Resilience. That word is a noun. According to the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, resilience means either “an ability to recover from or adjust easily to adversity or change” and/or “the human condition of enduring disasters – natural or unnatural.” The English word resilience had its origin in the early 1620s; coming from the Latin word resilient, meaning “the act of rebounding or springing back,” the present participle of resilience defined as“to rebound or recoil,” back to one’s original shape or state of being.

Of course, African Americans as a people are not monolithic. While we are the same collectively, we are most definitely not the same individually. Despite the countless traits we share in commonality and in community, we are as different as we are unique. When you get right down to it, that is an incredibly beautiful truth.

One thing that cannot be debated or negotiated, however, is the fact that African Americans as a people are resilient. We have endured and survived one of the three greatest holocausts in all of human history – the evil singularity that was the American institution of slavery. No other segment of God’s people anywhere, anytime has been subjected to anything remotely close to the systemic, government-sanctioned rapes, tortures, subjugations, desecrations, and humiliations enforced by local and state laws; enshrined by social locations and caste systems, and embedded in absolutely fabricated pseudo-scientific narratives created to somehow justify White supremacy by way of Black inferiority.

Tragically, African Americans must still – to this very day –  contend with the treacherous and poisonous tentacles that seek to engulf us and snatch us from the present into the deep darkness of the past. The seeds of slavery remain in our companies, businesses, groups, systems, and institutions. The ramifications of slavery remain in our classrooms, courtrooms, boardrooms, and conference rooms. The ravages of slavery remain in our entertainment, popular culture, the arts, politics, and, yes, even in our houses of worship.

In every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year, our Black brothers and sisters are being othered. Our Black brothers and sisters are being demonized, ostracized, or criticized by a White person or a group of White people primarily because of the color of his or her skin. In every town or city in every state in this so-called great nation, in every zip code, in every area code, at least some of our Black sisters and brothers are asking aloud the “too” questions, such as: “Am I too Black?” “Am I too much?” “Am I too loud?” “Am I too intelligent?” “Am I too articulate?” Or perhaps they are busy asking themselves silently the “enough” questions, such as: “Am I smart enough?” “Am I good enough?” “Am I talented enough?” “Am I polished enough?” “Am I enough for this person/job/situation?”

Resilience requires us – collectively and individually – to get back up off the mat after we catch a vicious right hook to the face, whether we saw it coming or not. Resilience demands that we – collectively and individually – directly confront injustice to our people and our community by engaging in nonviolent protests, marches, boycotts, and other true-and-tried strategies of civil disobedience. Resilience calls us to carry an attitude or gratitude within our hearts, minds, and spirits that better days are ahead of us, even when we have zero evidence to support that claim or belief.

Black people have – through the grace, mercy, and favor of God – endured much. So much. Some might even say too much.

What happens if BIPOCs can’t get up after being knocked down because we actually got knocked out? What happens when Black folks won’t march or boycott or protest anything anymore because it has become too dangerous mentally, physically, and emotionally to do so? What do we do when and if it appears that we can no longer keep our eyes on the prize because [a] we cannot see a prize and/or [b] we cannot see anything at all because our eyes have been swollen shut?

Most disturbing, how do we deal when Black people turn on each other? When Black people become violent toward each other. When Black people beat one another. Rob one another. Kill one another. Attack one another verbally. How do we reconcile when a Black man or woman “changes clothes” metaphorically by extolling the quote-unquote virtues of championing the causes of White supremacists and White supremacist groups so he or she can move ahead individually while leaving us in the dust. That is happening more and more these days. I could name names, but I won’t because I don’t have to.

I am a person of faith. I believe in God, family, and friends. I am genuinely happy whenever I see good things happen to good people, whether I have a personal relationship with them or not. I subscribe to unity as opposed to enmity, construction as opposed to destruction, and achievement as opposed to bereavement. Having said that, there are times when it’s really difficult for me to be optimistic as I take in this postmodern world, such as it is. Being optimistic feels dangerously naïve these days. But I am, indeed, an optimist. I happen to think that resilience is the reason I move how I move.

I love, LOVE being Black. I wouldn’t trade my Blackness for a billion dollars. I mean that with every fiber of my being. Every single thing about me is special as a direct result of my being Black: how I live, how I laugh, how I learn, how I listen, how I lift up my voice to sing, how I lean on my loved ones, how I am leaned on my those who care about me, how I love, and especially how I laugh. If I were suddenly no longer Black, I would cease to exist in my not-so-humble opinion. Every molecule of mine is coded by Black excellence. I live for it. I live through it. It defines me. I suppose the foundation that keeps me strong and keeps me sane is resilience.

Recently, I wrote that our Blackness is a superpower. I wrote that from the core belief that our Blackness can be considered supernatural because it is foundational to not only our spirits, but also to our very souls. Our superpower of Blackness necessitates that we carry ourselves as superlative beings – with the inherent power to make our corners of God’s creation feel bigger, better, and brighter than even we could imagine. I remind you of those words even as I remind myself of those very same words.

I guess the gist of what I’m trying to relay is this: please don’t give up. Please don’t tap out. Please don’t take yourself out of the struggle. Even lovers have to fight sometimes to sustain and maintain whatever it is that they love.

Your readiness to do so is resilience. Your willingness to do so is resilience. Your ability to do so I resilience.

You embody resilience. You exude it. So do what you do to the glory of God and to the best of your gifts. Show this world—especially those who are non-White—precisely all of which you are fully capable. That’s how we overcome, how we shall not be moved, and how we stay unafraid.

I cannot achieve without you, and you cannot conceive without me. We cannot believe without each other. In ways known and unknown—seen and unseen—we are infused, one to another, to another. Our fates are interwoven, and our destinies are interconnected.

If you asked me right here, right now, if we as Black people shall overcome all obstacles to be fully free in every conceivable way someday, my truthful answer might very well be, “I don’t know.” Or “I’m not so sure about that.”

But if you asked me that same question tomorrow, my candid response would most likely be, “Absolutely. Without question and without hesitation, I affirm that somehow, someway, someday, we African Americans will be fully free.”

We will overcome. Someday, someway.

And that, dear friend, is the power of resilience. That’s my story – and I’m sticking to it.

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