on their side. There’s still some absolute Black Truth, there.”
Many of these works display traumatic tropes we see in Black culture but they also show the untangling.
Fern and I mostly talked about television series. For Fern, Randall and Beth from This Is Us are a great representation of Black love because of “their commitment to each other.”
Jeremiah listed Poetic Justice and Creed and Micaiah and Tori leaned more towards literature. Micaiah listed the book Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute. Tori said “Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo is a complex story of Black women and people interacting with their world and figuring out what love and life look like. I also enjoyed Their Eyes Were Watching God and The Color Purple. Many of these works display traumatic tropes we see in Black culture but they also show the untangling. They show the time it takes to know oneself and in turn the patience needed to know others.”
Question 6: Why does Black love need to be represented?
Firstly, representation of Black love is not going to save us, as it can only do so much, but what it does do should be disqualified. I think Tori said that perfectly when answering this question.
“It isn’t impossible to know healthy Black love with representation, but it makes it so much easier. To see reflections of myself being loved across different forms of media shows that love is possible. When you see depictions of healthy love it makes it easier to accept it as a necessary practice and not just an idea.” Fern believes that representation “Adds new narratives to what is seen as love and what is considered normal. It also allows Black people a safe haven to love each other.”
Secondly, I think for representation to do the aforementioned, it has to come from Black people. From Black creators and screenwriters. It has to be illustrated by Black artists.
Shabazz echoed that sentiment and said “We need to see US. It feels good to see US lookin good in all this Black and all this Love. And it needs to come from US. More than not. At least, most of the time. Only we know how to be US. And do US. We don’t need no help with that!”
Question 7: Do you consider Black Love to be a revolution? If so, what makes it so revolutionary?
When I asked this question, Jeremiah immediately said, “Yes, For instance, my parents have been together for 27 years. The reason for their Black love is because they loved God first, and in doing so, they could love each other and pour love into other people to revolutionize their minds to change and do better. ” Akiram also said yes because Black love “is a type of revolution that gives us knowledge of who we are as Black people and what we, Black people, have faced in the past, and when we own that then it can transfer into us rising up and really making a change.”
Of all the answers though, I truly admire how Shabazz put it. Shabazz says “Black Love is the revolution. It is MA’AT (Truth, Justice, Harmony, Balance, Order, Propriety, and Reciprocity)… Revolution always starts with self. The desire to want and inspire change ultimately comes down to each one of us. Every moment of each day. With each breath. We have got to start meeting ourselves where we have been at. Truly reflect on our shortcomings and the traps we have also helped to build up around each other. ‘We can’t change the world unless we change ourselves.’ Word to Biggie Smalls.”
Question 8: In our current society, do you think Black Love according to your definition, can be realized? If so, how? If not, what needs to change in our world for it to come true?
Most of the people I interviewed believe that their definitions of Black love can be and that they are being realized in our current world.
Tori says, “I know my definition of Black love is slowly being revived because of the media I see. People interviewing each other and producing beautiful pieces of what love means. These people exist and they have friends and family they share it with. I exist, and I share my knowledge of love. It is realized by speaking to each other and loving as we do so.”
Akiram says, “Yes, it can. With the amount of Black people just realizing who they are, I think that’ll do wonders in making us feel even more proud and wanting to make a change in how we are treated. The way this can happen is if people educate themselves on their family history or even just realize the different parts of themselves that they don’t like are awesome, that’s how it can be realized in my opinion.”
What I got from each of these interviews, outside of great conversation and enlightenment, is that for Black love to be realized, we’d have to get to know ourselves. We’d have to learn how to love ourselves, as individuals and as a community. And to get there, the consensus among us is that things would have to change. How our love is portrayed in the media and how we love each other would have to change. The systems and institutions that rule our daily lives would have to come down.
Though this is daunting, I believe that if we listen to Black love, to its roots and its song, to its words and its poetry, to its future, it can empower us to change the world and create one that is truly free and filled with Black love.
