As we uplift the indispensable leadership of Black women, who have long been the backbone of our movements, we must also take a hard look at the role of Black men. Too often, narratives of resistance either sideline Black men as threats or place them on pedestals without accountability. But the truth is, Black men have a responsibility to show up as active co-creators of a liberated future. Our liberation is not just tied to how loudly we speak but how deeply we listen.
As a young Black child, searching for a sense of self in a world that often tried to define me before I could define myself, I wondered: Would I become boxed in by what others expected of me, or would I rise to challenge those expectations and reshape them? I was on a journey to not just find who I was, but to decide what mark I would leave.
Throughout history, we have witnessed Black men from Douglass demanding the right to vote to Lewis shedding blood on the Edmund Pettus Bridge to Obama being sworn as the first Black President, our role has been pivotal. Yet, our engagement in democracy extends beyond the ballot; it is woven into the fabric of activism, policy, and leadership. Visionaries like Rustin, an openly gay Black man and the architect of the 1963 March on Washington, whose brilliance and courage laid the groundwork for civil rights victories.
Our participation is not monolithic. It is intersectional, shaped by race, class, sexuality, and lived experience. It’s woven with pain, beauty, and triumph. But despite these contributions, Black men continue to face significant barriers to full participation. Voter suppression, mass incarceration, economic disenfranchisement, systemic racism, and police violence attempt to marginalize our voices. I have seen this reality firsthand. My father was incarcerated and his absence shaped more than just our family; it shaped my understanding of justice and what “democracy” often fails to deliver.
I grew up knowing that his voice, like so many others behind bars, was silenced not only by prison walls but by policies designed to erase our presence. His story is not unique, and that’s the tragedy. For many Black children like me, the criminal legal system is not some distant structure, it is home visits to correctional facilities, unanswered questions, and a childhood framed by control rather than freedom.
Yet it is also this experience that sparked my determination. I chose not to be defined by the cycle that ensnared him. Instead, I made it my mission to break and fight for a democracy that values and protects us.
Working under Reverend Al Sharpton and the National Action Network at a young age was nothing short of transformational. I was being shaped as a leader by one of the most prolific voices of our time. Rev and Ebonie Riley taught me that true movement work lives in the tension between the streets and the suites: we march, we organize, but we also legislate and demand accountability.
They instilled in me the importance of intergenerational struggle and how to elevate the voices of the most marginalized, the faintest cries that often go unheard in the noise of politics, and center them in our pursuit.
That lesson in grounded, people-centered movements sharpened my understanding of how injustice operates across systems, in classrooms, courtrooms, and boardrooms.
Today, Black men face higher unemployment rates, lower median wealth, and persistent income disparities compared to white men. These are the manifestation of a broader system that has denied Black men full economic citizenship. Alphonso David, President and CEO of the Global Black Economic Forum, captured this reality plainly when he said:
“A democracy falls short of its promise when it ignores or undervalues millions of its people. A nation that refuses to invest in the full potential of Black men is not one set to succeed.”
Without confronting these disparities, we risk preserving a system where progress is performative, not transformative. True liberation must include dismantling the economic structures that have long exploited Black labor while denying Black prosperity.
Yet, we are undeterred. I’ve seen it in my peers, a generation of young Black men not like the kid who was boxed in and afraid but unapologetic visionaries who are not just resisting oppression but actively dismantling the systems that sustain it.
So, the question is, am I hopeful in Black men? The answer is yes because I believe in a generation that refuses to accept complacency. A generation that carries the legacy of Douglass, Rustin, Lewis, and Obama not just in memory, but in motion centered in justice, equity, and liberation for ALL.
About the author – CBCF NREI Taskforce for Social Justice Ambassador Tylik McMillan is a nationally recognized advocate for justice, equity, and youth power. A proud HBCU graduate and son of the South, Tylik’s work bridges policy and people power to build a democracy that truly serves and represents all.