Can We Talk About Black Joy?

Not the sanitized version—co-opted and cropped into digestible sound bites. I mean the real, rooted kind. The joy that rises from soil watered with resistance. The kind our ancestors dreamed of as they whispered freedom into the night sky, even when it seemed impossible.

Let’s talk about that Black Joy.

Every day in this country, we’re reminded that delay is still a tool of oppression. The delay in justice for Black lives lost at the hands of police brutality. The delay in fair access to quality education, health care, housing, and economic opportunity. The delay in dismantling systems designed to hold us back. These aren’t accidental—they are intentional acts of control. Of power. Of erasure. Yet, even in the face of this slow violence, we keep pushing forward, making space for joy and refusing to be erased.

Yet even then, in the midst of betrayal and broken systems, our people made space for joy. They gathered. They prayed. They danced. They reunited with family. They named their babies with hope. They claimed their dignity, their humanity, and the radical possibility of a future they’d never seen. Black joy has always been an act of resistance.

Today, that resistance lives on in every swirl of Black girl magic and every burst of Black boy joy. In every graduate who crossed the stage as the first in their family. In every Black entrepreneur who launches a dream in the face of a funding gap. In every father styling hair and every mother commanding boardrooms. In our music, our art, our movement. In the freedom to say no, to rest, to love ourselves out loud.

Joy is not something given to us. It is something we create. Over and over again. On our own terms. And we do so even now—especially now—as DEI efforts are dismantled, books are banned, and justice is delayed, again. Even as the freedom to learn, love, vote, and simply live is under attack. We still smile. We still gather. We still thrive.

At BRIC, we center Black joy as essential. Not a luxury. Not an afterthought. But a necessary ingredient in building strong, liberated communities. We see it in the young people leading change. In elders passing down stories and toolsof resilience. In community leaders who know that progress does not always scream—it sometimes sings. We build joy into our work: into grantmaking that honors culture, into leadership programs that affirm identity, and into spaces where our people can breathe and belong. Because we believe in a future that is not only just—but joyful.

So, can we talk about Black Joy?

We must. We will. Because when we protect it, when we prioritize it, when we pass it forward, we are doing far more than celebrating. We are healing. We are remembering. We are dreaming in color.

Joy is not a detour from liberation. It is the path. Let’s continue to choose joy. Let’s generate it. Let’s share it, grow it, and let it guide us forward—BRIC by BRIC.