By Carla Thomas
The Truth Contributor
If there was ever a time when we needed each other, it’s now. The safety nets that once offered a semblance of security are being stripped away, policies continue to disproportionately harm our communities and systemic barriers remain firmly in place. In the face of this, we cannot afford to be divided.
But unity isn’t just about proximity, it’s about shared consciousness. It’s about challenging the narratives that have been weaponized against us, narratives that make us question our worth, our history and our collective power. Language doesn’t just describe our world; it creates our reality. It defines how we see it, how we move through it and what we believe is possible. The way we speak about ourselves directly influences how we think, how we move and how we build. And some of the phrases we’ve come to accept do more harm than good.
Deconstructing old beliefs means breaking free from these inherited limitations, rejecting the language that undermines us and embracing narratives that affirm our strength and possibility. It means being intentional about the words we use and the truths we pass down.
I said all that to say, there are five phrases we, as Black people, need to retire—phrases that may seem harmless but actually reflect limiting mindsets. Instead, let’s embrace the powerful truths that will push us forward.
- “We Are Not Our Ancestors”
This phrase is often used to suggest that we are bolder, less tolerant of injustice, and more prepared to fight than those who came before us. But that assumption is false, dangerous and dismissive.
Our ancestors were not weak, they were warriors. They endured whips, chains, water hoses and lynch mobs and still fought back. They revolted aboard slave ships, burned down plantations, escaped captivity and built institutions of resistance. They launched legal battles, created underground networks and organized against oppression with a strategic brilliance that still guides movements today.
They didn’t just suffer—they strategized. They didn’t just march—they built. From the Underground Railroad’s secret networks of resistance to thriving Black economies in places like Rosewood and Greenwood (Black Wall Street), they laid foundations that white supremacy sought to destroy.
So, no. We are not our ancestors. But we should aspire to be. Because their resilience, discipline and collective power are what allowed us to stand here today. Instead of dismissing them, we should be asking ourselves: Are we living up to their legacy?
- “A Seat at the Table”
For generations, we have been told that progress means assimilation, that success means gaining entry into spaces that were never built with us in mind. But why should we continue fighting for a seat at a table that was never meant to feed us?
Every time we’ve built our own, we’ve thrived. Black Wall Street in Tulsa, the Freedom Farms Cooperative created by Fannie Lou Hamer and thriving Black media platforms today are proof that our power is in ownership, not acceptance.
Instead of asking for a seat, let’s construct our own tables. Instead of fighting for inclusion, let’s fight for control—of our communities, our resources and our destinies as Black people. The moment we stop seeking permission to exist in spaces that were not designed for our liberation is the moment we become unstoppable.
- “Black-on-Black Crime”
This phrase is a lie. A distraction. A tool of control.
It even has some of us Black people, saying, “How can we expect them to stop killing us if we won’t stop killing us?” Please stop. This way of thinking is not only wrong, it’s harmful. It shifts blame from oppressive systems to the oppressed, forcing us to internalize the violence inflicted upon us as if it were our own fault. Police brutality, state violence and racist policies have done far more harm to our communities than we could ever do to ourselves.
The truth? Crime is about proximity. White people commit crimes against other white people at nearly the same rate as Black people do against Black people. Yet, no one calls it “white-on-white crime.” That’s because this phrase was never about stopping violence in Black communities—it was about blaming us for our own oppression.
This narrative didn’t just appear out of nowhere—it was pushed in the 1970s to justify over-policing and mass incarceration. It painted Black communities as dangerous while completely ignoring the real causes of crime—poverty, economic exclusion and systemic neglect. It gave the state a free pass to surveil, arrest, and brutalize us, all while claiming it was for our own good.
We cannot afford to internalize narratives designed to harm us. If we want to reduce violence, we must address the conditions that create it: lack of economic opportunities, underfunded schools, and the ongoing legacy of redlining and racial segregation.
Stop saying “Black-on-Black crime.” Start saying systemic disenfranchisement. Start saying economic violence. Because that is the real issue.
- “Invited to the Cookout”
I understand the sentiment behind this saying and I know the desire to foster unity comes from a genuine place. But at what point did we start handing out cookout invitations like party favors? A non-Black person hits the electric slide on beat? Invitation! They recite a few rap lyrics without fumbling the words? VIP pass! They season their chicken? Somebody grab them a plate!
Question: What are we really celebrating?
The cookout isn’t just about dancing, slang or knowing the right cultural references. It’s a sacred space—one built on generations of resilience, love and tradition. It’s where we gather to pour into each other, to reconnect, to laugh and to exist in a space where our expressions, culture and habits are understood—free from the weight of outside judgment. When did it become a reward for people who seemingly appreciate Black culture?
When we extend invitations just because someone can bust a move or quote a Kendrick verse, we risk trivializing what it actually means to be in true solidarity with Black people. Allyship is not a performance, it’s a commitment.
So before we dish out invites for the bare minimum, let’s ask the real questions: Are they fighting for us when it matters? Are they challenging anti-Blackness in their own communities? Are they standing in the trenches, not just vibing to the culture but actively working to protect and uplift Black lives?
Because the real measure isn’t who can do the Cha Cha Slide, it’s proven in moments of struggle
- “Crabs in a Barrel”
This is one of the most insidious myths ever told about Black people.
As I heard someone else say, instead of comparing Black people to crabs in a barrel, we should be asking—why are the crabs in the barrel in the first place? Crabs don’t naturally belong in barrels. They have been placed in an environment that forces them to fight for survival. The same is true for us. Generations of economic exclusion, racist policies and intentional destruction of Black wealth have forced us into competition over what we deem as scarce resources.
But the idea that Black people don’t support each other is simply not true. Our history is filled with examples of cooperation, mutual aid, and collective economics.
Take Glen Echo Amusement Park in Maryland, for example. It was a whites-only establishment, where Black families were banned from enjoying the rides, pools and attractions. Instead of accepting exclusion, several Black businessmen pooled their money together and built Suburban Gardens, Washington D.C.’s first and only Black-owned amusement park.
Let’s be reminded that long before integration, Black people built entire communities like Black Wall Street, Seneca Village, Rosewood, and Paradise Valley, where businesses flourished, wealth was circulated, and residents supported one another. These communities thrived because Black people understood the power of collective economics and self-sufficiency. All built by Black people, for Black people, before they were systematically destroyed.
The problem isn’t Black people pulling each other down—it’s the system that keeps us in the barrel in the first place. Historically, when we built wealth and power, we faced destruction, displacement, and discrimination. But even after being torn down time and time again, Black people continue to rise, rebuild and support one another. Instead of reinforcing the myth of the ‘crabs in a barrel,’ we must recognize our history of resilience and push forward with that same spirit of unity.
Let’s Rewrite the Narrative!
Words shape reality. The stories we tell about ourselves define how we see our potential and our power. If we want to build stronger Black communities, we must be intentional about the language we use.
- We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams, and we should honor them accordingly.
- We don’t need a seat at the table—we need ownership of the building.
- Crime is not a “Black problem”—it’s a systemic issue rooted in oppression.
- We are not crabs in a barrel—we are architects of our own liberation.
We have always been resilient. We have always found ways to thrive. The question is: How will we shape the future?
It starts with the words we speak. Let’s make them powerful. Let’s make them true. And let’s make them ours—not the narratives imposed on us.