(BALTIMORE – January 29, 2025) – Dear Black Woman, We know that too many of us have failed you. Too many times, we have left you to raise our children alone. There may be countless reasons, but none of them truly matter. The reality is we could have done better. We should have done better.
America has been anything but kind to those of us carrying the rich melanin of our ancestors. It has turned us against each other, driven many of us to seek escape in addiction, and led too many to poison our own communities for profit. Too often, we stand idle on corners while you bear the weight of responsibility—getting our children to school, providing, nurturing—without the support you deserve.
The trauma of centuries of oppression still lingers. It shapes our struggles, our fears, our actions. We carry the scars of a system designed to break us, yet our history did not begin with slavery, nor does it end with oppression. Still, its effects are etched into our lives, on the faces of both Black men and women.
We know that corporate America is not your refuge either. It may find you less threatening than us, but that does not spare you from its daily microaggressions, from the weight of being underestimated and overlooked. You face battles we often fail to see, and too often, we have not stood beside you as we should.
Yes, my sister, we, as Black men, should have loved you more fiercely, supported you more consistently, and remained present in our families. Once, we were the most married people in this country. Now, over 70% of Black households are led by single mothers, while nearly 40% of America’s incarcerated are us. This is not by accident, nor is it an excuse—but it is a truth we must confront.
We have all been navigating this wilderness of North America—mentally, physically, spiritually, economically, and politically. This nation has taxed us to death, drained us, distracted us. Too many of us have lost ourselves trying to belong in a country that has never truly embraced us. We have fought for this land, only to return home to lynchings and rejection. These struggles do not justify our failures, but perhaps they help explain how so many of us lost our way.
And we know—oh, we know—the pain we have caused when we find love outside our own. When so many of our most accomplished Black men choose not to be with you, we understand how deeply that wounds the heart. Some of us recognize the devastation of being overlooked, of watching the darkest sisters be cast aside. We must do better.
But know this: there are still Black men who see you, who honor you, who cherish you. We know you are the mother of civilization, divinely placed to not only bring forth life but to nurture it in abundance. There are still Black men who desire you like no other, who understand your struggles, who respect your resilience. We know that many of you feel alone, unseen, and unprotected. But you are not forgotten.
This moment in history should make it clear—more than ever—we need each other. No one is coming to save us. No political party will liberate us. No system built to oppress us will empower us. If we are to rise, we must draw strength from within, from the love and sacrifice of our ancestors, and from the unbreakable bond that has always held our people together.
With love, honor, and accountability,
A Black Man Who Still Believes
