ATX Black Culture in October: A Reflection on Identity, Solidarity, and Preservation

Leadership and community partners in group circle at College Row Park, Austin, Tx.

On a sunny afternoon at Huston–Tillotson University, I attended the Black Culture in October event curated by Public Leadership in Faith and Social Justice students and their professor. Upon entering, a student named Travis explained that the goal of the event was to “spark conversation and create social awareness.” Soon after, a sociology professor, Nadia Amin, approached me and shared how they had begun utilizing the university’s empty green space to bring the community together.

As I settled in, another professor—Dr. Robert Ceresa —joined me for lunch. Curious about my affiliation with the HBCU, he soon discovered that I was what they considered a “community partner.” Dr. Ceresa expressed his desire to recreate the Black Freedom Tradition ideology for today’s society, emphasizing that “our country is in shambles.” While I agreed with his sentiment, my reasons differed.

The event later broke into small discussion groups centered on one provocative question: Is Black Culture for everyone?

I found the discussion illuminating but also complex. My own observations may be considered firm, perhaps even closed-minded to some, but I hold a distinct view—I don’t believe Black Culture is for everyone. This isn’t born from exclusion, but from preservation. I often feel that when people say Black Culture, they interchangeably mean Black American Culture, which adds to the misunderstanding. Black Culture, in a global sense, reflects the entire diaspora, yet here in America, it often specifically refers to the lineage, traditions, and lived experiences of Black Americans.

So the question becomes: Which Black Culture are we talking about?

In conversation, I used the analogy of the Wakandan tribes—each with their own traditions, each coexisting, yet none blending so completely that their individual cultures became unrecognizable. The same principle applies here. America may be a melting pot, but not every ingredient should dissolve into one indistinct flavor.

Consider music: Black American music is played globally and at nearly every cultural function. Yet, rarely do we hear Tejano, Southeast Asian, Irish, or Italian folk music at Black American gatherings. That’s not from lack of appreciation—it’s simply a reflection of identity and belonging. Why, then, is Black American culture the one expected to share itself so freely that it risks losing its defined shape?

One attendee countered, “Well, the word culture is in the name, and culture isn’t only for Black people.”

True—but that perspective oversimplifies something deeply rooted and nuanced. It overlooks the centuries of history, resistance, and innovation that shaped what we now call Black American culture.

Still, I left the event deeply appreciative. The student-led effort demonstrated a willingness to listen, learn, and bridge perspectives. They’re moving in the right direction—toward dialogue and connection. Yet, I also believe that in the pursuit of inclusivity, we must safeguard identity. We can stand in solidarity with others without opening our “home” so widely that we lose sight of its walls, its rooms, and the generations that built it.

Preservation isn’t isolation. It’s respect—for ourselves, for our history, and for the culture that continues to define who we are.