Black Culture:
The Wounded Warriors
Reflecting on the Present and Our History
As I cast my gaze over the large green pasture and draw in Mother Nature’s gentle breeze, I let my imagination carry me away. It is June of 2020. I am a citizen of the richest nation in the world — a nation with self-driving cars, instant news, and delivery apps for nearly everything. And yet, it is in the midst of the largest civil rights movement of its time.
It’s ironic. America has achieved so much progress in technology and innovation, yet true equality for Black people still feels like the proverbial hamster on a wheel: pushing hard, but ending up in the same place.
My Identity and the Weight of Generational Pain
My name is Nichole. I am God-fearing. I am an artist, a mother, a friend, a lover, a fighter, and above all — a Black woman.
Tears stream down my face as I try to comprehend how this nation can be so majestic and destructive simultaneously. My childhood held its own traumas. My parents loved us fiercely, but they were wounded and not always equipped to handle it.
- My mom, a brilliant finance manager, managed million-dollar budgets but was passed over simply because she was Black.
- My dad, a Navy veteran of 30 years, sacrificed for this country but still faced systemic obstacles tied to his race.
For my parents, being Black meant fighting every day for basic access to the American Dream, despite their qualifications and efforts. The Constitution promised them equality — but it wasn’t written with them in mind.
The Ubiquity of Pain in Black Culture
That sense of powerlessness has been passed down through generations. Black wounded culture manifests in many ways:
- Median income far below the poverty line
- High rates of violence and self-destruction
- Cultural misrepresentation and appropriation
- Broken minds, spirits, and hearts reflecting pain onto one another
We wake up daily, putting on our wounded warrior masks, navigating a society that offers little space for healing or justice.
Conformity vs. Authenticity
As Black women, we’re often pressured to conform — to style, hair, body, and beauty standards. Black men face the reality of being perceived as threats regardless of their actions. Our children are conditioned to work harder and fight for recognition.
A personal example:
While working a customer service job, a man called to complain about an ad featuring “some Black man.” His words shocked me, and I cried. Even after years of hearing similar comments, the sting remains. It’s a reminder of how deeply ingrained societal bias affects us and our responses.
Finding Strength and Resilience
In that moment, I felt God’s presence and heard a whisper: “keep going.” Suddenly, the achievements of Black culture over 400 years flooded my mind.
From chains to CEOs, from drug dealers to doctors, from poverty to the presidency, from addicts to athletes — our culture has thrived because we kept going despite adversity.
My parents turned dystopia into their Utopia. They didn’t wait for better conditions; they chose to grow, thrive, and align with the vision God had for them.
The Magic of Black Wounded Culture
As I stand in that pasture, I smile, reminded that our Black wounded culture is full of magic. Love and resilience persist, even through generational trauma and societal challenges. There is no light without dark, and the legacy of Black strength and achievement continues to shine.
