Written by When we talk about Black Americans, it’s crucial to understand that the term refers to a specific group of people: the descendants of those who were subjected to chattel slavery in the United States. This identity is not defined simply by skin color, hair texture, or a shared physical appearance. Rather, Black American culture is unique, shaped by centuries of forced labor, resistance, resilience, and survival. Black Americans are a people who were brought to this land against their will, stripped of their names, languages, and traditions, and forced to create a new identity in the face of unimaginable hardship. This process forged a culture unlike any other, one that is deeply rooted in the history and struggles Black Americans.
While people of African descent can be found all over the world, it’s essential to distinguish Black Americans from those whose lineage can be traced directly back to Africa or the Caribbean. A Black American is not just anyone who is Black in skin color, but someone whose lineage traces back to the millions of Africans who were enslaved and brought to the United States. Even if someone is born in the U.S., if their ancestors did not experience the particular history of chattel slavery and the subsequent struggle for civil rights, they are not considered Black Americans. Instead, they are Nigerian Americans, Haitian Americans, Jamaican Americans, or another ethnic identity based on their immigrant background. The distinction lies in the specific cultural experiences that define Black Americans as a people, if we went to their homelands we wouldn’t identify with their customs or traditions because all “black” people are not the same. Lots of Black Americans have Aboriginal American lineage due to colonization, lots of the Black Aboriginals were reclassified as Negroe so some of us don’t have African DNA at all.
This distinction is crucial because Black Americans have a culture and history that is distinctly different from those of recent immigrants or people whose families were never part of the legacy of slavery. Black Americans have a unique relationship with this land—the land of their ancestors’ forced labor. Our culture, our identity, our values, and our fight for justice have all been shaped by this painful history. The legacy of figures like Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, and Frederick Douglass is part of the very foundation of who we are as Black Americans. These individuals, along with countless others, fought for our dignity, freedom, and place in a society that tried to erase us. Their struggles, their triumphs, and their sacrifices are not just history—they are the threads that continue to weave the fabric of Black American culture today.
But when immigrants come to this country, they often misunderstand or fail to recognize this specific history. Some may see the global respect that Black Americans have earned over time—not only because of the culture we’ve created but because of the struggle we’ve endured—and try to align themselves with us. This attempt to blend in, to claim our culture, is both problematic and disrespectful. No matter how much an immigrant admires the achievements of Black Americans, it does not grant them the right to claim our identity. They cannot just choose to be Black Americans because they share a similar skin tone or because they’ve immigrated to the United States. They may call themselves Nigerian Americans, Haitian Americans, or African Americans, but they are not Black Americans.
There’s a deeper issue at play when immigrants, even those born in the U.S., try to adopt Black American identity. Many of these immigrants, often from countries where racial dynamics are different or where they come from poor or war-torn backgrounds, may feel the need to rewrite their own story. Some do this because they feel ashamed of the struggles in their own countries or the poverty from which they came. They may seek to connect with the more respected cultural identity of Black Americans, even if they were not part of our historical struggle. The irony is that, by claiming our identity, they often undermine and erase the very culture they seek to align themselves with.
This issue isn’t simply about cultural appropriation; it’s about political and social power. Immigrants who try to claim Black American identity often do so in ways that benefit them, at the expense of those who actually built the culture. This is not a small issue—it has political implications, especially when these immigrants use Black American culture to gain social status, political influence, or financial opportunities. They may downplay the struggles of Black Americans, downplay systemic racism, and erase the historical and cultural realities that Black Americans face in this country. And this becomes even more dangerous when these immigrants begin to speak on behalf of Black Americans, as if they can represent us when they have not lived our experiences.
It’s not that we do not welcome people of all backgrounds into the cultural space that we’ve created. Hip hop, for example, has transcended its Black American origins to become a global movement. People of all races, ethnicities, and nationalities are participating in hip hop, but that does not mean we should allow others to claim it as their own or rewrite its history. Just as an immigrant can respect and participate in Black American culture, they must recognize that this culture was born out of struggle and survival—two things they have not had to endure. It’s essential for people to understand that when they step into Black American culture, they are entering a space that is shaped by our unique history of enslavement, segregation, and civil rights activism.
One of the most pressing concerns for Black Americans today is the way that our culture is being appropriated and distorted by outsiders. Whether it’s in fashion, music, language, or entertainment, non-Black people are constantly taking elements of our culture and commodifying them for profit. This is especially apparent in the music industry, where hip hop has been taken by white executives and used as a way to make millions, while the original creators of hip hop—Black Americans—are often left with little control over their own narratives and little financial gain. The same thing happens with the casual use of the N-word by non-Black people, or when other groups try to claim our struggles as their own. Hip hop and other elements of Black culture have become part of a globalized brand, but the truth is that many of these cultures of appropriation ignore the reality of our lived experience and the pain that birthed these cultural forms.
Furthermore, the idea that immigrants—particularly those who are the children of first, second, or third-generation families—are somehow part of the Black American struggle is dangerous. It creates division and erasure. Immigrants may live in the same neighborhoods, face some of the same challenges, and even experience racial discrimination, but this does not make them Black Americans. They are not subject to the same history of slavery, segregation, and systemic disenfranchisement that Black Americans have endured for centuries. The reality is that Black Americans didn’t have the option to “blend in” or “escape” the oppression they faced. We are the product of a history that has always tried to erase us, and our survival and resilience in the face of that history have shaped our culture in ways that outsiders cannot claim, no matter how much they try to appropriate it.
We have to draw a line when it comes to protecting Black American culture. Our struggles are unique to us, and while we support others in their fights for justice and equality, we cannot allow others to co-opt our identity or culture for their gain. It’s not about disrespecting immigrants—it’s about respecting ourselves and the history that shaped us. As Black Americans, we built this country and continue to shape its cultural landscape. This is our land, our history, and our culture. And while we welcome anyone who wants to learn from us and appreciate what we’ve created, they need to understand that they are guests in our space, not us in theirs.
In the end, Black American culture is something that we have earned through struggle, resilience, and a deep, enduring connection to our ancestors’ fight for freedom. We cannot allow anyone to take that from us or rewrite it to suit their narrative. The world may copy us, but we will never leave this land and try to be someone else. This is our home, and we will continue to shape the world through our culture, our music, our activism, and our resilience. Let’s protect our legacy, not just for ourselves but for future generations of Black Americans who will carry the torch forward.