Black Joy Isn’t Resistance—It’s the Whole Point

Somewhere along the way, Black joy got treated like a side effect—something that showed up in spite of our circumstances, instead of because we created space for it. We became known for our resilience, our organizing, our ability to transform pain into protest. But joy? That was treated as extra. Optional. Even indulgent.

This summer, we’re correcting that.

Across porches, parks, barbershops, group chats, and block parties, Black folks are leaning back into a truth that’s older than any struggle narrative: our joy is not a bonus—it’s the whole point.

And just as important, we’re remembering that joy was never meant to be a solo pursuit. It’s always been ours—communal, ancestral, and made to be shared.

The Politics of Play

For Black communities, fun has never just been fun. Whether it was kickbacks that doubled as planning meetings, or cookouts thrown on land our families had to fight to keep, our leisure has always held layers. It was resistance, yes—but it was also repair. A reminder of what freedom should feel like.

Our ancestors knew this. They found joy in togetherness—singing after a long day, dressing to the nines just to walk to church, playing cards while the kids ran around outside. That wasn’t distraction. That was design.

We’ve inherited that rhythm. But somewhere along the way, some of it got lost—buried under grind culture, pandemic disconnection, and the myth that rest and pleasure need to be earned.

So now, we’re reclaiming it. Not as an escape from the fight, but as a reason to keep going.

What Reclaiming Fun Actually Looks Like

We’re curating playlists that sound like a Saturday morning with the windows open. Planning group trips that aren’t just about the destination, but the memory-making. Saying yes to the spontaneous invite. Saying no when our bodies ask us to.

Fun looks like putting your phone down and showing up in real time. Matching sets at the farmer’s market. Sunday bike rides. Game nights with folks who actually ask how you’re doing—and wait for the answer.

It’s signing up for the pottery class, not because you’re great at it, but because it makes you laugh. It’s dancing at the function without filming it. It’s bringing your neighbor an extra plate because you remembered them.

We’re unlearning the lie that joy needs to be big, expensive, or aesthetic. Reclaiming fun means reclaiming presence—with ourselves and with each other.

The Myth of Constant Urgency

Part of this shift means laying down the armor. Black folks have been carrying urgency for generations—emotional, physical, financial. The pace of survival has made stillness feel unsafe. And for many, joy feels like something to apologize for.

But what if we stop waiting for permission?

We are no longer interested in burning ourselves out just to prove we’re serious. We’re not working toward rest—we’re building it in now. Slowness isn’t weakness. Ease isn’t laziness. Laughter in the middle of a chaotic week isn’t ignorance—it’s wisdom. It’s ancestral.

Rest, peace, and joy aren’t detours from the path. They are the path.

Joy as a Community Practice

Black joy doesn’t happen in isolation. It lives in connection—through eye contact, small talk, the nod, the dap, the slight smile exchanged on a sidewalk that says, I see you.

There was a time—not long ago—when walking down the block meant something. You spoke. You acknowledged. You were known. That was the foundation. And it wasn’t about formality. It was about safety. About being woven into something bigger than yourself.

These days, that ease is harder to find. We walk past each other fast. We’re tired. Distracted. But we lose something when we stop recognizing each other as part of the same story.

This summer, joy means making the effort. Looking up. Saying hey. Sitting longer. Asking one more question. Not disappearing into our own individual routines, but coming back to the porch, the potluck, the shared playlist, the presence.

Because joy isn’t just about feeling good. It’s about feeling seen. And that requires community.

So, what’s the plan?

This summer, reclaiming Black joy means more than just moments of happiness—it’s about rebuilding the ties that hold us together. It’s an invitation to show up fully for ourselves and for each other, to nurture the connections that sustain us beyond the screen and the noise.

Start by making space in your life for genuine presence. Reach out to someone you haven’t spoken to in a while—not just to check in, but to really listen. Choose to pause in your day and acknowledge the people around you with intention. Whether it’s a nod, a smile, or a conversation, these small acts are the foundation of community and care.

We have inherited a legacy of joy that is rooted in togetherness, and it’s on us to carry that forward. Let’s commit to creating environments—at home, in neighborhoods, and online—that uplift and affirm our collective humanity. This is how we honor our ancestors, protect our mental and emotional wellbeing, and build the future we deserve.

If you are ready to join the movement, start by making one intentional choice today that centers joy and connection. It could be attending a local event, inviting a friend to share a meal, or simply slowing down enough to see people walking beside you. Each choice matters.

Black joy is not a luxury or an afterthought—it is a radical act of self-preservation and a pathway to liberation. Let us reclaim it with purpose and with power.